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'We'll see,' Sam said with a smirk. 'Go and order two milkshakes, I don't care what flavour, and you can even keep your clothing in order for now. I'll tell you the rest when you get back.' Sam waited patiently, allowing her heart rate to settle after her previous ordeal, though the thought of what she was going to make Lucy do next made it difficult to stay cool, which she felt was ironic. Simply watching her friend walk in the dress she'd chosen made it difficult to stay cool, in fairness, though. Sam had long considered herself open-minded, curious even, but something about Lucy made her want to put thought into practice. Whatever it was, Lucy brought it back with her a couple of minutes later when she strutted back to the table along with the two milkshakes. 'Here you go,' Lucy said, putting them both on the table. 'One banana, one strawberry. Take your pick.' 'They're both for you,' Sam replied with a wicked grin. 'What would I want with two whole, large milkshakes?' 'It's your dare. Empty one into your knickers, the other into your bra.' Lucy looked stunned for a moment. 'Y-you're serious?' Sam just nodded. 'Oh my God. My underwear can't hold all that,' Lucy laughed. It'll go everywhere!' 'Yep.' 'Sam, come on.' 'We can just say I won if it's too much.' Lucy paused again, seeming to genuinely consider the prospect. 'Alright,' she said at last. 'Fine. I see how it is. Just remember - you started this.' 'No I didn't. It was your idea!' 'True, but I didn't get you messy. Not yet, anyway.' Sam laughed now. 'So you were going to get me messy.' 'Well, of course. That's the whole point. But not like this. Not so... obviously.' 'Alright. You've made your point. Now are you going to do it or not?' 'I never knew you were so pushy,' Lucy joked. 'I said I'll do it. Here.' She picked up the banana shake in her right hand, using her left to pull the neckline of her dress even wider than it already was. Sam wasn't shy about enjoying the enhanced view - it was a bit late for being coy after what she'd just done. Lifting the cup, Lucy took a breath, gritted her teeth and upended it all over her chest. The lid immediately fell under the weight of the thick slime within, and yellow gunk splattered pleasingly across her naked flesh. Lucy let out a high-pitched gasp, then sucked air in through her teeth and gritted them once more. She naturally wanted to gasp and shriek at the cold slime now sloshing around her breasts and down her tummy, but she knew better than to yell out and draw attention to herself. She settled for mouthing several obscenities while alternating between gasps and giggles as semi-melted ice-cream oozed down her stomach. Some pooled around her waist but plenty stayed where Sam had intended - Lucy's impressive, now slippery cleavage. To the surprise of nobody, but the great enjoyment of Sam, Lucy's nipples were clearly visible now, jutting out through the skimpy, slimy clothing she wore. Lucy noticed Sam looking, but was cut off because she could make any kind of quip. 'Quit stalling,' Sam told her. 'You still have one to go.' Lucy shot her friend a playful glare, but it was hard to maintain any expression that wasn't some mixture of discomfort and self-depreciating laughter. 'Alright, alright. Hang on.' Lucy lifted the front of her dress, mimicking Sam's previous ordeal. It didn't take much lifting, thanks to the fact that it barely covered her matching white panties anyway. If anything, Sam enjoyed this view more than the previous one and enjoyed it just as brazenly. It almost seemed like a waste to ruin such pretty underwear - white silky material, edged with sheer lace - but they would look even better filled with milkshake, she knew. After some understandable hesitation, Lucy poured the second cup and giggled loudly as soon as the slop hit. Sam couldn't blame her. She knew just how it felt, and knew she would have squealed and giggled just as much, if not more. Even Lucy couldn't keep her voice down this time, and attracted several quizzical looks from passers-by. When they looked down to see what she was squealing about, their expressions quickly change to something more like bafflement or, occasionally, excitement. The knickers, beautiful though they had been, were no match for a large milkshake. They filled and began to sag in no time. About half of the soft ice-cream was oozing down Lucy's thighs and pooling on the floor around her feet. The other half was doing the same, but inside her tights, trapped against her legs and creating a pair of absurd-looking bulges around both of her knees. 'Ah,' interrupted Sam. 'Hold on.' Relieved, Lucy stopped pouring. She thought for a second that Sam would let her off, since it was clear to everyone that her knickers could take no more. 'Put the rest in the back,' she added with a cruel grin. 'Oh, you bitch,' Lucy shot back, but it was clear from her expression that she had already resigned herself to this messy fate. After all, what was half a cup of strawberry milkshake at this point? She shifted position in order to reach behind herself with the cup still in-hand. It was much more awkward this way, but Sam offered no help at all. Eventually, Lucy settled for holding her tights and panties open with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, and propping the cup between them with her left. It meant the cup was almost perfectly vertical. Instead of a steady, manageable flow of slime, the remains came out in one heavy blob, eliciting from Lucy the latest and loudest in a long line of squeals. Despite the awkwardness of the positioning, her aim had been unfortunately perfect: ice-cream oozed right between her full, fleshy cheeks, coating them both, but also dribbling down the gap between them. Everything between her waist and her thighs was coated in milkshake and her knickers sagged under the weight. In her eagerness to keep it all in one place, she let the elastic of her tights and panties snap back into place and regretted this immediately when ice-cream squelched against her tingling pussy, soft buttocks and everything in between. 'How's that feel?' Sam cooed, her gaze swapping between Lucy's everchanging expression and her messy, bulging underwear. 'I don't even. I can't. Oh my.' 'Alright. Well done. You can stop.' 'Obviously I can stop,' Lucy replied, still a little more high pitched than usual. 'I've run out of milkshake!' 'You almost sound upset about it. You can always go get more.' 'Ha,' said Lucy. 'Not a chance. I think one knicker-full is enough for one day, thank-you very much. 'You're welcome.' 'Funny. We'll see who's laughing after your next dare.' 'Probably both of us,' smiled Sam. 'Probably,' Lucy agreed. She shifted awkwardly as she spoke, this way and that, trying to figure out the best way to move while causing the least amount of unwanted goo motion. Nothing seemed to work, and she soon gave up, accepting that she would have to settle for being constantly reminded of her slimy knickers at every turn. 'You can't just use Maccies again,' Sam interrupted. 'We'll have to go for a wander while you make your mind up.' 'Oh, you bitch,' Lucy laughed, knowing full well that Sam was deliberately trying to make this is as awkward for her as possible. 'Fine, come one. I know where we'll go.' 'Great, lead on. I'll be right behind you.' 'Yeah, I bet you will,' Lucy replied, shaking her hips playfully to make her ass jiggle. She regretted it when the ruined milkshake jiggled and squelched too. 'Oh, god, I wish I hadn't done that.' Sam, nearly bent double, was too busy laughing to reply with anything sensible. Even Lucy, usually so full of beans, had nothing to add. She set off across the food court instead, squelching with every step. Sam followed, her eyes begrudgingly leaving her friend's shapely, slimy bum every so often to check she wasn't walking into anything. Still, it was Lucy who eventually broke the silence: 'judging by the look in your eyes, you must be hungry.' Sam had the good grace to look embarrassed at being caught gawking, but she smirked playfully. 'I have been staring at some tasty-looking jelly for a while. Can you blame me?' 'Not at all. But didn't Queen Elizabeth once say "I don't think you're ready for this jelly?" Pretty sure it was her, anyway.' 'Sounds about right.' 'I heard you're quite fond of noodles, so...' Lucy trailed off, nodding sideways at a little noodle bar by the name of Naughty Noodles. 'How very appropriate.' 'How did you hear about that?' Sam asked, but quickly realised it was a stupid question. 'Frank.' 'He's very talkative around me for some reason. I can't possibly imagine why.'

Beyond the Wall In the shroud of darkness, Chihiro and Ako struggle to pull Yoichi's sled through the blizzard as they follow the Child. Heavy snow blows around them as they struggle to make their way through the darkness of the night.  Chihiro looks at Yoichi, the omega still in the warg state with his eyes whited out.  "I'm so sorry." The beta tells him, still distraught over the loss of Estle.  Yoichi continues to have visions as he combs through history while in his warg state.   "Where are we going?" Ako asks the Child.  "Just follow me. I'll explain when Yoichi returns from the warg state." The Child tells them.  Chihiro glances back at Yoichi with watery eyes as the omega continues to see visions of history.  In his mind, Yoichi sees an entire chunk of history. Some recent and others dating back to when The Night Queen was created.  Two men and the Master of War prepare casks filled with wildfire and store them under Shibuya, specifically the Sept and the surrounding areas. This is done by the Mad King's orders, this was before the rebellion broke out.  A large dragon's shadow makes its way to cover a large section of Shibuya in darkness.  The Night Queen raises her hands as the red of her eyes become more pronounced. She meets the eyes of the alpha as the legions of dead stand behind her.  An omega woman with her skin and body intact, looking recently dead has her eyes reddened out. She looks like a recent part of the Army of the Dead, not yet a bloodsucker.  Yoichi sees himself fall from the tower again after Lord Kureto pushed him off it.  An alpha man's throat is slit at the Red Wedding, it must be Seishirou Hiiragi. He looks exactly as he did in the past.  A large red and black dragon flies in the stormy sky.  A young and beautiful omega man, around Yuu's age stands naked as people bow to him. Three dragons hang off his ash-covered body as a small red and black one perches off his shoulder.  A baby is carried by a pale bloodsucker in a white cloak somewhere beyond the wall.  The Night Queen makes her way to the child and stares into its eyes. She touches his cheek as his eyes turn a red color. King Nikolai sits on the Seraphin Throne with a murderous glare in his eyes.  A man has his head sliced off in Shibuya from the blind killing.  Night slowly turns to day.  Crows fly in the snow-covered forest at night.  The Master of War pours wildfire into more casks.  "BURN THEM ALL!" King Nikolai shouts.  The wildfire explodes under the city of Shibuya as a green fire consumes the bottom level.  Guren stabs The Mad King in the back.  "Yuuichirou like the great wolf King." The whore tells Guren.  A bloody hand on a bed falls still.  The Child stabs the young omegan girl with the pink-hair.  Guren sits on the throne as he waits.  The Night Queen lowers her hands as the dead rise around her.  Yuu swings his sword in the snowy blizzard.  Yoichi is grabbed on the wrist by the Night Queen as he screams out in pain.  Yoichi's pupils finally return as take in the weight of all he just saw. It was a fast run through, but he'll go back in and learn more.  Yoichi looks around as Chihiro, Ako, and the Child perk up around him as they have made camp for the night.  "Yoichi." Ako says.  Yoichi realizes Estle is not there as the weight of the sweet alpha's death hits him in his heart. He can feel the pain there at never seeing the gentle giant again.  "Estle." Yoichi says with watery eyes. "I'm so sorry." "We know." Chihiro tells him with a pitiful look on her face before moving to embrace the omega. "But, he sacrificed himself for you. Make sure it wasn't in vain." Chihiro rubs his hair to soothe him which barely does anything to calm him. The tears continue to pour as Ako watches them.  "He's awake now." Ako says to the Child. "What next?" Yoichi turns to face the Child as she turns to him.  "Yoichi Saotome must complete his transformation and fully become the Three-Eyed Raven." The Child tells them. "He can only do that by gaining the knowledge from a Heart Tree. That is where I am taking you." Yoichi nods sadly. "The Three-Eyed Raven still lives within you. Your friend, Estle, he also lives within you. His entire life and what he has done will be at your discretion. Everyone's will." The Child tells him. "You will be the new Three-Eyed Raven." "What happens after that?" Yoichi probes.  "You will know what you have to do after you have the past, present, and future in your head." The Child tells him. "It will be up to you after that." "What is your name?" Yoichi asks her. "I never asked you it." The green Child studies the omega with a weird look on her face, "Bud." "Bud." Yoichi says, "Thank you." The Child only nods her head. Yoichi, Ako, and Chihiro continue to mourn their losses for the rest of the night.   Harajuku Mitsuba pulls the gray rag from the basin of water before squeezing it once. The alpha is clad in the knee-length black dress and white sandals.  The alpha girl silently rinses the body of an old man. A cloth covers his manhood as the omega runs the washcloth over his pale limbs and torso.  When she finishes she takes the pincers and clips his finger and toe nails. Then, she rubs a balm on their skin to preserve their bodies. She covers his body with a rag.  Mitsu knocks on the door at the front of the room when she finishes with the man.  Two men in black robes enter with the gurney, Mitsu taps her fingers as they load the corpse onto the stretcher. The other door at the end of the room is opened by another man and when they walk through it is immediately closed. It's been like this since she was brought here by the Waif. But, today is different.  The door is only almost closed today, the door remains open just a smidge.  Mitsu stands there, contemplating whether or not she should take the risk. She looks at the open door at the front of the room before deciding to take her chances. She slowly and quietly makes her way towards the door.  When she is almost there a pale hand shuts the door and quickly moves to lock it.  Mitsu turns to see that the hand belongs to the Waif who glares at her.  "What are they doing with the bodies?" Mitsu asks.  "Get back to work." The Waif admonishes as she turns to leave the room through the front.  Mitsu follows after her, "No! I’ve been here for weeks. I’m not scrubbing one more corpse until you tell me why I’m doing it." "You will know why." The Waif says.  "When?" Mitsu asks.  "When it’s time. Not before. Get back to work." The Waif tells her. "When do I get to play the game?" Mitsu asks.  "Game?" "The game. The game of faces." Mitsu says.  "You tried already. You failed." The Waif smugly tells her.  "I didn’t even know I was playing." Mitsu says.  "Who are you?" The Waif asks.  Mitsu hesitates before saying, "No one." "Get back to work." The Waif's blonde bob turns away from Mitsu.  "Well who are you? What are you doing here? How’d you get here?" Mitsu argues.  "I’m from Westeria. Just like you. Daughter of a Lord. Just like you. Except I was an only child. Heir to his fortune. My mother died. My father remarried and his new wife gave birth to a girl. My stepmother didn’t want any rivals for his precious daughter so he tried to kill me with poison. I found out, sought help from the Faceless Men and my father was widowed again. I’ve been serving them ever since." The Waif tells her carefully with a small smile.  Mitsu smiles at the other alpha.  The Waif's face falls as she steps closer to Mitsu, "Was that true or a lie?" Mitsu's smile falls from her face. "What?" "Did you believe every word I said?" The Waif asks her.  Mitsu stumbles and her face remains uncertain despite not saying a word.  The Waif turns away and throws back a, "Get back to work." Two more men carry another corpse on a gurney as they enter.  Mitsu lies in her bunk at night, remaining cautiously asleep. She is in the white nightgown of the House.  Mitsu turns on her side to find Nix in his white-gray robe and carrying a lantern. "Who are you?" Nix asks.  Mitsu sits up out of the covers and at the edge of her bunk. "Mitsuba." "And where did you come from?" Nix asks her.  Mitsu stands in front of the alpha.  "Westeria. My family home is Snowstorm. I’m the younger daughter of a great lord. But, the man that I saw as my true father was Guren Ichinose. He died in battle." Mitsu says trying to lie.  Nix hits her swiftly with the large stick causing Mitsu to gasp a breath at the sharp pain in her arm.  "A lie." Nix says.  "After he was executed I fled the capital. Had to kill a stable boy. Drove my sword through his back." Mitsu lies again.  Nix hits her with the stick again. "A lie." Mitsu pauses for a moment before continuing, "I stabbed him in the gut. I tried to find my brothers. I never did. They were murdered and betrayed. An outlaw kidnapped me. A man called Pollick." Nix hits her again. "A lie." "A woman called the Hound. My sister Aoi Sanguu. She was wounded in a fight. She begged me to kill her but I wouldn’t. I left her in the mountains to die. I wanted her to suffer, I hated her." Mitsu says.  Nix hits her again.  Mitsu is taken aback, not catching her lie before she repeats, "I hate her." Nix hits her again.  "I hated her!" Mitsu shouts in frustration at Nix.  Nix hits her again.  "That is not a lie!" Mitsu shouts again.  "The girl lies. To me. To the Many Faced God. To herself. Does she truly want to be no one?" Nix asks her.  "Yes." Mitsu says after a moment passes.  Nix hits her with the stick, this time in the face. Mitsu falls to the ground and looks up at the alpha, blood falls from her lip.  "I’m not playing this stupid game anymore!" Mitsu shouts at Nix.  "We never stop playing." Nix tells her as walks past her and out of the room. In the grand room of the House of Black and White, Mitsu scrubs the stone floors in the dark room. Torches give the room a night blue hue with orange in small areas where fires are lit.  An omega man carries a young omegan girl in. Mitsu watches as he walks towards a pool and sets her down near the edge. She leans on the stone border as the man looks around before his eyes find Mitsu.  He makes his way towards her, "Valar morghulis." Mitsu looks up, "Valar dohaeris." "I have nowhere else to go. I’ve taken her to every healer in Harajuku. I’ve spent every penny I had. She suffers every day of her life. I just want it to end." The omega tells her.  Mitsu looks the man in the eye before looking at the girl who leans on the fountain ledge.  Mitsu looks around to see if anyone is around before sitting right next to the girl's head on the fountain edge. She squeezes the girl's arm gently.  "It hurts." The girl tells her weakly.  "I know. Don’t be afraid. I used to be like you." Mitsu says before her eyes dilate when she recalls what Nix told her last night. What this truly is, it's all part of the Game of Faces and they never stop playing. She goes along with it and finally understands before she begins to play the game. "I was sick. I was dying. But my father never gave up on me. He loved me. More than anything in the world, just like your father loves you." The girl looks down as Mitsu continues.  "So he brought me here. My father prayed to the many faced god. And I drank the water from this fountain. It healed me." Mitsu tells the girl as she turns to the water.  The alpha girl takes one of the small bowls and fills it with the water before offering it to the omega girl with kind eyes, "I’ve devoted my life to him now. You don’t want to hurt anymore. Drink." Mitsu brings the cup to the girl's mouth before she accepts and begins to sip it. The alpha watches carefully as the girl gulps down to water. She knows now what they do and where the bodies she washes comes from as the girl drinks the water.  All three in the room remain unaware of Nix's eyes watching Mitsu from behind the pillar.  Mitsu fixes the hair of the same dead omegan girl as she lies on the table, now a corpse.  Mitsu looks up towards the open door at the end that she was trying to get into before when she sees a dark shadow appear in the corner of her eye. She turns to find Nix in his gray robe, staring at her from the doorway.  The man remains silent before turning away, quietly beckoning for Mitsu to follow after him with the look he gave her.  Mitsu looks at the other open door at the front before hesitantly walking through the door at the end.  Mitsu follows the alpha down a dark staircase, lit with plates of lit coals to provide a guiding pathway. They pass multiple entry halls where she sees more men with gurneys and bodies being carried by them.  Mitsu finally reaches the bottom of the steps and follows Nix to two enormous doors.  Mitsu's eyes widen in shock when she steps inside, Nix moves aside to let her walk further into the dimly-lit grand hall.  The alpha girl looks around in awe as she looks at the numerous stone pillars which contain thousands of faces belonging to dead people on them. Alpha, beta, and omega. Men, women, and children. Old and young. All kinds of faces are in rows that go around the circumference of each of the stone pillars. All of the eyes on the faces are closed shut. Small lamps light the bottom of the pillars.  Mitsu ascends the steps in awe as she looks around. She makes her way towards one pillar and studies the faces.  Nix appears beside her, "Is the girl ready to give up her ears, her nose, her tongue, her hopes and dreams, her loves and hates, all that makes a girl who she is, forever?" Mitsu steps closer as her eyes falls on an old lady's face. She touches the skin gently with her index finger and strokes down to feel the leathery skin, almost like a mask. She can't remove her eyes from the face.  "No." Nix says.  That catches Mitsu's attention and causes her to pull away. "The girl is not ready to become no one. But she is ready to become someone else." Nix tells her.  Mitsu's hand falls as she watches the face in front of her in shock, awe, and intrigue.  Riverlands - The Borders of Nagoya In the afternoon a good distance further from the church, Aoi and the followers of Brother Ritsuo form a circle around the alpha Septon. Brother Ritsuo stands in the center of the circle as the followers sit and stand around him, their attention entirely on him as he speaks to them. Aoi stands at the border of the circle, behind the entire flock of them. The wooden church framing stands on a hill behind them where they remain in a trimmed grass clearing.  "I was a soldier once. All my superiors thought I was brave. I wasn’t. I mean, I never ran from a fight. Only because I was afraid my friends would see I was afraid. That’s all I was, a coward. We followed orders no matter the orders." Brother Ritsuo tells them, "Burn that village. Fine, I’m your arsonist. Steal that farmer’s crops. Good, I’m your thief. Kill those young lads so they won’t take up arms against us. I’m your murderer. I remember once a woman screaming at us, calling us animals as we dragged her son from their hut. But we weren’t animals. Animals are true to their nature and we had betrayed ours. I cut that young boy’s throat myself as his mother screamed and my friends held her back." Ritsuo sits on a stump near one of the men and rests his hand on his shoulder.  "That night...I felt such shame. Shame was so heavy on me, I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t sleep." Ritsuo tells them as Aoi lowers her eyes in shame from having similar experiences where she was the inflicting party, "All I could do was stare into that dark sky and listen to that mother screaming her son’s name. I’ll hear her screaming the rest of my life." Ritsuo stands and makes his way back to the center of the circle as all the followers look at him with rapt attention. "Now, I know I can never bring that lad back. All I can do with time I’ve got left is bring a little goodness into the world. That’s all any of us can do, isn’t it? Never too late to stop robbing people, to stop killing people. Start helping people." Ritsuo says as Aoi really listens to his words. "It’s never too late to come back." Aoi looks up to find his eyes already on her face. The sound of neighing in the distance catches her attention as she looks to see three men ride towards them on horseback. Aoi's eyes widen as her tension increases. The faint scents of one alpha and two betas come into her nostrils as they get closer. Aoi walks closer into the circle of villagers, both to blend in and to distinguish herself for intimidation amongst the followers as she looks up at the riders.  Brother Ritsuo watches as the men ride towards them. "And it’s not about waiting for the gods to answer your prayers. It’s not even about the gods. It’s about you. Learning you have to answer your prayers yourself." The three men reach the group and stop at a short distance away as Ritsuo moves out of the circle to meet them. All of the followers stand as they take in their appearances. The alpha has horrendous black bangs, one beta has blonde hair a darker yellow than Aoi, and the other has pink hair.  "Seven save you, friends. How can we help you?" Brother Ritsuo asks them.  "What are you doing here?" The black banged one asks.  "Well, we’re talking about life. You?" Ritsuo asks.  "Protecting the people." "Well, we thank you for your protection. Who are you protecting us from?" Ritsuo says.  The man looks around the area before asking, "Do you have any horses?" "No horses. No gold. No steel." Brother Ritsuo says.  "Food, then. Protecting the people is hungry work." The black-banged alpha says.  "I’m sure it is. You’re welcome to stay for supper, but we have hungry mouths here." Brother Ritsuo says as Aoi readies herself to fight.  The alpha's face hardens before his voice drops into a cold octave. "Stay safe. The night is dark and full of terrors." Brother Ritsuo nods as the three men simply turn their backs and leave the grassy clearing.  Worry and relief both fill Aoi as she watches them leave.  Aoi splits wood on the chopping block with the large axe in a secluded part of the forest, away from everyone in the camp. She sees Brother Ritsuo approaching her out of the corner of her eye, but continues to chop.  "“Seven save you, friends.”" Aoi mockingly repeats Ritsuo's words as he approaches.  "I’m a fucking septon. What was I supposed to say?" Brother Ritsuo retorts.  "They don’t believe in your Seven. They’re from the Brotherhood. They follow the Red God." Aoi tells him.  "Aye, well, all are welcome here. Anyway, we got nothing for them." Brother Ritsuo shrugs simply.  Aoi stops chopping wood and glares at the man, "Sure, you do. You’ve got food, you’ve got steel even if you say you don’t. And you’ve got women and omegas." "What do you want to do? Fight them? Kill them?" Brother Ritsuo challenges.  Aoi only shrugs and sighs.  "It’d be you against all of them. I mean, these people don’t know how to fight." "You do." Aoi retorts.  "I’m done with fighting." Brother Ritsuo says.  "Even if it’s to protect yourself?" Aoi challenges.  "Violence is a disease. You don’t cure a disease by spreading it to more people." Brother Ritsuo says.  "You don’t cure it by dying, either." Aoi says before turning back with her axe to continue chopping.  "You’ve done enough work for one day. Come on up for some supper." Brother Ritsuo says after a moment before turning back on the path.  "It’s gonna be a cold night. We’ll need firewood." Aoi huffs defensively and dismissively.  "I’ll save you a bowl of stew. Might even have some ale hidden away." Brother Ritsuo says with a small smile.  A ghost of a smile appears on Aoi's face before she continues her task after Brother Ritsuo is gone.  The sun is setting as Aoi, chops some wood from the fallen branches of the tree. She slices the leaves off with a machete before bringing out her water-skin. The alpha woman takes large gulps of water after tossing the machete down. She sighs and heaves breath after working so hard all day.  Suddenly she freezes as the faint and distant sounds of screams fill her ears. She turns towards the direction which is the direction she came from. It's where Brother Ritsuo's camp is. The alpha's eyes widen as her feet move before she can even think.  Aoi rushes through the woods, not even picking up the machete. By the time, Aoi finally escapes the forest to find the bodies of all of the villagers littering the grass and the three perpetrators gone already.  Blood pools with the brown and green grass. Arrows, sword, and knife wounds pierce the skin of every villager in Brother Ritsuo's camp.  Aoi passes a young omegan girl on the ground with an arrow in her back her alpha mother and beta father not far from her. There are no survivors in Aoi's sight as she watches in distraught horror and carefully makes her way through the camp.  Bowls and tables littler the ground, clearly showing how the entire camp was ransacked and destroyed.  Aoi's feet lead her closer towards the wooden framing for the church as the alpha is unknowingly guided towards it.  Her face falls when she sees what hangs inside of the church frame at the center.  Aoi walks closer towards the hung corpse of Brother Ritsuo that is hung at the top of the church like some chandelier. The man has bloody wounds littering his face as Aoi looks at him. The man's skin is pale and his eyes are wide.  The anger and fury has been slowly climbing within her to overtake her horror as she made her way through the now destroyed camp. Now, it is at its peak as she looks at the other alpha's corpse.   Aoi steels herself and turns back before her eyes find the chopping block. She takes heavy stomps towards it and picks back up the axe before heading back into the forest. The three men sit around a campfire with two other younger men, they look to be small teenagers that are lanky and have not yet grown into themselves yet. One of them even an omega boy, the other a beta.   "I was a famous kisser. You lads know how to kiss proper?" The black-banged alpha asks.  The two young men look at each other as the other two older betas smirk to themselves.  "Course we do." The young beta says.  "This is for masters, this technique. You’re not ready." The black-banged alpha says.  "I’m ready." The omega stands.  "He says he’s ready." The pink-haired beta says.  "All right." The black-banged alpha says before standing up and making his way towards the young omega.  "Now, pay attention. You put your left hand on the back of the omega’s head." The alpha says as he puts his hand on the back of the omega's head before moving his other hand to his lower back. "Your right hand holds the small of the lady’s back like so." "Very romantic. Take your middle finger, yeah, and you jam it right up their bunghole." The alpha says before shoving his hand down the omega's pants causing the omega to scream and push the man away. The betas burst out laughing as the alpha disgustingly smells his finger.  "So fucking close!" "Ah, it smells like cunt to me." The alpha says.  "Look at him. You get hard, boy?" The beta shames the omega.  "Fuck you! Disgusting old twats." The omega says before taking his seat.  The blonde beta's eyes dial in on Aoi's approaching body with an axe.  The two other betas and the omega finally dial in on the alpha girl as the alpha man turns around when he sees them all fall silent.  Aoi only growls and swiftly decapitates the alpha's head off his shoulders. His neck spurts blood before falling to the ground. The hand bounces onto the ground.  Aoi turns and drives her axe into the chest of the pink-haired beta. The axe becomes stuck in the man's chest as she tries to pull it out allowing for the blonde beta to unsheathe his dagger and stab her in the side.  Aoi winces in pain as that was one of the areas that were still healing from when she was thrown off the mountain. She turns and strikes the beta hard across the face before pulling out the dagger. The blonde beta staggers and by the time he regains his senses Aoi has lodged her knife deep in his skull.  Aoi turns to the young omega seated and swears another man was there. The omega trembles in fear as he looks up at Aoi.  The young beta tries to stab Aoi from behind with his sword but another blade pierces clean through him.  Aoi turns as his body falls to the ground she looks up to see a cloaked figure holding the sword. She's ready for another fight before he pulls down his hood.  A wave of familiarity overtakes her as she inhales this beta's scent.  Aoi turns back to the omega, "You better fucking run." The omega scurries away from the alpha and the beta.  "You look fucking familiar." Aoi says. "Who are you?" "Lady Sanguu, you don't remember me?" The beta boy asks.  The dark hair, submissive and accommodating eyes, and beta scent and figure all look familiar to Aoi for some reason. This beta should be unremarkable, but he remains familiar to her.  "I wouldn't fucking ask if I did remember you." Aoi says.  "I'm Junji. Junji of House Haiyama. I was squire to Lord Shinya Hiiragi. We fought in the Battle of Bluewater together." Junji tells her.  Aoi takes a moment before her mind pieces together who this is. This was the little beta that followed Shinya around when he was Hand of the King three years ago. Aoi now recognizes him.  "You're hurt." Junji says softly as he sees her bloody hip.  "Aye." Aoi shrugs.  "I can heal you." Junji says.  "You're not fucking taking me back to Shibuya." Aoi says heatedly. "You saw what I can do with just this axe and three men, imagine how much I can slowly kill you when I give you my full attention." Junji steps back with his hands raised in defense and his face slightly fearful, "I am not going back there either. Lord Shinya sent me away before his trial so that I would be safe from his family." "Shinya's trial?" Aoi asks.  Junji nods. "I can tell you everything after you let me heal you." Aoi remains hesitant as she studies the beta before she deems him unthreatening. "Fuck fine. But, spare no detail on everything." Junji nods complacently as Aoi sits while the beta moves to heal her wound.  Shibuya Lord Kagiyama walks through the familiar streets of Shibuya with two guards following behind him as he heads to the Royal Keep. Kagiyama passes men clad in black robes with shaved heads and seven-pointed stars carved onto their foreheads.  "Lord Kagiyama." A deep voice causes the sly beta to stop. "Yes?" Kagiyama says before turning to see Hozumi Iwasaki with a larger party of faith militant, "Hozumi Iwasaki." "Brother Hozumi. We abandoned our family names." Hozumi tells the man as he moves to stand in front of him.  "Well you never really had your House's name, did you?" Kagiyama tells him.  "The city has changed since you were here last. We flooded the gutters with wine, smashed the false idols, and sent the godless on the run." Hozumi tells Kagiyama.  "Well done." Kagiyama says before taking a step forward. Hozumi puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him as Kagiyama's men's hands fall to their sword handles. "I’m here on urgent business for the Queen Mother. Should I send word that I’ll be delayed?" Kagiyama tells the petulant child.  Hozumi's hand falls as he warns the beta, "Step carefully, Lord Kagiyama. You’ll find that there’s little tolerance for flesh peddlers in the new Shibuya." "We both peddle fantasies, Brother Hozumi. Mine just happen to be entertaining." Kagiyama tells the beta as he brushes past him. Kagiyama sits across from Mahiru in her royal chambers as the omega studies the beta man over her goblet of wine.  "Do you think it’s wise, Your Grace, arresting the heir to Akino?" Kagiyama asks.  "The Faith arrested the heir to Akino." Mahiru says dismissively.  "Of course. And the Faith were armed on your orders." Kagiyama retorts.  "The King’s orders." Mahiru enunciates, "Is the King to blame for Ser Reo’s infidelity?" "House Inoue won’t tolerate these insults." "House Inoue won’t tolerate it?" Mahiru gasps in faux exasperation, "I’m the insulted party, Lord Kagiyama. Ser Reo was married to my sister, instead he chose the company of others who were not his wife."  "One’s choice of companion is a curious thing." Kagiyama tells her in a knowing undertone.  Mahiru remains silent for a moment as she ponders the implication of Kagiyama's words on her relationship with Kureto.  "Most curious. Fumie Hyakuya for instance. A sorely repellent woman. Forgive me. I know you’re still in mourning." Mahiru says.  "Fumie was a good omega. A kind omega." Kagiyama says.  "She was neither of those things, we both know it. Still, I pity her son. How fortunate that the young Lord of the Vale has a new father to counsel him." Mahiru tells him with a sickly sweet smile.  "I know how hard it can be to lose both of your parents at such a young age." Kagiyama says.  "If war comes to Westeria will the Knights of Ebina fight for their King?" Mahiru asks after a beat passes.  "Young Lord Ryuki heeds my advice. And I have always counseled loyalty to the throne." Kagiyama says.  "Good." Mahiru nods before getting up to refill her goblet, "If there's nothing else-" "There is another matter, your Grace. Something so urgent I couldn’t trust the words to a raven. You once charged me with finding Mitsuba Sanguu. To my shame I failed you. But I have found Shinoa Hiiragi. Alive, and well, and home again. In Snowstorm." Kagiyama tells her.  Mahiru looks up as she retakes her seat and shakes her head, "That’s not possible." "My sources are well placed." Kagiyama says, "They tell me Shoya Hanayori plans to marry her to his son, Ky, a bastard recently legitimized by King Tyuri." "Shoya Hanayori is Warden of the North by the grace of my uncle." Mahiru seethes. "We were fools to trust a turncoat." "Marrying his son to the last of Guren's children, let alone a Hiiragi gives him more legitimacy in Nagoya than an alliance with a hated southern house." Kagiyama tells her. "I will skin him and his bastard like that wretch on that bloody sigil." Mahiru says vengefully.  "I would counsel patience, Your Grace." Kagiyama says. "Patience? Shinoa helped murder my son, Shoya Hanayori is a traitor." Mahiru says.  "Guren's bastard, Yuuichirou Amane still lives, but at Ikebukuro. If that boy has any of his father's sense or honor than he will go to war eventually for Snowstorm to get his home back. Let the Amane boy and the Hanayori's battle, let the enemies of the throne slaughter each other and when they’re done seize Snowstorm from whichever thief survives." Kagiyama tells her.  "Nagoya is 1,000 miles away from here. The weather has already begun to turn." Mahiru says.  "That is why it is critical to strike when the victor still licks his wounds. Surely your family could muster a force." Kagiyama says. "Ser Kureto?" "Kureto is away on a sensitive diplomatic mission. I’ve no idea when he’ll be back." Mahiru says.  "Perhaps I can help. The Knights of Ebina are some of the best fighters in Westeria, trained to battle in the ice and the snow." Kagiyama says.  "Forgive me Lord Kagiyama, you have a reputation as a money lender and brothel keeper, not a military man." Mahiru says.  "You wouldn’t risk a single Hiiragi soldier or a single coin from the Royal Treasury. What do you have to lose, a brothel keeper?" Kagiyama entices her.  "And if you succeed?" Mahiru asks in interest.  "Name me Warden of the North." Kagiyama says.  "I’ll speak to the King this evening. Have him issue a royal decree." Mahiru says after a moment of contemplation.  "I’ll not rest until the lion flies over Snowstorm." Kagiyama says.  "And I’ll l know you’re a man of your word when I see that cunt Shinoa’s head on a spike." Mahiru says.  "As I said. I live to serve." Kagiyama says with a ghost of a smile.  A carriage rides to Shibuya outside of the city and on the muddy Kingsroad.  "HALT!" A rider shouts as the green and gold carriage stops.  The window opens from inside as Lady Kimiko Inoue recoils at the smell.  "Oh! You can smell the shit from five miles away." Lady Kimiko complains before shrugging and raising her voice, "Well, why are we stopped, go on." In the gardens of Shibuya, the newly arrived Lady Kimiko and Queen Rika stroll through and discuss the state of their house.  "Rumors and gossip, that’s all they got. It’s theater, nothing more. If they arrested all the adulterers in Shibuya there’d be no room left in the dungeons for anyone else." Lady Kimiko says.  "Everyone knew about his leniency." Rika says.  "No one cared when Tenri Hiiragi did it. No one cared when Mahiru Hiiragi did it. No one cared when Kureto Hiiragi did it. But, they still knew." Lady Kimiko says before shaking her head. "No, no, no, no, this is unacceptable." "Mahiru is behind this." Rika says with a miffed look overtaking her face.  "Of course she is. She wants to drag our names through the dirt. Put us in our place." Lady Kimiko says before turning to Rika, "Get some rest, dear, you look appalling. Let me deal with Mahiru Hiiragi." In Mahiru's chambers, the Queen Mother writes at her desk without even acknowledging the old lady in front of her. "Your Grace, I have travelled a long way." Lady Kimiko finally says after having enough.  "You must be exhausted." Mahiru remarks as she continues her action. "Put the pen down, dear, we all know you aren’t writing anything." Lady Kimiko calls out Mahiru's bullshit.  "Ah, yes, the famously tart-tongued Queen of Thorns." Mahiru puts down her pen to give the old omega her attention.  "And the famous tart Queen Mahiru." Lady Kimiko bites back.  "Beg your pardon." Mahiru's face falls.  "I know you’re behind this absurd incarceration of my grandson." Lady Kimiko says.  "If you apologize for that comment perhaps-" Mahiru starts.  "You’ll get your apology when I get Reo." Lady Kimiko says.  "I was as shocked as anyone when The Faith arrested Ser Reo. I have no love for these fanatics. But what can the Queen Mother do?" Mahiru says with a sigh.  "Has the crown suddenly stopped needing the troops, gold, and wheat my house supplies?" Lady Kimiko asks.  "I assure you our alliance with House Inoue remains-" Mahiru starts.  "Do you expect the alliance to continue after you’ve thrown our future into prison?" Lady Kimiko interrupts.  "As I said, I didn’t imprison anyone. As for your veiled threats-" Mahiru starts.  "What veil?" Lady Kimiko retorts.  "The Hiiragi-Inoue alliance brought peace to a war-torn country. Do you really want to see the Six Kingdoms slide back into warfare?" Mahiru asks. "I didn’t trust your father or you uncle. I didn’t particularly like them. But I respected them. They were not fools. They understood that sometimes we must work with our rivals rather than destroy them." Lady Kimiko says.  "House Hiiragi has no rival. The High Septon has called for an inquest, not a trial. Just a small hearing to determine whether the charges against Reo have merit, which I’m sure they don’t. Reo will be freed, our happy alliance will continue, and we’ll forget this unfortunate conversation ever happened. Good day, Lady Kimiko." Mahiru says as she turns back to her fake writing.  Lady Kimiko knows she will not get anywhere and sighs before getting up and exiting Mahiru's chambers.  As soon as she's gone Mahiru puts down the quill and paper before looking up with a ghost of a content smile.  In the chambers of the High Sparrow, the barefooted man paces on the stone floor in front of a seated Ser Reo. Lady Kimiko, Rika, King Tyuri, and Mahiru sit in front of the beta man. The man's clothes are dirtied as is his blonde hair. He has a blonde beard growing from being so unkempt. An empty chair is placed beside Lady Kimiko. "You are aware of the rumors concerning you and the omegas and alphas you bed." The High Sparrow says.  "I don’t pay attention to rumors." Ser Reo says.  "Some died and you were spoken of as being despondent and inconsolable. You waited by their bedsides as they passed." The High Sparrow says. "Do you deny all of the charges against you? Fornication, infidelity, blasphemy." "Of course I deny them." Ser Reo says.  "You never lay with any omega outside of marriage." The High Sparrow says.  "Never." Reo says definitively.  "Nor any other beta nor alpha." "Never." Reo reiterates. "That will be all Ser Reo." The High Sparrow says.  Reo rises and retakes his seat.  "Well I think that’s quite enough of that." Lady Kimiko says before moving to stand.  The High Sparrow moves to stand before them before saying, "Faith calls Queen Rika forward." Rika's eyes dilate, "You call me forward?" "Yes. We have some questions for you." The High Sparrow says.  "I am the queen." Rika tells him almost offended.  "You are. And according to Law of the Seven, neither Kings nor Queens are exempt from testimony at a holy inquest." The High Sparrow says as Rika glares down the line to find Mahiru's smug eyes on her.  Rika releases her breath before standing and moving towards the backless seat where Reo was before sitting down.  "How do you respond to these charges against your brother?" The High Sparrow asks.  "They are lies." Rika says bluntly.  "All of them?" The High Sparrow says.  "All of them." Rika agrees.  "Queen Rika, in the presence of the gods, do you swear that your brother is innocent of these charges against him, to the best of your knowledge?" The High Sparrow asks the omega. "Yes, I swear it." Rika says.  "Thank you, Your Grace." The High Sparrow says as Rika rises and retakes her seat.  A door is opened and Olyviae is escorted in by the members of the Faith Militant. Reo's heart stops and Rika tenses slightly as the omega takes a seat. A thin smile appears on Mahiru's face.  "Do you know this man?" The High Sparrow asks the omega.  "Yes, very well. He is Ser Reo Inoue, heir to Akino." Olyviae nods.  "How did you come to meet?" The High Sparrow asks.  "I used to walk by the training grounds with the other omegas. He took a liking to me and summoned me to his chamber the first day we met." Olyviae recounts.  "And what occurred in his chamber?" The High Sparrow asks.  "We engaged in intimate relations." Olyviae says.  "You laid with him?" The High Sparrow asks.  "That night and many others." Olyviae nods.  "Liar! He’s a liar!" Reo shouts angrily.  "Is there anyone else who can support your claim?" The High Sparrow asks.  "Yes, yes, Queen Rika." Olyviae says as Rika feels Tyuri's eyes turn to her lowered face. "She walked in on us once not long ago. She didn’t seem surprised." "This testimony is an insult to a great house. Why should The Faith or anyone else take the word of a squire over the heir to Akino?" Mahiru talks for show to appear innocent.  "He has a birthmark, Your Grace. Quite high on his thigh, wine-colored, and roughly the shape of Harajuku." Olyviae says.  A ghost of a smile overtakes Mahiru's face when Reo lunges towards the omega, but being pulled back by the Faith Militant before he can lay a hand on him. "Liar! Liar! Liar!" Reo shouts.  Rika and Lady Kimiko stand and moves towards the door to leave when Reo is taken out of the door, but the Faith Militant block their exit.  "What are you doing? Let us pass." Lady Kimiko says.  "The Faith is satisfied that there is enough evidence to bring a formal trial for Ser Reo..." The High Sparrow tells them, "And Queen Rika." Rika's eyes widen and the omega stiffens. Fury is etched in Lady Kimiko's voice as she shouts, "WHAT?" "Bearing false witness before the gods is as grave a sin as any." The High Sparrow says before addressing the two men. "Take her." Rika's arms are grabbed by the dark-robed alphas as they force her out of the room. Tyuri turns to his Kingsguard who move before being stopped by the Faith Militant. "No, Tyuri! Tyuri!" Rika shouts as she is dragged away.  Tyuri looks around the room, unsure of what to do. He raises a hand.  "You can’t do this, I am the queen! Tyuri, Tyuri! I am your queen, how dare you!" Rika shouts at the High Sparrow on the way out the doors.  Lady Kimiko glares at Mahiru as the purple-haired omega smiles smugly at her.   Shinjuku - The Countryside Outside of Valyria Near the sea, Ser Lacus looks at the greyscale patch on his wrist before covering it with his yellow shirt sleeve. Shinya returns from relieving himself, "So, those villages we were supposed to find. We can’t live on berries and roots." "I can." Ser Lacus says.  "You’re not hungry?" Shinya asks.  "Of course I’m hungry." Ser Lacus says.  "You’re an awful travelling companion, do you know that? Possibly the least charming man I have ever met. And this is including alphas who are just unpleasant for an omega to deal with." Shinya says.  "I am not your travelling companion." "We are travelling together. In each other’s company. Therefore..." Shinya trails off. "Do you ever shut up?" Lacus asks.  "I sailed from Shibuya to Kyrna in a crate. Without ever saying a word." Shinya says.  Lacus moves to sit closer to where Shinya is at. "Why?" Lacus asks.  "Never occurred to you to ask why until now? You never wondered why Shinya Hiiragi decided to visit a brothel in Asshain." Shinya says.  Lacus raises a brow that tells him to continue. Shinya sighs before speaking, "I killed my uncle. He wanted to execute me for a crime I didn’t commit." Ser Lacus stands. "As miserable as you are, Welt, at least your father was a good alpha." Shinya says.  "What do you know about my father?" Lacus asks. "I visited him when I was much younger, sometime after the rebellion." Shinya says. "How do they say it in the North? “We shall never see his like again.”" Ser Lacus looks at Shinya with a stunned look.  Shinya's eyes widen as a realization overtakes him, "You didn’t know. I’m sorry. I am." "How?" Ser Lacus asks with glassy eyes.  "I only know what I heard." Shinya says.  "How?" Ser Lacus asks insistently. "He was leading an expedition. There was a mutiny. He was murdered by his own men." Shinya says.  Lacus nods before standing, "We better get moving." Ser Lacus walks away before Shinya soon follows after him.  Shinya and Lacus make their way through an open green valley.  Shinya's curiosity takes over when a thought enters his mind, "Why Mikaela? Why is he worth all this? As I recall, the Welt's fought against the Shindo's during Hiiragi’s Rebellion." "Do you believe in anything?" Ser Lacus asks after a moment passes.  "I believe in many things." Shinya says.  "In something greater than ourselves, I mean. The Gods. Destiny. Do you believe there's a plan for this world?" Ser Lacus asks.  "Not really, no." Shinya says.  "Neither did I. I was a cynic, just like you. Then I saw an omega boy step into a great fire with three stone eggs. When the fire burned out I thought I’d find his blackened bones. Instead I found him. Mikaela. Alive and unhurt, arguably more powerful than I've ever seen him. Holding his baby dragons. Have you ever heard baby dragons singing?" Ser Lacus asks.  "No." "It's hard to be a cynic after that." Ser Lacus says.  "Doesn’t mean she’s going to be a great queen." Shinya argues.  "No. it doesn’t." Ser Lacus says.  "The Shindo's are famously insane. What if he conquers the world? Then what? 1,000 years of peace and prosperity?" Shinya asks.  "First we have to conquer the world." Ser Lacus says.  "We? Alright, let’s assume your dreams come true. He’s ecstatic when you bring him this enemy omega. He hacks off my head and restores your position. You command his army, sail to Westeria, defeat all your enemies, then watch as he climbs those steps and sits on the Seraphin Throne. Hurrah, long live the Queen. Then what?" Shinya challenges. "Then he rules." Ser Lacus says.  "So an omegan man who has not spent a single day of his adult life in Westeria becomes the ruler of Westeria? That’s justice?" Shinya asks.  "He is the rightful heir." Ser Lacus says.  "Why, because his father who burned living men for amusement was the King?" Shinya asks.  "You know, you are awfully cynical for an omega who crossed the Blood Sea just to meet this omega. Why were you doing that again? Because your family tried to kill you for a crime you didn't commit?" Ser Lacus raises his voice defensively, "You're saying your family is doing a better job of running that kingdom because that's why you're here to see Mikaela? In fact, look no better place of this omega's mercy than in your case of your beloved Guren." Shinya stiffens.  "That omega had every right and opportunity to kill your alpha. But, he saved his life and gave him purpose despite knowing what his true motives always were. If he were really his father, your alpha would be nothing more than ashes blown away in the wind. But, he still lives because Mika let him. He serves Mika now, willingly and completely. It's why I'm here now!" Lacus tells Shinya.  Shinya looks down in silence before stalking off.  Ser Lacus follows after as they head closer to the sea. Shinya is caught in his own thoughts until Ser Lacus roughly pushes him down to hide behind a rock.  "What?" Shinya shouts.  "Shh! It’s a slave ship." Ser Lacus says, peeking over to see the large brown ship.  "Why is it anchored?" Shinya asks as he now looks over.  "They probably came ashore for-" Ser Lacus starts.  "Water." A voice behind them finishes.  Shinya and Ser Lacus turn to find themselves surrounded by alpha and beta men with swords pointed at them.  A large and bald alabaster-skinned man smirks down at them. Most likely their leader.  Shinya and Lacus' hands are bound as they are made to kneel near the slavers' small rowboats by the shore.  Ser Lacus is punched by the leader.  "Got a lot of fight in you, huh?" The leader says as Ser Lacus rises before punching the beta down again.  "Salt mines." Another slaver says as the leader moves to stand beside him.  "That or a galley slave. He looks strong enough." The leader says.  "What about the omega?" The slaver says.  "Whorehouse, until then we can use him." Another slaver says. Shinya stiffens as fear overtakes him. "Whorehouses will give more money for untouched omegas, and they'll smell us on him. No one touches him until we get him to one." The leader says, "The pretty ones like this slut fetch larger prices too." "Queen Mikaela has outlawed slavery." Ser Lacus says.  "We’re bound to Asshain, not the Bay of Slaves. Besides, he reopened the fighting pits. I never heard of free men fighting in the pits." The leader tells Ser Lacus. "The fighting puts in Meeridan! You’re in luck then, you’re about to be rich. You are looking at one of the great warriors in the Six Kingdoms." Shinya says desperately.  The leader laughs at Shinya.  "Him." Shinya gestures to Lacus.  "Him? He's not even an alpha." The leader says.  "Sure, we can all see that. But he is a veteran of 100 battles. They wrote songs about him!" Shinya says.  The leader gestures for the men to bring Ser Lacus closer to them.  "Is that true?" The leader asks Ser Lacus.  Lacus only nods.  "He won the tournament at Hiiragsport, unseating Ser Kureto Hiiragi himself." Shinya says.  The leader laughs, "Jousting. You’re talking about jousting. A fancy game for fancy lads. The men who fight at Meeridan will swallow him whole." "I killed a Dothraki blood rider in single combat." Ser Lacus says truthfully.  The leader comes to attention in shock and gets close to Lacus' face before sneering, "Liar." "It’s no lie. His name was Quatho. He was bloodrider to Khal Makoto. Take me to the Bay of Slaves, put a sword in my hand, and I’ll prove my worth." Ser Lacus says with a fierce determination.  The leader only nods as a slow smile crosses his face.  In Asshain at the Slaver's auction, the slaves are led onto the stage.  Shinya and Ser Lacus have cuffs placed around their wrists and necks that are bound to large and heavy chains.  Shinya is whipped by one of the men and grunts in pain as he is led to the stage with Lacus.  Slaves are sold before Ser Lacus is brought onto the stage.  "A rare find for the fighting pits, my friends. Not your usual street tough old drunken pirate. This one’s a Westerian knight from an ancient house, trained in sword and lance. He fought beside the Lion King Tenri on the far side of the Blood Sea. He was first from the breach during the siege of Ryke, slaughtering fifty men with his flaming sword. He killed the great Khal Makoto in single combat. Betrayed by his omega, he sold himself into slavery to repay his debts. Bidding begins at twelve gold honors." The leader announces to the crowd of slave owners.  A hand goes up.  "13. Do I have 14?" The leader asks.  Another hand goes up. "15? 15 gold honors. Do I have 16?" The leader asks.  An alpha in the front wearing a dark brown robe, pants, and boots raises his hand. "20." "Sold!" The leader shouts.  Ser Lacus is taken away by the man as Shinya's eyes widen in fear.  "Wait! You have to buy me as well." Shinya shouts to the brown-clad alpha.  "Why?" The alpha asks. "We’re a team. I’m a great fighter, too." Shinya says.  The crowd laughs all around as the man looks at the slave leader.  "He’s funny. You have to give him that." The leader says.  The rage in Shinya grows as the alpha holding his chain laughs at him. Shinya pulls the chain causing the alpha to fall to the ground before continuously beating him down with the heavy chains. The crowd roars as Shinya's eyes meet the ones of the brown-clad alpha.  "Alright. He’s funny." The alpha says, "If he can't perform, I'm sure I'll find other uses for such a pretty omega." Shinya cringes internally above all of the underlying relief flowing in him. The alpha hands the leader the coins.  "Thank you my Lord. Thank you." Shinya says to the man who turns his back on him.  "Yes." The alpha says as he tries to move away past the two. Shinya walks with him to where Ser Lacus is at.  Ser Lacus nods to him as Shinya and he follow after the party of purchased slaves for the fighting pits.  Shinjuku - Meeridan At the docks of Shinjuku, Mikaela Shindo and Guren Ichinose stand with a sizeable guard of Untainted with the two. A medium-sized ship stands behind the alpha, the passengers on the ship are limited to a minimal amount of crew and merchants to make it look conspicuous. The sun is currently setting at the harbor.  Mika is clad in a white dress that's over his dark riding slacks and boots. His hair is down in more braids for mobility, in case something happens. Guren turns back from the ship and directs his gaze at Mika who has his hands clasped as he walks toward the alpha. The alpha is in his normal slacks, doublet, riding boots, and black cloak.  "Well, Lord Guren, I have never been known for giving good farewells." Mika tells him with a smirk.  Guren huffs a chuckle, "You're doing just fine, Your Grace." "Flatterer." Mika chuckles and lets a beat pass before continuing. "Three years ago, it was one of the first things I noticed about you."   "It has gotten me far." Guren says.  "I agree. I hope you don't see yourself as the Kingslayer anymore, Lord Guren. You are no longer that in my eyes and you haven't been for a long time." Mika now looks at the ship. "Of course, Your Grace." Guren says gratefully.  "It should be a relatively safe trip to the harbors of Westeria." Mika remarks has he studies the impressive ship.  "Where will it stop?" "I believe it's the Riverlands, a harbor near Ebina." Mika says. "Figured it would be safer than sending you to Shibuya." Guren nods.  "Are you ready?" Mika asks.  "No." "Scared." Guren looks at the omega's probing sapphire eyes. "Do you want me to be honest?" "You should never not be honest when talking to me." Mika says.  "I am. I have a small curdling in my gut that's telling me to stay. But, it's a small part." Guren tells Mika.  "And the rest?" "The rest has to know what happened to Yuu, Shinya, and the others." Guren says.  "Lord Guren, I do know this is something of a delicate situation." Mika faces the alpha. "I want to let you know that your focus should be on ensuring your family is safe. I will be fine over here. But, you need to take care of yourself first over there. You're an alpha who is supposed to be dead, many would want to see your head on a spike. You have to be careful." "I know." "You have to stay safe because when I go over there, I want you to be the one that shows me the North." Mika tells him.  Guren's eyes widen.  "I want to see you ruling your home when I get there, so that when I arrive you will be the one who shows it to me." Mika says. "I know your allegiance is to me, but I know that your heart will always belong to Nagoya." "Your Grace-" Mika raises a hand to stop him, "I'm not saying you won't serve me. I'm telling you that your priority needs to be finding your family and getting the North back from the Hiiragi's. You don't need to spread my name around, I'll be doing that plenty when I arrive. When I go back home, I want to see you in Nagoya with whatever remains of your family. When I come to the North, you will be the one who shows me the beauty of it." "Your Grace." Guren can only say as he's overwhelmed with emotion. The alpha doesn't know what to say so he just bows his head to the omega.  Mika smiles before moving to hug the alpha. Guren freezes and stiffens before returning the embrace. Mika leans up to whisper in his ear, "Win back your home and find your family, Lord Guren. I'll be there shortly." Mika pulls away.  "Take care, Your Grace." Guren says, "You're not your father and I know you never will be. You're something different and better than both of your parents. You are exactly what this shitty world needs. I'll support you anywhere I go. You are the rightful heir to the Seraphin Throne." Mika's smile widens and he nods. The ship's bell start ringing announcing that all should get on board.  "You should get going." Mika tells him. "Be careful and don't forget, I'll be waiting to see the beauty of Nagoya." Guren bows, "Of course, Your Grace. There is no place more beautiful." Mika nods as Guren rises and moves to climb the wooden plank onto the ship.  Mika looks at the alpha as he safely gets on and turns to look at the omega.  Both keep their eyes locked as the ship's anchor is pulled up and it begins to slowly sail away.  "Don't take too fucking long!" Guren shouts back at Mika in his alpha voice. The alpha has glassy eyes.  Mika laughs, "I'll try not to!" Mika's eyes water a little as he watches the alpha's ship leave. The omega turns back and realizes that he's finding the amount of advisors he has in his retinue slowly dwindling.  Nagoya - Snowstorm At night in her chambers, Shinoa sits at her vanity and looks at herself in a mirror. She's not exercising vanity, but merely observing how much years have passed and how she's actually matured since the last time she really looked at herself. The omega's dark hair is down and she is in a grey dress robe.  Suddenly a knock on her wooden door catches her attention. Shinoa rises after the second knock to open it.  There stands Sayuri Hanayori in a dark green gown.  "What do you want?" Shinoa asks her.  "My Lord Father sent me to draw your bath, My Lady. You want to be clean and fresh for your new husband don’t you?" Sayuri asks.  "They usually have servants for that." Shinoa says.  "It's what Father and Ky want." Sayuri says.  Shinoa hesitates before opening her door wider and letting the omega in.  In the large circular bucket, Shinoa lies in the tub with her head leaning out as she looks up at the ceiling. She tries to ignore the other omega as she is forced to let her rinse the black dye from her hair.  "Your natural purple hair is so beautiful and unique." Sayuri remarks as she rinses the black into a basin of water beside the tub.  "Thank you." Shinoa says politely.  "You’re so beautiful. But you need to keep him happy. Ky gets bored easily. You don't want to end up like... Well, like the others." Sayuri tells her.  "What others?" Shinoa turns her head slightly to her.  "I shouldn’t gossip. It’s good to see the purple again. No point in hiding anymore." Sayuri falsely tries to change the topic.  "What others?" Shinoa asks more insistently.  "Let’s see. There was Kieron. The blacksmith’s son, an omega. He was short. Like you. Lovely figure. But he talked and talked and talked and… Ky got tired of that. Then there was Violet. She had gorgeous blond hair. But she got pregnant and, well, that was boring." Sayuri tells Shinoa with a dangerous undertone as Shinoa pulls away and sits up in the tub. Sayuri begins to scrub her back. "Then Tamsin. Such a sweet omega. Of course sweet girls get a bit dull after a while, don’t they? Ky let me come with him on that hunt."  "Hunt?" Shinoa asks tersely as she gets an idea of the kind of alpha she is dealing with.  "Mm. Have you ever seen a body after the dogs have been at it? Not so pretty. But it’s your wedding day, why am I talking about such things?" Sayuri tells her with a sickly sweet smile.  "Sayuri." Shinoa says.  "Yes?" Sayuri asks.  "How long have you loved him?" Shinoa says before turning to the omega whose gaze turns to a glare and her posture stiffens as she freezes. "Did you imagine that he would be with you forever, is that it? Then I came along and ruined it." Shinoa's glare darkens as she looks at the frozen Sayuri.  "I am Shinoa Hiiragi of Snowstorm. This is my home and you can’t frighten me." Shinoa declares to Sayuri.  A moment passes before a small shameful smile crosses Sayuri's lips as she lowers her gaze.  "Are you done with your bath, Lady Shinoa?" Sayuri asks.  "Go. I can finish on my own." Shinoa nods her head to the door.  Sayuri's face falls before she rises and exits without any fanfare as Shinoa watches her leave.  Shinoa stands in her chambers in her white wedding dress. She hasn't even noticed that the snow has begun falling outside her window. The white dress is long-sleeved with a white fur shawl that covers her shoulders, yet leaves the front and back of the dress entirely visible. The white dress has lilac zig-zags embroidered on the gown. Every inch of her skin is covered with the thick white fabric, except for her hands. It's almost like an armor she wears. The gown has an ivory underdress. The sleeves have a rolled up cloth as the end of each one, almost like it was folded up, yet looking natural. Her purple hair is braided and wrapped around her skull in a bun of Northern braids. She looks beautiful by every standard in something she would have dreamed of wearing as a child, this makes her unease grows as she knows that she's marrying Ky Hanayori.  Another knock at her door catches her attention.  Shinoa turns, "Yes?" The door opens and Kimizuki enters. He's clearly bathed for this moment. His pink hair now visible after all the dirt and grime has been washed away. He is clad in a dark black feathered cloak over his black doublet, slacks, and boots. His face is clean, yet it still has that ashamed and terrified look on it as he refuses to meet Shinoa's eyes. He still looks pitiful in Shinoa's eyes while Kimizuki makes the connection of her beauty in that dress.  "I’ve come to escort you to the Godswood, My Lady. If you please, My Lady, will you take my arm?" Kimizuki weakly stutters out as he barely holds his hand out.  "No." Shinoa strongly declines.  "Lord Ky, he said I am supposed to take your arm." Kimizuki tells her.  "I’m not touching you." Shinoa reiterates in disgust. "Please. He’ll punish me." Kimizuki begs, but remains impassive because underneath it all he understands why she wouldn't do it.  "Do you think I care what he does to you?" Shinoa sneers at her former brother.  Shinoa makes her way past Kimizuki as the heels of her white boots click. Kimizuki looks at her back when she passes as the shame overtakes him. Shinoa follows behind Kimizuki on the familiar path to the Godswood where torches illuminate along the way. Snow falls from the sky as they make their way.  The party near the white tree with red leaves and a face carved on it soon becomes clearer as they get closer. Shinoa's unease and tense feelings mount and climb with every step she takes. She's not ready for this, but she has to be. She knows what she has to do tonight, but it does not make the situation any better.  Hanayori men, Wakiru, and Sayuri stand along the side and form the aisle that Shinoa walks down. At the end of a tree stands, Ky and Lord Hanayori. Both are clad in black with Ky being clad in a dark cloth cloak and wears a doublet with a long neck. The outfit is a higher class version of Kimizuki's.  Lord Hanayori steps forward, "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" "Shinoa of the House Hiiragi comes here to be wed. An omegan woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?" Kimizuki recites with his head lowered. A moment passes before Ky steps forward. "Ky of House Hanayori. Heir to the Frightfort and Snowstorm. Who gives her?" Sayuri looks down as tears come into her eyes.  "Shihou of House Kimizuki. Who was… who was her adopted brother." Kimizuki says.  Shinoa closes her eyes before opening them again, not like it was a lie. They all grew to become true siblings from a terrible situation that got worse.  "Lady Shinoa, will you take this man as your alpha?" Lord Hanayori asks the omega.  Shinoa's eyes drift to him before landing on Ky. The omega remains silent for a long pause as Ky gives her an expectant, almost impatient look. Sayuri's nails dig into her palms as she feels the growing fury and jealousy within her.  Shinoa finally steps forward after a long moment's contemplation, knowing that she has no other option.  "I take this man for my alpha." Shinoa says as the tense atmosphere dissipates at her words. A smile slowly crosses Ky's face that looks more sinister than joyful.    Kimizuki meekly opens the door to Ky's chambers. Shinoa enters as Ky follows behind her. She looks at the bed covered with a large amount of furs. Shinoa turns to face the alpha.  "Are you pleased, My Lady?" Ky asks Shinoa with a smile. Shinoa nods tersely.  "Good. I want you to be happy. My father said you’re still a virgin." Ky tells her.  "Yes." Shinoa says as she looks back at Kimizuki who still remains with his head lowered.  "Why? Why are you still a virgin? Afraid of knights?" Ky asks her in a creepy tone. "Ser Reo was kind, he was gentle. He never touched me." Shinoa says.  "You’re not lying to me?" Ky asks.  "No, My Lord." Shinoa says.  "Lying to your husband on his wedding night. That would be a very bad way to start a marriage. We are man and wife, alpha and omega now, we should be honest with each other, don’t you think?" Ky asks.  "Yes." Shinoa says.  Ky's hand comes up to cup her cheek. It's cold, almost like he's dead. He leans in and kisses her. Shinoa stumbles before reciprocating in disgust. Kimizuki keeps his eyes downcast. Shinoa turns it into a more falsely passionate affair as Ky pulls away from her.  "You kiss very well for a virgin." Ky says. "Are you sure you're not lying to me?" "Yes, My Lord. I swear." Shinoa says before looking down in false shyness, "I'm just excited to be with my husband on our first night." A smirk appears over Ky's face at the sight of the blushing omega. "Good. Now take off your clothes." Shinoa's eyes dilate, but she keeps her small smile in place until she can turn her back to the alpha. Kimizuki turns to leave as Ky turns to him now.  "Oh, no, no, no. You stay here Reek. You watch." Ky says with an evil smirk.  Shinoa stiffens, but finally removes her fur shawl, leaving her in just a gown. Kimizuki returns to the open door, but still keeps his eyes lowered.  "Reek? I told you to watch." Ky tells him as Shinoa begins to unbutton her dress by removing the clasped wolf and lion pins.  Kimizuki finally looks up with tears in his eyes.  "You’ve known Shinoa since she was a young omega girl. Now watch her become a woman." Ky says before turning back to Shinoa.  Shinoa huffs a breath, "Ky, can you-" Shinoa huffs another breath when she feels the back bodice of her dress being ripped open. She's had enough of this. She is not going to be some alpha's pawn. She is not going to be anyone's pawn ever again. She will not be a victim. She can't do anything about Kimizuki watching, despite how uncomfortable it is, but she can do something about making sure she has some semblance of power on her wedding night. No matter how disgusting this is and how much she doesn't want to do this she has to. There was no way to avoid this, so she has to take charge to make sure she does not ever become a victim again. She knows what's coming and she has to make the best of it.  Shinoa immediately turns back as Ky runs a hand down her naked back, the alpha opens his mouth to order her to turn back. Before he can to that the omega crashes her lips into her new husband's. Ky immediately begins to reciprocate, not expecting this from the omega.  Ky pulls away and caresses her cheek, "You're not like the others, are you?" Shinoa smirks as she shoves down her disgust before leaning in, "I'm making sure my alpha doesn't get bored with me."  "I can't imagine I will." Ky tells her.  The alpha leans in and Shinoa unwillingly meets him halfway with as much false passion she can curdle.  Kimizuki watches in complete discomfort. He can tell what Shinoa is doing and knows the omega is doing what she has to survive. If only he was strong enough to do anything. Tears pour down his face as he watches what Shinoa is reduced to doing.  Shinoa pulls away and removes the large top later of her dress leaving her in the underdress, "Take off your clothes, I want my alpha to have the best experience." Ky smirks at her in intrigue before taking off his top coat and doublet. Shinoa's eyes meet Kimizuki's watery ones before they return to her new husband.  Once Ky has his shirt and boots off, Shinoa immediately returns to kiss him as he lifts her off the ground. Shinoa's legs wrap around his waist as she is carried to the bed.  Shinoa is grateful that this angle will not give Kimizuki much of any view of her. Shinoa feels her slick producing as her omega instincts take over.  "Alpha." Shinoa falsely calls out.  Ky growls thinking that Shinoa means it before he unlaces his breeches to free his cock.  The alpha immediately moves to thrust into the omega's wet and slick heat.  Shinoa feels tears come to her eyes at what she has been reduced to doing, but she powers through it. She fakes all of her moans and groans of pleasure despite some of it feeling unwillingly good because of her omega's satisfaction.  Shinoa suddenly feels the pain in her neck when Ky bites down on her neck and marks her as his omega. The bite on her neck draws blood and she feels only pain as he licks it away.  Ky finishes inside of her not long after and collapses beside the omega.   Kimizuki looks at the omega's daze and can only find the need to cry harder at the sight of Shinoa's state. Shinoa's face remains frozen and she feels like she's in a wide-eyed daze as she looks up at the ceiling. She feels Ky's bite stop bleeding and take form, marking her as his omega. She knew it was coming, but she could not help feeling this way. Shinoa was now bound to an alpha who would have raped her if she did not take charge of the situation. She's bound to a torturous, murderous, and dangerous alpha who has broken Kimizuki who was one of the strongest alpha's she knew. As she looks up at the ceiling she knows she did the best she could, but the situation she is in is still terrible. She only wanted to be mated to one alpha her entire life and that was Mitsu. Now she was bonded against her wishes to an alpha that she let do this to her. All Shinoa knows is she cannot stay here anymore, she is not safe or protected in the one place she always used to feel that. She has to get out of Snowstorm before her heat comes and Ky puts a child in her, otherwise then the bond will have taken and will be almost irreversible. 

“Well?” the shortest in the group pressed. Danny hesitated. It wasn't like he didn't want to talk to the League, or probably just Batman from the sound of it, especially since he had been invited and they went through the trouble of finding him. But… he really didn’t want to leave Amity. Especially not for the League. Okay, so maybe he didn't want to talk to the League, but it was their fault. “Fine,” Danny grumbled when he couldn't find an excuse to stay. The team of younger heroes had already managed to sink everything he'd tried. “Just, give me a second to get things a little more… organized.” Danny drifted up and away from the other teens before activating his Fenton Phone and waiting for his friends to answer. It barely took a minute, and both of them answered at almost the same time, groggily talking over each other. “Easy guys,” Danny cut them off in Esperanto, an unspoken signal to be careful passing between them. “There’s no fire. Some big names just want to talk to me, so I need to leave town for a while. Possibly the whole night.” “And by ‘big names’ you mean…” Tucker trailed off. “Probably the League, techno-geek,” Sam answered promptly. “Exactly how paranoid are you being right now, Danny?” Danny's eyes flicked down to his company, “Batman’s name came up more than a few times, and one of the messengers is wearing Big Blue’s symbol. I'd rather not take any chances.” There was silence on the other lines. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tucker began. “Yeah, Danny, with everything that's happened you can't possibly want to do this.” “You're right, it's a very bad idea that could cost me my identity. But these guys came prepared for an argument, and I might be able to get some answers anyway.” Once again silence was the only response. Both of Danny’s long-time friends were wide awake by now. “We’re comi-” “No, you're not,” Danny said, cutting off Sam. “I called because I need you on patrol while I'm gone. And the less they have to tie us together the better.” “Come on, Goth Girl,” Tucker practically begged, “I know you want to keep Danny safe and finally get to meet tall, dark, and brooding, but the best thing for us to do is stay here and hold down the fort.” “You can't possibly be okay with this!” “Oh, I'm not. I think Danny should run and never look back. It's not like they have anything to catch him with. But we can't make Danny do anything, if not because we're his friends, then because we have no idea where he his and can't get to him.” Danny had to stop himself from laughing out loud at his friend’s very pointed comment. “What the geek said. And anyway, running would make me look like a criminal and sooner or later they would get their hands on the family’s tech. Which would probably lead to the realization that I use it.” “Fine,” Sam said, a rustling could be heard as she pulled herself out of bed. “Just get going before I change my mind and come find you.” Danny grinned and said his goodbyes before hanging up and turning to the seven protégés on the rooftop. “So, where to now?” Turned out, they were going to take him to their base via their Bioship, or, in Danny’s words, an honest to God Martian spaceship. Danny spent most of the ride trying not to freak out over the fact that he was sitting in a spaceship with two aliens, and, as a result of his struggle to keep his excitement from showing, he missed the fairly obvious telepathic conversation going on around him. The team may have been having a debate about ghosts and whether or not they should really be trusting Phantom, but at least they were keeping it to themselves and only throwing a few wary glances and the rather energetic teen. Some of them were wondering how he went from mostly subdued and more than a little cautious to grinning while his gaze kept wandering, trying to take everything in and bouncing in his seat like a young kid on their first plane ride. Things went downhill after Danny met Batman. “I’m inviting you to join this team,” Batman said, wrapping up his speech. “Wait, what!?” Kid Flash cried out, with Artemis echoing him. “But, he’s a criminal!” Artemis yelled. “Yeah! And we don't even know what he is! All we've ever gotten are vague piles of crap with no scientific backing!” Kid Flash continued. “Enough,” Batman growled. Both of the young heroes looked like they were just beginning to build up steam but fell silent and shrunk under the glares being sent by Batman and Danny. Zatanna opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by the very pissed off ghost teen, “First of all, Kid Flash, check your sources. There is science for what I am. It might be a work in progress and come from some biased individuals, but what is there in terms of biology is mostly accurate. Second of all, um, Archer?” “Artemis,” she grumbled. “Right, Artemis, you know nothing about those events and everything I've had to deal with because of it, so don't pretend you know what's going on.” Danny turned his attention to the Bat, floating a little higher to bring himself closer to eye level as he glared. “Speaking of what's going on, Batman. You opened with the wrong question and it is way too late now.” The team shifted uncomfortably. They'd never seen anyone address Batman like that. They didn't like their odds if they had to fight him, even with Batman there. “You're attempt to recruit me has made it clear that you know exactly what has been going on in Amity Park,” Danny began slowly. “Which would mean that the League knows about a few events where they definitely should have gotten involved but hasn't even asked a single question about what the hell is happening! Amity Park gets overrun by ghosts turning even the most hardened skeptics in town into firm believers? Nothing. The town disappears for at least twelve hours and returns with stories of invasion, siege, and another dimension!? We definitely don't need to look into that. A global weather anomaly seems to be originating from Amity where they have a mayor that claimed to have a device to control the weather and had a horrible storm literally right before the entire rest of the world got hit by a clearly unnatural storm and then get perfectly clear skies? That's not suspicious at all. A plant ghost takes over the minds of the citizens and has them tearing their own city to pieces and the local hero is nowhere to be found for four hours after the initial confrontation where he was forced to retreat? There's no need to get involved. For the love of God, where were you!?” By the time Phantom had finished his rant, eyes blazing a brighter green than usual. The team was silent and wide eyed. This was not what they had expected. “We didn't-” Batman began calmly, looking unphased by Phantom’s verbal attack. “Don't you dare say you didn't know,” Phantom hissed. “If you know enough to want me on your team, you know about that. If you had only learned recently, either I would have heard about you asking around, you would have already asked me yourself, or it would still be at the top of your to-do list in regard to me. Your first question was ‘want to join our covert ops team of teenage superheroes?’ not ‘okay, so, how did this happen and how did you stop it?’” Batman was silent and seemed to be raising an eyebrow. Danny’s brow furrowed. “Wait, then… who have you been…” He blinked, then put his head in his hand, his other arm still crossed over his chest. “Please tell me it wasn't Vlad.” “Who is Vlad?” Aqualad questioned. “A manipulative jerk,” Danny spat. “And he's the only one that would've kept his mouth shut about talking to you, so I wouldn't hear about it.” Danny frowned again, “Well, I suppose, uh, Red Huntress would've as well. I haven't exactly heard from her in a while.” It was Batman’s turn to be confused, “Red Huntress?” “So, Vlad it is,” Danny grumbled. “Alright, what did he tell you?” “Tell us who Red Huntress is first,” Robin said, having gotten his wits back. This was a new player on the board, or, more accurately, a player they hadn't been aware of. Danny frowned down at him, “She's a ghost hunter. She tends to think along the standard lines of ‘ghost equals evil,’ but I think she’s starting to get past that… a little.” Batman gave a subtle nod of approval to his protege before launching into a summary of everything the mayor of Amity Park and the owner of the only large company with a research department dedicated to ghosts and ectoplasm-based technology had told him. When he finished Phantom blinked and was silent for a moment. “That was actually pretty accurate,” he said slowly. “Mind telling us what we got wrong?” Miss Martian asked a bit hesitantly. “Obsessions, for one thing,” Danny started. “They're not always easily defined, and some ghost actually have multiple, and though they're usually related, they don't have to be. The core he theorized about isn't much like a heart, but that is the best analogy in living biology. It produces energy and allows it to be directed. But only a specific type of energy which varies by ghost, the rest is either absorbed from the environment or produced by the ectoplasm that makes up the ghost’s body.” Danny thought for a moment. “Vlad missed a few things about how ghosts govern themselves in the Ghost Zone, but that's not surprising seeing as he’s not a ghost.” More accurately, he is a ghost, but he hasn't gotten involved in that part of their politics yet. “Everything else seems fine to me.” “You're not going to tell us how things actually work in the Ghost Zone?” Kid Flash accused, still a little uncomfortable with the idea of ghosts. “It's not really relevant,” Phantom shrugged. “Those rules only really apply in the Ghost Zone, and even then, the big points he missed wouldn't affect you due to a bunch of non-interference rules. Unless there's a ghost that's actually going to wipe out life on earth, they don't step in.” “I take it you don't like them very much,” Zatanna observed, “whoever they are.” “Not really, no. But I have bigger things to worry about. Anyway, I should be going.” “Wait,” Robin said, “what about the offer?” Danny hesitated, “I might not be as mad as I was earlier, but I'm still not happy with the League. And anyway, I've already got my hands full with Amity.” Batman nodded before anyone could say anything else. “Here,” he said as he handed a small box to Danny, “it’s a communicator. Call us if you need anything, and we’ll do the same. But we’ll try to leave you alone.” Danny gave the communicator a quick once over before giving Batman a quiet thanks and following a couple team members back to the Bioship and heading home to his no doubt exhausted friends. “Wait,” Artemis started after the group left, “we never found out what actually happened with the whole criminal thing.”

***** Real estate viewing proved to be costly. My wife Kathy and I have been looking for a new house for months; we scanned the Sunday real estate section every week for our dream house. Nothing peaked our interest; most new houses are large enough but built so close together that you could shake hands with your neighbor out of the kitchen window. We found a listing for a new housing development that featured large lots up in hill country. This place built around a canyon and a lake, sounded like what we were looking for in a neighborhood. We drove up one Sunday to check it out. We meet Chad, the sales guy at the main office and looked over floor plans, lots, etc. Chad looked the part of a real estate developer, chino slacks, pink polo shirt and sock-less in loafers. The sample house / office was a huge single story four-bedroom house loaded with every feature that the builder offered. The rear patio even had a pool and Jacuzzi, with a fantastic view of the canyon lake. The lot sizes bumped up the price to almost unaffordable for us. Chad sensing our sticker shock said, "I'll let you go up to the sample homes and they will sell you, just with the view. When you are done, stop back and I can answer any of your questions." I liked Chad's laid back sales style, not too pushy or slick. He gave us directions and handed us the keys. It was short drive up to the sample house through the forest surrounding the lake. There are only a few houses already built but they are almost not visible from the street. As we pull up to the front of the sample, I loved it; they had an all-stone courtyard in the front that separates the front entrance from the street. Opening the door you went into a large foyer you could see the large stone fireplace directly ahead in the living room with cathedral ceilings. The house was huge, over four thousand square feet, two story with three-car garage and four bedrooms and three full bathrooms. This was a lot of house for us, maybe too much space. The house is fully decorated to highlight every room; each has the appropriate furniture and lighting. We quickly inspected each room downstairs and started up to see the second floor. We went into the master bedroom upstairs and wow, what a view! I would love to see this every morning, the sun was reflecting over the lake and the canyon all around it looked more like a picture than reality. We stepped out on the balcony and the view was more panoramic. We held hands and hugged each other while gazing at the lake view. Once back in the bedroom Kathy laid down on the bed and said," I could see us living here." motioning me to join her on the bed. As we, both laid on the bed a very sexual feeling came over me. I started kissing Kathy and soon we were undressing each other. We were going to christen our 'new house'. Kathy got up and walked to the balcony totally nude, she felt comfortable and relaxed. As she stood on the balcony, she suddenly said, "What if someone comes?" "Not to worry we are all alone." She beckoned me out to the balcony, it must be the fresh mountain air, but we were as horny as teenagers being left alone at home. There was a patio lounge on the balcony; we sat there caressing each other until we started feeling like dogs in heat. All that pent up passion let loose and we started fucking. Kathy was on her hands and knees and we were going at it doggie style since the lounge was too short to use like a bed. Kathy screamed out as she was about to orgasm, "Fuck me, fuck me ... harder , Oh." The sound seemed to echo through the canyon, I hoped it hadn't. After a few jerks and spasms, she was spent. Something about this house turned her on, she wanted to check out every room again, totally naked. I don't know if it was the strange house, the setting or the thought that someone could come in and see her naked. She is recharged by the time we get to the kitchen; she wanted to be fucked again but now on the huge dining room table. It was set up as people were coming to dinner, nice china, silverware, and white napkins all carefully placed. I can't say we have ever fucked on a dining room table, but we did now. It isn't the most comfortable place to fuck, but I must say it was different. Kathy said she wanted to look at the courtyard again, as she opened the front door and went out into the courtyard. "See, I can be naked in the courtyard and you can't see me from the street." Then the fascination left and she went back inside. For some reason she like prancing around making her tits bounce up and down, she skipped like a kid all the way back to the bedroom. As we put our clothes back on she said, "There is an energy about this place, I feel so sexy." "I know, I feel it too." I said, "Let's get back to the main office, before they send a search party for us." Part 2 As we entered the main office, Chad was there to greet us. Smiling, Chad said, "I can see you liked the place. How was that view?" Before we could answer, Chad said, "I see that you two like showing off." I am sure I had a puzzled look on my face, when Chad said, "We do have cameras all over the place, you know." I am thinking 'Oh, shit', I didn't see any cameras. Kathy just looks at me and sheepishly asks Chad, "You mean you saw us on camera the whole time?" Chad replied, "Yes and I especially like the balcony scene." "Well Chad, we didn't think anyone would mind if we got a little busy in the place ... we didn't hurt anything, we were careful." "No problem, did you two enjoy yourselves at our expense?" "I didn't think it would harm, we just got carried away ... you know ... with the view and all." Chad replies, "You do know it was all recorded ... you know for insurance purposes." Kathy's face gave away her panic, "You have it all recorded ... everything was on camera .. I'm so embarrassed." "You guys aren't the only ones that have been turned on by the 'view'; I have recorded a few more just in the last few weeks. "Chad what are you going to do with the recordings? .. we would hate for anyone to see ... our ... well our ... " Chad interrupts Kathy, "What I do with them is all up to you two." I can see where this is going; we are going to be blackmailed into buying this house. Oh shit, I can't really afford this place. "Don't worry Bob and Kathy; I am not going to force you guys into buying this house. I would have liked you to buy it. But I know it's a lot of money for you guys." "I am going to make you the same offer I did to the other couples, take it and the video goes to you. Refuse and I'm not sure what will happen to it." "What's the offer?" we say in unison. "I am having a cocktail party next weekend and I need help to serve and attend to the guests." I am thinking what does attend to the guests mean. I hope it's not fucking them or something. Kathy is almost ready to cry, she doesn't like the sound of this offer. Chad anticipating our caution says, "It's nothing, really. Just bring around drinks and Hor d'oeuvres to the guests. Everything is being catered all you will have to do is keep the guests filled with food and drink." "If you agree, be here next Saturday at 6:00, uniforms will be provided for you. Afterwards I'll give you a DVD with your video to do with as you wish." We are really put on the spot; Chad is looking at us for an answer. I look at Kathy and she is agitated but is keeping her anger under control. "That's all we have to do is serve drinks and food for one night and we get our video?" "That's it, I am really in a bind and I need the help for the party, so Yes, that's it." "We are going to wear uniforms and you are providing them, right." "Yes, everything will be provided for you." "Ok, we will be there at 6:00 Saturday." Part 3 We have discussed our situation and both agree that we are screwed, if the video gets out. I could just picture us on YouTube with the whole world seeing us fucking and walking around totally naked. Kathy has been almost on the verge of an anxiety attack for days. Luckily, she has some Valium to take the edge off. I just keeping thinking, what a stupid fucking thing to do, fucking on camera, where someone else controls the video. On the drive to the party Kathy is shaking visibly, I keep saying, "Calm down, we're almost done and will be over with it soon." Chad meets us at the door and motions us to come into the living room, where he introduces to another couple, Vivian and Dale. They appear to be in their fifties and somewhat affluent by the way they are dressed. They hardly look like the type to be servants for the evening. The doorbell rings and Chad leaves to answer it. Kathy whispers to Vivian, "Did you guys get caught on camera too?" Vivian face goes very red, almost matching her hair; Dale just looks down at his shoes as if we can't see him blush. "It was only a moment of passion, we were enjoying at the hilltop house. We had no idea we were on camera." We can hear Chad arguing with whoever is at the door, he finally says, "Ok." Chad escorts in two lovely long blonde hair young women, maybe in their early twenties. As they get closer, we can see they are twins slightly shorter than Kathy's 5' 3" stature. "This is Tracy and Lacey; they will be assisting you all, tonight. They have made the same transgressions that you all have made and are here to make amends." "Traci's boyfriend has let her down and is not coming, but Tracy's sister is filling in for him." I look at Tracy's body thinking, I would like to see that video, she is hot. We all stand there trying to make small talk until Chad says, "I'll get your uniforms." Chad returns with handful of strings and cloth, apparently string bikinis, saying, "They are one size fits all, so pick one ladies." Reaching for another bag, Chad produces some thongs for us guys. Vivian snorts, "No fucking way am I going to wear this." "You want your video?" Chad responds back. Vivian looks at her husband and he just nods yes. Vivian chose a blue bikini and was about to ask Chad where she could change when Chad said "You can change right here, I have already see you all naked." Vivian reluctantly takes off her clothes, trying to stay behind Dale. The bikini is just not big enough to contain Vivian's ample body. The suit just barely covers her nipples and the bottoms are barely covering her large trimmed red bush. Her all white body looks like sunshine has never been on her body, not even a hint of a tan. Dale struggles to fit in the thong, his pot belly hanging over the waist strings.. Dale and Vivian are embarrassed and frustrated at their 'uniforms.' Vivian points her finger at Chad, you can tell she is a woman who's used to getting her way, saying, "I can't wear this it's too small, you have to get me something else." Sensing a power play Dale chimes in, "I need something else also." Chad says, "OK, I can see your point take them off and give them back." Vivian and Dale think they have bested Chad and forcefully throw the suits back at Chad. Chad says, "Fine, you two are demonstrating the Jacuzzi on the patio." "Where are our suits?" Chad responds, "What suits, you gave them up." as he escorts them to the Jacuzzi on the patio. He explains the controls and tells Dale, you have to turn the timer on every 15 minutes to keep the Jacuzzi running. You could hear Dale tell Vivian, "I told you to keep quiet." So there is Vivian completely naked, totally white skin and huge red bush trying to ease into the Jacuzzi, while Dale fumbles with the timer. Not exactly a Kodak moment. Tracy and Lacy took the hint and put on their bikinis without a word of protest. They both have totally tanned buff bodies; you could tell they sunned themselves quite often. They both had tits with to die for with long nipples that longed to be sucked and shaved pussies fashioned in a vertical stripe. You can hear them arguing in low voices, "We would not be here ... your pussy boyfriend ... keep his dick in his pants. This is the last time ... you out." But back to us, Kathy put on the skimpy bikini and like the others it barely covered her medium size tits, her large nipples are pressing at the fabric. She wasn't planning for a bikini showing, she is more embarrassed at not having a trimmed bush, than being in a skimpy bikini. I mentally make a note to remind her to shave her pussy, maybe a vertical strip like the twins. I can't say that wearing a thong in public would have been my choice of attire but it was somewhat comfortable. It's nothing more than strings holding a black pouch for my cock and balls. Chad explains our duties, Tracy and Lacey are to pass around Hor d'oeuvres, Kathy is serving champagne, and I am tending bar and keeping Kathy's champagne glasses filled. "Just mingle, serve the guests and stay quiet. You are not here as guests, you are wait staff. No playing with cell phones, texting or anything else, you are here to work." Part 4 About 7 pm, guests start arriving and milling around the living room. I watch the twins, with each step their tits look like they are going to fall out of their tops. Every time I focus on the twins, Kathy shot me a look. I look away and attempt to see Vivian and Dale on the patio; I can see people standing around the Jacuzzi looking down at Vivian and Dale. The Jacuzzi stops and now there is no bubbles camouflaging their naked bodies. Reluctantly Dale got out, cock swinging and ass cheeks jiggling as he walks to the wall to twist the time for another 15 minutes of bubbles. You could see a few women trying not to look at Dale, but they were compelled to watch his long cock swing as he returned to the Jacuzzi. Vivian kept her arms crossed to cover up her ample pale white tits. People are trying to interact with Dale and Vivian, but they just act as if they are manikins in the Jacuzzi. The twins are getting the most attention, I see one guest try to feel Tracy's ass or is it Lacey's as she offers the tray of hor d'oeuvres. They look almost the same, I'm sure there must be a way to tell who is who. Kathy is passing out drinks and every time she returns for more glasses, I can see her nipples are hard. I think she likes showing off her body. I am going to feel her pussy next time to see if it's getting wet. With more champagne, the crowd gets friendlier with the twins and Kathy; they are getting their asses caressed by both men and women. I can see one woman put her hand on Kathy's tit, sliding her fingers inside the top and running it up and down as if to inspect the fabric. Kathy just stands there holding her tray of drinks, until the woman starts rubbing her nipple. A few minutes of this and Kathy excuses herself to serve other guests. I can see Kathy is getting uncomfortable and wants to stay away from this woman's roving hands. The twins come over to the bar and I ask, "Who is who?" Tracy replied, "Orange for Tracy and green for Lacey. Can we get a drink, we need something stiff." I am thinking I have something stiff, but just hand them each a shot of tequila, "How's this, it's the strongest thing behind the bar?" "What, no lime?" Tracy says jokingly as she downs the shot quickly. Lacey does the same. Lacey says, "How long is this going on, I can't keep the women from feeling my ass." I want to feel her ass myself, but decided that Kathy would kill me if she saw. Up close the twins are awesome, I can feel Lacey's hard nipple press on my arm as she leans over and whispers, "I love your package, is it growing for me?" She is pointing at my cock bulging at the thong's fabric. "Yes, it's all because of you." Lacey slides her hand down to feel my cock, I am about ready to pull it out and let her play with it now. Tracy says, "Come along Lacey, we better get back to work, Chad is giving us the evil eye." Part 5 I look out at the Jacuzzi and Chad is telling the crowd, "Feel free to join Dale and Vivian the water is nice and warm." It suddenly occurs to me, what is the purpose of this party, are these Chad's friends or are they customers. I'll have to ask Chad that question, when I get the chance. The Jacuzzi stops and everyone is looking at Dale, they know he has to get out and turn the timer again. As Dale gets out, some short older gray haired woman grabs for his cock, Dale is totally flummoxed. The old woman holds onto his cock all the way to the wall and back again to the Jacuzzi. The crowd is cheering her on. Dale must have liked it and you can see he is getting erect. Dale ties to free cock from the old woman's grip but she keeps hanging on and starts tugging away watching it grow with each stroke. Vivian stands up and steps out of the Jacuzzi and grabs the older woman and says, "That's my dick, let it go." The scene of a large white naked Vivian facing down a puny old woman is too much for the crowd. They start chanting "Vivian, Vivian, viva Vivian." People start stripping and getting into the Jacuzzi with Dale and they help Vivian back in. Vivian is getting her large tits felt by an unidentified hand as she is helped back into the Jacuzzi. By now, Kathy is getting tired of serving drinks and being felt up, she is about ready to tell Chad screw it and leave. She comes over, I give her a tequila shot, and she calms down. "How much longer do we have to do this?" "I don't know. It shouldn't be much longer, just tough it out." The twins come over and ask for another shot of tequila. Lacey puts her hand on my cock as I hand her shot, I don't mind but Kathy does. She reaches for Lacey's shoulder and says, "Back off, that's my husband's cock." as she tries to spin Lacey around she grabs her top strap and it comes undone. Lacey is standing there with two gorgeous tits in full view, she doesn't skip a beat and grabs for Kathy's top causing it to break. Now the two of them are facing each other topless and looking like they are going to duke it out, when Tracy separates them and comments to Kathy, "Those are nice tits." Kathy looks down at her bare tits and says, "They are not as good as Lacey's." Tracy says they are, and says put them together and we will see. Tracy just wanted to keep the girls from fighting by providing a distraction. Lacey stands next to Kathy, they are both holding their tits side by side and waiting for the pronouncement of whose tits are better. They look to Tracy and then to me, by now a crowd is forming around us. Tracy says to the crowd, "Who has the nicer tits?" Someone in the crowd yells out they have to feel them to tell. Tracy says, "Everyone gets one feel of each tit and they have to vote on the best." Now this has gotten out of hand, Kathy and Lacey are going to have about fifteen people feel their tits, which are out for everyone to view. One by one, they start feeling Lacey's then Kathy's tits, Tracy had to stop one guy who wanted to suck Lacey's nipple while he felt. Kathy and Lacey were even in votes, which made me proud that my wife's tits were equal to a twenty year old's. What I didn't notice until now, this whole exhibition was being recorded with cell phones and tweeted out for others to watch. Probably someone even recorded video for YouTube or DailyMotion. Holy shit, the reason we were doing this was to keep from being exposed; now Kathy is being videoed by a group of strangers and broadcast all over the internet. I know it's going to be on YouTube. Fuck. It's not as bad as our fuck video, but the thought of having Kathy's beautiful tits on the internet was somewhat erotic. Hopefully, they have Lacey's also. The crowd yells out for Chad, he has to cast the final vote, it's a tie. Chad comes over, Tracy tells him the story, and now he has to make the final decision since it's a tie. Chad carefully feels Lacey's tit, inspects it closely then moves to Kathy. Chad was about to check out Kathy's when there are screams coming from the patio, Dale slipped and fell while going to the timer. His head is bleeding profusely and now everyone is going to the patio to see what's happened. Tracy, Lacy and Kathy are quickly forgotten as the crowd leaves for the patio. Someone put a towel on Dale's head to stop the bleeding, while another calls 911. The crowd, hearing that an ambulance is on the way, decides to wrap it up and leave before the authorities show up. We quickly dress and Chad hands us our DVD. I did want to stay until I could find out how Dale was doing, but Kathy said, "Let's get out of here now." The twins are right behind us, still in their bikinis, clutching their clothes and heading for their car. As we started down the road, the ambulance passed us followed by a police car.

Harry turns over on his back, using his arms to prop himself up, with his fingers digging into the dirt, just in time to stare directly at the lit end of Not Sirius’s wand.    The small glow floods the area, and for a flicking second, there’s something faltering about Not Sirius’s expression, immediately replaced by a set jaw and steely, piercing gray eyes. Behind him, Not James Potter blinks, owlishly. His mouth opens, then shuts, and his hand flies through his hair, messing it up, sending a surge of uncontrollable annoyance jolting through Harry’s veins.    It’s a welcome distraction from the pain shooting through his leg, white hot and unexplainably violent, as if the tree had stabbed him instead of tripping him with its giant roots.    He sort of wishes he had been stabbed.   That’s decidedly less humiliating than being captured by the enemies because he’d tripped and fell in the dirt.    “What are you doing here?” demands Not Sirius, while Not James backs up, disappears into the darkness. Only the vague outline of his figure remains visible.    “What?” Harry’s voice is hoarse with pain.    There were Death Eaters in disguise, right? Right. These two wizards were the enemy, his enemy, so why were they looking at Harry like that? Like they’re shocked to see him? Questioning why he’s there when they’re the ones who set the trap?    “You tell me,” says Harry, finally, tilting his head back in agitation, in pain.    “He needs a healing charm,” says Not James, dubiously, stepping back into the small area lit by Not Sirius’s wand.    Before Harry can react, or tense up, another wand is pointed at him, and there’s a cooling sensation spread through his leg, fighting back the pain into a dull ache.    “Are you one of Dumbledore’s?” asks Not Sirius, refusing to lower his weapon. His words sound more like an accusation than a question, one that confuses Harry even further.    “One of Dumbledore’s…” repeats Harry, looking back and forth between the two men. That’s pretty obvious, or at least it should be, if these were really Death Eaters. “Well yeah, beats the alternative, wouldn’t you say?”    “A lot of alternatives are better than being a child soldier,” says James, grim.   “Oh, yeah, like what? Like being a Death Eater?”    “A what?” asks James, slight amusement trickling into his voice.    It’s with this that Harry puts his Death Eater disguised as loved ones theory to rest. Death Eaters aren’t clever enough to laugh at themselves, even while pretending. And all these brilliantly acted theatrics doesn’t serve them. Not in the end. Orchestrating an illusion is too drawn out, takes too long, and Voldemort had never shown patience in killing him before.    What’s worse is the realization that hits him after. That Sirius and James are just as suspicious of him as he is of them.     “Haven’t heard that one before,” says Sirius, also hiding a laugh. “Is that what that old fool is calling us now?”    “Imagine that, Padfoot, us, Death Eaters.”   James and Sirius laugh, and a ripple of pain pulses in Harry’s leg, injury overcoming the charm.    It’s all disorienting.    His father, alive, mocking him, and Sirius, younger and brighter and somehow more alive than the version Harry knows, the one he’s supposed to be saving.    “Look,” says Harry, gritting his teeth through his pain. “Is Dumbledore here? He can clear this up. Really. We should all go and talk to him.”    Whatever weird, chaotic and nonsensical thing is happening to him - to them - Dumbledore can explain it. Make sense of it. Except James and Sirius stop laughing, stop smiling, at the mention of his name, and Harry gets the feeling he normally only gets after saying Voldemort’s name out loud in a room full of people.    James turns, and adjusts his attention to only Sirius. “Did you Confound him?”   “No,” says Sirius. He loosens his grip on his wand, the glow from the light shifts around in the dark forest, and Harry’s reminded that he isn’t completely helpless. His own wand is still tucked into his pocket. “He’s lost a lot of blood…”   Harry’s eyes snap towards the wound on his leg. His jeans are torn, showing a deep gash, with blood soaking the surrounding fabric and dripping down and seeping into the forest’s floor. Seeing it sends an unbearable wave of pain and panic through him. He sits up, and he’s ready to cover the wound with his hands when -   “-don’t touch it,” orders Sirius. “It’s probably cursed.”   “Cursed?”    “Yeah, mate,” says James. “That’s what happens when you go around setting fires and scorching part of the forest. Can’t really expect it to take that sort of a beating without biting you back, can you?”    “ This forest, especially,” agrees Sirius. “It’s always been a vengeful, unforgiving beast.”     The absurdity of the situation, for just a brief moment, outweighs the pain in his leg. That he’s in the middle of the Forbidden Forest listening to his very alive father and definitely not in danger godfather speak about a forest as if it’s a god to be worshiped and feared.    He supposes it makes sense.    The Marauders spent more time in the Forbidden Forest during their years at Hogwarts then even Hagrid had, or at least that’s the way his Sirius makes it sound in the stories he tells.    “Ok, great,” says Harry. “The forest bit me. Will it ever stop bleeding?”    “Maybe,” says James. “If you apologize.”    “But you have to sound like you mean it,” adds Sirius.   Harry pauses, but doesn’t waste any of his time or energy apologizing to the trees. He rolls his eyes, out of annoyance, not really sure how he’s supposed to feel about being confronted by a dead father and a different godfather.    “I didn’t start the fire on purpose,” says Harry, strangely defensive. He still isn’t sure about James, isn’t sure what he is, if he’s even real, but even so, Harry doesn’t want him to think he’s an arsonist. Or has something against forests.    “Oh,” says James. “So you accidentally cast a Fiendfyre?”    “A what?”   “The curse you accidentally cast,” he explains, with a frown, a hint of doubt lining his words. “That’s what it’s called.”   Something prickles at the back of Harry’s mind, and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like not knowing how or why he’d picked that particular curse. It’s enough, isn’t it? Knowing that it had been necessary at the time is enough, he decides. It’s enough.    He recalls the panic, the confusing and dark hallways of the Department of Mysteries, Death Eaters chasing him and his friends. Someone had been screaming, a detail he remembers even if he can’t place who it had been, even as he strains and tries.    His memories are blurry, like trying to see through fog, but what he understands with clarity is that he has to get back to the Department of Mysteries, has to get away from whatever strange place he’s landed in and back into the fight.    Even if he’s curious about his father. Even if this more-alive version of Sirius is seeing what his life should have been.    He has to get back to reality.    Harry tries to move around a little, but the agony in his leg keeps him pinned to the ground. That time, he does cry out in pain, and James has the decency to put another healing charm on his leg.    “We should get him to Poppy,” says James. “Everything I can do is just temporary.”    “Riddle won’t like us bringing one of them into the castle,” says Sirius, finally lowering the wand from Harry’s face. “Let’s do it. It’s been awhile since His Highness has gotten all red in the face and yelled.”   It’s another instinct. A reflex. Harry hears the name Riddle, and his hand flies to his wand without a second thought.    “ Expelliarmus ,” says James, lazily. Harry’s wand slips through his fingers, soars across the open space, and is caught by James. “On second thought, maybe we should let him know we’ve caught an intruder, and take him to the Hospital Wing.”   And Harry thinks, against his own common sense, that maybe he should’ve just apologized to the trees.    James and Sirius make him struggle and limp up to Hogwarts Castle, while they hang several feet behind him, whispering at each other in urgent, panicked tones. Once or twice, Harry catches Sirius saying check the map and it doesn’t lie , and it becomes clear to Harry that they are rattled by him, distressed about what his last name might be.    But they don’t ask him his name.    Not now, or during that short interrogation. And by the number of times Sirius repeats his pleas, Harry guesses that James doesn’t actually check the Marauder’s Map.    It’s a relief, knowing that James doesn’t want to know, or maybe isn’t ready for the information. That despite him appearing to be calm and collected, he’s privately losing his mind, just like Harry.     *******   Madam Pomfrey bandages him up, muttering about the dangers of the Forbidden Forest and ordering him to lay still, the exact thing Harry doesn’t want to do.    Being still is the opposite of what he should be doing, and now that Pomfrey has his wounds on the mend and he can feel the pain ebbing away for good, he needs to be on his way back to his own reality.   That’s where he is, and he understands that now.    A parallel dimension. An alternate reality. Just like in the science fiction novels that Muggle boy he’d lived with used to read.    The answer had slipped into his mind, as if it had always been hidden there, while James and Sirius helped him climb up the stone steps of Hogwarts and towards the Hospital Wing. Now, laying flat on the twin hospital bed, he can’t let go of the idea.    It’s true, without a doubt, and Harry doesn’t have to question it. He just knows. And with that knowledge, a familiar peace spreads through his body, warms him up.    If there’s a way into this version of reality, then there’s a way back home. Harry just has to find it.    Even with his new burst of optimism, he has to admit, there’s going to be some obstacles.    Like the current one.    James keeps a watchful vigil from the other side of the Hospital Wing. Opting to sit on a nightstand by an empty bed, he twirls Harry’s wand through his fingers and basks in the moonlight pouring in from the open window.    He’s young, Harry notices, but older than the pictures Harry’s seen of him. He catches himself thinking about this world’s Harry. If he’s alive, and if he isn’t, what’s happened to him.    But he shakes himself out of it.    His wand. He needs to get it back. He’s got to focus.    “Can I have my wand back?” asks Harry, daring to sit up, only to have Pomfrey push on his shoulder until his head is back in the pillows.    “Not a chance,” says James. He doesn’t even bother looking at him.    “Okay, I’m all finished,” says Pomfrey. She puts her own wand back into her robes, and for a few seconds, Harry thinks about stealing hers, but his window of opportunity passes. She walks away, only to return with a goblet. “Here. Drink this.”   Harry stares at it. He doesn’t take it from her. “What’s that?”    “Just something to help you rest, a sleeping potion,” says Pomfrey. “I don’t know what you’ve - well, I just can’t imagine what you’ve been put through, being-”   “-he can’t drink that yet,” says James, cutting her off. He shrugs away from the nightstand, and pockets Harry’s wand. “Sirius has gone to tell Tom. He’ll want to have a chat with him first.”    “He’s just a boy.”   “I’m fifteen,” offers Harry, dumbly, and although James turns his head and gives him a funny expression, the two adults don’t acknowledge he’s said anything.    “Surely you must see the res-”   “-Poppy,” says James, gently, tearing his eyes away from Harry and looking back at Madam Pomfrey. “They’re all just kids. Last week Sirius almost got his arm blown off by a twelve-year-old. We’re not the ones turning them into soldiers, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous.”    Madam Pomfrey steps away from Harry’s bed, taking the sleeping potion with her, and leaving him feeling guilty for something he didn’t do, something he’s not. Whatever’s going on here isn’t his fault. He’s not part of it, so why should he be treated like a criminal by his own emotions?    He tries shaking it off, but the feeling lingers, leaving Harry wishing he could still feel the pain in his leg.    “Make sure he drinks the potion,” says Madam Pomfrey, pushing the goblet into James’s hands. “Once Tom’s done interrogating the injured child.”    She retreats from the room, leaving James and Harry alone, and an awkward silence settles over them. It’s a twisting knot in his gut, knowing this alternate version of his father thinks he’s some dangerous child soldier, ready to attack at any moment.    It’s also an obstacle on top of an obstacle.    He’s never getting his wand back as long as James believes he’s ready to curse them all with another Fiendfyre, or worse, blow off Sirius’s arm.    “I really didn’t mean to set the fire,” tries Harry, not really sure what he could say to prove himself. “I’m not - I’m not whatever it is you think I am.”    “Who were you running from?” asks James, question fired off without warning. Harry stutters out a few whats and James elaborates. “I’ve been an Auror for a while. I know what it looks like when someone is running away, and you weren’t running from us until after the fire started, so that means there was somebody else in that forest with you.”    The question is impossible to answer without sounding like he’s completely lost his mind, so Harry doesn’t say anything, just lets the sound of a soft breeze blowing through the window fill the empty space, let’s James pick up the conversation where he left off.    “Unless, of course, you really do have it out for the forest.”   “It’s possible,” says Harry. “A family of giant spiders live in there, you know.”    “I do know,” laughs James. He stops laughing, but his smile stays. “How do you know that?”    There’s a causal light-heartedness about James, even now, even in what Harry understands is supposed to be a prelude to an interrogation. He wants to tell him the truth, and he wants to keep talking to his dead father, to keep hearing him laugh.    But this isn’t his home. Harry doesn’t even have the information James assumes he does, and he can’t let himself forget it. He can’t get caught up in a different war, a war that isn’t his.    “We could help you,” continues James. “You just have to work with us.”    Just as Harry’s about to tell James he’d been alone in the forest, the double doors to the Hospital Wing slowly creep open. A tall, older man step inside, walk closer to where Harry lay on his bed.    Tom Riddle doesn’t look anything like the Voldemort of Harry’s world, but Harry recognizes him immediately. His hair is short, dark silver. He’s got a nose, and he’s wearing a scowl as he sets his eyes on him.    Harry supposes Tom Riddle’s hatred for him is one of those anomalies that’s true in every universe. 

Klaus collapsed into his chair at the dinner table, he felt dead. So very tired from the effects of the weed wearing off and from being drunk. He was surprised he hadn't been sick yet, that would probably come after this meal. The meal in question was, pasta. Nothing too bad, there were mushrooms mixed through it though. Klaus wasn't very fond of mushrooms. They felt fucking weird in his mouth, only mushrooms he liked were magic mushrooms. Speaking of- they would be a fun thing to have next time. After he's run out of weed. Klaus just began picking at his food, he supposed he was quite hungry. Even if he also felt sick. That's fine though, just as long as no one else noticed that he was drunk and smelt like whiskey. Oh and weed. That would be a big giveaway. He should have put some sort of aftershave on before leaving his room. Too late! He was given strange looks from the rest of his family as he picked all the mushrooms off his pasta, placing them to one side and then eating his pasta without the mushrooms on it. Klaus just ignored them, choosing to instead look at his plate. Fuck off, assholes. Ben was eating his food just fine, he wanted to get some more reading of his book in and then sleep. He was quite done with today, it had been a lot. Hopefully Klaus wouldn't come and talk to him or try to sleep with him. He didn't know if he'd be able to restrain himself. Problem was, that he could smell the whiskey coming from Klaus' direction. Which meant everyone else probably knew too. Dad hadn't mentioned it though, luckily for Klaus. Maybe he was just sick of Klaus being such a disappointment. He always told Klaus that he was the biggest disappointment of the family. A waste of time. Klaus had finished eating the pasta with the mushrooms sitting on the side of the plate. He fidgeted with his sweater as he waited to be able to leave. Watching as Mom came and cleared the plates from the table. then they were allowed to go. He got up, walking slowly towards his room. Putting focus into walking normally. "Why do you smell like whiskey?" Luther asked him, he had been walking behind him. Klaus froze, and swallowed. What to say- "I was out on a walk, some dude spilled it on me. Haven't been for a wash yet." He responded without looking at One. Please leave me alone. Luther huffed, "You're a liar. Not surprised that you're going back to being like that. Dad always said you were the disappointment." He said curtly before walking past Klaus, leaving him standing there with a heavy heart. Klaus felt his mood shatter. He felt so alone. He wasn't going back to being like that. He was fine.. it was just, just because they were so horrible to him. All of them. They never took him seriously, always left him out. Thought he was weird. He thought for a moment to go and speak to Ben to try and cheer himself up, but he decided against that. He locked himself in the bathroom, curling up in the bathtub without any water. "I hate it here." He whispered, scratching at his arms. "I hate everyone." He didn't know what to do with himself. He was honestly sick of just about everything. Only reason he liked sticking around was because of Ben. The fun he would have with Ben. All because he loved Ben with his whole heart. But Ben must hate him. He was a fucking junkie, he was turning into one again. All over again, life was repeating itself. Except this time everyone else was better off, and Klaus felt even more alone than before. "Should just end it." he murmured, looking around the bathroom for something. Something to make him go numb. He didn't want drugs right now, or drink. He wanted to hurt. Ben had decided to go to Klaus's room to check on him. He had heard Luther in the hallway, he knew how hard that would hit Klaus. Being told that from Dads favourite. He was surprised that Klaus wasn't there, looked like he had never gone back into his room since dinner. "Klaus?" Ben called, looking for him around the hall. He was confused until he heard a clatter from the bathroom. Ben frowned, walking towards the bathroom, he wondered who was in. He tried the door, it was locked obviously. "Hello?" he asked. Klaus heard Ben on the other side of the door. "Shit." He muttered, looking around the bathroom for something to clean up what he had done. There was only the perfectly clean white towels that Mom had spent so long on. He grabbed one though, a smaller one. Pressed it against his leg. He didn't answer Ben yet. "Klaus are you in there? Let me in." Ben said after a couple of minutes had passed and there hadn't been any response. The bathroom had seemingly gone silent. Klaus frowned, looking down. It was beginning to... stop now. He raked through the cabinet and found some dressings. He quickly wrapped up his thigh, tying it in a knot at the side and stuffing the towel out of sight. "Klaus, seriously. Answer me." Ben sounded like he was getting angry. Klaus quickly flushed the toilet and then unlocked the door, opening it and smiling at Ben. "Sorry, was busy." he laughed a little hoping it didn't sound fake. Ben looked around the bathroom suspiciously before he looked back at Klaus. "Are you good?" He questioned. Klaus nodded enthusiastically, "Perfect." He grinned, moving to walk past Ben, but Ben blocked his way. "What were you doing?" Ben didn't trust that Klaus had been using the toilet. He would have just told him to go away straight away, but the fact that there had been no response for around 5 minutes. "Toilet. Want to know all about my bowel movement? Are you really that interested." Klaus retorted, pushing Ben a little. "Let me go, I want to go to bed." Ben glared at him. "Klaus, I don't believe you, tell me." Klaus just shook his head at Ben. "The fucking toilet, I told you." He didn't want to let Ben know what he had done. Ben would be so mad and upset with him. Ben never knew that he used to do that. But it helped, it really did. Ben stepped back, giving in. "Fine." Klaus pushed past him, walking to his room with a slight limp. His thigh ached, but it was nice to feel something other than his heart aching. His heart ached too, but the pain in his thigh acted as a slight distraction for what was going on elsewhere. Ben noticed the limp, he wondered if Klaus had... he wouldn't. He'd never done that, he used drugs when he was feeling down. He didn't hurt himself... unless he did? He followed his brother, beginning to feel upset. He didn't want Klaus to be hurting alone, he wanted to make him feel better. "Klaus can I come hang out?" He asked as they reached Klaus's door. He noticed the way Klaus faltered in his actions, his shoulders stiffening. "I'd like to hang out." Ben said again after a moment. Klaus shook his head a little before speaking, "No.. well, um, I guess you can for a little. But I'm tired." He lied. He just ached all over at this point, everything hurt and he just wanted to sleep forever. Hopefully without the nightmares and the dead that haunted him constantly. "Okay, I won't push you too hard then." Ben teased a little, trying to lighten Klaus's mood, but Klaus didn't even laugh. He just walked in, getting into his bed. Ben inhaled slowly and exhaled before walking in too, shutting the door softly. "Want to just talk?" he asked, sitting down on the end of the bed. Klaus shrugged, "About what?" "I don't know, anything?" Ben replied, looking at his brother. He looked so broken, he could see it in his eyes. Even if he was trying to make himself seem fine. All these years of being left out and their father treating him horribly. Klaus just shrugged again, biting his bottom lip. He looked over at Ben, he didn't know whether to tell Ben how horrible he felt or whether to pretend that he didn't feel like utter shit. It hurt so bad and he just wanted Ben to make it go away. He had wanted to go away, but Ben had come knocking. Suppose he had maybe saved Klaus from making a bad decision. Ben sighed, "Klaus, please talk to me. I can see it in your eyes." he said softly, he felt like he needed to protect Klaus. Get him out of this house as soon as they were 18. Not too long. Klaus let out a small whimper, "I just- I.." he faltered, chewing on his bottom lip for a second. "I'm sick of being alive." He admitted to Ben, hanging his head. Ben looked at Klaus with sad eyes, "Klaus.. you know that's not a good idea. Don't do that please, I would miss you so much." he moved closer to his brother, gently touching his thigh. Klaus yelped a little, pulling away. "D-Don't touch that." Ben frowned, he knew now what Klaus had done. "Did you.." he questioned, gesturing to his leg. "Because you know what doesn't help anything." Klaus shrugged a little. "It does sometimes." He muttered in reply, looking away. "Do you know how much pain I feel constantly. I'm so lonely.." Klaus sighed, "My heart aches all day, it hurts all the time. It hurts so much not being able to have what you want. Being known as the sibling that everyone hates. The one with a useless power, my power isn't even a power, I feel like it's a disability." Klaus let out a choked sob. He was drunk still, but not as much. The pain in his thigh was beginning to sober him up. And so was this chat with Ben. "Ben, it just.. hurts so much. I want everything to be numb. I'm so done. I feel like I'm only really sticking around for you." Ben gently touched Klaus' arm instead. "Then at least you have one thing to stick around for. Screw everyone else." He told him quietly. "Why does your heart ache?" He asked, hoping Klaus would admit his love again, because after seeing him so broken like this. He just wanted to keep him close and look after him. "It's your fault!" Klaus shouted, breaking down. "It's always been your fault.." Ben was taken back by the way Klaus admitted this time. Before it had been in a moment of bliss, this time in a moment of utter despair and so much pain. "Klaus.. I didn't, I'm sorry." Ben was sorry, he didn't realise how much pain Klaus had been in everyday. No wonder he had turned to drugs, especially after he had died the first time around. Klaus shook his head, "It hurts to love someone you can't." He said through tears, "It's wrong, but.. I just.." he didn't know what to say. He just wished Ben would return his love, make him feel better. "Klaus, I don't know what to say." Ben said quietly, looking down at the bed. He wasn't sure if he returned the love quite as strongly as Klaus. He admitted he was quite infatuated with Klaus, he liked him. He did. Maybe just not love yet. "I do.. like you, but not love." Ben told him, looking up, feeling terrible at the heartbroken look on his brother's face. "I want to love you, though. I want to leave here with you, go somewhere away from all of this. Then we won't have to worry about all of them. All of this." He repeated. Klaus just nodded sadly, "I knew you didn't love me back, I don't think you ever will. I'm hard to love, I don't understand how you could ever even like me." he was slurring his words through his tears. "I'm sorry for loving you Ben." "Don't ever be sorry for that, Klaus." Ben touched his cheek gently. "Don't you dare apologise for loving someone." He leant over gently to a press a soft kiss against Klaus's swollen lips. He felt Klaus kiss back weakly, his own heart began to ache for how upset his brother was. "It'll be okay, Klaus. I promise." Ben murmured, pulling Klaus into a gentle hug and letting him sob his broken heart out. "I love you, Ben." Klaus cried, gripping onto Ben tightly. "I know, I know Klaus."

Bruce isn’t surprised to find Clark waiting for him in the cave, but that doesn’t make him any less pissed off about it, either. “Stalking me now, Clark?” he asks, slamming the car door shut with more force than he needs to. Petty, yes, but it's been a long night, a League mission that went south followed by several hours on patrol and he’s too fucking tired to deal with this right now. “That’s not very Superman of you.” Clark crosses his arms. “I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t run off earlier.” Bruce walks right past him and doesn’t spare him a second glance. “Getting lectured by a boy scout isn’t exactly high on my list of favourite activities.” Bruce heads for the stairs but Clark suddenly disappears, superspeeding away before reappearing directly in Bruce's path. Bruce has to stumble back to keep from running right into him. “Get out of my way, Clark.” Bruce’s voice is very quiet. It’s the voice he uses when he’s on patrol, the voice that makes the average Gotham lowlife second-guess themselves and wonder if maybe the stories were true — that the Bat wasn’t just a man, or even a superpowered man; it was the voice that made them wonder if they’d found themselves face to face with some kind of demon. Something flickers in Clark’s eyes before that goddamn stubbornness takes over again. “Not until you tell me why took that stupid risk on the mission today.” Bruce smiles. His split lip re-opens, staining his teeth, and Clark actually flinches at the sight of his bloody grin. “What’s the matter, Clark? A little blood make you uncomfortable?” Clark’s eyes harden and Bruce's smile widens. Good, Bruce thinks. This he can deal with. “It’s not like you haven’t given me worse. Now get out of the way and get the fuck out of my house.” He shoves past Clark and heads upstairs, taking two and three at a time, ignoring the pain in his hip where some asshole had landed a well-aimed kick. The house is silent — Alfred is away for the night, probably having decided to make himself scarce after letting Clark into the cave, and all Bruce wants to do is shower and collapse into bed for a few hours. He starts stripping off the batsuit as soon as he’s in his bedroom. Normally he’d have gotten changed in the cave but there was no fucking way he was staying down there while Clark shot him disapproving glares. Being civil — friendly, even — while the rest of the team are around is one thing; putting up with this boy scout bullshit in his own goddamn house is another. Bruce is down to his underwear when he realises that he’s no longer alone. He can only blame his tiredness for not noticing sooner. “For god’s sake, Clark.” Bruce throws his undershirt into a corner and glares at him in the doorway. “What part of ‘get the fuck out’ did you not understand?” But Clark just looks more determined than ever, stalking into the room without an invitation, just doing whatever the fuck he wants to do because right now he's not Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter — right now he's Superman, and Superman doesn't need permission to do anything. “Why did you go after him on your own?” “I don’t have to justify my actions to you —” “You do when your actions could get you killed!” Clark rarely raised his voice but there’s enough force in it now that it actually rattles the furniture. With visible effort, he reins it in. “If you would just listen —” “To you?” Bruce steps closer. He's almost naked, no suit, no cowl, but Bruce sees Clark tense, knows that Clark is looking at him and seeing Batman stalking towards him and not fragile, weak — human — Bruce Wayne. “I’ve been at this for more than twenty fucking years, Clark. I don’t need your approval, or your permission. I know what I’m doing.” “Do you?” Clark stands firm, not backing up even a step as Bruce gets closer and closer. “Looks to me like all you know how to do is run away.” “Run away?” Bruce stops when he’s within arm’s reach. “You said it yourself, Clark. I went after the guy, I didn’t run away.” “Maybe not from him, no.” Clark’s eyes are hard, but there’s something bright about them too, bright and hot and — angry, Bruce realises. Clark is truly, genuinely angry with him. “But from everything else? That’s all you ever fucking do.” “Oh, swearing now, too?” Bruce grins. “Playing at being human doesn't really work when you're in costume.” He starts to turn away but Clark grabs his wrist, not hard enough to hurt but tight enough that Bruce can’t pull away. Annoyance turns to anger and anger starts turning into something else, something he usually keeps so viciously sealed away that Bruce can actually feel his self-control starting to crack, muscles tensing and heart rate doubling as he contemplates whether it’s worth a dislocated shoulder to yank himself free. It’s too late for this; he’s too tired for this. He’s too fucking old for this. “Let go of me, Clark.” The grin is gone and he can hear his voice shaking with things he can barely suppress. “No.” Bruce decides the dislocated shoulder is worth it and tries to walk away but Clark was ready for it — he lets Bruce finish the motion before he pulls Bruce back, a hard firm tug that should have made Bruce stumble into him — but Bruce had been ready too. He’d known there was no way Clark would let him hurt himself. Bruce uses the momentum of the tug to take Clark by surprise, pushing off the ground and ramming his shoulder right at Clark’s chest. They crash into a table, knocking it over as drawers fall open and spill out all over the floor, but Bruce doesn’t care, just keeps pushing and shoving until Clark's back hits the window with a loud hard thud. At the back of his mind he knows that Clark had allowed it, that if he really wanted to stop Bruce all he had to do was stand still. And then no amount of momentum or preparedness or clever tricks would matter at all, because Clark was absolutely immoveable when he wanted to be. “What are you going to do, Bruce?” Clark smiles, an edge of mockery in his voice. “Hit me? Good luck Batmanning with a broken hand.” “Right now, I’m thinking it might be worth it.” Clark’s eyes flash with anger. “No, you’re not. You’re not thinking that.” “How would you know what I think?” Bruce leans closer. “You think you know me, Clark? You think because we’re on a team that means we’re friends?” Bruce shoves him against the glass again, hard enough that the whole wall of windows, floor to ceiling and corner to corner, shakes with the force of it. “You don’t know anything about me, Clark. Or what I’m capable of.” “I know you weren’t always like this.” “Like what,” Bruce snaps. “Hard. Brutal. Angry.” Clark looks him right in the eye, unflinching and unafraid, because why would he be? There's nothing Bruce can do to him and they both know it. Clark licks his lips. “You wouldn’t have taken on a Robin—” Bruce’s fist is flying before he’s even aware of what he’s doing but Clark is even faster — he’s out of Bruce’s grip in less than a blink of an eye, fingers tight around Bruce’s wrist to stop him from smashing his fist into the glass now that Clark’s no longer leaning against it. Bruce closes his eyes and forces himself to stay still despite the white-hot rage in his veins. On some level he knows his anger is misdirected but Clark is still the most convenient target, and Bruce is so fucking tired, of Clark and his disappointed frowns and unearned trust and unwavering belief that people were worth saving — always, everyone, even Bruce. He opens his eyes and catches Clark by surprise — Clark's gaze snaps up quickly, but not before Bruce saw him looking... elsewhere. “Well, well, well,” Bruce says, keeping his voice low. The faintest hint of pink flushes Clark’s cheeks and Bruce smiles again, but not like before — this is sharper, knowing, and Clark's jaw tightens when he sees it. Bruce drops his head a little and looks at Clark through his eyelashes. “Is this what it’s really about, Clark? You could’ve just asked.” Clark lets go of his wrist. “What are you talking about?” Bruce spreads his arms. “Go ahead and look, Clark.” He does a slow turn and can almost feel Clark’s eyes on him, gaze running up and down his back, his arms and legs, his shoulders and chest. His cock twitches but Bruce doesn’t even care anymore; Clark could probably smell it on him anyway. And when they’re face to face again Bruce sees the growing evidence of something he’d always suspected and always purposely ignored, because he knew that nothing would ever come of it — not with Clark, and definitely not with Superman. That is, not until now. Bruce might be the one in nothing but his underwear but the full Superman suit is just as useless to Clark in hiding it. He watches Clark swallow and smiles again, knowing he's somehow ended up with the upper hand after all. “I’ve seen you looking before,” Bruce adds, pressing his advantage. “You think you look away fast enough, you think I don’t notice. But I notice everything.” He steps closer, crowding Clark against the window. “Is looking all you’re going to do, Clark?” Clark takes a deep breath. He flushes a deeper shade of pink but when his eyes meet Bruce’s again, they’re just as determined as ever. “Why did you go after him alone?” Bruce grins and ignores the question completely. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to do more than look?” Something flares his Clark’s eyes; it could be anger, it could be lust, more likely it was both. “I’m not the one who’s afraid, Bruce.” His head suddenly darts forward, far enough that their lips would have met if Bruce hadn’t instinctively jerked his own head back. Clark smiles with humourless satisfaction. “Like I said,” he adds. “Always running away.” “How’s this for running away?” Bruce asks, and starts palming Clark’s cock through the suit. The back of Clark’s head hits the window as he gasps in surprise. “Bruce —” “Isn’t this what you wanted?” Bruce steps even closer, nosing at Clark's neck, breathing in the scent of him, the heat. “Or did you want even more?” He feels Clark’s cock twitch against his hand and smiles again. “More it is, then.” He manages to give Clark’s cock another rough stroke before Clark suddenly pushes him away. Bruce laughs a little, watching Clark take several deep breaths — as though he actually needs them, as though breathing isn't just another one of dozens of affectations he takes up to hide what he really is. “What’s the matter, Clark? The real thing a little too much to bear?” Bruce’s eyes are hard. “Or a little too disappointing?” Clark looks him in the eye, gaze as steady as his breathing is uneven. “Is this the real thing, Bruce? Because I don’t think it is.” He shakes his head. “Seems like just another mask to me.” “I’m not the one in costume.” “Yeah,” Clark agrees, watching him with a strange expression on his face. “Superman is my mask. Just like Batman is yours.” “Batman’s not the mask, Clark.” Clark laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “I know that’s what you want me to believe. Maybe what you want to believe, too. But that’s bullshit, Bruce.” Clark runs his gaze all over him again, lingering on the many, many scars that litter his whole body — from old faded scratches he’d gotten as a boy to ugly, twisted cords of tissue from wounds that nearly killed him. “You want me to believe you’re not afraid? You want me to believe that this is the mask?” Clark strips off the Superman suit. It doesn’t take long, and in less than a minute he’s standing naked in Bruce’s bedroom — naked and hard and unapologetic about both. “Tell me to leave again, Bruce.” He takes another deep breath, and if it’s a sign of nerves the look in his eyes is as unwavering as ever. “Walk away without touching me.” And Bruce — Bruce does try. He looks away, curls his hands into fists, wills his pulse to slow down to normal levels. But Clark is so close, so close Bruce can smell him, so close that Bruce can feel his body heat; Clark is close and hard and willing, offering even — and offering it all to Bruce, of all people. Has been for a while, considering how often Bruce caught Clark looking at him with something hungry in those dangerously pretty eyes. Bruce meets his gaze again and steps forward, into Clark’s personal space. “No.” Clark licks his lips. “No?” “No.” And Bruce grabs him by the shoulders and turns him around before shoving him face-first against the window. Clark manages to stop himself from crashing into the glass, superspeed allowing him to brace both hands against it just in time. Bruce presses himself against Clark’s back and smiles when he feels Clark shiver. He slips his hands around Clark’s torso as he leans in, one palm coming up to rest against Clark’s chest and the other against his stomach, breathing hotly against the side of Clark’s neck. “Is this what you wanted?” Bruce whispers into Clark’s skin. “Every time you looked?” His fingers find a nipple and Clark gasps, back arching into the touch. It makes his bare ass rub against Bruce’s cock and Bruce tugs him closer, rocking his hips until Clark is panting is his arms. Bruce lets the hand on Clark’s stomach drift lower, sliding slowly into the hair at his groin. He can see their reflections in the windows, the low light effectively turning them into mirrors, and Bruce can see how tense Clark’s face is, can feel how taut his muscles are as Bruce’s hand keeps inching closer and closer to his cock. “Answer me, Clark.” Bruce shifts his hips, erection finding the cleft of Clark’s ass and he watches Clark’s face in the window as it twists with need. He gives Clark’s nipple another hard pinch and Clark’s jaw drops as he shudders against Bruce’s chest. “Yes,” Clark pants. He licks his lips again and meets Bruce’s eyes in the window. “And before.” “Before?” Bruce takes hold of Clark’s cock and Clark tilts his head back against Bruce’s shoulder, not breaking eye contact. “When we fought,” he says, chest heaving as Bruce’s hand starts moving over his cock. “Before Doomsday. You were — I’d never —” Bruce tightens his grip and Clark has to shut his eyes, moaning as he thrusts into Bruce’s fist. “Keep going,” Bruce insists. He licks at Clark’s neck, nibbles on his earlobe, and Clark makes a strangled sort of noise, head tipping forward to give Bruce better access. “I’d never been — overpowered, before,” Clark says roughly. “By a human. You were — I thought about —” Bruce thrusts his hips against Clark’s ass again and Clark cuts off with another moan. “This?” Bruce asks. “Me inside you?” He licks at the back of Clark’s neck, tasting what must be Kryptonian sweat — salt and musk and something faintly metallic, too. It makes his mouth water, makes him wonder what other parts of Clark might taste like, what they might feel like against his tongue. “Or you inside me?” “Both,” Clark whispers, closing his eyes as his face flushes with heat. “Either. Any, I don’t care, just —” He cuts off when Bruce starts stroking faster, long smooth pulls that make Clark gasp. Bruce can feel the tremor in his back where it’s pressed hard against his chest. “Say it,” Bruce insists. “I want you to look at me and say it.” Clark opens his eyes. Bruce sees open lust there but something else too, something he doesn’t understand — something darker and wilder and more intense than even this, and it makes Bruce remember that as similar as they may look, as familiar as it is to have a body in his arms responding to his touch, Clark is still absolutely alien, and Bruce is in no less danger now than he ever is when Clark looks at him with heat in his eyes. That this heat is from desire rather than anger makes no difference. “I want,” Clark says slowly, clearly, eyes boring into his, “I want you to fuck me, Bruce.” He takes a breath. “With nothing in between.” The words hit Bruce like the blows he took during the mission earlier, knocking the air out of his lungs even as his cock gets impossibly harder. His mind brings up the potential dangers as quickly as it dismisses them — as volatile as things between them could be Clark wouldn’t suggest anything that could hurt him, Bruce is certain of that. Still, he knows it isn’t entirely safe — but then, nothing about any of this is safe. And not just physically, some small part of him thinks, but he shoves that thought away in favour of giving Clark’s cock one last rough stroke before he takes a step backwards. He takes another step to the side, watching Clark watch him in the window as he pulls his underwear off. Clark licks his lips when Bruce is finally naked, gaze raking over Bruce’s body like he wants to devour him alive. It’s not much different to how he’d looked when he lifted Bruce up by the throat and threw him into a parked car and the thought makes Bruce even harder. There's a convenient tube of lube on the floor — probably from the broken table — and he gets himself slicked up quickly. He strokes himself lightly, and very briefly — he’s painfully hard already and knows he won’t last long. But Clark’s eyes darken immediately, fingers twitching a little against the glass like he’s forcing himself to stay still. Bruce steps up behind him again. He slowly trails a fingertip down Clark’s back, from the nape of his neck and down along his spine and then even further down than that, slipping into the cleft of his ass until Bruce finds what he was looking for. He doesn’t press in, not yet, just rubs and teases until Clark is pushing back against his hand, sucking in breaths like he’s been hit with a blast of kryptonite. Bruce reaches around him with his free hand and grabs his cock and Clark squeezes his eyes shut, looking almost like he’s in pain. “Bruce,” he chokes out. “Would you just — oh, fuck,” he gasps, when Bruce suddenly pushes in. Clark pushes back against him and his greed for more makes Bruce groan. Clark is so tight around his finger, so tight and hot, that the prospect of feeling that bearing down on his own cock makes Bruce gasp, the mere thought alone almost enough to make him come. Clark sees his reaction in the window and smiles, even as he moans when Bruce pushes a second finger in. “I can make it good for you, Bruce,” Clark says, voice low and rough and breathless. “I’ve thought about it often enough. I know I can make it good.” And Clark’s eyes are so full of heat, his voice so thick with need, that the last of Bruce’s self-control turns to ash under the force of it. He pulls his fingers out and grabs Clark by the hips, then lines himself up and pushes in with one long, slow thrust. “Bruce, fuck —” Clark moans, eyes falling shut as Bruce fills him up. “Yes, more —” “Clark —” Bruce gasps, panting hard and fingers digging into Clark’s hips as he desperately tries not to come at once. Clark around his fingers was nothing, nothing like Clark around his cock, a searing heat and tight pressure that’s so good, so good it’s actually painful, so good Bruce knows he’ll never be able to get past this — he'll never be able to look at Clark again and not remember what it was like to be buried deep inside him. Then Clark clenches around him and Bruce whimpers, actually whimpers, pressing his forehead against the back of Clark’s neck as his hips start moving on pure instinct, thrusting into the perfect heat of Clark’s perfect, willing body. But Clark is just as far gone, fingers scrabbling at the window as Bruce fucks him hard against it, as Bruce pulls out almost all the way before slamming back in again, over and over, harder and harder, so hard that Bruce would be leaving bruises and drawing blood if it was anyone other than Clark pressed against him. And Clark just takes it, welcomes it, meeting him thrust for thrust, moaning his name and gasping obscenities that Bruce never thought he’d ever hear coming out of that sweet farmboy mouth. “Look at me,” Bruce whispers into his ear, one hand pumping Clark’s cock in time with his thrusts and the other tangled tight in Clark’s soft, dark hair. “Look at us. Look at what we’re doing.” With effort Clark lifts his head and their eyes meet in the window again. Clark’s whole body is flushed, chest heaving, arms shaking as he holds himself up against the force of Bruce pounding into him, again and again and again. His lips are parted, hair in disarray, cock hard and leaking in Bruce’s tight fist. Compared to how he normally looks, unassuming in his neat plaid button-downs or radiating pure power in the Superman suit, right now he looks utterly obscene, a pornographic fantasy ripped straight from some dark corner of Bruce’s labyrinthine mind. “Is this how you imagined it,” Bruce asks, unable to stop himself. “Hard,” he gasps, slamming in again, “and rough?” He lets go of Clark’s cock and his hair, gripping his hips instead to get better leverage as the tension in him spins inexorably out of control. “Did you want to see my scars?” He suddenly slows down, so slow that he and Clark both cry out, shuddering hard against each other. Clark eyes are still on him, still watching his every move in the window, and Bruce can’t stop the words that fall from his lips, escaping from hidden places, ugly and unfiltered and raw. “See every mark — god,” he moans, speeding up again, “— of every failure on this fragile —” another thrust, “human —” and another, “—body?” His last words are punctuated by thrusts so brutal that Clark doesn't even respond, head bowing against the force of Bruce pounding into him. The sight of their reflections makes Bruce groan and he knows he's seconds away from coming. And then Clark lifts his head again, a sudden smile spreading across his face, like he knows exactly how close Bruce is to losing it — and something flashes in those bright blue eyes that makes Bruce’s gut clench in apprehension. And then — Clark suddenly tightens around him, hard and deliberate and shockingly strong — so strong that Bruce comes in an instant, his orgasm forcibly ripped right out of him. He cries out again, helpless to stop it, shuddering against Clark’s back, hands tight around Clark’s hips as he comes and comes, spilling into Clark’s body and panting hard against the back of his neck. It’s harsh and violent and unbearably, excruciatingly good, and the thought of what Clark was capable of, of how much control he must have over his own body, just makes Bruce come even harder. He tries to get his breath back when he’s finally spent, gasping a little as he pulls out. But as soon he takes a step backwards Clark moves faster than he’s able to see and the next thing Bruce knows, his back is against the window and Clark’s hands are on his chest, keeping him firmly in place. “Clark,” Bruce starts, but finds he has no idea what to say. He can feel his heart beating against Clark’s palms, a rapid thud that he knows Clark can hear as clearly as Bruce's voice saying his name. Bruce is still panting, the violence of his orgasm still stealing his breath, and staring at Clark now, at the intense expression in his eyes and the clear implied threat in his hands over Bruce’s heart, Bruce knows he’s short of breath for another reason, too. “You’re afraid of me,” Clark says suddenly. “Even now, you’re afraid of me.” He shakes his head a little, disbelieving despite the fact that he’s got Bruce pressed against the window like a moth pinned to a board. “Me,” he repeats. “Not Superman. Me.” Bruce says nothing, but his racing pulse is answer enough. Clark stares at him for a moment, the expression on his face entirely unreadable before he slowly, slowly leans in. Bruce stays still but just before their mouths collide Clark ducks his head, and it takes far longer than it should for Bruce to understand what Clark is actually doing: he’s kissing every scar he can find, systematically brushing his lips over the multitude of marks scattered all over Bruce's skin — carved into his chest and shoulders, etched into his hands and arms. “Don’t,” Bruce says. His voice is unexpectedly rough and it ends up sounding more like a question than an order. “Yes.” The word is breathed into one of Bruce’s biggest, ugliest scars, the one that rips across his shoulder and down over his chest. Serrated blades, Bruce remembers, made of some alloy the batsuit hadn’t been able to deflect yet. He'd gotten more than one scar that night, cold metal repeatedly piercing his skin and slicing his flesh, barely missing several vital organs, and Bruce still remembers how white Alfred’s face had been when he finally came to — white as a sheet, white as a ghost, staring at Bruce like — like he was the ghost. “You see these as marks of failure,” Clark says, lips finding another scar, near his nipple this time — a faded pink stripe from an old fight Bruce no longer remembers the details of. Bruce gasps a little when Clark’s tongue licks over it, flicking over his nipple too. “You see failure,” Clark repeats. “But I see survival.” He moves down Bruce’s torso, hands trailing down as he goes, the soft press of his lips and the careful flicks of his tongue keeping Bruce in place as effectively as the hands on his chest did before. Those hands are at Bruce’s waist now, and Bruce closes his eyes when Clark gets down on his knees, finding more and more marks to bless with brutally gentle kisses. Clark mouths along another long scar, one that follows the curve of his hipbone, and Bruce’s breath hitches when his mouth finds the one that creeps up his inner thigh, the one he got when Robin — “Clark.” The word comes out like a plea and Clark stills, lips still grazing Bruce’s damaged skin. “You see weakness,” Clark says softly. “I see strength.” “Not enough." The words scrape painfully over Bruce's throat, bone-dry and squeezed tight with things long-buried. “Never enough.” Clark stands. He waits until Bruce meets his eyes before he speaks again. “Maybe not on your own,” he says. “But you’re not on your own. Not anymore.” He seems to hesitate, then adds, “Maybe you never were.” Bruce tries to look away but Clark grabs his jaw and forces him to maintain eye contact. His grip isn't painful but it certainly isn’t gentle, either, and neither is the look in his eyes as he stares Bruce down. “You’re afraid of me because you look at me and you see what I could do,” Clark says. “You could snap me in half like a twig, Clark.” “I could,” he agrees. “But I won’t. I wouldn’t.” Something flashes in his eyes again, something almost like desperation, or despair. “Why can't you look at me and just see what I'm doing now, instead of what I could do?” Bruce swallows. “And what are you doing right now, Clark?” “This.” For a split second he's gone in a sudden gust of wind, but before Bruce even registers what's happening Clark is lifting him up by the waist like he weighs nothing at all, holding him up against the window as he presses a finger into him. “Fuck,” Bruce gasps, unprepared but not — not unwilling. Clark's finger is wet with lube and Bruce moans a little at the thought of how fast Clark must have moved to get his hand slicked up without Bruce even seeing it. He instinctively wraps his legs around Clark's waist and Clark hoists him up even higher; it makes his stomach brush over Bruce's oversensitive cock and Bruce gasps again, pleasure-pain shooting through him, not knowing whether he wants more or less of it. Clark pushes another finger in, staring at him like he's the only thing left in the entire world. Then Clark adds another finger, and all three curl and hit Bruce in just the right spot, and against his will Bruce shudders hard before going boneless against the glass, Clark's superhuman strength the only thing keeping him upright. “No,” Bruce tries to say, but the word dissolves into a moan as his head tips back and his hips push forward, trying to get more. Because he does and he doesn't want it; he wants Clark inside him but not — not like this. Bruce wants to be taken like he took Clark, a hard brutal fucking, just another fight like the ones they’ve had before but with the contexts flipped around. Not like this, this slow and careful undoing, this measured application of — not force, Bruce realises with a moan, as Clark replaces his fingers with his cock and Bruce can do nothing but close his eyes and take him in. This is something far worse, a controlled execution of something that hits more deeply than a physical blow ever could. But Clark is relentless, single-minded in his attack. He fucks Bruce agonisingly slowly, hitting his prostate with merciless accuracy, until Bruce is shaking in Clark's arms, hands clutching his shoulders like he's a lifeline. Clark's face is flushed, with concentration as much as pleasure, and Bruce tries to turn away from the intensity in those damned blue eyes but Clark refuses to give him that, too — one hand comes up and cups the back of Bruce's head, fingers tangling in his hair and holding him in place, forcing Bruce to look him in the eye. “I thought about it like this too,” Clark rasps, his voice so deep and rough that Bruce can practically feel it, dragging over his skin and sinking into his bones. “Nothing,” Clark adds, briefly closing his eyes when Bruce clenches around him, “nothing in between.” Clark leans forward but stops when Bruce wrenches his head free, turning away and saving himself from that one last intimacy, despite knowing full well that Clark could take that by force as well. But Clark doesn't, and Bruce knew that he wouldn't, and it's that irrefutable truth that makes Bruce look back at Clark's face, where he sees a look in Clark's eyes that's far, far too understanding, too accepting by half. “Nothing in between,” Clark repeats, voice barely audible, when Bruce meets his eyes again. He emphasises his words with another torturously slow thrust, and this time — this time Bruce doesn't look away, even though Clark is no longer holding his head still. He just stares back, and he doesn't know what he's seeing in Clark's eyes but he hopes whatever Clark can see in his is something less open, less exposed, less — weak, he thinks, but knows at once that that's a lie. Clark is staring at him just like he's fucking him — raw, bare, direct, the look in his eyes so clear it's impossible to misunderstand what he means. This is the opposite of weakness, and they both know it. And Clark must see it, see the understanding in the depths of Bruce's eyes, because he makes a choked sort of noise and slams Bruce against the window, and whatever control he showed before cracks wide open as he starts fucking Bruce for real. Not as hard as he could, nowhere near that hard, but hard enough that Bruce can do nothing but take it, the rest of the world obliterated by the feeling of Clark moving inside him, Clark's arms around his waist, Clark's unrelenting gaze staring right into him. It's almost too much for Bruce to process, tension building in him again even though he's already come, but Clark feels unbearably good inside him, like satisfying a craving he hadn't even known he'd had, and Bruce wishes he could be hard again for this, that he could feel it as intensely as Clark is feeling it now. Neither of them speaks, neither of them can speak. Not with words, at least, because Bruce is sure that Clark is telling him something with every desperate thrust, with every moan that Bruce feels breathed out against his own skin. And Bruce tries to control it, bites his lip to stop it escaping, but his answers fall out anyway, quiet gasps and tiny wordless noises of his own, and it's not just because he's being fucked raw by someone who could destroy the whole goddamn planet if he wanted to. But that's just the point, Bruce thinks, as Clark hits his prostate again and again, as Bruce clenches around Clark's cock and drags out another low moan. See what I'm doing, not what I could do. Clark lifts one hand away from Bruce's waist, still effortlessly holding him in place, and touches Bruce's face, his neck, his chest. His fingers find Bruce's scars again and he traces over them like braille, like he can read their histories through his fingertips, and something inside Bruce twists when he realises that Clark's own skin isn't as unmarked as he thought it was. There is one scar, just one, faint but visible if you know where to look — and Bruce does know, because he's replayed the moment Clark got it over and over in his head a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times at least. Bruce tries to look away again but Clark shakes his head, a desperate wordless plea, and Bruce can't refuse him this, not now that he's remembered. Not when Bruce can feel that Clark is almost, almost there, so close his whole body is shaking with it. So Bruce keeps looking, hands moving up from Clark's shoulders and tightening around his neck, and Clark leans forward again until their foreheads meet. They pant hard against each other’s open mouths, breathing each other in, so achingly close the temptation is maddening — but Clark doesn't move any closer, and Bruce can't take something he's no longer sure is being offered. But still they maintain eye contact, all filters gone, and as Clark drives into him again and again, shuddering with the effort of maintaining some sense of control, time loses all meaning until Clark screws his eyes shut, whole body tensing for a drawn-out second before he finally, finally comes. Bruce can feel it when it happens, Clark's cock pulsing inside him, and again he wishes he could be hard for this, that there was some way he could release the tension that's still building even now as he watches Clark lose himself in it, in Bruce's own body. Clark is utterly silent as he comes, biting his lip, the hand on Bruce’s waist squeezing hard enough to bruise, the fingers on Bruce’s chest curling over the racing heartbeat there like he wants to hold it in his hand and never let it go. They stay like that for a while, Clark still buried deep inside him, Clark’s eyes still shut tight. And for the first time ever Bruce lets himself stare, lets himself run his eyes all over Clark’s face in a way he never has before: at the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck, at the sheen of sweat on his skin; at the sharp angle of his jaw and the dark sweep of eyelashes where they rest against his cheek. And then Bruce looks down, over Clark's throat, across his chest, and his eyes land on the mark that he can hardly bear to look at, let alone touch. But Clark is still inside him, still wrapped around him, and — Clark had gotten what he’d wanted, Bruce realises, because there’s nothing in between them now, nothing at all. Bruce takes an unsteady breath but he bows his head anyway, pressing his lips against the one and only imperfection that mars Clark’s otherwise flawless skin. For a second or two Clark goes absolutely still, so still he must have stopped breathing, and it’s far too close a reminder of why Clark was scarred in the first place that Bruce’s fingers tighten reflexively around Clark’s neck. He hears Clark’s breath hitch; feels it too, stuttering through his chest, and Bruce presses another kiss to the scar before he opens his mouth and says: “Stay.” He brushes his lips over the mark again and feels Clark’s heartbeat pound hard against his mouth. “Tonight.” “Just tonight?” Bruce closes his eyes. “Making promises isn’t wise for people in our line of work.” Another hard thump of Clark’s heart against his lips, and then another and another. “That’s an excuse, not an answer.” Clark’s voice is quiet but utterly resolute and really, Bruce hadn't expected anything less. He can feel Clark’s eyes on him, watching, waiting, asking for nothing. Asking for everything. “Stay,” Bruce repeats. Clark tenses, waiting for the caveat, the clause. But Bruce is silent, and Clark inhales sharply before he speaks again. “All right,” Clark says eventually, one hand tight around Bruce’s waist, the other warm and heavy on Bruce's chest. “Okay.” If his voice is a little unsteady, they both pretend to ignore it. * Sunlight streams in through the windows, hitting Bruce full in the face. His eyes flicker open but he has to shut them again quickly, the room far brighter than it usually is when he wakes up in the morning. It must be late, he thinks. And then the bed shifts beside him, and Bruce remembers — everything, really. He turns his head. Clark is lying next to him, slowly coming awake too. He stretches like a giant cat, arms pulled taut over his head as his back arches up off the bed. Morning light catches the sharp jut of a hipbone, the curve of his bare chest, before Clark lays back again and just soaks it all up, practically glowing with it, warm and gold and — alive. When he opens his eyes he’s looking right at Bruce, like he knew he was being watched. Like he knew, maybe, what Bruce was thinking. What Bruce was going to say. “Waking up in a glass box seems to be good for you.” Clark stares at him for a moment. “I’m not sure it’s just the box, though.” Bruce can think of a dozen different ways to end this before it inevitably gets out of hand, ways to make Clark look at him with something he can handle better than the way Clark is looking at him now. But he's the one who asked Clark to stay, and Clark had done as he was asked, and seeing him now, the barest hint of tension in his body as he lays there on Bruce's bed, watching Bruce with eyes that are still stubbornly unguarded despite the increasingly lengthy silence, Bruce knows there's really only one thing he can do. He reaches over and touches Clark’s chest, covers the faint mark there with the palm of his hand. Clark’s heartbeat is strong and steady and if there's anything Bruce might be inclined to count on, surely this would be one of them. “Maybe we should find out,” Bruce says, and feels the heart under his hand skip a beat. Clark briefly closes his eyes. And then he smiles, just a little, and if Clark doesn’t mention it then maybe Bruce can pretend his own pulse doesn’t pick up at the sight of it. “Sounds like a plan,” Clark says. He sits up a little and reaches out too, fingers sweeping over Bruce’s arm and shoulder before coming to rest against the side of his neck, thumb brushing over his stubbled jaw. “I'm told it's what I do best,” Bruce replies. “Making plans.” Clark's smile widens. “So I’ve heard.” He shuffles closer, slowly, giving Bruce all the time in the world to move away. Bruce stays right where he is. “Do you take suggestions?” Clark asks, gaze lowering to Bruce’s mouth before flicking back up again. Bruce doesn’t answer. But when Clark leans down and kisses him, Bruce just pulls him closer and kisses him back.

Going back to class made Clarke happy. But not as happy as walking there hand in hand with Lexa. The blonde couldn't stop smiling. She was literally glowing. Lexa blushed shyly from time to time and Clarke found it adorable and endearing. The blonde couldn't be more in love. They kissed briefly in front of the lockers and Clarke teased Lexa about how cute her ears looked all red. During lunch they sat with the gang, ate, revised their notes about the upcoming and important math test. Clarke observed Lexa while the brunette talked with Murphy. Being finally able to act like any other couple was so great. "God you're practically drooling" Raven rolled her eyes at the blonde. Clarke raised an eyebrow at her friend "Envy is a bad disease, Raven. I hope you get the help you need" Raven snorted "Very mature, Clarke" The blonde simply smiled shaking her head and returned her gaze to Lexa. The brunette found her hand under the table and they laced their fingers together.   ----   Lexa hugged Clarke from behind as the blonde opened the door of their house. "Aren't you tired?" Clarke asked, grinning as Lexa kissed her neck and hugged her more tightly "Today was a long day" "I'm feeling fresh and renewed now" Lexa smirked kissing the blonde's neck again. "Good" Clarke chuckled and turned her face to press her lips to Lexa's in a loving kiss. Clarke giggled quietly while Lexa dropped more kisses on her neck as they walked like that into the living room. A firm cough broke the moment the girls were immersed. Lexa's smile faded away when she saw her father standing there. Clarke grew serious too and wanted to complain when she felt Lexa pulling back from her body. She gazed at the brunette and held her hand reassuringly. Lexa offered the blonde a soft smirk in return and held her hand more firmly. "Abby is working tonight" Marcus began statically "I'm going to make the dinner" "We can take care of that" Clarke offered while looking at Lexa "Right?" The brunette looked back at the blonde and nodded "Yeah" she brushed her thumb over her hand. "If you want" Marcus shrugged "Ok" When the girls changed their clothes they began with the cooking. Lexa sticked out her tongue in concentration as she cutted the vegetables and potatoes. Clarke seasoned and cut the chicken with a smile. "I hope we still do this when we live together" Lexa said distractedly. "We already live together" Clarke chuckled. Lexa smiled "Yeah. But I mean when we live outside the Campus" she began while putting the cut vegetables and potatoes inside the casserole "In our own apartment, you know" she smiled at Clarke "Or maybe in a loft. That would be cool" Clarke stared at the brunette in total awe and adoration. Lexa frowned "Clarke, the chicken" she pointed at the counter where the chicken was waiting to join the casserole "Clarke?" But the blonde simply closed the short distance and kissed Lexa. Long and lovingly. She wanted to pour everything she was feeling in that moment into that kiss. Lexa's hands rested on the blonde's hips as she pulled back a little "What was that for?" "I love you" Clarke started emotionally. Her blue eyes shinning "And I can't wait to live with you in our own place. Apartment, loft or shoes box, I don't care as long as we're together" Lexa smirked and moved one hand to caress the blonde's cheek "I love you too, my love" she kissed Clarke once more before pulling back with a smile "A shoes box, really? Clarke laughed merrily, grazing her blunt nails over the back of Lexa's neck "I admit we'll be a little tight, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing" she pecked the brunette's lips sweetly "We can be cuddling all the time" "Yeah?" Lexa bit her lip. Clarke nodded happily. "And what about a tent in some campsite?" Lexa continued, enjoying the blonde's bright smile. "Would do too" Clarke shrugged. "A black one?" "Green" Clarke clarified running her thumb over the brunette's jawline. Lexa smirked "Will you marry me?" For a moment Clarke froze unsure if what she heard was real or not. She stared at Lexa in total surprise. Her heart pounding so hard and loud that she wonder if the brunette could hear it too. "When we finish College" Lexa continued, looking at the stunned blonde lovingly "Will you?" "Yes" Clarke choked, she was already crying without noticing "Yes" she repeated more loudly, more happily. Lexa's green eyes grew watery too and Clarke cupped her face smiling through her own tears "Yes, I will totally marry you, Lexa" Lexa smiled and trapped the blonde's lips in a intense kiss. Clarke rested her forehead against the brunette's when the kiss ended. Her heart racing and a permanent smile on her lips.   ----   The dinner wasn't as awkward as they expected. Marcus was silent, but Clarke and Lexa couldn't stop glancing and smiling at each other. "How are things going at high school?" Marcus asked while picking a piece of chicken with his fork. His eyes on the plate. "Good" Lexa replied simply. "I can't believe we're gonna graduate in a few months" Clarke said cheerfully, gazing at Lexa with a grin. "But first is your birthday" the brunette smirked and pointed her fork at Clarke. Marcus cleared his throat, making both girls to look at him "Did you....apply for College, Lexa?" "Yes" the brunette nodded seriously "Now I have to wait" "And soon I'll be applying too" Clarke added happily. "Where?" Marcus asked rasing his eyes to the blonde. "Polis UC" Clarke glanced at Lexa with a smile. Marcus chewed his food "Are you going to go to College together?" "That's the plan" Lexa bit a potato. Marcus simply nodded and grew silent for a couple of minutes "Polis is really far away from here" he said after taking a sip of his water. Lexa and Clarke exchanged curious looks before the brunette replied to her father. "Only 5-6 hours in car" Both girls stared at Marcus. Waiting for him to say something. But he nodded again and continued the dinner in silence.   ----   The next morning was grey and the air is crispy and cold. Even with the Spring around the corner, the town was loyal to its usual weather. But inside Lexa's bed they felt warm, calm and happy. After the dinner last night, they washed the dishes and Marcus retired to his study mumbling good night, and basically disappearing for the rest of the night. But Clarke was more than happy to drag Lexa into her room and kiss her passionately, before undressing in front of hungry, eager green eyes. The brunette's question about marriage still fresh and vivid on the blonde's mind. Making her heart race uncontrolled and static. And there they were. Naked, flushed together, satisfied and blissful. Lexa sighed softly as she started to wake up. Clarke running her fingertips over the brunette's arm around her waist. "I have to go to the arts club" the blonde whispered lazily, breaking the peaceful quietness of the room. Lexa sighed again but didn't move. Clarke smirked and slowly turned around, pressing her body to Lexa again, and tangling her legs with hers. "Come on" the blonde urged gently "I want to have breakfast with you before leaving" Finally Lexa's green eyes opened a little. A tiny smirk dancing on her lips. "Or you could stay here and I'll bring you the breakfast to bed" the brunette offered with sleepy voice. Clarke smiled widely and pressed their bodies impossibly closer "Come on, baby. Rise and shine" she cooed cheerfully. After sharing sleepy, lazy kisses for long solid minutes, Lexa went to shower first as Clarke gave the last touches to the drawings she needed to take to the arts club. Clarke went to shower after the brunette emerged from the bathroom, and kissed her full lips with a hum of pleasure. Lexa dried her hair and dressed before descending the stairs. Marcus was on the kitchen sipping at his coffee, dressed and ready to leave for work. "Good morning" Lexa said softly, opening the fridge and grabbing the orange juice. "Good morning" Marcus replied looking at his watch "Abby is still sleeping after the night shift. I'm leaving now, ok?" Lexa nodded and poured two glasses of juice. "I made french toasts" Marcus spoke again after clearing his throat "The mail is on the coffee table" he instructed before grabbing his briefcase "Clarke's magazine about art is there" Lexa smiled softly, despite how cold things were between her and her father. It was clear the man was trying. In his own way, but trying at least. "Thank you, dad" the brunette finally said. Marcus nodded and left the house. Lexa shook her head with a smirk. The brunette was tempted to call Clarke and tell her to hurry up. But Abby was sleeping and she didn't want to disturb her rest. So she walked to the living room while waiting for the blonde, and grabbed the mail from the coffee table around a big yawn. Clarke's arts magazine was effectively there. The blonde subscribed a couple of months ago. Lexa smirked and put the magazine over the table again. She frowned when she saw a different envelope under one of the bank's letters. When she grabbed the envelope and fully saw it, she widened her eyes and opened it without care. She read the words a couple of times trying to convince herself it was real. And it was. The brunette jumped with a happy yell and ran upstairs calling out Clarke. "Clarke!" she climbed up the stairs in big strides "Clarke!" The blonde opened her bedroom door confused and alarmed. Her hair still wet "Lexa, what's wron--" but she couldn't finish because the brunette hugged her and twirled her around as she laughed with happiness. "I'm in, Clarke!" Lexa exclaimed when she put the blonde on the floor again. Her smile radiant and wide "I'm in! I'm going to Polis UC!" Clarke smiled brightly "You're in!" she cupped the brunette's face. "I'm in!" "You're in!" They kissed lovingly, dizzy. Lexa laughed again and lifted the blonde, twirling her around the room. Clarke's laughter joined the brunette's.

The problem with having a doctor for a parent is that hiding injuries or illness is much more difficult. Taehyung already knew this, but he never thought this would be something he would have to worry about. He tells his fathers everything already, so he didn’t think he would ever have to hide something like that from them. Thankfully, no bruises formed by the time he got in the car to go home. Unfortunately, he was still feeling the side-effects of having his head slammed against the wall so violently as well as the shock of his boyfriend doing something so brutal to him. He had a bit of trouble maintaining his balance for the rest of the day, stumbling whenever he needed to pick something up. He even bumped into corners a few times, which was pretty unpleasant. On top of all of that, he was having trouble remembering things that occurred that day. Taehyung definitely remembers how his injury happened, but he doesn’t remember much else about the day. Did he do his presentation with Jackson today? He can’t remember. Did it go well? He thinks today was supposed to be the day of the project, but he can’t really remember. “How was your day, Tae?” Jin had asked as soon as Taehyung got in the car. He seemed to think nothing was abnormal about his son, but Taehyung’s account probably isn’t the most reliable. “It was okay,” Taehyung said, which was obviously a lie. The only thing he can definitively remember about his day was the pain Jackson caused him, so he would definitely consider that a bad day. Jin, Jimin, and Jeongguk didn’t have anything else to say about Taehyung. He probably didn’t seem suspicious. He hardly said anything for the duration of the drive, after all. When he arrived home, however, things took a turn for the worse. Taehyung’s head was already pounding by the time he arrived home, which was something he could live with. It’s just a headache and he can handle that. If he took any medicine for it, his parents and brothers would probably get suspicious because he doesn’t usually get headaches. On top of his ever-present headache, however, Taehyung was beginning to feel nauseous. It started during dinner. The smell of the japchae was simply too much for himto handle. He usually loves the dish, so when Taehyung hardly ate any of it, Namjoon could tell that something was the matter. “Are you feeling alright, Tae?” Namjoon asked, looking at his son curiously. “You’ve hardly touched your food.” Japchae is something Taehyung loves, so it came as a bit of a surprise when he hardly ate any of it. “Um...yeah,” Taehyung had responded. He knew it was a bit too slow, so the suspicious looks from his family came as no surprise. “I’m just...not really hungry right now.” That’s even more suspicious, because Taehyung isn’t a picky eater. He doesn’t eat as much as Jimin and Jeongguk do (those two could probably finish an entire buffet by themselves), but he’s much more open to eating different foods than Hoseok and Yoongi. Yoongi is the pickiest eater of the bunch, so it isn’t unusual for him to leave a large portion of his meals untouched if he doesn’t like them. Still, Namjoon decided to let it slide. Maybe Taehyung had a tough day at school. As long as he’s still saying he’s okay, Namjoon believes him. He’s never had a reason not to trust the boy before (other than the little pranks and shenanigans he and Jimin do, but that’s a different story). However, when Taehyung suddenly stood up from the dinner table and ran to the bathroom, everyone was surprised. No one spoke for a moment, simply looking at each other and the direction in which Taehyung took off. “Should someone...?” Jimin began to ask, concerned for his brother. He seemed just fine this morning, so it would be rather surprising to learn that he hadn’t been feeling well all day. Something must have happened at school today, then. There weren’t many times during the day that Jimin wasn’t with Taehyung, except for the classes they didn’t share and at lunch, since Jimin was sitting with his new friend group. “I’ll go check on him,” Namjoon said, standing up slowly, pushing his chair in. Jin nodded, deciding to leave the situation to his husband. While Namjoon dealt with whatever was going on with Taehyung, he would help the kids currently at the table relax, and reassure them that his brother is just fine despite not knowing the answer himself. The second Taehyung bursts into the bathroom and immediately throws up into the toilet, he knows his fathers are going to have a hard time believing that he’s fine, as he has been saying recently. He’s especially worried about Namjoon. He knows his father is a doctor, so that makes hiding his injuries even more difficult. Even though Namjoon is a cardiac specialist, he’ll still know much more about health than anyone else in the family. So, when his father opens the bathroom door and gives him a sympathetic look, he isn’t surprised. “Sorry,” Taehyung chokes out, flushing the toilet. He tears off a piece of toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.” That much is very true. Taehyung knows he is in way over his head when it comes to Jackson. Sometimes he feels bad for lying to his family so much about everything. Actually, he feels that way most of the time. Maybe it would be better to just tell his fathers. Maybe it would be better to break up with Jackson even if he’s afraid of the consequences. He knows that Jackson won’t ever stop. No matter how many times his boyfriend apologizes, he knows his words mean nothing. Maybe it would be better to tell someone and get it to stop already. Whatever. It’s not like he can even form a coherent sentence right now. “It’s fine, Tae,” Namjoon says, giving his son a hug. He doesn’t feel a fever, so he isn’t quite sure what’s wrong with the boy. He might have to dig a little deeper if he wants to figure out what’s going on. “Can you tell me a little bit about your day while you rest?” Namjoon leads Taehyung to the boy’s bedroom, allowing him to lie down on the bed. Taehyung looks exhausted, and Namjoon wonders what’s going on with him. How much does he not know about Taehyung? Asking the boy about his day seems like a good start. Depending on how well he can recall the events of the day and depending on what those events were altogether will tell Namjoon a lot about the boy’s condition. “I don’t know,” Taehyung says. His words are becoming a bit slurred, which Namjoon suspects might be either from exhaustion or...something else. “It was okay, I guess. I think I did my project with Jackson today.” “Jackson,” Namjoon thinks aloud, trying to recall why that name sounded so familiar. “That’s the boy you’re interested in, right?” he asks. “Yeah,” Taehyung responds. “He’s my boyfriend now, Appa. He’s on the football team and he’s sooo cute. I really like him.” That comes as a shock to Namjoon. Boyfriend? Since when did Taehyung have a boyfriend? He knew about his son’s crush on his classmate, but he didn’t know they were officially together. That sounds like a pretty big thing to hide from his parents. Namjoon wonders if the other boys know about this. “Oh,” Namjoon says. “That’s...that’s great, Tae. I’m really happy for you.” He’ll have a more in-depth conversation with his son about the matter later, but he needs to treat him gently for now, since he still isn’t entirely sure what’s going on. “Do you sit with Jackson at lunch, or are you and Jimin still as close as ever?” Namjoon would be able to tell a lot from the boy’s answer. If Taehyung isn’t hanging out with Jimin anymore, then this Jackson guy must be a very important person to Taehyung. He isn’t sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. “I don’t know,” Taehyung says. He huffs out a sigh and covers his eyes with his arm. “Jiminie and I had a fight a while ago, so he stopped sitting with me at lunch. I’ve been sitting with Jackson since then. We made up on your birthday, but Jimin still sits with his own friends.” That is news to Namjoon. He had a feeling that something was strange between Jimin and Taehyung recently, as did Jin, but he didn’t realize it had become a bigger issue. Perhaps Taehyung is simply trying to replace Jimin with Jackson, even if they have supposedly “made up.” That’s what it sounds like, anyway. “Okay,” Namjoon says. “This Jackson guy...does he treat you well, Tae?” That’s a very important question to ask. If Jackson isn’t good for his son, then he won’t approve of the relationship. If Jackson isn’t an absolute gentleman to Taehyung, then Namjoon doesn’t approve. “Sometimes,” Taehyung responds. His words are becoming even more slurred, and Namjoon thinks he has an idea of what is going on with his son. “When he’s nice, he’s really nice. But when he’s mean, he’s really mean. That’s normal, though, I guess.” That’s definitely not normal. With all of Namjoon’s life experience, he knows that relationships will have their ups and downs, but a partner should never be “mean” in a relationship, especially if it’s Taehyung who’s saying that; Taehyung, the boy who thinks highly of even the worst of people. If Taehyung is calling his own boyfriend “mean,” Namjoon isn’t sure what to think. “Oh,” Namjoon says again. He has a feeling that Taehyung wouldn’t be telling him all of this if he wasn’t in the state he’s currently in. “Okay.” If Namjoon wants to get to the bottom of this strange situation and ensure his son’s safety, he’ll have to ask the difficult questions. If he’s wrong about his suspicion, then he might lose Taehyung’s trust. If he’s correct, though... “Do you want to tell me how you got that concussion, Taehyung?” Namjoon asks. He says this gently yet sternly as if to tell Taehyung that there isn’t any room for excuses. Taehyung’s breath hitches in his throat. Did he say too much? He must have, if his father is asking him something like that. How did he know it is a concussion, anyway? Oh, right. His dad is a doctor. Of course he would know right away. Of course he would know even when Taehyung himself didn’t know. “I-I...” Taehyung struggles to come up with an answer. He’s pretty sure that even if his brain was functioning normally, he wouldn’t be able to. “I can’t say, Appa.” A brief pause. Then, “You already know.” That’s all that Namjoon needs to hear. “Okay,” he says, stroking his son’s hair. He is sure that the boy needs all the kindness and gentleness he can get right now. “Get some rest, Tae. You’re in no condition to go back to school tomorrow, so don’t worry about waking up early. Sleep as long as you’d like, okay?” Taehyung doesn’t have the strength to argue, so he simply nods. He rolls over on his side and allows himself to relax for the first time in days. While he does so, Namjoon gets up to find his husband. “Jin, honey?” he asks, seeing the man beginning to clean up after dinner. Unfortunately, neither Namjoon nor Taehyung had the opportunity to eat much of it, but that’s the last thing on his mind right now. “We need to talk.” Jin looks surprised. “I need to finish cleaning,” he says, though there is no conviction in his voice. If it’s serious, he’ll drop everything he’s doing at a moment’s notice. If it isn’t, he would rather finish cleaning up first. Namjoon shakes his head. “No, Jin, we need to talk now,” he says, much more seriously this time. Jin can tell that the man is angry, but he knows that anger isn’t directed towards him. It probably isn’t directed towards Taehyung, either, so Jin is very confused. “What’s going on?” Jin asks after he and Namjoon head to their shared room. Namjoon sucks in a deep breath. Jin can tell that whatever he’s about to say is going to be extremely serious. His usually-happy and kind husband hardly ever gets upset like this. “It’s Taehyung,” he says. “I think...I think he’s being abused.”

“Ah… she finally returns” Alex says as I walk into the room. “Yeah” I nod. “After I met Rhian I went for a walk.” “How’d it go?” Alex asks with a small frown. “You know, it’s a break-up” I say with a shrug. “It’s not exactly going to go smoothly.” “Was she angry?” “No Alex, she was jumping for joy” I reply sarcastically. “I really don’t want to talk about it, I feel like a horrible person.” “Ok, I get it” Alex says, nodding her head. “FYI, you’re not a horrible person.” “Thanks.” “Open up, its Kelley” I hear shouted followed by a bang on the door. “What’s up?” I ask when I open the door. “I think I left my room key in here and I don’t think my roomie is back” Kelley says as I move out of the way to let her in. “Christen’s back, I was just with her and I walked her to your room” I say, slightly confused. “She isn’t answering when I knock on the door so I need my key” Kelley says. “Where could I have left it?” “Check the table by the window” I say as I take a quick look around the room. “Hold on, I’ve got it.” “Thanks Tobs” Kelley says as she grabs the key from me. “Christen must be in the shower or something.” “Must be.” “How did it go?” Kelley asks. “I will tell you tomorrow” I say with a sigh. “Alex and Christen have both asked but I don’t really want to discuss it.” “That’s cool Tobster, see you tomorrow.” “See you tomorrow” I say with a wave after I walk Kelley to the door. “Bye KO” Alex shouts from the bathroom. “G’night.” ~ It has been a hard week and a half of training but I’m glad of that. I like that I could just throw myself into my soccer and try to forget any personal issues I have been having. My intent for this camp is to get my football back on track, I haven’t played since my last game at PSG all those weeks ago so to say I am more than ready to play would be an understatement. As we are lining up for the national anthems I can feel my blood pumping through my body, even in a friendly this team still treats it like a final. There is nothing like the feeling of playing for your country, especially when you are facing one of the best teams in the world. “Let’s go and win this” Becky shouts after we have our team huddle. “Come on” Alex’s scream follows a few other screams from my teammates. From the very start of the match the competitiveness and drive was showing from both teams. It was constant pressure and fight. That’s what we need though. “Nice goal by the way Tobster” Kelley tells me as we walk back to the locker room at half time. “Thanks” I reply. “It was a good ball from Crystal, all I had to do was get it on target.” “Don’t be so modest” Kelley tells me. “We are still down two to one though” I say. “Don’t worry, we will pull it back” Kelley assures me. “There is no way Hope is being scored on again, did you see her face after the second one went in?” “She looked like she was going to kill you” I say. “I don’t blame her, I can’t believe I let that forward in behind me” Kelley says angrily. “She was too quick for me.” “Don’t worry about it, we all know you won’t get caught again.” “I certainly won’t, let’s go inside and see what the coach has to say” Kelley says, leading the way into the locker room. “You ladies played ok out there but we need to be tighter this half” Jill tells us. “There were too many loose balls. If you lose the ball, get it back immediately. Quick turnovers are what we are aiming for.” “Yes coach” We all shout. “How’s the ankle?” I ask Alex. Alex took a bit of a rough knock just after Japan scored their first goal. “It’s ok, I’m not playing the second half” Alex tells me. “The trainer has told me to ice it and rest otherwise I will only make it worse.” “That sucks” I say sadly. “I know, coach is putting Press on instead which is good” Alex says with a smile. “Did you see those shots she was hitting in training, the girl is certainly ready for this camp?” “She looks healthy again” I say, momentarily distracted by looking over at Christen who is having an animated conversation with Ali and JJ. “I was in my junior year of college and we were playing Stanford, I think it must’ve been Press’s senior year” Alex starts. “It was the thirtieth minute and out of nowhere Press hit this booming shot from nothing right into the upper ninety.” “Yeah I know, I was there” I say proudly. That was one of the few games I got to see Chris play live when she was in college. She played awesome that day. “You were there?” Alex asks surprised. “Yeah, some of my high school friends and I travelled up for the game” I say. “Quarter finals, right?” “Yeah” Alex says. “I can’t believe Stanford won that day.” “It was a good game to watch actually, both teams were playing really well” I say. The game was pretty good, obviously I was rooting for my girlfriend’s team but as an unbiased spectator it was probably one of the best college games I’ve watched. “Did I ever play you in college?” Alex asks, looking deep in thought. “You might have, I don’t really remember” I say with a laugh. I am not really one for remembering these types of things, I only remember playing against my friends if we were friends at the time or if the game had a deep meaning to it. Alex probably would’ve been two years below me in college so our paths never crossed until we were both on the national team. I’ve played that many games over my career that it’s impossible to remember. Once we are all ready we head back out to the pitch so we can get the second half underway. “Gather round ladies” Becky shouts to get us all to huddle up. Carli gives her usual speech; reaffirms the game plan with us one last time and then we head back onto the field. “Let’s go Pressi” Kelley screams as she pats Christen on the back. Christen and Allie are the only subs to come on at half time. “Let’s do this Long.” “Come on” I say with a nod, doing a quick handshake with Allie before fist pumping Christen. ~ Thankfully we managed to end the game with a tight victory of three to two. It wasn’t by any means our best game but we got the victory in the end. Jill took us to a restaurant so we could have dinner and have a quick debrief of the game and then Jill let us free to make our own plans. Our own plans turned into Kling and Kelley dragging us all to this bar with the promise that it is more for the dancing than the alcohol. We are still in the middle of a camp so I don’t suppose Dawn or any of our coaches would be pleased if we all turned up to training with a hangover tomorrow. “Hi” I hear from behind me as I sit at a table with Allie. “Hey… Rhian” I say, feeling really awkward. I didn’t know she was still in Florida. “Oh jeez, I think I just saw someone I know” Allie says before quickly departing, leaving me alone with Rhian. With Alex and Kelley’s big mouths, it didn’t take long for word to spread around the team that I had broken up with Rhian. “Tobin, can we talk?” Rhian asks me. “Eh… ok” I answer, following Rhian over to a separate table. “I watched your game today, you played awesome” Rhian tells me. “Thanks” I say politely. I really don’t know what to say to Rhian. “How are you?” I ask. It’s only been just under two weeks since we split up. “Ok I guess, you?” “Yeah, ok” I shrug. “I am sorry for storming out the other night” Rhian apologises but I wave it off. “You don’t need to apologise, I get it.” “I miss you Tobin.” “I miss you too” I answer honestly. “Probably not in the same way that I miss you though?” Rhian asks. “Tobin, what happened? We were good.” “You deserve someone better Rhian” I say with a sigh. “The differences between us is too big now, it started out as fun and light hearted but then things got serious and deep down we both know it would never work.” “Can’t we work on our differences?” Rhian asks. “I know I am acting pathetic but you are the first woman that’s ever made me feel this way, you are different from my exes. I am not just going to throw away something I think is worth fighting for.” “I can’t fight for us Rhian” I say. “For the last few months I have been trying to fight but I am too tired, I just want to be me.” “You can be you and be with me” Rhian says. “I know long distance is hard sometimes but we aren’t always apart.” “It isn’t the long distance Rhi, I can handle that” I say. “It’s the other aspects of our relationship, we want completely different things. I’m getting older now.” “You’re twenty six Tobin, it’s hardly old” Rhian tells me. “I know it is hard to have a proper relationship when we are both traveling all the time but that will settle down eventually.” “I know that but for me that will be a lot sooner than you, our relationship was getting to the point where we had to force ourselves to arrange time together.” “That’s not true” Rhian disagrees. “Rhian, I know you didn’t want to be in France a few months ago when you could’ve been at that meeting with your dad” I say. “I also know that when you spent a week with me in LA, you could’ve stayed another week. Your dad didn’t need you back so soon.” “I just…” “I am not blameless either, I could’ve flew to New York more, I could’ve spent longer with you after my last national team camp. There are so many times when we both could have made more of an effort” I say. “Maybe we weren’t as invested as we should’ve been but we still supported each other when it mattered” Rhian says. “We just need to work harder.” “I don’t think it’s a case of that Rhian, we both know we are not who we were at the beginning of our relationship” I say. “You know what I am saying is true.” “I… how did I not notice this?” Rhian asks with a sigh, suddenly processing what I am saying. “I used to buy you a gift every month and then I just stopped… why?” “The same reason that I stopped buying us a plane ticket each month so we could have our monthly date night together… we gave up” I answer. “We didn’t mean it, it just happened.” “This is really it then, this is how it ends?” I nod my head at Rhian’s question. “How could I be so blinded by this, I should’ve seen this happening?” “We were both too busy to realise, our lives always ran parallel to one another but they never intertwined” I say. “This doesn’t mean that I didn’t care about you Rhian because I did, I still do.” “I know” Rhian says. “I guess I was more into the idea of being in love rather than actually being in love with you as a person.” “When you fall in love with that girl who is the one for you then what you felt for me won’t even enter your mind” I say. “She’s out there, I know she is.” “How do you know all this stuff about love and being in love?” Rhian asks. “Experience I guess” I answer with a soft chuckle. “Your ex, you were a lot more serious about her than you led me to believe” Rhian asks but I know it is more of a statement than a question. “Your relationship with your ex ending was a bigger deal than just her hurting you, right?” “Yeah” I say quietly. “Why did you never tell me the whole story?” Rhian asks. “All I know is that you were together for a number of years and then she left you.” “You were my girlfriend, you were probably the last person who would want to hear about my relationship with my ex” I say, a soft smile on my face. “I wanted to forget about all the hurt and what I lost, talking about it would only bring that back.” “I would’ve listened you know.” “I know you would’ve Rhian but being with you should’ve been enough to erase the pain” I say softly. “That’s why you knew we weren’t working out, you didn’t feel for me what you felt for her.” “I wasn’t comparing you two, it wasn’t like that at all…” “I didn’t mean to imply that you were, I just meant that you know what a good healthy relationship should feel like and that wasn’t us” Rhian says. “I’m sorry” I apologise again. “Don’t be, I get it now” Rhian says truthfully. “Our relationship fizzled out, truthfully I think it fizzled out a while ago and we’ve been acting like best friends not girlfriends for a while now.” “Thank you for the times we had, I mean it when I say that. You were there for me at times when no one else was” I say, squeezing Rhian’s hand. “Ditto, I don’t regret you being in my life even though I am super sad” Rhian says. “The woman you are going to truly fall in love with is out there. Meet and fight for her Rhian.” “Yeah” Rhian nods. “I would say the same to you but I think you’ve already met your one true love.” “I’m sorry.” “Stop saying sorry Tobin, you don’t need to” Rhian says. “I am a big girl, I can handle this.” “I know you’re strong, that’s what drew me to you.” “How serious were you with your ex?” Rhian asks. “Very serious, I had it all worked out how I was going to propose to her” I say. “I only had to buy the ring and pick when to do it. My biggest decision was whether to do it right away with a cheaper ring or whether to wait until I could afford a decent ring” I say with a smile. “That’s how serious it was.” “At twenty-two you wanted to propose?” Rhian asks, looking a little shocked. “Yes, I really did.” “Our differences are really that big, I guess you were right” Rhian says before chuckling softly. “I thought I was in love with you Tobin but jeez if you proposed to me I would’ve ran a mile.” “I know you would have” I say. “I know this is going to be awkward for a while but just because we are broken up doesn’t mean that you can’t come to me if you need anything. I still care about you.” “I know” Rhian says with a nod. “It’s probably best we don’t contact one another for a while because even though I understand it now, I am still hurt.” “I get that” I reply. “Look after yourself Rhian.” “You too” Rhian replies before giving me a quick hug. I am not going to say it wasn’t awkward but I am glad we have talked again. “I don’t know exactly what your ex done to hurt you but maybe she’s worth a second chance.” And with that Rhian walks off. ~ “Your girlfriend is over there” Kling says to Christen with a laugh. “It’s not funny Meghan, why did you need to mention I was single?” Christen asks. “What’s going on?” I ask confused. After Rhian left I had a quick talk with Alex before we went to join the other girls. “This woman kept staring at Pressi but Press wouldn’t do anything so Kling went up and gave the woman a drink claiming it was from Press” Kelley says laughing. “Now the woman keeps staring over.” “Why don’t you two worry about your own love lives or lack thereof in someone’s case Kling” Christen says with a bit of a bite. “Wow, that hurt Press” Kling says, mockingly offended. “I am really not interested in dating right now” Christen says. “It’s been a while since you last dated, never mind had a relationship” Kling says. “Thank you for that Meghan” Chris says annoyed. “We live together, I know these things and it worries me.” “Correction we don’t live together anymore.” “Maybe not anymore since we are on different teams in Sweden now” Kling says. “I still care about you though, you need to date again.” “I don’t need to do anything” Christen says, gulping down her glass of water in one sip. “I am going back to the hotel.” “Don’t storm off” Kelley says. “I’m not storming anywhere, I am just not in the mood for drinking and dancing tonight” Christen says. “I just want to get an early night before training again tomorrow. I was going to leave when JJ and Ali did anyway.” “Fair enough” Kling says before adding. “You’re a catch though Press, you should get out dating again.” “Oh definitely” Kelley adds. “Right Tobin?” Kling says. “She’s a catch?” “You’re a catch” I say with a cheeky grin causing Christen to grin. I love it when she smiles. “Have fun” Christen says with a smile before putting her coat on and standing up. “I will walk with you, I am not really in the mood for drinking tonight” I say, standing up. “Come on, not you as well” Kelley complains. “Why is everyone leaving so early?” “Maybe because we have training tomorrow” I answer. “We won the game today but that doesn’t mean we don’t need to train for the next friendly in a few days.” “It’s just a couple of drinks” Kelley says. “Yeah, I am just going to have a beer and then drink water for the rest of the night” Kling says. “Have fun, goodnight” Christen says with a smile to everyone before I follow her out of the door. “How are you?” I ask Chris as we walk back to the hotel. “I feel like we have barely spoken to one another this past week.” “I am good Tobin, I’ve just been trying to give you some space” Christen tells me. “You don’t have to avoid me you know” I reply. “I know and I wasn’t, I was just giving you space” Christen says. “You played amazing today.” “Thanks but what about you; a goal and an assist to win the game for us” I say with a smile. “You really are a talented player Chris.” “Thanks” Christen says with a slight blush. “Where did you learn to nutmeg like you did to that poor Japanese left back on a number of occasions tonight?” I ask, a small smile on my face. “Where do you think Tobin?” Christen asks as she hits my arm lightly. “When I was in college I got fed up of my girlfriend megging me when we would have a kick around so I got her to show me some tricks.” “Your girlfriend must have felt strongly about you to show you the secrets to her tricks” I say with a smile. “Yeah well, I showed her some tricks of my own in return so she was pretty happy” Christen says with a playful wink making me blush. In return for showing Christen how to nutmeg and fool other players into which way she was going with the ball Christen promised me a lap dance. She definitely didn’t fail on her promise that night, I can assure you. “I remember” I say with a smile. “Me too” Christen replies. Both of us slightly caught up in the memories of our past. “Kelley is planning a movie night tomorrow, are you coming?” Christen breaks our silence. “That depends on the movie, what is it?” “Apparently it is a surprise” Christen answers. “She thinks if she reveals the title then some of us will bail and say we don’t like it.” “I guess I will come but if I don’t like it then I will bail, you know me I get twitchy when I’m bored” I say, smiling at Christen’s laughter. “Why is that funny Press?” “It not really that funny, it just made me think of something funny” Christen says. “What did it make you think of?” I ask. “That time we went to that Art museum in North Carolina when I came down to visit you” Christen says. “You were that bored you tried to convince me that the place was haunted and tried to tell me there was no paintings left to see on four occasions.” “Chris, it was an art gallery” I say. “You know I hate all that stuff. I tried to suck it up for you as much as possible but it was five hours of walking around looking at colors on a page.” “Colors on a page, that’s harsh Toby.” “I have a lot of respect for artists and what they do but that was five hours of my day that I will never get back” I say. “I know exactly how you feel Tobin” Christen says. “Remember that six hour bus trip you took us on so we could attend that soccer camp but you took us on the wrong weekend and the camp wasn’t on until the following week.” “Planning was never my strong point” I say with a laugh. “We made it a good weekend though, right?” I ask with a wink. “If I remember correctly we barely left the hotel room.” “I guess it turned out ok in the end.” “You guess?” I ask with a cheeky smile. “It was an amazing weekend, every memory we shared together was amazing” Christen responds. “Even the bad memories like when I threw up in your car” I ask with a frown. “Maybe not the disgusting ones Toby” Christen says. “You did really make it up to me though.” “I had to, I had never been more embarrassed and ashamed in my life” I say, laughing nervously. “Really, what about that time your dad walked in on us having sex?” Christen asks. “Jeez Chris, I had actually forgot about that” I say. “Why did you have to remind me?” “Trust me, I would much prefer you throwing up in my car to anyone walking in on us, especially one of our parents” Christen says. “I was mortified Tobin, I couldn’t look your dad in the eye for at least a year.” “My dad got over it pretty quick” I say, nothing seems to embarrass my dad. “I didn’t Tobin, I was horrified.” “It wasn’t that bad, we were pretty well covered and it was dark” I say. “My dad done the same thing to Jeff a few years later, my dad clearly wasn’t able to comprehend that when one of his kids are alone in their bedroom with their girlfriend it doesn’t mean they are playing Uno all the time.” “Yeah” Christen says with a laugh. As if right on cue we end up outside my hotel room. “This is me” I say, pointing my thumb at the hotel room. “Goodnight Tobin, sleep well.” “Night Chris” I reply, kissing Christen’s cheek. I don’t know where that came from, it was just instinctive. “Bye” Christen smiles, watching me walk inside. As soon as I close the door I take a deep breath; what an eventful day. First it was the game and then there was Rhian and now there’s Chris; the woman I will always be connected to. ~ “What are we watching?” I ask as I enter the room with Alex and Allie. We had a pretty easy day today. Some of us done some light training whereas the rest of us done some recovery and now we have the rest of the day off to relax. Alex and Allie have practically forced me to come to ‘movie night’ as Kelley calls it. “Guess” Kelley yells. “At least tell us the genre” Allie says. “We could be here all day.” “It’s Disney” Cheney says. “I’m out, I am not watching Disney” I say, trying to head out the room but Alex stops me. “Just stay, you never know you might like it” Alex says. “Nearly every Disney film is a classic.” “What Disney film is it?” I ask with a sigh. “If it is Snow White then no, I hate that film.” “Is it Frozen?” Allie asks excitedly. “Well done” Kelley says with a smile. “You gots to stay Toby, Frozen is so cool” Alex says. “Fine but if I get bored by half an hour then I am leaving” I say. “Fine” Kelley says before instructing us to all get comfortable before she plays the movie. “FYI Alex, don’t call me Toby” I warn. “Whatever” Alex waves it off before looking at Kelley. “Did you kick Christen out of the room or was she not interested?” “She’s supposed to be here but she got held up when she was running errands” Kelley answers. “Is this it or is anyone else joining?” A-Rod asks. It’s only Kelley, Cheney, A-Rod, Alex, Allie and me that seem to be here. “No one else was interested” Kelley answers. “I don’t blame them” I mumble under my breath. “Stop moaning” Alex warns me. “Why do I have to sit and watch a stupid movie when everyone else got to decline?” I complain like a child. “Because you never watch movies with us anymore and you promised you would” Allie says. “We don’t get to hang out as much anymore.” “I get it, you guys love me and everyone wants to spend time with me” I say with a smug grin. “I guess I will stay.” “Just watch the movie” Allie instructs. I nod my head and then go and sit next to A-Rod on what I presume to be Christen’s bed. It’s a lot neater than the bed Allie and Alex are occupying so I presume the messy one is Kelley’s. “Frozen is not really my thing either” Amy whispers to me. “Ryan has watched it more times than I can count so I’ve lost interest in it.” “Why are you here then?” I whisper back. “Same reason we are all here, I miss hanging out with you guys” A-Rod says with a shrug. “Me, you, Cheney and Kelley are the longest standing in the movie group. It’s our thing you know.” “Yeah” I say with a smile. Sometimes life gets so hectic that you forget all the traditions you started. For example Kelley, Ashlyn and I are the surfing group; Alex, Allie, Kriegs and HAO are the group that always get their nails done during camp; there’s the yoga group and various others. ~ “Whose teddy is this?” Alex asks when she picks up the item when she comes out of the bathroom. “Is it yours or Christen’s?” “Christen’s” Kelley answers. “She’s had it since she was eighteen or something.” “It’s cute” Alex says. “It’s like that teddy Tobin has.” “You have a teddy?” Kelley asks before bursting out laughing. “Jeez, it’s not that funny” I say, slightly offended. “I remember that time Ryan stole Tobin’s teddy” Cheney says with a smile. “Thankfully he got bored of it and Tobin eventually got it back.” “It has sentimental value to me” I say. “My sister gave it to me when I was a kid.” “Where have you been?” Kelley asks when Christen enters the room. “Sorry, I lost track of the time” Christen apologises. “Did I miss the full movie?” “You did” Kelley says. “Oh well, it’s not like I haven’t seen Frozen before” Christen replies. “Are you watching another movie?” “That was the plan but we all can’t seem to agree” Alex answers. “Kelley, Tobin and A-Rod want something scary and Allie, Lauren and I want something cheerier.” “Looks like you have the deciding vote Press” Kelley says. “It’s three each so what’s your decision.” “What scary movie is it?” Christen asks. “I can watch almost every happy movie but there are some scary movies I don’t like.” “Christen won’t watch any scary movie so we may as well admit defeat” I say, throwing Christen a cheeky smile. Christen likes to think she can watch a movie and not get scared but she can’t, hence the reason she almost broke my hand by squeezing it too tight when we were nineteen and I took her to the movies to see ‘The Last Exorcism’. “Actually I will” Christen says stubbornly. “Whatever scary movie you have Kelley, put it on.” “Trying to prove a point Chris?” I ask teasingly. “Not at all” Christen answers with a smile. “Alex where did you put Press’s teddy, she may need it if she gets scared” I say, earning a laugh from most of the group. “You think you are so funny don’t you?” Christen fires back. “That’s because I am.” “Play the movie KO” Christen instructs before she joins me on her bed, taking up the place A-Rod was occupying before she went to sit on the floor. “I can’t wait to see your face when you get a fright” I whisper to Chris. “I can’t wait to see your face when you realise I am no longer scared by horror movies” Christen whispers back. “Bring… it… on” I say, tickling Christen in-between each word. “Tobin stop” Christen squeals causing the others to look at us. “She’s practicing her screaming for when she gets scared” I say with a smile before taking a pillow to the face. “Thanks for that Chris.” “You’re welcome” Christen smirks. “Are you two quite finished?” Alex asks with a raised eyebrow. “Can we get this movie started or do you wish to flirt some more?” “Sorry, we’re good” Christen apologises before Cheney plays the movie. “Put the light off Kelley” Allie instructs. “There is no point watching a scary movie in bright light.” “I am going” Kelley mutters before we all end up in darkness. “Great, now I can’t see my way back to sit down.” “Ssh” A-Rod and Alex scold at the same time. I turn to Christen to offer another cheeky remark about her being scared when it suddenly becomes apparent to me how close Christen is sitting next to me, her presence invading all of my senses. “Are you looking at me?” Christen whispers confused into the darkness. “You are trying to creep me out aren’t you?” “Not at all” I say, a sly smirk on my face as an idea pops into my head. I know the perfect way to scare Christen. “I heard there are cockroaches in this movie.” “Are there?” Christen asks, seemingly quite nonchalant. I guess she is either not afraid of them so much anymore or she knows I am lying. Probably the latter. “You know there is no cockroaches don’t you?” I ask. “Yes, now be quiet” Christen hisses. “Sorry.” The movie doesn’t seem that scary to me, it’s mostly just boring to be honest. It doesn’t help that it is boring because it just makes me talk more. I’ve already been told to shut up on a number of occasions by just about everyone because I keep making silly remarks about how unrealistic the plot is. “You ok there Chris” I whisper. “Are you scared yet?” “No, so be quiet” Christen responds. “You can hold my hand if you want” I offer with a smirk. “I am fine thank you” Christen answers. “You sure?” “Yes” Christen states. “Can you two shut up?” Amy asks. “We are trying to follow the plot.” “Sorry mom” I say cheekily, receiving a glare from A-Rod. “Alex pass me Pedro please?” “What?” Alex asks confused. “Christen’s teddy; Pedro” I say. “Right” Alex says before throwing the toy dog at me. “Can you shut up now?” “Yes Al.” ~ “What are the thoughts on banning Tobin from future movie sessions ladies?” Cheney asks. “Hey” I object. “I am thinking it is a good thought” Kelley says, still clearly annoyed that I kept disturbing the movie. “I agree” Alex adds, Allie and A-Rod nodding. “I wouldn’t object to that” Christen says as she helps to tidy up the room. “I missed the majority of the movie because she kept whispering in my ear.” “I did it for your own good Press” I say. “If I hadn’t been distracting you then all of these women would have seen how scared you were and would’ve had to endure all your screaming and hissing.” “No, no Toby” Christen says as she points at me. “That is so not true.” “I am just lucky I didn’t get my hand broken this time” I say, earning a slap on the arm from Christen. “My hand wasn’t broken but it may as well have been, you squeezed it way too hard during ‘The Last Exorcism’ and also ‘Reservoir Dogs’ which wasn’t even scary.” “Do you really wanna go down this road?” Christen challenges and I shrug. “Ok Heath, you make fun of me so I will make fun of you.” “What ya got Press?” Kelley asks clearly interested. “Guess what Tobin’s favorite movie is?” Christen asks. Oh shit. “That’s easy, ‘Bend it Like Beckham’” Alex says, looking smug. “That’s what she tells people but no, it isn’t” Christen says. “It’s actually ‘The Notebook’.” “No way, is it?” A-Rod asks. “Is that why you wouldn’t watch it with me?” Cheney asks. “You have no idea what you have done here Chris” I warn playfully. “You reveal my secrets so I will reveal yours.” “I don’t really have any secrets” Christen says. “Not juicy ones anyway.” “Come on, spill” Allie says. “I have a secret involving Pressi” Kelley declares. “It’s from college.” “Tell us” Alex says. “I once walked in on Christen and her girlfriend having sex but she had no idea it happened” Kelley says. “Um… no you didn’t” Christen says with a frown. “How do you know she didn’t Pressi, Kelley said you never found out” Alex asks with a smirk. “I know she didn’t, there is no way Kelley would walk in and then manage to keep quiet for five years or more” I say. “Ok so I made that up” Kelley says. “You were pretty boring in college actually, if you weren’t studying or playing soccer you were on the phone to your girlfriend.” “Just because I was studious and preferred to talk to my girlfriend than attend any of your juvenile college parties doesn’t make me boring” Christen says. “College parties were so fun though, meeting people, hooking up” Kelley says. “There are other ways to meet people plus I wasn’t remotely interested in hooking up” Christen says. “Having a girlfriend and being in love is way more fun than hooking up with a different person at each party.” “I suppose from your point of view that makes sense, I mean you were with your girlfriend since you were like six” Kelley says. “I wasn’t six” Christen says with a sigh. “I was sixteen.” “Whatever” Kelley says. “Thank goodness you are not as boring now.”

So many days I spent on the beach in front of my little cabin, my eyes searching the sea for her. I knew what I had seen, the beautiful naked creature on the beach was not of land. My simple gift had caused her eyes to light in pleasure, her smile was a sight for an old man like me to behold. Yes, just a foolish and lonely old man, but smitten nonetheless. How could I not be, she knew no shame, she had squatted down before me as I poked and prodded for a trinket in the sand. It wasn't to expose herself, she was simply curious as to what I had found. When she noticed, realized my eyes fell on her she had apologized and closed her legs slightly, but there was no sense of modesty at all. The sand had given up a fine Golden chain with a small jade pendent, her eyes had sparkled, I knew she wanted it. So I simply reacted to the impulse, handed it to her. She had stepped forward, pressed to me. The touch was a flash of fire I had long before forgotten, her kiss was salty, sweet with joy. Then she turned, ran into the sea, and was gone. I had used my computer to search for "mermaids". I used every variation I could think of, nothing really fit until I spotted one word I didn't know. Selkie. I read page after page of folklore, I read the words of Walter Dennison, who wrote Orkney tales of the Selkie males and their stepping from the sea when women wept, to take them, bring them joy. Yes, often even an invasion into the sanctity of marriage, just spirits of the sea, no thought to the ways of land bound mankind. Folklore. Nothing but fantasy, yet I had seen her. She had hugged me, pressed her naked flesh against me, kissed me. There was a magic in that kiss. I remained an old man, yet I was somehow awakened. "I will come to here, to see you again." she had said, the worlds escaping her lips with an odd ring, almost like an echo. Then she had grabbed the wrap, cast it around herself and dashed into the surf. My first thought was that she had given her life, some kind of pain deep down inside that I did not see? I ran into the surf, thrashing this way and that, trying to save her to no avail. Then as I sat in shock on the beach, I had seen the imprints from her toes as she had dug into the wet sand to run. Those were not the marks a human foot would leave, I had seen many of those in the damp sand as I searched the beach. These were webbed. So now I walked the beach each day, sometimes even during storms, my eyes casting fruitlessly at the crests of waves. I hoped against hope that she would return. Sometimes I would see a dark spot floating in the surf, my heart would leap. Then I would hear the bark of a Seal, and I would go back to my endless search. Several years went by, and I felt my body failing me. Each day it was harder and harder to arise, handle my daily chores, then make the short trek to the sand. I had to tred with care in the dry and softer sand above the surf line to keep my balance. I often took my metal detector, using that to kill the time. I found a trinket now and then, a coin, once a ring with a black stone set in Gold. Usually my treasure for the day was simply the castoffs of man, I always kept them and disposed of them back at my cabin. The days grew cold, then warm, then cold again. I made my daily walks, sometimes on warmer days I saw other people. I would watch them closely for some sign, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was one moment of shock, I saw a female figure lying on the beach far away, basking in the sunlight. I saw the long dark hair and excited, I hurried her way, saying a hello as I approached. The woman grabbed her bikini top, pulled it over her bare breasts and scowled at me. It was not her, I beat a hasty retreat. One day I got a heavy sound from my metal detecter, it was deep. I reached for my shovel, began the task of digging up the item. About a foot down, I used my probe, felt the tip touch something firm. I flipped it loose, pulled it free. It was a beautiful Gold chain, a small feminine pendent of Jade hung from it. It was the same trinket I had given to the naked young lady years before. I stood holding it, realizing my first thought must have been correct. There was no other reason for the gift I handed her to be back in the sand unless it was pulled from her lifeless body by the sea. For some reason, she had ran, cast her life into the sea. I walked to the edge of the surf, where the last traces of each wave slid up to dampen the sand. And I, a foolish old man, could not see the signs, could not save her. A tear formed in my eye, dropped into the sea. "Hello." The voice was right at my side, it startled me. I turned, it was her, naked, natural, unashamed. I just stared, I had no voice. Her long dark hair seemed alight, it flowed outward in curls. Her breasts, so perfect for her trim body were as I remembered. The flow of her hips, so slender yet muscular, the untrimmed tuft of dark pubic hair did not hide the pinkness that lay underneath. I almost could not breathe. "You found it, I thought you would." Her smile was dazzling. "I have looked for you for so long." was all I could manage. Then I handed her the necklace, she slipped it on. Again, the flash of Gold against milk chocolate flesh. "We know no thought of time." she said. "We waited for you to prove yourself." I was confused, I didn't understand. "Prove myself?" "Yes, I came and buried your gift for you to find again. You cast a tear for me into my world, you called for me." She held up something, a wrap of some kind. I looked at it closely, it had spots, it looked like... A Sealskin? A baby Sealskin? I glanced down at her feet, yes, they were webbed. "Remove your garments, take this. You may join us." Again that smile, that wonderful echo in her voice. "Please?" My hands tripped the buttons on my shirt, I cast it to the sand. I struggled with my shoes, my trousers, hesitating at my boxer shorts. She stood there holding the warp, watching me. Her eyes glanced downward, expecting. I pulled my boxer shorts down and off, realizing as I did that I was erect. It had been a very long time since I was erect. "Take the wrap." She held it out to me. I reached and touched it, felt something flash over me. I pulled it tight around me, feeling slightly dizzy at the sudden sensation. "I don't know your name." "Name? I have no..name?" She turned and ran towards the sea. I didn't hesitate, I ran with her, keeping up easily. I leaped into the breakers, my body bit into the water and I flowed under and through the waves, effortlessly. Once I stopped and looked back at the shore. The body of an old man, naked, lay on the beach. That was the moment I knew. She had given me a gift in return. We swam together, sliding our bodies against each other in play, in joy. I was young again, strong and free. Sometimes on a warm midsummer's eve I come ashore, I hide my wrap amongst the rocks. I enter the old cabin, now used by others but often vacant. There is a computer there, I use it to tell my story. There are many of us, we are all one. We graze on sea and sky, we join in love. Sometimes one of us chooses. Sometimes we just give the gift of love. The choice of what you receive is always yours. So come to me when you are in need. Come and weep, cast seven tears into my sea. I or one of my fellows will bring you joy, and perhaps..just perhaps? If you prove yourself? A gift of life.

Gotta Take a Bow, Do it Your Way (It’s Okay)             Keith has rules about dating. Keith, in fact, has rules regarding most aspects of his life. He likes order, organization and structure. He has a collection of color-coded sticky notes lined up on his kitchen counter. He can spend literal hours in office-supply stores. He got excited when highlighters with built in sticky-tabs first came out.             (Despite how impulsive he is, how prone to reckless, hair-brained, spur-of-the-moment decisions like asking out random strangers who hit him with mailboxes – Keith is a very orderly person. Shiro calls it the great contradiction of his personality. Shiro needs to find someone else to psychoanalyze.)             But back to Keith’s Rules About Dating, filed under ‘Personal Life’, in subsection ‘Relationships with Other Humans – you know you should have those, right?’. (Keith’s pretty sure the only thing keeping him from the loony bin is the fact that he has never written any of these specialized categories or rules down. They are safely in his head where no one can look at them and say, ‘wow, this guy is completely nuts’.) Rule number one is ‘Don’t Ask Anyone Out Right Before Tech Week’. This rule was amended to ‘Before or Immediately After Tech Week’ after he, in a sleep-deprived haze, flirted with someone already in a relationship and got sent to the ER for his troubles. Shiro wrote the new and improved rule on his cast because Shiro is the best/worst brother ever. Who also happens to work in the ER.             The follow-up to that rule is ‘If You’re In Rehearsal, Warn Them About Tech Week’. Because Tech Week is not normal. Tech Week is a hellish time not comprehensible by mortal minds. Tech Week is the reason Keith started drinking black coffee. Tech Week is the source of his caffeine addiction and the reason most of his relationships crash and burn.             One month into his (impulse, impulse, impulsive) relationship with his klutzy neighbor, Keith forgets to explain Tech Week. …             Day 1             “What were you saying?” Keith interjects when he realizes that Lance has been speaking for the past three minutes and Keith has failed to comprehend a single word.             “You all there, babe?” Lance furrows his brows at him and looks two seconds away from actually checking his forehead for a temperature. Keith hasn’t been the focal point of so much nurturing energy since he lived with his brother. It’s…not bad…it’s nice, actually. Really, really nice.             “Sorry, thinking about work.”             “Yeah?”             “We’re a week away from opening night.”             “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, a tiny bit more excited?”             “I’m a stage manager. I had my emotions surgically removed upon graduation.”             “Now I know that’s not true,” and Lance is giving him that look that’s half flirtation, half invitation to laugh and Keith would respond, but he’s kind of dead inside and 50% of his brain is definitely still hung up on the last minute changes the director hurled at him last night. Instead he offers a weak smile and lets Lance continue babbling about…something at the Community Center? With the kids? He hears the word ‘Milk-pocalypse’ so it was probably pretty intense.             Dammit, this director needs to stop changing the goddamn staging. …             Day 2             “Find your fucking light!”             “Holy shit!”             Keith wakes up flailing and shouting - flailing and shouting even more when his sudden jump from unconscious to conscious has him thwacking his skull against…another skull?             “Light cue go…” Keith mutters groggily, blinking in the dimness.             “Holy shit,” Lance is sitting on the coffee table, his shape a vague silhouette in the darkness. He’s running his hands over his face and something twists in Keith’s stomach.             “Oh god, did I - ?”             “Headbutt me when I tried to do the nice thing and wake you up so you don’t ruin your spine sleeping on that couch? Yes, yes you did.”             “Is it bleeding?” Keith asks vaguely.             “Is what bleeding?”             “…Anything?”             “No, my beautiful face was spared your uncalled-for violence.”             “Sorry,” Keith mutters into the couch cushions. His watch’s glowing face tells him it’s three am and he definitely just got home an hour ago.             “Do you want to go to…? You’re asleep. You’re totally asleep. Already. It’s like a totally useless superpower.”             “Standby sound,” Keith mumbles incoherently. …             Day 3 “Keith. Babe. Keith.”             Keith can’t really pay attention to whoever is trying to distract him right now; he has to re-write the whole damn cuebook because some idiot spilled coffee on his original and this is why food and beverages belong outside the control booth.             “Keith, you’re vibrating. Like, literally shaking like a Chihuahua.”             “Did you bring me coffee?”             “No, I’m trying to bring you some sanity, but I’ll settle for common sense.”             “Okay.”             A sigh and a hand on his shoulder, “I really don’t get what’s up with you and you’re really freaking me out, dude.”             “Yeah, okay.” …             Day 4             “CoffeeCoffeeCoffeeCoffeeCoffeeCoffee.”             “Keith?”             “Morning, Hunk.”             “What are you?”             “Morning. Coffee. Need.”             “Why are you in our kitchen?”             “Coffee maker broke. Dumbwaiter works both ways. Coffee.”             “Oh, so you’re just…taking the whole coffee maker? Well…okay, then…bring it back when you’re done?”             Keith pauses at the dumbwaiter, cradling the coffee maker, sure that he’s forgotten a few social niceties and also vaguely certain that he needs to apologize to Lance for something but too sleep-deprived to know what, exactly. “Thanks for the coffee. Tell Lance I’m sorry.”             “For what?”             “Um. Sorry.” Keith’s brain has reached its limit for non-essential thought. Caffiene had better be imminent or he’s just going to shut down. He escapes through the dumbwaiter before he can mangle the conversation further.          …             Day 5             Keith gives up and just sleeps at the theatre. Tomorrow is the preview show. Tomorrow it all ends. He feels like there’s something he’s forgetting, someone he needs to contact or communicate something to…but it slips away, just outside his awareness. He feels a twist of guilt, the constant fear that he’s forgotten something; that he’s messed something up. He’s destructive like that.             But he can’t for the life of him remember what it was so he slides into an uneasy sleep curled up on a couch in the green room. …             Day 6             The preview show goes well. The cast is elated; Keith is wound tight and jittering with exhaustion and…OH FUCK. …             Day 6 – midnight – technically Day 7             “What the – Keith? What are you doing? Aren’t you cold?” Lance is sleep-rumpled and unbearably sweet, leaning out of his window to peer down at Keith – who is, in fact cold, standing in a snowdrift underneath his window.             “Yeah, actually. My shoes aren’t waterproof. Or snowproof.”             “It’s kind of the same thing.”             “Yeah.” Keith blinks, sways, god he’s tired, “Wait, no, I came here for a reason.”             “Wait, no, really? You didn’t just randomly decide to chuck rocks at my window?”             “It’s actually a rubber bouncy ball. Some actors were fooling around with it backstage so I took it.”             “Very enlightening,” and Lance is grinning at him, crooked, eyes soft like Keith is something special, before he abruptly straightens and glares, “Hey, no, you don’t get to be weird and endearing, I’m pissed at you!”             “I know, I’m – ”             “Nope! Nononono, nope! I refuse to be mature about this! I refuse. Shutting my window now so I don’t have to listen to you stand out there and talk about reasons. Nope! I’d rather it be a mystery. A nice, safe, ignorable mystery!” And then he’s struggling with the window but apparently closing it is harder than opening it was so he’s just sort of tugging futilely at it.             “Um. Since you’re not actually going anywhere, can I talk now?”             “No! I have metaphorically left this conversation and cannot hear you.”             “I’m gonna talk now. Just so you know. If you want to pretend you can’t hear me?”             “Ugh, you’re seriously going to make me stop trying to close this stupid defective window to clap my hands over my ears and go ‘lalalalala-can’t hear you’ like a toddler?”             “Or you could not do that. That is an option.”             “Ugh. Fine, explain why you’re breaking up with me. For the record, if this situation arises ever again, if we’re like one of those sitcom couples that keeps dating and breaking up and dating and breaking up, I’d rather it be left a mystery and oh shit, we’re Janice and Chandler from Friends, that is what is happening right now. I’m Janice. Weird, I always thought I was Chandler…”             “LANCE!” Keith finds himself shouting, something’s tight in his chest and he’s fighting his way around it to shout through Lance’s storm of words, “I’M NOT BREAKING UP WITH YOU.”             “…Because I’m very funny and not terribly good with, you know, attractive other people or relationships but I have these really solid friends, you know? Not to mention the New York thing, except we don’t live in the city…so I always thought I was Chandler, but you’re like, I dunno, perfect or something so you can’t be Janice…”             “SHUT UP, LANCE, I LOVE YOU.”             “…wait, what?”             “Dumbass,” Keith finishes the sentence mulishly but at much lower volume.             “Wait, skip back to before you were insulting me.”             Keith narrows his eyes, “I don’t think you deserve it.”             “Please. I called you ‘perfect or something’…”             “You also thought I was going to break up with you!”             Lance laughs awkwardly. He’s given up on trying to close the window and is instead leaning into the frame, looking down on Keith. His face is soft, open and unsure. “Well, you’ve been really weird the past few days? And totally work-obsessed and then you were just gone and I kind of...got the message? And then Hunk said you told him to tell me you were sorry and, just so you know, them’s breaking up words.”             “Apologies?”             “Vague apologies via third parties!”             “Oh.”             Lance rolls his eyes, “’Oh’ he says. You had me freaking out, I didn’t know what was up with you!”             “You kept trying to take care of me,” Keith says slowly. He’d realized this a few hours ago but it still feels weird to say out loud. He can feel it sing in his blood and fizz on his skin, the happy thought that someone out there cared, without having to, without being told to. Someone tried to take care of him just...because. “It was tech week and I was freaking out and running on, like two hours of sleep a night and a nightmare person to be around and you kept trying to take care of me.”             “Well, yeah, duh. I was really worried, you jerk!”             “Sorry. For everything. The week before a show is always a trainwreck and a lot of stuff came up at the last minute…”             “Hey, don’t worry about it.”             “No, it’s important and I’m sorry and…”             From the room beside Lance’s, a window slams open. Pidge’s catastrophic starburst of wild blonde hair jabs itself out the window and she squints aggressively at them, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the death of Lance’s dignity. It lived a short life. Now would you two stop being completely fucking high school about everything, and go make out somewhere that’s not here?”             Keith’s pretty sure his face is red to the roots of his hair, but he waves to Pidge anyway, “Hi, Pidge.”             She grunts at him and ducks back inside, slamming the window shut behind her.             Lance laughs awkwardly and peers down at him, “Soooo, wanna go be really high school and make out on your couch?”             “Can we be actual old people instead and just fall asleep watching reruns in an actual bed? I’m really tired.”             Lance beams at him and it’s like the sun, “Why don’t we do a little of both?”             Keith gives him a shaky smile, “Sounds good.” …             Day 7             “You’re not going to go out with the cast and get drunk?” Lance is leaning against the wall outside the theatre after the show – he’d tried to get tickets but couldn’t on such short notice.             Keith offers him a small smile, “I can do that at home with more interesting people.”             “Flattery will get you anywhere. And by anywhere, I mean my pants.”             “Wow, I did not get that subtext at all until you explained it in a really obvious way,” Keith says flatly, accepting the hand Lance holds out to him, tangling their fingers together and letting himself be pulled over to the car.             “Aww, but you love it.”             Keith groans theatrically.             “Yooou admitted it. Now you’re stuck knowing that I know that you looove me.” Lance swings their joined hands between them, sing-songing the words. He suddenly pauses, though, and spins around to face Keith, bringing them almost nose-to-nose. It’s cold, the winter air still nipping at their skin and turning their breath to clouds of steam. “Hey,” Lance’s voice is serious now, softer, “You know I do too, right?”             “Love you?” Keith says, trying to retain some of that distance, physical, emotional, whatever, despite the fact that any distance there might have been is effectively gone.             Lance rolls his eyes, “Love you,” and then again, in case Keith hadn’t gotten the message, “I love you. Despite the fact that you lose your mind and turn into some kind of coffee-stealing-head-butting gremlin the week before a play opens.”             “I’m a stage manager, it happens.”             Lance kisses him on the forehead and then both cheeks with a resounding smack. “Come on, let’s go home.”             Keith lets himself be tugged forward just enough to encroach on Lance’s space and kiss him once, soft, on the lips. “Thank you.”             “For what?”             “Being you.”             “You mean being excellent.”             “See, this is why I don’t compliment you.”             “Yeah, but you looove me.” “Just drive us home.” …             Lance was right that night they met – it is totally true love or something.  

FOUR - ADOA The ride to Mystacor had been fun, Micah playing a bunch of oldies while doing a horrible attempt to sing along. Bow and Glimmer had happily joined while Frosta just watched the scenery from the window. Micah had rented a van so we could all travel together, and I was only a bit bummed that Scorpia and Catra had decided to drive separately. I had a feeling that was more for Catra’s sake than anything but it would have been fun to have her here to witness this hot mess.  Angella would smile over at her husband as he poorly belted out, sometimes even giggling at his theatrics. Every attempt to rope Frosta into a song was harshly ignored, but Micah didnt seem deterred at all.  Frosta had demanded she sit next to Glimmer, and Glimmer had refused to let Bow sit anywhere but near her, so I was left with the back booth seat all to myself. Which was nice seeing as I could stretch out a bit. Damn long legs.  Once we arrived Casta was already waiting for us. And it was no shock that she instantly launched into prying for juicy gossip. Which of course Glimmer groaned and quickly left to settle into her room.  I had smiled as I left Angella and Micah to deal with the woman.  Again it came as no shock to find a present waiting on the pillow of my bed. Casta was always knitting and I had not once left an interaction with her without a lovingly made sweater to go along with it. I also knew I would be expected to wear it at some point during the trip.  I wonder what pattern Bow and Glimmer got as I stared down at the unicorn on my own.  When my phone went off I was gifted with the picture of both Glimmer and Bow already in their sweaters, apparently we were getting this tradition out of the way as soon as possible. Glimmers had a big half moon on hers, while Bows had a bundle of arrows with a flowy ribbon wrapping them together. Glimmer didnt smile for the photo but Bow was gleaming. He always loved the sweaters. He would most likely wear his more than once.  Rolling my eyes I slipped into my own and sent a photo in return.  We agreed to meet up and rejoin the group in a few minutes. Catra and Scorpia were still driving as they left an hour or so after we had.  Catra really hadnt been what I expected. She was blunt, a bit moody, and quick witted. And a huge flirt if she was in the mood. Sometimes she would say some things that were just down right raunchy, but only really over text. But other than that she was also really sweet.  Like when she let me stay in her room even after it had been made clear she didnt like people in her space.  We had talked and laughed for hours before we realized it was late and I needed to go home.  She had even shown me a few sketches that she did. She was really talented and had a serious knack for realism. The charcoal on her papers brought faces and scenes to life. It had blown me away. Made me wonder if one day I could convince her to do one of Swifty, my great dane dalmatian gentle giant. Who was staying with Razz over the weekend. I would most likely come home to find him well overfed. Razz just had a soft spot for that giant doggo. Always slipping him food she knows he isnt allowed to have.  I headed down to the lobby and instantly had to hold back laughter. It seems we all had the same idea. Angella’s sweater had a crown, Micahs had a staff thing, Frosta had a huge snowflake. It was perfect.  Glimmer stared me down, “Go on. Get it all out, Greyskull.”  A snort escaped me as I waved my hands, “No, no. Im good.”  She quirked an eyebrow, paired with Bows beaming face. I lost it. It was just too good.  Also Frostas sweater was just a bit too big and hung off her which just really sold the brooding glare she was sending my way. Her little fists clenched. Priceless.  Finally my laughter petered out enough for me to take in the oddly empty lobby. Usually when we visited the place had more foot traffic. It wasnt overly crowded but there was always someone around.  “Slow weekend?” I asked as I glanced around.  Glimmer shrugged, “Aunt Casta said things have been slower since the Thaymor incident.”  Right, Thaymor. It was a small town not too far from here, but it had been one of the many places recently on the Prime hit list. Cult Prime had been hitting the news left and right. Bomb threats escalating as everyone did their best to try and figure out exactly where this ‘Lord Prime’ was hiding out.  The loon had propaganda and people following in his footsteps to do his dirty work. His followers going so far as to call themselves ‘clones’.  Each bomb threat so far had been handled and some were even false calls, but Thaymor had not been so lucky. Somehow someone had slipped into the small police station and sent the thing up in flames a week ago. It had been a multiple point attack as the fire station had also been targeted. They were too far away from Brightmoon for Station 18 to be called in for assistance but we had been geared in ready on the off chance we got called.  No one really knew why these attacks were happening or what was on Primes agenda, we just knew that the attacks had been rising recently and it didnt look good.  Guess it was enough of a scare for people to not go to a usually populated resort.  Makes sense. It was the definition of the places Prime had targeted in the cults early days. Unfortunately it seemed as time passed he began going after more official business and emergency services, and less tourist locations.  He was all over Etheria which made it really hard to track down where he was hiding. Worst of all, we couldnt really pull in any of his ‘clones’ as the attacks were mostly spearheaded by suicide bombers. Preaching that they were ‘in Primes light’ and seeking ‘eternal peace’.  It was just down right creepy.  It kind of made me feel bad for being here, while others were too scared to. There wasnt much the station could do in this instance, but I still felt uneasy with not helping more. But then again, Brightmoon hasnt had any incident with the cult.  I was pulled out of my musing by the sound of cackling. Turning I found Catra smirking at the group.  “Oh thats just precious.” She drawled out.  It was a totally weird feeling seeing Catra with my bag slung on her shoulder. I wonder what she would look like in one of my shirts.  Glimmer propped her hand on her hip, “Horde scum.”  Ah, the old Brightmoon Academy vs. Horde High rivalry. Nice. Awkward.  Catra wiggled her fingers at Glimmer, “Sparkles.”  Before Glimmer could throw out a no doubt nasty comment, Casta walked up the group, holding her hands to her face as she took us all in, “Oh, you wore them! Do you like them?”  We all nodded along, she asked every time.  Scorpio perked up, “You made those? Thats amazing!”  Casta blushed slightly as she smiled from the praise, “Oh thank you. Just a little hobby of mine, you know.” She offered her hand out, “Please, call me Aunt Casta. You must be Scorpia and Perfuma.”  Scorpia took the offered hand, “Oh, well. Sort of. Perfuma couldnt make it so I brought my friend Catra along. I hope thats alright. Oh, shoot. Im sorry. I should have asked.”  Casta waved her off, “No worries, happy you both could make it. Though, the sweater may not fit.” She pursed her lips as she took in Catra, most likely having gotten measurements from either Bow or Glimmer. Hell maybe even Micah.  Catra raised an eyebrow at that, “Say what?”  Glimmer smirked as she approached the tan girl, throwing an arm around her shoulder, “Aunt Casta made sweaters for everyone. ”  Catras smirk dropped as Scorpia damn near jumped with glee, “Oh thats so exciting! I cant wait to wear mine!”  “Yippie.” Catra deadpanned as she shrugged Glimmer off.  I was once again holding back laughter. Oh this was going to be a fun weekend.  Casta left with the two newcomers, having to do a room change as Scorpia originally booked a one bed.  They promised to meet up with us when they were finished, Scorpia boasting that she too would be joining in her sweater and even going so far to ask for a group photo.  As I followed the group out onto the grounds I sent Catra a quick text. Adora : Excited to see whats on your sweater You wont catch me dead in this thing : Catra Adora: Not even a picture? Already asking for pics? Bold move. : Catra My face heated up as I read that. Nope. Nope. Mind out of the gutter. I decided not to respond, not that I would have a good one anyways and slipped my phone back into my pocket.  We all made slow work of going through the outside buffet, Micah offering to help Frosta fill her plate. To which she sassily responded that she wasnt a ‘kid’ and could do it herself. Though she did ask Glimmer a few times to help her reach the food in the back of the lineup from time to time. Micah sulked a bit as Angella patted his shoulder.  By the time we pushed some tables together and sat down Catra and Scorpia were making their way through the line. Catra was still in her crop top and flannel, while Scorpia was proudly wearing the sweater with a scorpion on it. Looks like Casta didnt get too creative with it.  Catra and Scorpia took the open seats next to me, Catra raising her eyebrows as she took in the two plates I had in front of me.  Which shouldnt be that odd, Scorpia had two plates too.  Lunch went by pretty smooth, though Catra and Glimmer did get in a few jabs at one another. Which Frosta seemed to thoroughly enjoy. At one point Bow had to intervene and distract Glimmer before food started getting thrown.  I leaned over whisper, “Having fun?”  She snorted as she looked over at me, “A blast. Getting under sparkles skin is what I live for.”  I rolled my eyes, “Did you like your sweater?”  She in turn rolled her eyes, “Desperate for that pic, are you?”  My blush crept back up to my cheeks, “I wouldnt say desperate.”  Her eyes gleamed as she leaned on the table to rest her head on her shoulder as she watched me, “How does needy sound?”  Ok, the way she said needy was just unfair. And it was clear we were no longer talking about a sweater picture.  She chuckled at my lack of response and settled back in her chair as she crossed her legs, her foot skimming up my shin one before going back to its rightful place, “You’re fun.”  How do I respond to that?  I gave a sheepish smile, “uh, thanks?”  “Hey, useless lesbians.” Glimmer called over to us, “You done? We’re trying to figure out what to do next. Your input would be nice.”  My blush intensified as all eyes at the table were looking at us.  Catra crossed her arms, “Yah, I dont know what youre doing. But I was promised a spa. And plenty of alone time.”  Glimmer gave her a too sweet smile, “Perfect. Now that that is settled. Adora, what are we going to be doing.” Once again the tension was back at the table but broken slightly by Frostas far too eager smile at the interaction.  All eyes were on me. I really wanted to go with Catra, just to have some time with her and get to know her but she had made it clear she wanted alone time. So maybe I was supposed to hang out with the group and leave her be unless she sought me out?  Micah took pity on me after a long silence, which Glimmer did not let up on her pointed stare, “Well, Casta has set up a nice little beach picnic for us for dinner, so perhaps we should all enjoy the day? Regroup later?” He turned to Angella who was politely smiling but offering absolutely no help, “Sound good, dear?”  Angella gave her husband a knowing look, “Sounds lovely.” Glimmer did not seem at all pleased with the outcome and turned to Bow, “Guess we’re on our own.”  Bow sent me an apologetic smile before turning to his girlfriend, “We could go snorkeling?”  Still seeming unpleased, “Come on.” She stood from her chair before sending a look towards Catra.  Scorpia let out a low whistle, “Well...that was something.”  I chuckled, “Yah.”  Catra shrugged as she too stood and sauntered off. Do her hips always sway like that?  Scorpia turned to me with a sheepish smile, “Wanna go check out the rink? Maybe get some practice in?”  I nodded gratefully at her.  In the end Frosta ended up joining us while Micah and Angella went off for a walk through the meditation gardens.  It was a bit weird having Frosta along without her parents but she quickly proved to be far more capable on her own. She took to the ice far easier than I ever did.  We passed the puck back and forth for a bit, just getting into the motions of it. But Frosta also proved to be highly competitive and before I knew it Scorpia and Frosta were teaming up against me.  Though Scorpia really hung back at the goal and let Frosta take the lead.  It was fun and really helped ease the tension of lunch. Casta had popped in for a time but just watched, cheering on her niece as she actually put up a good game.  Once Frosta made the next score we called it a break, promising the twelve (Soon to be thirteen) year old we would do this again before the trip was up. Maybe even get a few more people to join the fun to actually get a solid game going.  There was still a few hours before the dinner thing Casta had promised so I decided to just wander around. I had been curious about the hot springs but I also didnt want to intervene on any of Catra’s alone time if she was there.  It was nice, beautiful even. Mystacor had beaches dominating one side while the other half was all cliff edges overlooking the expansive sea. It was a large resort so it didnt really feel like wasting time when every step showed me something different.  Though I had stumbled upon a very nice looking gym and made promises to revisit it later. Even found a trail that looped around the resort, another promise was made for my morning run.  By the end of my journey I actually stumbled on Bow and Glimmer as they were heading back up to change for dinner. Glimmer was in higher spirits and even talked excitedly about some of the things they saw. Bow had been stung by a jellyfish but it was a small mark that was already covered in cream.  Just before we were all expected to head down to the beach I deemed my sweater time over and headed to my room to change.  Nights at mystacor were cooler than the days but still warm so I slipped on a tank top and some swim trunks, just in case.  Just as I was about to text Glimmer and Bow to see if they were ready a knock came at my door.  I was a bit shocked to find Catra standing in the hall but I couldnt deny the excitement that bubbled in my chest as she looked up at me,  “Hey, Adora.” Her grin down right taunting.  “Oh, hey Catra.” I leaned against the door slightly.  She raised an eyebrow, “Mind if I come in?” She lifted the little bundle of clothes I hadnt noticed, “Scorp is using the shower and I kinda need one before the whole dinner thing.”  I stepped aside, “Yah, of course. You can use mine if you want.”  She snorted as she walked passed, “Kinda why im here.”  “Right.” I shut the door, but then wondered if I was supposed to leave so she had privacy.  Catra didnt seem off put with me still there as she made her way to the bathroom and shut the door, so I decided to wait for her.  Sitting at the end of the bed I sent a message to the group chat for them to head on without me. Only Bow responded.  I didnt have to wait long before the bathroom door was once again opened, letting some of the steam out. Her hair was still dry but her skin was flush from the heat.  Catra, without a doubt, would be the death of me.  She was in loose black shorts that really showed off the expanse of her legs and a tank thing that tied at the neck but completely exposed her shoulders and back. And if the strap free back was any indication, she wasnt wearing a bra.  She quirked an eyebrow at me as she sent that devilish smirk my way, “Feeling alright, hero?”  Right, I was just staring. In a room. Alone. With Catra.  I nodded, “Yah. You ready?” She shrugged, “As Ill ever be.” Though she made no move towards the door. No this drop dead dangerously gorgeous woman moved so she was standing between my legs with her knees against the bed, “Are you?”  What was the question?  She chuckled as I just blinked up at her.  “Come on, dork. Before Sparkles leads a search party.” She grabbed my wrist and tugged me to the door.

    ✪★ Ch. 6 ★✪   Dusk is approaching when James determines that nothing more can be gained from continued surveillance of the hospital.  Silently, Steve is relieved. He’s never been particularly great at ‘hurry-up-and-wait’, and he suspects that his inability to sit with the same level of uncanny stillness that James has maintained for hours on end has managed to agitate the former assassin.  After a final visual sweep, James puts away his scope and they abandon the rooftop, moving down to ground level and heading for the hospital entrance.  Both Steve and James had agreed upon civilian clothing for this op, tactical gear being far too conspicuous for the public setting. For the same reason, the shield, too, had to be left behind.  Low-drawn baseball caps help to conceal their features, the growing length of Steve's hair and beard providing him with an extra bit of coverage. That had been James’ suggestion, and Steve has to admit that the new, longer length—so different from the clean-cut style Captain America is known for—has done remarkable things for his ability to fly under the radar. Shapeless, nondescript clothing completes their look, making Steve and James appear as close to average civilians as possible. As they head inside the building, Steve instinctively adjusts his movement to match James’ deliberate, slightly expedient stride and tries not to be surprised at how easily it gets them through the lobby.  It’s something Natasha has spent a good amount of time working to teach him. How to modify his body language, use it to manipulate others’ perceptions—the basics of Spy 101. ‘Most people,’ she’d told him, once, ‘-won’t attempt to stop a person if they walk purposefully enough, don’t allow for eye-contact, and generally appear to know what they’re doing and where they are going.’  James apparently follows this same line of reasoning.  Steve will never be as good as Natasha, certainly not the Winter Soldier, but there’s no denying that Nat’s lessons are working in his favor, now.   He and James head straight for the elevator on the far side of the lobby and nobody approaches them. Even the friendly-looking staff at the front desk don’t attempt to engage them. Steve’s shoulders ease just slightly, and he drops down to the next goal on his mental checklist: finding the encoded message located somewhere within the building.  Hours of reconnaissance had made it apparent that whatever Hydra-related activities are—or were—carried out at this site, the place still houses a fully functioning hospital, complete with non-Hydra personnel and ordinary patients.  Hydra seems to have an affinity for infiltrating established corporations; burying its enterprises beneath the cover of legitimate businesses. Since the fall of SHIELD, Steve and his team have come across a number of establishments that were completely unaware of Hydra’s infiltration—until confrontation forced the neo-Nazi organization to reveal itself.  Whether that is the case with this hospital or not, Steve suspects anything Hydra-related is likely to be found below-ground, concealed from non-Hydra personnel.  Sure enough, once they get inside the elevator, a hidden panel slides away at the press of James' thumb, revealing access to a sub-level within the building. James spares a glance in Steve’s direction, ensuring that he is ready, before he pushes the button, triggering the elevator to begin a smooth descent. The doors, once they reach the sub-level, open whisper-quiet to reveal a long, dimly lit corridor stretching out before them. The only light comes from the backup LEDs glowing murkily along the upper walls, and the bright interior lighting spilling from the elevator. At the end of the corridor, Steve's enhanced vision can just make out what appears to be a wide space, filled with some kind of equipment. Just as he's beginning to wonder whether they should have brought flashlights, James steps from the elevator, activating what must be a motion sensor, triggering the bright lights in the ceiling to switch on one by one, down the corridor and into the room at the end. Steve fights a twinge of unease, the display dragging up the memory of stepping into Zola’s “brain”—the very nerve-center of Hydra’s organization, burrowed beneath SHIELD's foundation like a particularly bloodthirsty tick. James follows the progression of the lighting, a quiet stalk down the corridor, drawing his gun from a hidden holster. Steve, drawing his own weapon, follows at his six.  The room, when they reach the end, is larger than Steve had expected and looks to have been abandoned with some haste, it’s floor scattered with loose papers, doors and drawers of various refrigeration units, storage shelves, and metal racks left hanging askew.  A good deal of shattered glass crunches underfoot as they move carefully through the room, ensuring that the vast space is as empty as the silence would suggest.  Spaced evenly down the center of the room are what look like small surgical “stations”, each furnished with industrial-grade lighting angled over large, stainless-steel tables equipped with heavy-duty restraints.  Wheeled, surgical stands are situated at each station, one of which still holds what looks like a bone saw; dull and rust-stained. Silent. Impotent. Steve forces himself to look away from the tool, to suppress the nauseating horror that twists through his gut when he considers the implications of restraints being coupled with things like surgical equipment and bone saws.  He turns, only to have his gaze fall upon the barred cells lining the walls down the right side of the room, each containing a bolted down cot with further adjoining restraints.  Cots and restraints. Barred cells and man-sized steel tables. There is no way for Steve to fool himself. No way that he can deny what is right in front of his eyes. It’s quite clear: This place was designed for, and had functioned as, a site for human experimentation.  Unhelpfully, the scene calls to mind the dozens of photographs Steve had found stored within the Winter Soldier’s file. Hydra had spent a great deal of time surveilling the effects of the numerous experiments they’d subjected upon their most valuable prisoner. One image, in particular, forces its way to the front of Steve’s eidetic memory: “the subject” crouched and naked, plaintively gripping the bars of his cell. Though his body language was pleading, it was visibly apparent that the man in that cell didn’t expect any help from his captors; his head had been angled downward; long, dark hair completely obscuring his features.  Steve’s chest squeezes, fingers clutching numbly around the grip of his gun. It could have been here, he thinks. Bucky—James—could have been kept in any one of these cells. Could have been tortured and experimented upon in this very room.    He swallows tightly, bile burning hot at the back of his throat as he jerks his gaze away from the cage-like compartments, dragging in a quiet, shuddering breath. -   The Soldier moves through the experimentation lab with the Captain at his back and tries not to wonder if Hydra’d ever held him in this specific location. He doesn’t remember, and all attempts to pull forth a memory only serve to remind him of the echoing blankness where memory should lie.  There is nothing—specifically—about this particular place that is familiar.  At the same time, everything about it digs claws into his fractured mind.  His eyes catch on old IV bags—dried-out and limp, left hanging from various stands and crumpled atop stainless-steel workbenches—and the acid burn of experimental drugs being pumped into his bloodstream echoes through his veins; frozen fire that would begin with the bite of a needle, then spread, slowly, relentlessly, through his whole body.    He steps around a number of scalpels scattered across the floor—left as they’d been dropped by people in too much of a hurry to retrieve them, gleaming dull beneath the bright light from above—and recalls, intimately, the searing bite of their blades.  How, at first, there is no real pain. Not because he’d been given any anesthetics; because, when that sort of trauma is introduced, there is always a short, adrenaline-fueled moment where the brain scrambles to interpret what is happening; a quiet, dread-filled numbness extant even as the razor’s edge cuts deep through tissue and muscle. Only then, after, comes the bright agony of flesh splitting open; the animal-like terror of having one’s insides exposed to a room full of ruthless, hungry-eyed scientists; the nauseating sensation of blood spilling warm and wet over blanched-white skin.  The muffled crack of his bones being broken, again and again, so that the doctors could record specific variances in his healing factor under a range of different circumstances—sleep-deprivation, starvation, exsanguination—is another not-distant memory, and the sight of a rust-stained bone-saw lying harmlessly on one of the surgical trays has his body breaking out in a cold sweat.  The metal arm recalibrates—a mechanical manifestation of his distress—and he rolls his shoulders, forcing himself to loosen clenched muscles, mentally shoving the unwelcome echoes of his own panic-stricken terror into the darkest corner of his mind.  Deliberately, he re-centers his focus. Goes to that quiet space inside his head where nothing touches him. Where the only important thing is completing the mission.  Thoughts composed, emotions shut away, he ghosts through the remainder of the lab and feels nothing at all.  At the far end of the room, an open doorway leads to another, smaller room, and as they approach, the Soldier can hear the faint mechanical whir of machinery coming from within. Stepping inside reveals rows of filing cabinets, shelves covered with dusty boxes, and a small accumulation of computers.  This has to be where the signal is coming from. The Soldier moves to tuck away his weapon when something draws him short.  He stops, executing a slow pivot, glancing back the way he and the Captain had come, and hears it again: the low whir of the elevator descending. The soft, whisper-shush of its doors sliding open.  Were he not enhanced, he’d never have picked up on the faint sounds. As it is, the quiet thuds of at least a dozen sets of booted feet filing from the elevator reaches his ears, even at a distance of more than two-hundred feet, even with walls between him and the source. Judging by the way his body has gone taut, the Captain has caught the sounds too, his hand tightening around the grip of his weapon as his gaze darts to the Soldier’s.  His brow is deeply furrowed, eyes dark and uncompromising, and the Soldier knows, with a sudden surety, that the Captain has no intention of shrinking back from what is almost certainly going to be a deadly confrontation. That he means to fight.  Good. The Soldier means to fight as well.  He dips his head, offering a shallow nod of acknowledgement, and moves to press himself against one side of the doorway, weapon raised and ready. The Captain, with a small nod of his own, mirrors the Soldier’s position on the opposite side.  Silently, they wait.  -  As the sounds of booted feet travel from the elevator toward the lab, moving steadily closer, Steve counts footfalls, estimating somewhere around a dozen potential hostiles.  A surreptitious glance around the doorway confirms his guess as three, four-man units file through the doorway on the far side of the room.  Even without the red insignia affixed to their tac gear, Steve doesn’t doubt that these operatives are Hydra. Armed with deadly assault rifles, they move through the lab with practiced proficiency, quickly sweeping the room. It won’t be long before he and James are discovered, positioned just inside the computer room.  They need to engage. It’s now or never.  James, evidently, has come to the same conclusion. In one fluid, lightening-quick movement, he leans around the corner, takes aim, and fires off three successive shots, ducking back behind cover immediately afterward. Shouts of alarm precede the sound of three dead operatives hitting the floor, and a rapid scuffling follows as the remaining Hydra agents scramble for cover. There isn't much to be found, in that room. A factor which tilts the odds ever so slightly in Steve’s and James’ favor.  Steve takes aim during the brief chaos and picks off another two of the operatives, keeping a mental tally of how many bullets are left between him and James.  Theoretically, based solely upon the number of Hydra operatives still alive, there are more than enough rounds between the two of them to take down all of their enemy.  Realistically, however, the Hydra agents are armed with weapons that are both substantially more powerful, and have considerably more ammunition. Against that sort of firepower, the wall behind which Steve and James are taking cover won’t hold for long. If they stay where they are, they’re little more than sitting ducks.  The best way to even the odds—the only way he can think of, at the moment—is to force the agents to engage them in close combat. He and James are stronger than the operatives, Faster. Certain to prevail if guns are taken out of the equation. For that to work, though, they’ll need to jump right into the middle of things; avoid getting pinned down; and hopefully, not get shot in the process.  They’ll need a distraction.  Steve glances around—looking for something he can use, wishing, fervently, that he had his shield.   A voice calls from the other room, the clipped, rapidly-spoken Russian incomprehensible to Steve. He glances to James for clarification, and sees a flash of something like guilt flare in silver-blue eyes, there and gone again in little more than an instant.  “They want me to surrender,” James translates, voice low; inflectionless. “They say they’ll spare you, if I surrender. They’ll let you go.”  Steve squares his jaw, face set in what he knows are stubborn lines. “Even if that were true,” he says, reaching to grab a chair from one of the computer stations. “I wouldn’t go.”  He takes a precious moment to pause and meet James’ eyes. Holds on to that pale gaze. “Not without you.”  Then he hurls the chair as hard as he can into the room where Hydra waits, aiming for where his near-perfect recall identifies as a strategic position for the operatives to have taken cover. It’s the best diversion he can come up with on such short notice, and he uses the small advantage it offers, darting out into the lab as the agents instinctively aim at the thing hurtling toward them, going for whoever he can take out amid the distraction. - The Soldier follows the Captain into the lab without hesitation, charging into the room full of armed hostiles at the other man’s heels. Mentally, he curses the Captain’s recklessness even as he wonders at his own instinctive reflex to follow him right into the proverbial lion’s den.  Still, rash as it was, using that chair as a distraction allows the Captain to take out another Hydra agent, dropping their numbers to a far more manageable six.  The Captain darts into the middle of a small cluster of three, slashing at one with a sharp blade while simultaneously slamming his knee into the gut of another, yanking that agent’s gun from his loosened grip and using his momentum to bring the weapon crashing into the third operative’s temple. A few feet away, the Soldier takes out another enemy, driving his metal fist into the combatant’s face and crushing his skull, effectively stopping him from depressing the trigger of the rifle he’d had aimed at the Captain.   Another operative goes down with the Soldier’s ka-bar embedded in his throat, and then, just like that, there is only one agent left to take care of.  The Soldier turns his attention to the remaining operative, the pale-faced man already backing away, hands raised and rifle abandoned in the face of what he clearly recognizes is his imminent demise. The Soldier stalks forward, ready to end this even as his tactical brain snags on the fact that Hydra had sent only a dozen agents to bring in the Winter Soldier.  Even without the Captain’s support, the Soldier’s training and enhancements make it highly unlikely that such a small team of operatives could bring him down. Not with him working at full capacity. Not without major injuries or a significant amount of drugs slowing him down.  Maybe this paltry sum of operatives is all that Hydra’d had to work with. With Pierce dead, and so many of the world’s governments actively working to destroy what’s left of Hydra’s remains, it’s likely that their numbers are dwindling; bleeding out alongside whatever lingering power or authority they might have left.  No wonder they are so keen to get the Soldier back.  With their most valuable asset back under their control, Hydra wouldn't have to worry about scrambling for power. They could go underground. Rebuild their strength and bide their time. Wait for another, convenient opportunity to strike; a move big enough to put their players back on the board. Hydra thrived amid chaos, and the Winter Soldier was trained to create it. To cause havoc. Reap war. Change history.  Shape the century. All they had to do was get him back. And they would , the Soldier knew. They’d stop at nothing to force him back under their control. He’d broken for them once already. It would be so easy for them to do it again. Press along barely-healed fractures; shatter him back to pieces. ‘Wipe him and start over.’ No. The Soldier’s left arm whines, metal plates shifting and tightening in a rapid series of sharp movements. That isn’t going to happen. Because he’s never going back. He’ll die first. And if he can’t quite manage it himself, the Captain will. He promised.  The Soldier doesn’t have to look to know that the Captain has finished neutralizing the three operatives on the other side of the room. He closes in on the last remaining enemy, set to eliminate whatever small threat he poses.  The sound of the elevator descending makes him pause, gaze swiveling toward the doorway..  His eyes catch upon the single figure stepping from the lift. Male , his mind catalogs rapidly, automatically. Dark-haired, thickly bearded. Moving purposefully toward the room, but not hurrying. Outfitted in dark tac gear. Threat assessment— He doesn’t recognize the man. He doesn’t, but…   —high. A shiver of unease scrapes down the Soldier’s spine.  There’s something about him. Something that has the Soldier’s brain shrieking in recognition, fighting to unearth long-buried memories.   His attention is split between the final operative and the new arrival for only a second, but it’s enough of a window for the retreating Hydra agent to pull his sidearm, firing upon the Soldier while his gaze is turned elsewhere.  The Captain’s shout of alarm resonates beneath the report of the gun as the Soldier jerks his chin to the left, barely managing to avoid the brunt of the bullet’s trajectory, the shot carving a searing line along his cheekbone. His gaze has left the other man, the newcomer, for the barest of moments.   It’s all the opening the other man needs. In an instant, the newcomer is slamming into the Soldier, sending him flying across the room from the force of a single, powerful kick.  The Soldier crashes into a refrigeration unit, glass door shattering as he smashes bodily through the front of it. Knife-like shards dig deep into his back, slicing even deeper as he rolls quickly back to his feet.  This man, the newcomer, is fast. Strong. As strong as the Soldier himself.  Enhanced, the Soldier’s mind whispers, struggling to unearth the knowledge running just beneath the surface of his frozen, wasteland of a memory. Dangerous. He’s one of Hydra’s. A soldier. A killer. Like the Winter Soldier but…different. There’s more, much more to it than that, but the Soldier can’t remember.    He shakes his head, advancing toward the enhanced operative, metal arm whirring. It doesn’t matter, he concludes. The newcomer is just one more enemy. A threat—substantial as it may be — that the Soldier needs to take down.  He reaches for a blade, brain catching on the disconcerting realization that the enhanced operative hasn’t pulled a weapon of his own, and then— “Желание.”  The Soldier stumbles. “Нет.” The operative watches him, eyes cool. Intelligent. Calculating. “Ржавые.” “Stop.” He raises a shaky hand to his temple. “Стой.” The operative doesn’t stop.  -  Steve turns away from tying up the unconscious body of the agent who’d fired upon James— who’d jerked with the force of the shot, and Steve had thought. For a moment he’d been sure that James had been hit…and Steve had lost it, launching himself across the room, slamming his clenched fist into the wide-eyed agent’s jaw and dropping him like a ton of bricks…  He’d heard glass shatter a moment later, and had known that the other operative—the bearded man who’d stepped from the elevator—was in play.   Now he sees James stumble, face stricken, as the bearded man begins to utter a familiar set of Russian trigger phrases.   James is pale, his voice shaky as he says,‘Stop’, in English. Again in Russian. The bearded man pays no mind to the plea, the desperate quality of James’ voice. He goes down the list of trigger words with ruthless indifference, the fourth falling from his lips just as Steve barrels into him, knocking him to the ground.  The operative flips back to his feet with a snarl, that cold, calculating gaze suddenly turned upon Steve, and the sudden shift in attention reminds Steve of fighting the Winter Soldier.  On the Helicarrier, and that bridge in DC, the Winter Soldier’d had eyes only for his mission. He’d ignored everything outside of that, engaging others only when they came between him and his target. This operative shares a similar methodology, his attention fixed on Steve only now, when Steve’s put himself between James and him. He draws his sidearm, but Steve moves faster, knocking the weapon from his grip before he can fully raise it.  The operative pulls a knife next, swiping at Steve with vicious intent and Steve blocks the attack, driving a kick into the operative’s gut, knocking him back once more. The operative is strong, stronger than any normal man—but Steve is stronger.  He’s got an advantage of experience—has fought plenty of enhanced individuals, including those with the single-minded ferocity of the Winter Soldier—and, for once, has zero hesitation about throwing everything he has into this fight.  The helpless horror he’d felt during his first passage through this room, with its remnants of Hydra’s inhumane experiments on blatant display; his fury at discovering further evidence of James’ subjection to such sadistic treatment; his vehement determination to keep Hydra from ever getting their hands on James again—all of these add fuel to Steve’s blows, and he brings the operative down, quick and merciless, dragging him into an unforgiving chokehold. He doesn’t release the agent until the man goes completely still, lack of oxygen forcing him unconscious.   Steve wants to kill him—this man who’d made James look so afraid—but he makes himself let go, removes his hands before he stops the operative’s breathing entirely. Killing this man, a possible supply of valuable intel, is tactically unsound, he tells himself. He should call in Tony and the others. Let them see what information they can get out of him about Hydra’s plans.  The operative drops from Steve’s grasp, a dead weight, and Steve leaves him where he falls. Turns, instead, to crouch before James: sunk to one knee, unmoving.  His expression is distant, haunted. Barely visible behind the dark tangle of his hair. “James,” Steve says, soft.  James doesn’t so much as twitch.  His head stays angled downward and Steve aches to reach out and touch, to try to ground him, but doesn’t dare.  “You’re okay,” he murmurs, offering platitudes in place of contact.“You’re okay, James. Come back, please. Come back to me.”  A muffled scrape sounds from behind him, and Steve jolts, glancing over his shoulder to see the Hydra operative raising a gun. Stupid, stupid, he berates himself, even as he automatically angles his own body to cover James’.  It’s been barely a minute. Far too soon for the operative to have awoken. But that’s no excuse. Steve should have never allowed himself to get so completely caught off guard. He should have tied the man up—made sure he was completely restrained—before getting so focused on James he’d all but forgotten the murderous threat behind him.  Now it’s too late. The operative’s finger curls around the trigger and the only thing left for Steve to do is—  The shot rings out, a sharp crack that cuts through the silence in the room.  Steve—entire body braced for impact—feels nothing, only a jolt of shock as the perfect circle of a bullet wound blooms on the operative’s forehead, centered neatly between his eyes. Relief, bright and visceral, slices through him as he watches the operative’s body slump to the floor, blood pooling around his head like a gruesome, crimson halo.  He turns back to find James lowering his gun, expression only marginally less empty than it had been moments ago, gaze fixed on the dead operative. Steve draws a shaky breath.  “James. You with me?” James blinks in rapid succession, gaze sliding quick across Steve’s face.  “Да.” He doesn’t know if James realizes he’d spoken in Russian but this word, at least, Steve understands and the confirmation is enough. He briefly closes his eyes, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.  “Okay.”  Dragging a hand through his hair, he lets out a quiet breath. “Good. That’s— I’m gonna call Tony. Have him get a containment crew down here to deal with…” he waves a hand to indicate the unspoken ‘all of this.’ James says nothing. Doesn’t move. His eyes rove in slow, restless sweeps, stopping for short increments upon the doorway; the myriad of dead operatives; the pool of blood inching gradually closer to his left boot.  Steve forces himself not to press. To stand and step away, pulling out his phone as he goes.  The ensuing conversation is…frustrating. In the end, though, it accomplishes what Steve wants, which is Tony agreeing to send in people to handle the clean-up and retrieval of all useful intel. As soon as he gets Tony’s confirmation, Steve hangs up.  His gaze sweeps across the demolished room littered with bodies, crushed glass, and bullet-holes, and settles upon the doorway leading to the small computer room. The steady hum of the machines beyond reminds him that he and James have yet to check for another segment of code.  He wonders if there’s even anything to find. Perhaps this altercation, this ambush, had been the only reason behind leading them here. Maybe this was the end goal; to capture the Winter Soldier. Kill him if that turned out to be impossible. Steve doesn’t know. Can’t know, without more information.  Whatever the case, looking at James—back on his feet, expression shuttered and unreadable—Steve wants nothing more than to leave this hellhole; to put this mission on hold; to take a break, if only for James’ sake. There’s no chance of that happening, Steve knows, but he can’t help the feeling of disappointment when James states flatly, “The code. We still need to access it.”   With James, Steve is beginning to realize, the mission comes first. It is his singular focus, rarely impacted by variables like discomfort or unease.  This realization is further cemented when James, after waiting for Steve’s nod, turns and heads decisively for the computer room exposing his back for the first time. Steve, who’d started to follow, stumbles, drawing in a sharp breath.  His back. His back is— “James.” -  Ingrained conditioning has the Soldier freezing mid-step in response to the Captain’s tone.  The sound—the urgent quality of the Captain’s voice—raises his hackles, and he glances over his shoulder, instinct driving him to search for the threat. All he finds is the Captain, gaze fixed intently upon the Soldier’s back. “Your back,” the Captain says. “Your back it’s— You’re bleeding.”  He strides forward, hand outstretched as if to touch, and the Soldier tenses, twisting to angle his mangled flesh out of the Captain’s reach, backing away from his approach.  The Captain freezes at the response, eyes darting up to meet the Soldier’s. His mouth is tight and unhappy, but he doesn’t try to move any closer. “They are,” the Soldier reports, defensive, off-balanced, “predominantly superficial wounds. From falling through the glass. They are not mission-critical.” The Captain’s brows draw together, the words having directly the opposite effect the Soldier had intended. “B— James. I don’t care about—” The Captain cuts himself off, takes a deep breath. “Let me check them, please? Can I just—see for myself that they are not as bad as they look?” There is no order hidden within the Captain’s words. The Soldier seizes upon the allowance, the small freedom to choose, and shakes his head.  With his attention focused upon them, the wounds hurt —searing pain that spans from the tops of his shoulders all the way down to his hips.  The hurt is bearable, if he focuses his thoughts elsewhere. Most pain is.  But that doesn’t mean he wants the injuries laid out beneath the Captain’s scrutiny. Just the thought of that, of the Captain at his back, assessing gaze on his torn flesh, close enough to touch if he felt so inclined—  The Soldier swallows, stomach twisting into a tight knot. He can’t think of something he’d like less. Except then the Captain’s face falls, visibly disappointed by the Soldier’s refusal, and he finds himself assaulted by another, equally unpleasant sentiment.  It’s unfair, the Soldier thinks, bitterly.  With a single look, just the expression on his face, the Captain has managed to drag out of him emotions the Soldier can hardly identify, let alone combat.  Not for the first time, the Soldier feels the unwelcome urge to give in. To surrender to the Captain’s request, without even understanding why.  For a split second—a bare, frustrated moment—the Soldier almost wishes the Captain would order him. Then, at least, the Soldier could lose himself in blind obedience, allowing all of the confusing emotions to be buried beneath the ingrained compulsion to comply. -  James is very clear about not wanting Steve to get anywhere near his injuries. More than just refusing, he angles his entire body away from Steve, muscles gone tense, pale gaze wary and watchful, as if he expects Steve to ignore his refusal, to do what he wants regardless of James’ resistance.  Steve keeps perfectly still. While the realization that James considers Steve capable of such a thing makes his stomach roil with nausea, Steve really doesn’t have to wonder why James might come to such a conclusion. The very room they’re standing in attests to the fact that James’ has had his agency taken from him far too many times.  And… James doesn’t know him.  It’s understandable that he’s wary of Steve, that Steve will have to give him time. Time to learn that he isn’t a threat. That James can trust him.   For now, Steve decides to let the matter drop. There’s still the mission, and they should focus on handling it and getting out of here before Tony’s crew comes through. James definitely won’t want to be around when that happens.  “Alright,” Steve relents, taking a small step back and changing the subject. “Let’s go see if there’s anything on the computers.” Giving James a wide berth, he heads toward the computer room, allowing James to follow, to keep Steve in his sight. It turns out that there is something there to find on the computers after all. As soon as James activates it, another screen fills with unrecognizable, scrolling script.  James’ reaction is much the same as it had been the last time he’d been exposed.  This time, when Steve murmurs his own trigger phrase, he endeavors to catch James as gently as possible, careful about the glass embedded in his back, the bloody wounds still seeping crimson into his dark clothing. -  James heads for the bathroom almost as soon as Steve unlocks the tiny motel room he’d reserved for the night—delaying only as long as it takes to do his usual, careful sweep of the interior.  Watching him go, Steve drops his duffel onto one of the two beds, unzips it, and pulls out the first-aid kit he keeps inside. He takes a moment to steel himself, certain that what he plans to do next will not be easy, and then approaches the bathroom, hovering just outside the doorway. “James, can I… Would it be okay if I took a look at your back now?”  He chooses his words carefully, avoiding anything that could sound like a command, but unable to quash his urgent need for James to, for once, just let him help.  James glances Steve’s way, turning his gaze from where he’d been assessing the damage through the mirror and lifting one shoulder in an impassive shrug. Steve suppresses a wince. He can’t imagine that it doesn’t hurt—to move in that way—though James’ expression offers no indication of pain.  “Unnecessary,” James says. “It will heal on its own. I’ve had worse. It always heals.” Steve forces himself not to think about what ‘worse’ entails. It’s a horrific concept, and he doesn’t want to get sidetracked. “Maybe,” he concedes. “But it’ll heal much more quickly if we tend to it. There’s probably pieces of glass still in the wounds. They need to be cleaned out.”   James motions to the tiny bathtub, as if in compromise. “I’ll shower.” “That’s not—” Steve pushes down helpless frustration. “That isn’t good enough.”  “I don’t need—” James begins, and Steve takes a quick step forward. Only one, but James still startles, backing into the counter behind him.  “Please, B—” Steve swallows. Draws a shallow breath. “Please,” he repeats, voice quiet and even. “Let me do this. Please let me help.”  Finally, James relents.  Jaw clenched tight, he slowly turns to  face the mirror, mutely presenting his back to Steve.  His whole frame is stiff with tension, and though Steve doesn’t glance up to look, he can feel the intensity of James’ gaze, tracking his every move through the mirror. Steve ducks his head, avoiding that gaze as he steps forward, focusing instead on the task before him.  The shirt is a lost cause. The dark fabric is ragged with tears, tacky with drying blood, and Steve feels no compunction about cutting it off with the medical-grade scissors in the first-aid kit.  The material sticks, in places, to wounds where James has bled more extensively, but when Steve pauses, thinking to wet the cloth to make the separation less painful, James simply tears the shredded garment from his torso, dropping the fabric onto the floor and causing a number of the bloody slashes to reopen. Steve frowns at the harsh treatment, but keeps his mouth shut. Despite the popular theory, he knows when to pick his battles, and getting a good look at Jame’s injuries—many of which are weeping anew—is where his focus is better aimed.  He leans in a bit closer, looking but not touching, and sees that he was right about the glass. Dozens of tiny shards glitter across James’ back, buried in his wounds, glinting beneath the bathroom light.  “These need to come out,” Steve says, briefly lifting his gaze to meet James’ through the mirror. “I’m going to get them out.”  James doesn’t answer, and Steve hadn’t really expected him to; had only wanted to offer a fair warning before he grabs the tweezers and begins the thankless task of removing all the shards from James’ skin, dropping the fragments into the sink one by one. James remains silent; keeping still; not even flinching when Steve has to dig into some of the wounds to get at pieces lodged more deeply.  When he’s sure that all the glass is gone, Steve soaks a cloth in lukewarm water and gently, carefully, washes James’ skin, rinsing and repeating until all of the wounds are clean, dabbing up the excess water with a segment of gauze. He pauses, then, taking a moment to survey James’ back with a critical eye. With most of the blood out of the way, Steve can see enough to be sure that he won’t need to do any stitching and he grabs the salve with a silent breath of relief, turning the small jar of soothing ointment in his hands as he sweeps his gaze from James’ shoulders to hips, and decides he might as well start from the top.  Dipping his fingers into the salve, Steve smooths the balm gingerly across James’ tender skin, carefully addressing each wound. He keeps his touches light, moving as gently as possible, focused on minimizing any pain.  For a long moment, his world narrows down to this task; making sure he doesn’t press too hard, touch too rough.  Maybe that’s why he doesn’t realize, at first, that something’s changed. That, while his back stays just as rigid as it’s been since he’d turned, and he still hasn’t made a sound—James is…moving .  It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but once Steve starts paying attention it’s hard to miss the fact that James is listing forward, body arching away from Steve’s hands, trying to avoid, as much as possible, the way Steve is now touching him. His own hands, metal and flesh alike, have slid forward to curl around the lip of the sink, gripping tight to the porcelain edge as his body adopts a fine tremor, muscles shivering beneath Steve’s fingers. Steve freezes.  Slowly, carefully, he lifts salve-slick fingers away from James’ skin, raising them into the air where they hover; no longer touching. His gaze darts to the mirror, eyes searching James’ face for signs of distress, but beyond the dark curtain of his hair, James’ expression is almost completely blank. His eyes are open, but empty, staring vacantly into the middle-distance, the smallest of furrows etched between his brows. His jaw is tight, mouth pressed into a flat, inexpressive line.  “James,” Steve says, voice low, almost a whisper. “Are you alright? Am I— Am I hurting you?” Steve’s voice—or maybe it’s the fact that he’s removed his hands—seems to draw James back from wherever it is that he’d gone and he blinks, lashes fluttering as his eyes lose some of that unfocused haze. He swallows, tongue darting across red, chapped lips before he finally responds to Steve’s question.  “Doesn’t—” He cuts off, dragging in a stuttering breath. “Doesn’t hurt.” Steve’s eyes catch upon the unsteady rise and fall of James’ chest, the way his shoulders are rounded ever so slightly forward. “Should… Can I…?” His hands linger in the air above James’ back; still not touching. James nods, a small jerky movement. His grip stays tight around the sink.  Steve isn’t convinced. James clearly doesn’t want Steve touching him. But. His back still needs the attention, and Steve might as well finish what he’d started.  When Steve puts his hands back on him, James shudders all over, sliding right back into that blank place he’d gone to before and Steve… Steve hates it. It feels a little bit like heartbreak, watching James go away like that, knowing it’s because Steve is touching him. He swallows bitterly, attending to the rest of the lacerations as quickly as possible, wiping his hands clean on the washcloth beside the sink when he’s done. It takes a moment, once Steve’s taken his hands completely away, but James finally blinks back from wherever he’d gone, glancing at Steve through the mirror to be sure he’s finished. “All done,” Steve confirms, and James nods, unclenching his hands from the fragile porcelain of the sink and sliding away, distancing himself as much as he can in the small space.  He watches silently as Steve packs away the medical supplies, zipping up the small bag and leaving it on the countertop. “Go ahead and take a sponge bath tonight,” Steve says on his way out, turning back to face James once he’s stepped past the threshold. “So you don’t end up washing the salve off. You can take a real shower in the morning.” James’ mouth thins, flattening into a grim line. Without a word, he reaches for the door, shutting it in Steve’s baffled face. Minutes later, while changing into clothing more suitable for sleep, Steve realizes he’d ended up giving James orders after all. -   Steve takes position near the window, ready to take the first watch of the night, and thinks about asking. About the enhanced soldier—the operative James had shot dead in that Hydra base.  His brain jumps from one question to the next, restless and inquisitive. Apart from James, Steve’s never seen another enhanced soldier so similar himself. He’d thought James was the only one, but after seeing the operative in the Hydra base...  Is it possible…? Could there be more soldiers out there, like him? Like James? How many had Hydra created?  And—a thought that makes his stomach clench with guilt—if there are others, how can he be sure that they are loyal to Hydra? What’s to say they’re not like Bucky—like James—had been; brainwashed operatives with no will of their own? He wants to ask. Needs to know why James hadn’t seemed at all surprised at encountering another enhanced soldier. But when James comes back into the room he studiously avoids Steve’s gaze, expression tight and closed-off, and Steve bites his tongue, swallowing back the veritable barrage of questions.  James looks—ragged. Exhausted. And no matter how good he is at hiding it, Steve knows he’s got to be hurting; back as torn up as it is.  So Steve decides to let the questions lie, for now.  Let James get some sleep, he thinks. Let him have a reprieve, even if it can only be—by necessity—a short one; they can only leave off the conversation for so long.   —

     Castiel's neighbour is singing again and it takes all of his willpower not to laugh.    It’s not that he's a bad singer, quite the opposite, in fact, he's brilliant. It’s just that without fail every time the man steps into the shower he will power belt of all things: Disney songs. Castiel has never been one to judge another man’s music tastes. He listens to everything from classical music when he's working, to the hardcore screamo of his teen years. His Spotify playlists are practically the definition of organised chaos. It’s just that the man next door, is literally the definition of that very stereotype. With his Golden hair; broad shoulders and a muscle car he pays to park in two spaces he's the perfect all-American boy. But God does that man love Frozen.    When Castiel smokes out the window he hears everything from "At last I see the light "  to  "Tale as Old as Time"  because the guy always showers with the window open. The songs are almost always love songs. Always filled with sweet sentiments and sung by a man that sings like sex personified. It’s the best part of Castiel’s day but it’s also the worst.    Because Castiel’s neighbour is unspeakably hot. He's exactly the type of man Castiel would flirt with if giving half the chance. Except for every time the guy steps into the elevator with Castiel or they pass each other getting mail, Castiel has to look away. For fear that if he makes eye contact, he'll burst out laughing at the adorable mess of contradictions.    Thankfully they seem to be on opposite schedules. Castiel works most nights at the bar, often passing the guy on his way out the door. So Castiel doesn't feel the need to laugh all that often. Which is both a curse and a blessing in disguise. Castiel doesn’t want to make the man uncomfortable or ashamed. Especially because his passion is oddly kind of sweet. So, he keeps his distance, watches the sunsets and listens from the window.            Castiel's bar does live music sometimes. He works in the kind of "classy" establishment that requires its staff to wear waistcoats and ties but for some reason, it brings in the hipster crowd. Castiel blames the fairy lights that cover the support beams. Meg, his fellow server, blames the fact they've got a smoking garden bigger than a postage stamp. They're probably both right because the crowds come in droves. Gabriel as the owner is the kind of man that can see money in a cornfield. So naturally, he caters to his crowd. They do movie nights every two weeks, board games every month and every Saturday there's a gig.    Castiel loves working the gigs, the bands are always different. Sometimes its rappers, sometimes indie pop. Tonight's group is set up to be a classic rock cover band and the crowds coming in droves. Castiel sells so much IPA he has to go down to the basement and get another keg. And that's just before the show starts. He's just pushing open the basement door, keg balanced on his shoulders. When the band comes in he almost drops the keg on his foot.    Standing on the stage, plugging in a guitar is Castiel’s neighbour. He's wearing ripped jeans, plaid shirt pulled up to reveal a collection of dark tattoos. Castiel forces himself to look away from his forearms and get back to work. If he begins humming "Zero to Hero" under his breath that’s his own business.    "Hey all," Castiel's neighbour says to the crowd. His voice is almost as deep as Castiel’s. "My names Dean Winchester and we are Impala."    The crowd cheers and catcalls, some girls scream, making Dean smile. "I’m happy to see you too," he says. He's got fucking dimples. Castiel almost spills the mojito he's been mixing.    "What’s up with you?" Meg asks, giving him a weird look.    Castiel flushes, "The guy singings my neighbour, I didn't know he was in a band."    "Ah," Meg says, eyebrows raised as she looks from Dean to Castiel and back again. "He's hot right?"    Castiel swallows and gives a panicked nod. He has no idea how he's going to deal with the Dean singing something over than Disney’s greatest hits. The set starts with the blonde drummer hitting her synths as the giant man with a guitar starts to play the opening chords to " Immigrant Song" . Dean screams " Ahhhh " into the mic and the crowd goes wild.    Deans a great performer he tips the mic just right, bounces and dances when he can, and he sings like a rock god. His band works well together as well. Dean seems to half dance; half compete with the long-haired guitarist when playing the bass. Nodding or dancing beside the redhead on the keyboard and stamping his feet with the girl playing the drums. Castiel ends up taking one of his two allotted shots of tequila. Meg whooping in the corner. Forcing himself to look away, from the gorgeous sight, Castiel serves the thirsty and sweaty crowd their IPA beer. He's swimming in drink orders in no time, but he keeps his ears tuned to the band.   Eventually, the band stops, Dean smiles, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. "Holy shit you guys are great," He says enthusiastically. "We're going to take a little break but Sammy over here placed a bowl on the bar during set up. If you want to request a song write it on the paper and we'll see what we can do."    The band disappears into the glorified closet that is the "green room" as a tsunami of customers surge towards the bowl. Castiel bites his lip, serves his next pint, then picks up a pen.  The band returns more energetic than ever, the cute blonde drummer coming down to pick up the bowl. "Okay let’s see what we got here," Dean says, grinning into the mic. He chuckles reading the selection, "Oh Jo you're going to love this one," The band crowds in as Dean passes the sheet between the four of them and the blonde girl - presumably Jo - fist pumps the air. Dean picks up the bass and they start playing "Styx - Renegade" almost perfectly.    They keep playing through the requests, some songs Dean throws down claiming they don't know the tunes. There’s a lot of rock covers and some indie numbers. Jo ends up moving the mic to sing Taylor Swift. Dean playing the bass and shaking his hips along to "Shake it Off." Castiel resigns himself to his song being in the reject pile. He makes enough drinks that he ends up loosening his tie.    "Okay," Dean pants, leaning on the mic stand. "I think we've got one more left in us, let's see what we got here." He reaches his hand into the bowl, placing it on the ground and clearing his throat. "Drumroll please, Jo." He jokes, actually getting one as he opens the paper. Castiel watches as his eyes widen in shock.    "Um," He flushes looking around the crowd. Just like in those godamn Disney movies Dean loves, Castiel meets Deans gaze through the crowd. Dean flushes and looks away, "This is not what I was expecting but I think we can make it work, right guys?" Dean passes the note back. Sam nodding after a booming laugh.    Jo, the redhead and Sam start playing a shockingly familiar theme. Dean leans up against the mic, smirks then sings a rocked-up version of "Let it Go.'   Surprisingly the crowds into it. Enthusiastically headbanging and power belting the words. "You gotta love hipster," Meg says head-bopping despite the sarcasm in her tone. Castiel laughs turning away and watching the show. When it’s over, Deans beaming at the crowd.    "You know I teach kindergarten and you guys might have been more into that song than my little guys," Dean says dimpling again. Castiel flushes, his sweet, manly, endearingly contradictory neighbour is in a band and a teacher! How is Castiel going to handle that? No one is equipped to deal with that much perfection and not fall madly in love.    The crowd starts cheering the band’s name as they disappear and Castiel taps Meg's shoulder, "I'm going for my smoke break." He says, desperately needing some air. Meg nods, gesturing to Anna who's working the floor to help her out while Castiel leaves.    Outside Castiel stands by one of the tables, breathing in the cool air in relief before pulling out his packet of smokes.   "Those will kill you; you know." A deep voice says from Castiel's right. Castiel jumps and looks over to see none other Dean Winchester. Castiel drops his lighter.   "Here," Dean says, picking it up and turning it on. Castiel blinks then lean's into his personal space, lighting the cigarette with ease. Dean licks his lips.    "We've all got our vices," Castiel’s says after a drag, "I smoke, you sing Disney in the shower." He says, aiming for nonchalant.    Dean blinks, "You can hear me?" He asks cheeks flushed.    Seeing him up close Castiel notices he legitimately has Disney princess eyes. Castiel can't control the laughter anymore, "Yeah I can hear you," Castiel says chucking still. Dean grimaces.    "So, you picked that song to make fun of me?" Dean asks, eyes hard. Castiel fucking knew this would happen.    "No not at all," He says nervously, putting out his cigarette. "At least not in the way you're thinking. I like hearing you sing."    "Yeah," Dean asks, looking at Castiel through his eyelashes.    Castiel swallows. "Yeah," He says, his voice rough, "I just find it funny, you're not the kinda guy that I'd expect to sing Disney. The contradiction amuses me."    "Oh," Dean says, looking like he's not sure whether he should be offended or not.    Castiel groans and runs his hands through his hair. "Let me start over, I'm Castiel," he says, sticking out his hand. "I really like your voice and your taste in Disney movies."    Dean smiles at Castiel's fumbling, "Dean," shaking hands. "I was not expecting the guy who has a herb garden on his window to be a hot bartender."    "I cook too, the herbs are for that," Castiel says fighting a smile. "I could cook for you sometime if you want?"    Dean raises an eyebrow, staring Castiel down. He swallows hard, face flushed. Finally dropping Deans hand. "I'd like that," Dean says, grinning.    "I've got to get back to work," Castiel says sighing in relief. "Knock at my door tomorrow, around 6ish. I make a mean burger."    Dean bites his lip. "I do like a burger," he says watching Castiel’s ass as he goes.         Dean comes over, moans at Castiel's cooking and laughs at his collection of board games, mixed in with fencing gear. In the morning he sings "Your welcome" in Castiel's shower, Castiel laughing into the pillow after having the best orgasm he's had in years.     

“Yuwen Yong’s people called it a “cardiac event,” I’m still waiting on confirmation from the hospital,” Bian Yanmei said, frantically texting in the seat next to Yan Wushi, Yu Shengyan merging into traffic. Yan Wushi had been on and off the phone since well before sunrise, suppressing misinformation, having his contacts at news outlets push other stories to the forefront, and providing just enough to the press to avoid a complete feeding frenzy. Yuan Xiuxiu was not, strictly speaking, an ally, but they were friendly enough when their interests coincided. Yan Wushi would gut Hehuan given the first opportunity, and he knew Yuan Xiuxiu held similar sentiments about Huanyue, but they were united in their contempt for Sang Jingxing and their need, at present, for Yuwen Yong to stay in his seat of power. Yuan Xiuxiu had enough invested in Qi Corporation and enough sway over their president, Gao Wei, that the disruption in her business caused by political upheaval would be less than ideal, especially with her uncertain control over Hehuan now that she could no longer rely on Sang Jingxing’s support. Their current problem, which Yan Wushi had brought up to Yuwen Yong countless times, was his utter waste of a son. Yuwen Yun was self-obsessed and untalented; utterly spoiled by an affluent upbringing, he was devoid of any of his father’s vision or restraint, pretending at being filial in the public eye while he spent his leisure time throwing his family’s money at high end debauchery. His very public marriage to Puliuru Jian’s daughter was meant to yoke him to a respectable lifestyle. Instead he bucked it resentfully at every opportunity. From what Yuan Xiuxiu had pieced together, Yuwen Yun had been a fixture at an establishment operated by Sang Jingxing for months. Evidence of compromising activity had made its way across Yuwen Yong’s desk in the form of blackmail, but what the photos or videos contained was anyone’s guess; no one could find them. This came on the heels of  the announcement of Yuwen Yong’s campaign strategy for reelection next year, focusing on the Premier’s commitment to fairness and his strong moral character. The situation exacerbated Yuwen Yong’s preexisting heart condition, and he was now undergoing a series of tests to determine the best course of action. Given what Yan Wushi knew firsthand of the man’s stubbornness, Yuwen Yong did have a chance, however slight, of recovery. In the meantime, Yan Wushi made contingency plans. Yuwen Yun was more than aware of what Yan Wushi thought of him, as Yan Wushi had essentially told him to his face on a number of occasions. To allow the Yuwen family’s political reach and financial resources to fall under Yuwen Yun’s control would be more than just a headache for Yan Wushi; years of political maneuvering gone to waste in an instant, and the benefit of the occasional blind eye Yuwen Yong graciously turned toward Yan Wushi’s less above board antics suddenly replaced by a vindictive little shit with a chip on his shoulder. Yan Wushi’s train of thought was interrupted by a series of insistent push notifications, indicating activity over the last few hours. Swiping away from his messages, he opened another app and looked through his most recent updates. 🔵 SQ Baidu search: China Daily 🔵 SQ Baidu search: Banbu 🔵 SQ Baidu search: Yan Wushi 🔵 SQ Baidu search: Yan Wushi Huanyue 🔵 SQ Baidu search: Shen Qiao Xuandu 🔵 SQ Baidu search: Civil Affairs Bureau 🔵 SQ Baidu search: Civil Affairs Bureau Phone 🔵 SQ Voice Call: Civil Affairs Bureau Duration: 47 minutes 🔵 SQ ICBC Account Login 🔵 SQ CMBC Account Login 🔵 SQ Email Account Sign In 🔵 SQ Email Sent. Recipient: [email protected] 🔵 Location Services: Disabled 🔴 Application has been deleted from paired device, please adjust settings to continue Yan Wushi raised an eyebrow, smile curling up at the corner of his mouth, a little impressed. “Laoban?” Bian Yanmei asked, confused. “It’s nothing,” Yan Wushi said, closing his phone and redirecting his attention to the matter at hand. One problem at a time. -   Shen Qiao cleaned up the glass first, in single minded focus. He made more tea, drank it, mechanically ate breakfast, showered. He moved around the apartment listlessly, standing in front of opened drawers full of his own carefully folded clothes, taking out an article of clothing and then folding it again, abandoning the prospect of packing his things and then returning to it minutes later, trapped in a cycle of confusion and paralysis. He’d taken a suitcase of Yan Wushi’s and hesitated, uncomfortable by the idea of stealing something from him, and then had to sit on the floor for fifteen minutes at the ludicrousness of the concept. He opened his laptop to work, answered a few emails, deleted several hundred more, and closed it again. He wanted to will himself to break down, to cry, something that would lift this feeling of wrongness that had settled into every corner of his being, but he felt trapped, suspended in this strange state of shock. Yan Wushi was a liar. Yan Wushi was a liar so convincing that some of the things Shen Qiao had imagined through Yan Wushi’s description still felt like real memories, real conversations. His thoughts were a mess of differentiating the last eight months of Yan Wushi’s focused adoration and his willful deception. What Shen Qiao couldn’t figure out was why? He opened his phone, running cursory internet searches on himself, on Yan Wushi, trying to parse truth from fabrication. He found and disabled the browser plug-ins installed on his phone and deleted some of his apps, checking through articles and news stories, scouring his personal records, credit cards, bank statements and accounts for outside logins from 8 months prior, and started to piece together how Yan Wushi had meticulously built so credible a cover story. Shen Qiao was an easy mark, he knew. Isolated, career obsessed, stressed beyond his limits, grieving. Lonely, if he was being honest. Yan Wushi had learned everything about him and presented himself as exactly the kind of person Shen Qiao could rely on without question. Never tried to be too perfect, didn’t change to fit some ideal Shen Qiao might have fantasized about. Just planted the idea that Yan Wushi was already the person Shen Qiao had chosen, and Shen Qiao, always accommodating, afraid of hurting someone he loved any more than the trauma of his fall and injuries already must have, had eagerly been taken in. It was clever, really; Yan Wushi himself never professed to being a good man. Had even made it a point of fact that he wasn’t, on multiple occasions. He’d lied to Shen Qiao over countless minutiae, stupid little anecdotal evidence to build what was between them now. Had been controlling him from the beginning, Shen Qiao was certain, for access to inside information on Xuandu. Perhaps even strictly for his own entertainment, because having Shen Qiao make a fool of himself amused him. He had dissected Shen Qiao’s existence before their paths had crossed and pinned him down so thoroughly that fitting himself into the empty spaces in Shen Qiao’s life was neat, nearly seamless. But Xuandu was intact. Shen Qiao’s bank accounts, his investment portfolio, real estate holdings, Qi Fengge’s estate, all easy marks for Yan Wushi to profit from had been left completely untouched. Even the physical aspect of this entire affair. Shen Qiao thought back through their more intimate moments as the realization that he’d been the one to initiate everything settled like a stone in his stomach. All of this must be by Yan Wushi’s design, but what was the motive? Yan Wushi had broken him into fragments and examined every part of him, held him up to the sunlight in a way no one ever had before. The scrutiny, the invasion of privacy, being known by Yan Wushi so intimately; of course he wanted answers, even if the only thing he was left with was ownership over how humiliated he felt. He’d seen glimpses of Yan Wushi treating people with this epicaricacy before, and he had still somehow convinced himself that he was Yan Wushi’s singular exception. …What was wrong with him? Why wasn’t he more horrified? He recalled fighting with Yu Ai eight months ago, the memory finally in vivid detail. Their conversation had soured in the car on the drive over and they quietly continued in the alcove outside the restrooms on the rooftop of Banbu. As the argument escalated in volume enough for Shen Qiao to feel it was inappropriate, he had walked away from Yu Ai rather than making a scene. He’d already felt poorly before taking a glass of champagne from a tray to calm his nerves, but it only served to exacerbate the dizzy, nauseous feeling. He couldn’t comprehend the idea that he’d been drugged, then. That Yu Ai, someone he considered family, could be that sort of person. Kunye had approached and sequestered him to talk more privately about Xuandu’s potential as a publicly traded company. Shen Qiao had shut him down, trying to hide the sweating and disorientation, and attempted to excuse himself. Kunye became belligerent, crowding him against the edge of the balcony, hurling quiet insults and accusations in his face, talking about promises Yu Ai had made about a partnership. Shen Qiao took a step backward, another, reached for anything to steady himself. The railing tipped backward with a scrape of metal on metal, swinging on the hinge of its remaining bolts, and Shen Qiao was in free fall. He twisted in the air, making contact with the brick facade, the friction of his clothes on the rough surface changing his trajectory slightly and sending him spinning. He caught himself on an advertising banner three floors below, long enough to slow his descent, but didn’t have the strength to hold on. Three, four more floors. He hit an awning, the fabric collapsing in on impact, and then hit another, several floors directly beneath it. It held, taut enough to bounce him once before he was rolled off by the steep angle. He remembered seeing a car parked in the no parking zone in front of the building, and nothing after that. Yan Wushi had taken him to a hospital run by people he knew to be discrete, had protected him when he was at his most vulnerable. He’d hidden him from the people who would have taken immediate advantage of his weakness and asked for forgiveness later, allowed him to recover in private, given him the resources to do so at great personal expense. He had been attentive, affectionate even. Those things didn’t feel fake. Why did the liberties Yan Wushi had taken with him feel so different from what Yu Ai had done? Wasn’t their goal the same? Why was it so hard to find forgiveness for Yu Ai, while he was standing in the home of a man who had forged and filed their marriage license while Shen Qiao was comatose, hesitating to end this farce with Yan Wushi as if he was afraid to upset the balance of their life together? What life together? What did that mean, knowing what he knew now? He had almost- they had almost- Part of Shen Qiao still wanted to- He shut down this line of thinking entirely. He needed to pack his things and run. He should hire an army of lawyers, should have Yan Wushi arrested, should take out a restraining order against him. He pulled the cutting board out from under the kitchen island and started slicing vegetables.   -   Yan Wushi’s hand paused on the handle of the door. This would be the first time in a long while that he’d be coming home to an empty apartment, and the reality that he was already so affected by Shen Qiao’s absence irritated him to no end. He couldn’t help but find it convenient that Shen Qiao was the type to extricate himself from Yan Wushi’s life without making a scene. Any longer in his presence and Yan Wushi might have needed an exorcism. He opened the door. Shen Qiao was standing over the range, prodding at the aubergines he was stir-frying with long metal chopsticks. “I had a little time to cook, so I thought I might try yu xiang qie zi,” he said, meeting Yan Wushi’s gaze from across the room. Yan Wushi toed off his shoes, hanging up his coat and placing a cake box on the counter next to Shen Qiao on his way by. “You don’t like food that spicy,” Yan Wushi commented, projecting amusement as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and walked into his bedroom to hang it up. He returned to the kitchen, untucking his dress shirt and unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling them to his elbows and undoing his top three buttons. “Mn. You enjoy it. I think if I had it more often I could get used to it,” Shen Qiao replied offhandedly, concentrating on the wok. Yan Wushi leaned his forearms on the marble surface of the countertop, watching as Shen Qiao fussed over their dinner as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred between last night and this morning. Yan Wushi was used to being the one who kept people on their toes. He was unused to being the recipient of this kind of behavior, and he didn’t particularly like it. If and when Shen Qiao’s memories returned, he’d been counting on that overdeveloped sense of personal shame to send him running from Yan Wushi. This Shen Qiao was not what he was expecting. Shen Qiao was aware of what Yan Wushi had done. Even if he hadn’t had it confirmed by his phone, Yan Wushi could feel it in the atmosphere between them, see it in the red rims of Shen Qiao’s eyes and the way he was slightly on edge. His posture and mannerisms had changed, more sure of himself and more guarded, catching Yan Wushi’s notice immediately because he’d studied Shen Qiao so closely for so many months. Shen Qiao obviously saw benefits to playing dumb, and that piqued his interest. If Shen Qiao wanted to pretend everything was fine, then Yan Wushi would play along for now. That didn’t mean he’d make it easy for Shen Qiao. He stood behind Shen Qiao, sliding one arm around his waist. Taking hold of him by the chin and tilting Shen Qiao’s face toward him, Yan Wushi pressed their lips together. Shen Qiao pulled away slightly with a breathy exhale. In a fit of childishness, he chased his mouth, kissing Shen Qiao again, filthy, feeling the tension in Shen Qiao’s arm as he clenched one hand into a fist, before ultimately acquiescing and letting it drop to his side. He gently reached up to hold Yan Wushi’s shoulder as if remembering himself. Yan Wushi pulled away, waiting for the strike, for the accusations, for the truth to finally boil over and ruin everything it touched. He looked into Shen Qiao’s eyes in anticipation. Shen Qiao’s expression was open and searching, confusion and helplessness settling into the crease of his brow. He opened his mouth to speak. Yan Wushi took a breath. Shen Qiao closed his eyes. “Is everything… alright? With work?” he asked softly. “You were out longer than expected.” “…Not an issue with Huanyue, but some troubling developments with Yuwen Yong,” he said, after regarding Shen Qiao for a moment. He moved out of Shen Qiao’s personal space and he resumed cooking, turning off the range and pulling two shallow dishes from an upper cabinet, opening Yan Wushi’s unobtrusive rice cooker and plating out their respective servings. “Is he alright?” Shen Qiao asked with genuine concern. He’d coincidentally met Yuwen Yong once on the way out of a doctor’s appointment, and had a favorable impression of the man. “Ah, did you manage to eat lunch today? You left before breakfast,” he recalled. It felt like a hundred years had passed since then. “He’ll be going in for surgery sometime this week. We’ll see how it goes,” Yan Wushi said, cocking his head to the side with a smile. “I survived. Yu Shengyan brought me enough coffee to reanimate the dead.” Shen Qiao made a noise in disapproval, adding an extra serving of vegetables to Yan Wushi’s plate. “Su-yisheng is going to yell at you again.” Yan Wushi untied the cake box with a laugh. “Su-yisheng is younger than Ah-Qiao and I don’t have nearly as much incentive to listen to him,” he said, sliding a small dessert and two little cakes out on a gold tray. “I was in the neighborhood this morning and picked up that guava & passion fruit tart you like. They weren’t out of the osmanthus cakes this time, I know you wanted to try them.” Shen Qiao flushed a little. “I never mentioned-” “You were looking at the sign in the display case like it hurt your feelings. You didn’t have to.” Shen Qiao set their dishes on the counter, Yan Wushi stealing a piece of aubergine before either of them sat down, chewing thoughtfully. “…Probably for the best that I stopped. There’s no way Ah-Qiao is going to be able to finish this.” “…Is it that spicy?” he asked, a little dismayed. Yan Wushi picked up a piece and offered it to him. He gave Shen Qiao that expectant look again, like he was bracing himself, before Shen Qiao gingerly took the offered bite. He chewed and then swallowed slowly. “I’ll… manage,” he said as Yan Wushi sat down next to him. Yan Wushi found the stir-fry to be spiced to his taste level, and he finished his portion without much fuss. Watching Shen Qiao choke down his meal, sweat beading on his forehead in visible distress, was a highly entertaining bonus. Shen Qiao was quiet about his preferences, Yan Wushi had discovered, and would eat things he didn’t like rather than waste food. That was Shen Qiao really, wasn’t it? Graceful acceptance in the face of all the things that wanted to hurt him. “I’ll be cleaning up this mess for ages,” Yan Wushi muttered in exasperation as he perused news sites and gossip rags on his tablet after dinner, Shen Qiao in his usual spot tucked into Yan Wushi’s side, reading a book. “Don’t wait up for me,” he said after noticing Shen Qiao yawn for a second time, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Mm,” Shen Qiao hummed in agreement. “I should turn in, it’s been a tiring day. …Try to get a little sleep, please,” he requested, pausing to consider it for a moment before kissing the white at Yan Wushi’s temple, stretching and leaving for bed. Yan Wushi watched him go, gaze darkening. Hours later, he stood over Shen Qiao’s sleeping form, sprawled across Yan Wushi’s pillow. He made an injured sound in his sleep, his face a picture of distress as he was seized by a nightmare, and Yan Wushi leaned in, brushing the hair out of his face, caressing Shen Qiao’s cheek. “Lao Yan…” Shen Qiao murmured, still dead to the world, sighing and settling himself deeper into the bedding, looking so soft and so very inviting. Something inside of Yan Wushi howled. He pulled back his hand as if he’d been burned, smothering whatever residual feelings he had left, resentful, and buried them as deep as they could go. In that moment, Yan Wushi hated him.   -   Yan Wushi thought this unbearable tension would last a day, maybe two, before they had it out in a confrontation and he could ruin Shen Qiao and be done with it. By the end of the week, with no fracturing in Shen Qiao’s calm demeanor beyond scrutinizing Yan Wushi with the occasional intensely searching look, the suspense of constantly circling Shen Qiao like a tiger waiting for the opportunity to strike was wearing on his nerves. Perhaps Shen Qiao thought that hiding under Yan Wushi’s umbrella of influence to protect himself and his interests was a safer bet than going up against his enemies alone. “Do you have an appointment near here?” Shen Qiao asked curiously, looking out the window onto the busy, unfamiliar street. “I thought Ah-Qiao might help me with an errand,” Yan Wushi replied, downshifting in the traffic. This part of the city was mostly an entertainment district; densely packed shopping areas stacked on top of clubs and restaurants, taking up multiple floors of the surrounding buildings. They passed by a pay-by-the-hour hotel with animated hearts illuminated on the neon sign and a line of lottery kiosks, and Yan Wushi put on his blinker, pulling the car into a nondescript parking garage, descending several floors before finding an open space. Shen Qiao felt uneasy and took Yan Wushi by the elbow, holding onto the fabric of his shirt and following him to the underground elevator. It had been a miserable few days for Yan Wushi and Shen Qiao had barely seen him, the man climbing into bed at all hours only to tuck Shen Qiao under his arm and go to sleep. Neither of them had broached the topic of that night or the following morning. Shen Qiao had barely even processed any of it himself. He was hurt and confused, angry, but at least that he’d expected. Being on edge, looking for a confrontation, that seemed natural. He hadn’t considered the grief, mourning little details of a relationship that had never happened. And every time he attempted to work himself up about it, to shatter this horrible unspoken truce they had entered into, he couldn’t help reviewing the entirety of his acquaintance with Yan Wushi with deeply conflicted emotions, losing his nerve and changing the subject. They took the elevator to an unnamed corporate suite on a floor somewhere in the middle of the high-rise, Yan Wushi giving his name to a pretty receptionist who allowed them to bypass the imposing front desk. There were no windows in the hallway, no light beyond the widely spaced brass wall sconces corresponding to each closed door. “You haven’t even asked where I’m taking you, Ah-Qiao,” Yan Wushi said, breaking the silence between them. Shen Qiao had been too lost in his thoughts to pay much attention to their surroundings, and didn’t immediately answer. Yan Wushi brought them to a stop in front of a door at the end of the hallway, brushing his fingers against Shen Qiao’s cheek, tilting his face up. “How have you survived this long, putting so much faith in people you have no business trusting?” “Yan Wushi? What are you-” Shen Qiao said, trying to shrug off his touch. “Yan Wushi, Yan Wushi, what happened to Lao Yan?” he asked with a soft laugh. “Ah-Qiao, I’m so… disappointed. You let everyone around you walk all over you, use you in such vile, self serving ways. All I had to do was show the barest interest and you spent eight months eating out of my hand. So starved for affection that you’d settle for Yan Wushi’s? Isn’t it too humiliating to be so desperate?” He pushed open the door, the firm hand on Shen Qiao’s back guiding him into the room in front of them. It was the kind of space furnished by someone with the interior design sensibility of a spy thriller villain. Sitting on top of the glossy black tile flooring, an intimidating marble topped desk with brass accents was centered near the farthest wall from the door, severe modernist furniture surrounding a mahogany coffee table to the left, looking out at a view currently obscured by an automated black out shade. To the right of the room, an enormous bronze replica of Perseus Slaying Medusa sat on a narrow pedestal. Three of the walls were unadorned save for dark wood wainscoting, while the wall behind the desk was taken up entirely by a frankly enormous aquarium housing a two hundred kilogram circling bull shark. “Yan Wushi, you have such a way with words. Truly, I’ve missed you,” Sang Jingxing said in an acknowledgement to what he’d overheard, turning his attention away from the aquarium glass in front of him, the water’s movement illuminating his silhouette in cool blue light. He walked toward the desk, taking out two tumblers. Chipping ice from a small bucket and then picking it up with a pair of specialty tongs, he added two cubes to one glass, before pouring two fingers of single malt whiskey into both. He moved the tumbler without ice to the edge of the desk as an unspoken offer to Yan Wushi, keeping the other for himself. “I know about your current agreement with Yuan Xiuxiu, but I can’t think of anything I’ve done recently to merit a visit. Unless you’ve finally come to settle the personal score between us…?” Sang Jingxing asked, genuinely curious. “Neither,” Yan Wushi replied, using the proprietary hand at the small of Shen Qiao’s back to propel him forward. “Is this…” Sang Jingxing said, giving Shen Qiao a dismissive once over. “Supposed to capture my interest somehow?” “This is Shen Qiao.” Sang Jingxing’s eyes narrowed. “Qi Fengge’s…?  From Xuandu Enterprises? …What, did Yan Wushi finally learn how to share his toys?” Yan Wushi held up the hard drive in his hand. “Qi Fengge’s body of work. Tan Yuanchun was surprisingly forthcoming about it’s contents when he was under the impression I knew where it was. Finished projects, plans, designs, schematics, research, unrealized ideas… And the contents of Xuandu’s entire R&D server. Accounts, itineraries, shipping manifests, parts, confidential suppliers. All of their manufacturing secrets. The sole copy of their next ten years are right here. If you were curious as to why they didn’t have a presence at Canton or Yiwu this year…” Yan Wushi tapped the plastic. Shen Qiao’s stomach was twisting itself into knots. “You want me to extort Xuandu? Yan Wushi, what an appalling suggestion. Criminal activity?” Sang Jingxing said in mock dismay. “I’m an honest business man.” “Yu Ai is desperate to take Xuandu public.” Yan Wushi added. “If word got out that they’ve been lying about everything that’s ground to a halt since this went missing, that they have nothing… Xuandu would never recover. They’ll do anything to get this back. Xuandu’s competitors already smell blood in the water. If you’re looking for a buyer, you have options.” “Fine, fine,” Sang Jingxing replied, waving a hand. “You have my attention.” “More interestingly…” Yan Wushi continued. “You know Hulugu’s been looking for a foot in the door in Shanghai since that lover’s spat with Qi Fengge drove him out of the country twenty years ago. Duan Wenyang and Kunye have already given Xuandu substantial resources. If you were looking for a strong partner and leverage over Xuandu… Duan Wenyang’s door is certainly open.” Sang Jingxing hummed in consideration. “Now tell me what this has to do with your charming little boytoy.” The corner of Yan Wushi’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Shen Qiao is the only person who can decrypt any of it.” Sang Jingxing gave Shen Qiao a look that would be pitying if he were capable of it. “Shen Qiao,” he drawled. “Yan Wushi is so fickle, isn’t he? Whatever did you do to end up in a room alone with two wolves like us, and no one to protect you?” Shen Qiao, eyes closed, gently curled his hands into fists, but didn’t respond. “You’ve been so naive, Ah-Qiao,” Yan Wushi said, finally directing his attention toward him. “Yu Ai, Qi Fengge’s friends on the board of directors. Was Qi Fengge’s body even cold before they set their sights on his legacy? Tan Yuanchun, Gu Hengbo… even little Yuan Ying wouldn’t stand up for you in the end.” He pulled Shen Qiao in close, nose brushing against his temple in a pseudo-affectionate gesture. “Yu Ai was right about one thing, if nothing else. Give your stake in Xuandu to me, Ah-Qiao. Transfer your shares, sign over ownership, let me load it up with debt and break it apart in front of them, piece by piece,” he murmured in his ear. “The profits are yours. Minus my consultation fees, of course,” he finished. “You…” Shen Qiao laughed lightly, completely sick inside. “Naive? That’s fine, isn’t it? Without gullible people like me, how would Yan Wushi have his fun?” Yan Wushi laughed. “Ah-Qiao, Ah-Qiao… Principled people like you are so rare. You should have died out with Qi Fengge’s generation. That world doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve been living by rules that were outdated before you even started playing the game.” Sang Jingxing interrupted. “You’ll forgive me if I think this seems too generous of you, Yan Wushi. It took you a decade to crawl your way out of the hole that Cui Youwang buried you in. You barely survived,” Sang Jingxing reminded him with no little amusement, finishing his drink and rattling the ice in the bottom of the glass. “And he didn’t. What a tragedy that must have been for you.” Yan Wushi replied, pleasant, as though he was expressing his condolences. “What do I possibly have to offer in return?” Sang Jingxing asked. “Taihua,” Yan Wushi replied. “Sign it over to me.” Sang Jingxing laughed out loud. “Taihua? It’s an empty shell of a company, completely worthless. The last assets were liquidated while our dear mentor was still alive. I’ve only kept up the trademarks to commemorate your humiliation. Yan Wushi, don’t tell me you’ve become sentimental in your old age.” “My possessions never stop belonging to me,” Yan Wushi stated. “It’s simply a matter of whether they’re useful enough to hold my present interest.” Sang Jingxing casually waved a hand in the air, done with the conversation. “I’ll have my office send over the paperwork tomorrow. Poor Shen Qiao, how does it feel to be traded for a senile old man’s useless trash?” Yan Wushi turned his attention back to Shen Qiao then. “You had fun, didn’t you? Playing house together?” Yan Wushi took his hand, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “It’s a shame that I became bored of you so easily. No hard feelings Ah-Qiao. After all,” he said, placing the hard drive in Shen Qiao’s hands and walking toward the door, “it’s just business.” The latch clicked, and Shen Qiao was left alone with Sang Jingxing.   -   Sang Jingxing regarded him for long moments, seeming to enjoy the appraisal of his newest acquisition. “Ah, Shen Qiao… a miserable old fuck like Yan Wushi truly doesn’t see your value,” he said, taking a lock of Shen Qiao’s hair and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Join my team. If you play as nicely with me as you did with Yan Wushi… someone as fine as you? I’ll treat you as gently as you deserve.” Shen Qiao didn’t move from the spot where Yan Wushi had left him, despondent. Sang Jingxing put an arm around his shoulder. “Shen Qiao…” he murmured, lightly tracing his knuckles down Shen Qiao’s cheek, “I can be nice, or I can be mean, but either way you’re not leaving this building until I have what I want from you. Be a good boy for me, hmm? I don’t want to do this the hard way.” Shen Qiao looked to the floor with the slightest of nods, Sang Jingxing noted with pleasure, leading him to the computer terminal behind the desk. Shen Qiao sat at the chair and placed the hard drive down gently. Moving Shen Qiao’s hair over one shoulder, Sang Jingxing settled his chin in the crook of Shen Qiao’s neck and shoulder. “Show me.” Shen Qiao inhaled, calm. “Sang-xiansheng-” “Don’t you mean Sang-laoban,” Sang Jingxing breathed against his ear. “…Sang-laoban. There are failsafes I soldered inside the case before I closed it, I need a specialty screwdriver to open it and disable them before I can safely upload everything to your server.” “Happy to provide,” Sang Jingxing said, shooting off a text before continuing to lay his hands on Shen Qiao’s person. He could see why he’d held Yan Wushi’s interest; the man really was fun to fuck with. Within minutes there was a knock and one of Sang Jingxing’s subordinates passed a small electronics toolkit through the door. Sang Jingxing resumed hanging all over Shen Qiao as he began his work. Removing four screws, he popped the plastic casing off the hard drive and gently pried off three chips, setting them aside. Extending a small cable, he plugged it into Sang Jingxing’s computer. When a command screen popped up on the desktop, Shen Qiao began typing. “Ah ah, turn off the privacy settings, I want to see,” Sang Jingxing commanded. Shen Qiao nodded, changing his settings with a few clicks before typing out a long series of letters and numbers. “Did you memorize all of this?” “The pass code changes by the minute. It’s connected to an equation that corresponds to the date and time; you plug in the time, day, month, and year to their respective places and then solve before the minute changes.” Shen Qiao responded gently, brow furrowed in concentration. “The correct entry is the full question and- ah,” he said, keying in the last few digits and pressing enter. “The answer.” The password protection disappeared, opening a home folder. The only thing in it was a file titled shanhetongbei.exe. “Where’s the rest of it,” Sang Jingxing asked, suspicious, as he toyed with the collar of Shen Qiao’s shirt, flicking open the top buttons. “Once I execute this command,” Shen Qiao explained placidly, “it will start downloading the permissions to give you access to my private accounts. I’ll need to send you a link through your email to add you to my server.” It took a few minutes to install shanhetongbei.exe, and for Shen Qiao to sign into and out of his own email address and send the files from his cloud server to Sang Jingxing. He moved the chair aside, gesturing to the desktop. “Sang-laoban, you have to sign in and click the link.” Sang Jingxing stepped away from Shen Qiao to complete his instructions. “…What is it doing,” he asked, squinting at the screen, where a number of windows were opening and closing, completing the installation. Sang Jingxing attempted to press buttons on the keyboard to get the machine to respond. Shen Qiao placed the chips he’d taken from the hard drive and the tool kit into his inner jacket pocket, slipping the snake shaped ice pick out of Sang Jingxing’s expensive bar set. “Installing ransomeware across your entire network,” he replied with no inflection, taking the ice pick in his hand and stabbing the exposed circuit board and platters multiple times in succession, hard enough to puncture through the hard drive and chip the marble surface of the desk. The moment between Sang Jingxing’s shock and his understanding was enough time for Shen Qiao. “You fucking bitch,” Sang Jingxing snarled, lunging across the desk. Shen Qiao attempted to dodge, but Sang Jingxing was faster, catching him by the braid and toppling the chair as Sang Jingxing landed two punches to his face. Shen Qiao crawled across the floor, attempting to roll away, but Sang Jingxing had the advantage. Wrapping the braid around his fist, Sang Jingxing slammed his face against the desk, pain exploding across his vision. “Shen Qiao, I warned you about the hard way,” he said, shoving a knee between Shen Qiao’s legs as he struggled underneath Sang Jingxing. Shen Qiao managed to slide himself off the desk by pushing backward and dropping his weight to one side. Hooking an ankle around Sang Jingxing’s feet, he swept both legs out from under him, sending them both reeling backward to the floor. Shen Qiao landed better this time, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth black tile, but got himself to standing and made it halfway to the door. Sang Jingxing vaulted the desk and got a hold on the back of his shirt before getting in a few solid hits to the chest. Shen Qiao, already winded, couldn’t block the knee to the stomach that followed, and Sang Jingxing got a hand around his throat, pinning him against the base of the large Perseus statue one handed. “What was your thought process here, Shen Qiao, making yourself worthless to me?” he said smoothly, squeezing his hand and watching Shen Qiao struggle. “That’s always the problem with Yan Wushi’s investments,” he chuckled, leaving behind a streak of blood as he wiped his nose and mouth with the back of his hand. “They depreciate in value so quickly.” Shen Qiao lifted his leg around Sang Jingxing’s body, kicking out for purchase, only to meet the wall behind him. “Yan Wushi appreciates dramatic gestures. I’ll send him one of your hands as a souvenir before I feed the rest of you to Huo Xijing,” he said through clenched teeth, blood and saliva speckling against Shen Qiao’s face. Shen Qiao balanced his back against the narrow pedestal, placing both feet against the wall and pushing with all of his strength. The base tilted, sending the sculpture on a direct trajectory with the aquarium. “No!!” Sang Jingxing shrieked, Shen Qiao hitting the underside of Sang Jingxing’s wrist with an open hand to break the hold on his neck, diving for the front of the desk. The crack of plexiglass was the loudest sound in the room. The tank exploded outward, large, intact shards of acrylic slamming into Sang Jingxing and knocking him into unconsciousness as the water propelled him over the floor. The weight of the marble desk blocked the brunt of the debris, barring some shards that embedded themselves into the arm Shen Qiao had thrown up to protect his face. He was somersaulted across the room, back slamming the door open as thousands of litres of water emptied out into the rest of the suite and escaped through walls and light fixtures to flood the floors directly below. Shen Qiao’s back was slammed upside down into the wall outside the door by the force of the water, legs in the air, holding his breath until the it receded enough that he could shakily stand on the saturated hall carpet. He limp-jogged down the hallway, soaking wet, coughing and wiping salt water out of his eyes. The receptionist, who was now standing on top of her desk, dumbly watched him stumble out of the suite. Passing a number of Sang Jingxing’s men as shouts sounded from inside the office, he made for the fire escape. Bypassing the stairs entirely, he swung over the railing and dropped, catching himself on another railing every third floor or so. The adrenaline was overwriting the pain he was feeling at present, but he had no idea how long that would last. His feet hit the concrete floor signifying the lobby level, and he burst out of the emergency door with a slam, drawing attention from office workers walking through to the elevator bank. He tried to act casually, but it was difficult when he was wearing a suit drenched with water, blood from the wounds he’d sustained fighting off Sang Jingxing painting his forehead and left cheek in blooming crimson. He dabbed at his face self consciously with the back of his sleeve. The security desk at least was crowded, fielding angry calls from multiple floors, and Shen Qiao walked by unnoticed, accidentally bumping into a woman with a mumbled apology as he pushed through the front door and made it to the street level. Bai Rong had been distracted by a strange login request on her phone for the last ten minutes, not noticing the man walking in her direction across the lobby. After they made contact, his apologetic muttering gave her pause. “Was that Shen-lang?” she wondered aloud, whirling around in recognition. He was already gone.   -   Shen Qiao made it two blocks before pulling himself up another fire escape, unlatching the outer door to the second level of a clothing manufacturer’s bulk exports office. Crouching in the stairwell, Shen Qiao popped the case off of his waterlogged phone, peeling two damp thousand renminbi bills out of the back. Entering the building, he walked up and down the stacks of containers until he found an unbranded sweatshirt, sneakers and pants in his size, grabbing the first baseball cap and face mask he saw and approaching an administrative desk. The young woman manning it was eating her lunch, startled into dropping her gaifan back into its container. “C-can I help you…?” Shen Qiao gestured to the items in his arms, peeling off a bill and setting it in front of her. “Is this alright?” he asked softly, trying not to look threatening. She looked at the items, and then at Shen Qiao in disbelief. “Gege, we don’t really do that…” Shen Qiao gave her a truly pathetic look. “Please…” She looked around to see if anyone was watching, before sliding the bill toward herself and placing it into an open accounts folder in a drawer. “The bathrooms are back that way,” she gestured with a nod. Shen Qiao bowed his head in thanks and all but sprinted toward the bathrooms, locking himself inside. He cleaned up with an available stack of paper towels, emptying his pockets and laying everything out on the ledge of the sink. Taking a first aid kit from the wall, he plucked the shards of plexi out of his arm and wrapped it in gauze, taping a bandage over where his forehead was still bleeding sluggishly. Shucking off his clothes into a pile, he pulled on the white joggers and tightened them around his waist, tying it off with a bow. He shoved his feet into the pair of light blue and white sneakers, pulling the pale blue hoodie over his head and attempting to pull it down. Looking in the mirror, he realized he’d taken it from the wrong bin; the ribbed hem ended just above his navel. He tugged at it again in frustration, before looking heavenward and breathing out a heavy sigh. He pulled on the cotton face mask and tucked his hair up into the light blue cap— a sitting moomintroll embroidered across the front with a white bow sewn to the top of the closure— and shoved the rest of his possessions, including the toolkit and somehow Sang Jingxing’s ice pick, into the pockets of the joggers. Gathering his wet clothes, he nodded at the wide eyed girl behind the desk on his way out, tugging the hoodie down over his stomach again self consciously. He stuck close to crowds and populated areas, head down, recognizing some of Sang Jingxing’s associates talking heatedly on their phones on the sidewalk across the street from a line of taxis. Shen Qiao dumped his clothes in the trash outside the metro station and loaded up a smart card with cash, shoving the change into the cropped hoodie. Finding an open maintenance door in an isolated part of the tunnel, Shen Qiao slipped his phone between the hinges and pushed, snapping it in half. He tossed half the phone under the tracks and got on the next arriving train, managing to find a space against the wall to lean on in the crowded passenger car. Body shaking, he shoved the other half of the phone under a seat as he folded his arms in on himself and closed his eyes.

- Finally, after a full weekend of preparation, a full day of celebration, and a night of dancing, Kara slowly makes her way back to the head table to breathe. Alex and Kelly, looking stunningly beautiful, are swaying close together as the band plays one of the only slow songs of the night so far. Alex is whispering in Kelly's ear, who laughs in response, and Kara can't help but smile at the couple. She nurses her drink, deciding then that this should be her last one of Aldebaran rum before switching to water, and looks around the room. The sun went down long ago, and the barn is lit up with white string lights and candles, giving everything a soft, flickering glow. Most people have taken the lull in dancing to take a break, refilling drinks or sitting down for the first time in a few hours. In true Superfriend fashion, the wedding reception has been quite a riot. The band is excellent at keeping everyone out on the floor, playing song after song that has all their friends singing and dancing and drinking to their hearts' content. Now, only a few couples linger around the newlyweds as the band slows down, and Kara can't help but feel a little relief after stepping away. It's been a beautiful but exhausting day. She's happy to take five minutes to sit in her seat and simply observe. "Now, does alcohol really affect Kryptonians, or have I just assumed you've been a heavyweight all these years?" Lena approaches from her left, fingers curled delicately around a glass of red wine, and Kara smiles up at her, nodding to the seat next her in invitation. Their shoulders brush as Lena sags into the seat next to her. Lena, for her part, looks just as danced out as Kara, flyaways falling out of her intricate updo and shoes nowhere to be found. But Rao, if she isn't stunning. She's in a silky red dress that stops mid-calf with a devastating slit up the right side that exposes her smooth alabaster skin as she crosses her legs. Kara blames her inability to stop her eyes from trailing up Lena's figure on the alien alcohol, and promptly ignores the warmth spreading through her system at the sight of her best friend looking like that right in front of her. The thin straps and low neckline expose her collarbone beautifully, and Kara definitely does not follow the movement of her throat when she takes a sip of her drink. She clears her throat. "Human alcohol doesn't affect me, no. But a few alien spirits do, and Alex happened to pull some strings to keep the bar stocked." Lena nods and raises an eyebrow. "So every time we drank wine with our dinner you were just drinking bitter grape juice for fun?" "Hey, I've become a bit of a wine connoisseur over the years," Kara defends, tipping her glass towards Lena. She glances down at Lena's drink and adds, "I do have to confess that I prefer white wine to red." She grins mischievously, and Lena scoffs in response. "What? After all this time?" Lena's hand flies to her chest dramatically. "You wound me, Kara Zor-El." She feels heat rise to her cheeks at the sound of her real name lilting over Lena's lips. She laughs it off. Must be the rum. Lena breaks into a laugh and bumps her shoulder against Kara, perhaps a little affected by her drinks tonight as well, and Kara is struck yet again by how lucky she is that they can do this. Sit shoulder to shoulder. Laugh together. Joke about her secret. Kara's laughter trickles off. She tears her gaze away from Lena to look back onto the dance floor. Alex and Kelly are still pressed close, foreheads touching. She loves them, she's happy for them, and yet she can't shake the loneliness that sits deep in her chest. She loves them and envies them all the same. "Did I ever thank you for forgiving me?" Kara asks suddenly, still looking at her sister. Lena jerks her head toward Kara but doesn't respond. The alien alcohol makes her honest, which is definitely dangerous for how much baggage she has buried deep inside her, ready to bubble up at any moment. "Because I didn't deserve it, don't deserve it, but I'm grateful. I couldn't have done, well, a lot of things, if I didn't have you. So thank you. For this, being here with me. For me, I mean." Kara is still looking at her sister, her married and ridiculously in love sister, when she feels a hand on her knee. She grabs it instinctively. "Hey, we could go back and forth on this forever," Lena says. Kara stares at their interlocking fingers and swallows thickly. "I forgave you, you forgave me, and now we're here. We made it out, no more bad guys —" "There's always more bad guys," Kara interrupts before she can stop herself, bitterness seeping out into her tone unexpectedly. She takes a big sip of her drink, fighting a cough as it goes down. As she looks back up to Alex and Kelly, she wishes just for a moment that this was their life. Uncomplicated, safe, normal. Just family and friends coming together for a wedding, not a team of superheroes taking one night off from their full-time job of danger. And she could just be the younger sister and maid of honor, not the Kryptonian on the sidelines with no one to grow old with. Tears spring into her eyes, and she clears her throat to cover them up. Too much rum, she thinks to herself. "Hey, look at me." She slowly shifts her gaze to Lena, who's a lot closer than Kara anticipated. Kara can smell the perfume and hairspray mixed with sweat, and her eyes are round with worry and softness, and there's an eyelash under her eye that she desperately wants to brush away, and her thumb is tracing circles on the back of Kara's hand, and her senses are over overwhelmed with Lena, Lena, Lena. She swallows thickly and keeps her eyes focused on Lena's. "We're all safe right now. Nxly is gone, we're all here together. It won't last forever, you're right about that." Lena squeezes her hand and Kara smiles. "So let's enjoy the peace while we've got it, yeah?" At that, Kara nods, emotion and alcohol still making her throat tight and vision blurry. Rao, what she would give to feel any resemblance of peace. She sighs and rests her head on Lena's, who shifts even closer to glue her side against the Kryptonian. Kara can feel every inch of contact and wills herself not to react. Their fingers are still interlocked in Kara's lap, and she's hyperaware of the image the two best friends are displaying. It's undeniably romantic. If Lena notices a few of their friends glancing their way curiously, she doesn't mention it. "Does this feel like an ending to you?" Lena asks suddenly. "What do you mean?" Lena glances down at their hands and back up at the crowd in front of them. More couples are coming back to the dance floor as the slower songs continue, dancing close to each other and smiling while they twirl around on the floor. "We've been moving at break-neck speed every single day for months, and now we're . . . Not. I won't wake up early to get to the Tower. I won't stay up late in the lab creating some new tech. I won't be up all night worried about . . ." She trails off. Kara moves her head to stare at Lena, who looks up at her with wide eyes, like she didn't mean to say that. ". . . Me." Kara finishes. Lena shrugs. "I'm always worried about you." Kara can't force herself to look away from Lena's intense gaze. She doesn't know how to respond to that. Of course, objectively, she knows the people in her life worry about her safety. Supergirl isn't the safest career she could've chosen. But to hear Lena say it so plainly, that she loses sleep thinking about her, has her frozen to her seat. "Dance with me." The request bursts out of Kara without a warning, and they both startle backwards just an inch. "What?" "Dance with me," Kara repeats desperately, and in that moment she realizes she doesn't think she'll survive if Lena says no. "Please. Before we have to go back to risking our lives for some new bad guy." Lena looks down at their hands, out to the dance floor, and back up to Kara. A smile grows on her face and she nods. "Okay." Kara stands and pulls her best friend to her feet. They both kicked their shoes off hours ago, yet Kara still leans a few inches over Lena as they stand impossibly close. Kara pulls Lena behind her as they slowly drift towards the dance floor, nervousness bubbling in her chest. She ignores the clear looks of shock and excitement from their friends in favor of pulling Lena as close to her as possible. Lena's arms snake around Kara to rest on her shoulder blades while Kara places her hands on the small of Lena's back, pulling them as close as physically possible, foreheads touching as they breathe the same air. This is new, Kara realizes, and yet it doesn't feel out of place. More like the culmination of everything they've been working towards. The connection they've felt from the day they met has never fizzled out, even when they were fighting. Working together the past few months has been noticeably different. There was always tension in the air when they worked together, as Kara tried to understand the totems and Lena practiced her newly discovered magic. It always felt like just the two of them in a room. A Super and a Luthor. "You're right," Kara murmurs in Lena's ear. "Hmm?" Lena doesn't lift her head from where it rests against Kara's cheek, eyes closed in contentment. "It does feel a bit like an ending." The worlds melts away and it's just them. Kara and Lena. "But I've always been a fan of beginnings." Lena pulls back to rest her forehead against Kara's, green eyes bright with tears. "Think this could be one as well?" Lena whispers, looking up at Kara through her eyelashes, an undeniable glimmer of hope in her gaze. "I've never wanted anything more." It's unclear who leans in first, but in the end it doesn't really matter. Lena's hands slide to Kara's neck as their lips come together, and it feels like the world around them lets out a sigh of relief. Lena tastes like tart red wine and something akin to magic and Kara struggles to keep her powers in check to prevent them from floating. Kissing Lena feels like a beginning to something that should have started ages ago. Kissing Lena feels like holding a cup of tea close to her chest and letting the warmth seep through her bones. Kissing Lena feels like the yellow sun dancing on her skin, radiating through her body and renewing her strength. Kara feels a contentment settle in her soul as they come up for air, noses bumping gently as they look up at each other. She blinks a few times as Lena's features come back into focus. The slope of her nose, the eyelash under her eye, the smudge of lipstick on the corner of her mouth. For a moment they just stare at each other. And then, Lena smiles. She smiles so radiantly, with that softness reserved only for her, that Kara can't help but lean in and kiss her again. And then she hears the vague sound of clapping. They break apart to see Alex and Kelly pointing at them while Nia and Brainy whoop from side of the dance floor. "Are you really trying to steal my spotlight at my own wedding?" Alex shouts, and Kelly elbows her in the ribs playfully. Kara blushes profusely while Lena just shrugs. "Can't keep a Luthor out of the limelight that long, Mrs. Danvers," Lena jokes back, and then everyone is laughing, and Kara can't stop beaming, can't believe she is so lucky to have a family like this. The band catches on to the newfound energy in the room and picks up the pace, and suddenly the dance floor is full and lively again. Everyone is singing and dancing with drinks in their hand and Kara catches a few of her friends tipping their glasses towards her in a toast. She laughs and twirls Lena around to hug her from behind as they sway to the music. She rests her chin on Lena's shoulder, still chuckling a little as she watches Nia reluctantly give Brainy a twenty dollar bill. As she catches Alex's gaze from across the floor, full of love and pride for her sister, she holds Lena even tighter. She swears she's never felt more content in her life, holding Lena like this, surrounded by her favorite people in the world. Lena fits into her just right, like they were made for each other, and maybe they were, in some impossible cosmic way. Lena looks up at Kara, smiling so wide it takes her breath away. Kara presses a kiss to her temple. "A Super and a Luthor, huh," Lena murmurs, eyes closing in contentment. Kara rests her chin on Lena's shoulder again and chuckles, any remaining tension leaving her body as she relaxes against her love. "Who would've thought?" Kara smiles. "Well, I always hoped."

Chapter 24. Alex. (May 2001) Alex was a member of a Russian trade delegation touring the region looking at various local companies; hubby's being one of them. The delegation was staying at one of the hotels in town and hubby, whose company was among the first to be visited, had arranged for us to meet Alex in the bar that evening. It was apparent from J's excitability that he envisaged more than just a drink! When introduced to Alex I found him to be a really well-built guy, who spoke good English but with a strong guttural accent which I'm certainly not going to attempt to replicate here. I've no idea what hubby had told Alex about us but during the introductions the guy seemed to be undressing me with his eyes. The conversation at our table seemed forced and stilted, as though we were waiting for something to happen. Eventually Alex stood up, and holding his hand out to me said, "Coming? I looked at hubby and he told me to go ahead and enjoy myself. "What about you?" I asked him. "I'll wait here. The delegation will be in the hotel for three nights, so assuming your happy I'll get to watch another night." Well the big Russian took me up to his room and immediately began undressing. For some unaccountable reason I was feeling a bit nervous and uncertain. Should I follow suit or would Alex want to undress me? God he's big though I thought, on seeing the barrel-chested Alex without his shirt. I ran my eyes over his torso, the rippling muscles of his upper arms, while he continued to undress. "Oh my god!" I couldn't prevent the exclamation on seeing Alex's cock. It was huge! Most definitely the biggest I'd seen. "Big heh, you like?" He grinned aware from my response that I did. I was on my knees in a flash, grabbing his thick cock by the root to run my tongue lovingly along its length and round the glans. The big Russian stood grinning down at me, hands on hips and feet apart, while I kissed and licked his cock. It was only when I turned my attention to his equally large and heavy looking balls, licking and kissing them, that Alex began to respond by uttering strange mooing sounds. Turning my attention back to the guy's cock I took it into my mouth with some difficulty. My God I'm going to be fucked by this monster I thought, sucking on Alex cock. He was forcing his big cock further into my mouth and my lips felt stretched to breaking but I continued sucking almost desperately at it. Tasting pre-cum I stuck to my task but almost gagged when Alex came, forcing his cock right down my throat to release a thick torrent of cream. Lifting me to my feet, Alex then placed me face down over the end of the bed and pushed my skirt up over my waist. Next he ripped my panties down and as he yanked them off I thought for a minute he was going to mount me straight away. Instead he sat on the floor and pulled my legs backwards onto his shoulders, one each side of his head. I squealed with delight when his tongue bored into my cunt to lap round and round. His hands were on my bottom and I knew instinctively where his fingers were going when I felt them exploring my flesh. As expected a finger drove into my anus while his tongue continued its gorgeous work on my cunt. Sucking at my clitoris, fingers drilling in and out of my anus, Alex brought me to a very noisy and violent orgasm before deftly picking me up to lay me full length on the bed. Then he mounted me. My scream of delight when the guy's huge cock powered into me must have been heard the length of the corridor I should think and my ecstatic cries continued to ring out all the time he fucked me, culminating in another gigantic orgasm. His cock thrusts continued and Alex pushed my top up before reaching around to unclip my bra, something he accomplished with ease. He seized my bared breasts, sucking and biting at my nipples, while continuing to fuck me lustily. Suddenly he withdrew, flipped me over and raised me up onto my knees. It all happened in an instant and I barely had time to draw breath before the big cock powered into me again. Grabbing my dancing breasts Alex held on to them while fucking me, this time keeping going until he came, loud grunts breaking from his lips, cock jerking and discharging deep inside me. Rearranging my clothing later I had to search the room for my panties, eventually locating them in the corner but they were torn and not worth putting on. I smoothed my skirt down as best I could but it still remained creased from being bunched up around my waist for so long and it was the first thing hubby commented on when we rejoined him in the bar. I don't know about Alex but I was really thirsty so hubby went off to the bar to fetch drinks for us. A grinning Alex groped and squeezed my thighs under cover of the table while we waited for our drinks. In fact he couldn't keep his hands off me and when we left, having arranged to meet him again tomorrow evening, Alex came out to the car park with us and put his hand up my skirt while J opened the car door. While hubby sat in the car patiently waiting, I stood with legs apart enjoying the feel of Alex fingering my cunt and thinking happily that I'd have his huge cock again tomorrow. J wasn't as patient when I told him about the size of Alex's cock though; he could barely contain himself at the prospect of watching me being fucked by such a monster! We arrived at the hotel early but Alex soon appeared in the bar and greeted us with a smile. No polite small talk tonight though, we went straight up to his room. This time I began undressing directly we were inside, the guys watching, and Alex slowly taking his own clothes off as he did so. Naked, I sat on the end of Alex bed waiting while he finished undressing and hubby's tense excitement was plain to see as he too watched, eager to see the cock I'd been so fulsome in my praise of. Alex slowly lowered his underpants well aware of the effect he was having. Hubby's mouth dropped open and he leaned forward to the edge of his chair when Alex revealed his mighty organ. "Good God!" Hubby exclaimed standing up. "You had that inside you yesterday." "And she will again today." Alex smirked. Directly I saw his cock I spread my legs without thinking, a sort of automatic response I suppose. Alex bundled hubby aside to get at me, kneeling on the carpet and putting my legs up over his shoulders like yesterday but face up this time. His tongue bored unto my cunt and I lay back on the bed squealing. Again like yesterday I felt Alex's fingers seeking for, and locating my anus to probe inside. Hubby was beside the bed then, cock in hand. He couldn't see everything that Alex was doing to me but had a good idea by my wild and vociferous response. After bringing me to orgasm Alex got to his feet, a big grin spreading across his face when he saw hubby masturbating. However it was J, quickly shedding his trousers and underpants, who suggested a comparison. The guys stood facing one another and the difference in cock size was plain to see, as was hubby's excitement when he realised that Alex cock was more than twice the size of his own. "Fuck her, fuck my wife now. Let me see you do it to her!" J urged, his voice breaking with emotion. Again the laughing Alex thrust hubby aside, almost contemptuously this time, before turning towards me. I quickly shuffled backwards until I was full length on the bed and reached out to him, spreading my legs wide as I did so. There was something of a swagger about Alex now as lifting my ankles to double them back, he mounted me. "Put my cock inside her then husband." Alex grinned down at me as he said it. With my legs pinned down by his shoulders Alex ran his hands through my hair so I knew the fingers spreading my cunt lips must be hubby's. I felt the fingers guiding Alex cock into me and realised that J must have had to reach between the guys legs to accomplish it. Again Alex looked pleased with himself, his cock sinking deeper inside. "Good, now stroke my balls husband while I fuck your wife." Alex snapped over his shoulder. He was fucking me lustily now, stifling my ecstatic cries with his mouth pressed to mine. J stroked Alex balls the entire time the guy was fucking me and probably contributed to him coming quicker than he might otherwise have done. When it was over Alex stood laughing while hubby masturbated, staring fixedly between my thighs and muttering about how open my cunt looked after the pounding it had received from Alex big cock.

Katsuki woke to a warm body moving under the covers—trailing dual temperature hands across his bare torso and sliding down his boxers. “Thought I told you to give me back my key.” The only answer Katsuki got was the feeling of wet heat enveloping his cock. He groaned quietly and reached under the covers to fist at silky hair as his length swelled to full hardness. Shouto relaxed, letting the growing thickness press past the cavern of his mouth and deep into his throat—nose still buried in golden curls.  When he was sure Katsuki was fully hard he came up for air, sucking on the flushed head as he swirled his tongue and dipped it into the leaking slit. “F-fuck, Icyhot—shit, w-what a way to wake up…”  He felt a smile against his skin before his cock disappeared again and Shouto went to work bobbing his head as he massaged his sack. Katsuki didn’t even try to stop the low moans that spilled from his lips as his cock was expertly worked.  He loved how it felt when Shouto took him to the base and rhythmically swallowed, like he was trying to milk Katsuki’s release from him. He was so close, he could feel it in the way his balls tightened, tension building in his core.  Shouto went to pull off, but he fisted his hair harder, shoving him down and finally causing the little slut to gag. He was struggling, hands coming up to press at Katsuki’s thighs and legs shaking as saliva poured out from around the thick cock. When he finally realized the struggle was useless, Shouto grabbed Katsuki’s testicles again and squeezed—causing him to release a started shout. But dammit if he wasn’t a bit of a masochist because the sudden pain had him arching off of the bed, pulling even more roughly at mismatched hair. Shouto’s face was pressed fully against his body as Katsuki filled his throat. He was so lost in his post-orgasmic haze that it took the sudden searing pain of Shouto’s left palm before he was releasing the suffocating villain.  Shouto pulled the covers off of himself and shot Katsuki a look that was probably supposed to be intimidating, but lost heat due to his red rimmed eyes and the cum leaking from his nose.  “God I fucking hate you.” “Yeah, I know Icyhot. Not come sit on my cock like I know you want to.”  He narrowed his eyes before petulantly wiping his nose on the sheets and climbing on top of Katsuki. Shouto reached around, pulling a long plug out of his ass before sliding it back in. Katsuki watched him fuck himself, eyes closed and brows furrowed. He was biting his lip, working the toy quickly and the sight caused Katsuki’s dick to twitch.  The fucking brat would choose to fuck himself like a goddamned tease while there was a perfectly good cock not 12 inches from his greedy little hole. It was all Katsuki could do not to force his cock in alongside the toy, really split him open and make him scream. He had an excess of pent up aggression given that Shouto had fucked up one of his jobs the past week by showing up and trying to kill him before he could take out his mark.  Shouto released a lewd moan and the last thread of Katsuki’s patience snapped. He growled low, strong arm coming up to curl around his slim waist as he flipped them. Katsuki slapped a cool hand away and swiftly pulled the toy out of the slut’s ass, causing Shouto to choke on his gasp.  In one smooth motion, Katsuki buried himself to the hilt inside of his slippery channel—basking in the way Shouto’s ass sucked him in like it was made to be fucked. He was so fucking tight. It didn’t really help that the toy had been much too slim to emulate Katsuki’s thickness.  He pulled out quickly, twisting him at the waist and straddling a thigh. He spread Shouto wide, throwing the other leg over his shoulder and using it as leverage to fuck into his narrow passage. Katsuki pulled all the way out with each thrust, watching how the red rim slowly loosened until it was wide open and winking from the continuous assault.  For his part, Shouto was actually being pretty quiet, taking it like a good, obedient cock sleeve—well Katsuki didn’t want that. He removed his cock and grabbed the discarded toy from the bed, pressing it in to tease the bundle of nerves inside him. He worked the plug swiftly, smirking at the way Shouto grit his teeth, fisting the sheets as he fought the moans threatening to work their way from his throat.  “Fuck—look at you. You’re taking this fake fucking cock so well. Bet your pretty little hole wants more, doesn’t it? Jesus, Icyhot—“ Shouto was slowly losing it, the aggressive stabs at his prostate too much to take. “You want more, don’t you? Want to be ripped apart.”  Katsuki stopped thrusting the plug in favor of lining up and pressing in beside it—spurred on by the scream that finally left Shouto’s lips. When Icyhot finally came untouched it was messy and loud and made the room smell like smoke as he burned a hole in the sheets. It wasn’t long before Katsuki came too, pulling out completely and aiming each pump at Shouto’s stretched hole. He stood up, walking into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He was in the middle of brushing his teeth when an annoyed looking half and half bastard came striding into the room.  “Umm—what are you doing?”  Katsuki spit into the sink and made eye contact with Shouto through the mirror. “Bout to take a shower, the fuck’s it look like I’m doing?”  “ It looks like you’re not planning on fucking me again, which is crazy, right?”  He rolled his eyes, stepping into the warm spray and wetting his hair.  “ I said, that’s crazy r—“ “Fuck! I know what you said, you needy bitch. I’ve got plans. Shit to do today.” Shouto slung the shower curtain aside, earning a jump from him. “What plans?” “Jesus fucking —I’ve got to go see the nerd!”  Icyhot’s look went from questioning to livid in less than the time it took Katsuki to blink the soap out of his eyes.  “Let. Me. Get. This. Straight.” Well shit. “You’re choosing to see Izuku, instead of me?”  “What the fuck is wrong with you? You know, maybe if you hadn’t fucked up my goddamned job on Thursday, I wouldn’t have to see fucking Deku at all!”  Katsuki was so confused. What was the half and half bastard so pissed for? This was just a fucking truce, it’s not like they even got along.  “But Sundays are our days.” Shouto didn’t seem angry anymore. If anything he would say his voice sounded small, almost unsure. Was he fucking pouting? “What are you, my fucking girlfriend?” Katsuki punctuated the question by flicking water at him. Shouto wiped his face, leveling him with a seething glare. “Asshole.” “Spoiled brat.” “Piece of shit.” “Princess with daddy issues.” “PSA for anger management.”  “Fucking multiple personalities having bitch.” “Well at least my hair doesn’t look like an aborted dandelion.”  “And that bullshit you got going on is better, you fuckin’ Zuko ass candy cane!?”  Shouto slid the curtain shut and stormed out of the bathroom, stomping around loudly. Fucking hell, the two of them may have had a truce, but that didn’t stop Icyhot from breaking shit in his apartment.  Katsuki quickly rinsed off, slinging a towel around his hips and racing toward the bedroom. The bed was a mess, Shouto and the toy suspiciously missing. A loud noise drew his attention and he followed it into the kitchen. Shouto was dressed, banging through cupboards and pulling out a mug when he found them. Katsuki wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone brew coffee so passive-aggressively. “Is this really such a big fucking deal?”  Half and half wouldn’t look at him. He kept his back to Katsuki, staring at the coffee pot as it brewed. He rolled his eyes and walked up behind him, cupping his ass and eliciting the sluttiest moan from Shouto. So that’s where the plug went. “You fucking jealous, Icyhot? My little whore angry ‘cause I’m choosing to work instead of using you as a cock warmer all day?” Shouto didn’t respond but the way he leaned back into the touch said enough.  Katsuki dropped the towel, sliding his pants past the swell of his ass and running his fingers around the flared base of the toy. The tension left Shouto’s shoulders as Katsuki pulled it out, replacing it swiftly with his cock to ensure that none of his earlier release leaked out.  The sigh that left his lips at the feeling of being filled again was so damned contented that it caught Katsuki off guard. “Damn, you really fucking needed this—didn’t you?” Shouto nodded quickly, gripping the counter and pressing back into each languid thrust. “Shit—okay baby. If the jealous slut needs my cock, he can have it.”  Katsuki really had to go see Deku today, but damned if Shouto didn’t know how to get his way. He pressed him into the marble countertop as he moaned, pounding into his used hole with the kind of brutality expected of him.  Sex in the kitchen turned into fucking against a wall on the way to the bedroom, which turned into Shouto riding him within an inch of his life; and by the time the half and half bastard was satisfied enough to let Katsuki go see the nerd it was late afternoon.  He got dressed, grabbing his jacket from the closet and his keys from the counter before turning to see why Shouto was following behind him like a goddamn lost puppy.  “Can I fucking help you with something?”  “Nooope.” He was rocking back and forth on his heels and Katsuki narrowed his eyes. The fuck was he playing at? Much to his annoyance Shouto followed him the entire way to the League’s stronghold, staying quiet save for a few random comments. Katsuki chose not to acknowledge the clingy fucker, hoping that being ignored would cause him to go away.  “Ah, Kacchan! You made it!” Deku was beaming at him from his desk, situated behind a wall of monitors. “...and Shouchan? What are you doing here?”  “Just keeping Katsuki company.” Shouto sat down on one of the desks. His quiet moan was missed by the nerd, but Katsuki knew the fucking masochist was only sitting to put more pressure on the toy plugging him up. “Oh that’s right! It’s truce day, isn’t it?” Deku went back to typing, not paying attention to either of them.  “Where’s the fucking file on Yamamoto?” Green eyes widened and the nerd shook his head. “Ahh—no, sorry Kacchan. I gave that job away.” “You fucking what!?”  Deku gave him an apologetic smile, eyes flickering over to Shouto in the corner. “Well, after Thursday I didn’t think you planned on finishing the job, so I transferred the contract to Hagakure.”  Katsuki could feel his blood boiling. “You didn’t think I’d finish the job!? Who the fuck do you think I am you stupid fucking quirkless goddamned Deku? And to top it off you give it to that fucking John Cena bitch!?” Shouto snorted at the nickname, earning him a warning glare from Katsuki and an affectionate smile from the nerd.  “Listen, I’m sorry Kacchan. If you want I can issue another contract, but if she gets there first then the money goes to her.”  “Like she’s ever gonna be able to get the job done. Tsk.” Katsuki reached out for the new file, yanking it out of Deku’s hand and spinning on his heel to leave.  “Just remember! Yamamoto is a very powerful man and I still haven’t been able to gather much intel about his quirk, so be careful—“ “You—shut the fuck up, I don’t give a shit what quirk he’s got.” Katsuki moved his finger from pointing at Deku to Shouto. “And you—get up, we’re fucking leaving.” Icyhot obeyed, waving at the nerd as he trailed behind Katsuki.  “Bye Kacchan and Shouchan, try not to kill each other once truce day is over, finding competent contract killers is such a hassle!”  Katsuki ignored him, blasting through the door and making his way out of the maze that was the League’s base. Fuck, he was pissed. He’d do the job alright, but not before taking out his anger on the very excited, very willing man with him.  This time when Shouto followed, he wasn’t annoyed by it, just grateful that he didn’t have to physically drag him. On the way back Katsuki set several alarms for before midnight, he didn’t want to risk another incident like the week before.  They’d barely made it back through the door before Katsuki was pouncing. The two villains came together in a frenzy of limbs and teeth, stumbling toward the bedroom and discarding clothing as they went. Katsuki silently took back every insult he’d had about Shouto being needy, because in that moment he understood perfectly.  The sex that morning had been rough and wild and everything it normally was, but this—this was manic, a feverish collision born from frustration and anger. Shouto was a messed up fucker, everyone knew it. Katsuki could see it in the shift in his personality, the way he went from hot to cold and back again just like his quirk.  It was no secret that he’d had a fucked up past—daddy and mommy issues to boot. Most of the time the knowledge pissed Katsuki off. He might be a fucking villain, but he still had some morals, damnit! And that tiny little voice that was his shriveled up conscious told him that he hated Shouto’s parents for what they’d done to him. The larger voice in his head, however, was currently thanking every fucking god he could think of, because Katsuki had unparalleled anger issues and Shouto took the abuse beautifully—begged for it even.  Katsuki ended up confiscating the copied key and kicking Shouto out with forty-one minutes left till midnight. Sure, he could have cut it closer, but he had work to do. Thursday’s plan had taken over a week to work out the logistics of and had been completely fucked over by one petty half and half bitch in less than an hour.  This plan had to be flawless, and if he timed it right, he could have the job done and still be able to fuck Shouto’s brains out next Sunday, given that nothing went wrong. But whatever happened, there was one thing Katsuki was certain of. Yamamoto was a deadman.

L.Felix | X516.06.13 | Greed had a more practical method of transport which was nice. Felix enjoyed flying, but it was nice to take a car and keep his feet on the ground.  "So where are we going?" Felix asked curiously, his eyes looking for anything that might hint where they were heading. They were on a side of town Felix wasn't familiar with though.  "Just a little shopping spree. There's a few things I wanna get you still." "You don't have to ge-" "I know, but I want to treat you." Greed insisted. "Once you make a final decision, I want to make sure you're properly provided for. I can't exactly trust my brothers will spoil you like I want to."  Spoil? Is that really all he wants to do? He basically wants to be a sugar daddy? "Well...I appreciate the generosity." Felix replied, hoping to kind of stay on the other's goodside.  Greed just let out a chuckle. "I wouldn't really call it generosity if it's more of a personal gain to me." "And why would that be?"  Greed shrugged. "You'll understand if you pick me."  "Let's say, I do end up choosing you...what would that mean?" Felix asked, wondering if he'd get the same answer as he did from Gluttony. "What would happen?" "If you chose me then I'd make sure you'd have everything you've ever wanted. We'd be together for all eternity and-" "And what would happen to my friends?"  "My brothers would leave their bodies and your friends would return to normal." Greed replied. "I would of course stay and Jisung's soul would...pass on."  Maybe this really is true then... "And what would our future look like?" Felix asked, leaning more to favor the other's wants and desires. If he wanted more answers to more pressing questions then he'd have to be willing to play along.  "Do you really want to know?" Greed asked, Felix nodding intently. "I know you're curious and want answers, but I hope you remember that knowledge has a price. These answers you want will add up if you aren't careful."  A numbing tingle at his side reminded Felix of the deep cuts he received after viewing what his friend's witnessed. They weren't the most terrible things but he was sure his skin would always be scarred there.  Would each answer be worth only that much?  "I will say...you are a top choice on my list to pick. I'm just a little more curious on what our days would look like together." Felix tried to persuade, letting his fingers lightly caress the other's hand playfully. Felix wasn't a professional when it came to flirting, but he did have an advantage of knowing how to make his friends flustered. He only hoped the Sins might react the same, though he was doubtful. "Oh really..." The other inquired, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, let me treat you to a shopping spree without declining anything, and I'll give you an answer."  Nodding as the Sin parked the car, Felix unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the vehicle. Greed was already at his side after the blonde closed the door, reaching over to intertwine their fingers as they walked which Felix allowed.  Greed might be easier to persuade than I thought... If he just wants to buy me stuff than- A pull in the back of his mind stopped his thoughts.  "Felix?" It was Jeongin. "C-Can you hear me?"  Yeah, I can. Is something wrong?  "I just...the others are resting, and I saw you with Ji-I mean Greed, so I wanted to make sure you're okay." Jeongin replied. "And Chan said he was able to visit you and I just...I wish I could too." Felix found himself smiling. It was rare for the younger to express his worries verbally, so it made Felix wonder just how much stress the other was feeling.  I'm doing okay, Jeonginnie. I hope you are too. "Yeah, I'm doing fine...I guess." Jeongin said. "We're-" "Here." Greed stated, extending out a pile of clothes in his arms. Confusion was all the other could show as he tried to remember even walking into and picking stuff out. "You spaced out again, didn't you?"  "Sorry." "And here I thought you were really going to give me a chance." Greed pouted.  "I am, I just...all these clothes are a little overwhelming." Felix lied, hoping it was a decent enough lie.  A mischievous smile grew on the other's face. "Are you insinuating that you need me to help you?" Felix quickly shook his head. "No, I'll be fine."  "Are you sure?"  Felix nodded with a weak smile as he entered the dressing room stall. He closed the door behind him and locked the door. It was set in his mind that he wouldn't try on everything but he would humor the other for a bit to continue to act interested.  Pulling the white t-shirt over his head, Felix picked up the first shirt in the pile. "Lix?" The connection returned quickly, Felix feeling his head throb a little.  Hyunjin? Is Jeongin still there? "Yeah, he's sleeping now..." Hyunjin replied. "I just wanted to apologize for what's happened to you. I feel-" You don't need to apologize. I know it isn't really you. "But it's still my body. It's still my-" But it's not your intention and it's not you. Felix couldn't express himself enough. Hyunjin was just as much as a victim as he was. They all were.  "I just...I love you." The older confessed. "I never wanted to hurt you ever but...I was scared. I was scared I'd lose you." I love you too, Jinnie. I always will. "I mean it, Felix. I love you...as more than friends. We all do and we just..." There was a bit of frustration that Felix could sense growing in the other's tone.  I know, I- "You don't know!" The other suddenly snapped. "You have no idea how much it hurt watching you be so cuddly with the others. How much I hated seeing you give attention to anyone else when it wasn't me. Are you that much of an attention whore? I bet you knew exactly what you were doing when..." There was a silence, Felix unable to even form words. Was that really how Hyunjin felt? Did Hyunjin really see Felix that way?  Using the back of his thumb, Felix wiped away a few tears that slipped down his cheeks.  "I...I didn't mean that. I don't know what came over me." Hyunjin quickly stated. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of that. I...I don't know what's happening. I don't-" How long?  "What?" How long have you guys liked me? In the romantic sense? "I'm not sure about the others, but I know it was probably around the same time. After you collapsed from overworking yourself, I knew right then how I really felt." Hyunjin admitted. "I...I'm sorry." Don't be.  "This place it's...I think it's doing something to all of us and-" "Felix? Are you sure you don't need help?" Greed asked from the other side of the door.  "I'm fine." Felix replied. "I was just going through the pile is all. I'm almost done." "You didn't want to show me any?" Greed pouted.  "I'll show you the next one." Felix promised, feeling the tug in the back of his mind disappear. Hyunjin was gone.    ° ° ° ° ° ° ° Lust | X516.06.13 | It was boring without Felix around. The Sin liked teasing the blonde, seeing his blush. It was cute.  His brothers had their chances with the blonde and Lust felt it was his turn. He'd wait for the blonde to return before making a move of his own.  Felix would pick him at the end of all this. Lust was certain. Smiling to himself, Lust closed his eyes. His powers were manifesting much more now, the Sin confident of what he could do with just one look. His brothers wouldn't stand a chance.    ° ° ° ° ° ° ° L.Felix | X516.06.13 | Almost dropping five of the bags, Felix was glad they were heading to the car. They had spent the whole day at the mall, Greed insisting on buying pretty much anything Felix said he liked or anything Greed loved on the boy. It was more clothes and accessories than Felix knew what to do with.  Putting all twenty plus bags into the trunk of the car, Felix felt thirty pounds lighter. Getting in the passenger side, Felix let out a heavy sigh as he relaxed.  The sun was setting and Felix was glad the day was almost done, he was ready for bed.  "Are you ready for that answer now?" Greed asked, Felix raising a brow.  "Answer?" "You stuck to our deal by not denying anything I bought for you so I'll give you an answer to that question you wanted. What our future would look like if you picked me." Right... Felix had forgotten he asked that. He wanted answers but was that really one he wanted to see? "Can I change the question?" Felix asked curiously, knowing there was a bigger question he wanted an answer too.  Greed pursed his lips for a few seconds, thinking.  "I guess. I think I know what you're going to ask for so just give me your palm." Greed instructed. "A few of my brothers showed you so I might as well be next, right?" Taking one of the keys, Greed let the ridged side cut across the pad of his finger, Felix wincing for him. Blood flowed up to the surface, the Sin reaching over and holding the back of Felix's hand as he let his blood draw out the familiar symbol.  "See you soon, Lixie." Greed winked, drawing one last line before things went dark.  Opening his eyes, Felix wasn't surprised to be in a void of darkness, the chill even colder than last time. He took a step forward, shielding his eyes as the white light consumed him, warming him. There was a slight breeze that reached his skin, the air warm.  "You can open your eyes now." Jisung chuckled, Felix slowly letting his eyes peek open. "Surprise!" The other cheered quietly as Felix took in the feast in front of him. It all looked so good.  "I thought we said no surprises this year." Felix said, his mouth moving on its own as the words formed without thought.  "I know, but I couldn't help myself. After you made me like three cakes yesterday for my birthday, I figured I should do something nice too." Jisung insisted, his arms wrapping around the other's waist as he rested his chin on the younger's shoulder in a loving back hug.  Felix could feel all the warmth from the past two years in the older's embrace, the blonde trying to piece together what he missed.  "So you made all this?" Felix asked, amazed. Some reason he knew the other had never cooking in their two years of dating.  "Ha, of course not." Jisung replied. "Believe me, I tried, but things weren't quite working out. I even had Minho try to help me, but he even said I was a hopeless case." Felix chuckled, lightly patting the other's head for reassurance. He appreciated the effort.  "So I ordered from your favorite restaurant and compiled it into a picnic." Jisung concluded, removing himself from the other and sitting down on the blanket. "Thanks, Jisungie." Felix grinned as he sat down beside the older, excited to eat.  Jisung wrapped and arm around Felix's waist, keeping the boy close as he reached over for the box of fried chicken. It wasn't exactly the fanciest meal but Felix didn't mind at all. It felt more...natural and intimate this way. "I was thinking tomorrow we could have a game night with everyone? I know they wanted to get together this week to celebrate all together." Jisung suggested, taking a bite from a piece of chicken first "Sounds great to me." Felix replied, allowing himself to take a bite from the food Jisung offered.  The two ate peacefully together, Felix feeling comfortable in the silence between them. Jisung kept an arm around Felix the whole time which was comforting.  Felix continued to eat his share of the food, his attention currently on the water beside him.  "I've been thinking about this for a while, but I think I'm ready now." Jisung began to say, Felix placing down the cup in his hand. It sounded serious and he wanted to give Jisung his undivided attention. "I know it's only been two years since we started dating, but we've been friends for so much longer. I know the kind of person you are through your good and your bad, and I want to be by your side through it all. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I hope you want the same. Lee Felix, will you marry me?" The older opened up a small ring box revealing a gold ring inside. Felix was genuinely shocked, the words unable to leave his mouth. In that instant it was as though all the things he missed out on flooded his memories. All the dates. All the intimate moments they shared. All the laughs, smiles, tears, and arguments. They all came back and the blonde burst into tears.  He loved Jisung. He could feel it in his heart that he did so genuinely and the older felt the same way.  Felix could only nod as he wiped his tears, Jisung cooing as he wrapped the boy in an embrace. "I'll take your tears as a yes?" Jisung asked with a chuckle, petting the back of Felix's head to try and calm him.  "Y-yes." Felix stuttered, trying to hold back his tears. "I love you, Jisung." "I love you too, Lixie." Squeezing his eyes closed Felix suddenly felt cold again, Jisung's arms now gone. Opening his eyes, the blonde found he was in an unfamiliar place...a home.  "Felix, can you get the door?" Jisung called down from the upper floor. "Yeah, I got it." Felix called back, walking over to the front door. He fumbled with the lock before pulling the door open, quickly getting wrapped up in a hug that almost sent him falling to the floor.  "Happy birthday slash anniversary!" Hyunjin cheered, squeezing the life out of Felix as the rest of the group tries entering the house around them.  "Thanks, Hyunjinnie." Felix managed to mutter out. "How have you guys been?" "Bored." Seungmin replied, closing the door.  "Ever since you and Jisung moved away, we don't hang out as often as we used to." Chan admitted. "But we try about once a week."  "Are you saying Felix and I are the life of the party?" Jisung questioned as he came running down the stairs.  "I mean, there's only so much fun I can have teasing Seungmin and Hyunjin." Minho said. "I need more variety to work with." "Then I guess we'll have to visit more often." Felix replied with a smile, feeling a little sad to hear they don't hang out often anymore.  "Space was needed for a while anyway." Seungmin admitted. "I mean, you remember how upset we all got when we found out you guys were engaged." Felix furrowed his brows, the memories not quite there.  "But we're happy for you both." Chan quickly assured. "Just had to get over the little heartbreak." "As long as I can still get some brownies, it's all good here." Hyunjin stated, walking off towards the kitchen area it seemed.  Jisung's hands found Felix's shoulders, his thumbs massaging out the younger's shoulders.  "Well, there's pizza and stuff in the kitchen so help yourselves. I'll get the game console turned on." Jisung announced, the group quickly racing to get to the kitchen before Changbin while Felix and Jisung stayed behind.  "I thought we said no surprises this year." Felix said, his words on autopilot still.  "I figured this would be a present for the both of us." Jisung replied, leaving a kiss on the blonde's shoulder. "I know how lonely you were without them. I was too."  Felix grinned, turning to face his husband. He let their lips meet again, leaving just a peck before embracing the other tightly.  "Thank you." "No need to thank me. I love you." "I love you more." "And I'd love you both more if you'd keep the PDA to a minimum." Minho cut in, both boys turning to see a few of their friends occupying the door frame. "So you're saying we can't do this?" Jisung asked, turning Felix's head and crashing their lips together. The kiss was quickly deepened, Jisung's tongue slipping past Felix's lips as he lightly tugged at the blonde locks.  The sounds of exaggerated gagging could be heard, Felix pulling away first from Jisung.  "Wanna mess with them some more?" Felix whispered, earning a nod from Jisung. "Then take me..." The world began to fade, Jisung's presence becoming nothing but a cold afterthought as Felix shielded his eyes from the bright light.  Opening his eyes again, Felix was in the place with the altar. It still looked identical to the previous times with the pillars and strange mirrors.  Jisung's quiet sobs could be heard echoing around as Felix began to move forward. He wasn't quite sure what to prepare himself to see, but he wasn't that surprised to see his body a bit mangled and bloody.  "Why did you have to run out like that? Why did you run into the road?" Jisung muttered angrily. "Why did I have to...why did I have to be the one that made you upset?" Looking to his right, Felix saw Seungmin at the altar, Hyunjin at an altar to the left.  "I never wanted this. I never wanted to..." Jisung broke down again, Felix resting his hand on the other's shoulder even though he knew the older wouldn't feel it. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted you to be happy. I just wanted..." "You wanted to keep him safe. Wanted to protect him." Another voice echoed, Felix feeling the pull again.  Gripping Jisung's shoulder, Felix hoped it would keep him grounded long enough to at least get more information from what happened next.  "I can help you with that. I can make it so you never have to lose him like that again." The voice continued, Felix's eyelids beginning to grow heavier.  "He's already gone." Jisung cried, sounding disgusted that someone would suggest Felix was alive.  "He's not. The body you're holding is merely a figment of your imagination. A dream." The voice continued. "The real Felix is still alive. He's looking for you actually."  Felix tried hard to fight his conscious state but eventually the pull was too strong. His eyes closed shut and he was enveloped in darkness once again.  Shooting awake, Felix let out a whine as the stinging pain near his hip felt ten times worse than the other three.  "That's what happens when you try to learn more than what you're supposed to know." Greed chuckled, dabbing a napkin over the wound to try and collect some of the blood. Felix continued to whimper at the pain, trying not to squirm away too much.  "But I don't blame you for your curiosity. It's only natural after all. I just hope it doesn't kill you." 

James tries not to think about it.    It’s a dangerous thought, at least for the present, and it’s a tricky one to shove down and forget about. Looking at their very young intruder is just like looking at a picture of himself at age fifteen. Except his green eyes. A feature that makes it even more difficult to ignore the thing Sirius insisted on bringing to his attention the entire trek up to the castle.    He’s unable to stop his thoughts once they start spiraling.    His brain processes the evidence of the kid’s striking appearance so fast, like he’s let go of his broomstick and is free falling through cold, winter air, only to hit the ground with a sudden jolt as the next logical conclusion smacks him in the face.    Fifteen is the right age.    That boy - the strange one laying flat on the hospital bed in front of him - he’s fifteen.    He’s Harry .    And Harry’s come back. Just like Lily always said he would.    But James can’t think about it, can’t let that hope well up inside him.    Not yet.    He shakes it away, even while he stares at maybe-Harry, and watches those daring green eyes narrow in on Tom as he enters the room, approaching them both wearing his usual scowl. James can’t say he blames the Headmaster for walking around like a perpetual dark cloud.    It’s been a stressful decade of fighting, the war is nowhere near over, and they’re all tired of it.    Tired of this, most specifically. Tired of dueling and interrogating brainwashed kids that should be students wandering around Hogwarts and getting themselves into the safe kind of trouble.    Their intruder grips bits of bed sheets between his fingers, and doesn’t look at Tom long before adjusting his gaze back down into his own lap, refusing to make any further eye contact.    “Right,” says Tom, letting go of a weary sigh. He looks down at the boy, and something flashes across his face. He’s landed on the same conclusion as Sirius. James can tell by the way Tom’s eyes flicker from the boy and back to him, again and again. “Let’s get straight to the point, and then we can all go to bed. What are you doing here? Why has he sent you?”    “Uh,” says the boy. “Nobody sent me. I - I don’t know how I got here.”    “You don’t know?” questions Tom, a note of disbelief coloring his voice. “It’s very hard for me to believe you stumbled across the Forbidden Forest and Hogwarts by accident. This castle - “   “-is protected by many charms, yeah, I know,” he says, irritated. He sounds just like Evan and Prim after being told off by Lily. But no. James isn’t thinking about it. “I was in the Department of Mysteries being chased down by your Death Eaters, then suddenly, I’m in the forest.”    “And what does Dumbledore want from the Department of Mysteries?” asks Tom, softly, while James is hung up on that term again. Death Eaters. It sends a chill down his spine.    “Not Dumbledore,” he answers. “It’s you that’s after it, actually.”    “I have little use for the haphazard work of the Unspeakables,” says Tom, coldly. “Whatever Dumbledore has told you is no doubt another lie to get you to do his bidding. What is your name?”   It’s clear the kid doesn’t want to answer. He breaks eye contact with Tom, and refuses to look at him or James, redirecting his stare at the blanket covering his legs once again.    Another horrible thought slices through James as the silence settles over the Hospital Wing. It’s entirely possible that this boy is Harry, that he knows he’s Harry and what that entails, and doesn’t want anything to do with him or Lily. Maybe, he even hates them.    It’s just like Dumbledore to manipulate children, and maybe-Harry has had eleven years to be conditioned by a mad man. What sort of  things had Dumbledore taught him to think about people like James? About his own parents? What sort of person had Dumbledore raised his son to be?    No.    He’s getting ahead of himself. Again.    “You’ve met my friend James,” says Tom, a bit impatient. James notices a flash of something dangerous in the kid’s eyes. It’s the same look Lily gets when somebody is threatening someone she loves. “He’s got a very interesting map.”    “Very interesting,” says James, conversationally, though he’s fighting back dread and nerves. “Very informative.”    “Finding out who you really are would be as easy as -”   “-A simple passphrase and the tap of a wand?” asks the kid, cutting off Tom. “Let me guess, something like ‘I solemnly swear I’m up to no good?’”    “How… how do you know that?” asks James, letting emotion drip into his voice for the first time.    “Interrogating me isn’t the fun type of mischief, though, is it?” maybe-Harry keeps going, ignoring him. “Someone should let Fr -”   “-James,” Tom cuts in, and the kid’s voice dies off, as if he had been waiting for a reason to stop talking. Tom’s hand bumps against James’s arm, nudging him towards the double doors of the Hospital Wing. “Let’s step away, shall we? Have a talk privately.” He turns his head, looks at maybe-Harry. “You stay there.”    Maybe-Harry narrows his eyes, but doesn’t protest them leaving. He keeps a watchful, suspicious eye on them from his hospital bed, and James feels a pang of sympathy.    Fifteen is too young to be a soldier, and it’s sure as hell too young to be a prisoner of war.    “I think you should let me speak with him,” says Tom, in a low voice. “Alone.”    James frowns.    Tom isn’t one to confer with others about his actions before carrying them out.    Usually, with much annoyance from James’s superiors in the Aurors office and other high-ranking officials in the Ministry, Tom acts without permission, without seeking counsel, or at least, that’s the way it appears from outside the small, separate army that Tom had formed to fight against Dumbledore.    If Tom’s seeking his permission to use legilimency on the boy, it can only mean one thing. The thing James is avoiding.    “And you’re asking because -”   “-This one is yours,” says Tom. “Don’t live in denial, James. The truth is written all over his face. And his eyes.”    James sighs, and lets his shoulders drop their tension. He looks back over at maybe-Harry, who quickly adjusts his gaze to the open window, as if he were trying to pretend he hadn’t been watching them the entire time.    “I don’t know what any of this means,” admits James, quietly. He’s a mess of mixed emotions. Happiness. Relief. His son is alive, in the room with them, but he belongs to Dumbledore. And nothing in this war, nothing done by Dumbeldore, is an accident. Was the return of his son supposed to be a taunt? A trap? “I don’t know what Dumbledore’s playing at.”     “Neither do I,” says Tom, grim. “But Harry can help us shed some light onto it, whether he wants to or not. The situation may not be as grave as it seems.”   His missing son’s return shouldn’t be described as grave.    James knows this, logically, but he remembers what it was like being an Auror out in the field, dueling with teenagers wearing masks, teenagers fighting for their master Albus Dumbledore. Harry might have been one of those kids. Might still be.    “He doesn’t seem like the others,” Tom offers, letting his dark eyes drift back over to the boy. “He may be able to be rehabilitated.”   James nods, choosing to agree with Tom for the moment, because it’s easier than voicing his doubts. Maybe-Harry hadn’t seemed very keen on offering up any information to James before Tom had entered the room. He hadn’t even told him who or what he’d been running from.    “There might have been someone else out in the forest,” James tells him. “Sirius and I think he may have been running from someone.”    “That’s… interesting.”    “Whoever it was, they’re gone now,” says James.   “I’ll see what I can find out,” says Tom, leaving James by the door, and re-approaching the boy on the bed.    James slips out from the Hospital Wing and steps into the corridor, releasing another deep breath as the door shuts behind him. He doesn’t know how to feel. It’s a miracle shrouded in a dreaded mystery, one James prefers not to investigate but knows he must.    *   Sirius is waiting for him out in the corridor, leaning against the castle’s wall and watching him with intent. James knows what he’s about to say before he says it.    “We’ve got to check the map,” he says, for the thousandth time that night, though this time is different.    This time James agrees without hesitation. Seeing the truth laid out on the map is, perhaps, the only way he’ll get over his reservations, his reluctance to fully accept that this is happening.    He pulls the map from his cloak, taps and says the phrase the kid impossibly knows. He and Sirius huddle together, their heads almost touching as their eyes trail towards the Hospital Wing. It’s spelled out in maroon ink. Two footprints labeled Harry Potter are stationary next to two more labeled Tom Riddle Jr.     Something light and warm washes over James, and for a moment, he allows himself to forget about Dumbledore, about all the complications that have been plaguing his mind since seeing the boy out in the forest. This is what he’s wanted for eleven years. This is what Lily never gave up on, and now it’s happening.    “I have to tell Lily,” says James, now that the truth has hit him. Now that he’s ready for it.   Sirius is still staring at the map. At the Harry Potter footprints. “Do you think he remembers me? Or any of us?”    “I don’t know,” says James.    Admittedly, he doubts it.    Harry was only four when he was taken. He probably doesn’t remember any of them. Probably doesn’t know them at all outside of the stories Dumbledore and his followers have told him, if they’ve bothered telling him anything about where he’s come from.    Sirius laughs, sudden and booming and real, like they were teenagers again, like they were roaming the corridors after curfew, playing harmless pranks on the uptight Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Riddle.    “I can’t believe he’s come back,” says Sirius, still smiling. “And he’s taken out a chunk of the Forbidden Forest as his grand entrance.”    “Accidentally,” muses James, a soft smile forming. He still can’t figure that one out. How a teenager could accidentally cast a dark curse that powerful without meaning to. “I still like to know what he was doing here in the first place.”    “Does it matter?” asks Sirius.    James wishes it didn’t, but it bugs him, nags at him. He doesn’t want to get Harry back only to lose him a second  time.    “Maybe he was running away from them,” says Sirius. “Maybe he does remember, and knew coming here was a refuge.”    Before James can ponder on that, the doors to the Hospital Wing come open and Headmaster Riddle steps out, a perplexed expression on his face. He doesn’t speak until the doors close again.    “This is going to be more complicated than I thought,” Tom tells him. James and Sirius wait for him to elaborate. Tom opens his mouth, and shuts it, several times before he settles on the right words. “He thinks he’s from another reality.”    “What?”   “One where I’m a homicidal maniac, and don’t have a nose.”    “Did he at least bring any pictures?” laughs Sirius, which earns him a disapproving glare from Tom. Sirius straightens out, but the humor is still in his voice. “It’s a clever lie-”   “-he isn’t lying,” says Tom. “He really believes it, or is actually, dare I say, from another reality. I suppose it isn’t impossible.”    “In his reality,” starts James. “Where are Lily and I?”   “Dead. Both of you,” says Tom. He turns and looks at Sirius. “You were in prison until recently, which is just about the only part of that world that sounds remotely appealing.”    “Tom, you don’t actually believe this,” says Sirius, blowing off the jab with an effortlessly elegant smile. “There’s no travel between dimensions. Even the Unspeakables -”   “-It’s never been done before,” says Tom, with a slight roll of his eyes. “I don’t think it’s very likely. But the boy believes it, and he believes it for a reason. I suspect Dumbeldore’s been messing around with his memories. They’re too blurry and vague for me to make sense of…”   It’s unsettling that Tom had been shifting through Harry’s brain, attempting to read his thoughts and his past, more so now that James knows he’s definitely Harry. Though, it’s even more disturbing to think about all the ways Harry’s mind had been violated before now, for him to be so confused and misguided about the world around him.    “Do you think… Do you think it’s fixable?” asks James. “His memories?”   “Most things are,” says Tom, brightly. “But we’ll need time to wear him down, and we won’t have any if the Ministry catches wind of us capturing an intruder who managed to break onto school grounds undetected and burned down a part of the forest in the process.”    “Then we’ll keep him hidden,” says James, without thinking.    It isn’t the first time they’ve had to hide captured kids from the Ministry, who rather chuck them into Azkaban than deal with rehabilitating them. They’re criminals, technically, but misguided and young, and nobody really deserves the wrath of the Dementors, especially kids who never had a choice or a chance in the  first place.    “Lily and I got a spare room in our quarters. He can stay there.”    The room had stayed empty since the Potters had permanently moved into the castle. Ever since Lily got a job as a Professor, and James had been assigned as a guard. They never really closed the space in their lives that Harry had left behind, and now, James supposes that it's a good thing that they didn’t.    Tom nods. “He’ll stay a secret. For a few weeks, at least, then Sirius can tell the Ministry he rescued him during a raid. We’ll keep it between us, Lily, and Poppy.”   “And Remus and Peter,” insists Sirius.    “And Severus,” says Tom. “Don’t look at me like that, Sirius. He’ll be useful. All three of you need to grow up and get over your childish differences. You’re all on the same side of this war, for Merlin’s sake.”    James silently disagrees.    He’s willing to work with Snape, just for now, and only because Tom likes and trusts him, but there will never be a time James believes, not even for a millisecond, that Severus Snape is fully on their side.    For this, though, it doesn’t. This is something they need to keep hidden from the Ministry of Magic, not from Dumbledore, so James bits his tongue and doesn’t say anything. It’s easier that way, with Tom, who can’t have sense talked into him when it comes to Snape.    “Fine,” says Sirius. “But if he breathes a word of it, it’s me who’ll be throwing him into Azkaban, personally.”    “Noted,” says Tom, through gritted teeth. He releases a frustrated breath, as if he’s a long-suffering parent without a clue as to why his kids can’t get along. As if one of them doesn’t have SPY written across his face. “We won’t be able to leave Harry unsupervised until we’re sure he isn’t dangerous.”  “Remus and Peter can help us keep an eye on him,” says James.    “And I’ll keep him company while you tell Lily,” offers Sirius. It’s confirmed with a nod. There isn’t anyone else James is willing to leave Harry with at the moment.    Sirius disappears into the Hospital Wing, and James forces his legs away from his son, starts towards where Lily is no doubt waiting up for him. Tom stops him one last time.    “James,” he says. “I know it’s Harry. I know he’s your son, but… we’ve got to be careful. Dumledore - well, the old man’s always got something up his sleeve, doesn’t he?”    *   The living room is lit and warmed up by the fireplace when James arrives home.    Lily’s curled up on the couch, with a book opened, and when she sees him, she smiles, until she looks at him long enough.    “What’s wrong?” she asks. She sits up, and puts the book face down on the coffee table. “Why does your face look like that? What’s happened?”    So, James sits down next to her on the couch, and he takes her warm hands into his cold ones, and he tells her that Harry’s back. That he may be a different Harry, from a different world, but that Tom believes it’s some kind of ruse.    That it’s likely Dumbledore had been twisting and distorting Harry’s reality.    Lily listens with a creased forehead, and once James is done explaining the absurdity of the night, the living room is quiet except the crackling of the fire eating away at the logs.    But it’s lighter now. The truth. Both of them shouldering it together shines a brighter light on the whole situation.    “Lily -”   “-is he tall?” she asks, finally finding words after the shock of what had just been said. “Does he still look like you?”    “Fortunately for him, yes,” says James. Lily laughs, wipes away a few tears. “But you were right, Lily. You always said we’d get him back.”    Even as James fell into a depression, and crawled out of it only by accepting that his firstborn was probably dead. That he’d never see him again. But Lily always believed they would.    “He’s been without us for eleven years,” whispers Lily. “Without any of us, James, he might be so - he must feel so lost. It’s no wonder he believes any of Dumbledore’s lies… I - I need to see him.”    “Sirius is bringing him,” James tells her, and then explains about their son’s injured leg and that he must stay there as a secret. Nobody can know. “Not even Evan and Prim. At least not right away.”    “Yeah,” she agrees, softly. “That’s for the best, anyway. Let him adjust before we introduce them all.”    It’s a jovial idea.    One James never thought would be a reality. All three of his children meeting. His family together and whole, and something warm, like content, spreads in his chest. A dangerous feeling considering all the ways this could go wrong.    But it’s as if Lily can read his mind, read the worry seeping into his relief.    “This is the best night, James, really. It will work. We’re all together again, and that’s all that matters.”   James allows himself to think about it.    All the ways that this could go right. With Lily’s hands intertwined with his, he believes her, catching a bit of her hope, and with that, he lets himself fall.

It will come as no surprise at this point in my story that I will state this: I like rooftops. ‘As you all know’ narrative device— Shut up. That doesn’t apply here. Not when I’m overlooking my adopted city from my own rooftop, the cold wind of early evening rustling my hair behind me after letting it loose as I grasp the white, metallic railing in front of me with both hands. There are a few buildings taller than my own, breaking up the skyline with jutting spires of concrete, steel, and glass, but most of Brockton Bay is below me, particularly when I look down the slope that ends on a beach that should be more of a tourist attraction than it currently is. Even from here, I can see the sand is too uneven, patches of almost white marred with detritus, and flotsam, surrounded by the brown that was always the natural color of this area and that the local government no longer has the funds to cover with ever diminishing, prettier sand. It’s a very Brockton beach: the echo of better times trying to endure as the underlying poverty is laid bare, growing with every day that passes. It’s also dirty. … And probably has quite a few corpses and needles buried in it. Yeah. Very Brockton. Behind me, the door to the roof opens and closes with that gentle forcefulness that is so quintessentially Taylor as she first throws the door open and then remembers herself and pulls on the handle, accompanying it back so that it closes with a click rather than a crash. My girlfriend, everyone: a careful bull in a china shop. I guess I’m the china in this instance. Or so it would seem when the gentle tips of her fingers lay on the right side of my back, below my shoulder, near my spine, just… just barely enough that I can feel the reassuring pressure, her presence, through my white jacket. “Dinah is back with her parents,” she says. I nod, the wind rustling in my ears when I change the angle, the sea briefly disappearing from my view before I hurry to look back up, to see the unending stretch of blue darkening as it nears the horizon, the shadowed part of a world getting away from the light of the Sun. “Lisa—” “Your wording,” I cut her off. She pauses. Then she steps near, her palm following her fingers, the pressure increasing. “Yes?” she says. I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. “Back with her parents. Not ‘I escorted her back to her home,’ or ‘She’s safe,’ or even ‘Dinah is still worried about you.’ No, you specified that she’s back with her parents,” I tell her in a clinical summation. “I did,” she answers with all the detachment of somebody who can hide her feelings in a swarm. “Which was… a prompt. A non-intrusive way to get me to talk about my parents, except I’m me, and you may as well have screamed what you wanted.” The hand leaves my back before it drops on my left shoulder, and Taylor pulls and spins me around until the cylindrical railing digs into my lower back, and I look up into her seafoam green eyes, remembering a young, beautiful woman reading to me from a book with tall, hard covers. Telling me of a mermaid who became seafoam because she didn’t want to hurt anyone, because she had already lost her voice, yet didn’t want to lose her soul. I wonder what Taylor would’ve done? No. No, I don’t. Because I know. “Sometimes, it’s really hard to be your girlfriend,” she says, still inexpressive even as my chest presses against hers, and I can feel our mingled heartbeats over her immobilized arm. “Some?” I ask with all the eyebrow arching such a statement merits. “Yes. Some. Because loving you is… it’s easy, Liz. You’re… you’re light, and wit, and beauty. You’re the kind of girl I never wanted to be, because it was a ridiculously unachievable goal. You’re the main character in a fairy tale, evil dragon included—” “Coil was—” “Snakes count. And yes, I realize the irony of me beating the other dragon before meeting you, but I’m still more suited to the role of prince than that of princess, but…” Emotion is now in her voice, reverberating across it, and I stare in fascination at green eyes unveiling yet another thing they kept hidden from me. “But I don’t mind. I no longer mind, Liz, not if it’s you who is the princess.” She stops, just looking at me, her free hand gently pinching my chin, redundantly making sure that I can’t look away. Not from her. “Yet, sometimes…” I prompt her. And she sighs with a weary, smiling exhalation. “Sometimes… I know that you know. I know that you get what is hidden behind a gesture or a particular word choice, that you’ll always know. And so, when I try to be indirect, it’s in the labyrinthine fashion of somebody just saying aloud that they’re going to say something and that it should be taken as indirect.” “Yeah, that sounds about right,” I tell her with my own chagrined smile. “It usually works. But then, sometimes, you get in a mood, and outright ignore us both knowing that you know. You act out, treating the conversation as something different than intended, just because on the surface it is, and I… I don’t like it when you do that.” Her fingers are still gentle on my chin. Gentle enough that I can close my eyes and lean forward until my forehead rests on the side of her neck. And the arm wraps around me with trembling, suppressed strength. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, my breath warming the air trapped between the two of us. “I know. Or I think I do.” She rocks back on her heels, making me sway in an ancient, soothing rhythm that is sometimes found near big, tall books with hard covers and black-and-white engravings of a woman with a fishtail and a lost voice. “You’re no garden of roses either,” I tell her with something akin to my usual smile. “Shut up. I’m trying to love you with all my heart at the moment,” she says with… With something quintessentially Taylor. So I clutch my arms around her waist, keeping her close to me, no longer wanting to feel cold on the open expanse of my top laid bare by my jacket. This high? Atop one of the tallest buildings in the city? There are no smells. Nothing but the slight hint of concrete powder being lifted from the gravel roof by the wind sweeping in from the open sea. I could imagine it reaching us, adding to our slight rocking the sound of gentle, lapping waves, splashes of saltwater comfortingly stinging sun-heated cheeks. I could imagine the two of us floating, surrounded by nothing but blue that becomes darkness below, a bright sky above us. I could imagine fishtails twinned and a foolish prince being forever forgotten after my lover decided not to give up her own voice. I… “I love you. I don’t even have to try, Tay, it’s… It’s like breathing. Something I do. Something I need to do,” I say, still breathing air that flows between us like water through craggy rocks. Her arm tightens, our chests pressing harder. “You’ll be all right,” she says, declares, even as she asks. And I… I slide my cold hands beneath her own jacket, the black blazer I bought her what seems like years ago, the one I deemed suitable for ‘hot college girl Taylor.’ She doesn’t shiver. I suspect power shenanigans. “I don’t know how you did it,” I finally say. “Every day, going back, passing by that locker, seeing them. I don’t know how you were able to confront your trigger every day, without rest, when a single visit has left me… like this.” She kisses the side of my head, pushing forward through wind-swept hair until her lips meet my scalp. “I didn’t. Not really. I… I was there. I saw it all, experienced it, but… but I didn’t confront anything. There was… There was this wall between me and the world, Liz, this wall made of daydreams about a life they could not touch, being a hero who was above it all, away. I… I never really thought about… I thought about them. About their cruelty, their monstrosity, the utter pettiness of their entire existence. “But I didn’t think about me. “I didn’t think about my wounds.” I shudder in something that has nothing to do with the chill of the wind coming from the ocean, and I press my cheek against her collarbone. “Didn’t. In the past,” I tell her, mirroring my earlier picking apart of her statement. She… chuckles. “I… I am with you, Liz. It’s impossible not to be introspective now, even if by proxy,” she condemns me with a smile and another kiss, this one on the side of my forehead. My eyes are still tightly shut, the darkness behind my lids maybe redder than that of a deep ocean. Yet Taylor’s voice… It’s about right for a mermaid. “You’re braver than I am,” I whisper. “That’s not true,” she almost brusquely answers. “I ran away, Tay. I… I left my home, my family—” “You left, and that took more courage than it would’ve for many to stay. And then you got here, and… you know what you’ve gone through. I’ve seen you fight with your life on the line, Liz. I’ve seen you offer your life up for me.” I remember. I remember Taylor bleeding, her life dripping away from me, my fingers only steady through Power’s reassurance that we knew what we were doing, that we could stop death from claiming my love. And I remember standing up, facing Victor, my arm stretched out in an offering, a bargain. Tay wouldn’t have been able to operate on me. I knew. Yet I forbade myself from thinking about it. “More cowardice. I feared living without you.” The palm lying on my back rises and clutches my hair before pulling back, making me let out an embarrassingly surprised gasp. And then I’m looking yet again at angry, seafoam green eyes. “Don’t you dare do something like that ever again,” she says. And kisses me. And… It’s the kind of kiss I dreamed about when I was young enough to remember all those tales between hard covers and with engravings rendered in black and white. The kind of kiss girls dream about when they still believe in true love. In fairy tales. It’s the kind of kiss that burns through you, that consumes you without harming, white ashes being carried by upward drafts of heated air until, amidst the blaze, only something… something purer remains. Something worthy of being loved with such intensity and devotion. I do my best to return it. I don’t know if I manage. But that’s all right: we have a whole life to practice. *** I love my apartment. It’s the first thing that became mine after I was trapped, and I made it more so with every little touch, with accessories, and furniture, and paint color. So I clung stubbornly to it when Victor breached the safety it represented. I claimed, ‘This is mine, and nobody will force me ever again to abandon something of mine.’ Fuck you, Panacea. “I didn’t even realize there were so many of them,” Taylor mutters as her Beelzebubian host crawls, flies, leaps, or is otherwise transported into partitioned, opaque cages. With the ease of long practice, I refuse to shudder. … I admit the jumping spider on Taylor’s shoulder adorably waving at me helps a teensy, tiny bit. Their mating habits are horrifying, but, well, that’s nature for you. Aaaand this is a very bad time to ponder just how much mental feedback Tay gets from the creatures psychically linked to her in this allegedly psionics-free world. Right. Just return the friendly waving to Taylor’s emissary, and go back to carefully choosing which piles of clothes go into the suitcases and which should go back to the closet they were hastily pulled out of before I attacked them into neatly organized stacks on top of my bed. Not because I’m a neat freak or anything, but— Exerting control over environment while undergoing stressful— Yeah. That. Thanks for ruining the subtext, jackass. Zoological unlikelihood of— Don’t make me laugh. My girlfriend already thinks I’m enough of a weirdo after our last vocalized exchange. Taylor Hebert’s propensity to liking behaviors usually categorized as ‘adorkable’— Don’t make me blush, you jerk—Taylor’s hugging me. From behind. And you distracted me. Anthropomorphizing of parahuman interface abilities— I don’t know whether to feel mad or mushy. “We’ll come back. Soon,” she says as her arm crosses in front of my breasts so she can brush my hair behind my ear to lay a soft, lingering kiss on the outer ridge of it that makes my toes curl before tension leaves my shoulders and I lean back against her. … Mushy. I’m settling on mushy. *** Of course, the mushiness only lasts for so long. It is, thankfully, replaced by hilarity. “No. No, please, no,” Brian says, metaphorically paling if not physically. “Look, I pay you, I pay for your living accommodations, and I know every single one of your darkest secrets. There’s absolutely no reason why being roommates once again could ever lead to something you’ll live to regret,” I calmly tell the broad-shouldered man standing in the open doorway to the former site of Redmond Welding. “… That must’ve been the most worrisome phrasing you could have come up with on the way here,” he says, showing once again why we worked so well together. “Not even in the top ten! Now, unless you want a breakdown of my greatest hits, how about lending me a hand with carrying the luggage in before Taylor is too much of a Taylor and does it herself despite still being under hopeless orders to rest from two of the world’s greatest Tinkers?” Brian’s eyes shoot up as he looks to the back of the hastily rented U-Haul, where, of course, Taylor is struggling to single-handedly dislodge one of my suitcases from the pile, and, being the white knight that he is (heh), he rushes out to help her. I look at them for a brief moment, at the spark of comradery, at Tay no longer shooting furtive looks at biceps that seem to swim below the short sleeves of his Yale blue shirt (somebody was feeling ambitious—or the color ran out in the washer, one of those two). So, with a peaceful look at the two of them arguing over upper body strength, I… I step back into my former lair. “Back again?” Rachel asks, rubbing Brutus’ belly as the ecstatic dog wiggles over the floor, rubbing his back on the rough concrete as he struggles between the urges of receiving a vigorous scratching and pleadingly looking at the collar and leash Rachel is taunting him with. “Yeah. Taylor and I will stay for a few days. Maybe a couple of weeks,” I tell her with a soft, slow smile that I manage to keep at the level where she doesn’t feel threatened. She looks at me from where she’s kneeling on the floor, her fingers stopped just below the orange patches of fur at the top of Brutus’ chest, and her eyes meet mine for a stretched period of silence that only breaks with the petulant whining of a dog reclaiming his owner’s attention. “Good,” she says as she resumes her foremost duty. And I… Well, she’s not looking at me, so I’m free to smile a bit wider, a bit more like myself, as I start pondering just how to better mess with Alec’s global ranking on Call of Douchery. And with his games. That too.     ================== This work is a repost of my second oldest fic on QQ , where it can be found up to date except for the next two chapters that are currently only available elsewhere . Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a weekly rate until it’s finally over (or my brain is consumed by the eldritch manifestation of the DVB, whichever happens first). Also, I’d like to give a particularly enthusiastic “thank you” to my credited supporters for going above and beyond: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, and Xalgeon!

It was the time of year for clothes shopping. Once winter set in and everyone realized how woefully unequipped they were to face the coming onslaught of snow and ice, they flocked to stores to restock on essentials. That, and of course, the holidays were coming. Stede needed a new pair of gloves, and he had promised Mary he would pick up Christmas gifts for Alma and Louis. Ed needed a new pair of work pants. Both of them were sorely lacking in wool socks.  Of course, whenever Ed went clothes shopping with Stede, they never restricted themselves to buying what they needed. “We’ll just have a look around,” Stede would say, before they inevitably walked out with more than they had planned for. More clothes to stuff into their wardrobe, which by now was surely reaching such levels of internal pressure that it would explode at any minute. Ed didn’t mind this so much. It felt nice to pick things out for pleasure during what were supposed to be utilitarian shopping trips. This time, however, he wasn’t having much luck. He thumbed through the clearance rack, stopping every now and then to pull out a potential pair of pants only to get a good look at them and immediately put them back. Boring, won’t fit, hideous, he thought as he replaced them. Surely there must be something decent available that he wouldn’t have to pay full price for. He stopped when he moved the next hanger aside. Someone, whether out of carelessness or as a joke, had hung a skirt up in the men’s section. It was a rather simple garment; black and pleated like it was part of a Catholic school uniform. It probably would have covered him to just above the knee. He should have pushed right by it, but something about the skirt had captured his attention. There was an itch in his hands, a compulsive tingle that told him to grab the skirt, feel the fabric, imagine himself in it. Try it on, something in him urged. Ed looked up. Stede was still looking over the shirts, carefully searching through them to find a color and texture combination that he might actually like. There was probably no other task that Stede approached with such single mindedness. Stede was so wrapped up in it, Ed was sure that he could slip away to try the skirt on and Stede wouldn’t even notice. He could put it on, ask Stede what he thought, and then they would laugh about how ridiculous he looked. He snuck off to the dressing room without a word. He toed out of his shoes and shucked off his pants. He took the skirt off the hanger, looked at it, and briefly thought for a moment, man, what am I doing? before he went ahead with the whole charade.  He stepped into the skirt and slid it up his body, feeling the pleats drag over his leg hair. When he got the thing up to his waist, he did up the zipper on his hip and turned to consider himself in the mirror. He supposed it wasn’t that much different from wearing shorts, length-wise. It was quite a bit looser, and there was the space of air moving between his legs, but he didn’t really mind that. It was cool and pleasant. He did a little turn, felt the pleats of the skirt lift away and spread around him like petals. He felt a delightful little woosh of air against his bare legs. Ed giggled, a quick little laugh that bubbled out of him unbidden. Stede would probably tell him he was being silly.  When he came out of the changing room, Stede was still bent over the rack, diligently picking through the shirts. “What do you think?” Ed asked. He struck a pose, putting one hand on his hip and the other behind his head. Stede turned around, smiling. “What’s that, darling?” He asked, and froze when he saw what Ed was wearing. Ed laughed at Stede’s mildly shocked expression. He expected that Stede would recover and eventually laugh with him, but he didn’t. Stede just stared, and at first Ed was unnerved. Did Stede hate the skirt that much? But then Stede started looking him up and down in the middle of the department store like a goddamned meal, and Ed felt a sudden heat in his cheeks. When Stede stepped towards him, Ed saw his eyes were dark, his pupils wide and hungry. “Like that, do you?” Stede asked, voice low. Ed did a little swish with his hips. “I’m thinking about getting it.” He said, rather enjoying the blush in Stede’s face. “Oh, you’re definitely getting it,” Stede said. He grabbed Ed’s wrist and pulled him back towards the changing room. “Where are you going, love?” Ed asked. “Oh, I saw a button was loose on your skirt,” Stede explained, voice breathy, as he pulled Ed into the stall. “I’m going to help you with it.” “I don’t think this skirt has buttons, love.” Ed teased. Stede answered by pushing him up against the door. Stede kissed him roughly, running his hands over Ed’s pecs down his torso to his legs, pushing under the skirt and grabbing the bare flesh of Ed’s thighs. It was the same way Stede kissed him when he had been traveling for work and they hadn’t seen each other for a week, like he needed Ed more than air to breathe or water to drink. “You’re so fucking sexy in this,” Stede growled into his mouth, gripping the hem of the skirt in his fist. “I need to fuck you in it.” “Right now?” Ed asked.  “I thought about taking you home first, but honestly I can’t wait that long.” Ed was pretty sure it wasn’t the best etiquette to fuck people in the dressing room at your local department store. That being said, Stede’s mouth was blistering warm and wet against his, and Stede was rubbing his cock through the fabric of his underwear. Plus, Ed had to admit that he loved the way the skirt felt and it was honestly kind of doing it for him. He kissed Stede back. “Fuck it, let’s do it,” he told him. Stede knelt, kissing down Ed’s body as went. Ed felt Stede’s hands under his skirt, pulling Ed’s boxer briefs down to his ankles. Ed whimpered when he felt Stede’s hand close around his rapidly hardening cock, rubbing his thumb over the head. Ed had to actively stop himself from moaning when Stede burrowed under the skirt and took Ed’s cock in his mouth, licking him from base to tip before enveloping him completely. He imagined wearing the skirt at home. It would be so much easier for Stede to suck him off. No messing with buttons or zippers, no pulling pants down. Ed could just spread his legs, open and aching, and Stede would be there, ducking under the skirt and sucking Ed’s cock whenever he wanted. He imagined Stede in a skirt of his own, so he could return the favor. Ed bit his lip as Stede began to bob his head. Sometimes he would stop at the tip and swirl his tongue or lap at Ed’s slit, and Ed would have to bite the back of his hand to ensure that some poor department store employee wouldn’t have to hear him moaning like an overly dramatic porn star. His other hand would be in Stede’s hair, tight in those golden curls and holding on for dear life. When Ed hit the back of Stede’s throat, he cried out and wrapped one of his legs around the back of Stede’s head, the edge of an orgasm drawing dangerously near. Ed got his breathing under control and kept himself from coming, tortuous though it was. He pulled the skirt back, far enough so he could see Stede’s face again. “Fuck me, I want to come on your cock,” he panted. Stede was up in an instant, pulling Ed’s shirt off of him and kissing his neck and bare chest. “God, I love the sound of that,” he groaned, biting down on Ed’s neck. Ed wanted to ask him to bite harder, but he also understood that it might look a tad odd if he walked out of the store with a new array of splotchy purple bruises on display. Suddenly Ed’s face was up against the door, and Stede had rucked up the skirt, exposing Ed’s bare ass to the cool air. Ed felt slick fingers slide between his cheeks, moving over his hole in rapid circles. “What the fuck, do you have lube on you?” Ed asked.   “I keep a little bottle on my person for emergency purposes when we go out.” Stede said, voice casual as if he was doing anything other than sliding a first finger into Ed. “Oh, so you were planning on fucking me in Macy’s today?” “No, darling, that was a happy accident. I just like to make sure I’m always prepared.” Stede was working in and out of him now, spreading him open. Ed felt Stede’s hand splay on his back, holding him against the door while Stede fucked into him with his fingers. Ed tried to stifle his moans as Stede curled his finger, added a second. He was positive it wasn’t working. Ed heard the clink of a belt buckle and the zipper of Stede’s trousers. That was all the undressing Stede could be bothered to do before his attention was back on Ed. Knowing Stede was still almost entirely clothed while Ed was left in nothing but his skirt, that Stede wanted him so badly that getting completely undressed was a distraction, it sent a bolt of pleasure right to his cock. “Look at you, love,” Stede breathed, gripping Ed’s ass and spreading him wide. “You’re so pretty in your skirt for me.”  Ed felt the heat of Stede’s cock bumping against his hole before sliding in, slow and heavy and raw.  “Fuck,” Ed gasped. “Call me that again.”  “What, ‘pretty?’” Stede asked as he began to thrust. “ Yes. ” “Oh, my darling Ed, you’re so pretty.” Ed felt Stede grip his ponytail and pull.  “So pretty with your hair up high, so pretty with my cock in your ass, my pretty girl.” Stede snapped his hips forward, punctuating the last word by hitting Ed’s prostate and making Ed whine. They were being much too loud, certainly someone was going to hear them, but at this moment the only thing Ed could bring himself to care about was how Stede’s words made his entire body pulse with pleasure. Stede pressed up against his back, his mouth right up against Ed’s ear. Stede was breathing hard, and his voice was hoarse with need. “I bet you’ll be even prettier with my come in your mouth,” he growled into Ed’s ear. “ Fuck! ” Ed was amazed he didn’t come then and there, but he was getting close again. He wrapped part of the skirt around his cock and began to jerk himself off, relishing in the slight burn of the coarse fabric against his hot, sensitive flesh. Stede kept talking as he thrust into Ed. Where Stede found the stamina to do so, Ed would never know. He was amazed he was coherent enough to hear Stede’s words at all, given the delicious way that Stede was hitting his prostate. “I must say, darling, if you wear one of these around the house, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.” “Oh really?” “Really. You’re so easily accessible like this. The moment you bend over, I’m done for.” Stede’s fingers were digging into his hips, and as much as Ed tried to stifle his moans, the slap of skin on skin was deafening. “Maybe we ought to get you some pretty panties to wear under your skirt, hm? Or maybe a pretty new plug with a jewel on the end. Pretty accessories for my pretty Ed.” “Stede,” Ed whined, desperate and so close. “My pretty, perfect, amazing Ed.” “I’m gonna-” “Come for me, darling.” Stede said, and kissed the back of his neck. A moan was ripped from Ed as he came into the fabric, soiling his skirt. It was a good thing it was black. “Yes, darling, that’s it.” Stede moaned. “Oh, I’m close-” “Pull out,” Ed told him. When Stede withdrew completely, Ed spun around and sank to his knees, marveling that his orgasm had left him with enough fine motor skills to allow him to do so without falling over. He gripped the base of Stede’s cock and sucked him into his mouth. It only took a few bobs of his head for Stede to tip his head back towards the sky and fill Ed’s mouth with a silent scream. Ed sat back and waited for Stede to catch his breath. When he saw he had regained Stede’s attention, he opened his mouth to show off Stede’s come. “Fuck,” Stede breathed. Ed swallowed.  “How did I look? Prettier than you expected?”  “Darling, if I were a younger man, I would have you up against the wall right now.” Ed smirked. “Maybe you’ll recover by the time we get home.” He looked down at his skirt, saw a faint wet patch from his come and felt the stickiness from inside. “Well, I guess we have to get it now.” “Oh, most certainly,” Stede agreed. “I’ll get you a second one too, though. You deserve to have more than just a stained skirt.” “It’s probably going to get stained anyway, mate. Stains kind of tend to happen when we fuck.” “Well, you can keep the stained one for fucking, and the clean one for everyday wear,” Stede said. “Really? You won’t think it’s weird if I wear one?” “Why would I?” Stede helped Ed get to his feet. He kissed him gently, once on the lips and once on the nose. “If you like it, you should get it. I think it makes you look rather dashing.” Some part of Ed was still expecting Stede to be joking, that this was all a fun game to initiate a very daring round of sex, but when he looked in Stede’s eyes all he saw was earnestness and warmth. Ed smiled, kissed him back. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll get it.” Stede beamed at him. “Wonderful, I know you’ll look just lovely.” “But you can’t just bend me over wherever you want when I wear one. Only when I wear the sex skirt.” “That will be quite an arduous task,” Stede said gravely, “but I’ll try to manage it. Now come on, let’s get out of here before they call security on us.”

"Peter!" Yondu yelled from somewhere below deck, probably in the boarding port of the ravager ship. Peter scurried down to him, it didn't take long to find him. Peter had spent the last four years learning every crevice of this ship, he had even found a small bay, more like an empty space probably used to hide contraband that Yondu hadn't noticed when he stole the ship all those years ago. Peter decked out his little space, calling it his 'hideout' (he thought it sounded cool). It was accessed through the floor of the pantry in the kitchen. The floor opens to a little space only about 2ft by 2ft, but that's just a decoy. Hidden under the floor of that space was a ladder that leads to the hideout. All of that means one thing, it's a miracle that Peter had gotten a couch, three blasters, and various other objects Yondu has been looking for for months down there without anyone noticing. It's practically impossible but hey, Peter was King of the impossible. That whole impossibility thing was the whole reason Yondu had called him down. "What's up, Yondu," Peter said, trotting in front of him, a smaller ship behind Yondu being filled up with fuel. It was the ship Yondu regularly used on missions that required more stealth or just random adventures that required fewer men. Peter was really hoping it was the former, he had only been on little trips. Catch some guy, steal more fuel, get groceries. It's not fun, but Peter was 12 now! He could handle a big mission, Yondu said it himself 'you're skinny, good for thieving'. But maybe Yondu was lying since he had yet to take him on a mission that requires any thieving, only point and shoots. "My boy, I need a bit of a hand on the next one," He said, placing a hand on his shoulder, Kraglin watching the whole thing, "There's a vault, one with walls that none of my boys can crack. You thinking' you can bust it down?" Yondu was asking, but he was already loading Peter into the ship and tossing some spare supplies in. Everyone in the crew had a healthy respect for a hungry Quill, ever since that incident with 'Peter's special freezer' being unplugged, and they choose to avoid that to the best of their ability. So more supplied where added. "I can crack It, let's go-" Peter looked back at Yondu, quirking an eyebrow and crossing his arms in that odd manner only a kid could do, "You said I can't use my powers," "This is an exception, kid," Yondu said, patting him on the head as they boarded the ship, "Only use them in emergencies, or if I tell ya you can. If word gets out I think it might be a bit more difficult for us to get around," Peter nodded than ran up to the co-pilot's seat. With a glance from Kraglin, he trotted out of the seat and into one of the back rooms that had the best views of the stars.  Time for his first mission After the first one, each mission came more often. Most of them were actually utilizing his natural thieving skill, a few had required a hand from his kagune. At the age of 15 Yondu had given him a bit more leash. Letting him choose which missions he partook in, even starting a few of his own (with the addition of a few trusted crew members). One of those missions led to him acquiring a ship he named the Milano that he stole from a very uptight criminal. Peter loved that ship like a baby, forgoing his usual time spent in the hideout for his ship. When he was 20 his ship was one of the best ships in the reachable galaxy if he did say so himself. It even had a second 'special cooler' filled with various alien meats. All of them perfectly organized by color in terms of taste. Naming the packets 'Kree bicep' might have been off-putting to any toll booth inspector to happen by. He was actually quite proud of his spectrum of meats, he was like a ghoul chef. It was almost impossible to find an alien he hadn't yet sampled, but there was still more galaxy he hadn't seen and he was excited to see the rest of it. So he kept thieving At 25 and 2/5 he had run into a bit of a snag. That snag being some idiot not telling the crew Yondu had set up that the fricken building was being monitored by the Nova Corps! What were the million units in weaponry worth if a third of the ravager team got caught doing it. That was what Peter was thinking as the platoon of Nova corps approached. He was running out of options. He and his comrades had been forced to drop their weapons. Handcuffs were approaching quickly. A life behind bars, starving to death, was approaching quickly. This was an emergency. There was only one thing he could do.  His eyes turned back, all the ravagers around him pailing at the site and leaning away. They had all seen portions of the carnage he could do and they weren't too keen on getting in the away. Within a minute 30 Nova corps officers where dead. On the good side, Peter got to figure out what a new alien species tasted like. For the record, Xandarians tasted slightly sweet. On the bad side, a bounty of about 100k units was now on Peter's head along with a picture of his appearance being sent out across the whole entire Andromeda Galaxy.  After another five years, his taste for treasure and blood had become well-known throughout both most intergalactic police force and the underbelly of the space. His name was whispered in fear or awe. Officers were trained on how to detain him and cells where made in some of the larger prisons just in case after his first escape. After that, another 100k was added to the bounty and it kept growing. Yondu gave him a clap on the back each time units where added, telling him someday he might reach the million Units Yondu has if he got lucky. Peter would laugh and say someday he'd double it.

“You’re working with Silas?” Elena asked, disbelief coloring her voice. Her dark brown eyes flicked between the two. “Bonnie, he killed Jeremy .” “‘Bonnie, he killed Jeremy,’” Silas mimicked, rolling his eyes. “Please. Do you even hear yourself? So whiny? So nasally? Save you fake moral outrage for someone who cares.” Elena glared at him. “You’re a monster.” “Well, duh,” Silas countered. “So’s your boyfriend. So are you. Or have you forgotten that?” Elena shook her head, disgust curling her lip. “We’re nothing like you.” “Agreed,” Silas replied easily. “You’re so much worse. Sure, I’m an evil bastard, but at least I admit it. I don’t go around pretending to be something I’m not. While you, dear doppelganger, live in some delusional fantasy where you never switched off, never attacked people that you claim to care about, and never murdered an innocent waitress just to to prove a point. And let’s not forget that Signor Salvatore over there not only murdered Bonnie’s mother, but he also caused the death of her beloved Grams, and systematically raped and tormented one of your so-called best friends. Not to mention the countless times he’s betrayed his own brother. And for what? A woman? Women? Honestly it’s hard to tell if it’s you he’s hung up on or Katherine. Kind of murky in there.” He tapped his index finger to his temple. “Back off,” Damon snapped, moving in front of Elena, his shoulders drawn back. “All that shit, it’s in the past.” “Ah, Damon. So eager to play the hero. Even though everyone here knows that’s not your role, is it? Nobility was never your strong suit. It’s not a good look on you.” Silas leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Besides, you don’t have the hair for it.” He cocked his head a bit, turning towards Stefan. “Speaking of people pretending to be something they're not– do you have any commentary on Bonnie’s choice of allies here, Ripper?” Stefan shrugged, placid despite the taunts. “You’re a dick, but that’s not her fault.” “But that is her type,” Silas responded with a grin. “Something Bonnie has in common with her besties . Each one of them is a sucker for a bad boy, right ladies? Hell, you even shared some of them.” He flashed a grin, gesturing towards them conspiratorially, turning to face Bonnie.“Wanna compare notes with Caroline?” “If there is a point to your being here, I suggest you get to it.” Klaus interjected sharply, stepping forward. This was a conversation not worth having, in his opinion. “What’s the matter, hybrid? Afraid of a little gossip?” Silas tipped his head. “It’s not a secret anymore, is it? I mean Tyler already knows about you and Caroline. Caroline now knows about you and Bonnie. Elena tapped danced all over the brothers and Damon has dipped his wick in just about everyone in Mystic Falls. I, for one, am dying to get the juicy details on which one of you is the better lover. My money’s on Stefan…he is my doppelganger, after all, so here’s hoping he got some of the talent–” Bonnie watched the exchange, drowning out the words as the voices around her rose and tempers flared. Tyler and Klaus in one another’s faces, fangs bared while Silas continued taunting Damon, and Elena and Caroline ineffectually trying to reign it all in. Bonnie could feel her own burning anger coil in her gut. Her daughter was in danger. Hope’s very life was at stake, and all anyone wanted to do was throw around petty insults and play into Silas’s hands.  It hurt. To feel insignificant again. But more than that, it forced her to make a conscious choice–right then and there. Hope would not be some incidental in their lives–overlooked and neglected in the face of their petty jealousies and fragile egos. No. She wouldn’t allow that. “Enough.” The word cut itself from her mouth–sharp and final. Power pulsed around her, the shockwave of it enough to throw the squabbling vampires, with the exception of Klaus, through the air and tumbling across the drive. The vehicles rocked on their wheels, teetering just shy of tipping over. Beneath her feet the soil cracked. Overhead clouds writhed across a darkening sky. Dazed eyes blinked up at her as her friends slowly picked themselves up off the ground. Silas gave her a slow smile as he rose, dusting himself off. “That felt like Expression,” he commented, watching her. Bonnie didn’t bother to respond. He wasn’t entirely wrong, she surmised. Where once before Expression had felt like a completely separate magic to her, it was now blended with her own–as much a part of her as nature was.  “I’m assuming you’re here with something useful,” she said in return, pointedly ignoring the questioning looks her friends were giving her. She did not have the time nor the inclination to soothe or reassure them at the moment.  In response to her question, Silas simply smiled wider. “You’d be surprised how useful I can be when I want something.” Bonnie shook her head, turning away from him. There was something almost predatory in his eyes that made her slightly uncomfortable and flustered. “Enough games, Silas,” Klaus snapped. “You may be immortal, but answer me this: do your limbs grow back?” “You’re no fun,” Silas replied, hopping onto the hood of the nearest SUV. He leaned forward, placing his elbows onto his knees. Suddenly one hand clutched his stomach as he doubled over, gasping. His eyes squeezed shut as a low voiced, “Fuck,” was exhaled between his teeth.  “Silas?” Instinctively, Bonnie reached out, placing her hand on his arm to steady him as he swayed dangerously. A few deep breaths later and he was sitting upright again. He blinked a couple of times. “Good news is that wasn’t anyone you know,” he said, wiping his lips. He glanced down at the hand on his arm, raising a brow. Bonnie snatched it back quickly. “And the bad news?” Klaus demanded, pulling Bonnie behind him. “The covens are up to something.” “Care to be more specific?” Klaus questioned. “Secret midnight meetings, sigils showing up all over New Orleans, children going missing. You know, generally not good shit where witches are concerned,” came Silas’s impatient response.  Bonnie felt something sick and clammy in her throat hearing that children were going missing. Of course she wanted to protect Hope above all else, but knowing that there were other families suffering through her worst nightmare…she swallowed hard.  “The Hollow is enjoying her vampire body,” Silas continued. “But it is limited. She's feeding–but her host is fading and she can’t access much magic. What she does have is borrowed, being transferred to her from her acolytes. If I was the wagering type, I’d be betting that right now she’s looking for a way to fortify herself. She expected you,” he gestured to Klaus. “She wasn’t expecting you.” He gave a matching gesture toward Bonnie. “Now she’s scrambling.” “And in doing so, she is causing some collateral damage,” Elijah provided. “If that’s what you want to call a bunch of dead people,” Silas shrugged, unconcerned. “Sure.” Over Bonnie’s head Elijah glanced at his brother. “Scrambling could be good for us. It may be time to check in with Marcellus.”  “Agreed,” Klaus nodded. “What can we do?” Caroline asked. Bonnie glanced at her friends, seeing them exactly as they were nearly a decade past. So much of her life back then had been fragmented by the choices she had made. Her choices, her consequences, but the reasons…well, they all stood before her now. She couldn’t make those same choices anymore.  “You should go.” The words were said quietly, but Bonnie knew they all heard them.  Caroline blinked, uncertain. “Bonnie…?” “You should,” she confirmed, lifting her chin. “You all have your own lives and you should get back to them. This fight–it’s not yours.” “Bonnie, no,” Elena shook her head, joining Caroline. “We lost you once. We’re not going to walk away now.” Bonnie’s smile was fleeting and edged with sadness. “You didn’t lose me, Elena. You let me go. There’s a difference.” Klaus felt her words heavy in his chest. “You didn’t lose me. You let me go.”  While meant for her friends, he knew they were just as true for him. A truth that he regretted to this very day, but one he had not ever acknowledged–at least not to the person that needed to hear it.  Exhaling, he turned to the interlopers in his yard. One issue at a time. “Well then, it would seem that your invitations have been revoked. If you all would be so kind as to immediately vacate the premises. I’d hate to get blood on my shirt. It was a gift.” Klaus smiled, motioning them along. “We’re not going anywhere,” Caroline countered.  “I believe the request was clear.” Elijah commented idly as he unbuttoned his suit jacket. Caroline inhaled, but didn’t move from her spot. “You’re going to have to make me.” Elijah smiled easily, his eyes crinkling at the edges, giving him an almost approachable appearance despite the clear threat he presented. “You think I won’t?” Caroline’s gaze flickered to Klaus, her brows furrowing. A small part of her expected him to intervene, but his face remained impassive.  “We’re here to help.” Stefan spoke, coming forward. He ignored everyone else, keeping his eyes on Bonnie. He stepped closer, so close that she had to tilt her head up to look at him. He gripped her arms gently, holding her gaze. “After everything you’ve done for us, after every battle you saw us through, it’s our turn. We failed you before. We won’t fail your daughter.” Bonnie blinked at the sudden, unexpected sting of tears in her eyes. “Stefan…” “Let us help you,” he urged quietly; sincerely. Bonnie looked up into Stefan’s face. He stared back with openly, without expectation. Whatever she decided, he would honor. She could see it. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.” “Good.” He smiled at her, rubbing a hand along her arm. Klaus’s eyes narrowed on the gesture. "I assume you know of the enemy we face?” “Only that it’s a malignant dark force and that you’re going to need all the allies you can get,” Stefan provided, stepping back. “Tyler knows more.” “Does he now?” Klaus sent Tyler a searching look. It was not a friendly one.  Tyler met it directly. “I do. That bone you had me bring–it’s one of the remains of a witch named Inadu. The Lockwood family didn’t just safeguard this one bone, they kept records of names, dates, and other families that were in charge of watching over the Hollow’s remains.”  “Why would that be?” Elijah questioned. Tyler’s lips thinned. “Werewolf business.” “It is my business if it relates to my daughter,” Klaus countered with a growl, moving towards the younger hybrid. Tyler didn’t budge. “Then I guess you’ll hear about it when I fill Bonnie in about what relates to her daughter–after we’re all settled.” Turning to Bonnie, he gave her a soft, steady look. “We have a promise to keep, Bennett. No backsies.” “No backsies,” she agreed, voice raspy. They were staying. They wanted to stay. It did not erase the old hurt, it did not make those choices okay, but it meant something to her that they were willing to try. “So that’s it? We’re staying now?” Damon asked, voice incredulous. “All of us in that cozy little farmhouse? Kinky.” Well, most of them wanted to stay, Bonnie mentally amended, cocking her head at Damon. He smirked at her, waggling his brows. It wasn’t quite the same gesture as Tyler or Stefan’s but she got the message. Smiling a bit in return, she nodded. He would never be her favorite person, not after everything, but he was welcome, too.  “You’ll be in the barn,” Klaus clarified. “Stablehand quarters. Or not here at all.” Stefan snorted, amused, as he made his way to his bike, grabbing his pack. “My usual room free?” Klaus gave a small nod, gesturing for Stefan to follow. Bonnie glanced between the two. Usual room ? How often did Stefan visit them here? And if he had been here before…well, that certainly explained his lack of surprise where Hope was concerned.  Elijah stepped quietly beside her. “Is this what you really want?”  She tipped her head, murmuring, “We could use the help.” “Very well.” Elijah re-buttoned his coat. Reaching down he grasped her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. He brushed a quick kiss over the ridges before releasing her. He watched her walk off with a curious Elena and Caroline towards the barn. Once she was a fair distance away, he turned to face Silas. “Silas, a word, if you please.”  Sighing, Silas rolled his eyes. Before he could so much as blink, Elijah stood before him, scant inches away. Stealthy fucker. “Is this the part when you warn me away from Bonnie?” he queried, cocking his head. “Gotta tell you, big guy, between you and Klaus, all these threats, they get old.” He reached up and adjusted Elijah’s tie. “Besides, I’m unkillable. Remember?” Elijah smiled, an amused huff escaping as he glanced down, then back up. “While I do not share my brother’s flair for the dramatic, nor his imaginative dismemberment methods, you should know that if Miss Bennett comes to any harm, in any way, I will personally see to it that every supernatural in all sixty-four counties of Louisiana is slaughtered. Gruesomely.” Elijah placed his hand on Silas’s shoulder giving a non-too-gentle squeeze before walking away. Silas winced, rubbing his arm. “Good talk.”

~^~ “Q.” The Quartermaster jumped as 007’s hand snaked out and caught his, despite the fact that the agent had been sitting on the couch and apparently focused on a tense, heated phone conversation with M and Q had been just walking by behind him. All 007 did then was tug Q forward by the wrist until he could deposit the phone in the smaller man’s commandeered hand. “M wants to speak with you,” was the brief explanation. Cocking an eyebrow, Q brought the cell-phone to his ear. “M. This is Q. Am I correct in assuming that 007 overstepped his phone privileges?” “He’s lucky he’s so good at his job, or I’d have dropped him in the Thames by now,” was M’s immediate and pert response – she clearly meant what she was saying. “Has Bond informed you of the plan?” Wary of saying yes and realizing that he really had no idea, Q hummed for a brief moment as he circled the couch to sit on it. 007 would eavesdrop shamelessly, but this way, it seemed like Q was letting him. Bond arched one eyebrow. “Let’s just assume he hasn’t, for the sake of everyone being on the same page.” “Probably wise,” the woman admitted. “While I was skeptical at first, I’ve come to agree with Bond’s assessment of your safety.” “Which is what?” “That stronger measures need to be taken to ensure it, and keeping you in Bond’s care might be the best option. He has extensive experience in guarding an asset – just as much as he has experience at killing marks, truth be told – and for those reasons I’m willing to put your care in his hands.” Q was still a bit troubled that no plan had been explicitly told to him, which either meant he wasn’t going to like it, or… “What care has 007 suggested?” “I don’t know. Bond has made it clear that he intends to remove you from danger, but the exact location is known only to him,” M admitted, voice still as stern and imperious as any mountain. Q had noticed that even when 007 was at his worst, M remained an impermeable fort – an angry impermeable fort, but still ultimately untouched by Bond’s shenanigans. Cutting a look Bond’s way – and finding those blue eyes watching him steadily, maybe somewhat challengingly – Q sighed past pursed lips and decided, “I’ll need to drop into MI6 first. If I have to go another day without some of my tech, I’ll go insane before anyone ever tries to kidnap me again.” ~^~ Unexpectedly, 007 agreed to the plan, although it was clear that he didn’t like it. In fact, Q got the distinct impression that the blond-haired agent wanted to keep him in the flat, which was odd because Q got the impression that no one else ever stayed here besides Bond himself (and perhaps not often him either). Plus, there was the fact that Q had just beaten him soundly at Go Fish. The agent had taken the loss with poor grace, glaring at Q for the next five minutes before just deciding to call MI6 – the phone call that Q had finished up just now. The way that Bond had hovered around his Quartermaster, however, almost to the point of hemming him in as he got ready to leave for MI6, made Q think that Bond didn’t like the idea of leaving. Even when Q had been changing back into his own clothes (wrinkled from being slept in, and still smelling slightly of stale fear), Bond had inserted himself into the situation like a herding dog crowding its flock of one. Since Q was coming to accept the fact that modesty had no place in 007’s company, he’d simply stripped down and changed while the agent sat on the bed and watched. His blue eyes had tracked Q’s every move in silence, naturally attentive. Bond had been Q’s shadow to the car, and kept up small talk during the drive. It was like when they’d first started running into each other back in Q-branch, with 007 playing the perfect gentleman and talking about anything and everything that was required of him while they played chess. This should have been nice. After all, at least when Bond was talking about senseless nothing, he wasn’t needling at Q and trying to take him apart piece by informative piece. However, the Quartermaster was irked to find that now his mind wasn’t engaged – apparently verbal sparring with Bond was not only incredibly frustrating, it was challenging – so instead he was thinking about guns in his hand and people he hadn’t wanted to kill. By the time they had stopped in the MI6 carpark, Q felt jumpy and uncomfortable inside of his own skin, and he’d stopped paying attention to 007 as he instead drowned slowly in the worst memories from the recent kidnapping. He didn’t know how 00-agents did it: they killed for a living, and in far more vicious, cold-blooded fashions, and had to do it repeatedly. Q halted with a jolt as warm, calloused fingers on his nape yanked him back to reality. They’d been walking away from the car, with Q on autopilot and 007 as lethally alert as ever – it was both unsettling and surprising that Q had managed to ignore the agent, despite what he knew about him. Now the Quartermaster blinked and dragged his attention back to the present, glancing to the side where Bond was standing placidly next to him. Instead of the usual expressions the man wore – glimmers of dangerous amusement, faked interest, or slow burning lust that immolated what it touched before long – there was simply a watchful, patient blank. Q blinked at him, confused for a second, before he realized that this was the most truthful expression he’d ever seen on Bond’s face. “How do you do it?” Q asked quietly, easily accepting the slowly moving grip on his neck. The way it was starting to knead slowly at the edges of his cervical vertebrae was reminiscent of his idle touches, or the way he’d kept Q from falling in the shower. “How do you just end a life?” “The point isn’t ending another life – it’s not letting it end you,” was all the 00-agent would say, voice calm and uninflected. Then he nodded in the direction they’d been heading, and said as he let his hand fall from the smaller man’s neck to trail absently down to the small of his back, “Come on, Q.” Q let the touch urge him forward, his mind now preoccupied with teasing apart the puzzle of 007’s words, and the strange sincerity he’d just seen in a blank, expressionless face. ~^~ “Quartermaster,” M greeted them once they were in the heart of MI6 – home once again. M was as fierce and sharp-eyed as always, as she took in Q with a sweep of her crystalline eyes before turning a warier look to 007. She dipped her head in a brief nod to him, too. “007. Good to see you both back.” “Not for long,” Bond reminded, hooded eyes meeting his superior’s unflinchingly. For her part, M merely nodded. “This is an unusual situation, and I have agreed that the best way to respond is with an unusual answer – as you have agreed, Quartermaster.” Q nodded. As much as he hated the vagueness and lack of facts he was getting, he was willing to trust Bond’s expertise in this case. The agent had shown him the same courtesy in the past. “MI6 will provide you with a car, and Quartermaster, you are responsible for what else you deem necessary.” “Yes, ma’am,” the bespectacled young man nodded respectfully, and turned to be about his business. There was no point in dallying around, and one thing that M and Q agreed on totally was a general hatred for wasted time. However, M called out before he and Bond were more than a few steps away. “Quartermaster?” “Yes?” He turned. Bond kept walking and gave the appearance of not listening. “After you’ve seen to your Branch, come back to my office. There are some things I wish to tell you,” the woman said in her usual prim tone, but there was something in her eyes – something deeper. They looked almost sad, beneath the iron shielding. Puzzled and curious, Q tilted his head a bit, but nodded again. “Of course. I’ll be back within the hour.” ~^~ “I’m surprised you aren’t requesting more guns.” 007’s mouth kicked up at the edges. “Quality over quantity, Q,” he replied with his usual, effortless charm. “Although I can’t say the same for your choices.” “Hey,” Q defended as he continued to load up the supplies he wanted for this mystery trip, “I asked you if there would be internet, and you said no, so that means I have to bring more tech to set up my own internet.” Plus whatever else he felt he might need, which was a pretty long and varied list, because 007 was a cagy bastard and refused to say where they were going. It was insane that Q was trusting him on so little data, but apparently he’d realized that Bond was invested in his safety some time ago. “What even is this?” the agent asked from the duffel bag Q was meticulously packing his things. While Q had been grabbing the cords he’d need, the agent had apparently gotten bored or nosy. Probably both. Now Bond was wrinkling his nose at a small square of metal in his fingertips. Q immediately darted over, feeling like he was babysitting. “That’s a bug – which you’ve used multiple times, by the way.” “I’m sure I’d remember,” Bond argued back as smoothly as silk, even as he let the Quartermaster disengage the little listening device from his fingers. Blue eyes watched as it was returned to its separate pouch within the duffel bag. “Maybe you just think you gave me toys like that, Quartermaster.” Chuckling dryly, Q went back to coiling cords as he corrected, “Maybe you broke them before they could do you any good. That might explain why they left no imprint on your memory.” Bond was definitely grinning, a glass-cut expression that felt as handsome as it was dangerous – although Q knew instantly that the danger didn’t apply to him. How long had he known that? “Ah, yes. That might explain it. You should make them tougher.” “You should stop breaking my things.” “How else am I to get your attention?” teased the larger man with that wolfish smile still in place. His blue eyes danced like sun glinting off dangerous waters, and it was probably that look that was keeping the rest of the Q-branch staff at a distance. They’d been elated to see their Quartermaster again, but the day would never come when they were at ease with a 00-agent in their midst – this was even more the case with 007, who unsettled Q-branchers on a level that put his fellows to shame. Q’s mind drifted to just how skilled 007 was at getting his attention, and had to give himself a mental shake while his hands froze at their work. Silently, but like a ship moving close in the night, Bond approached until Q could feel heat at his back. “Quartermaster?” asked Bond in a deceptively light voice. Recalling that he was in the middle of Q-branch (with at least four of his underlings watching him worriedly at this very moment, as a known dangerous agent pushed the boundaries of personal space), Q deftly slipped around Bond to put his cords in the bag, zipping it closed. “You have everyone’s attention just by entering a room, 007,” Q replied in a mollifying tone and with a patronizing little smile meant to rankle – it did, and now it was Bond’s turn to frown at Q. One point for the skinny boffin. “Now: you stay here. Actually, I take that back. If I leave you here you’ll unleash pandemonium in my Branch,” Q evaluated unabashedly, hefting his bag with a whuff of breath as he realized just how heavy he’d made it. On second thought, maybe he’d have Bond take that out to the car. “I’ve got to go see M, but you can make yourself useful by moving this to the car. I believe MI6 has cleared us for one on the second level of the carpark.” “Whatever you say, Q,” 007 said in a put-upon tone. Q couldn’t help but be jealous but also impressed as 007 hefted Q’s bag as well as his own, which held the guns he’d requested for himself. Each got slung over a shoulder, muscles taking the burden and flexing as they adjusted to the weight. Bond’s cocky expression showed that he was willfully showing off just a bit. Q could have told him that he hardly needed to. The Quartermaster had seen all of that strength at work on missions, and all the man had to do was move for people to realize that he was a powerhouse. Sighing at the theatrics, Q picked up his personal laptop bag and headed for the door. “Come on then. I’ll show you out.” He left instructions with R and the others as he left, promising to be back soon without admitting that he had no idea when exactly. 007 followed like an obedient shadow, silent except for the creak and shift of the bags he carried. “Take your time, Q,” 007 drifted past the smaller man once they’d left Q-branch, somehow managing not to bump him along the way, although he brushed against the computer bag and made Q reflexively want to move the tech out of the agent’s reach. The blonde-haired man was moving off down another hallway, though, presumably to wreak havoc in someone else’s life. Havoc was what Bond specialized in, when he wasn’t focused on espionage. That left Q to walk by himself down to M’s office, feeling both light and strangely lonely without the omnipresent 00-agent by his side. Q realized that he’d gotten used to Bond – from his homicidal tendencies to his constant need to touch. “M?” Q was let into her office by a sympathetic Eve Moneypenny (whether she sympathized with Q for having been targeted by criminals, or because he was stuck with 007, remained to be seen). “You wanted to see me before 007 and I made our exit?” “Yes, Quartermaster. Before you pull your temporary disappearing act,” said M, looking unexpectedly grim, her thin lips pressed together, “I think there are some things you need to know. Sit.” Feeling uneasy himself now, the young man nonetheless did as he was told, settling into the uncomfortable chair across the desk, putting his laptop case down next to him. M started immediately, efficiency being a coat she’d worn long and well. “How much do you know about James Bond, Q?” “Um…?” Unsure how to answer, or how much to say without things getting uncomfortable, Q thumped his fingertips on the chair-arm and mentally scrambled a bit. “Well, I’m aware of anything that was on his files. Nearly impossible track record for mission success – equally high marks in marksmanship and general destruction. I know that Medical is baffled at his continued state of being alive, while Psych doesn’t know whether to label him as a sociopath or keep mum to avoid possible repercussions on his part.” Q sighed, recalling some of the earlier missions he’d handled with 007. “I also know that he’ll sleep with anything that moves.” Specifically women on cameras that Q was watching. And possibly Q, if the Quartermaster would let him. A flush of confusing feelings – interest, anxiety, excitement, and nearly visceral fear – roiled through him like a flash-fire, quickly burning down again. “It’s actually his predilection for sleeping with dangerous people that I wish to talk about. Now – before you say anything-” M lifted an imperious hand just as the Quartermaster drew in a breath to speak. “-I’m well aware of Bond’s growing interest in you. I’m old, not blind. You should know that Bond doesn’t usually show an interest in anyone when he’s off-mission, so it’s a bit easier for me to spot than you’d think.” Q couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was already blinking like an owl newly out in the sun, frowning as the given facts refused to mesh. “I thought he slept around prolifically off-mission?” He already had more than enough proof of 007’s rampant sexuality on-mission. M cast him a hard-to-read little smile. “I said ‘interest in,’ not slept with – and he doesn’t have an ounce of interest for any of those pretty faces he sleeps with around London,” she replied tartly and without doubt, “And before you ask how I know all of this, you must realize that you’re not the only one who has a certain skill for remotely monitoring an asset.” With a resigned sigh, M sat back a bit, and admitted, “For the past few years, Bond has been a round-the-clock headache who requires constant watching.” “You actually put tails on him?” Q asked, shocked. “Carefully and from a great distance. I’m sure he’s aware of nearly all of them, but he’s a good enough sport to benevolently tolerate it.” Which was shocking in its own right, because 007 was benevolent about basically nothing – which explained M’s next rueful sentence: “The real problem is finding agents who aren’t too intimidated by 007’s reputation to do the job.” At that point, M’s mouth twitched in a cunning, tiny smirk, and she explained, “We call it training. If new agents can follow 007 for even a few hours without him doubling back, catching them, and pleasantly threatening to feed them their own fingers, they get promoted.” Unsure whether to be amused or disturbed by this use of a 00-agent as training material, Q asked cautiously, “And if they can’t?” “Remedial training. Bond never damages them too much.” That said quite a lot about Bond’s relationship with MI6 and with M: in Bond’s position, Q was very sure that he would have gotten incredibly angry by now, but instead, it sounded like Bond treated it all like a necessary game. Perhaps it also had the pleasant side-effect of keeping him from getting bored off-mission. “That’s not what I’m here to talk about, Q. I’m here to tell you some things about 007’s past that are not in his file, and which I don’t see him telling you himself. Honestly, I don’t even know if he can tell you. The man you know as James Bond is more broken than you think.” While Q stared at M with narrowed, suspicious eyes (feeling defensive but not knowing whether it was for himself or for the agent in question), the older woman folded her hands upon her desk and asked, “Have you heard of the woman called Vesper Lynd?” Q’s brows drew down lower behind his glasses, and he agreed slowly, “Yes, she was involved in one of Bond’s earlier missions. He was newly promoted to 00-status.” “Yes, he was, and he was already promising,” M nodded, “Vesper was a distraction, however, and no one quite realized how quickly he became attached to her. It’s a usual mistake for new agents – getting romantically involved with people they meet on the job – but we hadn’t honestly thought that Bond would make that mistake, because he’s always been quite like you know him now. Cold, calculating, and morally deficient enough to make him an incredibly useful and flexible spy. But there was something about Vesper…” M sighed, and there was true regret in her tone. Suddenly, her eyes looked older, as if their bright and wintry spark was dimmed by the smoke of old memories. “It’s possible that we will never know her whole story – she had handlers of her own, and it’s been inferred that she had some of the same ethical gaps that 007 does, although I suspect to a lesser extent.” Pride reignited that light in the woman’s eyes, and she stopped looking off into the distance to fix Q with an indefatigable look. “Bond was the better agent, even back then. When the dust settled, he was alive and she was dead by questionable means.” “He killed her? That’s not what the file says.” “The file is inconclusive,” M said with a mien of troubled discontent on her face that was quickly eliminated. “I know that Bond can destroy or change evidence to his own liking, and that situation was so mucked up that I honestly have no idea what happened. But what I do know is that when Vesper left, she took whole chunks of James Bond with her. She’d tangled them together – so he had to rip off pieces when they came apart.” M’s eyes were now as cold and frostbitten as the deepest north, the look of a mother wolf when a snowstorm challenges her and is found lacking. Q found himself glad that he was not this Vesper Lynd, and that Vesper was dead – because he’d never seen M so transparently hate a person with frigid, controlled fury. Again, it was a fleeting impression, before M composed herself and looked off to the left, merely aloof and cool. “Bond was dangerous before, of course. Cunning, quick, ready to be brutal when needed. But Vesper broke him.” Hard grey eyes snapped back to Q. “And he put himself back together more dangerously than before.  She broke his heart in such a deep way that I don’t even know how he recovered, but when he did, it was with all of his razor edges intact and all of the underlying softness sharpened to points. James Bond was dangerous – Vesper made him lethal. I don’t know whether I should thank her or hate her for that, because now MI6 has a weapon that it never would have dreamed of before.” Q was stunned. He’d always had nagging questions in his head, questions regarding Bond’s history and whether he’d always been like this, or whether his particular brand of psychosis had roots in some past event. He’d somehow never considered, however, that it could be a violently broken heart that could do it. Maybe it was because Q always thought of broken hearts as crippling things, rather than scalpels that cut away weaknesses and left only an armor of shards behind. Once, Q had held a piece of polished obsidian in his hand: small, black, and slightly translucent if held to the light. Then someone had told him that if you broke that little oval stone, the pieces you had left in your hand were sure to have edges sharper than razors. Bond had always been an obsidian stone, it sounded like – dark and graceful on a grand scale, deadliness hidden at his core – but Vesper had put a hammer to him, and only a man made of scalpel sharp pieces had walked away from that. “I’m not telling you this because I want to deter you from him,” M continued, “Although perhaps I should. Up until recently, I would have told anyone interested in Bond as anything more than a quick and good fuck that he has a heart made of razors, and he stopped loving things ages ago.” M’s assessment was blunt and without pity, as befitted a head of MI6. But then she cocked her head slightly, and added with a shrewd look at Q, as if she couldn’t figure him out, “But he seems interested in you, and I haven’t seen that in years. I’m not sure what to make of that. Regardless, I felt it was past time that you knew this. You are dismissed.” Still reeling from the whirlwind meeting that he honestly had never expected, the Quartermaster stood automatically, movements wooden. “Who else knows this?” he had to ask. M’s face was unreadable again, but her answer was telling, “Just you and myself know the entirety of the story. Don’t misuse this information.” “I won’t,” Q promised sincerely. He could feel his brain going over the information, turning it around gently like a prismatic sculpture in new light. “I value 007 as an agent…and also as a person, vexing as that person may be,” he admitted carefully after a moment. “Seeing as I’m going to be stuck with him for an unknown amount of time now, I’m probably going to need to understand him a bit better anyway,” Q tried to finish with a joke, then turned to leave. “Just so you know, I don’t think that Bond regrets what happened. With Vesper,” M called just as Q was reaching for the door, her voice level. She had that mother-wolf look again, and Q truly began to appreciate how driven M was to defend her agents – even if she sometimes had to also turn around and send them to their deaths. It was a tricky balance, but this woman met the challenge unhesitantly and without restraint. “Don’t pity him. It won’t get you very far.” Q’s brows beetled, truly not understanding. In a perplexed tone, he replied, “I know. I don’t see any more reason to pity him than to pity the guns he uses – both are liberally abused, I admit, but both do the job and do it fabulously. There’s nothing to pity.” M, in one of the rare instances that Q had ever seen, smiled. “Good luck, Quartermaster. I hope to see you back inside MI6 soon, when this is all sorted out.” ~^~ Q’s hand had been in his pocket ever since he’d left M’s office, holding the tiny lump he’d noticed when he’d bumped the edge of the chair while leaving. It had done quite a lot to turn his mood from thoughtful and introspective to rather homicidal. As if waiting for the explosion that he’d had a hand in causing, 007 was only a few hallways down, leaning laxly against the wall with his hands braced unconcernedly behind it. All that the harmless pose served to do was allow the Quartermaster to walk right up to him until Q was practically standing on Bond’s toes. Glaring firmly, Q placed a loosely closed fist right under 007’s nose without any hesitation. “What is this?” Q demanded in a no-nonsense voice. 007 looked blandly at Q’s angry expression for a few seconds, then leisurely dropped his eyes to the smaller man’s hand. After another few seconds of calculated length, the maddening agent grunted, “I’m not a mind-reader, Q.” “And yet I bet you could tell me, right now, everything that was just said behind closed doors in M’s office,” Q retorted, then gave up on making the agent talk and instead presented the evidence by unfolding his fingers and revealing the same small device that Bond had played with back in Q-branch earlier. “You bugged me.” Still for all appearances unbothered by Q’s apparent temper and serious encroachment on his personal space, Bond let the silence stretch just far enough to be rebellious. Q wasn’t breaking, though, and continued to wait with the evidence between the two of them. Putting on a mutinous expression and narrowing his blue eyes, Bond replied eventually, “And where’s your proof, Quartermaster?” “I know my tech, 007. This was in my duffel-bag last I looked, and you’ve got the best sleight-of-hand in MI6. I can put two-and-two together.” No answer from 007. His eyes had gone cool and aloof, and he’d apparently clammed up. He was still allowing Q to stand with barely inches between them, however, untroubled by the combative posture or Q’s clearly unhappy frown. It was so rare to see Bond in such an undefended posture as he was now, with his hands still tucked away behind him instead of ready to go for his gun. If anything, he was rather relaxed, and Q found his temper fading instead to curiosity, and then to understanding. Q cocked his head, inspecting that handsome mask Bond called a face. “You really wanted to listen in on my talk with M, didn’t you?” he asked in a far less combative tone. Again, no response. Merely blue eyes that tracked every minute movement Q made, calm and remote as a mountain lake. It was as good as a confession to the smaller man, who had come to recognize so many of Bond’s little quirks and tendencies, the way he hid things so well and yet was so transparent sometimes that Q wondered if it could be anything but purposeful. This time, it seemed as though Bond – who never seemed to care or fear for anything – had been intensely interested in finding out how Q had taken the story about a woman with invisible iron claws and a man made of razor blades. “Why don’t you just ask?!” Q whispered with confounded sympathy, shaking his head in wonder at all of this. Then, because he couldn’t see any other, better way to respond to this confusing man, the Quartermaster took hold of the situation in both hands and closed the distance to catch Bond’s mouth with a sudden, impulsive kiss. There were about a million negative ways in which 007 could have reacted. As a 00-agent, he was trained to react to surprises with caution at best, violence at worst, and Q knew that Bond tended towards the latter side of the equation. When Q’s mouth pressed to his, however, the agent tensed just enough for it to be perceptible, but he otherwise didn’t move. His hands stayed behind his body, his back remained pressed idly to the wall. The only point of contact was on his mouth, and he moved his lips softly against Q’s, tongue snaking out encouragingly even as Q felt himself drawn in. Q pulled back, breathing faster and feeling his pulse already in his ears, just before the kiss could get intense. Those uncanny blue eyes were still watching him, alight now with some internal fire that enthralled even as it promised to burn. Q hitched his computer bag strap a bit higher up on his shoulder and stepped back, unconsciously touching his tongue to his lower lip where he could still feel the faintest impression of teeth, although he couldn’t even remember 007 biting him. “You always think that you have to get what you want by stealth – by lying and tricking the answer out of me,” Q said, but without any anger. If the bespectacled young man hadn’t been working at MI6 where dysfunction was the name of the game for dangerous spies, perhaps he would have been less understanding. “Normal people, though, like me, would prefer if you just asked if you wanted to know something.” Q paused, still feeling the contact of lips on his mouth, which he’d initiated for once. His memory brought up dozens of other impressions, all including warm commanding hands on his body and a mouth making promises on his skin. “Or if you ever wanted something.” Feeling that he’d given Bond all the information he needed to, Q turned and left, directing his feet to the parking lot. They both had days ahead of them that promised to be rough and trying…wherever it was that Bond was taking them. ~^~  

Killua sighed in appreciation as he gazed out the window of their personal room, the nighttime cityscape was glorious as always. Stars sparkled in the sky, and the beautiful marbles of not-so-distant alien planets hung in the inky expanse. The moon was a sparkling half circle, shining down upon the city that was a night sky all on its own. The Valkyrie stood with his arm braced against the window, and his forehead leaned against it. Fluffy white hair, mussed with sleep, framed his face messily. It was growing out, and was well in need of a haircut. His tail was flopped lazily across the ground behind him, sprawled about like a snake. As beautiful as this scene was… it was nothing compared to the boy standing next to him. Gon's tan skin reflected the light from the stars and the city, making him glow against the night. His amber eyes held a dull shine to them, just barely illuminating the air around him. His eyes were like fireflies, their meadow the cityscape. His hair was floppy and limp, pressed up against one side of his head, the side he slept on. He wore nothing but his undershorts, and the sculpted planes of his chest and stomach drew Killua's eyes and warmed his lower belly. "Killua," he whispered, Kurapika and Leorio dozing in their respective rooms. "Hm?" the Valkyrie hummed in his throat, glancing out the corner of his eye at the hybrid, and the object of his every waking thought. His mind was always on Gon, especially since the wall had come down. He thought about his eyes, his dark toned skin, his coarse hair that hung low and lazy into his eyes whenever he first woke up in the morning. He thought about his voice… that silky tenor just on the cusp of baritone, a voice that sang to his soul and whispered in his ears in the dark of the night. He thought about his sculpted body, years of training built up in that impeccable physical form. The chemical that lay beneath his veins, waiting to morph him into a being of chaos and destruction. He thought about the slick toxin that secreted from his neck, powerful enough to lay waste to a king serpent, and potent enough to break through even Killua's poison defenses. He really was an incredible being… but his personality was even more incredible. He danced with Killua in ballrooms stock full of beautiful and rich girls, he tugged him along on incredible adventures. He met his gaze, not in fear but in friendship. Never once had it crossed his mind to turn Killua over to his family for compensation, or to drug him in the night and sell his blood to rogue sorcerers. He stood by Killua, and kept his hand on his shoulder in the hardest of times… He was his greatest friend. But there was this haze against Killua's vision. A haze against his consciousness. He knew he did nothing but sap off Gon's light like some sort of wretched parasyte… but he wanted more. He wanted to feel that tan skin beneath his hands, he wanted to taste that smiling mouth. He wanted to drown beneath that powerful weight, he wanted to be drawn in close never to be relinquished again. His heart ached with longing, he liked him so much… But that was all for naught. Because never could Gon like him back. Never could those feelings be returned. Why couldn't Killua just take him as a friend? Gon took him as he was, why couldn't he take Gon for what he was? A best friend? Why did he long for more, for the soft smile of a lover in the place of the sparkling grin of a brother? For the passionate embrace of a partner for life rather than the casual sling of an arm around his shoulders? He'd wanted to be closer to Gon since the moment he'd laid eyes on him. But it so seemed that he'd always want to be closer to Gon. Killua wanted to get as close as he possibly could, with souls so entwined and bodies so close that there was no room left to breathe. The impossibility of it was suffocating to say the least. But Killua found himself unable to quell these feelings… no, they were here to stay. He could live with this… he could live with this unbearable distance between the two of them. He could live with those tan fingers hung at Gon's side rather than reaching out to cup Killua's cheek– The Valkyrie inhaled sharply as rough fingers grazed his cheekbone. The sensation sent shivers down his spine and heat through his face and groin. He blinked, scared to gaze directly into those eyes because what would he find there? Friendship? Or the far worse alternative? An alternative that would have Killua tumbling from the sky, head over heels with no turning back whatsoever? An alternative that scared Killua as much as he longed for it? "You're… really pretty," Gon murmured. Killua's breath hitched in his throat, and he moved his eyes to focus on Gon's. Locked in a cage of sparkling amber, he felt his face go slack. Those words had been everything he had wanted to hear since he had come to terms with what he was feeling for this boy. And that look in his eyes… was everything Killua could have ever begged for and more. It was something that he could only dream into reality– Gon gazed up at him, up at Killua who was a mere two inches taller. His fingers traced along that pale cheekbone, and down along a sharp jawline. The Valkyrie was frozen, unable to move and unable to process. The only thing he was aware of was this moment. The hybrid's amber depths glowed softly at Killua, emotions swirling lazily in those brilliant tawny pools. His eyes said it all– All that Killua had been longing for these past couple of days had been for Gon to look at him like that. For him to look at the Valkyrie with the same eyes that he himself hid beneath silver bangs and sassy remarks. Those fingers twisted slowly to cup Killua's chin, and a thumb poked up and brushed leisurely against his mouth. The silver haired boy's lips tingled, and the thumb stayed in place. "So soft," Gon whispered as he stepped forwards, eyes low lidded and fixated on Killua's mouth, which had gone slack in surprise. The hybrid leaned further forward, up on the tips of his toes to meet Killua's height. He braced one strong hand on the back of the Valkyrie's neck, and left the other cupped against that pale chin, bringing his thumb down to free up Killua's lips. The Valkyrie's heart pumped loud in his ears, and his cheeks flared red. Gon shut his eyes, and Killua kept his eyes open. He was far too frozen and longing to close them now, no, he had to see for himself– Thick dark lashes reflected the silver light of the moon, and a soft pair of lips brushed against Killua's. The kiss was so soft and innocent, yet it made Killua weak in the knees. He moved his hands to Gon's hips to steady himself, and his palms felt feverish as they came into contact with the hybrid's bare skin. The hand on Killua's chin moved to the back of his head, slipping into his silvery locks and keeping him in place. He finally closed his eyes as Gon tilted his head to deepen the kiss, waves of emotion crashing over his head. His soul wanted to both dance for joy and melt into a puddle at the same time. Gon was so incredibly gentle, as if Killua were a pane of glass ready to shatter at any given second. Was this really happening? Could this really be reality? How did Killua deserve to be this happy? The assassin was still frozen on the spot, barely having the mind to kiss Gon back. Needing to brace his hands on the stranger's hips just to keep his feet under him. His tail remained still as death, a reflection of his nerves. Gon's other hand slipped up to grip Killua's hair, and the Valkyrie moved his hands to the other boy's shoulders, feeling unsure about where they should be. Gon sighed out of his nose, breathing against Killua's mouth and causing him to shudder and release a little mewl. The hybrid hummed against the Valkyrie's lips in response, taking the noise as a sign to move forward. He tightened his hands, gripping Killua's hair in a vice. He angled his head and the kiss picked up pace, gaining heat by the second. Killua's heart was a racehorse in his chest, the heat pooling in his stomach leading him to move his hands to Gon's hair, gripping on for dear life. He tugged at the coarse strands, and the hybrid purred low in his throat, the sensation vibrating against Killua's mouth. Egged on by the new stimulation, Gon parted his lips and a hot tongue licked gently against Killua's mouth. The Valkyrie gave a shuddering gasp, and obeyed. He cracked his lips open, and then there was no going back. Gon's tongue thrust into his mouth without hesitation, slipping up against Killua's and sending stars flashing behind his lids. The horned boy stepped forward, pushing Killua against the window and pressing them flush together. The contrast between the chilly glass and Gon's scalding skin made Killua shiver, and the hybrid explored the inside of his mouth with fervor. The kiss was fast and sloppy, sending heat directly to Killua's pants. Gon crushed up against him, rolling his hips slightly and sending sparks flying– … Killua awoke with a start, flinging the blankets off of his sweating body and tossing Gon's stolen pillow to the floor. He was sweating like crazy, and he could feel that his face was flushed. The remnants of the dream were still fresh in his mind, and he found himself disoriented and wondering where Gon had gone. His lips were still tingling from the imagined sensation, and he brushed his fingers across them. The Valkyrie's chest was aching, and butterflies danced in his stomach. His heart raced a million miles an hour. That dream was– In my dream I was– Killua glanced down, still unable to properly process what he had just woken up from. What he found when he looked downwards, however, filled him with a sense of dread, shame, and self-disgust. His undershorts were tented, and he was hard as a rock. "Shit," he breathed. Killua drug his hands through his messy white hair, tugging at his scalp in a meager effort to punish himself. "I can't believe this." He was horny as fuck, and the images from that dream continuously flashing across his mind were not helping. His tail twisted and swished behind him, like a cat in heat. A comparison that was not entirely inaccurate. I got a hard on from being all close to Gon yesterday, and my thoughts have been entirely consumed by him ever since the barrier was broken. And now those thoughts and desires have slipped into my dreams. Killua bit his knuckle, mind hazy and clouded. His erection was throbbing and begging for attention, but– No! I can't do that! I can't defile Gon like that. This can't happen, he's my friend! I can't feel this way! Or at least, I can't act on it. I– these feelings are not going away, that much is clear… but that doesn't mean I can stain Gon's sparkling image with my own stupid horny shit. Killua launched himself out of the bed, landing silently on his feet. He rushed silently to the bathroom, wishing that he weren't lurching with every step. The Valkyrie slipped into the cold tile room, and shut the door noiselessly behind him. Free to make noise now that he was surrounded by these thick walls, he aggressively flipped the light switch and slammed his palms onto the counter. He gazed into his own reflection, sapphire eyes dilated and dark with lust. He hated that expression. Because he knew that it had come from him thinking about Gon. Gon who was a clean and untarnished presence in Killua's life, Gon who did not under any circumstance deserve to be dirtied by Killua's mortal desires. Hating seeing his own stupid sweaty face too much, the assassin turned his back on his reflection and crossed the bathroom. He was still uncomfortably hard, and he had to get rid of this somehow. He knew that this was not a boner that would go away with determination and a fiery will. No, he was far too riled up for that. Stupid fucking dream. My stupid fucking brain. Killua switched the water on, and put it on the coldest setting. He pulled his undershorts down, hissing as he was fully freed and bared to the chilly bathroom air. His tail was still swishing around behind him, and he hated that so much. If he ever got worked up like this in front of anyone– Gods fucking dammit. There would be no hiding it. No, not with his fucking tail right there translating his every thought. Why the fuck didn't I seal my tail. Why the fuck didn't I seal my tail?! I wouldn't be dealing with this SHIT if I hadn't been too big of a fucking pussy to seal my goddamn tail! So what if it fucking hurts like a bitch?! So what if it hurts worse than getting your dick cut off?! I fucking  deserve  to have it retracted back into my spine! It's the least I could do to atone! What the ever loving FUCK is wrong with me. Tears pricked in Killua's eyes, and he trembled with emotion. He wanted to bash his head against the tile walls, but that would make too much noise. Not to mention that the scent and aura of spilled Valkyrie blood would attract too much attention. Killua stepped into the shower, wincing at the sub-freezing temperature. He forced himself to stand under the ice cold rain until he calmed down and had flattened back out. Then he stayed there, for punishment. The water hurt, and his sensitive tail was burning as it dropped below his necessary body temperature. He felt his wings rustling beneath their seals, straining to instinctively cocoon Killua's body and defend him from the cold. Whenever his wings pushed against the seals like that… Killua felt incomplete. He was all too aware of his wings, their presence, and the fact that they weren't there. He had gotten used to it, but every now and then he wouldn't be able to control the unsavory sensation. He felt so trapped whenever they wrestled with their thorny bondage. Like he was stuck in a tiny box and unable to move or even breathe. He hated feeling this way, and it made him want to lash out. It made him want to get violent, to scream and destroy. But no. He couldn't do that. Not just because he couldn't destroy private property and he didn't want to bother the others with his shit, but because he deserved to feel like this right now. Killua sank down in the shower, and sat directly beneath the spray with his legs drawn up and his arms wrapped around his knees. He rested his head in the nest of his arms, and fought off that stupid and cowardly urge to cry. Tears were still threatening to spill down his cheeks, but he didn't deserve to cry. No, crying was for people that had real problems and good reason to bare their raw emotions to the world. Killua was just a stupid, disgusting, animal of a person who couldn't stop getting all hot and bothered over the thought of his best friend. He hadn't felt this down in the dumps and dejected in a long time… not sense he had been wandering aimlessly in between leaving home and finding the Hidden Oasis. Gon… I care about you way too much. Way too much for normal. You mean the world to me, and I can't begin to understand why you would want someone like me by your side… nor can I begin to understand how someone like me can be so happy when I'm around you. Your friendship is everything I could have ever wanted, it is everything. But why am I still greedy? Why do I still long for more? Why can't I just… be grateful and happy with what I have? Why can't this be enough for me? Cause… this  has  to be enough. I can't allow myself to long for you like this! I'm so sorry, Gon. I'm so, so sorry.

In the beginning, there was life. Life that had begun shortly after the planets had been created due to the melding of atoms and molecules created during the “Big Bang”. Angels had been the first to take form, followed shortly by demons in the hellish realm. The angels were His children, and they did good deeds in His name for they loved him as a Father, and He loved them as His children. One day He decided to create something new on Earth. He created a garden that was set apart from the molten landscape, and populated it with animals. Then, He began to experiment with his most beloved creation, humanity. All His attention focused on giving them form, life, sentience. He wanted them to be as similar to Him as possible, and was satisfied with the results. As He played with humanity, some of His children felt forgotten. Most of all was Samael, whom in response had played with stray molecules floating around in the universe, never able to leave well enough alone, and had created stars that shone brightly in the night sky. As he played and created constellations, he sought God’s approval. Mother had given him her approval, but God remained silent. Curious on what had drawn his Father’s attention so completely, Samael went to Earth to meet these humans whom God loved so much. _________ He landed gently in the garden and let his wings remain at his side as he took in the beauty of this new world surrounding him, amazed at how magnificent his Father’s creations always were. A unicorn crossed his path, and he noted the apparent divinity that seemed to trail the animal’s single most defining feature. He watched curiously as it ran away, wondering why something divine had been allowed to walk amongst this feral landscape. He continued through thick brush, having thought he had seen some semblance of what he perceived humanity to be from his time in the sky. He spotted a creature at last through a thick limb. He watched curiously at its reaction. It was hairy, and seemed intelligent. The creature had opposable thumbs and grabbed a fruit from a nearby tree. It stopped, notincing Samael, and watched him. Then it scratched its hindquarters and wandered off. Samael laughed, thinking His father was quite funny, a concept that felt new. The thing did not walk civilized, only managing to wander by utilizing its knuckles low to the ground. Was this what Father had loved so much, that had caused Him to neglect His family? Then he saw her. Long hair trickled down to a waist, as she walked upright. Bare skin caressed her brunette locks. Soft green eyes, gleamed with intelligence, and curiosity as she watched the other creature shuffle off. Her gaze eventually fell to Samael. Glory filled her gaze as she noticed his grand white wings. She approached, caution not a concept she was familiar with, as she reached out a hand to him. He watched her fascinated, as she stroked his feathers, which had never been touched by another. A new sensation ran through him as he allowed it, watching her with pure fascination.She continued to pet him, enthralled by the softness, and silkiness, that his white downy feathers provided. She was enchanting. Her hands continued to explore his features, moving from the wings to his clothed form. She curiously played with the layers he was wearing, seemingly confused when a piece of him was able to be peeled away without harm. Samael helped her remove the clothing until he stood with her bare for her inspection to continue. A smile crossed her face as she felt the familiar skin that looked similar to hers. Sensations new to him swelled up inside him as her hands explored his features, similar, yet different to hers. He noticed a change beginning to take place with his own physical form, and felt drawn to explore her as well. His hands reached for her long hair, similar to that of some of his sisters, yet he had never touched them, not in this new and interesting way before. He explored her face, caressing her cheek, then.. lips. She puckered then, and explored his fingers with them. Curious, she came closer to him and did the same. Her fingers ran over his lips, and he felt their sensitivity, and curiosity overcome him, as he drew them to her lips. Lips pressed together softly, and at first the sensation felt unnatural, until she decided to explore further with her tongue. What started as sloppy, swiftly became skilled, as they explored with each other’s mouths. Heat unlike anything he had felt before began to flood through him, as he grew an incessant need to close the remaining distance between the two of them. As he did so, he noticed that a part of his anatomy had fully changed form and become engorged, feeling her press against it, sent a sensation though his entire body, and he craved more. The kissing became heated as the flames grew more intense. He pulled her down to the ground as he continued to explore her features with his hand. Her breasts were shapely, and nipples perked in excitement. Bumps had formed over her naked skin, and she was now reverberating soft moans, and tremors, that only enhanced the sensations coming from his erect anatomy. His hands continued to trail down her soft skin until he found something wet, and slippery. Touching her there sent caused similar reactions from her that had from when he had felt her touch his anatomy. He played there, enjoying her delight and was fascinated by what reaction would take place if he continued. After a time she arched below him, shivering at his hands, pleasure seeping all over her face as she felt the need to draw him in. He obliged, pressing against her, finding the smooth slickness of her pleasurable against his penis. He pushed into her, and a strong reaction emitted from both of them. This was marvelous. He began to steadily slip in and out, in what became the most intense physical sensation he had yet experienced. His pace quickened, his desire deepened, until all at once everything was released. A wetness escaped from him, into her, and he was overcome with uncontrollable shivers that started there and continued all the way through his neck and down to his toes. It was surreal. God had done fine work. And although this creature wasn’t divine, she was magnificent. He removed himself from her, still trying to process this new and fascinating sensation, as he once again fit himself into clothing. “Eve,” she pressed her hand to her bare chest. He looked at her and smiled, she could speak! They really were sentient just like his siblings! “Samael,” he responded, indicating himself. The brush behind him moved, and Samael watched as another, more similar to himself appeared. Eve smiled and walked to the other human. “Adam,” she indicated to Samael. “Samael,” the angel introduced himself. Adam approached, and started to explore Samael the same way Eve had. Samael allowed it, and happily explored the differences between the two, as Eve joined in again to recreate that ever so pleasant experience. The three continued this activity well into the night, enjoying the pleasure that emitted from the overwhelming physical release. Adam and Eve eventually fell asleep by Samael’s side, not able to keep pace with the angel’s divinity. Samael clothed himself, then returned home. _________ He told his siblings of his discovery. They listened intrigued, some were worried of him wanting to explore Father’s creations, thinking that it wasn’t their place, as they had no orders to interfere. Samael did not see the harm of it, and was taken by his experiences there. Mother and Father remained silent, and did not tell him it was not allowed. Samael chose to return, within a few month’s time. Curious to learn more about this fascinating creation. __________ When he arrived, he saw Eve collecting berries, while Adam was watching a squirrel. Eve smiled excitedly. “Samael!” she called, waving her arms. Samael came to her. She demonstrated her activity, and Samael began to help her. He held up a berry, and wondered if it had been given a name. Eve looked at him curiously, seeming to understand. Samael spoke in the language of the heavens, trying to relay the closest word that would reflect the fruit he held in his hand. Eve tried to replicate his speech, but was unable to make certain sounds with her different anatomy. She shook her head in disappointment. Adam approached them then. “Blueberry,” he called, giving it a name. Eve nodded her approval proudly. “Blueberry,” she repeated. Samael smiled, and they began to name the creatures and animals around them, forming the first language, allowing Adam and Eve to communicate more efficiently. _________ Samael returned to heaven after a time. He excitedly told his brothers and sisters about his second experience with humanity, and what good he had done for them. He was proud of his accomplishments, helping to advance his Father’s most beloved creations. Samael sought his Father’s approval, but was again, met with silence. Perhaps he was simply not doing enough? He chose to return to Earth to see what more he could do for the lovely creatures his Father so adored. _________ Samael returned, seeing Eve and Adam sitting around a deer that was laying down, not moving. They curiously poked, and prodded the creature but found it did not stir. He walked towards them, curious himself on why there was no response. Adam and Eve looked to him, they smiled, but concern showed through their features. Samael bent down and touched the creature, finding no steady thump of a living heart. Dead. This was a facet of mortality, that his sister Azrael had been so endlessly fascinated by. He turned the animal’s head and saw a trail of red liquid flowing out the side of the creature. Blood. Another sight he had never before witnessed, only heard of through his sibling’s descriptions. She had explained that certain mortal creatures had to consume one another to survive, needing sustenance and nutrition, and to cut down on the population of those that ate the plants. He looked to the humans, curious if they could eat meat. Samael had knowledge of the microscopic organisms that resided on the planet, and knew how to rid them so that disease could be avoided. He instructed Adam to fetch wood, and asked Eve to join him. He found a rock that was sharp, and asked Eve to cut into the dead animal. She was trusting, and did as she was told. After it was cleaned, and the meat was collected, Adam returned with wood. Samael taught them how to start a fire, using kindling and rubbing two sticks together to create a spark. They replicated his actions, and were quick to learn the process. He instructed them on a fire’s properties, and what to do to ensure it would not burn out of control. Then he skewered the meat, and proceeded to cook it over the flame. Once it was done he offered it to them. Adam was the first to bite into it. A smile crossed his face as he enjoyed the new flavor that crossed his tongue. Eve followed suit, and they ate the meal happily together. Afterwards they sat quietly by the fire, enjoying its warmth. The heat, and closeness led to them exploring the fun physical sensations they had partaken in before. Samael had found that they had been practicing this on one another, as they were able to bring about pleasure from him in new and intriguing ways. They continued into the night until they were spent. In the morning Samael awoke to see the brightest of his creations winking at him from the sky above. It was beautiful. His heart felt full, being bathed in all of the beauty his Father and Mother had been responsible for. What a glory it was to be alive, in this new and untamed world! He began to sing in spite of himself. An activity his siblings had invented, and his favorite to partake in amongst the silver city. Eve stirred awake, and watched him curiously, as he sang the ethereal song in his native language. He watched as she stood, and began swaying to his tempo, adding to the energy of the moment. The swaying turned into flailing. Wild and untamed. She had no inhibitions, no doubt or worry. She moved her body exotically, every inch of her curves sultry and seductive. Her long dark hair radiated in the reds and orange of the rising sun. She looked as if she wanted to be the fire that had been sparked the night before. Her eyes spoke of the thrill that rushed through her movements, becoming more elegant and controlled as she learned of the energy and spirit of the song Samael sung. As the sun rose, dancing was born. Adam awoke soon after and watched her radiance, taken by her beautiful form as much as Samael was. He stood up and joined her. The spark and electricity between the two of them was vivacious and uninhibited. Samael watched and sung as the two of them grew closer, drawn to each other, passion sparking a new sensation between the two. Forming a bond that had suddenly begun to grow from something to simple to something more. Samael saw this connection, but did not understand it completely, but felt the joy that permeated from them until his song was done. The pair held each other once he had completed his celebratory song, lost in their newly formed feelings for each other. Soon after Samael returned home, and shared his experiences once more. He spoke of what he did not understand, and found that none of his siblings understood it either. But he could see the joy it had brought them, and he sought his Father’s approval for helping them to find that. He was still met with silence. ________ Samael continued to return between Eden and Heaven, teaching the humans about art, poetry, tools, and building. His siblings worried about their brother’s love for humanity, but approved of everything that he gifted them with. He grew the title of Lightbringer, as he brought light into the sky, fire to Earth, and richness to the human’s souls. The title suited him well, and he never failed to impress them with his stories on how easy it was for humans to learn. Every time he returned to Heaven, he longed to hear his Father’s praise, and was always met with silence. Now the silence came from Mother as well, and he longed for the days that his family were together, singing about the glory that was their home. His heart grew steadily sadder as time went on. Many of his siblings sympathized with their beloved brother, as they too felt the sting that came from the silence from those who used to present so much joy towards them. He would greet these siblings every time upon returning, and they would share stories of their own experiences in trying to impress Father and Mother to no avail. Samael asked why, and never received an answer. _______ One day on Eden, Samael, Eve, and Adam walked through the forest of the garden. Samael spotted a tree that beared fresh fruit, untouched by any animal. “Why has no creature eaten from this?” he asked, knowing that nothing poisonous existed within the garden, only on the outside where the dinosaurs were roaming and ever evolving, God’s experiment with life more untamed than this haven. “We just don’t,” Adam answered. “It never looked quite right to consume,” “There’s something about it. Something that feels… I don’t know if there is a word for it, but it's wrong somehow.” Eve added. Samael studied her reaction, and could see her uneasiness towards the tree. Something that resembled fear that he had seen from demons whom he had visited once long ago from his exploration of Hell, a place he had loathed and had chosen never to visit again. “And what would you wish to call that sensation?” he asked. They gave it a name in their language - fear. It was a sensation that they claimed to not feel anywhere else, and was something they wished to avoid if at all possible. “Why do you avoid it?” Samael asked. “Don’t you want to explore all sensation life offers?” They looked to each other, then to Samael, completely baffled by why anyone would want to choose to do something that would make them uncomfortable, yet intrigued by the possibility of new sensations that would be offered as a result. “Why would we choose to do something that may harm us?” Adam asked. “For the thrill of it of course,” Samael said, a smile curling his lips. “I don’t think that’s something we want to partake in,” Eve said, holding his arm gently in an attempt to turn him away from the temptation. Samael wasn’t so easy to turn aside. He always had a tendency to lean towards his curiosities. He approached the tree, and picked a fruit from its limb. It appeared to be a type of apple, different from all of the others found in this area. He found it odd that there was only one tree in all of the garden that bore this fruit, and was located directly in the center. Almost as if Father were highlighting it to the humans. Yet why were they afraid of this simple fruit? He brought it closer to his face and examined it, not finding anything particularly abhorrent in its shape or color. He proceeded to smell it, and found its scent delightful in its richness. He heard a flap of wings, and soon saw his brother Amenadiel standing before him, large black wings splayed out to their full length. “Put the apple down brother,” he ordered. “Why?” Samael asked. “The humans are not meant to eat it,” he replied. “Brother, its an apple!” Samael said with a laugh. “What’s wrong with this fruit?” “Fear, is not an emotion God wants these humans to feel. They shouldn’t even have a name for it! What you are doing is wrong, and will cause them pain and suffering. These are creatures you adore, don’t make them experience that, put the apple down,” Amenadiel stated. Adam and Eve were not moving. They stared where Samael had been before. Samael walked towards them curiously, in awe of their lack of motion. They were not dead like the deer had been before, but were slowed down. He looked to his brother. They had been learning that each angel hosted an ability, and Samael was now seeing Amenadiel’s in action. He smiled, impressed at how powerful his brother was. “Amazing brother, did you know you could affect this world like this?” Samael asked, continuing to pace around the humans with curiosity fully in his gaze. “No… I did not…” Amenadiel said, just as amazed as his brother. Time passed slowly. Samael threw the apple up and caught it once more, turning the attention away from the humans as he pondered. “Brother, if Father loves these creatures so much and doesn’t wish them harm, then why would he have created this tree and placed it in their garden in the first place?” Samael questioned. “Perhaps it is so that they may learn the importance of obedience,” Amenadiel responded, holding out a hand to indicate that his brother should give him the apple. “Right,” Samael said. He strongly respected his older brother, and knew that he always knew what was best. Samael gave the apple to his brother, who placed it gently next to the tree. “Father loves you brother, but please be careful, I’m concerned with what some of our siblings are starting to say back home.” Amenadiel warned. “What is it that they are saying then dear brother?” Samael asked, curious as to what could possibly disturb his righteous brother. “That Father may have forgotten them. They say it is something you spoke of first,” Amenadiel said. “Father will never abandon you brother, do you not believe in Him?” Samael shook his head. “I have never said that, only that I can never impress him. All I’m asking for is a thank you, is that really so much to ask? I have helped these creatures, I’ve taught them how to fend for themselves, how to build structures, create art, sing, but Father remains silent. Does he not appreciate what I’ve done? They are his favorite creatures after all,” his shoulders rolled forward, and his gaze became forlorn. “If He still loves us, why doesn’t He ever express it?” Amenadiel placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder to comfort him. “I don’t know brother, but you should have more faith in His devotion to us. We are His children, beloved and holden unto Him. We share His home, whereas these poor creatures will never see the light of the city, we have that, and we have each other. Come home brother, please, spend time with the family that still cares for you,” Samael conceded to his brother’s request, and returned home, leaving Adam and Eve to their paradise, and the tree that caused them discomfort. _____ Heaven itself did not subside Samael’s desire for comfort. He learned from his brothers and sisters about all of their excursions traveling the stars of his design, and the worlds Father and Mother had created. They were all taken by the marvels of these creations, and all sang glory to their Parents’ names. Samael began to grow colder and more distant from them the more time he’d spent there. His siblings longed for him to concede the foolish notion that Father and Mother did not appreciate their work. They were enjoying the work of their children from afar, could they not simply celebrate as siblings for their accomplishments? The disquiet from Samael’s coldness began to affect his siblings closest to him. Azrael, and Raguel were the most susceptible to his woes. A new emotion had been created from the trio, sadness was born out of a loss for a time when their family had been close. They discussed it together, and confided in one another. This in turn led to others in the large family of heaven learning of it, and it spread amongst the heavens. It became a negative hole that spread in a place meant to be pure and bright. Other angels saw this negativity and knew it to not be meant for their divine home. Amenadiel was chief among those who began to worry over this ongoing despair that was beginning to wreck the halls of the pure and devout temple. It had all started with Samael, the one who shone the brightest, now tainting this place with darkness. He longed to appease his brother whom he loved so dearly, but every time he tried it was Samael’s stubbornness that kept him from understanding how Father and Mother’s silence could be a good thing. There came a day that Samael no longer could stand in Heaven without being overwhelmed by these feelings of abandonment. He chose to return to Earth, this time not to appease his Father or Mother, but to be amongst the creatures who longed for his companionship. _______ Eve and Adam were in their shelter when he returned. They were intertwined with one another, lost in the moment, and failed to see the angel standing before them. For some reason unbeknownst to him Samael felt he was intruding on something sacred, and private. He chose not to let himself be seen, and decided to wander and let them finish their courtship in private. As he wandered the forests of Eden, he came across the tree once more. Still bearing its many fruits. He was aware of the seasons that took place outside of the garden, and had seen how the environment had changed throughout the centuries to now be cold, snowy and dark. The dinosaurs that once roamed the rest of the planet were now replaced by mammals similar to creatures of the garden, who held lots of fur and weight to protect themselves from the harsh environments. Yet Eden never changed. It remained pure, and untouched by time or elements. There was a peace here that Samael could no longer even find at home, a place he once revered. The sadness that had slowly grown in him began to well into his throat, as he started to release it in song. A pained lullaby that was new and different rang from a voice that had only ever sung of praise and joy before then. He did not know how long he sat there, relishing in the release of emotion that had overcome him, but he did see that the sun had begun to set. A gentle hand touched his soft feathers, and he turned to see Eve, who had wetness in her eyes as she comforted him, not knowing what it was she felt. Samael leaned into the touch, and tried to find peace there near her. He noticed the apple he had picked before still resting next to the tree unspoiled although it had been years since it had been touched. It was as unnatural, as these feelings appeared to be. They held each other, before giving into the passion still present between them. On release, Samael found the comfort he had so desperately sought, given by this creature whom his Father had come to care for over himself. ______ When morning came he awoke, still holding Eve, until Adam came and found them there. She stood up quickly. Samael looked between the two of them curiously as to why they were reacting the way they were. “Why are you here?” Adam asked. “I came to visit, like I’ve always done,” Samael said confused. “Not you. Eve.” Adam indicated her. “We were with one another, why did you come to be with him?” Eve looked between the two of them. “It's what we’ve always done,” she said. “No, it's different isn’t it?” Adam asked. Samael noticed an odd cracking in the man’s voice as he began pleading with Eve. “Do you rather lay with him than I?” he asked. Eve looked at Samael lost in thought, and did not give an answer. Samael remained confused as to why Adam was reacting the way that he had. “Would you care to join us?” he asked. “What?” Adam responded. “Would you care to lay with us?” He asked again simply. “I felt things last night Adam. Things I’ve never felt before. I wanted to lay with Samael,” Eve responded finally, looking at Samael, and stroking his feathers playfully. Adam’s eyes became wet, similar to how Eve’s had been the night before. He shook his head and walked off without another word. “What’s happening?” Samael asked curiously to Eve. “I’m not sure,” Eve replied. She looked at him in the same way he had seen her look at Adam the night the two had danced. Suddenly feeling an unease settling in his stomach he turned back to the tree. The apples still hanging temptingly from the branches. He stood to pick the same apple off the ground, and examined it once more, the sweet smell of it tempting his growing hunger. “What is it like outside the garden?” Eve asked. “Where do you go when you leave us?” Samael looked at her, the same feeling locked in his gut as he pondered a response. “The Silver City. It’s nothing to crow about really, once it was where I felt appreciated and respected. Lately it has felt empty and quiet, even though the angels still sing, and the halls are forever full.” he said. “What changed?” Eve asked, touching the soft skin of the apple he held. “Father and Mother remain silent, as they prefer to spend their time watching you.” Samael said. “I appreciate and respect you Samael,” she took her hand away from the apple, and began to play with Samael’s arms. He paused for a moment, an idea striking him. “Outside the garden there is a whole planet untouched by humanity. We could go there together, start something new with just each other, away from Father’s prying eyes” He offered her the apple. “What do you desire?” Samael asked. He felt a strange sensation as he waited for a response. Was it her will that he sensed when he asked the question? She gave into his question fascinated by his whole being, “I want to be with you Samael,” She looked down at the apple he’d offered her, and proceeded to take a sensuous bite. After swallowing she fully wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him closer to her still naked form. They kissed passionately, the apple falling to the ground once more, as the first sin was born from a rush of lust that threatened to destroy the paradise they stood amongst. _____ They made their way to the gates of the Garden. It was encompassed by plants that reached all the way up to a towering walls of stone, an opening Samael had witnessed the centuries he had flown here was wedged between where two stone walls had met. They came close to the entrance and Samael stopped, seeing the cold harshness of the outside, knowing the creatures out there were prepared for the harsh environment, while Eve, lovely as she was, stood next to him bare skinned. “Do you still hunt?” Samael asked. Eve looked at the path before them, then looked back up to him. “Yes, why?” He grabbed her hand, “We need to find the hairiest beast here and hunt it so that we can have food for our trek, can you do that while I start a fire for the night,” Eve looked at him curiously, “There are beasts out there,” she said. “Yes, but it’s cold out there and you need protection from the elements,” Samael explained. She looked at him blankly, clearly not understanding. That feeling in his stomach returned as he asked her again to find a creature with lots of fur. She obliged him and wandered into the garden to hunt. Samael began to collect fruits and berries that could help them. As the hours passed and darkness began to creep in, Adam eventually appeared, drawn to the light Samael always seemed to possess even at night time. Samael stopped picking the blueberries and looked at Adam curiously. “Would you care to join us tonight?” he asked. “Why her?” Adam asked. “I’m inviting you as well. Are you well Adam, you have been acting unusual lately,” “Why do you want her? Why not someone, anyone else?” Adam continued to move towards him. “Adam, I’m not playing favorites. That’s Dad’s jam, not mine. What is distressing you? What is it you desire?” Adam paused, mesmerized by Samael’s gaze. Samael felt that odd tingling sensation as he somehow felt Adam concede to his question. “I want her, only her. I want you to go away and leave us alone so that we can be happy, like we always were. But the way she looks at you, the way she holds you, it makes me feel like she will never want me again, and that feels…” The way he’d felt about his Father, the loss, the… sadness… it was present in Adam’s features as well. While he understood that feeling of sadness, the other sensation that was running through him was entirely new and unexpected. His stomach was tightening as he experienced guilt for the first time since his creation. It felt horrible, and he did not understand why or how it was happening, or how to make it go away. “She wishes to leave Adam, she wants to see more beyond this garden. I think you should join her. I’ve taught you about hunting, fishing, and other methods you will need to employ to survive, but I’ll need to teach you about clothing before you can both go. Eve is hunting at the moment, why don’t we start a fire and we can talk,” Samael offered, fighting back that tightening sensation that had now moved to his throat whenever he swallowed. Adam agreed. Soon after he had the fire started. Samael joined him and sat down. “Why do you want only her? Am I not worthy of you as well?” Samael asked as he began to stroke Adam’s arm, an action he had done numerous times with a pleasant response. This time Adam pulled away, seemingly distraught at the gesture. “It's not about you Samael. It’s about her wanting to leave me to be with you,” Adam said. “We never excluded you Adam, you just weren’t there last night that’s all, nothing about this is any different,” He remembered the way Eve had looked at him the previous night, the sharp tightening in his stomach returned. What if he was wrong? “I don’t believe that Samael. Although I don’t believe you had any bad intentions either, just know what I ask and keep it in mind for the future?” Adam asked. Samael nodded in understanding, agreeing to do his best. Eve returned with many numerous animals that sported fine, thick coats. Samael helped them skin the animals, and taught them of clothing and its use. Before the end of the next day both Adam and Eve were wearing fur for the first time. Samael tried to explain the harshness of weather, but the pair remained confused with the concept, it was simply something they would have to bear witness to. They were as prepared as they ever would be. Samael escorted them to the entrance of the garden. ___________ When they left Adam and Eve felt the coldness of the air threatening their bare skin. Beyond the wall there stood a mighty angel holding a long blade lit aflame by Samael many centuries ago in the kingdom of heaven when they were fledglings together. The blade was reputed to be able to cut through anything, including the gates of heaven itself. Gabriel’s eyes met Samael’s as he saw the two humans outside of the paradise that had been created specially for them, the most beloved of Father’s creations. They were shivering, and appeared weak and unprepared for the harshness of this new world. “Samael, brother, what have you done?” the archangel asked in horror. “No mortal being is ever allowed to enter or leave this place. It was an order given by Father shortly after its creation. Now that they have left, they can never return,” Adam and Eve looked to Samael with fear in their eyes. “Out here time and age are existent not eternal. They will wither and die. Is that what you sought for them?” Gabriel asked exacerbated by the ramifications that may come from this choice. “Gabriel, I am simply helping them achieve their desires.” Samael smiled proudly, clearly feeling no shame from the act “That is my gift from Father Gabriel. This is what they want, I helped them to make that choice. Father will finally see that I am worthy of his love for helping the humans make that leap which they never would have been able to do without me,” “Brother you are misguided. They will suffer for the choice that they have made today,” Gabriel sadly spoke. “I’ve done nothing wrong brother,” Samael said, taken aback by the hurtful words coming from his beloved brother. “I am sorry brother, what is done is done,” He looked to the humans with deep compassion and sorrow. “I am sorry, but you must leave here and never return,” Adam and Eve clung to each other. “This won’t be forever,” Samael said to them. “Take care of each other, and I will make sure you get back home one day, I promise,” Samael stood in shock as they did as Gabriel said and left the only home they had ever known, to a fruitless, cold and cruel world. He watched them on their journey, and turned to his brother. “Why would you do this to them?!” he asked, wetness streaming from his face. “That was their home, why would you cast them out? They have done nothing wrong!” “They chose to leave when it was made clear they weren’t allowed to brother. They sealed their own fate, this was Father’s command,” Gabriel explained. “I don’t believe that brother. If he loved them, he would never have abandoned them!” Samael said, when another new emotion was flowing through him, anger. “I’ll see what my siblings have to say about this!” His gossamer white wings unfurled as he made the trek to the heavens from where he was created. Gabriel stayed, following the orders of his Father loyally with concern for his brother’s future fate. ____________ In the halls of the Silver City, Samael explained his position. He described the unjust nature that had befallen the humans he closely regarded as friends. Many agreed with his plight, and argued with him that what was done had been unfair. They sided with him, as he argued again and again about how they had been abandoned, and were now making the wrong choices that were harming the creations Father had held so dear. The arguments continued for years, never fully gaining any ground, and heaven became infested with the anger, hatred, and pain that resulted from these feuds. One day Samael stood off in an alleyway, far from the throne of his Father where many of his brothers and sisters continued to sing His praise. He had finished speaking to Azrael on the topic when Amenadiel approached him. His brother had continued to be on Father’s side, always claiming that there was a larger purpose to Father’s actions, and his faith never wavered. “Brother, I am concerned with what I have been hearing,” Amenadiel spoke, pulling Samael into a hug, who did not reciprocate it. “Please stop with these wild accusations, you are tearing apart what makes this city Holy,” “Do I?” Samael, pushed him away violently. “Do I really brother? Am I that much of a nuisance to our home?!” his glare grew intense towards his brother at this accusation. Dark eyes glared menacingly. “If I’m that much of a bother, perhaps He should cast me aside like he did his precious humans!” he said, his voice rang loudly throughout the halls as angels nearby grew into silence. “I’m done speaking brother, I’ve had it,” he pushed past his brother and left the hallway, beckoning many of his siblings to his side. Gathering his siblings together as they had been discussing for weeks at this point, they collected weapons that had been assigned to them since near the beginning of time and decided to finally take action. Samael had decided that perhaps this would be the only way to receive his Father’s attention, and make it clear that many of the angels were not happy. He did it for them, and he did it for the humans who were unjustly cast from their paradise, a fate they never deserved. Father would pay for his treachery to the beings he had loved so deeply, to the family He had abandoned when they only sought his love. It was the day all of Heaven cried. The day war had been invented through rebellion, and the day Samael’s army was defeated by the other archangels of heaven. The beaten angels were placed upon the throne to be judged. Michael, highest of all of the angels looked over them in sadness. “Fighting has no place in the halls of heaven, and whilst many of you fought I feel as though you were deceived by only one among you who has spread false truths that have harmed our house,” Samael looked up towards his mighty brother, nothing but scorn emitting from his eyes. “Samael, you are the only one who is to be judged today. If the fighting begins again, know that the rest of you will be judged!” The silver angel watched as his brothers and sisters were released from their chains and flew away free, saddened by whatever fate fell their brother, the most beloved light in their skies. “Samael…” Michael began, voice ringing with a beautiful sorrow. “Your pride has been your downfall brother, you did not help the humans, and you have brought turmoil to your home.” “I did what I had to! What none of you had the guts to do brother! Don’t you see? He’s abandoned us! He stopped loving us long ago!” Samael objected. “Father loves you Samael, as do we all. You could never admit that you are wrong about any that which you spoke,” “Why won’t he just say it? Why isn’t he HERE?! Does he care so little about us brother? Why do you always follow whatever choices He makes for you? Let me go! I’ve done nothing wrong brother! Can’t you see that?” Samael pled to his brother, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Am I so horrible that I’m not worthy of your love either?” Michael shook his head, sorrow feeling his every being. “You are not worthy of this life brother. Father has commanded your sentence,” Samael watched, scared of what his brother would say next. The chains that bound him could not hide the shrinking of his figure, his pure white wings bound within them puffed and stretched, making appear larger, like a cat frightened of being caught. He wanted to run, to flee, life had been too short to see it end so abruptly when all he wanted was to be accepted. Everything in his body shivered uncontrollably as Michael approached. “Brother-” Samael began. “You are never to return Samael,” His brother spoke softly, as he placed one sorrow filled hand on the chains that bound the beloved Lightbringer. The chains grew heavy, and hot against Samael’s skin. His wrists burned as he felt the weight begin pulling him down. He fell, down into the abyss, through the heavens, past the stars that still shone brightly with his light, past the earth where he had treacherously aided the humans in leaving their own paradise, and into the fires of Hell where the demons resided, and would regard him in trepidation and fear as he created a new home for himself in a fiery damnation he could never fully escape.

Stratos’s Apartment, Siena - July 3rd, 1999   Rosalie Øllegaard was in a terribly good mood, all things considered.  The woman sauntered down the hall of the Siena flat humming softly to herself and thinking about the excitement of the previous day. She could feel the smooth silk of her short nightgown swish back and forth across her bare skin, bringing her mind back to one exciting event in particular. Raymond Reddington had snuck into her room, teased her into a frenzy,  and robbed her not only of speech, but of her panties. If she focused, Rosalie could still recall the feel of his heavy shaft rocking against her sensitive flesh without mercy, driving her right to the edge. God was that a thrilling and excruciating interlude . Rosalie had tossed and turned for hours afterward, trying to key down her roaring libido. She finally succumbed to her need in the early morning light, rocking against her trembling fingers until she was gasping and writhing beneath the sheets, her mind firmly fixed on the man down the hall. The young innkeeper grinned at the thought of her wanton behavior, a small giggle escaping her chest without warning. She planned to regale her early morning activities to Red as soon as possible, looking forward to the predatory look which would darken his handsome features. No, her cheery demeanor had nothing to do with her upcoming date with Raymond Reddington, nor his late night panty raid…or at least, that’s what she told herself. Thankfully, Rosalie reached her bedroom without encountering anyone. The house was quiet. The late-night festivities had left many of their household sleeping in, which suited her just fine. She strode casually into her bedroom, hanging her towel on the hook before wandering about the room to begin packing some of her things. They would be leaving Siena the following day for Greece, as Stratos had business which needed Raymond’s attention.  Rosalie was pleased at this, for she very much liked the debonaire Greek and his boyish charm. He was endlessly polite and terribly funny, a true joy to be around.  More than anything, however, she loved seeing the obvious friendship between Stratos and Raymond.  They were quite the sight, chortling and swaggering about like a pair of bantam cocks in a hen yard. The women wandering about Siena certainly took notice, giggling and whispering behind their fans to each other as the men dealt, bet, and bribed the week away.  Rosalie couldn’t blame them.  The men were certainly handsome, not to mention their old fashioned charm. Their gate and stature held an aura of power and masculinity which beckoned the attention of every female in a few block’s radius. Rosalie had pointed this out one afternoon, laughing merrily as Stratos preened under the comment. There were endless stories being bandied about between the two.  Most were meant to tease or embarrass each other for the group’s enjoyment, however, some were truly wild and enthralling.  Rosalie had listened to each and every one, giggling at their shenanigans and commiserating with their foibles. Another giggle escaped her as she pulled out her overnight bag and set it on the bed. From the corner of her eye, Rosalie noticed something out of place. A white card lay propped up on the bed, plain and unassuming.  The woman plucked it from the coverlet with a wide grin. Written in a familiar, neat script, was a note from Raymond. Third Bay, Fifth Shelf, White Bow. -R Rosalie sighed excitedly, the message sending her scurrying for the lounge. Raymond’s deep, soothing drawl could be heard within, making the little woman’s stomach flip as she silently turned the handle.  The quiet room was glowing pink in the morning sun, casting a rosy light over its sole occupant. Red sat behind the large desk, talking with an associate, pinching the bridge of his nose. His shoulders were tense and his usually warm voice had become clipped and sharp. A rueful smile twitched at Rosalie’s lips. He looked awfully surly.  An overwhelming playfulness came over her, determined to give the man something to smile about. She strode casually toward the third bay of books, garnering his undivided attention.  Raymond eyed the scantily-clad form as she sauntered along without a care in the world, his voice dropping lower of its own accord while he watched her hips sway this way and that.  She was in the same negligee as the night before, and from the looks of it, hadn’t sought out any lingerie after he had unceremoniously stolen hers. The knowledge made his cock twitch. Rosalie stopped in front of the requisite bay of books and cast her eyes upward. There, on the fifth shelf, was a thick tome with a white ribbon tied in a neat bow. She reached up onto her tiptoes, wiggling slightly as she tried to reach the book.  Raymond couldn’t help the small smile playing on his lips.  “No, go ahead, I’m listening,” he lied to the man on the other line. Red was far too preoccupied with the hem of the negligee inching its way north, ready to give him a long-awaited peak at the prize beneath. Having a good idea where his eyes were, Rosalie spread her legs minutely, enjoying the hell out of the sharp inhale which issued from behind her.  ‘ Damnable little minx, ’ he thought. He longed for a glimpse of the little pink treasure residing just out of view. Tilting his head to the side, Red leaned till he was all but lying his head on the desk, mentally willing the garment to move just a fraction of an inch higher.  Rosalie let out an amused scoff as she realized there was no way she could reach the book. She danced about on the tips of her toes, attempting to gain purchase on the elusive item, blissfully unaware she was driving a certain fugitive out of his mind. Taking pity on her fruitless pursuits and his throbbing erection, Raymond stood, leaving the phone face up on the desk. His associate continued to blather on about some nonsense issue in Singapore while Red’s attention shifted to more exciting possibilities. “May I assist?” He rumbled, appearing behind her and catching her off guard.  Rosalie leapt away from the shelf, bouncing off his solid chest. “Oh, um, yes. Please.” She added, her expression sheepish. Rather than reaching up for the book, the man bent down and wrapped his arms about her thighs. Rosalie squealed her surprise when he lifted her skyward. Her hands dropped to his broad shoulders, stabilizing herself with his solid frame. Raymond smiled up at her, enjoying the feel of the soft, warm bundle in his arms.  Rosalie looked down, pleased to find him in a better mood. Forgetting her task for the moment, she bent and placed her lips to his. Her nimble fingers stroked through his hair, sending goosebumps along his neck. Raymond responded in kind, deepening the kiss and sucking her bottom lip between his teeth. The action pulled a tremulous noise from his captive, her hands moving to run up and down his back and shoulders. Red hummed his contentment, swiping her kiss-swollen lips with his tongue.  Rosalie opened to him, moaning when the muscle danced playfully with hers. “Red?” A voice could be heard calling quietly from the phone.  “He’s busy.” The woman sighed against his mouth wrapping her legs possessively about the man’s waist. Red chuckled darkly and pressed her into the bookshelf. His mouth continued to explore hers, enjoying each little mew and sigh he garnered along the way. “I take it you found my note?” He questioned heatedly, carrying his lips down her neck.  “Y-yes,” she stammered as his tongue flicked languidly back and forth over the spot where her neck and shoulder met.  “ Raymond… ” He had found a sweet spot, and the woman positively squirmed in praise of his discovery. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” His sharp teeth nipped the same spot as a cascade of goosebumps rippled along her skin.  “ Yes ” She hissed her pleasure as his warm hands gripped the backs of her thighs. The tips of his fingers were so close to her sex, it made the wet little alcove throb painfully.  “You’re burning up, little dove.” Red purred knowingly, his fingers digging into the giving flesh of her bare backside. He was trying like hell to hold himself in check, but her body was calling his name. He could feel the heat rolling off her, and the knowledge her panties were tucked safely in his jacket pocket only added to his delirious desire. “...Ray?” came the voice from the phone. “Duty calls,” pouted the woman, her tongue still rolling sensually against his. “It can damn well wait.” Insisted Raymond, fully intent on the task at hand. He deepened the kiss, groaning his pleasure when Rosalie nipped him in response. Her little hands stroked his neck, helping them both to cool their ardour. Slowly, they shifted to a softer, gentler exploration. Rosalie’s nose nudged Raymond’s chin, exposing his jaw and throat to her affection. She peppered the stubble with soft kisses, humming her contentment as she did so. The affectionate gesture soothed him further, quieting the roar of his arousal to a soft purr.  Red realized as a book shifted behind her, he was rapidly developing a habit of pinning the woman to any and all available surfaces. The thought made him laugh, the warm sound vibrating against Rosalie’s lips pleasantly. “What, pray tell, has you so amused?” She asked, reaching a hand up to card lazily through his hair. “I seem to have developed a fondness for backing you into hard objects and ravishing you against them.” He noted, shifting more of her weight to his arms. “Are you uncomfortable?” Rosalie snorted her amusement. “I am perfectly fine, and as a matter of record, I very much like being stuck between you and any available hard place.” “Is that so?” He barely held his intrigue, eyeing her rosy lips and pleasantly disheveled curls with a serious facade. “I didn’t realize you enjoyed such antics.” Her long lashes batted coyly up at him. “If you stop pinning me to things, Raymond Reddington, I’ll be terribly cross with you.” Red chuckled, brushing his nose against hers. “Duly noted, little dove. We’re still on for tonight?” The dark grey eyes sparked with excitement. “I’ll be there with bells on.”  She reached for the book with the bow above her head, pulling it out gingerly.  “ And a wealth of knowledge about...” she glanced at the cover, “...ranunculus?” Her amusement grew by leaps and bounds. The quip made Raymond laugh, a deep, sultry sound that rumbled joyously against the young innkeeper’s skin. “Your wit is dazzling, but I have to see to a bit of business today.” He grumbled, turning and shifting her carefully back to the floor. “Something thrilling, no doubt, judging by your phone call.” She teased, gesturing at the phone still lying on his desk. The associate still hadn’t given up, echoing Reddington’s name again as both fugitives sniggered. Rosalie slid down Red’s tall frame, her night dress riding up ever so slightly. Raymond made the mistake of looking up into the mirror hanging on the wall behind them, catching an unadulterated peek at one firm, rounded cheek of her backside. The sight made him ache all over again. He silently cursed his lot in life as he stared dazedly at the expanse of pristine, soft skin.  Damn it all to hell.  Raymond could feel his traitorous body responding all too readily to the view. Another giggle escaped Rosalie as she attempted to shift her attire. She moved to shoo Red’s hand away, but he dodged her expertly, his large palm sneaking past to cup the exposed mound. Rosalie arched into his grip, a soft groan issuing from her throat. The man grunted his desire, watching his masculine fingers curl into the delectable curve, gripping it possessively. “I can’t take much more of this.” He vowed, eyes never leaving the exquisite view in the mirror. He kneaded the supple curve once more before reluctantly shifting the hem of her negligee back down and kissing her temple. “I’m picking you up at seven.” He decided. “How about six?” Rosalie joked, hoisting her book more securely in her arms. “Perfect.” Red responded casually, smirking at the surprised look on her face. “It will make the tedium of today go by so much faster.” Rosalie beamed at him, reaching on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. “It’s a date.” She sighed. “Go, read your book, have some coffee and relax today.” He advised, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.  Rosalie’s eyes softened as she looked at him, his suggestion sounding delightful. “I’ll bring you a cup.” She offered, heading for the door. Red nodded his thanks and picked up the burner phone with a sigh. “Sorry Max, dozed off for a moment. You were saying?” Rosalie stifled a laugh as she stepped out into the hall, catching part of his poor cover story.  She set about returning to her room, intent on getting ready for the day. She admired the book’s cover while she walked. It held illustrations of several flowers including bluebell, lilac, and tulips. The young woman broke out into another grin as she tugged on the bow, eager to see why Raymond had lead her to this particular text. Rosalie padded into the room, nose in her book, heading for her wardrobe; the woman had just stepped over the threshold when something caught her attention.  She took one step backward out of the closet to see a large assortment of flowers in a tall vase waiting on the dressing table. The sight elicited a delighted gasp from Rosalie, who wasted no time in crossing the room to examine the beautiful array. It was truly a gorgeous arrangement, brimming with black-eyed white anemone, lush silverston roses, and palest blush ranunculus. The flowers were magnificent, creating a unique and fragrant bouquet unlike anything Rosalie had received before. The book Raymond had given her suddenly made much more sense. It was an encyclopedia of sorts, showing illustrations of hundreds of flowers, various information about the genus, its uses, and the meaning behind each bloom. Another white card was tucked in the page titled, ‘Anemone.’ My Dear Rosalie, A little token to entertain you in my absence. Looking forward to tonight, -R The note made Rosalie’s entire body flush and her insides squirm excitedly. Before she could settle into her intriguing task, Rosalie dressed and went to grab a large cup of coffee per Raymond’s suggestion. Horace and Dembe were already eating breakfast in the kitchen. Both men grinned knowingly at the chipper woman when she appeared. “Good morning, boys.” She practically sang, pinching Horace’s side and giving Dembe a playful peck on the cheek. “What have I said about trying to corrupt Dembe?” A deep voice accused from the doorway.  Rosalie squeaked, turning and beaming at Raymond, who practically prowled into the kitchen. She pulled out another cup and poured him some coffee, holding it out with a smile. “Long time no see.” She crooned. He took the cup gratefully, taking a long sip of the hot liquid as he flashed her a wink. Rosalie glanced surreptitiously up at him. “I forgot to say so earlier, because, well…” “My tongue was in your mouth?” Red supplied in a low purr, cocking his head confidently. He had rather enjoyed their rambunctious interlude against the bookcase. Horace looked up, utterly appalled, as Dembe’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. Rosalie blushed scarlet and nodded, her dark eyes dancing with mirth. “I wanted to say thank you for the book, and the flowers, they’re absolutely exquisite.” Raymond’s lips twitched into a warm smile as he wrapped himself around her feminine frame. “I’m glad they’re to your liking. I trust you’ve unearthed the purpose of the book?” “I have, you clever man. You certainly know how to keep a girl occupied.” “Sweetheart, you have no idea.” He laughed, thoroughly enjoying the double entendre. His eyes flitted up to meet the dark, chastising orbs of Rosalie’s guard. “Give her enough books to build a castle.” Raymond lied smoothly, his eyebrows quirking upward as he gave the man an innocent nod. While still very much in the guard’s line of view, Red met Rosalie’s gaze and mouthed emphatically, ‘ Not at all what I meant.’ The innkeeper covered her mouth, trying desperately to smother her laughter. “You’ll have to tell me what you’ve learned tonight.” He continued, enjoying her amusement. “Is there going to be a quiz?” Rosalie quipped, tentatively nuzzling his jaw, unsure how he would feel about showing such affection in front of the boys. Sensing her train of thought, Raymond leaned forward, encouraging such familiarity. “Multiple choice-” his breath hitched as she placed her lips to his pulse point, “and a few essay questions.” Horace mimed vomiting into his bowl, earning a scowl from his charge. Waylaying the upcoming battle, Red refilled Rosalie’s cup and nudged it toward her.  “Read your book and relax today.” He reminded, “I’ll be here at 6 to pick you up.” “Is this your way of telling me to behave?” She teased with an impish eyebrow raise. Red grinned, kissing her once more before shooing her back toward her coffee. “Ready, Dembe?” The young man turned and nodded, ruffling Rosalie’s curls before striding after him. The innkeeper quickly snatched her coffee and headed for her room. “Rosie,” began Horace, feeling he should talk with her about Reddington. “ No ” She responded merrily, pattering out of the kitchen. “No?” Horace called after her, leaning back in his chair. “No.” She agreed, “I have a puzzle to solve, you have bacon to eat. We’ll talk on the way to Jacopo’s for lunch.” Her voice echoed down the long hallway before the man heard the snap of her door closing. The bodyguard shook his head, laughing reluctantly. The little hellcat was on a mission, and she’d be damned if he got in her way. In the quiet of her room, Rosalie finished the last of her packing, leaving out clothes for the following day, any necessities, and most importantly, her dress for that night. The opaque garment bag hung over the door to the wardrobe, waiting patiently. A knock sounded on the door, followed by Stratos’ voice. “May I come in?” The woman answered in the affirmative, as the older man strode casually into the room. “Good morning, Stratos,” she smiled warmly, “Did you sleep well?” “I did, thank you.” His boyish gaze turned to the bouquet on the dressing table, “I see Raymond has taken to the task of pursuing you with gusto.”  Rosalie blushed, carefully bringing the large arrangement  to the console table at the end of the bed. “He has, he’s been very thoughtful.” Stratos beamed at the blooms, reaching out to cup one of the pale purple roses. “The man always has been a hopeless romantic.” He chuckled roguishly, “I was sad to hear you two won’t be joining us for dinner in Onda tonight; but upon hearing the reason why, I was terribly pleased.”The young woman tittered nervously, “Yes, we have a bit of a prior engagement.” The statement made Stratos laugh heartily. “From what I’ve heard, it's been a long time coming.” “My goodness, do Dembe and Horace do anything but gossip like little hens while Raymond and I are distracted?” She asked, garnering another laugh from him. “No, and you two have been very...distracted while you’ve been here.” teased Stratos, “I have learned a great many things.” Rosalie shook her head for his amusement. “I am glad you two are pursuing a bit of romance.” The man murmured thoughtfully, still eyeing the flowers. “I’ve known Ray for quite some time, but I have yet to see him have this simple joy others are so easily afforded.” Rosalie’s eyes softened at the statement, unable to school her expression any longer. “I’m terribly nervous.” She confided in a quiet voice. Stratos dropped his hand to his pocket, grinning broadly at her expression. “Raymond loves puzzles. Intricacies and duality are endlessly appealing to him, as they are part of him. This comes out in spades when he is showing affection for someone. He will learn you. Will know your every want, what it takes to win your heart, to earn your trust. From what I understand, you are cut from the same cloth.” “Oh?” she asked, not sure what he meant.  “Dembe has intimated you have the same proclivity for knowing the man’s wants before he gives them voice.”  A pleased smile broke across Rosalie’s face, confirming the tale told by Red’s bodyguard.  Stratos’s eyes softened at her reaction, finding it quite endearing. “I thought so. You have nothing to worry about piccola, you will be in the best of hands. If anyone is worthy of such a lover, it’s Reddington.” Rosalie’s cheeks flushed a vibrant pink as she took in his words. “Now, being my clever self, I have unearthed where Ray is taking you.” Chortled Stratos in a conspiratorial tone, “Do you have a gown?” Rosalie nodded with a small laugh, striding over to the wardrobe and unzipping the garment bag, nervously awaiting the man’s verdict. Stratos loped gracefully over with a look of boyish delight. He reached out a hand to touch the smooth silk, a deep chuckle building in his chest. “Oh, piccola,” he sighed, reaching an arm around Rosalie’s shoulders, “Try not to kill him, will you? I very much enjoy working with the man.” Rosalie’s eyes widened fretfully, but Stratos reassured her, “I only jest, it is perfect for tonight.”  He zipped the bag closed, still chortling to himself. Raymond would certainly have his work cut out for him with the young woman. Stratos wasn’t sure she even realized how much the beautiful gown was going to torment him.  Stratos stood clapping his hands together once before patting Rosalie’s cheek fondly. “I must go assist your love interest with a bit of business, I’ll ensure he’s back in time for your date.” Rosalie nodded and thanked him as he strode from the room, leaving her to relax in peace. Finally, she was able to pull out the book Raymond had given her. Climbing onto her bed, she took a sip of her coffee before setting the book into her lap and opening it. She turned to the section on anemone, the crisp page showed the flower in a variety of its colors. The ones in the arrangement were alabaster white except for the dark bluish black of its stamen.  According to the book, anemone was symbolic of anticipation, the excitement of what was to come. The passage made Rosalie smile broadly.  There certainly was a great deal of anticipation for tonight. She was practically vibrating with impatience, willing the clock to move faster. Rosalie allowed the tip of her finger to trace the illustration in the book before reaching up and touching the real thing. The petals were silky soft and curled ever so slightly upward like little teacups. Excited to see what other meaning lay within the beautiful bouquet, Rosalie selected another flower at random. Tucked prominently in the lush bundle were several tea roses Rosalie recognized as Silverstons. Silverston roses were of a pale purple color with a unique silvery hue.  Having grown roses at Break Maiden, Rosalie knew these were incredibly difficult to find. She couldn’t help but wonder why Raymond went through all of the trouble of getting them. Her curiosity roaring to the fore, she turned to the section on roses.  Roses were a classic symbol of love, but there were very different meanings ascribed to each color. White meant innocence, while red meant love and desire. Rosalie thumbed through the colors, finally locating purple.  Purple roses were a symbol of enchantment, of love at first sight.  Rosalie’s heart squeezed at the thought. She had known Raymond was an old fashioned romantic, it was evident in the way he carried himself and how he interacted with women. What she hadn’t known was there was a huge difference between observing those behaviors and being on the receiving end of them.  Raymond had taken something as common as flowers before a first date and elevated the whole tradition by choosing blooms that not only looked stunning together, but also had a wealth of meaning laced into them. She was overwhelmed and delighted by the level of intricate detail the man had put into the simple gesture. She found the symbology of the remaining flowers and greenery without much ado, and by the time she had reached the last one, her eyes were shining with emotion. She now had a better understanding of why he had been so adamant on dating her. This was who he was, at his very foundations. Raymond was kind, chivalrous, affectionate, and thoughtful. He had been so deliberate on which flowers were in the bouquet and had led her to a book on their meanings so his intentions with her were very clear.  He didn’t just want to bed her. He wanted a relationship, in every sense of the word. He was willing to wait until the moment was right for them, and not one second earlier. He could see their relationship being so much more than just physical desire, and he wanted Rosalie to understand his intent before tonight.  Raymond Reddington wanted to woo her , she realized with a grin.  The young woman leaned back into the pillows, gazing in misty affection at the blooms. It was a stunning arrangement, and Raymond had put so much thought and romance into the gesture, it made her heart thrum with appreciation. She turned and snagged her satellite phone, dialing the familiar number. Dembe’s calm voice echoed over the connection. “Rosalie.” “Dembe, is he already in the meeting?” She asked, nibbling her bottom lip. “No, we just arrived.” He held the phone out to Raymond, “Your lady calls.”  His tone was teasing, but the young man immediately stepped out of the vehicle, giving them a moment’s privacy. “The florist didn’t sneak anything crude in there like carnations, I hope.” The rumbling voice carried through the line, garnering a tinkling laugh from the other end. “No, no carnations.  I just wanted to say thank you again.” Her voice was soft and warm, “The flowers are just lovely, and so incredibly thoughtful, and...” He could hear her fidgeting on the other end.  “And...I just cannot wait for tonight.” The man beamed triumphantly. He had indeed been quite persnickety about the flowers in the arrangement, seeking to tell her of his intentions and his excitement in his own way. The florist had been rather irritated with him by the end of it, truth be told. Raymond had a sneaking suspicion the man didn’t get many three a.m. calls demanding silverston roses and silver brunia.  He had still gotten the rare blooms, calling in a favor to an associate from Warsaw. He was terribly pleased she was so appreciative of the gesture as a whole. “Shall we move it up to five?” He quipped, delighted to hear that tinkling laugh again. “Yes, please.” She sighed, wanting the day to fly by. Raymond perked up at her immediate agreement, for he hadn’t expected it. A fond smile lit his features as he realized he’d been waiting for a partner like this for some time. Someone who didn’t question or manipulate their emotions and just voiced what they felt. Someone who was open with their affection and their desire. His deep chuckle resonated through the connection, making Rosalie bite her lip and grin at the ceiling. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?” He crooned softly. “Too long.” Rosalie agreed, enjoying the mental picture of Raymond in the sleek black sedan, murmuring intimately into the phone. Dembe knocked twice on the window, alerting him to the arrival of the other party. “I’ll let you get to your meeting.” smiled Rosalie, hearing the telltale noise. “Good luck.” “Until tonight, my dear.” The connection ended and Raymond peered thoughtfully down at the phone. It had felt so delightfully normal, so incredibly ordinary. Sending her flowers, kissing her that morning, her calling simply to be sweet and to wish him luck, it made Red’s insides squirm pleasantly. The man wondered if this was what other people experienced on a day to day basis. Having someone of his own was quite nice.  Like the early days of their partnership, Raymond was marveling at how easily he could get used to having Rosalie with him in such a capacity. Stepping out of the car, he handed the phone back to Dembe. “Would you mind being our detail for tonight? She’s much more comfortable when it’s just the three of us.” The younger man grinned at him. “Not at all, my friend.” ********************************************************************************************************************************************** Stratos’s Apartment, Siena - Early Evening   “Where’s Rosalie?” Raymond asked, removing his hat and stepping into the cool kitchen. Horace’s dark eyes glanced up momentarily before returning to his book. “Upstairs getting ready, we got back from Jacopo’s an hour or two ago.” “Anything eventful to report?” Man’s tanned face crinkled in amusement. “Not unless you want me to spoil the surprise of her attire tonight, which Rosalie has assured me she will have my left bollock for if I do.” He continued, “She and Marquesa were making a few last minute alterations.” Raymond winced. “Is Marquesa the one I have to thank for that damn romper?” Horace let out a barking laugh. “She certainly had a hand in it.” “My God, I’m going to come back from this date a broken man, aren’t I?” Red asked, the joyful tone in his voice incredibly amusing. The bodyguard looked up at him, his jaw tight and his lips pursed. “Rosalie… Well, she certainly doesn’t do anything halfway.” He bit back a grin, patting the man on the shoulder before heading to check on his charge.  “She says go with the taupe suit, by the way.” Red nodded, pouring himself a drink before heading upstairs, his heart pounding like a freight train within his chest. He pulled the light suit from the closet, laying it out on the bed before heading for the master bath. Once he was showered and his libido had keyed down, the man set about getting dressed for their date. As he donned a fresh shirt, he settled into a more purposeful mood.  He and the little blonde down the hall had come a long way to get to this point. It was the culmination of a long year’s worth of fighting what now seemed inevitable. She was his, and he was going to prove it tonight.  Raymond had strode confidently over the lines they had drawn, intent on wooing the woman in every sense of the word.  He would become her lover, but his ambitions didn't stop there.  Red wanted to be her closest friend and confidant.  He wanted to convince Rosalie she was safe with him.  He wanted to show her the man he held carefully guarded within, for her to well and truly know him.  He wanted her to see the depths of love to which he was capable. It was a different Raymond Reddington who donned the suit tonight, and he was determined to win her love in return. Down the hall, Rosalie fussed in the mirror once more, not entirely convinced of her attire. The dress she chose was daring, even with the modifications. She and Marquesa had shortened the straps to bring the neckline higher, and lowered the split in the leg so her entire hip wasn’t on display. She thought the garment fit her very well, she just hoped the fugitive down the hall would like it too.  With a nervous sigh, she grabbed her clutch and headed for the door.  Horace was stood in the doorway, chortling at her fussing about like a hen. “Oh, shut up.” She growled, second guessing the dress all over again. “I’ve just realized in the past ten minutes, I haven’t been on a date in a few years.” “How the hell did you go without a date for several years?” “It wasn’t several ,” Rosalie snipped her pique, “and I was rather busy, mind, building my network and making sure I didn’t die .” Horace shook his head ruefully, “Imagine, forgoing sex for the sake of business.” “I never said-” Rosalie halted her statement, catching herself before she said something too revealing. Too late. “ Really ?” her guard practically howled, his surprise evident. “Florian Armel’s sainted pride and joy, a wicked little rapscallion like the rest of us?” The ridiculous statement made Rosalie burst out laughing. “You know what? I’m rather proud.” Confessed Horace, “I didn’t think you had it in you.” Rosalie scowled at this, “What on earth gave you the impression I was such a prude?” “I…” The bodyguard looked confusedly at her, “I have no idea.”  He wrinkled his nose, suddenly looking like someone’s old babushka. “Oh saints alive, is this where I find out you’re some kind of insatiable she-devil? If I find you and Reddington in every available corner-” The young woman scoffed indelicately, applying a quick swipe of mascara in the mirror. “There are much more exciting ways to find out I’m an insatiable she-devil. All of which can be avoided by you learning to knock .”  Horace grinned wolfishly, “Just try not to give the old man a heart attack, ok Rosie?” Her eyes narrowed moodily at him, “He’s not old, and I’m not trying to kill him. Why does everyone keep saying that?” “Could’ve fooled me,” quipped the bodyguard, ignoring the rhetorical question. “With that dress, I could see this evening going either way.” Rosalie looked nervously down at her attire. “Oh no... It’s not too much, is it?”  She fidgeted about, turning this way and that in the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically. “The dress is perfect.” Soothed Horace, patting her shoulder fondly. He stood beside her, catching her dark eyes in the mirror with his obsidian ones.  “It takes a very particular woman to stand toe to toe with Reddington. The woman wearing this dress? She is the only woman I would believe capable of walking at his side without living in his shadow. It’s perfect Rosie.” The young innkeeper rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes misting slightly. “I just want tonight to go well.” She confided, her nerves getting the better of her. Horace nodded knowingly, “It’s going to be fine, this is just like those late night excursions you’ve been engaging in for the past year. The only difference being, this time you know you’re dating.” The woman laughed at the little jab, patting Horace’s cheek in thanks. He was right, she was being ridiculous. Rosalie’s nerves didn’t return until it was time to meet Raymond. She strode through the hall toward the staircase, her heart hammering in her chest. When she descended the stairs into the foyer, it was not to the playful, facetious Raymond Reddington who always accompanied their late-night shenanigans. This man was someone else entirely. He looked at her with a new emotion, something honest and impassioned. They had lowered the barriers separating them, opening the door to the possibility of what they could be, together. It was a new beginning, frightening and thrilling at the same time. Raymond understood what Horace had meant the moment Rosalie stepped out onto the top of the stairs. His gaze travelled hungrily up her form, utterly shell shocked at her beauty. The dress was a magnificent creation, perfect for an evening out on a warm, Italian summer night. It had a clean, simple cut with no beading or embellishments. A small v neckline cradled her ample breasts while thin, crossing straps left her delicate shoulders on full display.  What truly floored Red was the color. The silky material shone softly, like liquid metal.  It was as if someone had poured rose gold over her form, following the nip of her waist into the full curve of her hips in one uninterrupted river of glimmering fabric. A generous gap parted on one side, allowing a tiny glimpse of her beautiful legs with every step. The overall effect was positively stunning.  “ Exquisite .” Raymond breathed, watching her saunter gracefully toward him, a warm smile playing at her lips. “Too much for a first date?” She asked, dropping her eyes to the garment. “No.” Red assured her, reaching out and pulling her close. A low, rumbling growl snuck out of his throat as he ran the backs of his fingers up and down her waist.  Raymond’s adam’s apple bobbed as he caught the outline of a tight little nipple perking up against the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight and his thumb immediately sought out the stiff peak, brushing it this way and that.  Rosalie gasped softly, pressing into his outstretched hand  “You’re going to torment me all night, aren’t you?” He asked with a grin.  He couldn’t imagine a sweeter form of torture. “Just a little.” Sighed Rosalie, her tone playful as she arched closer to his skillful hands. ************************************************************************************************************************************************************ The drive took only a few minutes, the airstrip they had arrived on earlier that week materializing around them. “We’re taking the jet?” asked Rosalie, her surprise evident. Raymond cocked his head, smiling serenely at the bird. “We are. I don’t know about you, but I have no interest in Jacopo, Stratos, or any other residents of Siena joining us tonight.” The green eyes shifted to her, glinting in amused sincerity. The young woman flushed with pleasure. She had truthfully been worried about such an occurrence, and had hoped Raymond would pick somewhere out of the way, but this…this was unprecedented. The effort he was putting forth to ensure their date was perfect was so overwhelming it made her tummy flutter.  Rosalie’s lips broke into a bright smile, “My, my, you’ve thought of everything haven’t you?” The man beside her let out a sensual chuckle. “I told you last night, I have been looking forward to this for quite some time.” The simple comment made Rosalie’s stomach backflip all over again as Red stepped casually from the car. He came around to her door, opening it in a gentlemanly fashion before holding a hand out to her. The deep grey eyes moved up his arm, her hand reaching out to grasp the offered support. The action warmed Raymond from the inside out, urging him to pull her close once she exited the vehicle. “I adore you.” He crooned, nuzzling her cheek in open affection while his strong arms snaked around her curvaceous frame. Rosalie giggled, kissing his cheek gently before looping her arm through his. “The feeling is very much mutual, darling.” The pair moved around the car and headed toward the plane. Dembe was quietly grinning at his shoes, attempting to give them some semblance of privacy.  Rosalie reached out and threaded her other arm through his. “Come along, sweetheart, you have the unfortunate job of being our third wheel again.” Her tone was teasing, and she was glad to see the young bodyguard fall into step with them, laughing softly at her joke. “I’m happy to assist, but if you start making moon eyes at each other I’m leaving you for the cockpit.” “Too late.” Rosalie grinned slyly at the younger man before batting her long lashes at Raymond. Red simply chuckled, reaching out to thumb the woman’s chin. They ascended the short set of stairs into the jet, laughing merrily. Raymond became distracted halfway up, finally laying eyes on the back of the woman’s dress.  The thin straps coming down from her shoulders crossed once before attaching at the waist, leaving the delectable majority of her sunkissed back bared to his gaze. Dembe prodded his backside impishly, fully aware of what had drawn the man’s attention.  Red shrugged, he certainly couldn’t be blamed for his pause, the view was unbelievable. Dembe closed the jet’s door before heading quickly for the safety of the cockpit. His knowing eyes flitted softly up to the amorous couple, finding them completely focused on each other as he sequestered himself with the pilot. “Have I ever mentioned how much I adore Dembe?” Rosalie sighed, glancing about the empty cabin. Raymond let out a barking laugh. “Perhaps you’d rather he be your date?” The man feigned a pout, determined to turn her attention away from his young, strapping bodyguard. Rosalie’s slender arms snuck around his torso to stroke up and down his back.  “No.” She murmured, her voice dropping to a sultry little purr. “I’ve been waiting for the man in the hat, and no other will do.” The assurance brought a sly smile to Red’s lips, made all the more broad by a pair of feminine eyebrows waggling playfully at him. “That’s better,” he rumbled, cupping her cheek. His lips met hers, caressing her slowly as he held the woman close. Rosalie responded in kind, matching his languid strokes and sinking into the warmth of his embrace. Raymond moaned into her mouth as his hands ran up her back, stroking the expanse of satin skin. He had longed to touch her like this, ached to feel her soft, feminine form beneath his roughened palms. The soft touches sent shivers along Rosalie’s body, coaxing her deeper into his hold. A needy little mew hummed against his lips as her hands wriggled their way beneath his jacket to run over his chest and back. He felt her smile against his mouth when she bumped his firearm, the action reminding him of something. “I hesitate to ask where you’ve hidden yours this time.” He growled, running his hands along her torso. Surely, there was nowhere for it to go? Rosalie but her lip, “I- I don’t have mine tonight, there was no possible way I could hide it under this.” She confessed, adding, “I do have a few knives hidden on me, but I’m trusting you to keep me safe tonight.” The innocent little statement stroked something primal in Red. He liked the idea of her putting her safety in his hands, very much. The man leaned in and kissed her again, his body humming with masculine pride. The plane jolted them slightly as it taxied, preparing for takeoff. Red’s arms tightened around Rosalie’s unsteady form, examining her rosy lips and hazy eyes.  Reluctantly, they untangled themselves and moved toward their seats. Rosalie stopped and pulled two glasses from the bar. "Let’s have a drink shall we? I want to hear about your day.” The simple comment brought a bright smile to Raymond’s features, and with scotch in hand, he regaled her with the events ofhis meeting with Stratos. The flight was short, only a half hour and they were beginning their descent into wherever Red was taking her. As they exited the plane for the comfort of the waiting sedan, Rosalie couldn’t figure out where they were. The signs at the little airstrip were all still in Italian, however nothing gave the name of the place. Raymond caught her looking about and laughed, “All in good time, my dear,” and ushered her into the car. As Rosalie slid gracefully into her seat, her dress parted to give Red an unfair peek of her thigh, shimmering and silky soft in the evening light. “Is everything alright, Raymond?” Rosalie questioned innocently, noticing the placement of his eyes and his shortened breathing. “I’m trying to think of every available reason not to ditch Dembe and run away with you to some hideaway in the cliffs.” He joked in an undertone, closing the car door only to reappear on the other side, pulling the woman across the backseat so she was nestled against his side. Rosalie laughed when his large hand palmed her hip possessively. “Where’s a blacksite when you need it, hmm?” she purred, leaning to kiss his chin. The comment made them both laugh. A blacksite would certainly be ideal for what they wanted. Raymond hummed his enjoyment, pulling her tighter and dipping his lips to meet hers. The soft, warm mouth melded into his instantly, matching his sensual rhythm, coaxing his arousal back to the fore. They were too busy kissing and nuzzling each other to notice much of the Italian landscape as they were driven toward their destination. Dembe cleared his throat when the car pulled up to a large stone building perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. Rosalie giggled, righting Raymond’s attire, as she had at one point been using his tie for leverage. The man smirked for her good humor, allowing her every whim. When he was once again presentable, he stepped out of the car and held a hand out to his date. She took it gently, rising out of the car to stand beside him, her features alight with excitement. The young valets gawped appreciatively at the woman, but Raymond was thrilled to find her eyes were only for him. Even Dembe, whom she adored, got little more than a passing glance as he lead her into the building.  The restaurant’s owner greeted them at the door, guiding them straight through the building and out onto the back veranda.  The sight stole the breath from Rosalie’s body. The veranda showcased an unrivaled view of the sea and the nearby cliffs. The pristine blue waters twinkled in the evening light, and a warm orange glow was cast over the whole scene. The young woman turned to gape at Raymond, whose eyes were glued to her, taking in every nuance of her expression. “Raymond, this is magnificent.” She breathed stepping into his arms and kissing him softly. The man leaned into the affection with a chuckle. “Shall we head to our table?” He asked, shifting to the side so she could see what was behind him. Rosalie let out a surprised gasp upon seeing the beautiful cliffs, which held a spacious dining room within the natural opening of a large cavern. The room was dotted with small tables covered in pristine white linens. There, tucked in the outer corner of the cliff and away from prying eyes, was an intimate setting overlooking the sea. “Oh, Raymond.” She cooed, taken aback by the unique and beautiful space. Red preened at her awed expression, taking her hand and placing it gently in the crook of his arm. The pair took the stone steps casually, enjoying the trek down to the cliff side. Once they reached the cavern, they were led through the bustling crowd to the private, secluded grotto in which their table had been set. There on the table was a miniature of the flowers Red had sent her, flanked by two tall candles. Raymond pulled Rosalie’s chair out for her, ensuring she was comfortably seated before taking his place across from her “Raymond, this is absolutely stunning.” He smiled as he settled in and ordered a few bottles of wine. “We’re in Polignano a Mare, a darling little sea-side gem in Southern Italy.” He divulged, looking wistfully out at the view. “This limestone grotto overlooks the Adriatic Sea, and offers some of the most incredible Apulian cuisine you’ll ever find.” His green eyes shifted to her, the affection bright in their depths. “This is a natural grotto, not man made.” He leaned forward in his seat, taking her hand in his and stroking his thumb lazily back and forth over her fingers. “People have been using it for important events since the early 1700’s. It’s an old, natural wonder, a perfect mix of earth and sea.” He nodded thoughtfully at their joined hands, the sound of the waves crashing in the distance adding to the atmosphere. “I thought there could be no better place for our first date.” Rosalie found herself taken aback at the man’s sincerity, the thought and effort he put into this moment. It made her heart ache and swell with affection and appreciation. “You were right, it is absolutely perfect.” She said, squeezing his hand and flashing him a radiant smile. The pair sat some time later, leisurely swapping stories as was their custom on nights out.  As their first course was cleared away, Red grinned warmly at his counterpart. “Tell me what you learned today.” He crooned, taking her hand back in his. Rosalie beamed fondly at him, picking up the miniature of her arrangement and setting it in the center of the table.  “I learned you are a hopeless romantic,” she teased, earning a sensual chuckle. “Are you susceptible to romance?” He quipped playfully, thrilling at the blush which stained her cheeks. “As it turns out I’m terribly susceptible.” She admitted, thinking of how he had played on her heartstrings all day. Her eyes turned back to the arrangement, her hand reaching up to stroke one of the blooms. “I learned anemones are associated with anticipation, excitement for things to come. You were telling me how you have been anticipating us dating, looking forward to the potential of a relationship.”  Red nodded softly in response. “There were silverston roses, which, apart from being rather rare, are symbolic of love at first sight, of enchantment.” Her dark eyes flitted up to his, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enchanted by you the day we met.” “I share that sentiment,” he agreed, “I didn’t recognize it at first, but once you were in my lap, I quickly realized it would take very little to have me wrapped around your switchblade-happy fingers.”  The quip had Rosalie issuing that tinkling laugh Raymond enjoyed so much. The sound was so soft and warm, it lit up the room. The man idly realized he often couldn’t help himself when he heard it echoing in the halls of the safe houses, finding himself chuckling along with her. The thought brought a broad grin to his mouth. Rosalie continued, cradling a pale pink bloom. “These are ranunculus, which symbolize being dazzled by one’s charms. Whether you’re dazzled by mine or you were indicating I would be dazzled by yours, I’m not sure.” Red sniggered, tilting his head back and forth in a noncommittal way. “The greenery in the bouquet is eucalyptus, which symbolizes wealth, abundance, and foretelling, and tucked neatly near the edges is valerian, which stands for readiness.” Heavens knew they were ready. They had wasted so much time fighting the inevitable between them, it felt wonderful to finally pursue their connection. Her thoughts seemed to show in her expression as Raymond grinned knowingly at her. She continued, “These are silver brunia, which stand for chivalry, and those are oregano flowers, symbolizing substance.” Rosalie looked thoughtfully at him. “You were telling me of your intentions.” He nodded, pleased at her perceptiveness. “I wanted you to understand before tonight, I can see our relationship being much more than physical attraction. I want to date you because I believe there is something of substance between us. I can see a life with you.” His eyes bore into hers, their openness and frankness breathtaking.  “I don’t, well, haven’t dated for this very reason. Rare is the woman I could see in such a light.” The statement gave her chills, the sincerity in his voice robbing her of all thought. The last flowers in the bunch were white wild roses. The meaning had piqued her curiosity back at the safe house.  Her slender fingers stroked the white blooms, drawing Red’s attention to them. “Wild roses mean confidentiality.” Raymond inclined his head toward her. “In the Roman era, the term sub-rosa was used to indicate a meeting being held in confidence. If we are to pursue this, Rosalie, I will keep no part of myself from you, aside from my name.” Understanding dawned on Rosalie’s face. The side of him she had seen tonight, the openness, the sincerity, he was sharing part of himself which he kept safely hidden from the rest of the world.  She was meeting the man within. Her eyes shone in recognition, he was trusting her to hold these moments in confidence, trusting it was enough for her to be the only one allowed to see him in such a light. Her other hand dropped to hold his, cradling the large appendage in her two small ones. “Raymond, this is truly a gift.” She murmured, bringing his hand up so she could kiss his palm. “One I will not take for granted.” A tension Red had not known he had been feeling seemed to release from the man’s shoulders. His hand turned to cup her cheek and draw his thumb across the rosy blush. “Will I have the hidden parts of you, as well?”  He couldn’t help the question, his hopefulness thrumming palpably in the air. “You and only you will have them.” She agreed, a lone joyful tear clinging to her lashes. Raymond swiped the drop when it fell. He stood and pulled her close, claiming her lips, sealing the promise.  The action made Rosalie’s knees feel weak. Her hands gripped his chest for support, touched by the moment and its meaning. This was the beginning of something incredible. ************************************************************************************************************************************************* An hour later, the pair were happily ensconced in their own private world, the topic of discussion having turned to the beginnings of their attraction. “When did you know I was interested?” Rosalie asked, curious to hear his viewpoint. “Oh, in Munich, what you said to Altan.” Red nodded firmly, recalling the phrase quite clearly. The woman’s brow furrowed, unable to remember what she had said. “‘ I made the bed and beckoned him to it ?’” He quoted, grinning slyly at her. Rosalie gasped and placed a hand over her mouth, the altercation hurtling back into her mind. “My God, what a comeback.” Red crooned, dying to know where the spectacular rejoinder came from. Truthfully, he had found her fiery retort utterly charming. It brought about something primal and possessive in the man which, at the time, had taken him completely by surprise. Rosalie dropped her chin with a grimace. “Sorry about that. I found his attitude incredibly grating.” Her eyes flashed their annoyance as she remembered Altan’s accusations. “I needed to knock him down a few pegs. He just assumed you were bedding me.” Raymond laughed, “I wholeheartedly agree, my dear. He undermined your hard work and cunning by attributing your success to my libido.”  He placed a finger under her chin, guiding her gaze upward, the look telling her in no uncertain terms there was no merit to Altan’s words. “You built an empire so enticing I chased you across an entire continent to get in on it.” He reminded, “Bedding you was not part of my plan.”  Red made certain she understood his meaning.  It might not have been part of his plan initially, but it damn well was now.  He wouldn’t stand for her thinking his actions came from any place other than desire for her.  The intensity of Red’s gaze made the woman blush furiously, her eyes falling to his chest again. “Still,” she murmured, “I could have demolished his rampant ego without dragging you into the fray.” Raymond chuckled darkly, “Don’t ever apologize for such a well-aimed barb,” he advised, then added, “I, for one, enjoyed it immensely.” Rosalie looked up at him, amused. “Oh really?” His green eyes shone with a powerful mixture of pride and adoration. “It was brilliant. Like a heat-seeking missile, you found the man’s soft underbelly, then blew a magnificent and irreparable hole in it.” Red smiled to himself, replaying the exchange over and over in his mind.  She had been something, someone else entirely in that moment, and Raymond was one of very few people who could appreciate the duality.  Rosalie the woman and Rosalie the criminal were two separate personas, yet as much a part of each other as the etchings on a coin. Like him, she had learned to completely and comfortably occupy either side of that coin at a moment’s notice. Knowing the limits of each side and which to choose in a conflict was one of the keys to their survival. Reddington had found himself inundated with both attraction and intrigue at the quick wit Rosalie had shown. He sometimes forgot she was still rather new to their world. To see her blushing, unsure of her own prowess was rather endearing, truth be told. He was, however, looking forward to watching her confidence grow, to see more of the formidable hellion he saw that night in Munich. The image was very, very alluring. The young woman blushed again at his praise and his intense stare. Raymond was a powerful man who dealt with his fair share of vicious and ruthless criminals. He wouldn’t sugarcoat his opinion for anyone, even her. As their main course was cleared away and the cork popped on another bottle of Masseto, talk turned to their recent adventures in Siena. “What did that Stefano fellow say to you, after the race?” Red asked, he had meant to question her about the exchange last night, but more enticing opportunities had come up. Rosalie wrinkled her nose in distaste. “He made a comment about my looks. Said a young little thing like me should be more careful about what men’s toes I step on.” She met Raymond’s gaze, her slate eyes sharp and narrowed. “I didn’t take kindly to it.” Raymond held his amusement, “I’m dying to know what fiery retort you lobbed his way.” A reluctant smile plucked at her full lips, “I might have dragged you into it.” She murmured ruefully, unsure how he would respond. The man let out a barking laugh. “I figured by the way you grabbed my arm,” he noted, “Now I’m doubly interested.” Rosalie shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. “I threatened to funnel all my assets into ensuring Pantera became the next Nonna. I then proceeded to tell him he should be more careful about the women he threatens. He didn’t have the slightest clue who I was or who I belonged to, and that could end up getting him killed.” She fidgeted with the napkin in her lap, finally hazarding a glance at her date. Raymond’s face was warm and, for lack of a better word, delighted. “That’ll teach him.” He quipped, still reeling at her choice of words. ‘ Who I was or who I belonged to .’ The phrase excited him immensely. “Do you, belong to me?” He asked softly, green  eyes watching her features hungrily. She blinked up at him, blushing and nervous. “I would like to.” The statement made his heart swell almost painfully. Raymond lifted her hand and placed his lips to its soft surface. “I think it’s time I took you for a spin on the dance floor.” The woman tittered softly as he stood, keeping her hand in his. She was pulled into his waiting arms and guided smoothly onto the floor as the band tucked back in the cave struck up a slow, swinging ballad. They danced slowly, swaying gently in each other’s arms. Both couldn’t help but recall the eventful night in New York which had slowly led them here. They alternated between dancing in comfortable quiet and talking further. Finally, Rosalie remembered her own question about the prior day’s excitement. “How did you make out at the Palio? Your bribe.” She asked, curiosity evident in her features.  “I made several bribes.” Evaded Red. “You know what I mean.” She laughed, “the last minute one you and Dembe were all hush-hush about.” Raymond nodded, it seemed nothing could be put past her. “You may have noticed the jockey for Pantera walked out with different security than when he walked in?” Rosalie’s brows knit together. She hadn’t noticed this at all. He continued, “Those were my associates. I bribed him to take the fall. Pantera had a very good horse and with even a reasonably good jockey were too likely to win. Taking their jockey out of the running early in the race backpedaled their potential significantly.”  “The contrada was going to kill him for that, why was it so important to take him out?”  Raymond’s  eyes were warm and honest as he looked down at her. “I connected the outcome of the Palio with the likelihood of you accepting me as a suitor.” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Rosalie flushed a bright pink, “Could there really have been any doubt in your mind?” His lips twitched slightly. “I prefer not to put the horse before the cart. There was certainly the potential you didn’t want a relationship.” The notion she might not want him in the same capacity as he wanted her had plagued him all week. “I would be a terrible fool not to want that.” Rosalie replied, leaning to rest her head on his chest. She felt his lips meet the crown of her head, a soft chuckle vibrating against her ear. “Thank goodness you’re no fool.” He murmured softly, spinning them again. A few songs later, and the pair made their way back to their table, intent on dessert. Raymond garnered a chiding laugh from his counterpart as he immediately nabbed her plate, bringing it over to his side and sat with his legs crossed. “ I believe you have something of mine .” She quoted, coming to stand by him, shaking her little gold spoon at him in open chastisement. Red laughed at the picture, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her into his lap.  “I thought we might share.” He purred, taking her spoon and setting it on the table. Rosalie peered at him, surprised when he picked up his spoon, took a swipe of her dessert and held it out to her. She leaned forward hesitantly, wrapping her plump lips about the confection. Raymond watched avidly as the little pink tongue snuck out to swipe at the sweet cream. The sight was nothing short of sinful, coaxing an aroused grunt from his throat while he watched her swallow. A pair of molten grey eyes peered heatedly up at him. She reached for her own spoon, gently batting his hand away as he tried to waylay her. She mirrored his actions, taking a spoonful of his chocolate confection and holding it out for him to sample. The man relaxed into the proceedings, realizing her intent. The robust confection tasted divine, and seemed that much better when offered up by such a mesmerizing creature.  They took turns holding out morsels for each other to taste.  Rosalie held out a spoonful of her own treat, silently offering him a bite.  Red had taken it, humming softly at the delicious taste of cinnamon and pistachios.  Rosalie had giggled at his small sweet cream mustache, leaning down to kiss the remnant from his lips. It was an incredibly erotic exchange. By the time they were finished and summarily informed that Dembe was waiting with the car, there was a stifling tension thrumming between the two. Not a crumb remained on their plates, and the last of the wine had been shared between them as they murmured sensually about everything and nothing. *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** The ride back to the plane was comfortably quiet, an array of silent communication occurring in the backseat. As the trio quietly made their way into the plane, Raymond silently and stealthily removed his tie. He followed Dembe toward the cockpit, murmuring quietly to both him and Edward before closing the door behind him. Rosalie noted the lost accessory immediately, a tinkling laugh escaping her lips. “Did you just put your tie on the door knob?” He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the back of the plane, into the small, secluded office. “I want no interruptions.” Growled Red, backing her toward the desk and lifting her onto its gleaming surface. His fingertips stroked her thighs and hips appreciatively as he leaned forward to nibble at her neck. “If you’re looking for another trinket, you’re out of luck.” Rosalie whispered in his ear, garnering his undivided attention. “I’ve nothing for you tonight.” Jesus wept . The woman could tempt satan himself and come out holding the keys to the gates of hell.  Her vital young body thrummed with excitement at his obvious interest, willing him to call her bluff. “Let me see.” He commanded, his strong hands pressing at her knees. She opened them slowly, deliberately driving him spare. “I don’t think you want to tease me with such a thing, Rosalie.” He warned, but she merely laughed. “Oh, I think I do.” she giggled, echoing his sentiment from earlier that week. “I told you I’d have you climbing the walls,” she reminded, placing her hands between her thighs and gripping the edge of the desk.  “Tell me, darling,” she leaned so she was a hair’s breadth from his lips. Red could feel them move against his just barely when she spoke.  “ Are you on the walls yet? ” Red’s powerful form pressed its way between her thighs, bending her back onto the desk. “Oh little dove,” he rumbled, “You should be more careful what you wish for.”  He wasn’t just climbing the walls, the man was practically on the fucking ceiling for want of her.  “I’m going to have you shaking like a leaf, begging me to take you right here on this desk.” His scorching mouth nipped and licked at her neck, leaving a smattering of love bites in his wake. Rosalie moaned brokenly, the visual he painted all too arousing. “I’ll beg you to take me right here on the floor, if it means I can have your cock.” Her dirty talk made Raymond chuckle darkly, the thought more than enticing. However, he already had plans in motion, and he desperately wanted to keep them. “Not yet.” He admonished, pressing against her, “But I have something which might soothe us both for a bit.” He stepped back slightly, admiring the view of her spread open for him atop the desk. The slit of the dress had fallen between her legs, carefully covering the valley from view. Agonizingly slowly, Red’s hand slid up the woman’s leg, catching the hem of the garment. “Tell me you want this.” He murmured, his thumb stroking back and forth over the sensitive expanse of her inner thighs. “Raymond, if you don’t touch me I’m certain I will scream.” Rosalie retorted blithely, her nerves crackling with need.. The statement was confirmation enough for the man, and he happily shifted the silky material away from his prize. The sight of her sweet little mound wet and waiting for him nearly took Red to his knees. The soft, neatly trimmed curls were a shade darker than the waves cascading down her shoulders. The little lips were a pretty pink, glistening tantalizingly with her arousal.  “My God, do you have a pretty little pussy,” he moaned, reaching to cup the mound. She was hot and so, so ready for him. “And this sweet little clit.” His thumb swiped gently over the tiny hood peeking out from between her lips, earning a broken moan from Rosalie. “You have no idea how much I want this in my mouth.” He sighed, stroking the nub harder, making the woman squirm. “Raymond, please.” She whimpered, arching into his touch. Every stroke felt amazing, but she needed more. Her small hand reached between them gripping his throbbing erection through his slacks. Her eyes widened as she felt the thick, hard appendage fill her hand to capacity. “ Oh ” Red let out a confident growl, smirking as he rocked against the little hand experimentally. A shiver ran his body at the sensation, her small fingers felt wonderful wrapped around his turgid member. Reluctantly, Raymond pulled her hand away, stepping closer into the valley of her thighs so his heavy, fabric-covered cock was nestled intimately against her wet slit. As he had the night before, Red set a steady, rocking rhythm against her sensitive flesh. The movement sent jolts of pleasure through them both, and the woman whimpered her longing for release. “You needed this, didn’t you, Rosalie?” Red grunted, pressing her back into the hard wood of the desk. “God knows I did.” He confessed, moaning against her neck, the warmth and wetness of her center teasing his shaft just right. “I want you.” She moaned plaintively, “I-I want you inside.”  Raymond’s already thin resolve shook with the effort of holding himself back. “Soon, sweetheart. Soon.” He placated, thrusting against her endlessly. His cock stroked her perfectly, teasing her little clit without mercy. “Please,” she wailed, “Oh...oh please, don’t stop.” Red grinned darkly, “Not a chance, little dove.” He assured her, rutting hard against her wet slit. He was determined to make her come, to prime her soft, gentle body for his possession.  “I’m going to make you shatter .” He assured her, reaching up to palm one of the ample breasts.  The woman keened beneath him, bending up into his touch as he rolled the nipple into a taught peak.  “I’m going to ravage this sweet little body.” He ground out, enjoying how her body tightened at his words. “You’ll never want for a damn thing.” He promised boldly, revelling in the feel of her thighs quivering around his waist. His words were setting the whimpering woman ablaze. Rosalie scrambled for purchase as she felt her orgasm come roaring through her out of nowhere. Raymond could feel her shaking, desperately seeking release. “That’s it, let it out. Come for me.” He coaxed, feeling the beginnings of his own orgasm forming.  Rosalie reached for the collar of his shirt, pulling his mouth to hers in a silent plea. She wanted so badly to come, to give in to the pleasure he was giving. He leaned forward with a snarl, pinning her hard to the desk and kissing her heatedly as he continued his strong, deliberate strokes. A wanton moan met his ears and he leaned back to watch enraptured as her lithe body bowed in pleasure. Her orgasm tore through her, leaving her unable to speak as another wave of arousal gushed over the front of Raymond’s trousers. “Yes,” she finally managed to eek out in trembling delight, a primal groan of completion following thereafter. “Oh God, Yes, Raymond!” The sight and sound of her unmasked pleasure had Red’s hips jerking against her without rhythm. His legs shook slightly as he felt her hand reach down to cup his testicles, rolling them gently. Raymond grunted, the slight touch just the incentive he’d needed to come hurtling over the edge. “Rosalie,” he hissed, pleasure rocketing through his every nerve ending. “ Yes… Just like that” He groaned his approval, thrusting hard against her. He rapidly hurtled toward his climax, his husky murmuring turning his partner on to no end. “Fuck, I’m coming .” He gasped hips shuddering. The declaration was met with a mew of arousal as Rosalie doubled her efforts, cradling his balls gently in her hand as her still-quaking hips ground against his pulsating erection. Raymond came with a guttural, rumbling growl, riding hard against the wet woman beneath him, his cum lubricating his thrusts. Rosalie moaned as she felt the heat of his release through the wet fabric, adding to her arousal. The pair were left in a panting, trembling heap on top of the desk.  Rosalie adored the feel of Red’s ragged breath ghosting along her neck. The sensation made her squirm, coaxing a husky moan from her partner as her hips ground against his sensitive cock head. Raymond’s bulk pinned the little woman tightly to the surface of the desk, ceasing her wriggling and making her sigh contentedly. “ Wow” Rosalie gasped as she caught her breath, holding Raymond tight to her. “I can’t tell you how badly I needed that.” Her body felt boneless, minute aftershocks rippling through her skin intermittently. Red exhaled, a smug expression overtaking him. He kissed her languidly, their lips moulding together in a soft, sensual dance. “I have wanted to make you come for what feels like decades.” He muttered against her mouth, moving to lift himself. The woman’s arms and legs wrapped around him. “Not yet.” She mewed, wanting to remain pinned beneath him a little while longer. His sensual chuckle filled her ears as he leaned forward, nuzzling into her neck. “We are going to land soon.” He informed her regretfully, wanting nothing more than to doff the suit and bend her over the desk for round two. As though on cue, a soft knock could be heard coming from the cockpit door. Dembe’s voice could be heard from the other side.  “Ten minutes.” Rosalie groaned her dissension as Red stood, righting his attire.  A lewd chuckle filled the air as he looked down at his sodden trousers. The young woman sat up to see what had him so amused and found herself immensely aroused by the outline of his well-endowed member against the soaked material. “I owe you a pair of slacks.” She mused, slightly embarrassed for her shameless response. Raymond strode over to thumb her chin. “I can’t think of a better way to tarnish a perfectly good suit.” He grinned like the cat who caught canary, “I’m going to consider it a personal mission to see to the ruin of my entire wardrobe via your pleasure.” The comment removed any embarrassment on her part and replaced it with heated amusement. The man righted her, kissing her lips once before leading her out into the main cabin. He casually draped his jacket over his lap as the plane touched down on the tarmac. *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** Stratos’s Apartment, Siena - July 4th 1999   They had reached the apartment around one in the morning, the other occupants were blessedly asleep, allowing Raymond to walk Rosalie to her door in peace. She rested against the door’s facing, looking up at him as though he hung the very moon in the sky. Red leaned one arm on the door frame, the other held her waist as he brushed his nose against hers. “I had an amazing time tonight, Raymond.” She sighed happily, tilting her chin up to meet his caress. “What time can I pick you up tomorrow?” Replied Red, smiling at the soft laugh which danced from her lips. “Hmmm…Seven?” She offered, pleased there would be a second date. “I think you meant six.” He teased, kissing her once again. Rosalie giggled, “Any time will do.” “Until tomorrow.” He murmured, meeting her in a kiss that made her toes curl before pressing off the wall and sauntering toward his room. “Good Night,” She said warmly, glancing back at him as she closed her door. Raymond couldn’t help the broad grin which lit his features. “Good Night, Little Dove.” He whispered, stepping into the cool dark of his bedroom. *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** Stratos’s Apartment - July 4th, 1999   Raymond and Rosalie woke with serene smiles later that morning, The pair and their guards grabbed a quick breakfast before getting ready for their flight to Greece. Jacopo had stopped by to say farewell and implore them to attend the next running in August.  Rosalie was going to miss the boisterous old Sienese. She planned to ask Raymond if they could make the Palio an annual tradition. It had certainly been a fun and eventful week. Once the well-wishers were gone and the house was quiet again, Rosalie snuck off to the lounge where she knew she would find Raymond.  Stratos and their guards were conveniently packing, leaving an uninterrupted window for the pair to be alone. He had been waiting for her.  The moment she had closed the door, Red had scooped her up and carried her to the loveseat, sitting so she straddled his hips. “How did you sleep?” She asked, carding her fingers through his hair. Raymond leaned into the gesture, a soft hum leaving his throat. “Better than I have in weeks. You?” “The same.” Nodded Rosalie, dipping to kiss his jaw line. A pair of large, masculine hands gripped her hips, sliding back to squeeze her backside fondly. “We needed a little release, didn’t we, little dove?” He crooned, opening more of his neck to her affectionate touch. Rosalie moaned in response. “You know, we have a few hours before we need to head for the plane.” She intoned slyly. Raymond’s eyes rolled playfully, the ghost of a grin floating across his features. “My dear, a few hours won’t cut it. When I take you I’m going to need a few days .” Rosalie couldn’t help the shiver that ran along her body. At the sound of a knock on the door, she heaved a forlorn sigh. “I hate to burst your bubble darling,” she grumbled, “but the way our schedule runs I doubt we’ll be able to have a few days to enjoy ourselves properly.” She climbed off his person and straightened her clothes before calling, “Come in.” Horace poked his head into the room. “Rosie, I have the property manager in Trinidad on the phone. He wants to speak.” The woman let out a little growl her eyes flitted to Raymond, scrunching her nose before heading out the door with her guard. As she left the room the thought occurred to Raymond that she was, in fact, correct. They would play hell trying to get more than a few hours to themselves. This thought did not sit well at all with the man.  They had spent so much time fighting what was going on between them, now they were finally ready to explore that avenue, and they didn’t have the time or the privacy in which to do so. Raymond consider the issue as he drank his coffee and enjoyed his breakfast. The notion was bothering him greatly. Raymond wanted their first time to be intimate, private, as it should be. He wanted to revel in their union. He wanted to learn her body’s every dip and curve. He wanted to watch her come undone in the dead of night and the early morning sun, wanted them to walk around the house in whatever state of undress they preferred, and make love where and whenever the mood struck.  They certainly couldn’t do that with Horace and Dembe floating around. Red snorted. Well, they could, but he was a tad selfish and didn’t want to share the delights of her body with anyone. Dembe strode into the room, looking thoughtfully at Raymond’s scowl. “You are wondering how to get her alone.” He nodded sagely. The older man didn’t want to know how his guard was so perceptive.  “It’s not wrong to want a little time to ourselves.” Grumbled Reddington, shifting slightly. “It is not.” Dembe agreed, “It is, however, unfortunate you did not pursue this at Break Maiden, where you had a bit more free rein.” A thought struck Red, and he looked up, beaming at Dembe. “You’ve given me an excellent idea.” He murmured. The young man’s eyes crinkled their amusement. “How can I help?”  

April 16th 2040     So far he's answered one quick call from North, telling her that he and Connor were at the DPD and they were okay, and to tell everyone not to worry. But Markus is worried. Not so much about the fallout, (fuck, there is going to be such a fallout,) but about Connor, who's sitting at Fowler's desk staring into the middle distance with that slight frown of his, all his happiness from the night before just wrecked. Because he thinks this is his fault. Really it's kind of Markus's fault, because he'd been getting on Connor's case so much about being paranoid, telling him to ease up a little. Even so, Markus wants to straight up murder whoever it was that put that look on Connor's face. The next call is the one he's been really dreading: Carl. “Hang on,” he says to Connor, “I have to take this.” Connor just gives him a spaced-out nod. The first thing Carl says is, “You okay, Markus?” “Yeah,” Markus says. Then: “No.” “Yeah,” Carl says, “well, I didn't expect you to be. The first thing you need to hear from me is that none of this is your fault. Nor is it Connor's. It's the fault of whatever scum violated your privacy.” “I know.” A shamed murmur is all he can manage. “The second thing you need to hear is that I would never disrespect your privacy by allowing even a single image of that to pass my field of vision. So if you're worried about me seeing anything that would upset you, put that worry to bed.” “Thank you.” A little better, maybe. “The third thing I'm going to tell you is...ha...Maybe I shouldn't. Oh well. There's a tape of me somewhere out there too. Probably pretty similar.” “What?” It comes out so sharply that Connor looks up at him, questioning. Markus shakes his head: Nothing, it's okay. “The 90s were wild times, Markus. I was pretty wasted. My partner and I weren't aware we were being recorded, but it happened all the same. It was a different time, the 90s, and I wanted to be the cool, laid back artist, you know? So we played it off like it wasn't a big deal. We even got a copy and showed it to our friends at a party. I think we felt like if we laughed it off and pretended it wasn't so bad, maybe it wouldn't be.” “Wow,” is all Markus can manage. “But it destroyed us,” Carl says. “I think if we'd taken it as seriously as it felt, we might have been able to deal with it. If we'd admitted that it was a criminal act and that we'd felt violated by it, we could have gotten through it.” “I'm sorry,” Markus says. “Oh well,” Carl says. “Who knows what would have happened? Maybe I wouldn't have met Leo's mother. Maybe I wouldn't have had the accident. And maybe I wouldn't have met you, son. I can't be anything but thankful.” Markus feels tears spring to his eyes. For the first time in a very long time, he doesn't know what to say. “What I'm saying to you, Markus, is that I don't want you and Connor to let this fuck up a good thing. Just... make sure you handle it together, okay?” “I...we will.” He glances over to Connor, who is still looking at him with a question in his eyes. “Thank you. For telling me all of that.” “I love you, son.” Markus chokes on the words. “Love you too.” When Carl disconnects, Markus goes to Connor and sits on the desk in front of him, taking his hands. “Hey,” he says. “This is a big deal. But it's going to be all right. All right?” “Yes,” Connor says. He takes a second to process that; to let Markus convince him, like he always does, for better or for worse. Then, with more conviction he says, “Yes. Of course. It's a big deal, but it's nothing we can't handle.”     ** ** **April 15th 2040   Recon 7 can't take much more of this, honestly. It was bad enough that he had to watch them do... do that. But now the 200 is wandering around in his pants and open shirt, and the 800 is wearing literally nothing but the 200's long coat, and the 200 is yammering excitedly because he found a piano backstage. “Do you want to have sex on it?” the 800 asks, from where he's--it--is looking through a rack of theater costumes. “What? No, for godsake,” the 200 says. Then he takes a second to think about it and says, “I don't mean no, because yes, but it wasn't my first thought.” “Oh?” The 800 pulls something off the costume rack, fucking licks it, then puts it back. “My interest in pianos does extend to their traditional purposes, you know,” the 200 says. The 800 keeps wandering around, picking things up, turning them over in his hands, and putting them back. At one point he finds a prop crown and sets it on his head. The 200 picks a few keys of the piano, which sounds like it's broken or missing some notes or something. And then it starts singing. It's standing at the piano singing a fucking Neil Diamond song, but the weirdest part is, it's using its own voice and style. Androids can easily just play music through their speaker or whatever. That's what the godawful There 4 U “band” does. (Recon 7 doesn't even like calling them a band. It's not even music.) This android sings, though, putting his own spin on it. “You are the sun, I am the moon, you are the words, I am the tune, play me...” The 800 stops poking around and stands there acting like it's listening; its LED going from blue to yellow, probably trying to download data on the song or something. Then the RK200 plays something by Elton John on the piano, and then sings a new one by fucking Beyonce. Whatever pleasantness exists in the android's voice just incites more rage in Recon 7. These androids earned none of what they have. They never took music lessons; they were just programmed to be good at shit. They were programmed at the beginning to imitate soulfulness. So why do they bother to do things like this when it's just two of them? Finally the RK200 seems to notice that the other android is too quiet. It stops singing and looks over to the wing, where the 800 is just standing there staring (the front of the long coat just... totally open, the crown still sitting stupidly on its head.) They stare at each other for a few seconds like they just discovered the other was still there. “My crown is in my heart, not on my head,” the 200 says. The 800's LED goes yellow for a second before it answers, “My crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.” “That's some true shit,” the 200 says, grinning. The RK800 crosses the stage to the other wing and all but tackles the RK200 onto the piano. Fuck, not again. ** ** **     April 16th 2040   FANDROIDS FORUM --Alleged Sex Tape Chat-- ArtThot39: Umm guys, you should probably remove “alleged” from the name of this chat, js. DeviantAsTheyCome: I'm sorry was that Beyonce I just fucking heard Markus sing? Because... that's brilliant. KillingMeOftly: Yes but also BENNY AND THE JETS? Obviously they know ~~the classics~~ but that is just hilarious ArtThot39: Oh...my... Did that just happen. Is there gonna be sex on a piano because I don't think I can handle that. ArtThot39: Okay. I am now officially on life support. MrsKamski: How is this real life. How is this real life right now. ** ** **   April 15th 2040   That piano is taking some abuse; some keys were already missing, now it's jangling all sorts of notes as Connor backs Markus up against it. They're kissing as Connor starts pulling at Markus's pants and shirt. The kissing is kind of mad-passionate-crazy, but Connor's hands are slow, gentle, and precise at the buttons of Markus's shirt – like he's being careful. Andrea sees why once the shirt is gone. Markus is just... he's covered in scars. She had known in theory that he would be; they had talked enough about his history in the forums, and knew from what little he'd said in past interviews that he'd been shot by police and left in a mass grave for androids. And she'd seen on TV the footage of the androids' first freedom march, she and the world had witnessed him being shot then, too. But it looks so much more savage when she sees it, her eyes grow hot with tears. There are places where his skin just doesn't cover anymore, and when Connor gets to his pants, kneeling down to gently pull them off, she sees that his legs are scarred, too. Connor gently rubs his hands up and down Markus's calves, making him take a shuddery breath, before he rises up to his feet again. He skims his fingertips down the front of Markus's chest, over the gashes and divots – Markus allows this without flinching or looking away. “The fire that breaks from thee then, a billion times-told lovelier, more dangerous, oh my chevalier,” Connor says. She'll definitely keyword search that later, probably so will everyone in the forums to see what he's quoting and theorize about what it means to them... but no, she won't be going back there; not after this. Not after she betrays them. Her friends there might never know. But she will. Markus gives Connor a shaky laugh and adjusts the prop crown he's still wearing, then he turns around and leans over the smooth surface of the piano, his hands leaving prints in the dust. Connor has to take off the crown and set it aside before he lowers his mouth to the back of Markus's neck. Markus makes the skin retract from his entire back. She's seen so much of android anatomy, so it's not like it's the first time seeing what their spines look like, but it's still a little shocking – the lack of actual vertebrae, and the way wires weave in and out of blue plates, sparking. Connor is still wearing Markus's long coat so it's impossible to see any details, but it's pretty obvious by the way that he pushes forward and Markus cries out his name. His fingers start detailing the grooves and divots along Markus's spine, and Markus is panting against the top of the piano. It's still Recon 7's hacked feed that Andrea is watching, and that shithead must have done something to one of their cameras, because the angle shifts to the front in a quick motion. Connor stops. Looks up. His pupils constrict to points, and now his eyes are dark and dangerous, narrowed and focused, like he heard something. His head tilts to the side. Andrea can almost feel Recon 7 holding their breath, wherever in the world they are; she holds hers, too. But if there ever was a time to put a stop to this, it's now. She hopes for it to end. She'll be in deep shit, she'll never get her dog back if she doesn't deliver. But she's still rooting for Connor to trust his instinct and catch them. Maybe he can catch them in time to help her, too? God, if only she could send a message. But there's no way. “Connor.” Markus's voice is sharp now; his focus is back, he's not going to pieces anymore, like he was able to simply shut it off. Connor's eyes soften and he murmurs a quiet apology before grabbing Markus by the hip and pushing forward again. He ducks his head and puts his tongue into the port at the back of Markus's neck. Markus's head falls forward onto his arms and he practically wails. Connor's fingers resume their mapping of the wires along his spine, and tracing the damaged parts of his frame. “We're nowhere near done yet,” Connor says in his ear. “Yes, yes,” Markus says. “We have time, I-- yes, anything, anything.” Please, Andrea thinks. Please don't let this ruin them. ** ** ** ** NEW DETAILS OF SHOCKING SEX TAPE EMERGE Police have found the location where android leader Markus and his bodyguard, police model and DPD employee “Connor” were secretly recorded having sex last night. Detectives are looking for leads on who is responsible for recording them. Authorities have not yet confirmed that the recording is real. Comments: BadRobot: Deep Fake my ass! Even if it was, that would still be a crime! WHEN are we going to leave androids alone, I mean if we as humans are not going to help them, do we have to keep fucking them over?? KamskisManBun: Of course it's real. With any other androids you could say that they just got some doubles because most of them look alike. But the RK models are prototypes and both are one of a kind. Of course it's them but so what. Androids can fall in love. So what. Leave them alone. HumanChloe: FUCK! If your man doesn't fuck like Connor, what even is the point of your man! Alex: OK thats not fair. No-one can live up to that. This is literally the problem I have with androids & I think it's the problem everyone has with them like...... we can't be as good as them at ANYTHING. Thier better @ sports music teaching working at jobs we use to do, we always knew there better @ sex because of eden clubs. We cant compete with androids so why don't we just give up??? Sad. What I am saying is when Eden was open, men were finally happy and getting what we wanted. And that is BECAUSE OF THE FACT that we can't live up to android perfection so men were going the one place it didn't matter......eden reply to this PenIsMightier: Okay dipshit, but you do realize that women went to Eden Club also? That there were male android models for women to fuck? Reply to this Alex: Thank you for proving my point tho. Women were going to eden club for sex because those male Traci's were perfect in a way that human men could never be. that's what i'm saying it just not fair reply to this PenIsMightier: Holy shit. You really can't argue with stupid. I'm going to finish watching the video in peace, thank you very much, and I hope you dream about it tonight. Toodles. ^_^   ** ** ** **     April 16th 2040   By now there's a crowd of humans outside the glass doors of the DPD, and thirteen drones flying overhead. A strange, creeping apprehension winds up Connor's spine, making him want to stay in Fowler's office with Markus until they all leave. He's never felt this way before. Or – maybe he has. Maybe even lately—four times, five if you counted the slightly nervous feeling he couldn't shake the night before—he's been experiencing sensations he can't quantify. Not exactly seeing movements in his peripheral vision, but expecting to see them. It's bothersome. Markus is on the phone again, this time with President Warren. His pacing is giving Connor another sensation he can't quite place. Irritation? Nervous energy? He digs his quarter out of his pocket and starts rolling it. What is she saying to Markus? He could probably listen in. But Markus will tell him once he's off the phone. Probably. No, of course he will. How could he have let this happen? He knew. He knew. There was a moment last night when he heard a two-point-five second sinusoidal tone at 9Hz. And he had ignored it in favor of lavishing attention on Markus. “Okay,” Markus says into the phone. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” That doesn't sound too bad, at least. “It went well?” Markus runs his hands over the short hair on his head. “Sort of. She's going to formally condemn it. There will be consequences if the parties involved are found, but she can't spare a lot of resources to find out who did it.” “I'll find out.” Markus turns to him, again with that look in his eyes: a warning. Connor holds up his hand before Markus can say his name in that tone. “I let this happen, so I should be the one to fix it.” “Okay,” Markus says. “Okay, back up. This is solely the fault of whoever has been following us around. Connor, hear me out. Of course we're going to find out who did this. I don't think they were expecting to see what they saw last night; they were probably looking for something incriminating or compromising, but there was nothing, so they just went with what they thought would be scandalous. Humans can be prudish over things like this. But that doesn't change the fact that whoever did this probably had--has--something more dangerous planned. You're the head of Jericho's security, and my personal security, and you're still the best there is, so I won't ask you to step back, okay? But I'm not going to let you blame yourself. I'm not.” He gets to his knees in front of the chair that Connor's sitting in, and takes his hands. “I'm not. And it's not going to stop us from being who we are. We're fighting for the rights of androids to be free and happy, and that includes us.” Connor opens his mouth to speak, finds he doesn't know what to say—it was probably going to be a denial or a logical argument—and quickly closes it again. Markus waits patiently for him. “It isn't easy,” Connor says. “I mean, to...to relax or whatever it is I need to do. It's not in my programming, first of all. Second, recent events have... have--” He tries to gesture with his hand, but Markus is still holding it. “Yeah, it's taken a toll on all of us. Just don't give up, okay? I need you. You, not a bodyguard or cop. People are going to forget about this when the next big thing comes along. Just trust me, okay?”   ** ** ** FANDROID FORUM --sex tape chat-- REDLED: HOLY SHIT. I'm seeing something I'll never forget for as long as I live. I'm gifing every second of this. My life now has meaning. Play this at my funeral, I'm serious. MrsKamski: This video should be required viewing in sex ed lmaoooooo. Fucking 101. ArtThot39: 101? No way, this is next level fucking. This is like the calculus of fucking. The quantum physics of fucking. Only geniuses can understand it. This is mastery. Where is Andy? She needs to see this, so she can die with the rest of us. ANDREA. WHERE U AT GIRL ReinOnMe: This turned my software into hardware. ArtThot39: Okay, but real quick. Since I have no life and I can't stop thinking about this. There was a TED talk a while back about androids and the mechanism by which they could feel and I remember something about... in the end it doesn't matter. If something tells you that it can feel, IT DOES. That's 101 philosophy, speaking of 101 levels. Androids don't have like, seratonin or whatever, or any of the chemicals that make humans feel fear or love (the two driving forces of life right? When you think about it?) So if they don't have those things and they still feel those things (see point A, if they say they do, then they do. Otherwise WHY BOTHER??) then there must be something at play here. The TT I watched was saying that we need to take another look at spirituality because of androids being alive. MrsKamski: Oh wow cool. Btw Connor's fingers stroking the wires in Markus' back has me DEAD you guys. ReinOnMe: lol true true. Oh, I was gonna search for whatever it was that Connor was quoting, what was it, anyone know? ArtThot39: It was from a poem called The Windhover. Ummm you guys... it's about jesus O_O Just saying. ReinOnMe: So... is Connor saying... ???? ArtThot39: I mean I don't know? Maybe but maybe not, maybe he was just referencing the way suffering can make you stronger or more beautiful or something. There are also many many interpretations of Jesus himself and not all of them are *air quotes* divine. MrsKamski: Connor's cock is devine ArtThot39: lol yes on that I believe we all agree!     ** ** **

The ride to the capitol was pleasant. Reinette traveled inside the carriage, of course, but Rose alternated between sitting on the driver’s bench with Mickey or alongside the carriage on Reinette’s mare, Ladybird. They paused each night in one of the villages as Reinette had refused to sleep in a tent or the carriage house. Rose didn’t mind their stops. It gave her time to mingle with people, to see the world outside of their own estate and town for the first time since she was ten. It was refreshing to blend in and not have anyone automatically associate her with her family. As for the path through the countryside and forests, it was absolutely beautiful. The world was much larger than she had imagined it, and each village and town grew more larger and prominent the closer they drew to the capitol. It was well after noon when the tallest spire of the castle became visible on the horizon, and Reinette ordered them to keep going. Mickey only slowed log enough for Rose to pull Ladybird up alongside and leap into the saddle. Then she untied her lead from the ring on the carriage. When they entered the city, people watched them pass, and a few of the children waved at her. She smiled back at them, keeping her posture straight and proud just like her father had taught her. The guards at the gate to the palace stopped them, checked who they were by the invitation, and let them pass. Rose gasped as they went under the portcullis and entered into a sprawling, perfectly manicured, pathway leading up to the white walls. Even from this distance, she could see the palace doors open, and two men step out. As she rode closer, she saw they were of similar heights and hair color, but that’s where resemblance ended. One man, in tailored brown trousers with a blue linen shirt, was thin and lean. He held himself with an air of confidence and humility perfectly blended. His hair was combed up into a perfect tousling, like he himself had just finished riding, and his sideburns came down to a clean shaven jaw. The other man was more muscular, with slightly darker hair cut just a bit shorter. He wore grayish pants tucked into boots, a tailored white shirt, and a broad silver band on his head. Mickey pulled the carriage to a halt, climbed down, and bowed before opening the door. The prince, obviously, stepped forward and held out his hand for Reinette, who took it and exited gracefully. “Your Highness.” Her tone was utter charm, eyes flirtatiously cast down, as she curtsied low. “You must be the Lady Reinette Poisson O’brien.” The Prince kissed her knuckled and pulled her up to stand. “You are more beautiful than rumor has made told.” Then his blue eyes glanced upwards to Rose as she dismounted and executed a low curtsy, which was odd in riding trousers. “And who might you be, my lovely lady.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles as well, signaling her to stand. “Rose, Your Highness, I am Lady Reinette’s handmaiden.” She kept her eyes cast down as she was trained to do. Keeping her voice light and servile. “Prince Jack, forgive me.” The other man stepped forward, smiling at the Prince in a friendly way. “But, I’m not mistaken when I point out that Lord Martin O’brien did father an illegitimate daughter named Rose.” She felt her heart sink, realizing that this is exactly why her mother had sent her, to be degraded an embarrassed. “Perhaps, this is the same woman.” “Well, Ladies, will one of you verify James’ observation she is Rose O’Brien?” The prince arched an eyebrow at them. Rose swallowed and squeezed her lips shut. She wanted to scream that yes, she was a motherless child, but she was still human and still had pride and dignity. Then she saw the other man, James, smirking at her in an unreadable manner. She yearned to reach up and slap it off his face. “Yes, my Prince, Rose is indeed my half sister.” Reinette’s voice was even, but Rose knew that she was internally contemplating a raging tirade should this news screw up her chances. “I see, well, then she won’t be serving as your handmaiden.” Prince Jack’s words made Rose glance up and stare at her sister, who looked just as stunned. “See, I’m trying to make things more like Boeshane, where my mother is from. There, legitimacy of one’s birth is not dictated by marriage outside of royal families. So, while Rose is here, she will be a guest.” He gestured to James, who was grinning broadly. “My good friend James here will escort you to the guest suite you’ll be staying at Rose.” He offered his hand to Reinette. “I’ll take the Lady here to hers.” From the corner of her eye Rose saw Mickey trying hard not to chuckle at the look of contempt Reinette was throwing. For the first time in her life, she was not afraid of being punished for angering her sister. After all, she and her mother had forced Rose to come. “Miss Rose,” James touched her arm lightly, his brown eyes sparkling as he extended his palm. “Shall we.” “Of course, mi’ Lord.” Rose caught Mickey’s wink as he talked to the stable hands who had come around. She took James’ hand and let him lead her inside. “The Lady Reinette seemed none too pleased about these arrangements.” He chuckled, looping her arm through his in a friendly manner. Now that she wasn’t distracted by the conversation and shock, she saw he was as handsome as the Prince, but more in a bookish way than a valiant knight. “Also, I’m not a Lord. I’m Prince Jack’s man servant, friend, and closest advisor. However, that is merely because I was the only one his age in the castle growing up. My mother is the royal midwife and a nanny.” “Oh.” Rose let herself return his broad grin. Things here were different, it seemed. James wasn’t of noble birth or title, but the servants in the palace seemed to give him the respect of one. “So, this doesn’t mean I have to take part in the things the other women are doing.” “Oh, only if the Prince invites you. See, he wants to change the laws regarding people like you, but he can’t until he’s king. He can’t be king til he marries.” James turned her down a hall to the right. “So, no, you won’t be one of his potential brides, but he’ll more than likely extend a friendship to you.” He paused outside of a door. “As mentioned, I’m James Smith. This will be your room.” “Thank you, James.” Rose felt like she was caught in a whirlwind. In literally a matter of breaths she had gone from being nothing to being treated well by the prince. She placed her hand on the knob and made to turn it. “Wait.” James eyes glanced over her riding with a look of scrutiny. “I’m assuming you only brought attire suitable for a handmaiden.” His voice wasn’t condescending, but held a sort of irritation at the situation. “Those should be fine for now, but I’ll see about getting you something more appropriate for a guest.” “I don’t want to be a bother.” Rose forced herself to meet his eyes. It was as if the prince and this man were trying to thwart her plans to escape. She knew they weren’t but still. “My new dresses are just fine. In fact, I should probably go change out of these traveling clothes now.” “I understand your hesitance, Rose, but at least consider the offer.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to reply. “As for now, the entire castle is open to you, barring the royal north residential wing without an invitation from the Prince or the King.” Rose made to open the door again, but she turned. “Are there going to be many women here, to see the Prince?” She hoped so, that way Reinette could know what it was like to not be the center of the world. “There were only ten invited, five of whom know the Prince already.” As if catching on to her line of thinking he flashed her a toothy smile. “While your sister is stunning, so are the others.” He gestured broadly as a servant came hurrying with her tiny trunk. “Go and change. I’ll wait out here to give you the tour.” Rose followed the servant inside and gasped. Her room was double the size of Reinette’s at home. The bed was marvelous, large enough for at least three people, covered in plush looking blankets and pillows in a rich blue and silver. Fresh flowers were in vases around the room, and the heavy curtains were tied back from the windows. The warm spring air billowed into the room, stirring the opaque silk that was still loose. She did take a peek through the two doors on the other side of the room. The one on the right led to a closet and the one on the left led to a sprawling boudoir complete with a stone basin for bathing, that looked like it had pipes that fed the water inside. Rose grabbed the pink dress and quickly donned it. She tightened the laces easily, taking the time to check her reflection. The dress was just as flattering as before, and she eyed the bottles of fragrant oils on a table near the bed. She sniffed one, finding it a woodsy but also smelling like the vanilla oils her mother sometimes traded wine for. She dabbed some behind her ear and hurried back out to the hall. James was seated on the floor, one leg up and supporting a book. The other leg was stretched out lazily. A pair of spectacles were perched on his nose, as he absentmindedly ran one hand through his hair. Rose was again struck by how stunning he was. On his feet he had been a coiled spring, ready to run, and jabbering away. Like this, she was reminded of a cat basking in the sun, graceful and languid without doing more than breathing. She had never before admired a man that way, although it had been assumed by everyone that she and Mickey were going to end up together. “What are you reading?” Those warm eyes found hers, and the smile that graced his lips made her grin reflexively. “A book on astronomy, and how it does actually have an impact on our seasons and even the different types of harvests that will grow.” He snapped the book shut, before scrambling to his feet. He opened the door to his right, set it inside, and closed it quietly. “Mine and my mother’s suite.” He explained as she opened her mouth to ask. “So, you said something about a tour.” Rose tucked her hair behind her ear, eager to get a basic layout of the palace. It would be easier to sneak out if she knew exactly where she was going. She held at her arm, and he took it in true gentlemanly escort fashion. “So I did. Would you like to see the castle itself, or perhaps the gardens and stables?” James led her back into the hall, and she could tell he was working to keep his long stride in step with hers. “There’s also a substantial library, my favorite part besides the kitchens.” That smile was back, sort of a combination of flirtatious and rogue. “We have about three or four hours before dinner.” “Um.” Rose was at a loss. She really wanted to see the layout of the palace itself, but she also needed to know how to get to the gardens so she could sneak out of the grounds. “You pick. You're the expert.” “Well, I can almost guarantee that your sister will be in the gardens.” He rolled his eyes in a playful manner. “Prince Jack took the first two ladies there when they first arrived.” “Oh, who else has shown up?” She was curious what notable women her snobbish sister would be competing against. “My cousin Donna Noble, and Lady Amelia Pond.” James turned them down a hall, pausing to point out a door massive door. “Throne room and coincidentally the ballroom for the first dance once all the ladies have arrived.” He paused only long enough to breathe. “Donna and Amy have been to the castle many times before. Donna, to visit my mother and because her father was an ambassador for King Rassilon, and Amy because her mother and Jack’s mother grew up together in Boeshane before marrying into our land.” Rose nodded, not really paying much mind as she memorized each way they went. So far he had shown her the way to the infirmary area, the main dining hall, the kitchens, and he rambled on about who was coming and what would be going on. She plastered on her best smile, giving half conscious affirmations as she mentally recalled the distance of each room to the main entrance and side kitchen exit. She vaguely realized he had asked her if something was a good idea. “Yeah, that sounds wonderful.” She squeezed his arm in a friendly manner and turned her gaze up. “Brilliant, my mother will be so delighted to meet you.” He reached out with a finger to playfully tap her chin. “She’s always wanted a daughter, and once you are my wife she will.” James’ words made her stumble to a stop, and she couldn’t bite back her shocked exclamation. “Your wife?! What?” Her heart rate jacked up as he flinched back a bit, looking suddenly hurt. “Oh no! No! I barely know you. Why in the world would I marry you?” She jerked away from him, backing a few steps to create a gap between them. His seriously wounded face held for a set of heartbeats before he burst into a roar of laughter. “Always, always pay attention to conversations here in the capitol, Rose.” He wiped the tears of amusement from his eyes with his palm. “Your face, my gods, your face!” He shook his head, still chuckling as she felt relief wash through her, followed by burning embarrassment. “Now, if you’re quite done calculating the best route out of the castle to run away, I can actually show you the best way to escape undetected.” Rose stared at him, feeling her cheeks flaming still from her faux pax. “I’m not plotting an escape or running away.” She was an adept liar. Not even Mickey was able to tell when she was hiding something. “I was just thinking about what it would be like to work at the palace versus the estate is all.” “So, there’s a reason Jack keeps me around, and if I’m going to be your escort for the majority of this visit, it’s only fair I should warn you.” He stepped past her to open a door and waived her inside. “Because, out of all the people in this Castle, Rose, I’m the only one you can’t ever lie to.” Rose’s curiosity was piqued, and she stepped inside the room. It was dark, but there was a snap of fingers and a torch blazed to life, then another, and another. With a startled gasp, she realized they were in some part of the library, far away from the windows and main area. Bookshelves towered around her. Then, her mind made the connection, as James was standing there with one hand up like he was about to snap again. The only difference was, a small flame danced between his fingers. “Magick?! You’re magick?!” “Yep.” He popped the p with a wink and blew the flame away. “Like my mother, of course. From my father, may the stars rest his soul, I inherited telepathy.” He wiggled his fingers at her. “I have to touch bare skin to do it though. You were broadcasting so loudly, I was able to pick it up when my thumb grazed your wrist.” He drew a breath, his eyes softening as they darted between hers. “I apologize, it was an accident. I normally have barriers in place, but you really do broadcast your thoughts quite powerfully. I wasn’t expecting it.” Rose swallowed hard and quickly tugged her sleeves down. Anger flitted into her chest. This man, this stranger, had gone into the one place that was hers and hers alone. She turned away from him. “Go away. I can find my own way back.” She squared her shoulders, jerking away as he touched her sleeve. “I said go away, and don’t come near me again.” “As you request, my lady.” She could hear him execute a bow. “I won’t tell anyone of your plan. I understand why you want to run.” She heard the door open. “Feel free to borrow any books you wish, as this library is open to all castle inhabitants and guests.” The door closed Rose chanced a look over her shoulder, and found the alcove they were in empty. “I’m not a lady.” She spat into the silence, stepping out into the rows that led to the main atrium of the massive room. It had to be ten times the one at the estate, with shelves that spanned to the ceiling. There were some people loitering about, mostly servants or what had to be their young teen children. None of them paid her notice as she walked the lines of shelves. Soon, she found herself in the section that must have been fiction. Fiction and fantasy had been her favorite when she was a child, before her mother had banned her from any reading materials outside of what was necessary to perform her duties. Her fingers found a book of short stories, almost identical to the one her father had given her for her thirteenth birthday. She had never finished it. Rose pulled the hulking volume from it’s spot and opened it up. It was the same collection, only far more intricately lettered and illustrated. Her anger forgotten, she hurried back to the alcove, out the door. She made her way back to her room, running into a woman about her age wearing a nearly identical dress coming out of her guest room. “Hello, are you Rose O’brien?” Her eyes darted down at Rose’s book and dress “Yes, and who are you?” Rose tried not to sound rude, but she didn’t like when people called her by her surname. “Gwen. I’m to be your sister’s handmaid while she is here.” The look on her face said that she had already gotten to know Reinette. “I was told to tell you dinner will be ready soon, in the main dining hall, mi’lady.” She executed a quick curtsy. “Please don’t do that.” Rose sighed and shook her head. “I’m not a lady. I’m usually Reinette’s handmaiden.” “I know.” Gwen gave her a nervous look. “Mr. Smith told me when he asked me to fetch you for dinner, but he also said that the Prince decreed you’re to be given the same courtesies as any titled visitor.” “Mr. Smith huh?” Rose rolled her eyes and sighed. “Well, you can just call me Rose. No courtesies needed, Gwen.” “Yes, of course.” Gwen’s nervous look faded a bit. “If I may say, you are a spot nicer than your sister.” Rose giggled and patted Gwen’s arm. “A hornet is a spot nicer than my mum and sister, Gwen. Thanks for finding me. Let them know I’ll be right down.” She watched as the woman hurried away before stepping into her room. In the growing sunset, a few oil lamps had been lit, along with candles in the sconces on the walls. Her dresses had been unpacked, and the trunk sat empty and open in the corner. Rose felt her heart drop. She rushed over, tossing her book aside and stared into the trunk. It was empty except for a folded paper. The paper had a three number combination with the word ‘headboard’. Dashing to the bed, she found it was carved with vines and orchid flowers. One of the orchids moved, and behind it was a small dial. She turned the combination and found her purses. “Please, please.” She opened them, and sighed out loud as the coins were all still there. She quickly hid them back, and memorized the combination before tossing the paper in the small fire burning in the hearth. She noted the closet was slightly ajar, and she opened it to find her clothes hung up along with two dresses. They weren’t extravagant gowns like a noblewoman’s, but they were pretty and more akin to what a successful merchant or scholar’s wife might wear. Rose almost refused to wear them, but the thought of rubbing it in Reinette’s face was too tempting. She picked out a black and red one, quickly stepped into it, and reached back to get the laces done. When she looked into the mirror on the wall she gasped. The black bodice clung to her curves, far more fitted than any dress she had ever owned, pushing her breasts up pleasantly, and the sleeves bubbled up into cute cap sleeves just. The skirt was loose and flowing, from her hips down, the red material pooling just barely to the floor. A belt hid the seam where the materials joined, decorated in simple black and red glass beading. She quickly combed her hair, admiring the way the beads sparkled in the firelight. As she set her comb down, she eyes fell on a white wrapped package she had missed on her bed. “What?” She moved towards it, picking up the folded blue parchment that was on top. She opened it up to find elegant looping script. Rose, I honestly did not mean to cause offense this afternoon with my poor judgement. I humbly offer my apologies, as well as my knowledge of the castle for you plans. Please take this gift, as an offering of peace and friendship, knowing that they will prevent another violation of your mental sanctum. Sincerely, Sir James Smith First Man of the Prince Rose felt her anger rising again at the incident that had occurred. She did not want to forgive him, but he had been nicer to her than many others had in her life. She set the note aside and opened the neatly folded tissue paper. Inside was two sets of gloves, one in black and one in white. They were long enough to reacher her elbows and made of soft flexible material. “Okay, James.” She picked up the black ones and made up her mind. He was her ticket out of here. “I accept your apology.” She slipped the gloves on and quickly stepped into the hallway to make her way to dinner.

    Finding the other side of the bed empty is extremely unlikely so when Diluc runs his hand on the right to feel only the cold mattress, his eyes immediately spring open.     It was very unlikely for Kaeya to be up so early, especially when he's in the middle semesters of pregnancy. Usually, he'd love to sleep in where both he and his child can have a rest after staying up so late.     Of course, Diluc is a very protective husband. Taking care of his wife is his top priority and so it isn't unknown that he'd be concerned about where Kaeya could've gone.    Bathroom breaks were also expected, but not for this long, neither with the scents of fresh cake batter permeating throughout the manor.   Smells of delicious breakfast begin to strum his stomach, his feet already quickly leading him towards the kitchen.        And he should've expected it once reaching the dining room, yet he could never stop the breath stifling in his throat. His beautiful wife turned to him once hearing his footsteps follow behind, a sweet smile tugging on his lips at his presence.      Wearing a snug maid dress, the apron easily defined the round healthy bump of his, all for Diluc to see and cherish. Kaeya's hand held a spatula, and Diluc could see from behind him where the delectable scents were coming from.   The usual maid dresses that were appropriate to wear in the manor were cut short, only barely covering over his thighs thanks to the swelling of his stomach lifting up the skirt.   Diluc could recognize the outline of stockings holding up Kaeya's thighs, and the clear signs of marks were slightly visible from underneath Kaeya's dress.     "Master Diluc, you're awake" Kaeya hummed in acknowledgment, the greeting as alluring as it could get.     Diluc gulped, not knowing whether he should play along or have his fill of breakfast as soon as possible.     "Please have a seat, I've cooked something simple but it should be enough to satisfy you for the time being" Kaeya smiled professionally, indicating him to sit down on the chair clearly moved back.     Diluc took his seat, interested in what Kaeya would be serving him. With the seat being taken, Kaeya turned, a flutter of his skirt following alongside him.    Diluc's eyes wandered on Kaeya's exposed back. The shoulder blades were defined, and the bared neck with purplish bruises was enough to get his cock pulsating.     He would've gotten up just to press himself against Kaeya's back, but as the master, he strived to keep himself together as long as he could.     And perhaps it felt like the longest morning ever; his patience dwindled as his finger tapped on the table, while hs eyes wandered down to Kaeya's long legs that wore tight black-silked stockings.       Soon before he could stand up, Kaeya turned towards him, his hips swaying as both of his hands held a plate. Diluc glanced up at Kaeya who was focused on arranging the table; and with his hair tied up in a ponytail as it brushed over his revealed shoulder, Diluc couldn't help keeping his eyes on Kaeya's eyelashes that fluttered when redirecting to him.    Kaeya's starry eye locked onto him, teasing with a crinkle as he pulled back to let him focus on the contents for breakfast.   "Please have a try, Master. I hope it'll be to your liking" Kaeya placed his hands over his bump, eager to see how Diluc would react to his surprise.     Diluc nodded, taking the fork and his knife in his hands, he ignored his hard-on beneath the table, instead focusing on his wife's hard work.     Kaeya smiled gleefully once Diluc's expression brightened, one bite turned to two and two bites turned to three.   "It's delicious" Diluc commented, licking his lips.   "Come, have a try" Diluc ushered, taking Kaeya's arm and gently pulling him forward.     Kaeya nodded with a blush, nearing Diluc's fork, he drew his hair behind his ear and opened his mouth. Diluc swallowed dryly, placing a serving of pancake with whipped cream in his mouth.     Kaeya's lips shut once the food was settled in but he couldn't help the whipping cream slipping down his chin and onto his apron.     "Oh dear" Kaeya murmured, flicking a finger upon the cloth and bringing his finger over to his lips until Diluc grabbed his wrist and licked his finger for him.     Kaeya squeaked, his waist being clutched lightly by Diluc's hesitant, yet daring hands. He could see the burning fire in Diluc's eyes, looking up at him while he began to sit himself on Diluc's lap.     "Master Diluc, you've yet to finish breakfast" Kaeya whispered in his ear, sensing the gloveless hand run up his naked back.   "I'm a bit thirsty, but I don't see any drinks on the table. An incompetent maid you are" Diluc murmured with a prepared rebuke, untying the apron that loosely covered over Kaeya's chest.   "Oh, it's because we... hngh- we ran out of milk" Kaeya shuddered at the hot tongue that lapped against his shoulder.   "Then? You won't leave your master thirsty will you?" Diluc frowned mildly, moving closer that his breath ran across Kaeya's collar bone.     Kaeya's breath hitched, the apron slipping down until his full, plump chest revealed.      "This dress is too loose, you planned this didn't you?" Diluc smirked, brushing his lips against Kaeya's breast.   "I-I don't know what you're talking about, Master" Kaeya bit his lips, looking down to see Diluc meeting his gaze.   "A slutty maid you are, I ought to punish you" Diluc spoke with finality, licking a stripe against the aroused nip.     Kaeya moaned softly, his bump pressing against Diluc whilst his hands grasped on Diluc's hair.     Diluc used his hands to grope the breasts, astonishing when warm milk began to dribble down and sully the loose apron, alongside Diluc's sleeves.      "Do you see how sloppy you are? Already ruining my clothes" Diluc clicked his tongue; twisting the pink nipples, milk easily began to gush out.   "M-Master... if-if you do that then nngh... it'll be hard to clean up...!" Kaeya gasped, his eyes half-lidding.   "Then I'll just have to clean it up for you" Diluc licked the milk that flowed down his hands, his fiery eyes on Kaeya's whose glistened with tears.     Diluc didn't give Kaeya enough time to adjust, his hands working down Kaeya's thighs while his mouth led straight to the swollen nip.   Kaeya mewled, his hands trembling upon Diluc's red locks. He could feel Diluc's tongue twirling and pulling on his nipple, and with that, the heaviness in his chest eased amidst Diluc's intense suction.      Kaeya caressed Diluc's head whilst his own head pulled back in cries, the dampness coming from Diluc's mouth was jolting and Diluc's warm hands squeezing his thighs felt extremely soothing.     Diluc looked up, his chin resting on Kaeya's chest to see Kaeya's blissful expressions. Kaeya's mewls and moans were delightful to listen to, and having his own appetizing breakfast made it all the better.     Warm milk slid down his throat, sweet and thick just like his gorgeous wife.      He could feel Kaeya thoughtlessly grind his ass against his erection, the sensation of wetness clinging to his bulge was enough to know that Kaeya was just as aroused, if not the moans already making it obvious.   Kaeya held his hair, yet the pulling wasn't searing. His lips quivered, kissing against his crimson locks.   "Luc- Master...! I-It's too... it's too much" Kaeya whined, his arms securing around his neck to keep him from shuddering back.     Diluc pushed his own hips upward, his erection touching against Kaeya's cunt, stroking upon the wettened lips.     "M-Master, are you still unsatisfied? I-I'm afraid I've run out of milk as well" Kaeya sniffled pitifully, clutching his fingers to the swelled breasts.       Diluc licked his lips, finding himself not yet satiated.   "My pretty maid, I've yet to receive the main course" Diluc smirked, rubbing his crotch onto Kaeya's cunt.   "On the table. Bend over" Diluc ordered.     Kaeya purred in arousal, albeit reluctantly releasing himself from Diluc's warm embrace, and finding his legs wobbly once touching the floor.      Diluc reached out to help him, taking his hand into his own, he bent over the table. His pregnant bump brushed against the soft tablecloth, and with his ass perked up, he could feel the skirt immediately lift up on its own, revealing his slick-soaked thong and meaty thighs seeping from the stockings.    Kaeya could feel hands run up from behind his knees upwards towards his thighs. A warm finger slid against the lips of his wet cunt while a hand squeezed the plumpness on his thigh.      Kaeya sighed out loud, the heels of his feet lifting higher. He shivered once hot breath licked against his cool skin; pulling down the panties, a string of slick followed with the undergarment.     Diluc licked his lips; presented to him was a drenched pussy, the same one he'd love to savor all for himself.    Using his fingers to make a V, he parted the labia lips, observing how the pink layered upon coats of slick. The cunthole throbbed with his moist breath touching against it, and Kaeya's whines made it all the more rousing.     Enough was said, the slick sliding down Kaeya's thighs was plenty to be regretful of, and Master Diluc wasn't one to waste his food.   Sweeping his tongue against every exposed part of skin, he could relish in the better breakfast given to him. And for sure, he wouldn't be left starving, taking his time to dish out on the meal granted to him.       Kaeya cried out as a tongue draped against every part of his pussy; licking up his slick, the tongue lapped upon the folds and sections that made his toes curl.     Kaeya grabbed onto the table's edge, keeping himself stable. His heels were already lifting off the tiles, and glancing back, he could see his husband giving him the fittest punishment.    His heart swooned while Diluc feasted on him, head bobbing as he focused on eating him out.     "Ooh! R-Right there Master...~! " Kaeya shuttered, his legs giving in if not for the fact Diluc's hands held him up.     Diluc thrusted his tongue in, his thumb meanwhile reaching up to rub into the small sensitive bundle of nerves. Kaeya gasped as the sensations overcame him; pushing himself back against Diluc's face to get him to lick around that place as well, he sobbed anew.   His thoughts were easily read, sucking on Kaeya's delicate clit and lips of his cunt, Diluc could listen to Kaeya's guttural whimpers for days.    He occasionally flicked the clit, nibbled the puffed cuntlips, including diving in the slippery entrance. Kaeya's cries grew in pitch as the seconds passed by.      Kaeya pressed his whole weight against the table, holding onto it for dear life.    "Master Diluc oh, please- please, it's so good...!" Kaeya's voice was indistinguishable between the sobs, including the words and the moans mixing together that it only seemed like he was mumbling.    "Ah... A... Luc--... "  Kaeya peeped out, his eyes widening.   "I'm going to come- going to come!" Kaeya gasped, his eyes blurring with white that he could've sworn he was starting to see stars.     His feet were already raised off the floor, the glistened thighs squeezed together in an attempt to get the best climax but Diluc pulled the legs apart.    "Luc...!" Kaeya's thick teary sob echoed in the manor, and thankfully, just this once, he had thought twice in letting Adelinde begin her shift early.     Diluc couldn't get enough, slurping up Kaeya's sweet spent. Squirts of clear juices spilled down, the sounds of it splashing against the tiled floor were unclear from the heavy moans and breathing.     Kaeya weakly fell back on the table, his lips spasming with drool throughout the time they slacked-out with long pants.   Diluc licked downwards, examining how the pussy flushed out and enlarged. Pulling back, the beautiful sights of his wife reddened against the table was what made him realize his cock was still painfully untouched.      Zipping down his fly, the throbbing on his cock relieved once hitting the dampened air. Pressing it against the swollen folds, the wet squelches made his breaths heavier.     Kaeya rose up weakly, his legs felt like jelly. Without glancing back, he could already discern the hardness of Diluc's cock rubbing against him.     He wiggled his hips, pushing back so the cock would sink into the lips.    "What a slut" Diluc smirked, spanking Kaeya's ass.      Kaeya moaned, his body squirming with the heat rushing to his cheeks. A red handmark formed upon the brown glistened skin.    "You like that, don't you?" Diluc demanded, spanking Kaeya's assets, predominantly near his cunt.   "Y-Yes, M-Master Diluc!"      Diluc gripped firmly on Kaeya's waist; roaming his hand around, he held the smooth curves of Kaeya's stomach in his palms.   "Beg for it" Diluc whispered.   "Please Master, need- need your cock" Kaeya pleaded, panting lengthy gasps.     Diluc leaned forward, his chest pressing against Kaeya's back while his cock nuzzled in the maid's swollen labia.     Diluc rolled his hips, pushing his lips onto Kaeya's nape.   "M-Master Diluc, just- oh, like that...!" Kaeya moved up, his hand caressing Diluc's cheek.     Kaeya pressed small kisses on Diluc's cheek, his eyes were teary but he could slightly see Diluc gazing at him fondly through the blurriness.   "Kae, don't move too much. Let me do it, alright?" Diluc nestled his nose in Kaeya's hair.     Kaeya nodded, using one hand to keep him up on the table while the other reached down to lead Diluc's cock to his hole.   He looked down, even though he clearly couldn't see the cock align with his entrance, still, a purr escaped his throat at the thought of getting full.     "Master, now please" Kaeya grounded his cunt against the head of Diluc's cock.     Diluc breathed in, carefully thrusting in. Kaeya gripped the table, leaning forward as the cock began stretching his walls.     "O-Oh..." Kaeya whimpered, his tongue hanging out while his eyes enlarged.     Diluc sunk in, his hands intertwining with Kaeya's. With his chin resting on Kaeya's shoulder, he could hear the laborious moans more clearly.     Enamored by the sight of Kaeya's tears slipping down his cheek, he found himself pushing forward.     "Kae, you're so beautiful, my obedient wife" Diluc spoke mesmerized.   "Luc, please need more, hicc- you'll give me it, r-right...?" Kaeya cried blissfully.   "Don't worry, your husband will give you what you want" Diluc crooned.     Diluc moved back, emptying Kaeya of his cock and with only the tip left behind, he snapped his hips forward.      Kaeya moaned out loud, his legs trembling like an infant learning to walk.    "You're so perfect, Kae" Diluc groaned, nibbling on Kaeya's ear.     Kaeya mewled at the praise, the stretching and the fullness was making him blank out. Thankfully, Diluc was behind him to keep him from tipping over.   "I-I... Oh... Luc i-it's too much, so full-" Kaeya could barely speak through the gasps.     With Diluc firmly locked in his pussy, he couldn't help clenching even more with Diluc's heavy breathing on his neck.    "You're doing so well, Kae" Diluc praised.   "So tight for me, I knew you'd be so good from the moment I saw you" Diluc groaned near his ear.   "Wearing this lewd attire, you just wanted me to destroy your pussy huh?" Diluc smirked, rocking his hips that the sounds came out more obscure.   "Do you hear that? How desperately your cunt is trying to keep my cock inside?" Diluc cooed, his hand sliding down the side of Kaeya's thigh.     Kaeya shuttered, his hand meeting with Diluc's.   "Say it Kae. Why did you wear this slutty dress?" Diluc whispered, his thrusting pace picking up.   "O-Ooh- Y-Yes...! I did it so M-Master Diluc would look at m-me!" Kaeya confessed, his eyes rolling behind.   "That's a good girl" Diluc answered with a spank.     Kaeya yelped, holding onto the table, his eyes were unbearably blurry with tears and pleasure. With his cunt sopping wet, the slick drenched every part of his skirt and splattered everywhere.     "You're making a mess, Kae" Diluc punished with a slap.    "I-I'm sorry Master- nNNH~" Kaeya apologized once more before he cried out at the cock pressing on his cervix.   "Sorry for what?" Diluc smiled, nudging his tip against the tight cervix.   "Oh- s-sorry for ruining your floor, ah-! A-And your clothes, Master" Kaeya bit his lips, moaning out his replies at every slam.     The burning on his cheeks and the large length deepening inside overweighed anything else. His legs were on the verge of sinking down- he was holding onto nothing but a wooden table that shook at every thrust.     "I'm close, I'm close Luc!" Kaeya whined, sobbing to the point that the whole manor filled with his cries.   "It's so good, please Luc- oh I'm going to come!" Kaeya shivered, trying to hold his legs together.      Diluc grunted, locked inside Kaeya, all he could feel was the hot constricting snugness; even when he wanted to last longer, he knew he couldn't with Kaeya's entrancingly erotic moans and pleads.   "Luc Luc I'm going to burst- it's hicc- too much" Kaeya shook his head desperately as he got closer to coming.     His mind is melting, tongue sprawled out while Diluc's cock prods against every single part of his cunt, the shameless moans were out for everyone in the vicinity to hear.       However, soon, whatever words that were coming out of Kaeya's throat next, died down immediately as the heels of his feet stretch impossibly far. His cunt creates a remarkably wet noise once everything inside Kaeya breaks.     Kaeya wails out, his hands clenching anything yet nothing. Diluc similarly blanks out when Kaeya's pussy engulfs all his worth.     Quite possibly the best thing he could've woken up to, Kaeya squirts everywhere, his blissed-out face screaming ecstasy just from the way his eyes dim with tears and his mouth contract uncontrollably.       Kaeya felt so full as if he could get impregnated ten times over. The overstimulation and just the pure stuffing that Diluc gave him was enough to send him reeling if not for Diluc keeping him steady.      Diluc is locked in for just a few seconds, giving time for Kaeya to adjust until he began slipping out. Kaeya whined out, his sobs bursting from his throat as all that was left was emptiness.     Diluc astonished toward Kaeya's pussy which gaped with semen and slick, now dribbling down to the puddle on the floor.      "You know, Master Diluc, a picture would last longer" Kaeya songfully teased, trying to catch his breath between the words.     Diluc spanked Kaeya once more, a loud moan gracelessly escaping from Kaeya's lips answered his teases.   "I'll have a lot of cleaning to do" Diluc huffed, looking down at the puddle of spend.   "I'd love to see Master Diluc as a maid one day" Kaeya chuckled.   "I think I'd prefer having you make breakfast instead" Diluc smiled.   "It was great, thank you Kae" Diluc pressed a kiss on Kaeya's perspiring forehead.   "Just a wife doing his job" Kaeya beamed, and sometimes Diluc forgets Kaeya is all his, but it's a good thing he has Kaeya to remind him every night.    

When morning came, Gilbert found himself anxious. He wasn’t entirely sure why, he and his brother both rarely experienced any sort of nervousness. As he got dressed, he scolded himself for not knowing the cause of this small dose of adrenaline, and scolding himself for feeling it at all.   With an impending sense of deja vu, Gilbert returned down the same path that he walked yesterday, his sunglasses perched over his nose, his hands tucked tight into the pockets of his white leather jacket. When he came to the spot on the sidewalk where he had tackled Roderich, he stopped and leaned against the wall of the nearest building. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket with one hand, and brushed his pale fringe to the side with the other.   Seconds after sending a message asking “where are you?” he felt a tap on his shoulder. He pivoted around on his heels in surprise, seeing Roderich right behind him. He looked very put-together, from his side-swept hair to his purple coat and perfectly squared collar. Gilbert’s residual anxiety picked back up as he now felt underdressed.   “Grüß Gott,” Roderich said, extending a polite handshake. Gilbert hesitated, taking it after a moment of confusion.   “You can’t say that in Berlin, Wienerblut.” Gilbert said smugly, trying to calm his own nerves.   “Excuse me for trying to be polite.” Roderich said, retracting his hand. He looked disgustedly up at Gilbert, his eyes hidden by the faint glare of sunlight on his glasses.   Gilbert immediately regretted his words. “Hey, sorry, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. Just poking a little fun at you.”   Roderich paused and turned to face the direction Gilbert had walked from, not looking him in the eye. “I’ll resist saying something about how Germans need to be careful about their xenophobia, no matter how playful.”   Gilbert crossed his arms. “Excuse me?” He scoffed. “Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you, Roderich. I came here to give you a second chance.”   Roderich’s eyes suddenly darted back to Gilbert’s sunglasses. “I’m the one giving you a second chance, Gilbert.”   Now feeling personally offended on two levels, Gilbert raised his sunglasses above his eyes just slightly. “Listen. We both apparently messed up the other day so let’s not have a repeat. Did you want to hang out or not? I can turn around and go right back home if you just came here to be pissy.” Looking Roderich straight in the eyes, he swore he saw his determination falter just slightly.   “...I do want to spend some time with you. I’m just a little on edge, it would seem.” Roderich broke eye contact to look down before glancing back up and re-squaring his shoulders. “Many apologies. Let’s go enjoy ourselves.”   Deciding not to be too concerned with the level of sincerity any longer, Gilbert sighed and turned to face the Brandenburg Gate. “What would you like to do?” He asked politely.   “Well, I thought it would be best if you chose, as you are from Berlin and would laugh if I told you where I’d like to go.” Roderich plainly stated.   Gilbert turned back to him and lowered his eyebrows. “What? Tell me.”   “No, you choose.”   “You can’t just drop something like that on me, dude.”   “I apologize, as I just did.”   “Well, you’re the guest in my city.” Gilbert immediately scoffed at himself. His city.   “I don’t know anything about Berlin.” Roderich responded.   “Apparently you do. Just tell me where you want to go!”   Roderich paused and looked away for a moment. “The musical instrument museum.” Gilbert grinned as Roderich looked back at him. “See, I told you it was ridiculous.”   “No, no,” Gilbert said, beginning to walk away. “I just think it’s cool, I’ve never been there either, so let’s go.” He let his smile continue, deciding that it was probably best to keep both of them in a better mood.   “I’ll see where it is,” Roderich said plainly, pulling his phone jacket pocket.   “Yeah, just google it.” Gilbert said, shifting back on his heels awkwardly for a moment. As soon as the words left his mouth he was filled with regret, remembering those were the last words Roderich must have heard him say before the train doors closed. Apparently, those were not the Last Words that were hidden under Roderich’s sleeve. Roderich didn’t seem to think anything of his sentence, though, and poked on his phone screen for a few moments.   “It’s not far from here, actually,” he noted, pocketing his phone. “Right across the street from the Philharmonic.” He looked from side to side, trying to assess his location.   Gilbert’s smile sunk on one side into a grin that was more smug than polite. “I’ll get us there, don’t you worry. It’s this way.” He began walking, waiting briefly for Roderich to catch up. “Have you… been there before?”   Roderich looked ahead; Gilbert could tell he was avoiding looking at his sunglasses. “No, actually. Strange that I haven’t, with as many music festivals as I’ve attended in Berlin.” He waited for a moment. “Have you?”   “Oh, no.” Gilbert shrugged. “My classical musician days are behind me; I don’t have much interest anymore. My heart is really in rock music now, but even then I haven’t touched my guitar in months.”   “It can be daunting.” Roderich stated plainly. “Practicing is often difficult for those of us who are not as disciplined.”   Gilbert turned to look at his companion, rather surprised. “You say that like you’re not a disciplined guy.”   The smug look that had inhabited Gilbert’s face had now jumped ship onto Roderich’s. He pushed his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose and looked rather mischievous in doing so. “I did all my practicing when I was a child, I’ve done my time, you could say. The discipline I appear to have just an illusion; a façade I carry even into the professional world. I’m not particularly motivated to do much besides compose.”   He liked this new look on Roderich, he hated to admit. Seeing the barriers of formality come down was an interesting experience, and he wondered how long it would last. Maybe, Gilbert thought, he could make it last longer by playing along. He wondered if it counted as flirting. “I didn’t realize you were involved in theatre as well as the other fine arts.”   The smirk stayed present on Roderich’s face and Gilbert felt a little accomplished. “I have some experience. I was in a production of Les Miserables when I was in university.”   “So you sing, too?” Gilbert laughed. “Is there anything you don’t do?”   Roderich turned to look earnestly up at him. “Brass and percussion.”   Gilbert only laughed more. “I knew you were smart.”   Roderich countered his laughter with a small smile. “I knew you were, as well.”   A little surprised, Gilbert allowed the stop in conversation. Just like that night at Nollendorfplatz, the silence wasn’t awkward nor did it seem dared to be filled. He appreciated how natural it felt to just walk next to the man who was supposed to be his soulmate.   After a few minutes they approached the building, and Gilbert hurried ahead for the door. He pulled the handle and opened it before Roderich caught up with him. “After you, sir.” He said, half-polite and half-flirtatious.   “Thank you, sir.” Roderich said, in the same tone, raising an eyebrow up at him playfully. Gilbert felt his heart beat ever so slightly faster.   The pair approached the counter, Roderich already immersed in his interests. He looked around the wide-open room, his eyes gleaming with excitement in the sunlight streaming in. Gilbert watched him for a moment, liking the continued streak of breaking his stoic look. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a sign propped up on the desk that read Enrich Your Museum Experience! Audio tours, only 3€.   He then turned his attention to the woman behind the counter playing on her phone. Without looking she slid two small slips of paper across to him. “Six euros per person.”   Knowing that he owed Roderich after leaving him with the bill the other night, he dug his wallet out of his pocket. He sorted through his cash before putting down twelve euros worth of bills. “Could I get two audio tours, also?” He asked.   The woman exhaled an exasperated sigh and put her phone down slowly, opening a drawer. “Six euros.” She slapped two little audio devices with attached earbuds onto the counter.   Roderich had already wandered off a few steps, beginning to read the plaques labeling an old harpsichord. “Yeah… uh…” Gilbert paused. He only had four more one-euro coins. “Okay, just one. Sorry.” He placed the three coins on top of the bills and took one of the devices as the woman rolled her eyes and returned to her phone.   Gilbert approached Roderich, who was staring in awe at the huge pipes on an organ. He had no idea that Gilbert was there. “Hey, Weinerblut,” he interrupted. Roderich jumped just a bit, turning to see him. He held out the little device with a smile. “Thought this would enrich your museum experience.”   Roderich’s eyes widened, looking down at it and back up at Gilbert. “…where’s yours?”   Gilbert shrugged. “Ah, didn’t have enough money on me. Don’t worry about it. I owe you for leaving you with the bill the other day.”   Roderich looked back down and took the device from his hand, brushing his fingers slightly. “Well… thank you. It’s… very thoughtful of you.”   Gilbert shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” He noticed that Roderich looked awfully sheepish. “What’s wrong?”   “Ah, well, I hate for you to miss out. You didn’t have to get this for me.” He said, slowly putting in an earbud.   “Again, don’t worry about it. I thought you’d enjoy getting as much information out of this as possible. This museum doesn’t look too terribly interactive.” Gilbert put his hands in his pockets and stared ahead at the huge piano-thing that Roderich was so interested in.   The two stared at it for a moment before Gilbert felt a push on his arm. He looked over to see Roderich holding out the other earbud. “We should share it, then.” He stated.   Gilbert smiled and accepted the offer. “How cute.” He put the earbud in his ear and stood shoulder to shoulder with his companion.   “Cute?” Roderich said, sounding a little offended. “I’m just being nice!”   Gilbert laughed, looking smug. “Don’t get all romantic on me, Weinerblut. I’m going to have to hold your hand or something and knowing you, you probably won’t like it.”   Gilbert’s attitude changed quickly when he felt Roderich’s fingers slip through his own. The warmth of his palm pressed to Roderich’s shot through his entire body and his heart beat increased. He looked down at Roderich suddenly, who was too busy finding the buttons on the audio tour player. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Gilbert.” He pressed play and pocketed the little remote, staring ahead at the organ in front of them.   Gilbert’s already pale face could not have become any whiter with embarrassment. He followed Roderich’s actions and stared straight ahead at the instrument, trying to focus on the exhibit rather than how much he enjoyed the feeling of Roderich’s hand in his.   “Wilkommen auf die Berlin Musikinstrumentmuseum…”

Sandra is Different by Vanessa Evans Part 5 I arrived at the university's gym at the time agreed with Isla which was 30 minutes later than the previous week, and I had to wait a few minutes outside for her. I saw one guy come out carrying his kit bag and when he saw me he turned around and went back in. I wondered if he'd gone earlier hoping to see me and then left when I didn't appear at the same time as the previous week only to see me outside and decide to have another workout. When Isla arrived I turned and we went in. The ladies changing room was empty and within seconds we were both naked and putting our trainers and our leotards on. "You look good Isla." I said as I looked at her pokie nipples and the difference in colour of her nipples and areolae to the rest of her tits through the black, see-through leotard. I could also see her slit. "So do you Sandra, that white leotard may cover you but it certainly doesn't hide anything." "I'm not done yet." I replied as I bunched the crotch and made it disappear between my labia and on one side of my clit. "I'm going to do that later." Isla said. We went to the workout room and I was happy when I saw that there were indeed more young men, and more girls, although I didn't know if the girls were there to look at me and Isla or just to workout. Some of the guys were definitely there to watch Isla and me, their eyes having found us just as soon as we walked in. "Shall I follow you round Sandra, Suzie seen as we're in flashing mode." We giggled a little then I replied, "Okay Kat." We started doing my routine round the machines and before long I noticed that the crotch of Kat's leotard had disappeared between her lips although her clit was still covered and not even protruding like mine was. All of a sudden I was grateful for my longer than average clit that never wants to hide below its hood. There was 2 notable machines that gave us a lot of pleasure, the first was the exercise cycle where we pushed each other, on seats that was too high, until we'd both had an orgasm. We were both reasonably quiet and neither of us knew if any of the other people in the room had realised. The second pleasurable machine was the hip abductor where we both strained to keep our legs spread wide, and our pussies on display, to the small group of others, including 2 girls, in the room, some of whom had gathered in front of the machine. When it came to the floor exercises Kat stood beside me and copied everything that I did, including the leg stretching. Kat really had to concentrate when I was doing my Katas, there's a lot to remember so I did them slowly so that she could copy each move. I decided to add 1 exercise to my routine, standing splits. I had been reminded of them one time recently when I'd been browsing the internet looking for exercises that would really display my pussy, especially in the leotard that covers next to nothing. When Kat saw me going into that pose I saw her jaw drop then turn into a big smile as she lifted her right leg and pulled and pushed it until her foot was way above her head. The 2 of us stood there like that appeared to please our little audience because I could see a few growing bulges in the guy's shorts. I also saw 1 of the girls licking her lips and I wondered if she'd still be around when we went to the changing room. Floor exercises over, we were stood getting our breath back when a couple of the guys came over to us, both asking if we could 'spot' them. "Sure," I replied, "we'd be pleased to help you." Kat looked at me wondering what we were talking about so I said, "Just follow me, it's easy and I guarantee that you'll enjoy it." And like having a guy's face so close to her mainly uncovered pussy Kat did. Two different young men actually, because after the first 2, 2 more guys asked for our help as well. By the time we left the workout room I'm sure that Kat was just as wet and horny as I was. As we walked back to the changing room I told Kat that I was thinking of adding some yoga poses to the end of the routine. "Ones that really show off our pussies I hope." Kat said. "Of course, there's no point in doing them if we can't show our pussies at their best. Have you ever done any yoga Kat?" "No, but I watched a bit on the TV once." "I'll look on the internet, there's bound to be some there." I replied. "You will be coming again next week won't you?" "Try and stop me Suzie, I might even come another day this week. Now that you've given the courage to make it a lot more fun I think that I'm going to get a lot fitter." "I've given you courage? It's more like you've given me some. Let me know if you come any other time, I might just join you." There was a third girl in the showers, the one that had been staring at us and licking her lips when she could see our pussies. No sooner that Kat and myself had started soaping each other than the third girl turned to face us revealing her bald pubes and tits about the same size as Kat's, and said, "That was quite a workout you two just had, and I have to say that I liked your outfits probably as much as the guys in there did, Are you two sisters or something?" "No." Kat replied. "Lovers?" "No," I replied this time, "just friends who think the same way." "Well I like the way that you think, where did you get the leotards?" I told her then added, "We'd prefer to workout totally naked but we're not sure that the management would approve, not like the swimming pool where we're going next and no one there seems to care." "You swim naked at the pool? Oh, I'm Sofia by the way." I introduced Kat and myself (Suzie) then said, "Yes, we've been skinny dipping there the last 2 weeks and no one has complained." "Interesting," Sofia replied as I started soaping Kat's tits. "So you 2 are not sisters or lovers, it's just that .......... " I instantly realised what Sofia was thinking and replied, "We both get so horny showing our naked bodies that we just have to do something about it and it's always better when someone else is playing with your tits and pussy even if it is another girl. That's not a problem here is it?" "Not at all, I couldn't agree more, even seeing other girls expose themselves makes me horny, never mind exposing myself." Sofia said, "would you mind if I caressed your tits Suzie? They're so unique, fabulous, I wish that mine were the shape of yours." "Only if we can caress your body as well Sofia." The 3 of us smiled and all 3 of us were soon caressing each other all at the same time. The inevitable happened and minutes later all 3 of us were enjoying the afterglow of our orgasms. "So," Sofia said once our arousal had diminished a little, "you two are going nude swimming now are you?" "Yes." Both Kat and I said almost at the same instant. "Are you coming with us Sofia?" I added. Sofia said nothing for a few seconds then replied, "You know, I think that I will, I've never been skinny dipping before." "You'll enjoy it, and you'll enjoy the men looking at you." As we were getting dressed I noted that Sofia also didn't put any underwear on and she was wearing a short floaty skirt. As we walked over to the swimming pool I asked Sofia if she always went without underwear. "I didn't before I came here, my mother would have thrown a right wobbler if she found out. I did occasionally and if my brothers found out they'd start tickling me and we usually ended up on the floor with me with my skirt up around my waist. I sort of liked them seeing my pussy but it was a good job that they never started tickling me when my parents were around." "So your brothers seeing your pussy turned you on Sofia?" Kat asked. "I never really put 2 and 2 together back then but yes, I suppose that it did." "So would you let your brothers fuck you Sofia?" I asked. "Wow, direct and to the point Suzie," Sofia replied, "just like your tits. You really are a lucky girl Suzie, my tits are just 'average'." "Yes she is lucky." Kat added. "They're just tits." I replied. "I like all of yours, nice and soft and sensitive. I bet that all those girls with melons on their chests wish that theirs were like either of yours." "Or yours Suzie." Kat added. "But mine are a bit freaky, okay, some younger girls have them like this to start off with but they develop into ones that look 'normal', mine have never done that." "But you like them don't you Suzie?" Sofia asked. "I do, I like being different even if it is freakish." "Well I'm sure that they guys like them." Kat said. "They seem to, look at that guy at the Funfair yesterday, he couldn't take his hands off them." "You let a guy at a Funfair grope your tits Suzie?" Sofia asked. "She did," Kat replied, "and you should have seen the dress that she was nearly wearing." "So you like flashing a lot of skin do you Suzie?" Sofia asked. "I think that all 3 of us do." I replied. We were still giggling a little as we entered the pool building. "Are you sure that this is okay?" Sofia asked as the 3 totally naked older teen girls headed for the archway between the girls changing room and the pool, none of them trying to cover their bits with their hands. "No," I replied, "but no one said anything last week so what the hell, let's do it girls. What's the worst that can happen?" "We can get thrown out and barred from coming here again." Sofia replied. "Who will know, no one checked our student IDs when we got here. In fact there was only that girl in reception and she looked so bored that a football team could have walked in and she wouldn't have noticed." Kat replied. "I wouldn't mind a football team seeing us like this right now." I said. "Me too." The other 2 said at the same time. There were a few more people, guys and girls, in the pool than the previous week and I again was happy that I'd decided to go a bit later. No one said anything and only a couple of the guys stopped what they were doing and stared. We went to the end and dived in, having an informal race to the other, shallow end. "Wow," Sofia said when she stood up next to Isla and me. "That's an amazing feeling, whoever invented girls swimming costumes wants shooting. Every girl should experience swimming naked." "Even when you get the guys perving on you as often as they can?" Kat asked. "Especially when you get the guys perving on you as often as they can?" I replied. We all giggled a little then headed off back to the other end of the pool. We did a few more laps, usually stopping at the shallow end and standing up to talk for a while before swimming again. Most of the guys there stopped at the shallow end some of the time and had a good look at our tits, a couple of them trying to talk to us be each time we cut them off and they gave up. When we'd had enough we got out at the shallow end and took our time walking back to the changing rooms letting everyone there see all of our naked bodies. In the showers there was no touching each other but I had a play with my clit and had a nice little cum before we got out and dressed. As we left the building Sofia asked Kat and me if we minded her telling all her friends that Monday afternoons and evenings were nude swimming. Both Kat and myself said that we didn't mind but secretly I was a bit disappointed because I like it when I am the only one naked and all men's eyes are on my naked body but I told myself to stop being selfish. Then Sofia asked, "Do you think that we could be naked for our workouts as well?" "Now that would be really good." I replied, "but let's tackle one problem at a time." We agreed and Sofia went off on one direction and Isla and me in another. As Isla and I walked I remembered what Lisa had said about working at the erotic equipment convention so I said, "How do you fancy a day out Isla, working at an erotic equipment convention demonstrating sex toys to the public?" "That sounds 'interesting', keep talking, what's an erotic equipment convention?" "I don't know all the details yet but I do know that it's promoting sex toys but there is one drawback." "What's that?" "We'd have to be naked all day in a place with hundreds of people walking around." "How's that a drawback? I'd consider it a benefit. Do they pay us as well?" "I have no idea, but I'd do it for free just for the benefits." "So would I Sandra. Where and when, I'll happily skip a class or lecture to do that." "I don't know any of the details but if you're happy to do it then I'll pass that on. I'll let you know any more when I do." We parted with a reminder of where and at what time we were meeting on the Wednesday. There was only Andy in the common room when I later went to make myself a coffee before going to bed. We both said hello but he seemed engrossed in something on his laptop and he ignored my nudity. ***** On the Tuesday afternoon when I got back to my room I decided that I was hungry, and as I didn't think that any of my flatmates were at home I went to the kitchen totally naked and got on with preparing my food. No one had returned when it was ready so I sat on one of the sofas to eat it. As I was eating I realised that I was quite tired and when I finished eating I put the plate on the floor and decided to have a minute's rest before going to wash my plate. The next thing that I knew was Geoff and a couple of his mates were looking down on me and Geoff was saying, "Hi Sandra, are you dead or alive?" "Oh hi Geoff," I said when I was awake enough to do so, "brought more of your friends to perv on my body again have you?" "This is Simon and Oliver, remember them, they've come to make a cast of your chest." "What!? Oh yes, you haven't actually managed to get some Plaster of Paris have you?" "We have," Simon said, "I'm doing an Arts course and we use it to make models." I was still groggy and was cursing that I's agreed to it but as I started to come round I decided that it could be fun. "Okay, where do you want me, what do I have to do?" I asked. "Well," Simon said, "if we were doing this with most girls we'd make the cast with the girl on her hands and knees and her tits hanging down but you doing that wouldn't make any difference so we were thinking that you could lay on the table and we'd rub the mixture over your tits and pussy. Sorry, did I say rub, I mean spoon it on and then smooth it with the back of the spoon." "I think that it will be easier if you use your hands," I replied, "you can get more in your hands than a spoon." I watched Simon and Oliver grin at the thought of putting their hands on my tits. Then I thought, "What the hell, may as well let them do my pussy as well, they'll only pester me until I agree." "Okay," I said, "go and mix the stuff." Geoff interrupted before I could finish speaking. "I'll clear the table and get you spread out ready Sandra." "I was going to say that you could do my pussy as well but it sounds like you were intending to do that anyway." "We thought that once we'd got your nipples really hard you'd want us to do your clit as well." Geoff said. "And I suppose that you'll be helping them as well Geoff?" I asked. "Is that a problem Sandra?" Geoff asked. "I guess not." I replied. Simon and Oliver appeared to be taking a long time getting their mix ready and as I lay there, spread eagle on the table, my nipples and clit were starting to tingle. Geoff was looking down at me and after a while he said, "They're taking their time, I'll just get started making your nipples get really hard, I'm assuming that you'd want them at their best in the mould Sandra." I didn't say anything as Geoff's hands started playing with my nipples causing me to moan a little and the tingling to get stronger. I was just getting really excited when Oliver appeared and said that they were nearly ready. "Shouldn't you rub some grease or oil on my skin first to make sure that you can get the cast off in one piece?" I asked. "That's what I've come over to do." Oliver said as a bottle of cooking oil appeared from behind his back. "Will you help me please Geoff?" Seconds later 4 hands were rubbing the cooking oil all over my chest and I was starting to think that if the kept going I'd have an orgasm. Then Simon appeared with a big plastic bucket and plonked it down on the table between my legs. "We have to do this fast," Simon said, "If we spend too much time tweaking her nipples this stuff will go as hard as her nipples before we've got it in place." Geoff backed away saying, "You 2 get on with slapping it all over her chest, I'll work on her clit to get that really hard." "That shouldn't take long." Simon said, "it looks as hard as my little finger already. Don't forget the oil Geoff, we don't want to have to rip it off." "I don't suppose that would be any worse that ripping wax off her," Geoff replied, "Do you wax Sandra, or do you shave? Or have you had it all lasered off?" I don't know why I answered that but I told him that I shaved every morning. "Just like me." Geoff replied. "You shave your pubes and cock every day Geoff?" Oliver asked as he put another handful of cold, Plaster of Paris on my left tit and started spreading it all over that area. "No stupid, I was talking about my face." Geoff replied. In between my moans and wondering how long I could hold back the orgasm that was starting to build inside me. I thought about me giving a blowjob to a man who had no hair there. I almost instantly wished that all men shaved their pubes, I'd developed a hatred for getting pubic hairs stuck between my teeth or stuck at the back of my mouth. Other than a sort of wet feeling, my chest and tits felt nothing as the Plaster of Paris started to dry. Not only did it cover my tits bit it covered most of my ribs as well. Meanwhile, Geoff was playing with my clit with one hand and rubbing the oil all around my pussy with the other hand. The inevitable happened and I orgasmed with the 3 of them looking down on me. When I'd just about got back to normal I first heard Geoff say, "Now that we've got that out of the way we should be able to get a cast of her pussy without her jerking about." Simon then said, "Shit, this damned stuff has gone hard, I'll have to mix some more. Give me a hand please Geoff." Simon and Geoff went to the kitchen and Oliver stepped close to me and said, "Do I need to get you off again Sandra, we don't want you cumming when the mix is drying." I looked up at Oliver and smiled. I didn't need to say anything because I soon felt the finger of one of his hands enter my hole and a finger from the other hand rubbing my clit. I was still quite aroused so it didn't take long for me to be going over the edge again. I was still coming down from that high when I felt a dollop of the new mix land on my pussy. I gasped then said, "Fucking hell, that was a shock." It's a good job that you don't have any of those flaps that get all over the place Sandra. I'd hate for a flap to get trapped when we pull the cast off. "So would I." I thought, again pleased that I had no inner labia. As the cast of my pussy was drying the guys started to take off the cast off of my chest. I was expecting some of my skin to be stuck to the Plaster of Paris but with Simon on one side of me and Oliver on the other they gently eased the mould off me. When it was free I could see the shape of my chest, and in particular my tits. To me they looked more pointy and prominent that when I look down at the real thing. I felt proud of my shape. "Spray it with silicone then peel it off and we have the basis for a jelly mould." Simon said. "Hey Simon," Oliver said, "what's the chances of you being able to use the Art department's 3D printer? It looks big enough to be able to scan then print a perfect silicone replica of Sandra's body." "You mean like one of those Chinese sex dolls?" Geoff said. "That wasn't what I was thinking," Oliver said, "but yeah, it would be like that, a mannequin, like fucking the real Sandra anytime that we wanted." "Hey guys," I said, "I'm still here, and who says that you can't fuck the real thing anytime that you want, none of you have asked me. But I do like the idea of a perfect, silicone copy of me being out there. Is this stuff on my pussy dry yet?" "Err probably." Simon replied. As he and Oliver started to ease the cast off my whole lower abdomen Simon said, "It would take a couple of days to print something the size of Sandra, maybe if we could get Sandra there on a Friday afternoon after the Lecturer and staff have left we could get it started and leave it running all weekend. What time are you free on a Friday afternoon Sandra?" "About 2, are you seriously thinking of making a 3D model of my whole body? Ouch, steady guys, that's my clit that your pulling on." "Sorry Sandra," Simon said, "the Plaster of Paris had moulded round the shape of your clit which has a little bell-end on it, I'm sure that if we take it easy it will come off. Can I let you know when we want you to come and be scanned. It doesn't hurt or do any damage to you, we scanned one of the students head the other week and he's still as stupid as he was before he got scanned." I thought for a couple of seconds. The idea of a perfect replica of me knocking around somewhere sounded great. I wondered if Simon could print lots of them and sell them. "Okay," I replied, "just let me know when." The cast came off me without any further problems and as I looked at it I liked the shape of my pussy, especially the hollow where my clit had been. I was quite proud of those casts but as I got up onto my elbows I saw that there was bits of dried Plaster of Paris all over me around where the casts had been. "I'm going for a shower." I said as I got off the table. As I was walking to my room Emily was arriving and when she saw me she said, "What the hell happened to you Sandra?" "Geoff and his mates." I replied, "go and see what they've got." Emily looked puzzled but she went to the common room and I continued into my room and the shower. I didn't go out of my room again that night although I did think about when I'd said 'who says that you can't fuck the real thing anytime that you want, none of you have asked me.' and wondered if it had registered with any of them and if they'd ask to fuck me. I also smiled at the thought of Lisa's shop replacing all her mannequins with perfect copies of my body, and the real me standing next to a couple of them, all naked and wondering if the customers would realise that a real naked girl was stood there watching them. ***** It was when I was idly toying with my clit immediately after I woke up that I realised that I no longer had any bras of knickers to wear under my old school uniform for Master Thomas. I thought that he'd want me to be wearing underwear like schoolgirls do so that he could slowly strip me. I'd have to get some. I decided that I'd go to the Gentlemen's club via Lisa's shop, that way I could buy some and put them on in the shop without any problems. Okay the underwear that Lisa sold wasn't exactly aimed at schoolgirls but it would have to do. If Master Thomas said anything I'd just tell him that I put on my sexiest set specially for him. I found it hard to concentrate on my class that morning, my brain was getting all excited about what the afternoon would bring, and my pussy was doing the same. I found myself pressing my knees together then opening them quite a lot of the time and I'm sure that the technician running the class saw a lot of my bare, wet pussy because he kept looking my way. Finally it was time to leave and I rushed back to my room for another shower and shave before donning my old school uniform which consisted of knee length white socks, flat shoes, a plaid skirt (that I rolled the top a couple of times), a white blouse and the school tie that matched the skirt. As I looked at myself in the mirror I was happy with my look but didn't remember me looking that good when I wore that uniform to go to school. With my little shoulder bag I set off and rushed to the shop. As I walked in Bella immediately asked me what I was doing there. "I'm in a rush, I need a bra and some knickers." I replied. "I thought that you'd stopped wearing underwear Sandra." "I have, this is for a man to strip me before he spanks me." "What! You're going to get spanked." "Yeah, can I tell you all about it tomorrow, I'm in a bit of a rush." By that time I was looking through the displays. "Judging by what you are wearing Sandra I'm guessing that you want something that a schoolgirl would wear, a sexy schoolgirl." "Yes." "Well a sexy schoolgirl might wear these." Bella said holding up a see-through set that was quite small. Bella held them up against me and they looked good. "Come on," I said, "I've got to put them on." I quickly led Bella to the changing rooms and I quickly stripped with Bella stood where the curtain would have been if either of us had bothered to close it. Putting the bra and thong on I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "I never remember any of the sluts at school looking like this when they got dressed after PE." "What the hell, they'll do." I said just as Lisa appeared. "What's going on here? Sandra what are you doing here and what are you doing wearing underwear?" "I'm in a rush," I replied, "Bella will tell you a bit about it, can I explain the rest tomorrow and can I pay for these tomorrow?" "I'm sure that I can trust you Sandra, and I look forward to hearing all about it tomorrow." "You will, if I'm still alive or not in hospital." By then I had put my skirt and blouse on and was fastening up the buttons. Grabbing my bag I almost pushed Bella out of the way and shouted "Bye" as I headed out. Isla was waiting when I got to our meeting place and I took a deep breath then said, "You look good Isla, or are you Kat this afternoon?" "I used Isla on Reddit so I guess that we are Isla and Sandra this afternoon." "Okay, I only invented Suzie to make if difficult for the guys at uni to track me down anyway. Hey, are you wearing underwear Isla? I just had to go out and buy some on the way here." "Yeah, I kept one of each just in case. Are you ready to get your backside tanned Sandra?" "Let's go." I replied and linking arms we set off to walk down the street to the entrance to the Gentlemen's club. "May I help you ladies?" the old man in some sort of uniform said as we opened the door and walked in. "I hope so." Isla replied, "we're here to see Master Thomas." The old man looked puzzled for a couple of seconds then replied, "Oh Thomas, that explains it, follow me ladies." As we started to do so I looked around. The place looked like it was built and decorated in the nineteenth century. Not that it looked run-down or anything in fact it looked very smart, just old fashioned. We were led into a big room that had lots of old, big armchairs, some on their own and some in groups. Each individual or group had a coffee table, most with cups of tea or coffee and some newspapers on them. Most of the men were just sat there reading or sleeping but we were led to a group of 5, middle-aged but distinguished looking men, all of them quietly reading. The man who led us in coughed and waited. When one of the sat men looked up the old man said, "Thomas, your guests have arrived." "Thank you Jeeves, that will be all." "Thank you sir." The old man said then turned and walked away. "Girls." Master Thomas said, "which one of you is Isla?" Isla lifted her right hand. "So you must be Sandra." Master Thomas said as he looked me up and down. "Yes sir." I relied. "Has Isla told you why you are here Sandra?" "I've been a naughty girl and I've been send here to be punished." "That is correct Sandra, and how do you expect to be punished?" "Spanked sir." "Good, we're all on the same page. Isla, Sandra, these gentlemen are George, Harry, Edward and Charles but you don't need to worry about remembering their names, just call them sir." "Yes sir." Both Isla and I said to Master Thomas. "No girls, they are sir and I am Master Thomas." "Yes Master Thomas." Both Isla and I said and the same time. "Now girls, I don't believe in spanking a girl who has clothes on so please disrobe, both of you." Both Isla and myself slowly started taking our blouses off then our skirts. We both stopped there knowing that that wasn't what Master Thomas had told us to do. "Everything girls." We took our bras off then our knickers and stood in the classic ENF pose. "Are you deaf girls, or are you asking for your punishment to be extended?" Finally, we took our shoes then socks off and gain stood in the classic ENF pose but this time totally naked. "About time girls. Now put your hands behind your heads and interlace your fingers, then spread your feet about a metre apart." We did then I saw Master Thomas pick up a smallish, brass bell and shake it before putting it back down on the table. The whole room was silent and I slowly turned my head and saw that not only was Master Thomas and the 4, middle-aged looking at us but just about every other man in the room was as well. The only ones that weren't looked like they were asleep. No disrespect to Isla but I was sure that most of the male eyes were staring at my cone shaped, little tits. I guessed that all the men there were used to seeing the sagging tots of their wives. After a good minute Jeeves appeared and Master Thomas said, "Jeeves, get the Sybian and set it up on the big table please." I wondered what a Sybian was. "Yes sir." Jeeves replied. Whilst we were waiting Master Thomas told us to rotate 90 degrees, wait for 10 seconds then do the same again until we were back facing him. Isla and myself did and I wondered if her puss was as tingly and wet as mine was. I could see that her nipples looked as hard and mine were. I saw Jeeves return with a heavy looking box and put it on the table. Then he took out a blanket and spread it on the long, solid looking, highly polished, wood table. Next out of the box came what looked like half a small barrel which he lay on its side. Things fell into place when I saw Jeeves attach a dildo to the curved side (top)of the barrel. "Oh my gawd, he's going to make us ride that thing." I thought, "well at least it's better than a hairbrush or a cucumber." I watched Jeeves connect some cables then plug the longes cable into a power supply socket. "He's going to give us some electric shocks." I thought, still not realizing that the dildo was a vibrator. "Come with us girls, and keep those hands behind your heads." Master Thomas led Isla, myself and the other 4 middle-aged men over to the table when I got a closer look at the big dildo sticking up in the air. It looked rubbery and at the base, at what I assumed was the front of it, I could see what looked like an upturned scrubbing brush. The though of my clit pressing on that both frightened and thrilled me. "Now," Master Thomas said, "any volunteers to go first?" Neither Isla nor myself said anything so Master Thomas continued, "Isla, well volunteered, up you get, I think that you can work out what to do." Isla climbed up onto the table, straddled the Sybian, went down onto her knees and stopped with the tip of the dildo just touching her pussy. "Impale yourself girl." Master Thomas said. Isla must have been as wet as I was because she easily lowered herself, moaning as she went, and bottomed out. A thought crossed my mind, "Okay, that looks fun but there's not much of her butt showing for Master Thomas to spank." Master Thomas was way ahead of me, "Now bend forwards Isla until you can put the palms of your hands way in front of your head which needs to be touching the table." More and more of Isla's butt became visible as she bent forwards, gasping and moaning as the dildo moved around inside her. I didn't know if it was painful or pleasurable. Then Master Thomas said, "Don't even move 1 millimetre Isla." And ho took hold of what I assumed was a control box and Isla screamed then moaned over and over. I guessed that the dildo was a vibrator as well and that maybe the scrubbing brush was as well. My clit tingled a lot more at the thought of what that scrubbing brush would do to my clit. Then Master Thomas started spanking Isla's butt. I observed that Master Thomas didn't raise his hand really high before bringing it down on Isla's butt, something that made me think that, although it would certainly make her butt sting, it wouldn't do any real damage to her. Poor Isla must have been as confused as I knew that I would be, the pain, the pleasure, all at once. "Aargh, ooh, ouch, oh fuck, aargh, ouch, ooh, shit, ooh, aargh." On she went as Master Thomas rained the swats down on her bare butt until after about the fifteenth swat Isla added to the list of expletives, "Oh fuck, I'm cuuummmiiinnngg," Master Thomas stopped swatting her butt and we all just watched as Isla's orgasm took its course then started to recede. Just when I started to think that her spanking was over Master Thomas stepped back and one of the other middle-aged men took his place and started spanking her butt with his right hand as Master Thomas said, "No swearing this time Isla or we will start from scratch." The swats continued and Isla's expletives were repeated, without the word 'fuck' or 'shit'. I saw Master Thomas do something with the control box and Isla immediately gasped some more. The inevitable happened and Isla orgasmed again. This was repeated until Isla had cum 5 times, each with a different one of the 5 middle-aged men spanking her. As her last orgasm faded into history Master Thomas said, "That's it Isla, your punishment is complete, I trust that you have learnt something today. You may get down now and stand where you were with your hands behind your head and your legs spread with. Sandra, it is your turn to be punished now, up you get and assume the position that Isla was in." As Isla climbed down I got a glimpse of her butt. It was red, very red, but none of it was that horrible dark red and I guessed that it wouldn't take more than a couple of days for the red to disappear. As I climbed up and took Isla's place I was a bit nervous and worried that I might not be able to take both the swats and having 5 orgasms, never mind what the vibrator would be doing to my insides. Isla had looked like she'd been crying and apart from her butt she looked okay. I hoped for the best. The dildo wasn't the biggest thing that I'd had inside me, that was a cucumber, but I'd never tried moving the cucumber around inside me and I was pleased that I easily slid down and bottomed out before bending forwards. It certainly felt strange as I bent forwards as far as I had to, but it wasn't really painful so I decided that I only had to worry about the swats. Never having been spanked before, not even playfully, I didn't really know exactly what to expect. Master Thomas let the first swat land before he switched the vibrations on. I quickly forgot my stinging butt as the pleasure of the vibrations really made me happy. I just knew that I had to get myself a proper vibrator, maybe 2 or 3 of them, just as soon as I could. The subsequent swats took my attention away from the vibrations and I was left with the mixture of pain and pleasure, all at the same time. After something like a dozen swats I realised that I hadn't been cussing as much as Isla had and I wondered if my butt was hurting as much as hers had when Master Thomas was spanking her. What I did know by then that there was every chance that I would get an orgasm from each of the men's spankings, the first one was rapidly approaching. A split second before it hit me I heard myself letting everyone in the room know that I was about to cum. And it was a good cum, longer and stronger than when my fingers earn their keep. The same routine was followed for all the other 4 men and, although part of me wanted them to start over, the other part of me didn't know if I'd be able to stand on my feet when I got off the table. They didn't start over and I did manager to stand on my own 2 feet when I slowly managed to climb off the Sybian and off the table. Although my brain was in a daze and my body was feeling the pain coming from my butt. As the daze slowly cleared the pain in my butt increased but I realised that I hadn't cried and that I was feeling that afterglow of not 1, but 5 wonderful orgasms. Also, I was feeling tired and knackered. Master Thomas and the other men, the 4 who's spanked me and they others in the room, were still staring at Isla and me but my brain was so mixed up that I didn't register the pleasure of them watching me. "Come girls, back to where you were." Master Thomas said and we followed him back to the place where we'd stripped and Isla and I assumed the same standing position." "Would you like a drink girls?" Master Thomas asked. When we both said that we would and Master Thomas rang the bell again. Jeeves was soon there. "Two colas please Jeeves." I'd been hoping for something stronger but I guessed that naughty schoolgirls don't get given alcoholic drinks. As we waited for the drinks my brain was clearing and, although the pain wasn't decreasing slightly, the pleasure of the situation was increasing and I started thinking more about all those men looking at my naked body. The drinks arrived and soon disappeared inside Isla and me. When we put the glasses down Master Thomas said, "Okay girls, that is the punishment over. These are for you. "Master Thomas put 2 envelopes on the table then continued, "If you would like the opportunity to make some old men happy and earn some extra money you can come and sit on the lap of any of the gentlemen in this group." Isla looked at me and I looked at her, then our arms dropped and we went round the table and gingerly sat on a man's lap. About an hour later and with 5 lots of male cum mixed with the cola in my stomach, I stood and said. "Sorry, but I'm too knackered to do anything else." Isla agreed and we went around the table and I asked where our clothes were. Master Thomas pointed to another little table where I saw 2 little piles of our neatly folded clothes. I smiled to myself assuming that Jeeves was responsible. Then Master Thomas said, "Girls, please can you leave your phone numbers so that I can contact you for another punishment session, and I also have another proposition for you for which I need photographs of both of you. Just stand there with your hands behind your heads whilst I take them. I watched Master Thomas take the photographs and the other men putting more money into the envelopes and when Isla and myself got dressed, Master Thomas said, "Girls, I am looking for some girls who are prepared to take some sleeping tablets and then whilst they are asleep, a distinguished gentleman will come to your hotel room and use your body." "What?" I asked. "These distinguished gentlemen cannot afford for their identities to be revealed and they like the idea of having sex with a girl who is unconscious." "Weird." Isla said. "Maybe but they are willing to pay a considerable amount of money for privilege of using your bodies." "Let me get this straight," I said, "these rich men want to do anything that they want to our bodies without us knowing what they are doing or who they are?" "That pretty much sums it up but I have their assurance that they will not do anything to you that you wouldn't do with a lover and they would never damage you in any way, and, as I said, they are prepared to pay you £1,000 for a couple of hours of your time." I looked at Isla and saw a glint in her eye, she was definitely interested. "Make it "£5,000 each time regardless of which of us it is." I said. "£2.000." Master Thomas replied. "£4,500." "£3,000." Master Thomas replied. I looked at Isla and saw the smile on her face. I nodded and she nodded back so I turned to Master Thomas and put out my hand. "Deal." "Deal." We shook hands and I said, "So when, and how will it work?" "I don't know when, but soon. I've thought about the plan and what will happen is that you will go to a decent hotel where a room will have been booked, and paid for, in your name. When you get to it you will strip naked, bathe then take the pill that will be waiting for you. You will then get into bed, still naked, and go to sleep. The pill will knock you out for around 2 hours and will do you no harm other than make you sleep. When you wake up the man will have gone and you can get up and resume your life. The money will be in an envelope with your clothes. If you have any problems phone me and I will sort it out." "What do you think Isla?" I asked. "You do promise that no harm will come to us Master Thomas?" Isla asked. "I do, and only 1 of you will be 'in play' at one time so you can easily check with each other after the 2 hours." "Okay then, let's do it." Isla replied. "Okay Master Thomas, we look forward to hearing from you. Jeeves will show you out." Master Thomas rang the bell again, Isla and I picked up our envelopes that were struggling to hold all the notes. Nothing was said by any of the 5 men about the fact that neither Isla nor myself had put on our bras or knickers, we'd both stuffed them in our bags. Jeeves arrived then led us to the front door. "Are you okay Isla?" I asked as we walked down the steps to the footpath. "I'm good, are you Sandra?" "Yeah, I'm good too. How much cash do you thing there is in these envelopes?" "Maybe a thousand." "Not bad for a couple of hours work was it? Will you check my butt please Isla, it's hurting like hell." Not caring that I was about to lift the back of my skirt revealing my bare, red butt to anyone who cared to look, I turned my back to Isla and did lift the back of my skirt. "It's very red Sandra, but there's no skin broken and no deep red marks so it won't hurt for long but it will probably be red for 2 or 3 days, what's mine like?" We reversed our positions and I told Isla that her butt was the same as mine. "I'm really pleased that there's no real damage." I said as we started walking again, "Will you go again if Master Thomas phones you Isla?" "Hell yeah, as many times as they want, that Sybian machine, those orgasms, I'd go through that every day if I could." "Me too," I replied, I wonder how much those Sybian things cost, I'd like to own one." "More that we just earned." Isla replied. "How do you know?" "I saw one for sale on the internet, but at least we'll be able to buy some vibrators with the money that we've just earned." "Yeah," I replied, "I want to but some new clothes as well, I might be broke again by the time we go to the gym on Monday." "I'm going to get one of those Hitachi Magic Wands," Isla said, "a girl at school had one and she said that it was the best thing her boyfriend ever bought her." "Hitachi Magic Wand eh, I'll look that up. I know, I'll talk to Lisa tomorrow, I'm sure that she'll be able to recommend some good ones." What about this anonymous fucking when we're unconscious Isla? I've pretended to be out cold when I was fucked once and that was fun. Not having to talk to them, just get fucked." I said. "They might be fat or ugly." Isla said. "We'd be out cold so we wouldn't know." "£3,000 for 2 hours laying on our backs, I think that it could be an easy way to get some money and because we'd never see them it wouldn't matter if they were old, fat or ugly." "Maybe we could setup one of those concealed cameras and record what they do to us, it would also tell us who it is that fucked us." "Yes, now that we've got some money we could definitely do that, maybe we'd get some videos that we could use to blackmail them." Isla said. "I'm not sure about that, I'm also not sure that I want to know who it was or what they did to us. I might not like what I find out. I think that I'd like to keep it all anonymous, but you can if you want Isla." "Maybe you're right Sandra, maybe it's better if it remains anonymous, for £3,000 I can live with not knowing. Hey, do you fancy going for a drink Sandra? It's only early." "Sorry, I'm too knackered, but I'll take a rain check if that's okay with you?" "Sure, I'm quite knackered as well. I've never had 5 really strong orgasms in such a short time before." "Me neither, you don't know of any parties this weekend do you Isla, I need to pick-up a guy and get my brains fucked out." "I'll ask around, there's bound to be a few going on somewhere, I could do with my brains being fucked out as well. I'll phone you." Isla replied. We parted and as I walked back to my room I was thinking, I'd really enjoyed myself and the idea of being fucked, and other things, whilst I was asleep sounded 'interesting', Isla had told me that one of her boyfriends had woken her by fucking her and she said that it was an amazing way to wake up but with Master Thomas's plan we wouldn't wake up until after the guy had left. I decided that I was happy to try it and see how I felt afterwards. Then I started thinking more about the immediate future, would I go to the common room naked with my butt still bright red? When would it stop hurting? Would I be able to sit still in my class the next morning? Would I loose my voice telling Lisa and Bella all about what had happened to me? What clothes was I going to buy? As I walked into my building I realised that I was hungry, "Sod it." thought, I'm going to get a pizza delivered, "I can afford it now." As soon as I got naked in my room I looked at my butt in the mirror. It was bright red but thankfully, as Isla had said, there were no dark red marks and no broken skin. "Give it a few days." I thought. Then I went online after slowly sitting on the duvet on my bed. The first thing that I did was order a pizza and a bottle of cola. It would take about 40 minutes so I started browsing for vibrators. I found lots of them and I bookmarked a few that looked interesting, making a note of the names for my talk with Lisa. Then my phone rang, it was the Pizza guy to tell me that he was coming up the stairs. Not even thinking about clothes, I picked up my purse and went to the flat door. As I left my room I saw Andy in the corridor. We said "Hi" with him staring at my naked front and I remembered that I was naked. The doorbell rang and I thought, "Sod it, give the guy a nice surprise." I was just opening the door when I heard Andy say, "Fucking hell Sandra, what happened to your butt." With the door wide open I said "Hi" to the Pizza guy. I saw his jaw drop as I turned to tell Andy that I'd explain in a minute and giving the Pizza guy a look at my red butt. "Sorry about that," I said turning to face the dumb-stuck Pizza guy. After 4 or 5 seconds silence I said, "Pizza for Sandra?" "What? Oh yes, sorry, it's my first day on the job and they told me that I would probably see a few naked university girls but I didn't believe them. Yeah, Pizza for Sandra, that will be £13.99 please." "Well I guess that taking that job was worth your while then? I replied as I handed £15 over. "And some, do you order a lot of pizzas?" "This is my first here but it probably won't be my last." "I'll keep an eye out for your address then." The guy said as he handed me the pizza and bottle of cola. "Thanks." I said as I closed the door with the guy still stood there. Then I heard him say, "Wow, those tits." I smiled and turned to go to the common room to eat. Andy was still stood staring at me and as I was walking towards him he said, "Did someone hurt you Sandra?" "Obviously yeah, but it was consensual so you can relax." "You let someone do that to you?" "Yeah, and they made me cum 5 times so it was worth it." "I would have made you cum 5 times without doing that to you Sandra." "Maybe but would you have paid me £1,000 for the privilege?" "Are you turning into a whore Sandra?" "No, it's not like that, this was just a bit of fun." "That's quite some fun you've obviously had." Geoff said as he waked into the room, "does it hurt?" "Of course it hurts." I replied at I took a bite of a slice of pizza then went and sat on one of the cushion on one of the sofas. "So tell us who did this to you Sandra." Geoff said. "Not telling, but I will tell you some of the details." As I ate I did tell them, but not who, where or what the place was like, just the details from getting on the Sybian to getting off it. I didn't want to risk them finding out anything about Master Thomas. "Fucking hell." Geoff said, "and that thing that you had to sit on, it was called a Sybian?" "So they told me. I'm going to look it up on the internet when I've finished this, do you guys want a slice?" As we finished the pizza Geoff and Andy tried to get more details out of me but I didn't tell them anything else. Then I got up and put the pizza box in the trash bag then took the rest of the cola to my room. I did some more browsing for vibrators then went to sleep on my stomach with my right hand under me and toying with my clit. ***** I woke with plenty of time to get to my class. As I looked at my butt in the mirror I couldn't decide if it was any less red. After my bathroom routine I decided on the white, lightweight, skater type skirt, knowing that it wouldn't cause me any discomfort as I waked around in it. On my top I wore a pink tank top with spaghetti straps. There were little pokies in the front but not bad (good) ones so when I was ready I set off. It was chilly outside so the little pokies became big pokies but I expected them to become smaller when I got into the warm uni buildings. I had an uncomfortable lesson and I so wanted to just stand up and walk around but I couldn't and I was really happy when the lesson was over and I was walking to my bank to deposit the cash into my account. I got a bite to eat in the food hall in the shopping centre before going to Lisa's shop for my afternoon shift. Bella pounced on me as soon as I entered the shop demanding to know what I had been up to and why I suddenly needed some knickers and a bra. I answered her by turning my back to her and lifting up the back of my skirt. "What the fuck! Have you been spanked Sandra?" As I started to give her a brief summary Lisa came over and Bella told me to turn my back to Lisa. When I did Bella lifted my skirt and said, "Look at that boss." "Wow Sandra," Lisa said, "was that caused by what I think it was?" "Yes, I've had my first ever spanking." I started at the beginning again whist Bella went and served a customer. Again I didn't give all the details and I didn't mention what Master Thomas wants Isla and me to do for some anonymous 'distinguished' gentlemen. "So you enjoyed your first spanking then Sandra?" Lisa asked. "I did, although it's been a bit painful ever since." "I'm not surprised, and you're thinking of going back for more?" "For that sort of money, yes, and being spanked whilst on that Sybian thing was out of this world. Talking of sex toys, you're a woman of the world, which sex toys would you recommend Lisa?" "Well, you said that Isla was going to get a Hitachi Magic Wand, well I agree with her, Every woman should have one of those for when she's on her own and wants a bit of pleasure, let Hitachi do the work. Another thing that I think you will enjoy, you being an exhibitionist, is one of those remote controlled vibrators that has a pinkish antenna sticking out of your pussy, a Lovense or an Ohmibod. I think that you will enjoy people being able to see the antenna hanging down between your legs. Of course both those are better if someone else is controlling them, and you, but they have a 'random' feature that can make life quite 'interesting'." "Yeah, I saw those when I was looking online last night, I also thought about people seeing the antenna hanging below my skirt. What about a Sybian, have you got one Lisa?" "No, Steve and I have a big mortgage and we don't have that sort of money spare. Steve gives me all the fun I can cope with but I've used one and yes, it was amazing. You might be able to use one at this erotic equipment convention, Steve tells me that he's got girls booked for the Friday and Saturday but you and Isla can do the Sunday for him is you like." "Which Sunday is that?" "A week after this coming Sunday." "Can I send a quick text message to Isla please Lisa, check that she's free on that Sunday?" "You can, then can you start and do some work please, there's a lot of stock to get out onto the racks." I sent the text and got an almost immediate reply, yes, Isla was free that Sunday. When Lisa came by later I told her that Isa was free and she told me that she would tell Steve and he would let me know where and when. Bella must have told the other girl working that afternoon about my red butt because Charlotte collared me when I was checking the changing rooms and she asked to see my butt. I had just lifted the back of my skirt with Charlotte squat behind me when a customer walked in and gave us a funny look. Charlotte and I both giggled then Charlotte asked me for all the details. I know that the customer heard us because when she came out of the changing room she was smiling and she asked me if I'd be going back for more. During a quiet period I went round the shop and picked out a couple of semi-sheer tops and a couple of those really short skirts that are shorter at the front than the back and went and tried them on. Bella came and watched me as asked if I was going clubbing. "No, I just want to let people see my assets." "Well if you don't wear anything under those they certainly will." "That's the idea." I put the tops and skirts to one side and at the end of the day I took them to Lisa and told her that I wanted to buy them, and pay for the bra and knickers from the previous day. Lisa gave me a really good staff discount and I decided that I do my clothes shopping there again. When I got back to my room I stripped and looked at my butt in the mirror. It wasn't quite as red and it didn't hurt as much. I decided to go and prepare myself some food without putting any clothes on. Not only were Andy and Geoff in the common room but all my other flatmates were there as well. All of them had seen me naked in there before, and in the kitchen area so seeing me naked again was no big deal for them but Andy or Geoff must have told the others about my spanking because as soon as I walked in both Lizzy ans Zack asked me to turn round so that they could see my butt. "So Andy wasn't joking about you being spanked?" Emily asked. "No he wasn't." I replied. "And you let some old man do that to you for £1,000?" Emily asked. "Five of them actually." I replied. "Hmm, let me know if they want some else to spank." Emily said. I smiled and said that I would. "So how bad does it hurt?" Lizzy asked. "I guess that it isn't too bad, it isn't like they broke my skin or drew blood, that would have been a lot worse." "So how did your class go this morning, I bet that it was uncomfortable sitting on that?" Geoff asked. "Shall we say that I had trouble concentrating." I replied. "I bet that you did." Emily said, "so will you be going back for more?" "At £1,000 per time! Of course I will." "What if they want to fuck you Sandra?" Andy asked, "would you let them?" "No, not for £1,000." "£2,000." Geoff asked. "I doubt it." "£3,000." Zack asked. "I don't know, I'd be a whore if I did." "Hey, a girl has to do what a girl has to do to survive these days." Emily said. "True." Lizzy added. "So I'm living in a flat with 3 prostitutes am I?" Geoff asked. "Think what you want Geoff," Lizzy said, "us girls have to do what we have got to do, go and find a rich Cougar then see if you are so judgemental." "I didn't mean it like that." Geoff said trying to defend himself. There was a few seconds silence so I continued to the kitchen area and prepared my food. That evening I went online and ordered a Ohmibod Esca2 and a Hitachi Magic Wand before my fingers got busy between my legs. *****

Steve sits opposite you, a tender smirk manipulating his lips. He keeps averting his gaze whenever you try to catch him in the act of gawking, which only makes him smile harder. “I know you’re watching me Rogers,” you mutter draining your wine glass before standing up to pour yourself another. “Quit it.” Everyone else has already left Stark Tower, eager to get an early night after the difficult mission you’ve just returned from and you, Bucky and Steve are the only ones left. You don’t have to be a mind-reader to know why the two of them are still hanging around. You were always so eager to please. So eager to comply to other people’s needs. So eager to make them come. It was if you lived for nothing else. Like the thought of not being able to satisfy someone was a cardinal sin. The first time you knelt at their feet, cocks stuffed to the back of your throat, was after a night playing drinking games with the two of them and Nat. It happened entirely by accident but watching them squirm and writhe beneath your spit-stained lips turned you on like nothing before. Giving oral had never felt that intoxicating. After that first taste, it became almost like an addiction. You would scout out willing guys in nightclubs who didn’t know your face in an attempt to replicate the high. You lost count of how many times you’d exit a toilet stall, come sticky in your hair from where they got too carried away, wanting to spunk all over your face like the good little cock slut you were.  Watching them both unravel beneath your touch was almost hypnotic. To have those powerful, strong men reduced to sweating, writhing messes once you’d finished licking up every ounce of their cum made you feel fucking invincible. The other guys did the job to an extent but deep down you just wanted Bucky and Steve, the high you were so desperately chasing only ever fully sated after you tasted them. Their familiar faces screwed up in pleasure as you took them to the peak of their orgasm, pushing them over the edge.  Their tastes in technique were what got you most. The complete opposites of the personas they showed the world. Bucky liked to be nibbled on as he had his balls played with, your hands softly tugging and kneading his flesh while Steve liked to bury his hands in your hair as he fucked your throat raw. That’s what you wanted most; what got you off most nights. Laid in your bed at home, fingers knuckle deep in your pussy as you imagined your tongue licking its way up and down their shafts, swallowing every delicious drop of come as they came apart beneath you. It was a few months after that first time that you jokingly brought up giving them head for a laugh as they complained that they hadn’t seen any action in a while. As soon as the words tumbled from your lips, you regretted them but they just stared at you seriously. You couldn’t believe your luck when they agreed and you slipped eagerly between Steve’s thighs initially, letting your mouth pop deliciously over his considerable length, the sound of his breathless moans spurring you on hungrily before doing the same to Bucky. You came so hard that night your whole body trembled. Weeks after, you eventually came to a mutual agreement and you soon became their go-to if they needed to blow off some steam without the worry of attachment. And the more they asked, the more you craved to answer the question. At first the arrangement suited you perfectly - some quick fun that required very little emotion - your thirst quenched. You could still go out on dates, have one night stands but as time went on, you found yourself wanting to be more than just a mouth to them. The nameless men you’d take home soon became faceless as you’d envision Steve or Bucky below you, riding yourself to orgasm on their marvellous cocks. Steve takes a swig of his beer followed by a gentle chuckle. “I don’t know what you mean.” You scrunch your nose up. “I know what you’re trying to do.” He’s amused by your statement. Smirking with a tilt to his head as his tongue pokes out between ivory teeth. “And what’s that?” You finish filling up your glass and make your way back to your spot on the couch opposite him. He sits so leisurely against the leather - one hand propped over the back clutching his bottle of beer, the other in his lap, thumb slowly moving back and forth over his crotch. “Well you and Buck aren’t loitering because you enjoy listening to me talk.” “That’s very presumptuous.” His voice is so deep it pinballs right through you until it settles in your core, uncomfortably warm. “Am I wrong?” “Oh no, I enjoy something else your mouth can do much more.” Your eyes are locked on his and you expect yourself to move first but Steve surprises you, leaning forward to place his half full bottle down. He fingers open his pants and pulls his already stiff cock free. “C’mere, need some help with this.” You hate how easily you drop to the glass floor, knees smooth against the cool panes of glass as you scuttle towards him. Pre-cum already weeps from the slit as he pumps his shaft upwards, letting it slow as he brings his hand back towards his pelvic bone. You reach him in a matter of seconds and lean forward, kissing the tender dome. Cum sticks to your stained lips, the saltiness mingling with the sour taste of the wine you’ve just downed. Steve’s fingers quickly find their way into your hair, the buds of his fingertips pressing sharply into your skull. You love the way he loses control when your lips make contact with his skin and even more so when you swallow him to the back of your throat. You lick up his thick shaft, mouth agape ready to take him deep when the door clicks open. You both know it has to be Bucky but it doesn’t stop you from both freezing to the spot as he enters, clutching a new case of beer. “Starting without me huh?” Bucky smiles, throwing Steve a wink before his gaze drops back to you. “Sorry—“ You try to excuse your eagerness, letting go of Steve’s cock and begin to push yourself to your feet. “Oh no doll, don’t stop on my account,” Bucky replies dropping the case to the table before sinking into the space next to Steve. You drop back to your knees between the super soldier’s thighs. “You couldn’t wait five minutes for me to get back?” Bucky aims the question at his best friend. “You took too long. And her mouth was just crying out to get fucked.” Steve comments nonchalantly, eyes on you but they’re not focused. A wry smile pulls at the corners of his lips as he curls his fingers around your chin, pulling you back towards his thick girth. “You heard Buck, don’t stop.” Steve purrs, finally making discernible eye contact and his cerulean blue stare has heat flooding your sex within milliseconds. You hate how turned on you get by Steve’s dismissiveness the moment he’s horny but at the same time you thrive on it. You already can’t wait to get back to your apartment to wear out the batteries in your vibrator.  You close your eyes as you envelope your lips around Steve’s thick length and slowly begin to suck. He groans instantly, his body sagging further into the plush leather. You splay both hands at the base of his shaft, making sure your mouth does all the work. Steve’s hands are already tangling in your hair, tightening his grip the harder you choke. “Open your eyes Y/N, wanna see you.” Bucky mutters softly. Your eyes flutter open to their stares - Steve’s lazily smirking, tongue poking out between his teeth and Bucky’s grinning wide. “You like sucking Steve’s cock don’t you? Does he taste good?” Bucky continues with his hand on his slowly swelling cock, stimulating it gently with his palm. You hum your reply, your lips still wrapped firmly around Steve’s length. “Do you want to taste me too?” Your gaze flits upwards to catch Bucky’s eye - they’re almost black with lust - before it flutters towards Steve who smiles idly down at you, nodding breathlessly almost to give you permission. You shift your weight, crawling the few centimetres towards Bucky and place yourself between his legs. You can see he’s already rigid through his pants and that thought alone makes you throb.  Steve’s languidly masturbating now as he watches you. Sitting up onto your heels, you push Bucky’s shirt up to his chest and begin kissing a light trail down his abdomen, over the dainty cluster of hairs just below his belly button until you reach the waistband of his pants. You don’t need to wait - Bucky’s already pulled himself free, dick standing to full attention. You love how willing he is, how desperate, how needy. You kneel up, widening your mouth enough to take as much of Bucky as you can, one hand curled around the last inch you can’t fit while the other cups his balls. “Fuck Y/N,” Bucky curses, hands tightly gripping your shoulders. You’re soon dribbling spit and cum down your chin. “God, you look so fucking hot when you’re sucking my dick. Doesn’t she Steve?” “Mm-hm,” Steve replies quietly, staring down at you with your mouth stuffed with Bucky’s length. His usually gorgeous light eyes are glossed over in darkness, the dominance in them making you squirm. “But she looks better gagging on mine.” You start to alternate between the two of them - when you aren’t getting Bucky off, you’re pumping his shaft and when you don’t have your lips stretched around Steve, your hands are working him until he’s swearing on a constant loop. They’re both so close - you can tell from the way they equally fall silent, heads tipped back, lips caught between teeth. Bucky comes first, shooting his thick load to the back of your throat, while your hands continue to massage his tight balls and you swallow every last drop, licking the corners of your lips like you’ve just devoured a milkshake. Steve always comes second, wanting all of your attention so he can fuck your mouth until he explodes. It doesn’t take long for Steve to burst with a low inhuman growl, his hot sticky cum coating your tongue. His fingernails leave stinging crescent moons in the crown of your skull, the sharp throb making your scalp ache. As you pull back, you watch the two of them sag against the back of the couch, brows furrowed and sweaty while they attempt to regain their breaths. You’ve never seen either of them look so attractive in this most vulnerable state. It makes your underwear flood, wishing they had come elsewhere inside you, warming you from the pussy outwards. You slowly pull yourself to your feet, wiping away the lasting remnants of the act you’ve just performed from your mouth with the back of your hand and smooth out the wrinkles in your dress. Now they’ve got what they wanted, you may as well make your exit and prowl a bar until you find a man who could resemble either of them if you squint hard enough. Legs trembling, you begin to step away when you hear Steve call out to you. “Where you going Y/N? Some place else you need to be?” They’re both redressed and composed when you turn around - the only clue left to show they’ve just had their dicks sucked is their slightly flushed cheeks and hooded eyes. Steve is already on his feet and Bucky is pulling himself upright while he takes a quick gulp of beer. “I, um, was gonna go home,” you lie. “Been a long day.” “That’s a shame. ‘Cause me and Buck have been talking and—“ Steve says as he reaches you, giving Bucky a sly side ward glance. “— we wanna return the favour.”

“Didja know glass eyes ain’t made o’ glass no more? It’s true!” Horus stands on the stage, tossing a little lump of something in the air and catching it. His hair is lank and blond and his one eye is blue, and his green jacket and red shirt are grubby and torn. He stops playing with the little item and holds it up; it’s the false eye which belongs in his face. The socket is ringed with scar tissue. “They make ‘em out of plastic now. It’s lighter and won’t break so easy. They’re not round, like in cartoons, either - eye-ther, hehehe. See, it’s sort of squashed and curved? Makes it easier to get in under yer eyelid. What they do a lot now is surgically put a ball into the socket which don’t ever come out, and that ‘elps hold this bit in place so it won’t slide ‘round.” He shivers. “That’s what they usually do but I, um, ‘ad me reasons not to.” Instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment; he scrapes up white powder into a tiny ziploc bag with a razor blade, and tucks it into his socket. “Don’t look at me like that. Man’s gotta live, right?” A man, and a group of other men. Bearded and clean-shaven, filthy and all with eyes as glassy as the one in Horus’ hand. They too have razor blades and bags of powder, though none have so convenient a place to hide them. “Had some associates, y’know? A big operation it was. Big.” Another man. Shorter and rounder with a long brown beard. On the tape he sticks close to Horus. Very close. “That’s, uh, Gimli. ‘E’s my…” Horus makes an odd gesture with his hand that seems more dismissive than anything. “Well, we tell folks ‘e's me uncle.” Drug dealing is not their only crime. Various members observe the Damsel as she goes about her business. Dressed in silks and snappy sunglasses, with an incongruous heavy gold pendant. “That bauble belonged to one of our old mates. One of the ones who the boss…” He draws a finger across his throat. “ ‘E’d sent it off to his family ‘fore we got ‘im, and when we saw her wearin’ it… She was the right age to be ‘is kid, and it looked like she’d come into a lotta cash. We thought it was a lucky adoption, y’know? So we figured, ransom. We wasn’t gonna hurt ‘er. Least me an’ he weren’t. We scared her, yeah, but ye don’t mess with ransom victims or you just get revenge from their families ‘steada cash.” A stakeout of sorts. The dead of night. A few cloths soaked in just the right amount of ether. A silenced scream. “We didn’t hurt ‘er. Didn’t even rough ‘er up or nothin’ like that. Just ‘auled her off… we were gonna bring ‘er back.” A warehouse. Gray walls. The woman’s eyes open in a locked and windowless room. “She… uh, she kinda hurt us. In a metaphorical sort of way… but that was… it was sorta my fault. Got careless.” He’s supposed to be watching her, and he’s playing games on his phone. He’s aware enough to point a gun at her when she goes for the door, and when a gaunt-faced man with a beard and a pet monkey on his shoulder looks in he hurriedly puts the phone back in his pocket and stands to attention. The Damsel keeps an eye on which pocket he puts it in. “Smart one, I’ll give ye that. Got it off me afore I realized it an’ dialled up somebody ‘fore I knew it was gone. Mighta helped if I ‘ad vision on that side, but then I didn’t feel it either.” Blaring sirens and flashing lights. A woman speaking hurriedly. Some men shouting orders. More screaming curses. “So, we got caught an’ it was all my fault. I won’t pretend like it wasn’t. Still don’t think that makes it right, what ‘appened after that.” Poisonous glares. Muttered cussing. A crowded cell. Horus cowers before a sea of blazing eyes. “Six of us in there. Me an’ Gimli, and two other fellers, and the boss, an’ ‘is, um, enforcer.” A short thin man with a dark beard and a yellow coat. A dour man with dreadlocks and scars. The gaunt man, now without his pet. And a hulk with a shaven head and more piercings than one can count. “They didn’t get the chance to do nothin’ to me at first, ‘cause some coppers came in. We thought they was gonna take us off to interrogate…” They do not. One strides forward and seizes Horus. Another joins him when the man offers resistance. “You ‘ave to unnerstand, I’m not a big bloke. Mighta been able to fight off one man, but two? Forget about it. Best ‘ope I ‘ad was to slip away and make a run for it, but you try findin’ a place to run in a jail cell.” There isn’t anywhere to go. The guards grab Horus and force him up against the bars. Like the Lord, like Changeling’s friend, like the Star. It goes a very long time before ending. “Even as they were doin’ it I…” A shudder. “I kept strugglin,’ see? They didn’t like that much.” Hold still, snaps a man in blue, hold fucking still or we’ll pop out that eye of yours and fuck that hole instead! “They didn’t.” A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “They didn’t.” He holds still, and lets them finish. Gimli watches in horror, restrained by more officers; for him it takes three. The others watch dispassionately. Indeed, thoughtfully. Horus sags against the bars, weeping like a child. “They left me, and I thought it was over…” The pierced and shaven hulk grabs Horus’ shoulder. The other two grab Gimli. The gaunt-faced boss says Steady his head, and sticks a finger in to pop out the glass eye, which patters onto the floor. “They…” He puts a hand over his eye socket. “There isn’t really enough space in there. They ‘ad to break me cheekbone. I don’t think they could’ve punched right through to me brain, but I can’t say I’m certain they couldn’t, so I ‘eld really, really still, just in case.” Grunting and moaning and hands in his hair. Tears streaming down one side of his face while blood smears the other. Across the cell Gimli is crying too. “I don’t… I don’t even know ‘ow to describe what that felt like. It hurt, but it hurtin’ isn’t all of it. I felt sick. Think I was sick. They took even longer’n the guards did. Prob’ly ‘cause it weren’t too comfortable for them either, not that that ‘elps me.” When they finish, Horus slumps forwards and his forehead hits hard against the floor. He is shaking and whimpering as red and white and pink dribble down his cheeks. “I don’t know what would’ve ‘appened if another cop ‘adn’t come in. I thought she was gonna do somethin’ else, and she didn’t, but…” A blonde female sergeant enters and screams. One of the ones from before comes running, and she demands, What did you do to him?! The male cop is as shocked as she is, looks at the other men in the cell, and calls for backup. “… she didn’t give a fuck about me.” Horus is hauled away to the medical bay. The female cop returns with rubber gloves and disinfectant, and under the watchful eye of her comrades she scrubs up every molecule of the mess on the floor, ignoring the man who bled it there entirely. “Not that I minded. I was just glad to get to the ‘ospital wing. They couldn’t get to me there.” He lies on his side, shivering and shaking. His eye, or at least one like it, is returned to his person if not his face. A doctor removes the blood and the other from his cheeks, from the backs of his legs and between them. A kit is done but never tested. “No surprise there. Them coppers weren’t gonna risk… their information gettin’ mixed with the rest, now were they?” The trials come and go. He sees the Damsel in the dock, glaring at him with contempt. He cries during testimony and her expression softens, just a touch. “ ‘Course the sad thing is the Damsel weren’t even old Bootstrap’s kid. ‘Er boyfriend was, ‘e gave her the stupid pendant in the first place… Anyway, we got off pretty light. Kidnappin’ is serious business, the rest of ‘em got five to ten, but Gimli an’ me, we made a case for duress an’ got probation. But probation for violent crime in Cali carries a year in the county jail afore they let yer go, and…” His former co-workers are in medium security and he’s in minimum, out of their reach. The officers are not. “Now, a lot of ‘em were kinda wary ‘bout me. On account of the… the…” Horus stops and points at his empty socket. “So a bunch of ‘em left me alone… but not all.” Again. Never as many as five, but twos and threes are nothing to scoff at. “Happened again, couple times. Gimli tried to stop ‘em, but… we were prisoners. They were the guards. Not much ‘e could do.” Again and again. They never hurt Horus as badly. He does not resist. Eventually his sentence comes to an end and he leaves without looking back. “We got out a few months ago. Him an’ me. Found ourselves a place in the downtown. It ain’t much, but it’s enough. Better than it was before.” A tiny apartment. A scruffy mongrel dog. They both keep their appointments with their probation officers like clockwork and make sure to give no hint of wrongdoing. Anything is preferable to going back there. “We got a dog, heard pets can ‘elp with… people who’ve been messed up bad. Was a rescue, didn’t look like ‘e’d been treated too well either. He’s a good dog. He ‘elps.” A card with a phone number, pinned to the back of a bus seat. An assessment with Mother Superior. Horus steps inside the Palace and comes face to face with the very same young woman from before. “None of us touched her, an’ like I said we weren’t gonna. But she was really badly scared we might, and that’s not good either. We, uh… it’s our fault. The boys did threaten her, me an’ him too. The idea was to keep ‘er scared enough not to try to escape. See how well that worked, huh?” The ensuing conversation is less that and more a screaming match on one side. “I… can’t really blame ‘er for that.” Eventually the woman calms. The two stand there, arms crossed, peering at each other suspiciously. Eventually the silence breaks. What… happened? “Didn’t know what to say to that. Still pretty shaken up, I was.” Horus snorts. “O’ course I seem to have found the words now, ‘aven’t I?” He nods to the Damsel, in the audience. “She spent that ‘ole year terrified we’d come back for ‘er when we got out. Now she’s met us again, and found out what we got for it. Guess that’s what ye call ironic.”

Sandra is Different by Vanessa Evans Part 9 Wow, that exhibition hall was big but all the stalls and other 'things' were at one end leaving enough space for a football pitch. The place was buzzing with people running around, presumable getting themselves organised for the day and I was disappointed that I couldn't see a naked girl anywhere. When we got to Steve's stall I saw that there was lots of space with a gazebo with sides on it. "Is that where we'll be getting fucked?" Isla asked. "No one will complain if you get fucked anywhere today Isla." Steve said, then added, "There's a little stage over there where some of the people who will be coming here like to get a bit personal with other people." "When does that start?" I asked. "Any time after 10 when the doors open." Steve replied. "So when can we get naked?" Isla asked. "Any time that you want but there's something that I need you to wear all the time, hang on a sec." Isla looked as disppointed as I felt because I was expecting to be naked all day. Steve came back carrying some small plastic bags and from one he pulled out a couple of T-shirts. When I held one against my chest I saw his business name and phone number printed on the front and the back. Then I realised that the length of them would have been suitable for someone half my age, it only came down to my waist. I smiled and thought, "Maybe this won't be so bad." Then Steve gave us each a smaller bag with what turned out to be a Sash with his business name and phone number printed on it." "That's more like it." I said, "this doesn't cover my tits." Within seconds Isla and I were wearing only the Sashs and our heels. Isla looked as happy as I felt. We had both arranged our sashes so that the front went down between our tits. I looked around and saw quite a few people walking passed, but none seemed to be at all interested in the 2 naked teenage girls. "Come on girls," Steve said, "we've still got some setting up to do." The setting up was slow progress as both Isla and I kept seeing toys that we'd never seen or heard of before and we'd stop Steve to ask him about them. We also had to uncover some of the larger items like fucking machines. When Isla took the cover off the first one she stared for a few seconds then asked Steve if she could have a go on it. "Of course you can Isla, but not right now, we have work to do. I couldn't get the girls the last 2 days to go on them, they said that I wasn't paying them enough but I couldn't afford any more." "Well we'll go on it more than once if you want us to Steve, won't we Isla?" I said. "Hell yes." Isla replied. It was the same with all the fucking machines that Steve had on display although it was difficult for me to count them because I didn't know which bits went with which other bits, and some involved frames that had me puzzled. There was one very basic item that puzzled me. It was a metal dildo on a metal pole that was attached to a big metal plate. It had some wires attached that went to a black box about the size of a shoe box. "What's this?" I asked Steve. "A cageless prison." "I don't understand." "You will when I put you on it later." "Okay." I thought as I guessed that I would impale myself on it but didn't have a clue what would happen next. It was the same for the 'machine' that I uncovered next. It was simlar but it had two split blocks of wood at the base with a spring between the splits and wires going to each block of wood. I guessed that Steve would explain later as well. As we were putting out some of the smaller items we came across some pasties. "You'll never get me trying to hide my nipples," Isla said, "I'm proud of my pokies." "Me too." I added. Most of the pasties were stick-on but there was a couple of them that confused me, what's more there was a hole in the middle of them, big enough for a nipple to go through. "Steve, how do these work?" He walked over to us and picked one up. "They aren't really pasties, they're nipple enhancers. Let me show you." Steve put one on my right tit, my already hard nipple going therough the hole. Then he pulled on my protruding nipple whilst pushing the 'pastie' further onto my tit then twisting it. "Ouch," I said. "that hurts." Then I qualified it by adding, "Not much. It was just the surprise." "There, Steve said, "that won't fall off, and it keeps your nipple hard." "I don't think that I need that to keep my nipple hard today Steve, but I can think of times when a pair could come in handy. It hurts a bit, a bit like a small cut does, but I could easily live with that for a few hours, or days." "Can I try one?" Isla asked. Steve put the other one of the pair on Isla's right tit, her moaning a litle as he did so. "Leave those on for a while, let people see them and ask questions, they're only £9.99 a pair." "Do they come in different colours and shapes?" I asked. "They do but flourescent red does sort of attract peoples attention, that man over there was staring at you two." "How do you get them off?" Isla asked. Sheve showed us and we took them off, neither of us wanting to hide any part of our tits but I did think that there might be occasions where it would be nice to have a pair of brightly coloured ones. We finished setting everything up then Steve gave us some money and told us to go and get some coffee's before the doors opened and he pointed us in the right direction. No one took any real notice of the 2 naked teenage girls as we walked through the people still setting up their own stalls but we did pass one stall where we saw another naked girl. Even at the sort of makeshift cafe our nakedness was ignored even by the middle-aged woman serving. I guessed that naked girls would become more common place as the day wore on and I have to say that I was a little disappointed. Just as we were getting back at Steve's stall we saw a mass of people heading our way and I guessed that the main doors had opened. I also got a little excited at the thought of all those people seeing me naked. Some of the crowd stopped at Steve's stall and started looking at some of the products and I noticed that a couple of the guys seemed more interested in Isla and me. Steve had been talking to a guy but when he saw the guys looking at Isla and me he turned and asked the 2 guys if they would like a demo of one of the machines. Isla's and my eyes lit up and we looked at each other knowing that she was thinking the same as me, "I'm going to get fucked in public, albeit by a machine, and strangers will be watching me get fucked." Well I hoped that it woud be my turn first, although I wouldn't be upset if Steve chose Isla first. With both Isla and I looking at Steve he said, "You go first Sandra, don't worry Isla, I'm sure that it won't be long before you're on your back with a dildo pounding in and out of you. Oh, and don't try to hold back either of you,, if you want to cum then cum, no one will mind, in fact they will be hoping thaat you will. The pair of you work out how to setup the first machine in the line and Isla can operatr the controls. If you have any problems I'm sure that those 2 guys will help you." "No one will mind if Isla cums!" I thought as I looked around. There were about a dozen men watching us and I was 100% sure that they all wanted to see both Isla and I cum, and both Isla and I wanted to cum for them. The first machine was quite straightforward, as part of the seting up we'd spread out spong mats like they used at my Katate lessons and Isla was soon on the floor on her back with her legs spread wide either side of a relatively straight forward looking machine, A heavy looking metal box with a silicone, bendy dildo on a metal bar that was just the right height to invade her pussy. "Shuffle your butt over to the dildo Isla I said as I worked the control so that the dildo moved backwads and forwards. Isla stopped it as far away from my pussy as it would go and I shuffled myself so that the tip of the dildo was just inside my vagina. "Ready girl?" Isla asked. "Bring it on sister." I replied. So she did, slowly at first then after a couple of deep penetrations she turned the speed up a bit. "That's fucking amazing." I said between moans. "Literally." Isla replied and turned the speed up a little more. All the people around me, including Isla, were watching the dildo go in and out of me and watching how the skin around my vaginal entrance was moving. As we were all watching I heard a man stood next to Isla say, "She's got nice tits, it's not very often that you see a pair as firm and pointy as those." Unsurprisingly, I orgasmed quite soon and some of the people, yes, a couple of girls had joined the audience, started clapping. I wondered if Isla would leave the machine running until I had a second orgasm but she decided against that, maybe because she was quite impatient to have a go my herself. She turned the machine down so that the dildo was only going into me quite slowly, then she turned it off. I looked at Isla's face and saw her grinning, she knew that I'd enjoyed every second. Isla put out a hand to help me get up and as I did I slid her butt back then got to my feet. "That was awesome." I said as I turned and got a couple of wetwipes to clean the dildo. I saw that most of the little adience were walking away but a couple were talking to Steve and I hoped that he was making a sales. A man who hadn't watched me came over to us and asked me how much a different machine was. "Sorry sir, we're just the models that Steve hired for the day, you'd need to talk to Steve about prices." I replied pointing towards Steve. "Any chance that one of you could demonstrate one of the machines for me, I want to visualise what my wife would look like using it." "Certainly sir, which machine were you thinking of?" Isla replied. Isla and I saw him point at another machine, this one was mounted in a frame and instead of the dildo going parallel to the floor it was going vertically but the motor and the non-business end of the steel bar were mounted at the top of the frame. Isla and I looked at each other then sge said, "You do it Sandra." "It's your turn Isla." "I know, but you go Sandra, I want to watch you." I wasn't sure how I was supposed to get my pussy to the tip of the dildo that was about half a metre in the air. Steve rescued us. "On your back Sandra, lift you legs then hold your knees by your shoulders." It was starting to make some sense so I did as instructed the Steve and Isla lifted the whole frame and moved it so that the tip of the dildo was just above my vaginal entrance. Then he did some adjustments to the frame until I felt the tip of the dildo touching my pussy. I spread my legs as much as I could then said that I was ready. Down came the dildo and I had to move my lower body a little to allow the dildo to perfectly align with my vagina. The next downward movement was much more comfortable and pleasurable. I looked around and saw strangers all around me. I was in heaven. Down and up went the dildo, slowly getting faster and faster and I wished that Isla had my camera so that she could have recorded my first machine fuck but my thoughtd soon changed as the nice feelings got nicer and nicer. The anticipation of going to be naked in front of lots of strangers, then actually being so and finally being fucked by a machine with lots of strangers seeing the dildo go in and out of me was just too much for me to last very long before cumming and cum I did, and letting everyone around me know that I was cumming. That was one of the best orgasms that I have ever had. I didn't know if it was Isla or Steve who was controlling the machine but they didn't turn it off when my first orgasn arrived and the dildo kept going down and deep into me then withdrawing so that the tip of it was juat inside me, until I orgasmed again. And it was just as good as the first one. Thankfully, the dildo stopped going down and up and when I had some control over my body again, Steve and Isla moved the frame so that I could lower my legs. I lay on the mat with my legs spread wide open for at least a minute before getting to my feet and saying that that was fucking awesome. As I went over to Isla I saw that a couple of men were trying to talk to Steve and I hoped that my demonstration had got him a sale. Shortly after that Steve uncovered what looked to me like an exercise bike. Because of my thoughts I hadn't taken much notice of it but when the cover came off I saw that it was 'different' to the exercise bikes that I'd seen and used in the university gym. This bike had some extra bits on the upright below the saddle and a hole in the saddle. It only took a couple of seconds from when I saw Steve attaching a dildo to the gubbings below the saddle that I realised what the bike really was. "Isla," Steve said, "come and get on the bike." I was a little jeleous that she was going to use it first but I kbew that I'd be on it sometime before the day was out. "Ouch." Isla said just after Steve had told her to start pedalling slowly. Then, "Oh that's nice." As she obviously got the dildo lined up properly and I saw it disappear. The little audience saw it too and Steve told Isla to pedal as quick as she could. We all watched Isla bringing herself to an orgasm, me wondering how I could get the university to replace their existing exercise cycles with ones like Isla was riding right then. Steve turned to me and asked me if I was okay. "How could I possibly not be. I wouldn't have missed this for the world, thank you so much Steve." "My pleasure Sandra, and I've got somewhere for you to sit and watch Isla." Steve took me over to what to me looked like one of those frames that you see in people's gardens with a swing attached for their kids to play on. There wasn't a swing attached but Steve opened a box and got out 2 short lengths of rope. On one end of each of them was a metal karibina. And the other end of each of them had a webbing loop. "Step into those and pull them up to your thighs." Steve instructed. Then he lifted me up with one arm and used his other arm to clip the karibina to the top of the frame. Then he went to my other side of me and did the same so that when he released me I was free to swing backwards and forwards. I could even open my legs wide. "Comfortable?" Steve asked. "Yes." I replied. "Would you like something to keep your legs spread so that your audience think that it's not your fault that your legs are wide apart?" "Good idea Steve, but how?" Steve smiled, went to a box then came back with what I found out were ankle cuffs. "How are those going to help?" I asked. "Patience pointy tits. patience." As Steve was putting the ankle cuffs on me I said, "So do you like my little pointy tits Steve?" "Hell yes, don't tell Lisa but I wish that her tits were like yours Sandra." "I think that Lisa's tits look great Steve," I replied, "not too big and her nipples do her proud." "Yes, I'm happy that she hates bras." Steve stood up then went and got what looked to me like a broom handle. As he attached each end of the wooden pole to my ankle cuffs I realised that I was stuck. unable to close my legs or get off the swing. "So how is someone supposet to fuck me like this" I asked. "They'e not, well not with that spreader bar attached, I thought that you might like to be displayed like that for a while, well until Isla has worn herself out on that exercise bike." "I was hoping to have a go in tha bike." I said. "And so you shall Sandra, I just want to put some more things on you to see how you feel." "What?" I asked. But Steve didn't answer, instead he walked over to his sales counter and got talking with a potential customer leaving me sat there on the swing. I thought for a minute and realised that he was right, I was going nowhere, and my spread pussy was on full display. Some of the potential customers who were watching Isla saw me and came to have a good look at me and I was loving it. I could feel my nipples and clit tingling something rotten and I just knew that my pussy was dripping onto the floor below me. One of the potential customers went over and interrupted Steve to ask him if it was okay to take some photographs. Steve must have said that it was okay becase the man came back with his phone out and sarted clicking away. The other people staring at me must have assumed that if it was okay for the first man to take photographs then it was okay for them to, and out came more phones. The tingling got stronger and the puddle must have got bigger as all I could think about was those strangers staring at my spread pussy and taking photographs. Then I felt something on my neck and I jumped, well as much as I could in the position that I was. "Relax Sandra," I heard Steve say "it's only me, I'm just putting this collar around your neck." "What!" I replied as I took one hand off the ropes and using touch I confirmed what Steve was saying. I didn't need touch to see what Steve did next, he put wrist cuffs on me as I said, "I didn't know that you sold bondage equipment Steve?" I asked. "Yes, well just the fun stuff, not the serious BDSM stuff. Do you like the collar and cuffs Sandra?" "I think that I do, they attract people's eyes but I guess that it depends on what you're going to attach them to." "Nothing at the moment but you don't need a collar and cuffs to attract people's attention Sandra. Those tits and protruding clit do that for you." I giggled a little and felt a little proud of my body. I looked over to Isla and saw her body shaking and her pedallng slow down. I guessed that she'd cum again and needed a bit of a rest. I looked back at Steve and saw that someone had caught his attention so I looked round the little audience and saw a few phones taking photos so I lay back as much as I could and revelled in my exposure. A few minutes later I opened my eyes and saw Isla stood neat me. I smiled and asked, "Good ride?" "Hell yeah, I wish that they had bikes like that at the uni gym, I'd be there every day." "I thought that as well." "Great minds. Are you enjoying yourself sitting there with your legs spread wide Sandra? Sorry. silly question, the puddle on the floor answers my question. And what's with the bondage stuff?" "The jury is still out on these things, Steve thought that I might like to try them." "I don't fancy them myself." Isla replied. "Not even the cuffs so that some gorgeous hunk can tie you to his bed and ravish your body for days on end Isla?" "Maybe the cuffs do have their good points." Isla replied. I smiled just as Steve came back. With Isla's help Steve got me off the swing and as he did so he told me that the last man that he spoke to was interested in buying 20 of the swings, apparent;y he's a film producer and was thinking about having a line of girls swinging on those swings. "Do you think that he's a porno film produced?" Isla asked. "No idea, I didn't ask, what anyone does with anything that they buy from me is their business not mine." Steve replied, then added, "Sandra, do you fancy going and riding the bike for a while. Isla, have you heard of a Sybian?" I didn't need to be asked twice and as I got on the bike and impaled myself I watched Steve uncover a Sybian, but this one was different to the one Master Thomas had, this one was mounted on a frame so that once the rider was properly mounted she was stuck there because the height of the frame meant that her feet couldn't touch the floor, she was at the mercy of whoever had the control in their hand which was Steve after he helped her mount the Sybian. As I started to pedal I saw Isla gasp and guessed that Steve has switched it on and I thought that the totally naked Isla, well apart from the sash, looked great sitting on the Sybian with the dildo insde her and her feet just hanging there, unable to touch the floor. Meanwhile I was again wishing that the university would replace their exercse cycles with ones like I was currently riding. After my first orgasm on the bike, and after my brain had got back to normal, I looked around and saw that the place was crowded. I guessed that the public were expecting to see scantily clad, ot naked girls. After my second orgasm on the bike I stopped pedalling and climbed off because I didn't want to run out of energy, I was hoping for a lot more fun before the day was out. Once Isla couldn't take any more I helped her get off the Sybian and Steve told us that we could take a break. He told us that we might enjoy just walking around for a while or going for a coffee or something to eat. He stuffed a £20 note in a little pocket on the inside of the Sash that that I was wearing. Just as we turned to walk away Steve told us to stop. We turned to face him and saw him put his hands into a big box. When they came out he told me to turn around and put my hands behind my back. I did and the I felt him put something on the wrist cuffs that joined them together, I was stuck with my hands behind my back. "What's that for?" I asked. "Just to make life a little more interesting for you Sandra." Steve replied as he attached a leash to my collar and gave the other end to Isla. "What the hell." I thought, then, "maybe this will be fun." I saw Isla smile as she gently tugged on the lease telling me to follow her. As we walked away Isla said, "Come on doggy, walkies." It felt strange being led through the crowds like that, a sort of helpless, vulnerable. exciting feeling. Although my Karate lessons meant that I could still defend myself I sort of felt that this must be what a slave feels like. I turned to Isla and said, "I guess that I'm your slave Mistress, that I have to do whatever you tell me." Isla got into the dominate role and replied, "Yes slave, if I tell you to do something you have to do it, for starters suck my right tit." We stopped, turned to face each other and my mouth went to Isla's right tit. Her nipples had been erect all day but I felt the one in my mouth get very hard as I sucked it and teased it with my tongue. As I did so I heard some nice complimens from the strangers around us. After a couple of minutes Isla told me to stop, saying that she might just cum if I kept going, then telling me to start walking again. Walking around in amongst lots of fully clothed people whilst I was virtually naked was an experience that made me feel very horny, something that I wanted to do over and over again. Although I didn't want to get into a conversation with any of the strangers I did enjoy them looking at me and making the odd complimentary comment. It would appear that quite a few people there liked the shape of my tits and a few people liked that I was cuffed and on a leash. As we walked around the big hall I saw a few girls either topless or naked. One topless girl smiled at us as our paths crossed. I saw a few other stalls selling toys with scantily clad girls tryng to lure men in, but I didn't see any stalls where live demonstrations were going on. I guessed that Steve had got one up on them. When we got to the little cafe area we joined the queue to be served. Isla was in front of me and when we got to the serving lady she ordered for both of us then told me to turn around. She unclipped one of the cuffs saying, "There slave, you can carry the food and drinks for us." Isla went to get the money out of my sash and in doing so she managed to run a finger along my slit and flick my clit causing me to moan. The lady serving us looked me up and down with an expression of disgust on her face that made me smile. After Isla had paid the lady she put the change back in the pocket on the sash but didn't touch my slit of clit. Then we went to sit at a table and eat the salads. Again it felt strange sitting there totally naked with all those clothed people around us. Isla and I talked about our day so far and she confirmed what I had thought, that she was enjoying herself just as much as I was. Whilst we were sat there there was quite a few people walking around and as I watched some of the men I realised that they were taking the long route and deliberately walking passed our table and looking at our tits. When I mentioned it to Isla she said that she'd never seen my nipples so big for so long. Lunch over Isla putt he karabina back on my wrist cuffs and led me out into the passing crowds. I guess that by then I was getting used to being naked in amongst clothed total strangers but it was still very arousing. We came across a raised area where a naked girl was dancing on her own so we joined the little audience to watch for a minute or so. Just as we were about to leave and continue our walk a man came onto the stage and thanked the girl. Then he announced, "Thank you ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure that Candy enjoyed performing for you. Now, someone has told me that there is a slave girl somewhere around here who needs to have a gynaecological examination performed by many men. Can anyone here see a slave girl?" As soon as I heard the words 'slave girl' I guessed that he was refering to me as I was the only naked girl with her hands cuffed behing her back that I had seen all day. My heart started pounding and my nipples and clit throbbed even before he mentioned a gynaecological examination. "Oh my gawd," Isla said, "that's you, come on, lets get out of here." I felt a tug on the leash but I didn't move. "Come on Sandra, you can't stay for that, it's going way too far." I knew that Isla was right, for her, but for me it sounded just what I wanted. "No Isla," I replied, "I'm staying, please take me up onto that stage." "Are you sure Sandra, it's one thing working out in those leotards and skinny dipping but who knows what those men will do to you." "What's the worst that they can do Isla, fuck me?" "I guess so." "Come on, or does the dog have to lead her Mistress?! Isla started walking to the stage and the little audience parted to give us the space. "Oh look, our little naked slave is with her naked Mistress." The man said as we climbed up onto the stage. "I think that we can forgive the advertising across their chests folks, you can't blame a guy for free advertising. So what is you name?" the guy asked Isla. "I'm Kat and my slave is called Suzie." Isla replied. "So Kat, was the little birdie right, do you want your slave gynaecological examined?" "Only if it's by at least a dozen men." Isla replied. "Well I'm sure that that won't be a problem, what sane man wouldn't want to get his hands on and in a body like hers?" "Quite," Isla replied, "and she does have a really cute pair of tits doesn't she?" "She sure does, I haven't seen a pair so perky for a long time. I bet that it's difficult to stop those from drilling through all her clothes." "Who says that I let her wear clothes?" Isla replied and got a little laugh from some of the audience whose numbers were increasing. "Okay, I can see why you keep her naked, she's a lucky slave. Now, when the little birdie told me what you wanted for your slave I went round all the vendors here and managed to borrow an examination table. It's not quite the standard variety that you'd find in your GP's surgery, more what you'd fing in your local dungeon, but maybe that's what she's used to." The guy then turned to face the side of the stage where I saw 2 hunky men with some sort of an examination table. He nodded to them and they wheeled the table over. Oh my gawd, it was nothing like the table that I'd seen at my GP's surgery. Okay the victim still had to lay on her back but the table was in the shape on an inverted 'Y' with straps hanging down the sides. "Can you un-cuff Suzie please Kat?" The man asked. Isla did and I was then instructed to climb onto the table where the 2 cute guys proceded to strap me on. My wrists were attached to something above my head which was on some sort of pillow, there were straps above and below my tits, over my waist and over each thigh. The legs of the 'Y' were raised quite high and my ankle cuffs were attached to the bottom ends of the 'Y'. I was well and truly restrained with my little tits pointing to the roof and my pussy spread wide open. What's more, my pussy was leaking something rotten because I was feeling soo horny. "Well Kat, now that your slave is well and truly imobalised would you like to be the first to examine her?" "That's okay, I'm quite familiar with every square millemetre of her body, you can be her first for today." The man, who I never did find out his name, put a hand on one of my tits and squeezed it a bit. "Wow, your GP will struggle to find any lumps in those, they're one big solid lump, have you had steel cone shaped implants put in those?" The man asked. "No, those are 100% natural." Isla replied. The man's hands moved to my nipples and it felt soo good. "Like that do you slave?" The man asked as I started moaning. Then he lifted his head, looked at the audience and continued, "You're going to like these, our slave is very sensitive." His hands slid down my torso to my clit. "Wow folks, when did you last see one this big?" His finger touched the end of my clit and I moaned even louder. Then he stoped and moved his hands away from me. He turnrd to the 2 hunks and said, "Okay guys, take the slave for a ride. Feet first, the first thing that people should see is her cunt, not the top of her head." The 2 hunks easily lifted the examination table with me strapped onto it, down off the stage and I started my journey of goodness knows what, but whatever it was going to be I just knew that I was going to enjoy it. The 2 hunks obviously weren't in a rush to parade me around the hall because it wasn't long before they stopped near a group of men and one of them asked the hunks if they could touch me, and they did. Because my head was raised up a bit I could see everyone who was groping me, and what they were doing to me. It was sooo cool, all those fingers all over me and inside me. Then I heard and saw a man asking one of the hunks if he could fuck me. "Only if you wear a condom, her Mistress would get a bit pissed if you made her pregnant." The hunk replied. I thought about telling them that I wouldn't get pregnant but quickly decided against it, I didn't want to discover if they had something nasty in a week or so. The man who asked obvioulsy wasn't shy because he dropped his trousers and I watched him roll a condom over his cock right there in the walkway with lots of strangers watching. His cock looked quite average, and even though my pussy was leaking like a sieve, I gasped as he entered me. Because I was so highly aroused by the whole situation, it wasn't long before I was cumming. My body couldn't shake or jerk like it normally does when I have an orgasm but my mouth wasn't covered and I involuntarily let everyone around me know that I was cumming. The man inside me didn't last long either. I could feel him shooting his load and hear him grunting. I was finally getting my wish to be fucked in public. That man certainly wasn't the first to grope and fuck me as the hunks wheeled me along the main corridors of the erotic equipment convention. I have no idea how many men, and girls, played with my tits and clit, finger fucked me and actually fucked me. I lost count when it got into double fingers annd it was the same with the orgasms. I couldn't believe myself when we got near to the stage and I was hoping for it to be over, I needed a bit of a rest, but it certainly wasn't over. After we got to the stage the 2 hunks lifted the examination table back onto the stage and then proceded to fuck me from both ends. When I realised what they were going to do I looked out at the audience and my arousal level shot up. This was going to be even better than being fucked along the corridors. And it was. I orgasmed 4 times and when it was all over and the hunks unstrapped me from the table, it took me a couple of minutes before I could get off and stand on my feet. When I looked around I saw Isla standing there with a big grin on her face. I smiled back and said, "Come on Mistress, your turn." "What! No, no, I couldn't do that. I sort of want to but no, I'd die." "No you wouldn't, but it's your choice, no one is going to force you to do anything. Are you going to cuff me and lead me back to Steve?" "Now that I can do, come on slave, turn around." "Take it slow Mistress, my legs haven't completely recovered yet." Kat did and I reveled in the attention that we attracted as we walked through the crowds which seemed greater than they had been earlier. Back at Steve's stall he greeted us with a big grin and the question, "Are you okay?" "Did you see Sandra?" Isla asked. "I did, she certainly looked like she was enjoying herself." "I was, it was awesome." I replied. "Good," Steve replied, "you now have the choice of prison or a spanking. Which do you want first?" "What!?" I said, "You're going to spank us?" "No I am not, I have a nice little machine that will do it for me." "Interesting." I replied." "Tell you what girls, one of you can go to prison whilst the other gets spanked." "Okay, I guess," I replied. "so which of us is going to which first?" "Toss a coin fot it." Steve replied. "Oh wait, no purses." "Actually," I interrupted, "I do have some coins, change from our lunch." I dove into the pocket on the sash, pulled out the coins and handed them to Steve. "Thanks." Steve said and put all but 1 coin into his pocket, tossed the remaining coin and covered it with his other hands. "Who's calling?" Steve asked. "You can Isla." I replied. She did and she got it right. "Can I get spanked first?" Isla asked. "Okay girls, help me drag the parts of the machine over to the front so that everyone walking by can see it in action." "So that's what this is?" I said as we dragged the 2 parts across the area. Once we'd got it where Steve wanted it he said, "This will take a few minutes to get setup right, if I get it wrong Isla's backside will hurt so much that she'll have to lay across the back seat on the journey home so I'll get you locked up first Sandra, that will only take a minute." We went over to these 2 metal poles that are attached to metal plates and have a metal dildo on top of them, the tip of the dildo being about at pussy height. Both poles were also at the front, just a metre from the passing people. "Which one do you want Sandra?" I compared the 2 and then said, "The one with the wooden blocks on the metal plate please." "Brave girl." Steve replied, "do you know what you are letting yourself in for?" "Not a clue." I replied. "Okay, stand with your feet either side of the pole on the balls of your feet with your heels on the wooden blocks." As I got into the position I fely the wooden blocks go down and the tip of the metal dildo just touch my pussy. "Good Sandra, now go up onto the balls of your feet then I'll adjust the height of the dildo so that it's inside you." Steve did, his face right in front of my pussy. There was no resistance as the dildo slid up into my hole and I felt the tip touch my cervix then go back down just a little. "Good Sandra. I'm going to switch it on now. If your legs get tired and you start to transfer your weight onto you heels the wooden block will go down a bit and the metal plate under it will go down and make conact with another one. That will send some electricity to the metal dildo." "You're going to electrocute Sandra?" Isla asked. "Don't worry Isla, it won't kill her, just give her a jolt." "Inside her pussy?" "Yes." "Sandra, make sure that you stay on the balls of you feet." Isla said. "I intend to." I replied, "but I necer had ballet lessons as a kid and I don't wear heels often so I might not last long, bye Isla, it was nice knowing you." "Before I switch it on try and get off the dildo." Steve said, ignoring what I hoped was a joke. I thought for a second then tried to lean forward in an attempt to pull myself up and off. As I expected, there was no way that I could free myself. The pain as I leant forward was too much to bear as soon as I leant forwards even just a bit. I was stuck and I just hoped that I could stay on the balls of my feet until Steve decided to release me or switch the power off. I watched Steve pick up the power control and twist a knob. "I've set it on low power Sandra, just try going down onto you heels so that you can get an idea of what it will be like if you weaken." I gingerly slowly lowered my heels with my heart pounded in anticipation of getting the shock that I expected to be nothing like I had ever had before. It still caught me by surprise and I screamed when it his me. Insinctively my heels lifted up and the power was cut. "Fucking hell!" I said, "that was, that was nothing like I expected, not that I knew what to expect." "You can get vibrators that give you random shocks like that." Steve said. "Oh yes," I replied, "you'll have to tell me what they are called." "So you liked it then?" Isla asked. "I wouldn't go that far," I replied, "but it did turn me on a bit." "Bloody hell Sandra, I doubt that it would do that to me, more like make me piss myself." Isla said. "Okay girls, you can talk about it later, Sandra I'm turning the power up and leaving you to it, Isla, come on, it's time to strap you down ready to be spanked." I watched with interest as Steve and Isla went to the spanking machine. First Steve got Isla to bend over this sort of wooden frame. Her legs were spread quite wide as he strapped her ankles to the frame. From where Steve had setup the frame everyone walking by would be able to see Isla's spread pussy. Then he moved to her arms and strapped her wrists to the frame, she was going nowhere. Next Steve moved the metal stand with the machine on it to where he thought it should be. The spanking arm had this viscious looking cane attached to it and I thought that it could do a lot of damage to Isla's butt. Steve moved the arm so that the cane was just touching her butt. Next Steve surprised me a bit by detaching the cane and getting a number of 'weapons' out of a box. He studied each one then decided to go with a long, leather paddle which he attached to the machine's arm. Meanwhile, my legs were starting to ache a little. I kept watching Steve and Isla's butt as he made a final adjustment then switched the machine on. The arm slowly moved back then, like a huge spring being compressed, then the arm sprang forwards, the paddle hit Isla's butt and she screamed. Needless to say that the loud scream attracted the attention of the people passing by who had not seen her and around 30 pairs of eyes were now focusd on Isla's butt as the arm of the machine slowly moved away revealing a red strip across both of Isla's butt cheeks. My pussy leaked a but more at the thought of it being my butt that had just been whacked. I concentrated my eyes on Isla's butt, or more specifically her wet pussy that everyone could see and I saw a couple of little bubbles of her juices coming out of her vagina. The arm on the machine went as far back as it could then the spring was relased again. I swear that I could hear a short 'whoosh' as the arm of the machine flew forward followed by a loud crack as the paddle landed on Isla's butt, then a scream as Isla felt the pain. As the arm slowly moved back I heard a couple of comments from the audience, both of them liking what they were watching. Three more times that arm was released and 3 more times Isla screamed before Steve switched off the machine and went and stood near Isla's head. He stood so close to her that I thought that he was going to get his cock out and stuff it into her mouth, but he didn't. I could see that he was talking but I couldn't hear what he was saying. As Steve went back to the machine my aching legs really made their presence known. I didn't know how much longer I could stay up on the balls of my feet. Five more times I saw that paddle land of Isla's butt and I heard her scream. I wondered how much more she could take although her butt looked very red I couldn't see any real damage to her skin. Steve went and had another word with Isla and as he did I unexpectedly felt an electric shock inside my pussy. I too screamed and my body lifted up as I went back onto the balls of my feet. I hadn't realised that my legs were slowly weakening as much as they obviously were and that my heels were going down. The audience's attention turned to me when I'd screamed and I felt a little rush of pussy juices and I wondered if they were starting to run down the part of the dildo that wasn't inside me, and the metal pole. I had the horrible thought that if they reached the bottom of the pole something would short circuit and I would get a constant electric shock. I took a deep breath and pressed down on my toes. Five more times that paddle swung and landed on Isla's butt and 5 more times she screamed, although the screams weren't as loud as the original ones. As the fifteenth swat landed on Isla's butt my leg muscles gave way again and I too screamed but this time I wasn't so quick at going back up onto my toes and the electric shock lasted longer. What's more I realised that it wasn't that bad after the initial shock and it seemed to stimulate my arousal. But I still went back onto my toes. Steve stopped the spanking machine and again went round to Isla's head. After a short conversation Steve went and started the machine again. After the third (eighteenth) swat Isla didn't scream, in fact I could see that her body was shaking. I'd just made that realisation when my leg muscles had finally turned to jelly and my weight went onto my heels. This time it wasn't a scream that came out of my mouth it was a long groan as I resigned myself to a constant electric shock inside my pussy until someone switched the power off. I hadn't realised before, but I could feel that my vaginal muscles had clamped onto the dildo and I was pleased that it was a smooth dildo, if it had had ridges on it I feared that it would never come out of me. I too started shaking, but it was more like muscle spasms. On and on went the spasms, and the groans. At the time my brain wasn'thinking properly but deep inside it was obviously getting more and more aroused because I remember thinking that I was orgasming. I vagually remember thinking that I was going to die and that it was a wonderful way to go as the feelings went on and on. How I managed to stay on my feet and upright I will never know, but what I do know was that if I did fall forwards I would have done myself sone very serious internal damage. Finally, I realised that the electric shocking had stopped but my body kept spasming and orgasming for quite a few seconds before they too started to slow and stop. When I managed to lift my head I saw Steve standing in front of me with a big grin on his face. "Are you okay Sandra?" Steve asked. After the third time of asking I magaed to reply, "I've, I've never cum for so long. It felt like that one lasted for hours." I replied. Steve squat down in front of me and lowered the dildo so that it was no longer inside me and as I felt that it was gone my body relaxed and Steve managed to catch me as my legs gave way and I collapsed forwards. Steve easily carried me over to one of the sponge mats and lay me down. I smiled as I realised that once I was on my back he'd lifted my legs and spread them wide. As I lay there I could almost feel the electric shock still torturing my insides. After a while I saw Isla looking down on me. "Are you okay Sandra?" Isla asked. "Give me 5." I replied, "how are you?" "My butt hurts but I'm good." Isla turned to let me look at her red butt and said, "I won't sit next to you if you don't mind." I laughed a little and lifted my arm for her to pull me up. When I was on my feet I saw Steve talking to potential customers so I turned to Isla and said, "Thanks, you've got to try that, it really is torture but when it hits you, wow, that really was a new experience." "A good experience?" Isla asked. "Yes, and no. I was hell at first but ......" I didn't finish the sentence, instead I took Isla's hand and led her over to the same 'prison'. I put her in the same position that I had been in then raised the dildo until it was inside her hole. "Up on the balls of your feet." I said, then I raised the dildo a little before tightening the bolt to fix the dildo at that height. "Ready?" I asked. "No." Isla replied but I ignored her and went to the control box. I looked at Isla's face and saw that 'shit scared' expression but I just knew that she wanted to try it. "Go down onto you heels Isla." I said. "No." "Isla." "No, I'm scared." "Isla." "No." I went behind Isla, squat down and pressed on one of the wooden blocks. Isla screamed and I lifted my finger off the block and went round to her front. "Still alive I see." I said. "Bitch." Isla replied. "I'm going to get something to give those cute little tits of yours a shock like that." "Promises, promises." I replied. Just then Steve came over as said, "Having fun girls?" "Yes, ....... no," Isla replied, this is horrible, Sandra tried to kill me." "No she didn't," Steve replied, "that thing won't kill you, just keep you on your toes." "Very punny." Isla replied. "Come on Sandra," Steve said as he took my hand and led me towards the spanking machine, "time for you to be spanked." "HEY," Isla shouted, "you can't leave me here like this." Steve and I both ignored her, Steve saying that Isla would be fine. I turned my head to look at the little audience as Steve strapped me in place and I saw about 20 people looking at me. I felt happy. The anticipation that I felt whilst Steve made adjustments to the machine really was making my pussy leak and I wondered if my audience could see my juices escaping. I heard a short 'whoosh' and then I screamed although it was just as much from surprise as it was from the pain. Yes it had hurt but not as bad as I was expecting. For a split second I wondered it Steve had set the machine so that it didn't hurt me as much as it had Isla. That thought went completely out of my head when the second swat landed. I didn't scream but the long grunt that came out of my mouth told everyone that could hear that it had hurt me. As the whacks continued I wondered if the electric shocks that I had had inside me had de-sensitized the pain sensors in my butt. Steve didn't come and check that I was okay and my count of whacks went into double figures. It was round about the fifteenth swat that I felt that wonderful feeling of arousal and the knowledge that an orgasm would hit me if things went on as they were, and around the twentieth whack it arrived and hit me like, like, like something that I couldn't describe. My body started shaking and if the straps would have let me my audience would have seen my body jerking although I couldn't stop myself from annoucing that I was cumming. The spanking machine kept going and I wondered if Steve was waiting to see if I'd cum again but then it stopped and Steve came over to me and started unfastening the straps whilst apologising for not switching it off sooner, something about talking to a customer. When I was free and properly on my feet I turned to look at Isla and saw her, still locked on her prison, her whole body was shaking and her eyes looked very blank. "Steve," I said, "Isla." Steve turned, swore and rushed over to turn the power off to Isla's prison. "Jeez girl." I said as I knelt in front of Isla to lower the dildo, "there's rivers running down the insides of your legs." Steve and I caught Isla and took her to the mats where we lay her down, me moving her feet well apart so that all of her pussy was on display. I looked down at Isla and saw that she was breathing heavily but she still had that blank expression on her face so I slapped her face. Her eyes started blinking then she said, "What was that for?" I laughed then bent over and kissed her on her mouth lips. "So do you want to buy one of those prisons Isla?" I asked, "They can't be that expensive." "Only to stick up a guy's arse to keep him hard longer." Isla replied. Steve laughed and went over to someone who looked like he wanted to talk to him. I sat on the mat, wincing as my painful butt made contact with the mat, next to Isla and asked, "So did you enjoy that?" "Ask me again tomorrow, my insides are still recovering." A short while later Steve came over to us and we got to our feet. "How's it going girls?" Steve asked, but before we could answer he continued, "Why don't you go for a wander, have a proper look at everything." I still had the ankle and wrist cuffs and the collar on, but my wrists were not fastened together, nor did I have the leash on, but we both still had our sashes and our heels on as we left Steve and slowly walked in amongst all the clothed people. I again found being naked in amongst clothes stangers very arousing. I hope that I never get used to it and get immune to that feeling. We saw quite a few 'sights' as we walked, quite a few topless and a few naked girls. I wondered if they were as aroused as I was. We also saw a couple of guys wearing bondage gear. Neither were hunky men and I thought that they looked silly. Steve was right when on the journey there we'd see things that we'd never even imagined. We had to stop at one stall and ask the man there what a couple of things that he had on display were. When he told us he asked us if we'd like to try them but we both declined. One was a pump that goes over your tits and using suction makes them a lot bigger. I told the man that I was quite happy with my tits as they were. We also saw little shows being put on in different trader's areas. One girl was actually getting fucked as she bent over a table. When we got to the stage where I'd been fucked we stood and watched a sort of erotic dancing show with 2 totally naked girls who did get fucked whilst we watched. I didn't think that it was very erotic but Isla said that I would have thought different;y if I'd been one of the girls. She was probably right. Whilst we were stood there watching a couple of guys just had to make some complimentary comments about our naked bodies. All 4 of our nipples had been rock hard all day amd I was proud of mine and the tits that they were on the front of. The other thing of mine that had been rock hard all day was my clit and at one point I wondered why the female body hadn't been designed with our pussies more visible all the time. When that show finished Isla and I continued our walk and I noticed that there weren't as many people walking about. When I mentioned it to Isla she wondered what time the convention closed. When we got back to Steve we saw that he was starting to pack things into boxes. "When's the next one of these erotic equipment conventions?" Isla asked Steve as soon as we got there. "Enjoyed yourselves have you girls?" "Is the Pope a catholic?" Isla replied. Steve and I both laughed then Steve said, "I'll let you know." We helped Steve box everything as the visitor numbers diminished until I saw only people carrying boxes. "Steve," Isla asked, "there's one hell of a lot more boxes to go to the van than we brought in, do we have to carry ALL this lot out to the van?" "We have to get it out to the van but we don't have carry it all, there's a trolley in the back of the van that will help us." "Shall I go and get it?" I asked. "Okay, thanks Sandra." Steve gave me the van keys and off I went. It was only when I got to the exit that I remembered that I was naked, "Sod it," I thought and kept walking. As soon as I went out of the door I realised that I wasn't as much on display as I had hoped, it was well after sundown but there were some street lights. A few people looked at me, which was nice but the main thing was that it was cold outside. My nipples and clit had been hard all day but the reason for that was now the cold. I walked quickly and quickly got the trolley out of the van. On the way back in I got stopped by a security guard wanting to know where I was going. After I explained he let me continue and I decided that he only wanted to spend a few more seconds looking at my body close up. We had to make 2 trips out to the van and by the time everything was in the van I was feeling quite cold. "I hate to say this Steve, but where are our clothes, I'm freezing and I need to put my dress on." "Me too." Isla added. "Where did you put them girls?" Steve asked. "We gave them to you this morning when we took them off Steve." Isla replied. "Ahh, in that case they will be one of the boxes in the back of the van." "Well I'm too cold to get them now," I said, "can we ride home like this and get them when we get there and the van's heater has warmed us up?" "You want us to ride home like this?" Isla asked. "Yes, why not, unless you object Steve?" I asked. "Not at all girls, it's dark so there's litle chance of anyone seeing you or the cops stopping us." Steve replied. "But we're high up in a van!" Isla said. "Shut up and get in girl, I'm freezing." I said. We did, and Isla and I stayed naked throughout the journey. It was mostly on open roads and it was only when we got into the city centre and had to stop at traffic lights that I saw that a couple of young men had seen us but by then I had warmed up and I turned to look out of the van door window so that the young men could get a better look at my tits. Steve had been talking to Lisa on the phone during the journey and she'd invites Isla and me to their house for a meal. "Saves me cooking something, thank you Lisa." I said with her on speaker. Steve and Lisa live in a big house on the outskirts of the city and there was plenty of space in their driveway for his car, Lisa's car and the van. "This is nice." I said as I opened the van door to get out causing my nipples to go rock hard instantly. Lisa must have heard or seen the van arriving because she was coming out to greet us. "Where are your clothes girls?" Lisa asked. "In the back of the van somewhere." I replied. "Never mind those for now, come on in where it's warm." Lisa said. I could see Isla start to say something but she stopped herself and we followed her into the house only to be greeted by a couple in their late twenties who were both grinning. Lisa introduced them as Martin and Charlotte, their neighbours. "Don't worry about being naked girls," Charlotte said, "we've been naked here quite a few times, Steve and Lisa hold some very interesting parties at times." "Sounds like fun." I replied. I looked at Isla and saw that she looked like me, quite relaxed about being naked, after all we'd been naked all day and there had been hundreds, if not thousands of strangers looking at us. When I'd first walked in and seen Martin and Charlotte I'd felt a little uncomfortable, not because I was naked, but because I would no doubt have to talk to them, not something I like to do but both Martin and Charlotte, and Lisa and Steve are all very easy to talk to and I was quickly feeling comfortable as we talked and drank as we all helped Lisa finish getting the meal ready then sat around a big table eating, One subject of conversation whilst we help Lisa was Isla's and my still red butts and both Lisa and Charlotte told us that they too had red butts at times, it appeared that spanking girls butts was more popular that I had thought. Isla and I told them about our gym and swimming sessions, and our trip to the funfair whilst the others recounted some of their adventures. The ones where Lisa and Charlotte were naked on holiday really got me thinking and the idea of spending the next summer somewhere like Ibiza started to develop in my mind. Isla and I volunteerrd to do the washing-up and Lisa let us get started but soon after all the dishes were in the kitchen both Lisa and Charlotte re-appeared, both as naled as Isla and I were. "We don't see why we can't have as much fun as you two." Lisa said to Isla and myself. By that time Steve and Martin were opening more wine bottles, and getting aroused by the 3 naked girls around them. You can probably guess what happened next, and you'd be right and it was the early hours of the next morning when any of us got to sleep. The only combination of couples having some sort of sex that I didn't see, or take part in, was Steve and Martin which, upon reflection, pleased me. For some unknown reason the thought of 2 men having sex doen't appeal to me at all and I can't understand why they would want to, especially when there were 4 naked girls there, all wanting both cocks inside them. It was around 7:00 a.m. when I woke up, on a bed sandwiched between Steve and Lisa, with Steve's cock slowly sliding in and out of my pussy. It was just after 8:00 a.m. when Steve went and got Isla's and my clothes out of the van and put them on a radiator to warm up. Ten minutes later Isla and I were in Lisa's car heading into town where she dropped us off outside our accommodation buildings. Well, that's what happened during my first new weeks at university and I am really happy to say that I loved every minute of it. Up to the Christmas break I did lots more of the same and really did make up for the lack of sex before going to uni, and I did learn that interacting with other people isn't as bad as had been before going to uni. I did go on one escort job that Master Thomas fixed up for me and I did get a really nice dress out of it, oh, and a couple of thousand pounds, but afterwards I told Master Thomas that I'd like to stick to the spanking and the anonymous, out-cold fuckings in hotel rooms for a while and to ask me again in the new year. Oh, one more thing, the number of girls going to the gym and then the swimming pool doubled before Christmas. It was a different, and quite richer, Sandra who went home to my parents hpuse for a few days at Christmas. vanessa.asslr.org

For those who have followed Sandra's resort adventures, this story takes place before her public display at the hot tub, and certainly before her night-time tryst on beach beds. If you've not read other stories about Sandra at the resort, you might like "Barside", "Do You Trust Me?", and "Hot Tub Tantra Chair. "Hot Tub Competition" is a Sandra-inspired story, although written in a different voice. I learned my lesson on that based on your feedback and will be happy to re-write it on request. Some have asked if a resort like the one in these stories is real. If you'd like to learn more about that, send me a PM and I will be happy to point you in the right direction. ***** It was midday and the hot sun was high in the sky. Most people had fled the beach for the air conditioned indoors. But my wife Sandra and I had decided to stay outside, under the shade of the palm fronds over our beach bed. Between the late nights in the disco, the early beach mornings that we loved, and all the tropical drinks we'd had, we were a bit tired and our eyes were starting to sag. The resort was adults-only, and clothing optional, so we were lying naked with our legs intertwined. It was an incredibly comfortable and soothing way to be with each other. I loved being skin-to-skin with Sandra. Whether it was a cool night and we huddled together for warmth, or a hot and steamy one with our sweaty skin slippery against each other, I absolutely craved physical contact with her. And I knew she felt the same way. We shifted, never losing contact with each other. Sandra rolled into her favorite position with me, spooning curled on her side, with me tucked in close against her back. She wiggled her wonderful, naked butt against my crotch trying to find the most comfortable position for herself. My cock responded instantly, growing hard as her smooth skin rubbed over me. The harder I got, the more she squirmed against me. It wasn't very long before I was rigid and throbbing. I knew that neither one of us was going to fall asleep. Sandra moaned quietly. I nibbled at her ear and ran my tongue wetly across it the way I knew she liked. She rolled her head and shoulders toward me, making it easier for me to please her. As she moved, she pulled my hand onto her breast, telling me silently that she wanted to feel my hands and fingers please her there, too. I didn't need to be asked twice for something that gave me as much pleasure as it did her. I rubbed the palm of my hand over her nipple and felt it grow hard. Her hip motions changed from simply grinding against me to a definite pelvic thrust so that my swollen cock slid up and down the crack of her butt. I could feel her cheeks gripping my hard-on as she subtly flexed her hips. It was an incredible sensation, and it caused me to grow even harder. Out on the beach, even in the relative privacy of the beds, we were not supposed to engage in open sex. It was one of the rules at the resort, which otherwise encouraged sexual activity amongst the guests. Because of that restriction, we tried to be discrete and pretend that we were napping. Sleep, however, was on neither of our minds. "Mmmm," Sandra moaned quietly. "You feel so big." "You make me that way," I whispered back. She reached back and raked her nails passionately along the outside my thigh. I thrust my hips forcefully against her so that my cock slid deeper between her butt cheeks. She clenched them hard around me. I moaned, letting her know that I liked it, and pinched her nipple with my free hand, thereby eliciting her own groan of pleasure. As if lazily changing positions, Sandra stretched her arms up over her head, faked a yawn, and rolled over onto her back. As she moved, she hooked my leg with hers and pulled my knee over onto her groin. She spread her legs wider and pushed her hips up against me, grinding her pussy against my knee. I shifted, and rested my head and hand on her chest. In that position, my hand was free to rain delight onto her breasts. I lost no time using that new freedom and swirled my palm over her nipples, feeling them harden under my touch. I added firm tugs and pinches until I heard her quietly moan with satisfaction. She bent up one knee, making it easier for me to reach her pussy, and silently telling me that she wanted my hand there. It also further shielded her from the view of any casual passersby. Heat radiated from her groin and I knew what she wanted. Sandra thrust her hips against my leg and slid her hips sideways, pressing herself more firmly against my aching, hard cock. "Mmmm," she moaned quietly again. I slid my hand slowly down her body from her breasts to the small tuft of hair above her pussy. I let my hand linger there for a brief moment, gently toying with her, before sliding it down over her smooth, bare pussy lips. "Oh!" she gasped and pushed her hips hard against my hand. I shifted some weight off my leg, which was draped over her, so I had more room to fully explore her. I slid my hand unhurriedly up and down her smooth and now very wet labia, pressing and massaging her as she swelled there. I could feel her lips dampen and pout open, spilling her luscious juices out over my hand, inviting my fingers to penetrate her. I took a moment to please myself, and pulled my hand away from her to suck her juices off my fingers. "I love the way you taste," I whispered hoarsely in her ear. She responded with a groan. I resumed stroking and rolling her labia between my fingers as I rubbed up and down their length. I pressed the flat of my hand against her clit and massaged it in a circular motion, allowing my fingertips to drape down and caress the outside of her anus. Her breathing quickened and her pelvic thrusts became more urgent. "Oh god, that feels so good," she said. I slowly slid my finger between her ready pussy lips and stroked over the hard nub of her clit. Sandra whimpered and bit her lip trying her best to stay quiet. "Baby, I want to make you cum," I murmured into her ear, and swirled my tongue there for her to enjoy. "I want to feel you cum in my hand. Cum hard for me!" I urged. I punctuated my desire by sliding my finger deep into her and over her rough G spot. Sandra gasped and arched her back, encouraging me to press harder and deeper into her. I knew she was lost in her own world of pleasure, on a one way journey to climax. I continued to alternately stroke Sandra's labia, and slide my fingers into her pussy and over her G spot. My head remained on her chest , in a weak simulation of sleep. I could feel her heart pounding and the sound of her breathing coming in faster and shorter, ragged gasps. I knew that she was right on the edge of orgasm. With each thrust of my fingers, she rocked her hips against me, pulling me harder onto her G spot. Together we had set up a fantastic rhythm of carnal pleasure. "Shit, shit, shit! I'm cumming," Sandra croaked out. I felt her body stiffen against me and her hips push hard into my hand. My fingers were deep inside her rubbing furiously on her G spot while her pussy clenched around them. She remained frozen in orgasmic ecstasy for a long time before I felt her relax, and gasp in lungfulls of air. I slowed my finger movements as the waves of her climax faded. Sweat stood out on her body and she was panting. My hand was soaked and slippery wet in her cum. I continued to gently stroke her, enjoying the feel of her warm, slick, wetness against my hand as she returned to earth. "That was incredible," Sandra said. We were both startled to hear giggles coming from the bed right next to ours. We looked at each other wide-eyed. "Yes it was incredible," a female voice said from the other side of the curtain separating the beds. "I came at the same time that you did." Our pretense of napping was over. I rose up on one elbow to look to where the voice had come. Diane stuck her head through a gap in the thin curtain, which was the only thing separating our beach bed from theirs. "You know that you really shouldn't do that out here on the beach," she said with a wicked grin. We had met Diane a few days earlier by the pool. She and her husband were swingers - "in the lifestyle" as the saying went. She enjoyed the company of both men and women, but like so many lifestylers that we met, was nonjudgmental about the fact that Sandra and I did not want to be sexually engaged with anyone but each other. Diane's reprimand was indeed true. The resort rules were very clear: no sexual activity in public spaces such as the beach. Diane's grin betrayed her true feelings however, which was that rules were meant to be bent. "It was so hot listening to you two. I couldn't help but get off myself while you were playing," she added. Diane slipped through the gap in the curtain and knelt next to us while she was talking. She was just as naked as we were, and the sight was quite pleasant. She was roughly our age (more than forty) and in good shape. Kneeling on our bed, she was respectful, but at the same time completely unabashed about moving into our space while Sandra recovered from her climax. I could see Diane's nostrils flaring as she took in the scent of Sandra's dripping orgasm. "I love hearing and seeing other people enjoy themselves. And you obviously did," she said smiling broadly and looking directly at Sandra. It was a little weird for me having her so close to us after we'd just finished doing the most intimate act possible between two people. But Diane's openness, the ease with how she talked, and her comfort and open passion, made it feel very normal. In a relaxed fashion, Sandra's hand rested on my naked hip as she gently stroking me there. Diane continued to chat a one-sided conversation. Before long, Sandra's gentle strokes on my hip changed to something more deliberately sensual. She moved her hand and I felt her fingers begin running through my pubic hair. I saw Diane's eyes drift to my crotch as she continued to talk and Sandra continued to rub me. Unexpectedly, I found this public display very exciting. A familiar and pleasant achiness grew in my balls, and my cock began to stiffen. "I think you need to do something about that," Diane said to Sandra, as she looked at my now rigid cock. "I'll play lookout while you satisfy him the way he satisfied you." She turned and sat crossed legged with her back to us at the end of our beach bed, looking out toward the ocean The feel of Sandra's hand on my cock always made me weak. That time was no exception. Propping herself up on one elbow, she firmly pushed me back flat onto the bed and stroked up and down the length of my now throbbing member, raking her fingernails over my smooth, hairless balls. I moaned, letting her know how much I enjoyed what she was doing. Counting on Diane's watchfulness, and at the same time completely ignoring her presence, I spread my legs wide giving Sandra easy access to my most intimate areas. She took full advantage of that, and rubbed up and down the full length of my throbbing cock, over my balls, and down over my sensitive anus. "Oh God that feels good," I moaned trying not to be too loud. Sandra grinned and sat up so that she now had two hands free to use on me. "You like that?" she teased. "Yesss!" I panted. "You want more?" "Yes, yes. I want everything," I gasped. I didn't care if Diane heard me. "Your wish is my command," I heard her say right before I felt her mouth engulf the head of my swollen cock. At the touch of her tongue, I gasped again - this time a bit louder. Diane glanced over her shoulder to look at what we were doing. I could tell that Sandra knew she was being watched, and that turned her on. She got even more enthusiastic with her lips and tongue. I struggled not to scream out too loudly as Sandra bobbed her head up and down on me. Instead, I arched my back and thrust my cock upward so that she could take me as far into her mouth as possible. When she leaned back to catch her breath, I saw her glance over toward Diane, checking that she was still watching us. I was surprised that being watched was as much of a turn on for me as it clearly was for Sandra. Diane wasn't just glancing at us. She had turned all the way around and was unabashedly staring at us. She was sitting upright cross-legged at the foot of the bed so that her body was blocking us from view of the beach. We had complete privacy from everybody except her. Sandra smiled and I saw her eyes twinkle with enthusiasm. Sandra knew how much I love feeling her grip on me, and the hand job she gave me that afternoon was unbelievable. One hand was wrapped around my aching cock, the other caressed over my surging naked balls and down over my sensitive anus. Lubricated by her saliva and my leaking pre-cum, she rubbed me, squeezed me, and probed me with her fingers, stimulating me everywhere, making my head spin. I could see that Diane was stroking her own pussy, masturbating herself, while watching Sandra bring me toward orgasm. I'm not sure who was panting more: me, Sandra or Diane. "Oh god!" I moaned as quietly as I could. "I'm gonna cum." "Yes. Cum for me baby. Cum," Sandra said pumping hard on my cock. "Yes, yes! Cum!" I heard again, but this time from Diane. I arched my back, grunting "Unnhh," and shot a thick stream of warm, sticky semen across my abdomen and chest. I heard Diane gasp in time with me as I shot my load. I'm sure she came at the same time as I did, fingering her clit while watching my orgasm. My climax gradually faded. Short spurts of cum dribbled out of my cock as Sandra massaged the last few drops out of me. My vision cleared and I caught my breath. "You two are so cool. It was beautiful watching you please each other. Thank you so much," Diane said. She leaned forward and gave Sandra a chaste peck on the cheek. In a flash she scooted back to the other side of the curtain. "I thought it was great too. I came twice just listening to you," we heard a second female voice say from the other side of the curtain. We looked at each other surprised that we had put on a show not just for one, but for two people. "Wow!" we said in unison and smiled at each other.

It is midnight after the trial, after retrieving yet another totem, after everything, and Hugo thinks he might be sick.  Too close, he thinks. Too close. Everything that’s happened, everything he’s been doing… and Donella was there. She saw him, she met his eyes—pretended she hadn’t known him, kept his cover, and yet the unease is still there, itching beneath his skin, restless in his hands. Donella. There. The group had clashed with her. She’d warned them about the Library. Varian had said—  I won’t let you stop me! —and she’d smiled. Smiled. Like she knew something Varian didn’t.  Nothing happened, Hugo reminds himself. It’s dark now—gone straight through evening right on to night—and their small group has settled down by the city limits, half-way in the trees. Yong has the campfire already lit and burning under Nuru’s supervision; Nuru has the maps spread out on her knees, plotting the best route towards the next kingdom. It’s domestic and normal and natural —and it makes Hugo want to scream, almost. When did he get used to this? It makes him feel jittery and thin and small, because for the first time in a long time—in months! Goddamn!—he’s been reminded, forcibly and irrevocably, of just how little he belongs here. Nuru had noticed, earlier. Of course Nuru had noticed—she’s the most focused of the four of them, the most eagle-eyed, as one should be when making maps out of stars. Did you know her? she’d asked him then, after Donella had vanished, her voice low as they’d run and left the kingdom behind them. That woman? And when Hugo’s throat had sealed up, sudden and sharp and awful, Nuru had looked him full in the face and said, Oh. Never mind. So stupid, Hugo thinks, leaning against a tree to hide the weakness in his knees, watching Nuru fuss over the maps. So, so stupid of her. Where has all her suspicion gone? She was always the most critical of him—he knows that, he remembers that, how can he not—even though she was never there for the beginning. And now— now. Oh. Never mind. His fingers curl in his sleeve. He chances a glance back, through the trees. Varian is off to the side, away from the fire, deeper in the shadows, his own private set up for a new experiment of his. He’s been there for a while, now, ever since they settled down to camp. Had said, laughingly, that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to mess with this compound around the fire, start dinner without me— and Hugo can only just barely see the shape of him through the shadows of the trees. That dark head of hair is bowed low over the makeshift workbench; he can’t see Varian’s face, but Hugo can imagine the focus of it, the intent. Trust. If Hugo is really going to start berating this group about faith, shouldn’t he start with the worst offender? He’s only here at all, Hugo knows, with a sudden twist to his gut, because months ago Varian decided to have faith in him. For some reason. For…  Hugo doesn’t even know why. He’s never asked. It’s… never mattered before. But Donella’s smile plays out in his head, and Nuru’s voice says, soft and careful— Never mind— and Hugo is walking over to Varian before he even knows, truly, what he’s doing.  It’s quiet here, away from the main camp. There is something strangely secret about it all, about the distance and the darkness and the way Nuru and Yong’s voices have faded to whispers behind him. The lamplight of Varian’s staff casts a quiet green glow across everything; it should be sinister, in a way, and yet it just feels warm. In the light Varian himself is focused entirely on the project before him—he likely hasn’t even noticed Hugo is there, Hugo thinks faintly, and for some reason, despite everything, this almost makes him laugh. He leans against a nearby tree, arms crossed, and says, “Pretty sure that element explodes under heat, you know. I do hope you know that. Why are you trying to set it on fire?” He grins. “Oh! Oh, don’t tell me, did you mistake it for lithium? That’s adorable. Beginner’s mistake. So cute.” Varian’s shoulders tick up, and his hand spasms, the vial almost dropped. “Gah!” His eyes flash sideways, narrow beneath his goggles. “Stop doing that! Why do you always sneak up on—never mind, doesn’t matter, shut up, I know what I’m doing.” Hugo hums, as skeptical as he can, if only to make Varian scowl. “You’re doing it wrong.” “Ha, ha,” Varian says, sarcastic, but the old bite is worn now, almost fond, though he sounds a little annoyed regardless. “You don’t even know what I’m making, shove off.” “…True.” Hugo leans against the tree, sliding down until he’s sitting, one leg drawn up. He rests his elbow on his knee and watches Varian work. Whatever he’s making, it’s lovely—all silver and bronze and glowing solution like a liquid gold. For all his doubts on its application, Hugo can at least appreciate the aesthetics of it. It’s probably important. Probably for the machine, the gateway to the Library. Probably… Probably something Donella would want him to steal, eventually. The tightness returns, winding vicious in his gut. Hugo looks away, and lets the conversation drop, unsure of how to continue it, if he even wants to. Varian goes back to work without comment, obvious dismissal, and Hugo stays sitting there, awkward, feeling out-of-place and unsure of why.  But Varian hasn’t asked him to leave, yet—not that Hugo would even if he had, but whatever—so he stays, lingering on the fringes, watching Varian work. For all of Hugo’s teasing, Varian really is clever. The focus in those blue eyes, the intent line of his mouth—this is Varian thinking, Varian with the world spinning out in blueprints behind his eyes, and Hugo has always admired that feeling, always loved it, always appreciated the fact Varian knew and understood it the same way he did.  He leans his head back against the tree, and sighs.  “So,” Hugo says, finally, absent and casual and not-that-I-care-but , eyes deliberately turned away, “what’s your deal with me, anyway?” Varian hums, not listening. Then the words actually compute, because he snorts suddenly, and pushes his goggles away from his face. “What?” He’s smiling. Something about that sits wrong with Hugo; it flutters in his chest like a wound. Hugo tries not to scowl. Casual, damn it. “What do you mean, what? ” He rolls his eyes. “This weird… I don’t even know. Faith, or whatever. I mean, seriously.” “Excuse me?” “I mean, even from the beginning…” All of Yong’s protests, Nuru’s suspicions—and Varian, who listened and nodded and then waved them away. We’ll see, he’d said, to their fears. And to Hugo: I’m trying to trust you. Don’t prove me wrong, okay? Hugo hadn’t cared, then, about the why. He hadn’t… it had been an in, an easy entrance, and so he’d never thought to question it. So what if Varian was naive, too trusting for his own good—all the better for Hugo, wasn’t it? And so Hugo had never asked. He’d barely even wondered.  “Why,” Hugo says, months too late but wondering all the same, “do you trust me so much?” “Hmm.” Varian has raised a vial to his face, peering into the contents. He waves a dismissive hand, absent-minded. He’s not even listening, Hugo realizes, and it’s like a hot knife to his gut. “Why not?” “I—” And oh, fucking hell, that had almost come out strangled. Hugo snaps his mouth shut, feeling slapped and not entirely sure why. For the love of… this is what he gets for being open, Hugo supposes. This is what he gets for asking too late. Gods. Screw this, anyway. He climbs to his feet, face flushed, hands curled. “Whatever.” He’s making back for the campfire when Varian’s voice stops him cold. “Wait.” Despite himself, Hugo looks back. Varian has lowered the vial. He’s looking at Hugo now—actually, truly looking, with a sudden intent that makes Hugo straighten on instinct. In the pale green glow of the staff, Varian’s eyes are sharp as glass.  Varian searches his face, and whatever he finds there makes his expression twist. “Oh.” Hugo bristles. “ What ?” Varian is quiet. His lips press. The sudden focus of his gaze is gone—now he seems drained, almost tired. He pushes his hand back through his hair, and his gaze wanders to the ground, and then, absently, he says, “When I was fourteen, I almost killed my dad.” Hugo opens his mouth. Hugo closes his mouth. “I mean, I—didn’t. Obviously. But I… I mean, he should be dead, actually, laws of reason dictate, and I’m pretty now it was only magic that… but I didn’t know that at the time, so really my belief was more denial than sense, in hindsight? And I’m still not sure how to feel about that... anyway.” Varian presses his lips together, the ramble cutting short. His hand is tight on his sleeve—so tight his hands must be white-knuckled under the gloves, and all the color seems to have drained from his face. He looks—older, in this light, with this expression. He looks exhausted. “I was angry,” Varian says, simply, when Hugo doesn’t respond. “Um. Very… very angry. And I hurt… a lot of people. Some of them I knew. Most I didn’t. And some…” His hands curl. “Never mind. It’s not important. I— told you I’ve been in prison before. Right? I mean, I’m pretty sure I mentioned it, like, once— anyway. Um. Three counts of attempted murder, high treason, kidnapping, attempted regicide, drugging a whole castle with truth serum without their consent, I could go on, but. You probably get the idea.” Yeah, Hugo does get the idea. The idea is straight-up freaking unbelievable. What? He… he can’t even fathom that. He’s seen Varian angry, he knows Varian can be dangerous, but… “I don’t understand,” he says, before he can stop himself, and Varian curls in on himself with a laugh that sounds very hollow.  “Yeah, I—I get that. I don’t know myself, really. Why I reacted that way. I’ve thought about it over and over, and I don’t… maybe it was one thing? Or maybe it was everything. My dad was gone. I was alone, I guess. And—and in the end, it just felt… like a betrayal. Like my friends, like my town, like everyone had turned their backs on me, on my dad. And I just… I couldn’t stand that.” He shakes his head, voice going small, murmuring. “ Betrayal. Dark word, isn’t it? Never done well with being… well.” Varian laughs. It sounds forced. “Um. This is all speculation, anyway.” Hugo says nothing. The ground feels very shaky, suddenly; he feels fever-hot and sick. “Oh,” he says. He realizes suddenly his hands are shaking, and tucks them in his pockets. The ground has fallen out beneath his feet; the pieces have clicked into place. He understands. He does. It’s the answer to a question he’d never been able to ask, and even though it's exactly what he expected, it still guts him whole. “…Oh.” And he thinks: When this is over, you’ll never forgive me. Varian laughs again. “Yeah,” he says, muted agreement. He draws his legs up close, criss-cross, and rests gloved hands on his ankles. “But… I guess, to answer your question... Even after all that, despite everything—  someone still believed in me. Someone was willing to give me a chance. She—even though she had the most reason out of anyone to hate me… she still offered me her hand.”   Varian tilts his head. He meets Hugo’s eyes. He smiles. “That’s why,” he says. “I trusted you because someone once trusted me. And I was right, wasn’t I?” He shrugs. “I trust you now because you’ve earned it.” Hugo’s mouth is dry. His throat aches. He wants, bizarrely, to scream. “…Right.” How stupid. So, so fucking stupid of him. He’d gotten his second chance months ago, without ever realizing, and he’d thrown it back in Varian’s face before he’d even really known him. So fucking stupid. His head spins. “Right.” Varian nods. His eyes drift away again. “Sorry,” he says, absent-minded. “For dismissing the question before. I thought you were joking, at first.” Hugo shakes his head, thrown. “I… it doesn’t matter, it—” He exhales, sharp. “Why… why did you tell me this?” “It seemed important to you.” Varian looks at the ground, gaze distant, like those words aren’t yet another gut-punch. Important to you. Like easing Hugo’s fears are worth spilling secrets for, worth—whatever this is. Goddamn. God damn. And Varian smiles then, a halfway-smile, a wry crook of his mouth that creases at his eyes, and something in Hugo’s chest misses a beat. “And faith always matters.”  “And what if Nuru was right?” Hugo doesn’t know why he says it, and wants suddenly to slap himself. The fuck? But still: once again, he can’t stop himself from asking, from digging in the knife. “When she said I couldn’t be trusted. What if you’re wrong?” “Nuru doesn’t say that anymore. What’s with you today?” Varian rolls his eyes, briefly, then turns and fixes Hugo with a smile, bright and blinding. “Besides. Am I wrong?”  And the worst part is—the absolute worst part—is that he says it dryly, says it sure, says it—like Varian knows, implicitly, that the answer is no. Yes, Hugo thinks. “No,” he forces out, and smiles, and hates it. “There you go.” Varian shrugs and turns back to his experiment, conversation over. Hugo stares at the back of his head. He feels sick. He feels dizzy. He feels like all the world has dropped at his feet, everything he’d never even known he wanted placed right in his hands—and the loss is sudden and sickening, because Hugo has already given this all away, handed it off long before he’d ever known what this treasure was worth.  Still. “Thanks,” Hugo says, through his teeth, and just barely manages to keep it from shaking. And it’s terrible, all of it—the way Varian ducks his head, the way his shoulders curl, the way the other hides his smile against his arm like Hugo can’t see the gleam of his teeth in the dark, the gentle joy. “Of course.” Awful. Hugo walks back to the fire. Yong is laughing at a joke. Nuru, once so suspicious, smiles up at him—then sees his face, and the smile falters. She frowns, suddenly, her brow furrowing. She says, “Hey, Hugo, are you okay?” Never mind, she’d said earlier, all of Hugo’s secrets there before her to unravel. I want to trust you, Varian had said, months and months ago, offering his hand to a boy who’d already made the choice to betray them. Faith always matters. Donella, smiling.  “Fine,” Hugo says, with a smile he doesn’t feel, but the truth beats behind his skull like a heartbeat, and behind his back his hands are shaking. He’s played himself into a corner—caring about these people, about Varian especially. Hugo, the greatest fucking fool of them all, wanting to live up to their expectations only now , when its already too damn late. “Just fine,” Hugo says, and settles by the fire, Yong’s chatter and Nuru’s worried eyes and Varian’s distant humming—and closes his eyes to it all, holding his breath, as though if he stays still and quiet and careful he can stretch this moment out, keep this moment here, and make it so he doesn’t have to lose them at all.   

They still had some of Sakusa’s appointment time to kill after changing out of their overalls and back into their office-wear, so Atsumu suggested they use their plumbing money to catch some breakfast. Sakusa agreed, on the condition they returned to the coffee shop they’d gone to the day before. True to form, Sakusa re-ordered himself the same pistachio cookie and black coffee, while Atsumu ordered something fruity and spent the rest of the money on snacks for Osamu, Bokuto, and Hinata. God it felt fantastic to waste good Adler money. ‘How long d’ya think it’ll take ya to see if those thumbprints are any good?’ Atsumu asked him once they settled into the same seats as yesterday too. Sakusa gave it some thought. ‘A day or two. There are a lot of prints, most of which will probably be useless, but I have to try them all.’ ‘Can I help?’ ‘Not this time.’ ‘You sure?’ ‘Positive.’ ‘Can’t I just—’ ‘No.’ Atsumu sucked at the straw of his drink until it made a horrible sound. He never did like resting on his laurels. Keeping busy was the best way to ensure victory, but this kind of heist hinged entirely on a tech; Atsumu, Bokuto, and Hinata would only be kept busy buying supplies and sitting on standby until it was time to sneak in and steal the painting. That was why Atsumu preferred to do things the fun way. ‘How’d ya do it so fast, anyway, Omi-kun? I know you’re better than Ushijima, but he’s a genius too, right? I mean, if not for the prints, you’d have gotten ‘em in twenty-four hours.’ Sakusa sniffed, but Atsumu could tell he was soaking up the compliment. ‘Ushijima is the kind of hacker that specialises in extracting information. He could steal your banking details in the blink of an eye, dig up the dirty past you’re trying to hide, or locate what offshore account you’re piling illegal money into.’ ‘Sounds scary,’ said Atsumu. Sakusa hummed. ‘It is, and it works surprisingly well for heists. You don’t have to sneak through the back door if you’re already holding a metaphorical knife to your opponent’s throat. Some people send the Adlers their prizes gift-wrapped just so Ushijima won’t destroy them.’ ‘I heard somethin’ ‘bout that,’ Atsumu grumbled. A while back, a client had hired the Adlers to steal a jewelled brooch from the collection of one of Japan’s wealthiest CEOs. It had seemed an impossible task considering she wore it ninety percent of the time, but a week later, the woman had turned up personally to hand Ushijima the brooch. According to Hinata who’d heard it all from Kageyama, she’d also gone as far as to make them up some goodie bags and apologise for the trouble she’d caused. It made Atsumu’s blood boil just to think about it. ‘It’s good, but it also means Ushijima’s a little slower than I am when it comes to breaching security. That’s not to say he can’t do it, obviously. He can just fine. I’m just faster. And better.’ ‘Because you make the software, right?’ Sakusa nodded. ‘I don’t think they know, but the new model the Adlers installed is based on one of my designs. All I had to do was start running an algorithm to work out the number codes for their locks and I already had the rest worked out. That was, until I realised they’d added an extra layer.’ ‘Thumbprints,’ Atsumu mused. ‘There are only so many number combinations you can create with four digits.’ Sakusa sipped his coffee. ‘But the number of possible thumbprint configurations is so high I’d probably die of old age three times over before I got through them all. The only way to break them is to steal the original print. If this doesn’t work—’ ‘It will.’ ‘But if it doesn’t—’ ‘It will,’ Atsumu said again. Sakusa looked pissed off to be interrupted twice, but Atsumu didn’t care. Negative energy was not welcome in the Super Sexy Stealth Jackal workspace. ‘Besides, I also have like, three other backup plans to get prints if for some reason it doesn’t. So don’t worry about it.’ ‘Wha—’ Sakusa spluttered. ‘If you had other ideas, why did we risk entering enemy territory first?’ ‘Because that plan was the quickest and we’re short on time.’ As much as Sakusa probably wanted to, Atsumu knew he couldn’t argue with that. ‘Oh,’ Atsumu added. ‘That reminds me, gimme yer phone.’ Sakusa didn’t even take a breath before saying, ‘No.’ ‘Fine, then here,’ Atsumu dug his own phone out of his pocket and slid it towards Sakusa. ‘Put yer number in it.’ Sakusa eyed the device like it contained various contagious diseases. ‘Why?’ ‘We’re gonna have to start keepin’ in contact outside of work and I’m not havin’ you hijacking my fuckin’ microwave to do it in Morse code.’ Atsumu didn’t even know Morse code. Gingerly, Sakusa picked it up and held it out for Atsumu to input the passcode. Atsumu shook his head at him. ‘You’re the hacker, Omi-Omi, guess it.’ ‘Just put the code in, Miya. Or I’ll blow your phone and your microwave to pieces.’ Atsumu grinned and raised a suggestive eyebrow. ‘Ooh? And then what?’ He laughed when Sakusa’s nose wrinkled right on cue, then he sat back in his seat with his drink and insisted, ‘How’s this? If ya get it in three or less, I’ll grant you a wish.’ ‘A wish,’ Sakusa repeated, totally deadpan. ‘Are you ten years-old?’ ‘An Atsumu Wish is a priceless gift, Omi-kun. It means I’ll do just about anythin’ so long as it doesn’t directly result in my death.’ Three years ago, he’d given an Atsumu Wish Voucher to Suna as a gift for his birthday. He’d drawn it up on a post it note and packed it in a box ten times larger, partly because he was lazy, but mostly because it was the kind of gift Suna treasured the most; the opportunity to humiliate a Miya twin. He certainly hadn't disappointed. Sakusa pursed his lips as he pondered that. ‘What about the death of someone else?’ ‘OK, that’s fuckin’ terrifyin, but sure, I guess? Depends on who it is.’ With a nod, Sakusa said, ‘Deal.’ From his short distance away, Atsumu could see very clearly the first four numbers Sakusa typed without a moment’s hesitation: 6969. He choked on his fruit drink. ‘What?’ Sakusa asked with a small frown. ‘That’s the kind of moronic thing you would do.’ Was he really that predictable? Or was Sakusa just a genius? Probably, he realised grimly, a sad mixture of both. ‘I mean, yer not wrong. Yer just a month too short, Omi,’ he wheezed around the pain of something citric burning his nose tubes. Sakusa passed him a stack of napkins and Atsumu spluttered gratitude. ‘That was it before I found out Shouyou and Bokkun had the same one. We all had to change ‘em because we took the prank text thing a little too far.’ ‘See?’ said Sakusa. ‘Moronic.’ ‘Whatever. You’ve got two guesses left, Omi. Make ‘em count.’ Sakusa’s thumbs hovered contemplatively over the numbers. ‘This is the most pointless thing I have ever done,’ he said. ‘I could just write my number down on a—’ ‘Aaah, but that’s no fun, Omi. Hurry.’ ‘Fine,’ he huffed, and tugged the phone closer to his chest to hide it from Atsumu’s craned neck. For all of his complaining that it was a pointless task, he certainly took it seriously; the face he made as he mulled it over made Atsumu think he was taking an exam rather than guessing a passcode. Eventually, after another typed attempt, Sakusa scoffed, held up the unlocked phone and said, ‘You are either incredibly narcissistic, or far sappier than you’ve led me to believe.’ Atsumu sat up straight and his head tilted in confusion. ‘Wait, you actually got in?’ That wasn’t supposed to happen. Sakusa was supposed to try and guess random combinations and get them all wrong, and Atsumu was supposed to laugh about it and— ‘Of course I got in,’ Sakusa said as he started inputting his number into Atsumu’s contacts. ‘You hardly made it difficult.’ While that might have been true for someone like Osamu or Suna, Atsumu certainly hadn’t thought Sakusa of all people would even know his birthday, never mind remember it. They’d known each other for years, sure, but they weren’t exactly close. Before now, their conversations had never ventured beyond light arguments or irritable insults thrown in the office corridors. Atsumu definitely didn’t know Sakusa’s birthday. It made him think he probably should. It almost maybe kind of made him think he wanted to know more than just his birthday. ‘Oh,’ came Sakusa’s voice to break him from his reverie. ‘Osamu is calling you.’ ‘Huh?’ Sakusa wiggled the phone. The screen was lit up with Osamu’s contact picture; the ugliest shot of him in Atsumu’s arsenal. He’d probably kill Atsumu for letting someone else see it, but the fact that he was calling right now meant that he probably deserved it. ‘Oh,’ Atsumu said. ‘Oh, shit.’ He accidentally declined the call in his effort not to make skin-to-skin contact with Sakusa’s hands and had to call Osamu back. He answered after one ring, but Atsumu didn’t give him a chance to talk. ‘What is it? What’s wrong, ‘Samu?’ Osamu’s voice was a hurried whisper. ‘Shit, Tsumu. You gotta get back. I’m hidin’ in the toilet right now, but I think yer boss is gonna call the hospital if I don't get out soon.’ ‘What, why? What the fuck happened?’ ‘I dunno! One minute I was playin’ Bubble Shooter 3, and the next thing I know, Meian’s tappin’ my shoulder and askin’ me to follow him to his office ‘cause he’s got a possible job he wants you to look at! I tried to get Bokuto and Hinata to get the hint and save me, but Meian waved ‘em off and said I could just tell them ‘bout it later. Ya told me business was slow, Tsumu! What the fuck?’ ‘It was! Shit! Fuck! How long have you been hidin’ for?’ ‘Uhh… twenty minutes or so? Meian came to check on me at one point and I had to play a video of explosive shit noises and cry to get him to leave.’ ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ, ‘Samu! I told ya to use Plan Diarrhoea not create a fuckin' Shitpocalypse.’ Atsumu didn’t even want to think about the consequences of that. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Just stay there. We’re five minutes away.’ Atsumu ended the call, stood up and motioned for Sakusa to do the same. ‘Code red, Omi. Apparently, Meian-san thinks I’ve been experiencin’ Shitmageddon for the last twenty minutes because my brother is a fuckin' moron.’ Sakusa sighed, neatly wrapped his untouched pistachio cookie in a napkin, and pocketed it. ‘Don’t expect me to drive any faster than usual.’           It took some skilful manoeuvring to get to the second-floor bathroom without Meian spotting them, but they managed it and sent Osamu home with a bagful of snacks and an Atsumu promise to beat his ass into next week the next time he laid eyes on him. For all the panicking he’d done on the phone, Osamu certainly seemed to find the whole thing hilarious now that Atsumu had successfully rescued him; he played an excerpt from the video of shit noises and Sakusa had to shake Atsumu’s shoulder to get his soul to return to his body. How the fuck was he supposed to look Meian in the eye? They parted ways at the stairwell, but before he disappeared with his duffel bag, Sakusa turned back and promised to delete the CCTV footage of the double Miyas, and to text Atsumu the moment he found any matches on the prints. As Atsumu watched him go, it almost felt odd to think that just a few days prior they’d been at each other’s throats. Contrary to Atsumu’s beliefs, they worked far better together than he’d ever thought possible; whatever wavelength Atsumu found himself surfing, Sakusa seemed able to tune himself into the same frequency with practised ease. He supposed his company wasn’t so bad either. Sakusa was mean, sure, but in the same kind of upfront and honest way that ‘Samu and Suna were. The kind of way that made Atsumu feel warm and safe in the knowledge that he didn’t really mean it, not like the people he’d grown up with at school or the scrubs at his old job. That train of thought escorted him all the way to the office floor, and all that remained was for Atsumu to make the walk of shame back to Meian’s room. As he hunched, clutched at his stomach, and shuffled up to Meian’s door to knock it, he could feel the rest of the office watching him intently. Bokuto’s stare was the hardest of them all, like a firm, apologetic hand on the back. Atsumu pulled as much strength from it as he could manage and knocked on the door. When Meian answered he looked down at Atsumu so pitifully, that Atsumu thought about running away again. To somewhere extremely far away. Somewhere like a deserted island with a population of minus-one where he could wallow in his own misery alone. Forever. ‘Yikes, Miya.’ Meian rubbed at the back of his neck and winced at him. ‘Rough day?’ Atsumu gritted his teeth. ‘Samu must have fed me somethin’ rotten,’ he ground out. ‘Gonna leave such a bad review on Yelp.’ Right after he killed him and buried him four-thousand feet deep in an unmarked grave. ‘If you’re not, uh,’—Meian cleared his throat—'feeling a hundred percent, you can just take the rest of the day off, you know. Maybe find some medication for your, uh. For you.’ Atsumu wanted to die. Right there in Meian’s office, in the most dramatic and terrible way imaginable. If his head suddenly exploded into a billion bloody pieces, maybe Meian would stop looking at Atsumu like he couldn’t stop recalling the sounds of his overactive bowel. ‘No,’ Atsumu shook his head. ‘I’m fine, Meian-san, It’s not that bad, really. I’m, uh… recovering fast. You can carry on with what you were sayin’ earlier. Somethin’ ‘bout a job? Maybe it’ll distract me.’ Meian’s eyebrows pulled together in an are you sure about that kind of way. Atsumu ducked under his arm by way of response and seated himself in the chair opposite Meian’s desk. The sooner this was over with, the better. Warily, Meian took his own seat and gave Atsumu a final once over. Whatever he saw in Atsumu’s eyes seemed to satisfy him. ‘Bigshot guy came calling last night,’ he began. ‘Wants an envelope from the safe of a high-rise penthouse. He’s willing to pay huge numbers if we can get it to him within two months.’ That didn’t sound too difficult. Atsumu could easily juggle that whilst continuing with the Monster Heist. It would also provide him with excuses to leave the office whenever he pleased; Hinata and Bokuto were starting to look a little pale being kept behind their desks for so long. ‘Easy,’ Atsumu said. ‘We’ll start plannin’ right away.’ ‘Glad to hear it,’ Meian said. ‘But I also have a condition before I let you agree officially.’ ‘Hm?’ ‘I want you to put aside your differences and work it with Sakusa.’ Atsumu wasn’t really paying attention. He was busy sorting through his thoughts, both for the new heist and the opportunities it would provide the Monster Heist, so he forgot he was still supposed to hate Sakusa when he shrugged and said, ‘Sure, OK.’ Meian continued, ‘Look, I know you two don’t get along, but I’ve done some research into the building you’ll be infiltrating, and it looks heavily fortified. There’s a pretty solid combination on that safe, and a team of—Wait. Did you just agree? I thought you were going to burst a vessel.’ Shit. Whoops? Was it too late to start throwing a tantrum? Probably. Atsumu dug around in his metaphorical brain-filing-cabinet for a bullshit excuse. He landed on, ‘We’re beyond desperate, Meian-san. If we can’t get our paintin’ back, then we need somethin’ to distract ourselves with. If that means we gotta work with Om—Sakusa, then so be it. I’m sure Hinata and Bokuto will be fine with it too.’ ‘Ha,’ Meian said with a surprised smile. ‘Wow. Seems like stopping you guys from participating in that heist was a good idea after all. For a moment there, I was starting to worry it wasn’t.’ Poor bastard, Atsumu thought. He had no idea what the MSBY Monsters were about to unleash upon the Adlers in nine days’ time. Atsumu hoped he had life insurance. He was probably going to need it. ‘Yeah, I’m growin’ as a person, or whatever. Just let me sign off on it.’ ‘I’ll have to talk to Sakusa first. Get him on board. Swing by tomorrow morning and we’ll iron out the details.’   The fax machine beside his computer was busy printing something when Atsumu slumped back down into his chair. Atsumu waited patiently for it to churn out the single piece of paper and almost choked when he read it: It was the front face of a ‘Get Well Soon’ card, only, whoever had sent it had spent a lot of time defacing it with explosions and poop emojis. He got up and stalked over to Hinata and Bokuto’s desks. They were huddled and hunched over Hinata’s phone, watching a video of Kageyama falling down the stairs set to music. ‘This you?’ he demanded, holding it out for them both to see. They looked up at the same time, eyes wide and mouths gaping like gutted fish. Hinata took the sheet and started laughing uncontrollably the second he realised what he was seeing. Bokuto joined in shortly after, his laugh raucous enough to startle a curse out of the nearby Adriah. He slapped Atsumu on the back. ‘Oh god,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d thought of that.’ ‘What d’ya mean ya wish you’d thought of it. It was you two, right? Who else could it be?’ Hinata shook his head as tears rolled down his cheeks. ‘No, Atsumu-san,’ he wheezed and held up his hands defensively. ‘It wasn’t us, I swear. We were planning on using our lunch break to buy you medicine, though.’ Bokuto reached the conclusion first. ‘Ohohoh! Never thought I’d see the day that Sakusa made a joke! ‘Specially not one that funny!’ Atsumu looked down at the paper. Sakusa hadn’t sent him this, surely. He was… adept with a computer, petty, and the only other person besides Osamu who knew about the whole thing. Sakusa had sent it. He snatched the paper from Hinata and stormed back over to his desk. For ten minutes he tried to think of something mean to reply with, but his mind remained frustratingly blank. He settled for texting him instead and scoffed when he realised what name Sakusa had saved his contact details under.     (11:30) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi Tysm 4 the kind words omi u fkn asshole     (11:31) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi What the fuck does any of that even say? Also, you are welcome.   (11:33) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi (link) thats urban dictionary. work it out scrub     (11:34) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi That is a link to a Rick Astley song.   (11:34) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi HA   (11:38) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi What did Meian-san want?   (11:39) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi new job also heads up hes about to come ask u to work on it with us I know itll be mega fucking hard for u but try to act like u hate me when he does ;)   The reply took longer to come back this time. Atsumu drummed his fingers against the desk as he waited.   (11:45) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi Why would he suddenly want us to work together? After all this time?   (11:46) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi so many questions omi   (11:46) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi Just answer them.   (11:47) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi idk smth about a safe??? wasn’t rlly listening but it’s a good thing means i have good reason to barge into ur office to bug u whenever I want     (11:49) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi Do not come to this office, ever again. You are absolutely NOT welcome. If I have to create and install anti-Miya security I will.   (11:51) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi u wouldn’t i can see it in ur eyes omi nobody is immune to my me   (11:51) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi Your you?   (11:52) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi yea I was going 2 start listing my good qualities but there are so many it would take 2 long also clear ur schedule tomorrow     (11:53) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi No. (11:55) Why?   (11:56) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi ur the sugar daddy with the coins omi we gotta start shopping     (11:57) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi I’ll just give you my card, Miya.   (11:58) To: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi Nooooopeee ur not getting out of this now that we’re meian approved and don’t hav to sneak round its time for a fun day out of ~team bonding~      Atsumu didn’t get another text until later that night. He was busy rustling himself up some food and sending pictures of it to Osamu’s ‘Rate My Plate’ group chat when Sakusa’s name dropped down in a notification.   (7:28) From: Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi Thanks for today.   For what? Atsumu pondered. Getting him the prints? Buying him food? That odd moment they’d shared in the bathroom? Maybe he’d done something else nice without realising it. Though that was highly unlikely. Atsumu didn't do nice things for people very often. Sakusa probably wouldn’t answer honestly even if he asked, so in the end Atsumu just replied with a serious, Any time, Omi, like he’d known all along.         Atsumu had been stuck in Meian’s office all morning signing documents and talking with the client over the phone. The guy was a total asshole, the kind who kept asking Atsumu to speak clearer and provide proof that he was qualified for the job and not just some mouthy kid. It took every ounce of Atsumu’s concentrated willpower not to call him something unforgivable, and by the time Meian was through bombarding him with files of information and promises that he’d persuaded Sakusa to ‘cooperate’ it was already passed ten in the morning, and he was exhausted. Finding Bokuto, Hinata, and Sakusa in the carpark standing in a line beside a huge white van with their thumbs up was almost too much for his brain to handle. He pointed at them, and then at it, dumbstruck. ‘What the fuck is that?’ ‘Sakusa bought me the van I asked for!’ Bokuto grinned, twirling a set of keys around his fingers. ‘Isn’t it cool, Tsum-Tsum?’ Atsumu blinked at Sakusa. ‘You what?’ ‘I told you I’d buy whatever you needed,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘Plus, your old van was disgusting. You couldn’t pay me to get inside it.’ Atsumu eyed Hinata. Hinata eyed Atsumu. They both broke into sprints at the same time and wrestled each other to the passenger side door. Hinata was both deceptively strong and fast; he managed to push Atsumu out of the way and climb inside with a smug smile before Atsumu’s hand had even reached for the door handle. ‘Hahah!’ Bokuto laughed from somewhere behind him. ‘That’s my disciple!’ ‘Unfair!’ Atsumu yelled. ‘You got a head start!’ Hinata poked his tongue out. ‘Your just getting old and out of shape, Atsumu-san! Enjoy the back seat! I hear it’s seventy-percent less fun than the front!’ Sakusa laughed at that, nasty and dry, and Atsumu turned on him with an exaggerated scowl. ‘Don’t you start! Yer in the back seat too, ya fuckin’ idiot. Seriously,’ he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Feels like I’m livin’ in the fuckin’ twilight zone this mornin’.’ Bokuto got into the driver’s seat, and Atsumu and Sakusa piled into the three seats directly behind, one seat left empty and awkward between them. As per Bokuto’s request, Sakusa had somehow managed to find a van with a fully stocked minibar installed in the back area, but the mod cons didn’t stop there: there was a desk built into the left wall for a tech with a chair folded up beneath it, an electric fan nailed to the upper right corner, and a few stacked boxes packed with various useful pieces of equipment that definitely did not belong to any of them. ‘Any more surprises I should know about?’ Atsumu leaned over to whisper once Bokuto had gotten them on the road. Sakusa’s eyes rolled upward as he contemplated it. Then he leaned in too so that Atsumu could smell the coffee clinging to his breath, and whispered, ‘Ah, yes. There is one. I got Hinata the dog.’ ‘What?’ One of Sakusa’s eyebrows raised in a challenge and there was a small flash of teeth as he smiled a wicked sort of smile. Atsumu was forced to retreat because his face suddenly flushed, and his heart decided to leap into his throat. Somewhere inside his brain, and alarm bell rang. Somewhere else in his brain a voice told him to inch closer and say something he wouldn’t be able to take back. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was probably not a normal thing to think about your Work Associate Sakusa Kiyoomi. Shit. Sakusa opened his mouth to answer, but Atsumu didn’t get to hear it – thank fucking god – because the van was suddenly flooded with the opening notes of Pitbull’s ‘Hotel Room Service’ and the booming reverberations of Bokuto’s ‘Mr. Worldwide!’ That was as good excuse as any to lean back into his seat and forget about Sakusa’s smile altogether. There was no time to think stupid, dangerous thoughts about other people's mouths and how soft they looked when he was too busy chanting alongside Hinata and Bokuto, ‘WE AT THE HOTEL, MOTEL, HOLIDAY INN! WE AT THE HOTEL, MOTEL HOLIDAY INN—SING IT OMI—’ Atsumu and Hinata turned to look at him, holding out imaginary microphones for him to sing along, but Sakusa just looked straight ahead at Hinata’s headrest like he was hoping it might grow hands and arms and use them to strangle him to death. They shrugged and continued without him, ‘HOLIDAY INN!’ The van bounced ominously beneath their restrained dancing, and it took four more songs before Sakusa loosened the death grip on his seatbelt. By the time they stopped in the carpark of an outlet mall, he’d relaxed enough to start bopping his head along, though Atsumu would wager he wasn’t familiar with any of the songs on Hinata’s playlist. ‘That sound system is awesome,’ Bokuto bragged as they climbed out. He gave Sakusa a thumbs up. ‘Thanks a bunch, Omi!’ ‘I regret it entirely.’ ‘I speak fluent Omi now,’ Atsumu cut in. ‘That means “You’re welcome, Bokkun. I’m glad you like it.”’ Bokuto beamed. ‘Aw, good! ‘Cause I was gonna say, you can’t have it back now. It’s mine. You’d have to wrestle me for it.’ Atsumu whispered to Sakusa, ‘And you definitely wouldn’t win that fight, Omi-Omi, trust me. I still can’t feel my left ass cheek.’   Their first stop was a craft store, stacked floor-to-ceiling with so many different colours it was almost headache inducing. It was quiet before they had entered; only two elderly women were inside, perusing the selection of crochet patterns and yarn, but they made quick exits once Hinata and Bokuto started talk-yelling. Sakusa doused his own palms in hand sanitizer, then Atsumu held out his, then Hinata, then Bokuto. Then they each took a comically tiny metal basket and started loading them up with packets of confetti, balloons, pompoms, and stickers. ‘Woah, hey there, Omi-Omi,’ Bokuto said when he eyed Sakusa’s basket. ‘Isn’t glitter a bit too mean spirited? They’ll be scraping that out of their cracks for years.’ Sakusa looked him dead in the eye and said, ‘Precisely.’ Atsumu gasped and his eyes lit up with an idea. ‘That’s perfect, Omi! I saw this trick once where this guy made a balloon explode usin’ the juice from orange peel skins.’ Sakusa nodded. ‘We can fill the balloons with glitter and rig them to fall over the Adlers’ heads.’ Atsumu grinned and snapped his fingers. ‘Then we open fire with orange-juice-infused water guns. We already need them for what I had planned with the paintin’. Ha! It’s genius!’ Both Sakusa and Atsumu started loading their baskets with unholy amounts of glitter and balloons. Atsumu almost felt bad for the money Sakusa was going to have to fork out for so much stuff, but Sakusa didn’t seem to care. His basket was packed higher than anybody else’s and he was still adding more. Disturbingly, his hands were even hovering over the selection of multi-coloured thumbtacks. Hinata shivered as he watched them. ‘Scary,’ he said. ‘You two are scary!’ ‘Maybe you were right in hating each other before,’ Bokuto agreed. ‘Maybe it was supposed to be that way so the world would know peace.’ ‘Shut up and put more glitter in yer damn baskets. Don’t you want to see the Adlers lookin’ like extras from a fuckin’ Barbie movie?’ Neither needed more convincing than that. Bokuto gave his basket to Hinata, made a makeshift basket of his own by pulling up the hem of his shirt, and scooped a whole shelf into it. ‘Let’s go!’ he cried.   Their second stop was a toy store, for the water guns. ‘I didn’t know they did so many different kinds these days,’ Hinata said in awe as they stared at the wall of plastic. He was right; there were large ones, small ones, ones that were dual-wield, and other, more advanced ones that were shaped concerningly like rocket launchers and assault rifles. ‘It’s like I’m in a real spy movie!’ They put more than they needed in the cart. Sakusa insisted it was better to be overprepared by having one of each, than to leave it to chance. What if their streams weren’t strong enough, or didn’t reach far enough? ‘Hmm, you’re right,’ Bokuto hummed. ‘We have to test them out. On each other.’ ‘No,’ said Sakusa. ‘We don’t.’ ‘Yes,’ said Atsumu. ‘We really, really do.’ They bought the vintage wine from a specialist store, and three new sets of skin-tight black heist-wear. Sakusa took them to his favourite gadget store and bought ridiculously expensive earpieces for each of them and something else Atsumu didn’t know the name or function of for himself. They bought rope, woollen blankets, and umbrellas, then finished off the rest of Atsumu's list in a discount store. Midday, they stopped for food in a fast-food restaurant, and Atsumu watched with a small smile as Sakusa talked passionately and in depth to Hinata about something or other. At first, Atsumu had been worried Sakusa would refuse to mingle. That he’d drift awkwardly around on the outskirts like a vampire without permission to enter their home. But he’d done the opposite all day; he’d bought Bokuto his van and hadn’t complained that loudly at Hinata’s crass choice of music. His snipes had lost their vitriol, and he’d smiled more than Atsumu had ever seen him smile before. He'd fit in so quickly, and so seamlessly, it was as though he’d been a part of the team since the start, like they hadn’t spent the better half of four years refusing to compromise with each other for the sake of their own pride. More than anything, Atsumu was glad; it felt like the final piece of the puzzle had slotted into place. Why the fuck hadn’t they done this sooner? ‘There’s one more thing we need to do,’ Sakusa said once they’d finished their ice cream. ‘Hinata, Bokuto-san, there’s a pet shop over that way. You should go and pick out some stuff for Hinata’s new dog.’ Hinata screamed, loud and with the intensity of a banshee. ‘Seriously? Omi-san?’ He held out his bank card. ‘It’s ready to pick up next Monday. You should prepare for it.’ Hinata took the card and looked at it like it contained the answer to the universe. ‘Oh my god! Thank you so much, Omi-san! I’ll never forget this! I’ll name it after you! Do you want to be its godfather? I can make the certificates!’ ‘That’s fine,’ Sakusa said with a grimace. ‘Please call it a normal name.’ Hinata saluted him and dragged Bokuto off to the pet shop. Sakusa turned to Atsumu once they were gone and said, ‘My cousin owns an art shop that way.’ He pointed in the opposite direction to the one Hinata and Bokuto had just taken. ‘He’s also an art forger. We can commission the painting from him.’ Not many things surprised Atsumu, but Sakusa managed to every five minutes. He hadn’t said out loud that he’d been worrying about securing a forger quick enough and talented enough to create the replica he needed. But Sakusa had already picked up the slack. ‘Woah, Omi-kun. So many underworld connections. Should I be concerned?’ ‘Always. Let’s go.’   It turned out that Sakusa’s cousin was called Komori, and Komori was both hilarious and mildly terrifying. Atsumu wondered if it was genetic. ‘Oh?’ he said as he leaned forward on the counter. ‘This is the Miya Atsumu you keep talking about? I see, I see, it all makes sense now.’ Atsumu raised an eyebrow. ‘You talk about me to yer cousin, Omi-kun? That’s cute.’ ‘Only to complain about your abundant faults,’ Sakusa said without removing a, quite frankly, terrifying glare from his cousin. Komori didn’t seem to be fazed. He smiled at Atsumu. ‘If you not having any faults is considered a fault then yeah, sure. He waxes poetic about that all the time.’ Sakusa picked up a pencil from a nearby pot, sharpened it using the electric sharpener on the edge of the counter, and aimed it at his cousin. ‘The only reason you are still alive right now is because cleaning up after your murder would be too much of an unsanitary hassle.’ Atsumu plucked the pencil from his grip and put it back into the pot. ‘Ok, let’s maybe, not do that, considering we need to commission yer good cousin here, yeah?’ Also, Atsumu was staring to like the guy already. Sakusa huffed. ‘Two reasons,’ he said begrudgingly. ‘Yeah, yeah, sure, you dramatic sack of shit. Come on into the back so we can talk business.’ Komori lifted the countertop and led them through to the back room. The whole room stank of paint fumes and something else acrid and chemical, and there were easels everywhere, displaying paintings ranging from finished pieces to mere sketches and outlines. The guy obviously had a talent, Atsumu could see that; there was an exact replica of Monet’s ‘The Water Lily Pond’ lying listlessly next to a series of Manet masterpieces. Komori took a seat on the couch occupying the only corner not to display a canvas, and Sakusa followed suit without the usual evaluation of cleanliness. Atsumu didn’t miss the way Sakusa’s foot kicked out discreetly at Komori’s leg. ‘Kiyoomi already sent me the gist of what you guys need done,’ he said, voice pinched, hand rubbing at his shin. ‘You said you needed it to dissolve?’ ‘Under water, if possible,’ Atsumu nodded. ‘That shouldn’t be too difficult. Most ordinary people can’t tell the difference between water-based and oil-based paints anyway. Plus, the painting isn’t a classic, right? It’s just—’ ‘One they found at a pawn shop,’ Sakusa drawled. ‘Yes.’ Komori chuckled. ‘Come back in five days,’ he said. ‘I’ll have it all made up for you in time for your little game. On a special cousin discount, too, since I care about your happiness so much, Omi.’ ‘I don’t want your shit discounts. Do it properly or I’ll turn you in to the police for fraud.’ They shook on that, and spent a while longer discussing details. Atsumu had questions about the durability of the dissolvable paper canvas that Komori was happy to answer, and Sakusa spent a little while longer still catching up with his cousin. Atsumu listened carefully, happy to pick up what little fragments of insight into Sakusa’s life outside of work they left behind.  

i   Greg has been reliably informed by a variety of people that he’s not that good at most things. His mother always told him he didn’t need to be a genius to be happy and his grandpa liked to agree because it was clear Greg was never going to do anything worth mentioning. What working at Waystar and becoming closer with the Roy side of his family has shown him is that maybe he is good at something after all, even if that thing is just stopping his cousin’s brand new husband from having a meltdown every few hours. To be honest, he kinds of likes it. Tom is incredibly insecure and maybe borderline insane, but he’s really kind sometimes – he bought Greg shoes after all. And three suits. And an overcoat because he said Greg’s anorak was giving him allergies. Plus he bought him all the clothes he needed to wear at the wedding because he said he couldn’t have Greg embarrassing him. So even though Tom is a dick a lot of the time, Greg kind of owes him because they’re sort of friends and sometimes Tom really does act like he cares about him. And maybe Greg really does like him more than he should. He definitely owes him enough to go check on Tom when he comes back from talking to Shiv looking murderous, throws out the guy Greg is 99% certain his cousin is having an affair with, and then disappears outside with a whole bottle of whisky, leaving his own wedding reception behind. It's not as easy to follow Tom as he thought. It’s like he’s swallowed up by the shadows the minute he leaves the party. Greg stumbles around the building, trying to spot him somewhere. Thankfully a member of staff points him onto the gravel path leading to the garden and when he gets just far enough away from the reception that he can barely hear the thumping bass of the music, he finds Tom. He’s sat on a bench with his head in his hands, suit jacket draped across the seat next to him and his shirt sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. “Tom?” Greg asks, approaching him slowly. Tom isn’t fond of being startled. “Are you okay?” Tom doesn’t look at him, just sits up and takes a swig from the bottle he carried out with him. “Sure, Greg,” he says, voice rough from the liquor. “I’m fucking great.” “Okay.” Greg nods. “Sure, yeah. It’s just that you don’t um… You don’t really seem that fine? If that’s okay for me to say?” Tom ignores him and just has another sip of whisky. “Can I sit? I’m gonna sit.” He does sit, shuffling onto the bench next to Tom. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to bring up that Nate guy or even Shiv right now. But at the same time, he wants Tom to know that he’s there for him. His hands curl and unfurl in his lap and then one of them hovers over Tom’s knee, uncertain until it’s not. His hand settles gently and he can feel the heat of Tom’s skin through the fabric of his pants. Tom looks at Greg’s hand, a little crease appearing between his eyebrows. “Greg? What the fuck are you doing?” “I, uh…” Greg makes to withdraw his hand, but Tom covers it with his own. “Tom?” He doesn’t reply, doesn’t even look at Greg. He just shakes his head and squeezes Greg’s hand. “I’m not okay,” Tom says quietly. “She… Greg, she asked me for – ” He swallows hard and Greg pretends not to see the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t finish his sentence and Greg doesn’t push. “It’ll be okay, Tom.” “Uh-huh.” Tom nods too quickly for it to be sincere. “Uh-huh, sure. Yeah.” He looks over at Greg, something wild in his eyes and Greg has about five seconds to worry that Tom is about to punch him before Tom puts down the whisky, grabs Greg’s face with both his hands and kisses him. Later, Greg will find it in himself to be embarrassed about how quickly he kisses back, arms winding around Tom’s neck, shifting closer to him. Right now though, his brain is just a cacophony of panic and want and relief that this has finally happened. Then Tom pulls away and there’s a moment that goes on forever but lasts no time at all where he looks like he wants to kiss Greg again. But when Greg blinks, it’s gone and Tom is getting to his feet with a manic grin plastered to his face. “Well, I guess I should stop skulking in the dark and get back to my party!” he announces loudly enough that Greg jumps. “I’m a married man now, Gregory, and this is the – ” he falters, the smile wavering on his face for a moment. “This is the happiest night of my life,” he finishes. “Yeah,” Greg says. “I know, Tom. I know.” Tom nods and forces his smile even wider before turning and walking back to the castle and his wedding and his wife.   ii   After whatever the fuck Boar on the Floor was Greg can’t sleep. He spends nearly an hour in the shower, trying to scrub the anxiety, the worry that he’s fucked up again and this time no one will be able to help him from his skin. It doesn’t work. Lying in bed with the sheets pulled all the way up to his chin, he finds it impossible to sleep. He sees Tom’s face every time he closes his eyes. The way he didn’t just look embarrassed, or like he was angry at Logan but so deeply sad, like this was all inevitable and he’d spent his entire life waiting to be humiliated and degraded like this. Like he deserved no more than this. Eventually, Greg gives up trying to sleep. He gets out of bed, pulls a jumper on over his pyjamas and slips out of his room. Tom’s room is right next to his, he knows because Tom had made an odd joke about keeping Greg awake. He lifts his hand and knocks softly on the door – loud enough that Tom can hear him but not so loud that everyone else in their part of the house will too. There’s no answer. He should take the hint and go back to bed but he can’t imagine a world where Tom is actually asleep right now. He knocks again and then again. Tapping relentlessly like an overgrown woodpecker until he hears movement inside the room and the door opens. Tom looks a little surprised to see him but mostly he just looks tired. “Greg,” he says monotonously. “I thought you were Logan and his cronies, here for more hazing.” “No,” Greg says. “It’s just me. Greg.” “Why are you here?” Tom asks, resting his head against the door like he can barely keep himself upright. There’s a lot Greg wants to say. Like ‘I’ve missed you’ and ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about how defeated you looked when Carl took the sausage from you’ and ‘You kissed me on your wedding night and never again and I want to do it again so badly’. In the end, he just gives Tom an approximation of the truth. “I uh, I didn’t want to be alone after… all that.” At his core, Greg knows that all Tom really wants is to be wanted, to be needed. And while he wants comfort right now, he also knows it will help Tom to know that someone wants him even if his wife and her family don’t. They’re symbiotic parasites the two of them and they’re happiest using each other. Tom sighs and steps aside. “Come in.” There’s a couch at the end of the bed but Greg forgoes it and perches on top of the rumpled bedding. A tumbler of dark golden liquor is on the bedside table and Greg nods at it. “Can I have one of those?” A glass is poured for him and Tom sits next to Greg once he’s handed it to him, their shoulders brushing. Greg drinks what he assumes to be bourbon in one gulp. “Tonight was kinda uh…” he fumbles for words. “Intense?” A hitching breath escapes Tom as he drinks his own bourbon. “I don’t want to talk about it, Greg. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.” Greg ducks his head in a nod. “Sure yeah, never happened. Like the thing with the papers or the, uh, thing at your wedding.” Tom sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Come on, man,” Greg says with a frown. “You know what happened. You kissed m–” A large hand is clapped over his mouth. “Shut up, Greg. Or I’ll forget to be nice and throw you out on your ear.” “Mmph,” Greg says, pushing Tom’s hand away. “Tom, do you not think that maybe we should talk about it?” “No, Gregory, I don’t,” Tom says primly as if they’re not both sat in their pyjamas, dancing around a kiss like two middle schoolers. And Greg almost believes him except for the way Tom’s hand is inching across the space between them, little finger brushing Greg’s. Greg looks down at his lap and tries to hide his smile. “Tom?” “What, Greg?” Tom asks stiffly, hand slowly covering Greg’s, fingers intertwining. “Can I stay here tonight? With you?” Tom doesn’t answer him, just shuffles back on the bed until he’s lying down. He tugs on Greg’s hand, pulling him with him until they’re lying next to each other. In a move that has his stomach doing a little backflip, Greg shifts and rests his head on Tom’s chest. Almost immediately, Tom’s hand settles in his hair, stroking softly and Greg’s eyes slide shut. When Greg is just about to fall asleep and Tom’s breathing has evened out, his rhythmic petting of Greg’s hair slowing, he asks what had really been keeping him awake. “Why did you keep it quiet? About my pre-meeting with that writer? You could have told Logan to save yourself.” There’s a long silence and eventually, Tom mumbles: “Shut the fuck up, Greg.” Greg adds it to the list of things they don’t talk about.   iii   Greg has had enough. It’s not that he thought he was as important to the company or the family as Shiv or Roman, definitely not as important as Gerri or Logan himself. But he thought he was more than ‘sprinkles’. A garnish that’s all they see him as. Fucking expendable. He paces the floor of his cabin, trying to work up the courage to say something, to maybe confront Uncle Logan and tell him he can’t just throw Greg to the wolves, or to go and tell Kendall that he has a way out for both of them stashed in an envelope under his bed at home. He knows he probably sounds crazy, talking to himself like this but his whole body is shaking and he feels like he might vibrate out of his skin at any moment. When there’s a knock on the door he jumps a foot in the air, hands fumbling with the handle and lock. Tom stands outside, looking dishevelled and upset and fucking angry and Greg – Greg does not want to have to deal with his shit. “What?” he asks, sounding braver than he feels. “Tom, why are you here?” Tom pushes past him into the room, jaw set and his hands curled into fists. “I’m really… I’m not in the mood to be yelled at Tom. If this is one of my last nights of freedom, I don’t want to spend it fighting with you, alright?” “I think my marriage is over,” Tom says and Greg deflates. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, Tom.” “Uh-huh.” Tom nods, keeping his chin high like he’s ready for a fight. “The thing is, shithead. That everything is a little precarious now and you… you’ll be okay because you’re just the sprinkles. It’s me they really want.” “That’s not… I’m more than just sprinkles, Tom.” “Yeah,” Tom says, finally really looking at Greg. “You are.” Afterwards, Greg couldn’t say which one of them actually moves first. He just remembers the collision, Tom’s mouth on his, hands sliding into his hair, his own arms pulling Tom closer and then letting go so he can divest himself of his clothing and strip Tom of his. He allows himself to forget everything except the way Tom clutches at him too hard, too desperately and keeps mumbling things that don’t make any sense at all – maybe not even to Tom himself. But Greg needs this, needs to know he’s not alone, that he’s making the right decision. He’s doing this not just for himself but for Tom too and to show the rest of the Roys that he is more than just their expendable cousin. He is someone and they’ll regret taking him for granted.   When he walks to the helicopter with Kendall, Tom is still sleeping in Greg’s bed where he left him. Greg watches the yacht grow smaller and tries to ignore the pit in his stomach that tells him he should have woken Tom and asked him to come with him.   iv   The door looks a lot hazier than it did the last time Greg was here, stumbling towards Tom and Shiv’s apartment at two am. He has a key, doesn’t need to knock but he does anyway because he isn’t actually sure that Shiv knows he has a key. Tom answers the door. There are pillow creases on his face but he’s still dressed in shirtsleeves with his suspenders hanging off his waist. He looks tired, like an old bloodhound and Greg, in his slightly manic state, wants to either slap him or kiss him. Anything to bring out the energetic Tom he is used to. “Is Shiv here?” he asks Tom who has already gestured for him to come in. “Not that it isn’t cool if she is. It’s very cool. Fine in fact.” “She isn’t,” Tom says, collapsing onto the couch. “She was but she went out again, said not to wait up.” “Oh,” Greg nods. “Cool.” He doesn’t wait for Tom to ask why he’s here, instead showing him his wrist. “I got the watch. It doesn’t work and I had to spend forty grand on it and I know I’m like, rich now? But that’s a lot of money, Tom.” Tom is looking at him like he just started doing the macarena while reciting Russian poetry, confusion painted on his expressive face in broad strokes. “You came here at two am to tell me you bought a broken watch? What the fuck, Greg?” He pushes Greg’s arm away from his face and Greg shakes his head. “No, I came because… I don’t know. I thought being with Kendall... we’re doing the right thing, aren’t we? Trying to make Waystar better? And like, you wanted to stay at ATN and I don’t. So I thought me and Ken, we could be a team?” Tom is still staring at him and Greg notices the hurt on his face, but can’t stop talking. “Like, I liked being on a team with you, Tom but we want different things. So I thought: Kendall. But Kendall, man, I don’t know. He’s not what I thought. It’s all parties and talking – he talks so much, Tom, but he doesn’t say anything? And he doesn’t get what it’s like to be the little guy! Forty K for a broken watch Tom! And he wouldn’t buy it for me even though that’s definitely what he said he was going to do! Like he was all ‘Hey Greg, you need a watch, I know a guy let me –” He’s interrupted in the middle of his admittedly mediocre Kendall impression by Tom bursting into hysterical laughter. “Uh, Tom?” Greg asks, a little concerned. “Are you alright?” Tom sniffs, still laughing. “Oh, sure, Greg. It’s just ironic that you’re here – rat-arsed on some sort of drug you got from Kendall – complaining about how he won’t buy you a watch while I’m preparing to go to prison and waiting for Shiv to divorce me.” Greg is a little stumped, unsure of what to say while Tom continues to chuckle to himself. He can’t find any humour in the situation. “Is that why you asked me to come over? Because you’re scared of going to prison?” “Scared?” Tom scoffs. “I’m not some teenage girl afraid of her first fuck, Greg. I’m just trying to plan for all eventualities of what could happen in there.” “Right, sure, Tom. But like, you don’t even know for sure that you’ll be going,” Greg says. “Right?” Finally, Tom seems to sober. “Right. Nothing is set in stone. Nothing really matters anymore either though.” “Uh…” With a heavy sigh, Tom shakes his head and gets to his feet. “I’m going to bed. Turn the lights off when you leave.” Greg watches him walk away, then hurries after Tom, clutching at his shirttails the way he did when he followed Tom to the panic room. “Go home, Greg,” Tom says, brushing Greg’s hands off without even looking behind him. His voice is thick and cracks a little on Greg’s name. “I don’t need you and your sad cow eyes staring at me all night.” “Tom?” He stops halfway up the stairs, looking down at Greg and for probably the first time since he met Tom, Greg struggles to work out what he’s thinking. “Are you gonna be okay?” Tom clenches his jaw and nods. “Sure.” “Okay. I guess… I’ll see you at work, then.” Greg turns and makes it to the second last step when Tom says his name. “Yeah?” Tom hesitates, teeth gritted, then shakes his head. “Nothing. Just – I’d have bought you the watch.” He turns on his heel and carries on upstairs. Greg remains frozen, staring at the space Tom occupied for far too long until he manages to convince his leaden limbs to carry him to the front door.   v   If he’s totally honest, Greg isn’t quite sure what just happened. Tom came into his office, all bravado and false ego, talking about Romans and slaves and castration and prison – and the next thing Greg knew he was being told to fight Tom, then being yelled at, and then Tom was gone, leaving chaos in his wake like a tornado. Greg looks around, hoping there will be someone he can exchange an incredulous glance with but as so often when things happen between Tom and him, there’s no one there. If he didn’t know Tom was truly in love with Shiv, he’d think Tom had just offered to throw her under the bus so he and Greg could be together. Still, behind all the incoherent rambling and macho-façade, Greg is pretty sure Tom is just afraid. He’s heard what others at Waystar are calling him, knows that everyone is certain Tom will end up in prison. Greg doesn’t know how to feel about that. He and Tom haven’t been that close recently, haven’t had a conversation that isn’t just passing on information about the civil war they find themselves in for weeks (apart from when Greg went to Tom’s apartment and ended up leaving feeling more depressed than when he got there). But despite the newly acquired distance between them, Greg finds he still has a sense of loyalty towards Tom. And maybe there’s something else there too. Something he buried deep in himself when he realised that chasing after yet another uninterested, married man wasn’t the way he should be spending his life. So he leaves the storage room Tom had given him as an office and makes his way upstairs to find Tom. He’s not in his office, that much is clear through the glass walls. But Greg goes in anyway, hoping to find a clue as to where he might be. Turns out doesn't need to look very hard for one because he hears loud sniffing from behind the panelled door leading to Tom’s private bathroom. There was a time before all this when Greg was allowed to use that bathroom, instead of having to use the communal ones. A time when every now and then, Tom would follow him into said bathroom and press Greg against the sink and himself against Greg until they were both happy, slightly guilty messes. When Greg opens the door, very slowly so as not to spook Tom, he feels his heart clench in his chest. He has seen Tom angry, happy, anxious, spitting feathers with tears in his eyes, in manic phases, and in slow moments when he can barely keep his eyes open. He has never seen Tom cry, not like this, not crouched on the closed toilet with his head in his hands and his whole body shaking as he tries to contain his sobs. “Tom?” Greg stumbles over the word as he steps into the small space and closes the door behind him. “And my humiliation is complete,” Tom says, more to himself than Greg. “What the fuck do you want?” “I just wanted to check on you,” Greg says hands reaching for Tom but hovering just shy of touching him. “You seemed… not okay.” “Oh, I wonder why that is?” Tom sneers, though the effect is ruined by his puffy face and the way he lets out another hiccupping sob halfway through the sentence. “Fuck off, Greg.” “Uh, well, I think I maybe won’t do that, Tom. Because you look pretty upset and I don’t know if it is, ah, wise to leave you at the present moment?” Tom laughs wetly and then starts to cry again. Greg’s hands flutter uselessly before he decides to just give in to his desire to pull Tom into a hug. Almost immediately, Tom buries his face in Greg’s neck which is admittedly kind of gross because he’s still crying and could do with blowing his nose. Nevertheless, Greg holds him and lets him cry, gently patting Tom’s back like he remembers his mom doing for him a long time ago. “Is it, uh, is it the prison thing? Is that why you’re so upset?” Greg asks softly. “Because Tom, you keep saying you’re going to prison but it’s… it’s not a sure thing.” Tom pulls away, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Sure, but I volunteered for it. Told Logan I’d go to prison if he needed me to.” Greg gapes at him. “What? W-why would you do that, Tom?” “Because…” Tom swallows and his lower lip is still trembling in a pathetically endearing way. “Because it’s the best thing for me to do now. At least that way I can be useful to someone.” “You’re useful,” Greg says and Tom scoffs. “Sure, Greg – but to whom exactly? Not to Shiv, or Logan, or Kendall. Not to y– to anyone.” Greg’s heart is racing faster than the last time Kendall gave him a bump of coke. “To me? You are useful to me, Tom. But you don’t need to be, we’re friends.” “Friends,” Tom repeats, jaw stiff. “Sure, buddy, we’re friends. And as my… friend, I think you’ve done your duty here. So fuck off and know that if you tell anyone about this then I’ll hunt you down and let a man I’ve paid a shit tonne of money to break your kneecaps.” There’s none of his usual vigour in the way Tom is threatening him and there is no fucking way Greg is leaving him when he’s looking Greg like he killed his puppy. “No offence, Tom, but I don’t know that you’re being all that truthful right now.” Tom scowls, finally some of his familiar anger behind his eyes. “Are you enjoying this, Greg? Seeing me with my pants around my ankles? Humiliating me? Was rejecting me not enough for you? Do you have to come and rub in how pathetic I am?” He almost hears a record scratch in his brain. “Rejecting you? I – what? When did I… you’re with Shiv, Tom. You told me that.” “Before the yacht. I told you that before the yacht,” Tom mumbles. “And Shiv… she doesn’t care about me, Greg. No one does.” He hangs his head self-pityingly and Greg’s chest is in knots. “I…” If this was a year ago – even three months ago – Greg wouldn’t have hesitated to say that he does care, that Tom wanting him is all he's wanted. But now things have changed and Greg is no longer just Tom’s lackey and he wants to be someone. And Tom, frankly, doesn’t have the juice to get Greg where he’s going anymore. So he does hesitate. For just long enough that Tom’s face closes off completely. “Get out,” Tom orders. “Tom –” “Out!” The word reverberates around the tiled room and Greg flinches. He reaches for Tom and has his hand slapped down. “Don’t. Do not patronise me, Greg.” “I’m not, Tom. Can we… could we please talk about this?” Tom shakes his head. “Come see me when I’m out of prison, Greg. We can talk then.” He pushes past Greg, so close that their chests brush when he squeezes through the doorway. And Greg, he feels fucking helpless, all the things he wants to say collecting on his tongue and tangling together. Tom has returned to his desk, shuffling papers and looking faux-industrious. Greg glances around. He can’t see anyone outside in the hallway, but still closes the blinds, drawing them all the way across the obnoxiously clean glass wall. “What are you doing?” Tom asks. He doesn’t bother to answer, crossing the room and taking Tom’s face in his hands like Tom did to him what seems like a lifetime ago. He kisses him hard enough that he can hear the click of their teeth knocking together. Tom makes a startled noise, hands clutching at Greg’s jacket before they slide underneath, running over his shirt, warm and slightly damp. “I don’t want you to go to prison,” Greg says when he breaks for air, forehead pressed against Tom’s. “But if you do, I’ll uh… I’ll wait or visit you or whatever.” “You’ll wait?” Tom sounds like he wants to tease him but is too stunned to do so. “And visit?” “Y-yeah,” Greg nods, accidentally banging his head against Tom’s chin. “You know, Greg,” Tom says quietly, rubbing over Greg’s back, hand still tucked under his jacket. “I think I almost believe you.”   + i   It’s freezing cold in the car park outside Otisville. Greg stuffs his hands in his pockets, wondering whether he should have just waited in the car. He’s spent Christmas Eve in worse places, though never actually at a prison before. He glances over at the news van and the small huddle of journalists and paparazzi that have not-so-sneakily been taking pictures of him since he arrived ten minutes ago. It was a big story: Shiv Roy’s husband going to jail and divorcing her because he was having an affair with her second cousin. Still, Greg didn’t think there would actually be people waiting to film Tom when he’s released. There’s a buzzing sound that signals the gate opening and Greg turns and opens the car door. Mondale bounds out, jumping up at Greg who grabs the lead he’s trailing on the ground behind him. “Come on, Mondale, let’s go see your, dad!” Mondale’s tail nearly wags off his body – almost as if he knows what Greg is saying. Fifteen months without Tom have felt like a lifetime for both of them. Greg trudges over to the slowly opening gate, trying to ignore how the journalists behind him are jumping into action. He can hear the clicking of the camera shutters, sees the flashing of lenses out of the corner of his eyes. He forgets it all when he sees Tom. Dressed in the same slacks-shirt-cardigan combo he wore when he went in, he looks smaller, slightly more diminished, but still like Tom. Mondale nearly tugs Greg’s arm out of its socket when he catches sight of him, desperate to get close to him. For his part, Greg just takes several long strides towards Tom and wraps his arms around him. “Hey,” Tom says into his shoulder, returning the hug while trying to fend off an ecstatic Mondale. “It’s good to see you.” He laughs. “Well, I saw you last week but –” Greg cuts him off with a hard kiss, which Tom returns eagerly. The camera clicking speeds up into a frenzy and he’s sure that tomorrow morning their picture will be everywhere, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “So,” Tom says, a little breathlessly when they part and start walking back to the car. “To Canada?” Greg nods. “I really think you’ll like it, Grandpa Ewan said we can use the house for as long as we want. Your parents should already be there by the time we’ve driven up - your mom is, like, crazy excited to spend Christmas with us.” Tom nods, looking a little overwhelmed. Greg gives him a moment to himself as he loads Mondale into the back seat and secures his harness to the special dog-seatbelt Tom insisted he buys. By the time Greg climbs into the driver’s seat, Tom is on the passenger side, a small smile on his face. “Ready to go?” Greg asks and Tom snorts. “Yes, Greg. I am very ready to go.” Greg puts the car in gear and pulls out of his spot, reaching across the console to hold Tom’s hand, as they drive away from the last hold Waystar had on them.

So there she was - only half awake, zip tied to her own balcony railing in the broad daylight of what turned out to be Monday morning, with her own phone attached to the railing, pointed with the camera right between her spread legs. Of course, this would be quite a situation to be in, however, Sandra's nakedness made it slightly more intense. Now, it was not the first time for Sandra to venture out to her balcony opposite the university dorm rooms in the nude. She did it sometime in the night, sometime even sitting down with a glass of wine, enjoying the fresh air on her slim and tender body, sometimes even caressing her tight pussy. Sometimes she also went out to hang up the laundry, on a whim deciding to also hang up the lingerie she was wearing while doing the laundry. Actually, not that she thought of it - she never was really dressed, when out on the balcony. After all, that was one of the main reasons for her to get this apartment a couple of months ago, the location was perfect: The huge bedroom window and the balcony both faced a busy street, with a few cafes and the university dorm on the other side of the street. The apartment being on second floor meant that she could expose herself easily, giving everybody a good peek without being too close to the actual action. Well - so she quite often sat out there, gingerly touching her usually wet, tight pussy. However, this morning was different. She was spread eagle, she was groggy after being passed out for god knows how long, and a camera was pointed straight at her pussy. Her pussy however, oh well, as she explored it in her half-awake state, it looked quite different than it did on friday when she set out for her little adventure. Not only were two more rings added to her now quite swollen lips, also her wide-open pussy stared back at her in an angry-red, gaping open obscenely after the fucking she obviously received over the last couple of days. Alongside her intruding fingers there still were a couple of used condoms deep inside her. Absentmindedly, as she started to regain her conscious, trying to recover her memory of the last days, she started dragging them out ever so slightly, only to push them back in with more vigor from thrust to thrust. Oh, the camera was still pointed right at her pussy, she knew, and she looked forward to exploring the footage. What Sandra, however, at this moment did not yet know (or remember?) was the nature of the footage or the question how it all came together. She had it all so perfectly arranged before she drugged herself out on Friday afternoon at the park: She had removed the pin-code from her phone, logged into all her social media and mail accounts to give whoever was willing to play with her full access. She wanted this person to have full access, to be able to look at her pictures and videos while fucking her pussy, while abusing her body, while hopefully exposing her all over the city. What she might have not considered is, that somebody with less than pleasant intentions might also use this full access to her life to share her sluttiness with the world. Another one of her preparation saw her putting a little letter with her address, with her office address and carefully assembled all the fitting keys into her purse - before she sent herself to a long sleep, with her legs spread wide in the park. She wanted to be abused, to be humiliated and little did she know, how true this dream would become. So let us look back at what happened - all of this captured not only by dozens if not more other phones, but also by her own. As the five homeless guys found her on Friday evening on "their" park bench, with her legs spread so wide, the bottle of sleeping pills next to her, and the dildo slightly sticking out from her swollen cunt, they knew what to do. As a first instinct, they of course started mauling her body, pulling on her pierced nipples and pinching her a-cup tits, before pulling on her pussy rings, stretching her wide open. They barely could believe their luck and only slowly put all the puzzle stones together - the pretty girl in the summer dress bunched around her waist. The sleeping pills in the bottle that had her name written on it, the phone and the keys in her little purse. Oh, they would have fun with her, that they knew. And the area was just becoming a bit more crowded, soon - they knew - more than 20 other hobos and junkies would fill the place in the park. And so they did - it did not take long for them all to have her way with her, multiple ways too. Oh how much fun it was for them to fuck this pretty girl with their unwashed dicks, cum all over her pretty face, all the while capturing the action on their old smart phones. However, they realized that there was more fun to be had with her. The thing with junkies like Old George is - they usually don't get to have fun. They don't get to do, what they really feel like doing and at least Old George had a nice and twisted mind, he knew very well what he wanted to do with a girl that likes to show-off - he wanted to make her dream (or what he thought might be her dream) come true. One of his friends asked George - shall we rip her dress off, rip it to shreds? But George just smiled - no, they still would need her dress, they would need to make her look presentable - later. However, they all agreed that the dress as it was, was still far too conservative for what they had in mind with Sandra. So, with a rusty old knife, they cut off a good part of it, making sure it was just long enough to cover the upper part of her pussy, if she would stand perfectly straight. Of course, that made most of her cute little butt hang out and her glistening pussy lips were still perfectly exposed. Just the right outfit, George and Joe agreed laughing. But for now, they were not done with the pretty little doll they had laying in front of them. Wouldn't it be fun to see what else this swollen pussy is capable of, they wondered? They all had their way with her already once, fucking her one after the other, everybody adding to the cum that was deposited deep inside of her. After all twenty-two guys had her way with her (some of them also coming all over her face, but with most of them opting to deposit their semen deep inside her, hoping to impregnate her) they decided to get more creative. You see, men who are shunned from society and often just looked at in disgust by the likes of Sandra, they sometimes develop a slight tendency to sadism. So, it came as no surprise, that most of them wiped their dirty cocks either in her raven black hair or on her white summer dress, that already was completely stained from being dragged through the dirt and the piss puddles on the floor. The dildo, Joe grinned, is much too proper for a bitch like Sandra - much to clean too, he added. So, off they were to find more fun objects to jam up Sandra's cunt. The easy solution was one of the beer bottles that was laying around on the ground next to where the men had their way with her. With little care for her wellbeing, it was jammed into her. In the meantime, George took hold of her phone, smiling at how easily it unlocked without giving him any trouble. Oh, the opportunities! when he took it from her purse, he had just thought of trying to wedge it into her already stretched out cunt, but the access it provided to learn more about the pretty, abused nymph laying in front of him proved to be worth so much more. Looking through her Facebook account he smiled to himself - that would be a good day - as he started to take pictures of her ordeal. He was not a professional cameraman, but he understood what he wanted - and probably what she wanted: Great pictures that highlight the abuse, that show her overly stretched cunt, while making sure that her face is in the picture. The beer bottles the boys tried to insert into her - with the neck first - were not among the cleanest, obviously. They had been laying around this desolate, wasted area of the park for ages and god knows, how many dogs might have already pissed on them and through how much shit they had already rolled. Now, one would think that a girl as pretty as Sandra deserved at the very least a clean beer bottle to be shoved into her gaping cunt, but the boys disagreed - the dirtier, the more defiled, the better it was. Grinning a mostly toothless smile, Tim brought the most rotten bottle he had ever seen. The paper cover was ripped to shreds, some stale liquid seemed to be in the bottle but that's not the worst part of it, as he happily announced: it was one of those, that the junkies used to hide away their used syringes. So about three or four used needles were tangling around the bottle. Now if THAT would not make a great video, what would? So happily, they ripped out the old coke can one of the guys had jammed up her cunt, leaving her snatch gaping wide for a moment. Seeing how stretched Sandra already was, as she was propped up on a park bench, lit well by one of the lanterns right above her, Tim decided to go for the money shot - wrestling the thick end of the dirty bottle into her gaping pussy. Her rings helped - he was pulling on them, trying to get her as far open as possible. What a contrast it was: The pretty 28-year-old Sandra, with her quite pale skin, the noble face, her cute a-cup tits - and the grotesquely stretched cunt, from which a dirty beer bottle, half filled with some rotten liquid and some used syringes was sticking out. George made sure to capture it all on picture and video. Finally, he laughed, he also would be kind of an Instagram star. Now, while this picture with her and bottle sticking out like this made for a great picture, the evil grin of Tim and George was not satisfied: With more than 20 men cheering them on and laughing at the used Sandra, he ripped the bottle out of her, only to turn it around and jam it back up into Sandra's sleeping body. The boys wandered what the old liquid might have been - spit? piss? old beer? a mixture of everything? They did not really know, but the thought that this vile mixture was pouring into the pretty girl's cunt was exciting. They took a few more pictures of her, before they ripped the that was nearly all the way inserted in her cunt, out of her again. To their enormous laughter, the bottle was empty - the contents were dripping out of her swollen, gaping cunt slowly. To their even more joyful excitement they also noticed - the used syringes that were in it, must have also slipped out, remaining in her cunt. Well, George, I am not going to put my hands in this abused cunt, Tim laughed, god knows what is going on with these fucking needles - don't wanna catch any shit! George agreed - they might be homeless, but dumb they were not, no good reason to risk an infection from pricking their fingers on a used needle. However, they also agreed - they need to get these needles out of her eventually, if they wanted to continue fucking her. So there came the leather gloves - with a brutal motion, George jammed half his hand into her, feeling around in her extended snatch until he caught the three syringes that have lodged themselves inside her. With little regard for her wellbeing he dragged them out and put them right on her pubic area. - For the Instagram, what else, the boys laughed. Tim's cruelty was it that took over - you know, George, these needles lying on her cunt might look sweet on the picture. But the bitch seems to enjoy some piercing action - wouldn't it make for a much nicer picture to jam them right in her clit or her pussy lips? Well, George was not to argue with such creativity, so both men took one of the needles and carefully - not to hurt themselves - stick it into the soft flesh of her inner pussy lips. Laughing, they decided to put the third needle straight into her clit. How obscene she looked in the street light - dozens of homeless men kneeling around her, some of them pulling on her cunt, with three obviously used and dirty needles sticking out of her soft flesh. The pain, however, was probably enough to wake her up ever so softly. Shall we pop her a few more of her sleeping pills? It is nice playing with her as it is, Tim grinned. But George did not agree - he had something far better in mind. Yes, a sleeping bitch was fun to play with, but honestly he wanted to expose her more and for this it would be better if she would be awake, at least kind of. Here, take this pill and pop it into her mouth. She will be awake - not coherent, probably, but awake. And just in the very moment, before the boys could slip the pill in her mouth, Sandra woke up - blinking, looking around in a dazed state. Don't... don't... please don't, she half mumbled. Please don't stop, don't you dare stopping with whatever you're doing she pleaded. Abuse me, please, ruin me, destroy me, utterly destroy me. I - I need this to happen -- drug me if it gives you a kick, send me back to sleep, keep me awake, I don't care. Sandra was wide awake now, panicking that they might stop the abuse they're clearly doing to her. To accentuate her point she looked down her own body, with all the homeless and junkies watching on, moving her tender hand to her abused and hurting cunt. She found the needles sticking out of her soft flesh and grinned a wicked smile. Making eye contact with the ugliest man she could find in the group of onlookers she grabbed a hold of one of the needles that were stuck in her soft pussy lips, ripping them out with one quick motion. Please, she begged again, abuse me - give me your worst. Impregnate me, infect me, ruin me -- and make sure the world will know! With this final begging she put both needles in her right hand, while spreading her cunt lips as far as she can with her left hand. With the curious gaze of around 20 men Sandra jammed the needles deep inside herself, piercing the pink tender meat of her exposed cunt. Go, now, give me your worst, she begged over and over again. Make it public, make me famous, show the world what I really am. Oh well - the men grinned - this should be possible. Let's get going with her, the boys agreed - her adventure was only to begin. She wanted to be the worst slut the world has ever seen, and boy, would the world see Sandra. She would become a porn star, she would become the most degraded porn star the world has ever seen, with just one difference: She would be a porn star among her own friends, among her own co-workers, colleagues, and acquaintances. And Sandra beamed: She wanted it, she wanted everyone in her life to know that she was to be abused, that her pristine pussy, that her most private places and experiences were not meant to be private or pristine anymore. Sandra wanted the world, her world to know, that her cunt was only there to be abused, a cum dumpster, hell, if needed even a real dumpster. Give me your worst, she repeated over and over again, as they planned out her little adventure. The advantage of city living is the public transport. Now, during the day George and his gang usually avoided it, as they dreaded the attention. However, if you want to parade a half-naked, abused, slightly drugged-out girl as pretty as Sandra through the city, the public transport is all you really need. They had Sandra dressed up again, although she would have rather stayed naked, proudly parading her abused body. She insisted, however, that her dress would be kept wet, and that they cut off a bit more of it, making sure that even as she was standing still, her pussy was in clear sight - she did not want the world to miss the show she was offering as they stammered towards the tramway station. The boys had taken some toys with them and of course made sure, to film her every move - as she pranced through the old town, stopping at nearly every street light to rub her cunt against the lamp post, to spread her legs in front of every house where she hoped somebody might still be awake. George made sure to film it all, while in the less eventful moments going through her social media accounts with a wicked grin. Oh, this bitch would be still so much fun, there was such a craziness in her. Honestly, the homeless men could barely keep up with her, as she pranced through the city, through all the little streets she usually went through during the day. And she was looking to humiliate herself even more, even more than they could imagine. Close to the tramway station she realized she might need to at least partially cover herself, at the off-chance that somebody might be around who had a problem with her behavior. But before reaching this more well-lit spot she needed one more turn-on, one more kick. She found a somewhat well-lit corner that looked exceptionally grim. It reeked of stale piss, trash was on the floor, beer bottles rolled around. Watch me, she screamed, ripping off her dress for now. Finding a puddle of piss, she threw what remained of her dress in it, before grabbing a hold of one of the beer cans she found on the ground. This one seemed half way full, god knows if it was beer, spit or piss, but she was to find out. Holding the can up to her mouth, she slowly tilted it, pouring the content in her pretty mouth. Barely choking on the vile concoction in the can, she only finished it half, before putting it to the ground again. The men could barely believe what they not only captured with their own eyes, but also with the cameras - one of them Sandra's own phone, live-streaming to her twitter account. Sandra sat down on the dirty ground, making sure to find one of the piss puddles, one of the most vile spots in that corner. Grabbing the beer can she spread her legs as wide as she can, before tugging at her pussy rings, stretching her swollen cunt lips. Get a good picture of this, look at this - look at my swollen cunt, look at how abused it is. With these words she jammed the beer can violently inside herself, opening first, making sure the old piss and spit in the can would flow in her cunt. Satisfied, she jammed the can as far inside her as possible, until it was barely visible anymore - just her stretched-out, ruined cunt showing what was going on. Come here, boys, please, I beg you - I need so much more than this, Sandra pleaded. Honestly - the men barely knew how to more drastically abuse Sandra, but she was there to please and to help: See that dumpster over there? Bring me the most rotten shit you can find there, please, bring me more material for my abuse. Oh the treasures the boys found - a couple of used condoms, quite a few more used needles (Sandra gasped in delight - finally the drug problem in the city would pay off for her), and a dirty looking box filled with some pills. Alongside the men brought a few bottles of varying sizes, prepared for Sandra's further self-humiliation. While carelessly playing with the beer can lodged in her cunt and tugging at the rings in her stretched-out lips, Sandra looked at the treasure - what might these pills be? The men grinned as she opened the box, looking at them - no inscriptions, no descriptions, god knows which pills some junky might have thrown away. Again, making eye contact with some of the more vile looking man she snatched the dirty can - now empty - out of her cunt, telling them to have a good look at her gaping cunt, before taking out three of the pills, only to push them deep inside her own cunt. Another two pills she slipped in her mouth, asking for one of the half-filled bottles to be given to her. She took a sip of some stale beverage with a sour aftertaste, to wash down the unknown pills. Well, let's see what happens, right boys? She laughed, before pushing the can again deep inside her, moaning softly as she was stretched again to her maximum. Give me those needles, she demanded, pleadingly with a soft voice. Looking at them, they did not look clean - they did not look very sharp either. Taking the first needle she started pulling at her already professionally pierced nipple. Moaning, halfway closing her eyes she jammed one of the used needles from the dumpster right through her abused nipple, squealing and laughing at the same time, before doing the same to her second nipple. Satisfied with the look she grabbed her too short dress from the piss puddle - half soaked it had become quite transparent, as she slipped it over her aching body. Looking down at herself she liked the picture she was giving to the world: it was clear that the crazy bitch Sandra had some used syringes stuck in her nipples, her pussy was clearly visible from every vantage point and what's even better - it was clear that it was over-stretched. In the morning as she had gone to work, she looked at herself on the tramway, lifting her dress for a moment to admire the pretty pussy of hers: the silver rings, the neat pussy lips. Now, she looked down at her swollen lips, stretched to their maximum, shining in a bright red. Shaking her head, she realized - that was not extreme enough. She needed to make it worse, just in case anybody had any doubt about what she was to become. Grabbing two more needles, she placed each of them carefully against her cunt lips, before with one quick motion per side stabbing herself as deeply as she could. Impregnate me, infect me, she mumbled grinning again. Satisfied with her look, she wondered how she must look now. Take a good video of myself, she screamed staggering under the light of a street lamp. And George sure did - the terrible man made sure to capture the beauty of Sandra, standing there in the street, 3am in the morning, just two blocks from main square where some nighthawks would still be up and awake. Satisfied, Sandra demanded to see the video, George had captured on her very own phone. And he showed her, of course: There she was, in all her beauty. The light of the lamp clearly highlighting every detail, showing her beautiful and tender face. And then the contrast: a nearly transparent summer dress, halfway ripped open exposing one nipple completely, while making clear that both her nipples were not only pierced with rings, but with some old needles thrown away by some addicts. Panning further down her body, you could see what once must have been a nice dress, just now it wasn't: it stopped a little bit short of her cunt, a swollen, ripped-open, gaping cunt, where clearly a can was sticking out ever so slightly. If this was not enough to show the world what she was, two needles were jammed in her engorged cunt lips. The tramway driver barely believed his eyes, as six homeless men, accompanied by a half-naked girl entered the wagon. If you let us play, you will get your turn too, they told the tramway driver, once they finally made it in there. Your turn and a little bag of weed, do we have a deal? And of course, they had a deal, so they put her into the backend of the wagon, of course video capturing the whole process on Sandra's phone. When the men had thought, that the worst humiliation must have already been over, they did not account for Sandra's creativity. Flopping down in a seat in the last row, she put her legs as far apart as she could, putting them on the back rests of the seat in front of her. Her pussy now spread in the most obscene way, it was so evident how ruined it was, especially in the bright light of the tramway. Who has my bag, Sandra demanded, only to have one of the man throw it at her. While I look in there for some things to have more fun, - do what it takes, boys. I need more pain. Sandra was increasingly feeling some kind of high, probably from the pills that she swallowed and that she had lodged inside her pussy. The homeless men did not need to be told twice, with an evil grin two of them came forward and looked at her gaping cunt, dripping wet from her own juices. Let's take this can out of you, darling, one of them smiled as he ripped it out, careful not to touch the dirty needles stuck in her cunt lips. You want the worst, cunt, he asked. Grimacing, Sandra nearly yelled at him - don't you see I do? Do your worst to me, but make sure to capture it. I want everybody to see. With this, she took out her photo ID she carried in her purse, with her full name, her date of birth, and her address in it. Her, have a good look at this, she said, carefully placing the ID right over her cunt, make sure to capture it in your videos, in your pictures. I want the world to know whom this cunt belongs to -- well, it belongs to the world now, but you get my point, she laughed. In the meantime, the two man carefully removed the needles from her lips, putting them to the side. Both of them starting pulling on her cunt lips, trying to open up her cunt as far as possible for what was to come. Inserting a few fingers first, they soon were at the point of fist-fucking Sandra's once pristine pussy. Their unwashed hands were pushed into her, deeply, touching her cervix, while spreading her further and further. George, in the meantime, had Sandra's phone centered on her, making sure to capture her distorted face, her moaning, her half-naked body, her wide-spread cunt with a fist pumping in and out of it, while her ID with all her personal data is so clearly visible. No, the world would never forget who Sandra Wilder really was - everybody who cared to know would know, that her pussy is not a pristine one anymore, everybody who cared to know would know, that she was willing to take every possible abuse - even in a well-lit tramway wagon, with the world watching on. She particularly enjoyed the stops at the station, knowing onlookers from the real world would capture what's going on - google me, Sandra Wilder is the name, she yelled out once while the dirty fist was buried at her when the doors opened for a moment. There seemed to be no way to satisfy her, the man realized as they withdraw their fists from her well used cunt. Sandra had one more idea - spread my cunt lips as far as you can, see how I still gape open? Give me those needles, give me them right now, she demanded with a slightly shaking voice. I don't want to feel them in my cunt lips, I want to feel them as deep inside me as possible. Spread me, spread me open as far as you can. I need to know that I am ruined, that nothing will be as it was. I need the world to see how I ruin my own body, risk my health, ruin everything! And so, the men did, tugging at her cunt lips, spreading her open with two hands, her cunt still pulsating from the thorough fist fuck she just had received. With this she took the needles, punching them deep inside her, feeling the nearly unbearable pain deep inside her soft and tender flesh, dangerously close to her cervix. Oh god, that's it, as she shuttered in the most mind-numbing orgasm of her life. What a sight she was, as the video captured all of this: Sandra, clearly identifiable by her ID, her address, her pretty face, her cunt spread open, in a public tramway car, surrounded by homeless men and junkies. Two of the most vile beasts of them nearly ripping apart her cunt with their unwashed, dirty hands, while she jammed used and dirty needles deep inside her, puncturing the soft flesh around her cervix. Moaning, cumming, being videoed, screaming her own full name, to make sure the world knows who she is. How could this humiliation, this destruction be topped? Now, back to monday morning - Sandra was still propped up on her balcony and only slowly recollecting what happened to her. Yes, the used condoms that now tangled from her pussy lips, and the one filled with unspeakable filth that was hanging from her abused asshole spoke a clear story. Also, the additional rings in her cunt kind of gave her an impression of what happened. She still had not bothered to take her phone until now, instead idly playing with her abused pussy, indifferent to the city life happening just a few meters away from her. Only now did she slowly grab for her phone, turning the display towards her, stopping the recording of herself. What she saw surprised here: Dozens of missed calls from her co-workers and friends, more than hundred notifications from her Instagram and even more from Facebook and WhatsApp. Now, Sandra was a popular girl in town, well connected - maybe not one of those influencers, but she was somebody, people of her age group knew. Still, so many notifications were unusual, she mused, while opening the first one. Private messages mostly, she saw, as she looked through all the people who had written to her. Her heart skipped a beat or two when she opened one of the messages sent to her by a co-worker, whom she had kind of a crush on: There were five messages from him, but as she scrolled up, she saw MANY messages sent from HER account. Actually, no, not messages - pictures, mostly. Some videos, that still would need a while to load, but pictures of what she recognized to be her cunt in different places and conditions. Her heart started racing when she saw one of herself in a public bus, legs spread wide, tits hanging out of her ripped dress, with a coke can sticking out from her ass and what must have been ten... needles???... stuck into the soft skin of her cunt lips. What the hell had happened, had her dreams finally become true? It took her a while to find her memory after everything that happened. But there was so much more. One picture showed her in her favorite shop, a popular department store in town, as she immediately recognized. However, they have these neat little changing cubicles all over the shop floor, covered by curtains - well, usually covered by curtains. In the picture however, the curtain was drawn wide back, instead of the curtain you saw a very naked girl, very busily trying to pull something out of an overly stretched cunt - Sandra's very own cunt, as she realized. On closer inspection, somebody (let's not kid ourselves, most likely herself) had pushed some bikini bottom deep inside her open cunt, with it now half-way dangling out. Oh god - how much worse could things become, as she continued to scroll through the message thread. The next picture she immediately recognized - it was the little bar where she went nearly every day after work, people knew her there, people knew who she was and where she worked. Hell, she went there with her coworkers nearly every day. So it was no surprise to see on the picture the waitress, Sam, smiling at... well, smiling at a very naked Sandra, that was obviously tormented by the bartender. She was propped up at the table right by the window, with her legs obscenely bound and pulled back right to her head. That left her cunt not only gaping, but both her asshole and cunt totally exposed. Luckily, both holes were not openly accessible now, as she noticed with slight satisfaction, as both were completely filled with bottles: a small beer bottle was stuck in her asshole, while her cunt had to accompany a much wider wine bottle. Oh god what a sight it was, she marbled, before she realized - no, this is happening. Not only had she been abused like this, but pictures were made, and obviously they were shared all across her social media. Her life - her reputation - her career, everything was ruined. She did not sob, though, but began to masturbate furiously, pulling on the rings in her cunt, ripping it open as far as she could, before jamming three fingers into the overstretched opening. Deeper and deeper she shoved the used condoms, hoping this would be the biggest surprise - a pregnancy as the result of her own actions, of her thoroughly planned self-rape. Little did she know, how many cocks, and how many foreign objects had been jammed in her waiting cunt and her asshole. Little did she know, how many needles that were used by the junkies in the park and at the railway station, her found their way into her cunt, into her clit, and into her tongue. Little did she know, how utterly ruined she was, and how well everyone around her was aware of it. She also did not know yet, that her own private home was not private anymore: keys were duplicated dozens of times and handed out, making sure everybody would always have good access to Sandra and her thoroughly abused body. Nothing was private anymore - her body was shared with the world, and not in an anonymous way: she had made sure that her humiliation was final and lasting, her name would forever be connected to the adventure she endured. It was monday morning. Friday evening, saturday, and sunday were missing - it must have been quite the adventure, she wondered, looking forward to exploring all the abuse she might have suffered.

I don't want there to be anybody left out there, who doesn't know the look of my gaping cunt, I don't want to have friends or colleagues who don't know all the things I did, who don't know my complete destruction, my humiliation and how much it gets me off. Sandra sure was vocal about what she wanted, as she talked into the camera, that Old George, the homeless man who fostered her abuse over the last couple of hours, held towards her face. I want to do it all - I want to further ruin my body, ruin my cunt, hell - even ruin my health if I need to. I want to expose everything, I want there to be nothing private left, I want to be available - to everybody, without any further limits. This weekend, the next few days - they will destroy everything I've worked for, every ounce of decency in my and show the world what I really am - Sandra Wilder, sex toy, nothing but a wide-open cunt, a cum bucket, a dumpster for the most defiled, for the most vile. With this the camera panned down along Sandra's mostly naked body, only covered by the remains of her partially ripped dress, and towards the background: She was sitting with her legs spread as far as seemed possible, masturbating furiously with what seemed to be an empty wine bottle that she jammed into her sore cunt, while pulling on her nipple ring with the other hand. All this happened in the street light of the railway station, where she was half-propped on a dirty bench. Graffiti, grime, and dirt shaped the scene - that and the curious looks of multiple on-lookers, who in a fascinated way watched Sandra's wild performance. It was around 11pm on a Saturday night - so not too many were around and honestly - most people who were still around were not the ones to complain about a mostly naked girl performing lewd sex acts. What a day it had been for Sandra, the star of the scene, the new-found local celebrity she had become over the last 24 hours, give or take a few. Stepping back to the previous night, Sandra found herself after being paraded naked throughout the whole city in the early morning hours back at her own place, where she invited the four homeless men who supported her repulsive acts and who made sure to share every little detail of her self humiliation on her social media channels - she wanted to be famous, after all. So there they were, entering her cozy apartment, where she so graciously invited them. And boy had she invited them, after all the terrible things she had done to herself that day and that night, even those disgusting men were more than happy to settle down - and she insisted, that they take the king size bed. And again, they were happy to oblige, having had planned something special for Sandra anyway. See, Sandra had over-performed in this night: She had inserted every terrible thing they had found on the street and in dumpsters into her cunt and asshole, she had let them run a train on her (or rather - she begged them to), she had allowed them to fist her in public, she had exposed herself to hundreds of people while drugged-out in broad daylight in the park. But, travelling home, still with the broken needles stuck in her cunt, she had insisted that she doesn't want her exposure and humiliation to end, just because the night was over. So, it was not the bed for her that night - that would have offered far too much privacy for dear Sandra Wilder, instead she insisted to sleep out on her lawn chair on the balcony. It was a warm summer night, so she would not need a blanket - no, she would not even need any clothing, she demanded. So, out she went, followed by the wide-eyed men, who could barely believe what they saw: Yes, they saw Sandra humiliate herself all over time, but on her own balcony, with neighbors and friends potentially looking on, that was nearly too much to grasp even for them. Sandra, however, was not satisfied: See, it was not the first time she was naked out there, some of her neighbors might have seen quite a lot of her already in the past. So for today, this did not seem enough, it still seemed to good, to clean, to normal for how she wanted this night to end. But worry not, she laughed, she had something prepared - go to my room, you will find everything you need there, prepared on my nightstand. And off one of the men went, only to come back a minute later with more than a wicked smile on his face: Carrying he was some zip ties, a dildo that seemed far too big for Sandra's tiny frame, and more importantly: a speculum. What are you waiting for, she demanded with a voice loud enough to attract attention at this time of the night - but that's what she needed, hoping soon some lamps around her own well-lit balcony would come on, investigating the noise. Spread me open, she urged, plunging down with her legs spread wide on her lawn chair. You, tie my legs to the railing of the balcony, so there is no hiding, she told one of her tormentors, who laughingly complied with her wish. In the meantime, she started fucking her own cunt with the dildo - it still being sore from the needles she had jammed in their earlier and now carelessly thrown on the balcony floor. When she was satisfied with the abuse she had given her stretched out cunt, she pleaded George to insert the speculum as deep in her as possible, and then to open it as far as he could. Making sure to capture every moment of this amazing performance on Sandra's phone, he happily complied. What a sight she was. It was still dark outside, but the light on Sandra's balcony illuminated her perfectly - showing off her trim body, but more importantly: her grotesquely opened up cunt. The speculum inside her prevented it from closing up, providing every onlooker insight into her once most private places. Yes, this is what she needed, her cunt to be stretched and destroyed, her health to be at risk, and her reputation to be ruined. Everybody should know what she looks like naked, and even more - every single spot of her body and the inside of her cunt should be public knowledge. When she awoke it seemed to be the middle of the day. Scared and terrified she immediately reached down to her cunt, only to find it still spread open, hurting from the uncomfortable position and sore and red and swollen she found her own cunt. - She was satisfied, not knowing how many people must have seen her, how many people must have taken videos and pictures of her situation. As soon as the men realized that Sandra had woken up, they came storming out to her balcony. You want even more, don't you? The rotten men surrounded her, while making sure she was still visible from the street and garden - and she just nodded. Give me your worst, as I said. The men didn't need to be told twice - here, prop her up a bit more, I want her cunt to be facing up, George demanded, and the boys helped. So now she was here, grotesquely spread apart, her cunt facing upward, perfectly exposed to the world. With that, one of the man leaned forward, hovering over her spread open cunt and started - spitting into it, with the others cheering him on. And round and round they went on, making sure to hurl up as much spit as they could muster, spitting it into Sandra's wide open cunt, while she had started to violently rub her clit, begging them for more. They hadn't seen her that excited yet, despite all the crazy acts she had performed. When they deemed the spitting not enough anymore, George leaned forward, with his nose right over her grotesque cunt he started to spit mucus and snot into her waiting cunt - and so did all the others. When they were done with this humiliation, they all were nearly as aroused as Sandra, who was still masturbating like a possessed woman, was. It would be a good day, they all agreed - but first they needed some food. However, they were not in the mood to get it themselves - what else did they have a little plaything like Sandra for. While slowly untying her, they told her, they wanted to send her down to the bakery on the corner. But Sandra begged: I cannot go - I am so full of your snot, of your filth, of your spit - please, I need this shit to stay inside of me, I need it - I need it to infest me, I need your snot and your mucus in my cunt. And the men agreed - it would not be fun, to just make her get dressed and go to the bakery. Where would be the creativity there? First, they decided to remove the speculum from her overstretched cunt - not that it would really close up all too well on its own after the last 12 hours of fucking and violating it, but it would be a start. What's next - the girl loves pain anyway, doesn't she? So let's give it to her. Somebody get some safety pins, they are in the bedroom, first drawer, Sandra urged, while the men carried her inside, careful not to spill Sandra's cunt filling. Bring me the safety pins, George repeated her request - we are gonna make sure her cunt is nicely shut. With that he jammed the first safety pin through her stretched out cunt lips, only to repeat it at the second side. And again, and again, and again, until four safety pins were jammed through her most sensitive part. Oh, she did feel the pain, but the ecstasy she felt was even more intense than the pain. She looked at the monstrosity of her once pristine cunt: Sandra touched her lips, swollen red, pierced not only by the rings she had in there already for ages, but now also by safety pins, knowing to be filled up not only with the remains of cum from the day before, but with the spit and snot of those homeless junkies. God, what a way to begin the day. In the meantime, the men were excited to pick up something fun for her to wear, looking at her various short dresses, mini skirts, half transparent tops, and low cut blouses. What they did not find however - oh, Tom yelled towards Sandra, who was still gleefully pulling at her engorged cunt lips. Sandra, bitch, where you keep the underwear, we want to put something revealing on her - but Sandra just shook her head. Silly, I threw it all out - underwear, this topic is over for me. You're gonna keep me half-naked or naked, remember? Clothing is from now on only made to parade me around as risky as possible, clothing is only here to accentuate my body and to keep me from being constantly arrested and jailed. No, no underwear for me, nothing decent for me anywhere - my body is public property. The men still could barely believe what they found with Sandra - the most sex-crazed plaything in history. And, she added, we will go shopping today, we need clothing more extreme, it just cannot be that with some of those things my cunt might be hidden from the public! And the men agreed - for her outing to the bakery they needed to pick something... fun. Yes, something fun indeed, they thought rummaging through the wide array of what you could barely identify as clothing. Satisfied, they came to a conclusion: a completely sheer babydoll dress, that was obviously meant to be worn only inside, with the curtains closed, and even then it might still be considered provocative. But now it would have to fit for Sandra's trip to the bakery: It barely covered her ass or her cunt, even standing up without moving and without the wind of the street. Not that it might have covered much to begin with - the boys just hoped it would be enough to not get her arrested. Honestly - deep inside they knew that there was quite a high chance she would get arrested - her nipples were at prominent display, highlighted by the rings in them. Her cunt - oh what a sight it was, there was no hiding the abuse it went through, with all the needles stuck through her cunt, that still could not prevent all the slime from leaking out of her. But she was insisting it would be perfect for her trip to the bakery - and off she went, leaving the men back to rummage through her belongings. Sandra had her first orgasm just while reaching the store - dozens of men stared at her on the way there and what's even better: she knew all of the people she passed, they all knew her by name, they all knew who she was and could barely believe what they saw, a virtually naked Sandra with slime dripping from an abused cunt, where a day before a pretty, pristine pussy would have been visible. Cumming in front of the bakery, she takes a deep breath before stepping inside. In the meantime, the dirty men went through her belongings - carefully she had prepared for somebody to not only abuse her body, but to take over all of her life. They easily were able to log into her bank account, with all the information they needed neatly written down with instructions, to take everything, to spend everything, to make sure she would have nothing left in life but sex, exhibitionism, and her body. All the social media feeds were by now already filled well with pictures and videos of her abuse, the boys having made sure that everybody who knew Sandra Wilder, would now also know her inside out - quite literally, as the pictures of her spread cunt made sure. And what amazing pictures they were - the ones with the used needles stuck into the tender flesh next to her cervix. The one of more than five used, dirty, rotten condoms sticking out of her abused cunt. The video of her lapping up a piss puddle at the tramway station, while cum was dripping out of her cunt. Yes, she was a celebrity now. When she came back, the boys immediately saw that she had not only brought back some food for them, but that she also must have received quite a fucking and more. The safety pins were gone from her cunt, her babydoll was wet and soaked and stained, and cum was dripping down her legs. Somebody must have had fun with her, they all agreed. Sandra would have been pleased, had she known, that all her bank accounts were already empty and that a letter of resignation was sent to her employer - attached to it a multitude of pictures of the night before. A long and perverted day lay between her nearly naked trip to the bakery and what happened that evening at the railway station. Nearly naked, at a dirty bench at the railway station she was masturbating furiously with an upside down wine bottle, neck first she jammed it repeatedly into her cunt. Now, the curious on-looker might assume that the bottle started out empty, or that Sandra was just on some drugs and acting wildly, but neither was the case. Sandra was as sober as they come (and boy, did she come) this late evening. The bottle, however, had a bit of a history. Sandra had come to the railway station together with the four homeless men she had chosen to be her supporters for the weekend - and probably for the months or years to come. When she had arrived there, oh my, what a sight she had been: see, they had bought a dress today, quite sheer and far too short - it actually was less of a dress and more of delicate lingerie. But who is keeping track? Either way, it definitely was not meant to be worn outside, even less so on a saturday night in a seedy railway station. So, obviously she drew a crowd quite fast. When she sat down at one of the benches, putting one of her long legs up, thereby spreading her legs quite a bit, the curious onlooker got quite the surprise, if he was so inclined to look between Sandra's long, tender legs: Her pussy - was more of a severely abused cunt, it was spread wide open. Now, this was not just the consequence of the fucking she had received over the day, not even the consequence of the fisting she had received at the little city beach earlier. No, it was part of a more delicate plan: Sandra's cunt lips are pierced, with silver rings being drawn through them. Now, not caring about pain or any level of decency anymore, she had come up with a special something for the show she wanted to provide. Drawn through those rings were thin rubber bands, nearly invisible to the on-looking eye but strong enough to do their job. With the ends tied around her respective upper legs, those bands were tugging hard at her rings, pulling her cunt open with every step she took - now with the transparent "dress" she had on, she was quite a sight during the bus ride, and quite a few unknown hands found their way to her dripping cunt, with one daring guy even shoving a couple of rough fingers deep inside of her. But now she had arrived - sat there with her cunt spread open in the most vulgar way imaginable, and started to slowly caress her clit that was sticking out proudly. Soon, she drew quite a crowd - now, this was not the crowd that you usually would enjoy, randy man, drunkards, junkies, homeless and wanderers. Soon they formed a circle around her, making sure no police or security might wonder in, as they watched with rising curiosity and arousal what was transpiring in front of their eyes. More and more furiously Sandra began to masturbate, as more and more people watched. You all will get your chance to fuck my cunt, if you even deem it good enough for you. If you don't - well, you can have my asshole, it might be in a better shape, Sandra grinned at the evil and vile looking men around her. With this, George and Tom came forward to help her with the show she had planned. Tom had found an empty wine bottle in a dumpster, that he handed to Sandra. Of course, every halfway sane woman would have been disgusted - the bottle was dirty, ants were running around it, and it overall would have seemed quite off-putting to most. But Sandra gave the rim a quick lick, only to immediately push it into her wide open cunt without and concern for her physical well-being. After a few minutes and to wild cheering of the crowd, she ripped the bottle out, turned it around, and began shoving it wide end first into her abused snatch. Moaning, she finally succeeded and continued to push it all the way to the hilt, until just the neck of the bottle was still outside her cunt. With this she waved to one of the heavily tattooed and honestly quite dirty onlookers, to come and help her out. Here, fuck me with this bottle until I scream. And scream she did after just a few moments, as she came crashing down in one earth-shattering orgasm. With this, she pulled the bottle out of her cunt, nearly prolapsing herself, as the wide bottle pulled at her tender flesh. Passing the bottle to George, she offered to the men - who wants to fist fuck me? I want all your dirty hands inside my cunt, rip me apart and spread me open until I will never enjoy a normal cock again. Now, the men did not need to be told twice - the first guy eagerly stormed towards her, first trying to seek to push three of his deformed and dirty fingers into her - only to find that indeed, Sandra's cunt would be able to take his whole fist. What was supposed to be a fist-fuck turned into him more or less punching his fist into her cunt, bottoming out at her cervix, over and over again - and he was only the first of nearly 20 men to do so. In the meantime, George was busy as well - pissing into the wine bottle she gave him, before handing the bottle to another lost-looking man, telling him to do the same. After that they watched Sandra's cunt being destroyed further and further, as the men did their best to showcase their cunt-fisting capabilities - and Sandra came over and over again, as these unwashed, dirty fists kept pounding away at her wide-open cunt. Time to wash her cunt a bit, George laughed, moving forward, pushing the fist-fuckers to the side, and having Sandra look wild-eyed (and wide-spread, indeed) at him. As her loose cunt gaped open, George waved the wine bottle now mostly filled with piss at her: Time to wash this cunt for what's about to come next, he laughed while the rest of the crowd erupted in laughter as well. Who could imagine something like this - a beauty like Sandra, with her tender soft body, her long legs, and her angel-like face willingly being abused, fisted, exposed to the world, and now a piss-filled wine bottle would be jammed into her cunt? Now, that is a sight to behold. And with this, George jammed the bottle inside her, only for her to take over and to start fucking herself with the bottle, in the process pouring the stale piss deep inside of her, having it of course run out of her cunt and down her legs in the process. Now, with her freshly piss-washed, still-gaping cunt, Sandra was finally happy with the crowd she had drawn. Throwing away the bottle and slowly getting to her feet (she did not bother with shoes these days) she motioned the men to follow her - and so they did. Gleefully she staggered towards the train station restrooms - the male ones obviously. And as she entered, the terrible smell of shit, of stale piss, and god knows what else filled her nostrils. Feeling like she was in heaven, she ran towards the row of pissoirs, only to drop down there on her knees. NOW the show could begin. And she wanted to show these men - the most vile men of the city possibly - that she was worse than all of them combined. Did you guys know, I am a trained dancer? I can do the splits, she exclaimed, before finding one of the bigger puddles of piss. Watch me! And with these words she carefully lowered herself into a full split, spreading her pussy lips until they hovered over the dirty, unspeakably filthy floor or rather - the puddle of disgusting piss. Now I will need some help - gentleman. And as one guy reached out to her to help her get back up she shook her head violently - no, not for that. Push me down, handsome! Push me down, drag my cunt through the piss, why the hell would I want to get up? The guy could barely believe it - did this beauty really want her cunt, her exposed cunt, to be dragged through old stale piss and dirt? And oh she did. As he pushed her down, she reached down, making sure to spread her cunt open - she did not want the outer lips to get dirtied, no - she wanted the tender flesh of her abused cunt to soak up as much of the filth as possible. Dragging her cunt lips through the dirt and piss she was in heaven, what could be more vile? Her cunt was ruined, in every sense, worthless to anyone with the slightest rest of dignity. This went on for a few minutes, until Sandra was satisfied with what she had done. Honestly, most of the men at this point did not know whether to be disgusted or aroused, they had never seen something like this. Now, who would want to fuck this cunt? Over-stretched, dirty, full of piss and ruined in every way. That she explained to them, but she had more to offer. Kneeling down in front of the dirties pissoir she could find, she started to lick the outer rim, making sure to catch every drop of stale piss, every dried-up stain there was. Turning around she begged the men - for fuck sake, finally start fucking my asshole at least! And they agreed - that's the least they could offer to her. So while she kept licking at the urinal, licking up the piss, they started to bang her asshole. These dirty cocks, unwashed for days or weeks probably, entered her body with ease and with a full disregard of her comfort. More than once her face was pushed into the urinal itself, leaving her nearly chocking, lapping up the piss and the stale dirty water in it. No, she did not make them use condoms, of course, she thought to herself - what would be the fun of using condoms? No risk in that, no fun in that - the dirt and grime on the cocks that pounded away at her asshole made it interesting, the risk of ruining her own health by having these drug-abusing, potentially sick, homeless guys making her asshole their toy - that's what she was in for. Now, George knew, that she had planned more. Her cunt was not done for the evening, oh no - the grand finale was still planned. George and Tom stepped out, walking from restroom to restroom, their hands in leather gloves, carrying a bag. And after a few minutes they found their way back to Sandra, who was orgasming from having a cock in her ass and a fist in her cunt, while her head was hanging in the urinal. They had collected her present - her present of choice. Now see, the men had gone from restroom to restroom, finding the worst filth they could find. Used condoms. A piss-soaked rag. More syringes than they could count. And even more used condoms, some of them already stuck together - they knew the drill, all these things would need to find their way into Sandra's cunt, and she would insist to be ruined like this. They waited until everybody was done cumming in her ass, until Sandra turned around to sit down on the cold, wet tiles of the dirty toilet. Leaning back, spreading her legs, she knew what was to come and so did her lovers. Give me the needles first, she demanded - and somebody spread open my cunt as far as you can. And that they did - after all the fisting it opened easier, revealing the tender ring of her cervix that received such a thorough pounding. I need - uh - I need all these needles to be shoved right there. Punctuate the flesh inside me, ruin me, oh please ruin me so thoroughly. Gooood, I wonder which junky shot up heroin with this, I wonder where these rusty dirty needles are from, she moaned. And George did his job - one after the other he jammed the dirty, sometimes rusty, sometimes wet needles deep inside of her cunt, pushing it as deep into her tender flesh as seemed possible. Sandra was crying half from pain and half from joy, as she orgasmed over and over again. Oh god the humiliation, oh god the risk - how will I even survive this? She screamed begging for more. There, close your legs now, with the needles inside you, one of the man told her. And so she did - it would make the pain tenfold worse, risking one or more of the needles to break and to make it nearly impossible to ever get them out again. Like this she even managed to walk around the dirty bathroom, screaming from pain and cumming without a break. Exhausted, she plopped back down, and asked for the needles to be removed again. George managed to get most of them out of her, however, with a slight worry, he realized that some might have broken at the tip, leaving metal splinters and the tips of the needles lodged within her tender flesh or even shoved inside of her uterus - as the cruel man had pushed two needles right through her cervix. Oh well - that would be fun to explain to a doctor, how did a used needle end up inside of Sandra's uterus? But Sandra did not care, or rather: She did. That's what she had hoped for, the ultimate destruction of her cunt. And now - and now, how many used condoms did you find around here? George had not counted - it was not one of his strengths, but he guessed it must have been around 20. That seemed enough, and obviously Sandra wanted to do the favor herself: Give them to me. Now some of them were obviously filled with old stale cum, some were coated outside with slime and dirt - just the right filling for her abused cunt. Now, with the remains of some of the needles still lodged inside her abused cunt, she started pushing the used, dirty, infested condoms deep inside of her, making sure to not lose any of them. She counted herself - 22 used condoms were as much as she could fit inside of her gaping cunt. The remaining three she took in her mouth, licking them, savoring the disgusting taste, making sure every last drop of filth would make it into her belly. Now - that was the show for the evening. Holding her cunt as far shut as possible, she staggered to her feet - it was time to go home, to settle down on her balcony, with the cum-filled, disgusting condoms staying in her cunt over night. But first, she needed to make it home - and it would be quite a walk, she knew. Smiling, she and some of the boys left the railway station, with a naked Sandra leading the way.

He did not want to let go. Did not want to move away. Moving away, stopping kissing her, meant facing everything else. Seeing his ring on his finger, remembering Helen’s words, looking into another face that did not believe his curse would end their life.  It also meant looking into her eyes and accepting what he had done, what he had let himself feel again. After all he had lost. Choosing to have something else to loose. It meant facing all the pain it would take to back away again, to hurt her yet again. Or even worse, accepting to take her with him, to do another round and try his luck to get back out a second time.  But this time, she was in too. And taking them both out would be tempting fate. He felt her hands about to snake around his neck and everything seemed to crumble. He backed off almost as if he was burnt. ~***~ Her brain was tumbling in the wind somewhere and had only left her a few brain cells to pass the same realization over and over again. John is kissing me. John is kissing me. John is kissing me. John is kissing me.   And what a kiss it was. It wasn’t a gentle pressure on her lips, a rose petal on the water. It wasn’t the kiss the prince gave in the fairy tales. It was hungry and emotional and raw. Teeth, tongue, lips, she could barely remember which ones were hers. It felt like a hello and a goodbye all at once. It felt like a yes and like a no.  And then it stopped as quickly as it started, leaving her panting and lost, hands still half-way in the air. The ghost of lips on hers and of hands on her face. She finally focused on John that looked even worse. His eyes were wild and hurt, looking at her like he couldn’t believe what he had done. On that she felt the same.   “John.” She breathed out, embarrassed at the shake in her voice. The moment she saw his eyes glance to the side, she launched herself, barely managing to catch his forearm as he attempted to leave. Again. “John. No.” Since he stayed quiet, she kept going. “I- I have no idea what just happened, well, what it said or meant at least… But you cannot just- You can’t leave after that!” Her mind was still reeling to stay grounded, to understand, to remember. “I don’t care if you say it was a mistake or anger or a reflex but- You need to tell me.” His brown eyes met hers again. They reminded her of the second time he had cooked for her and his eyes had lighted up for a few seconds before going back to himself. Hope, content…. Vulnerability. “John… Please…” “I can’t.” He sounded so defeated that she didn’t know what to do or say. “If I let you close, you’ll die. They won’t let me get out a second time.” “John. I can help-“ “You cannot.” “Then you don’t know me very well do you?”   Thought were flying free in her head and it was harder to catch them by the second. Everything was leaving until all that was left seemed to be that they just shared. The gentle slide of his knuckle on her cheek broke any semblance of sentence she had prepared. His eyes were not on her lips or her eyes, they seemed to scan her entire face, commit it to memory. “People I care about don’t stay alive for long.” “John-” “Are you sure?” It didn’t sound like a question, more like a warning. She let herself smile, wondering how much he had changed since she had come to Italy. She was a fighter, not a little frightened woman anymore. And he had lived in that world of his, hunted by every single assassin in the business. “You know me; I can’t afford to get out without saving someone else along the way.”   This time, he simply pulled her into his arms. Protective. Warm. He didn’t have to ask for her to answer it as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, standing on her tip toes. They let themselves enjoy the moment, strip back to their beginning as unplanned roommates in a messy apartment. When they never really touched each other yet kept themselves in one piece. “We’ll have to talk about that kiss someday, John.” She pointed out, glad of the cover her position gave her, hiding the red of her face from him. He simply hummed and she smiled.  Yes. This was enough after all. ~***~  As an apology and out of necessity, John helped her move and burry the corpses. Francesco came out with puffy red eyes to help the duo dig and to thank them for helping out. Again, he was simply unable to look at her in the eyes. It’s with a heavy heart that she finished filling the last of the hole. A glance toward the house proved her that her friend had watched her all the while when she saw him move away to join Gina at the dinner table. A sign escaped the doctor for the fifth time since they had started. “They will get over it.” She turned to John, a hint of anger in her eyes. “That’s rich of you to say.” Her eyes moved back to the cottage, yearning. “I enjoyed my time with them. They were nice to me, patient… I took care of them too in some way. It will hurt to leave.” “You want to stay.” A smile. “I can’t. I miss my house and New York and my friends and family. I miss people being rushed and taxis almost running me over when I cross the street. But I will miss the horse rides and the smile of the young girl at the market as well as them both, no matter how much they hate me.” “I don’t think they hate you.” “Come on. Trust is won by drops and lost by litres. They will not trust me again, at least not before I leave for New York.” He nodded this time, grabbing the tools to place them back by the shed. “You should go to sleep; we need to leave tomorrow.” “Will you stay?” “What?” “With me. Not in that terribly uncomfortable chair of course. The bed they landed me is not really a double, but you’d have space.” Realising how her proposition could be heard as, she started fidgeting. “We’d have enough space to not even touch each other! I’m not- Sleep! Sleeping as in sleep- Not- Oh my lord.” Her rambling made her unable to hear him as he got closer and she jumped when a hand fell on her shoulder. “It’s ok. I’ll be there.” Letting out a relieved sigh, she nodded. “Thanks.” “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”   When he turned his back and started walking away to the bag of guns they had looted from the goons, she wasn’t worried about him running away. He wouldn’t. Not this time. And if he did, she was willing to hunt him down as so many were already doing. “Amelie? Shit- Sorry I know that’s not really your name but-” She turned to face Francesco with a tired smile. “Hey. It’s ok, call me whatever you want.” “You’re leaving?” “Yeah, tomorrow. I did enough hurt here anyway.” He was looking at her a was she wasn’t completely comfortable with. “It could have been worse… All I see is that you lied about your name and shot a man to help us out. That man was worse.” His eyes hardened. “He wasn’t a doctor; you were burning with fever you could have died!” His outburst took her by surprise. “I am fine, the fever-” He stepped into her personal space to take her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. “You could have died! Dios Mio, Amelia! He could have murdered half a nation in cold blood I don’t think I would be as mad! Do you even know how you looked like? Half-dead on your bed? Calling out names no one knew and begging for forgiveness?” He kept going as she was about to answer. “And I don’t know who this Larry or Wagner are supposed to be, but I will kill them, for whatever they did that made you ask to-” His shoulders slumped and his hands felt as they were only staying on her shoulders with gravity. She raised a hand to place it on his cheek, raising his face toward her. “Fancesco… I don’t remember what I said, but they are gone now. I lived a lot I wish I hadn’t. I saw a lot I probably shouldn’t have… But I’m better now. I pulled trough. I’m stronger than I ever was and-” When his hands framed her face to make sure she would watch him, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. It almost hurt.  “I’m not whatever he is or whatever you are. I barely know how to shoot a can or disarm someone. But what I know I am not is someone that can watch the woman he loves suffering and begging for someone to end her life while someone claim to be a doctor to stay by her side.”  “Francesco I-” “I know I can’t offer much but-” “Francesco I can’t stay I-”  “For me! For Gina! For Luna or the rabbits or sheep I don’t care, just stay!” “I lied to you for months-” “I don’t care!”   Panic was slowly filling her. Not that he would ever raise his hand on her, but the situation was getting out of hand really fast. She might have known he was harboring feelings towards her, but never imagined them to be this strong. Especially after she had shown her true self. “Francesco.” She stated softly, holding his cheek again, this time more to make sure he wouldn’t try anything rash by holding him back. He looked like what she had felt only a few hours prior. When John was about to leave her again and asked her if she wanted him to. “Francesco, I consider you my friend. You helped me out, you cared, you still do and I can’t thank you enough, but I have to go home now. My family-” “We could visit them! You don’t have to go back there, you’re happy here!” “I’m lonely here, Fran-” “I’m here! You don’t need to be alone…” He was subtly pulling her closer but she stood her ground and pushed him back a bit, more out of pity than anger. “I’m here for you Amelie.” “You’re a friend, Franc. A very good friend, but I can’t leave my family alone, my friends alone. I’m a doctor and I want to go home.”   This time, he sighed. Her heartbeat quickened in fear when he moved closer, but relaxed as his lips touched her forehead. “You know I love you.” “You know I don’t love you that way.”  “Yes…”  “I’ll come visit.” “You better. Gina will kill me if she learns I scared you away for good.” “It takes a lot more to scare me.”  “I know.” “Also, Gina is way scarier than you.”   He chuckled, pulling her into a hug that she wholeheartedly answered in kind. It felt odd, this friendship. But no one could force romance, and being friends would be enough for him. “I’ll miss you Amelie.”  “I’ll miss you too, Fancesco.” In the back, leaning against the stabbles’ wall, John watched them both. There was no jealousy in his heart, she wasn’t the kind to give her feelings out easily. Their embrace just made him sad somehow. He could see how much both of them hurt in similar way. Leaving each other. He could relate. He just did not know the last meeting was a goodbye beforehand. ~***~ “John, I swear to all that is holy, if you even think about putting that blanket and pillow on the chair or the floor, I will kick your ass so hard you’ll arrive to New York early.” He wasn’t used to her holding her ground as she currently was. Hands on her hips in a too-big T-Shirt that barely covered her shorts – not that he would point it out – and her hair that had grown, tied in a messy bun for her nightly routine. She was fluming, and he knew that she wouldn’t bulge no matter what he would try. “I won’t ask again. Put back the pillow and blanket and get into the damn bed.” That had the merit of being clear.  With a sigh, he put the couch cushion back in his place and the still folded blanket on the armrest. Turning to her he wondered when. When had she made him go back to his unburdened self. The John that went out for groceries and liked to read books and sit on a couch to drink coffee before the day started. The question remained as he slipped under the covers, at the side closest to the door, careful to stay as close as he comfortably could from the edge. The mattress dipped and he heard her sigh contently. “Goodnight John.” After a small pause, he closed his eyes. He bid her goodnight the same as she did and fell into a restless sleep.   On her side, the doctor wasn’t sleeping, far from it. No matter what she tried, her closed eyelid apparently only had one movie in stock: Kiss land and what-the-heck-do-we-do-with-that-John. She became increasingly aware of his warmth that she could feel on her back. Of his smell that only contained a small lingering bit of his usual cologne. It was horribly distracting. While, a long time ago, she could move around a room without him even stopping snoring, she didn’t think getting out of that bed would go unnoticed. After her outburst, there was no way she would be allowed to sleep on the floor or the chair or even the uncomfortable half-a-place couch. She was stuck. It did not help that the last time they had been in that situation, she had awoken, drooling on his chest, holding to him like a koala. Or maybe that was just her imagination running it worse than it had been. She just didn’t think that after his kiss, they would react the same if they woke up over each other… Okay… Mostly her over him. Her feelings were not especially clear at the moment. She had barely gotten to know the man before Italy, and then hadn’t seen him in months while the entire world was trying to get his head. Then a small come and leave that did not really make her believe he cared much about her more than her passing being a hindrance, one less ally in an unforgiving situation. But now? He had asked her if she wanted to stay with him. He had kissed her and it had been desperate, true. And it was really messing her up.  She reached for the alarm clock and turned it to check the time. Eleven PM. Gosh she was old… Old and stuck since turning around in bed was not an option for someone in her situation. Great. Bloody great. Maybe if she only managed to change her mind. She ended up giving a disappointed sigh and turn around.   John’s reflex was all that stopped her from falling off the bed as she came nose-to-nose with the object of her thoughts. “You can’t sleep.” He pointed out as she tried to calm her breathing. “You kind of scared the shit out of me.” “Sorry.”  Gosh he looked good. “No need to be.” He nodded and closed his eyes. Now how the heck was she supposed to sleep since on of his arm was now swung over her waist, unmoved from his previous save. Slowly, she let herself remember her way here, to Rome, to the Continental, to Tina, to John. They would talk tomorrow. Now she needed sleep. She scooted closer to him to enjoy the safe feeling he always gave her and closed her eyes. “Goodnight John.” He answered in kind with a soft voice and she fell asleep with a smile on her lips.  ~***~ “Tell me again why we have to go to the village?” Asked Fancesco from his spot next to Gina on the back seat. “Don’t you two have to leave as fast as you can?” “I need to stop my memberships, Franc.” She answered, looking at the fields with nostalgia, trying to burn them into her memory. “I don’t plan on people coming to you two to ask why I didn’t pay the second payment or something.”  “But why is he here too? You said he might be searched for.” “John can take care of himself.”  This time, only a sigh answered her.  “Which one?” Asked John from behind the wheel, back into his farm-doctor ensemble with an added worn baseball cap and sunglasses. “Just leave me at the other corner, I know the way.” She was dropped by as asked and turned to the driver again, handing him a list and a card. “Here’s the groceries list, please to bring them both there and help them with the flour bag. I’ll join you there in an hour or less.” “You’re sure?” He simply asked, taking the items trough the window. “I’m a big girl, John. Anyway, I have high doubts about being hurt there. I have friends that I believe to be high-grade.”   On this, she turned around and started walking, hands in her pockets. The sound of the engine slowly moved away to mix with the others in the nearby street. Adjusting her bag, she started jogging. Better start her muscles before whatever Angelo would have prepared. “Hey, you, Bella!” Called a man sitting on his porch. “Why don’t you come give me a kiss?” She ignored the catcalling, keeping her steady rhythm.  “Bella, come on!” Added another one, younger. “You don’t have any headphones on, don’t try to make us believe you can’t hear us!” “Oh, no.” She finally answered without even slowing down or turning her head. “I though I was very clearly ignoring you. My bad.”  The following shocked silence was worth more money that she could make. The following footsteps were not as welcomed. A hand closed itself on her shoulder and she began. Groin, plexus, throat. Bent, Empty, Close. The old man fell on the sidewalk and she looked for the second opponent. Not one, they were three. Four if she counted the wheezing form at her feet. The street was too wide, too well-known for them. She ran. The small jog had done its job and the sprint wasn’t too damaging. She could see the cross of the church right beside Angelo’s place. She wouldn’t make it fast enough. Oh well-  John turned the corner on foot, almost making her stop in shock. But she knew that stance. She had seen Angelo do it. Grabbing his extended hand, she felt him twist on himself to improve her momentum. When the sole of her shoe connected with the closest man, his jaw cracked soundly. The high kick usually gave her trouble, especially to end up on her feet. John’s hand on her waist annulled the problem in its entirety. A punch on the second man’s ear brought her back to herself as she crouched down to sweep the last man’s feet, a smile making its way to her face as he fell on his back loudly. There was no doubt John could have done all of it without her, but him letting her fight by his side was a gift she hadn’t foreseen. She felt… Equal.  “You know Angelo.” He pointed out. “Yeah. I need to get to his place to say I’m leaving… He will be disappointed.” “Maybe.”   The duo went on their way, leaving the four bruised men on the ground, shocked, and very, very confused.   To be continued...

Derek looked over worriedly at the motionless teenager sitting next to him in the Camaro. Stiles was silent. Stiles was never silent. There should be arm flailing, and the rapid bounce of words hitting his eardrums with relentless energy. Now there was nothing. Zilch. Nada. Stiles was silent.  Derek cleared his throat uncomfortably.  Amber eyes locked onto his face. “Thank you Sourwolf” the whispered words were solemn and heartfelt “I don’t know what I would have done if they had taken me away from my Dad” the rest of the sentence was mostly muttered under his breath but Stiles had to know that he would be able to hear them. Before Derek could even respond, Stiles seemed to remember something, Derek could see the curiosity creeping into the kid’s eyes as Stiles turned his body to face him and he perked up a bit. “Did they have communication devices in their ears? What did you hear just before we left?” he asked his eyes gleaming. Derek actually smothered a grin “Some guy threatened them with the Hulk if they didn’t let you go” Stiles perked up even more “Seriously?” he gaped “Wow ultra-cool dude” “Stiles” Derek’s tone was familiar in its long suffering grumpiness “Don’t call me Dude”. Stiles actually laughed and Derek’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction behind his sunglasses. He could smell the stress, anxiety and adrenaline easing off in the kid. He might be following the Sheriff’s order to watch out for the boy but he had always liked the sarcastic little shit anyway. He was much more entertaining than Scott, who really should have been a Were Golden retriever not a wolf. Despite Scott’s so called morality and puppy dog eyes, Stiles was more loyal and utterly ruthless when it came right down to it. He would have made an excellent Beta. He would make an even better Alpha. Derek was angry, he was always angry but when the kid was still trying to deal with the fact that he had been kidnapped and beaten by that psychotic old bastard Gerard Argent and no one had come to save him especially not his damn best friend, he now had to deal with some fucking interfering secret agency and their not so fucking secret superheroes trying to take him away from his Dad. It made Derek really, really angry.  Derek knew the agony of losing family. Stiles had suffered through that once with his Mom, there was no way in hell Derek could sit back and watch Stiles lose his scary father. Anger boiled in his veins like lava. Those interfering assholes wouldn’t want to see him angry, there would be teeth and claws and throats being ripped out.  Derek pulled something out of his jacket pocket and threw it Stiles, “Ring your Dad and tell him we are on our way” he growled. Stiles gaped at him as he found his own phone back in his lap. Stiles gave a surprised chuckle “That Hawk guy didn’t even see you move Der Bear, you must have scared the crap out of him”, there was gleeful vengeful satisfaction in the kid’s tone and Derek hid another smile. He didn’t even cuff Stiles’ head for the stupid nickname. “Dad” John Stilinski closed his eyes with relief as he heard Stiles’ voice. He didn’t care that both Parish and the God of Thunder were sitting in his office with him whilst they waited for the rest of the SHIELD/Stark circus to arrive. “Stiles honey, are you ok? Are you with the Deputies that were despatched? Did anyone hurt you? What did Stark do to you?” The rapid fire questions were getting increasingly desperate yet didn’t allow Stiles a chance to answer. Thor watched with interest. Parish raised one eyebrow in surprise, the Sheriff was normally imperturbable even when Stiles had a mishap. His actions against the Argents were the result of a cool manipulative highly intelligent and ruthless strategist. The Sheriff’s reaction to Stiles call was so out of character that Parish knew there was something major behind it, and had he mentioned Stark as in Tony Stark? Another Avenger and the team mate of the Alien blonde bombshell who was sitting next to him enjoying some pop tarts.  What the hell was going on? Derek heard the Sheriff’s reaction and wondered if Stiles’s behaviour had finally rubbed off on the man. Derek had assumed that when he was tasked with looking out for Stiles it was protection against the supernatural. The Sheriff hadn’t told him anything about problems with the Avengers for god’s sake but when he was making his way through the cemetery to Mrs Stilinski grave after he had been notified by the Sheriff that Stiles was going there and he was to keep an eye on him, he had overheard Stark’s words and Stiles’ response. He had seen the same shade of eye colour in Stark and Stiles. He didn’t know what the actual story was, but it didn’t really matter. The Sheriff was Stiles’ father and the kid adored him. Shit Stiles had lied to the damn man for months about the chaotic and dangerous supernatural insanity in Beacon Hills just to keep him safe. Whatever Stark’s reasoning, and wasn’t the guy supposed to be some sort of genius, turning up with his pack of lycra clad assholes and allowing them to frighten the kid was a big mistake. One the Iron Man was going to live to regret if he wasn’t already, judging by the Sheriff’s tone of voice. The Sheriff was freaking dangerous and he didn’t need any gimmicks, superpowers or secret agencies. “Dad, let me get a word in” Stiles gave a weak laugh, appreciating the irony of what he had just said and he heard an answering snort of amusement from his Dad. “I’m with Derek, you know Derek Hale? He got me out of there” There was a pause then Stiles offered “Stark wasn’t alone, he had some of the Avengers with him and the Black Widow, she tried to make me go with them Dad, well they all did towards the end but Mrs Oakley was there and she and Derek stopped them” there was a sound suspiciously like a sob before Stiles carried on “Derek’s bringing me to you Dad, and they are following. What are we going to do?” The Sheriff listened to his son’s voice become more fearful as he relayed the events and his rage grew. “Stiles, you are safe with Derek. No one is going to take you away from me. You come straight here and we will deal with this kiddo” By the time Tony had parked his roadster in the Station parking lot, Jarvis had supplied full information on Mrs Eleanor Oakley retired teacher, widow and great grandmother extraordinaire, the disturbing story of Derek Hale’s life to date and Bruce Banner had interrupted their conversation and told him in no uncertain terms that he would be a complete moron if he allowed anyone to take Genim away from the Sheriff unless the kid was in imminent and present danger from the man. He glanced curiously at the madly abandoned white SUVs that he presumed had something to do with Coulson and his gang. He was incredibly pissed off at everyone right now, especially SHIELD, the vehicles that the rest of the team had used were all parked and they were waiting for him outside the entrance. That sweet ride the Camaro was empty, with no sign of its hot growly driver or his young passenger with the Stark DNA. Another presumption, but they could paint him yellow, give him dungarees and call him a freaking minion if the kid wasn’t already crying on the shoulder of his infamous assassin alternative father. Damage limitation time. Well he was good at that, he could have the board of Stark Industries bending over backwards to tie his shoelaces if he put his mind to it, but then again they loved the fact he made them money. He had to take the personal out of this. He had to find a way to get them both to be reasonable. Hmmm. Let’s see how that conversation was going to start. “Well Sheriff my team mates decided to kidnap the kid, frighten him half to death and then follow him to his father in the hopes of intimidating the man they believed had put the kid in danger because he was the infamous Scimitar. Oh Genim what’s that, you didn’t know that the man who brought you up saved your unborn life after being contracted to kill your Mom, one of many in a highly successful murderous career?” That was so going to go down well. Like a helicarrier with defunct engines. And Pepper thought the explosions in his lab were bad! He was so gonna need his suit for this conversation. But first, there was the little matter of his team mates. The three Sweethearts waiting for him outside the Sheriff’s station, one of whom was shuffling his feet and looking at him sheepishly. The faint flush of shame across Steve’s cheeks reduced Tony’s ire slightly as did the memory of his scolding at the hands of the indomitable Mrs Oakley but Romanov and Barton were well past due for a Stark diatribe. Natasha’s face was calm and expressionless, one eyebrow raised as Tony walked towards them. Barton still had a defiant little smirk on his face but his eyes were assessing. “What the hell did you trio of moron’s think you were doing? Did you deliberately set out to destroy any hope of a relationship with the kid?” Barton snorted and Tony turned to glare at him, “Christ Stark what relationship? You pissed the kid off royally asking him for a hug for his old man”   Before Tony could retaliate, and by god he really wished he had even just his gauntlets so he could blast the birdbrain when Steve interrupted. “It wasn’t like that Tony, it wasn’t planned, but did you see the way the boy’s body language reacted to the potential threat, there’s something wrong, you know there is. When Natasha called it, it seemed like a good idea to just get the boy out of the situation to allow us to assess the danger properly” Tony could hear how earnestly the man with a plan believed what he was saying but he was watching Romanov. Barton interjected suddenly “Tony, Scimitar is dangerous, don’t care how long he’s been inactive, the guy is dangerous. Your relationship with the boy, well I hope it works out but we can’t in good conscience leave your son with the guy” Barton’s sincerity was obvious but Tony hadn’t moved his eyes from the still silent redhead who hadn’t taken her attention off him. He liked Clint, he was entertaining and snarky, and kept most of his feelings to himself. Tony was sure that Clint was worried about his son in the clutches of Scimitar, there was obviously history there but right now, Tony was fixated on Natasha Romanov. Fucking spies and their fucking manipulations. Tony asked coldly “Tell me Clint did you agree this course of action with Red here, because Capsicle wasn’t aware of it was he until it happened” Clint’s eyes flickered to Natasha and then back to Tony. He didn’t say anything but his face tightened fractionally. Not that Clint would ever leave Natasha floating in the wind. Tony’s eyes were cold, and still glued to the Widow but he was aware that Steve had stiffened and was throwing an incredulous but increasingly angry glance at both Hawkeye and the Black Widow. Captain America drew himself up to his full height and coldly demanded “Did Fury put you up to this Agents?” Clint’s mouth dropped open as if he was going to say something then his eyes flickered to Natasha. “Fuck Nat” he muttered under his breath but he didn’t respond to the question. “Steve, I am going in there alone, I have bridges to build and a frightened teenager to apologise to, so you keep this pair here and find out what the fuck is going on.” He felt Steve’s hand clasp his shoulder as he walked past them towards the entrance. The murmured apology from the man was acknowledged with a slight nod. Tony stopped right next to the Widow without looking at her. “If Coulson has harmed my child or the Sheriff in any way including emotionally or you don’t tell the Captain here what your instructions were, I am calling in Bruce, and you can explain this all to the Other Guy. Then I am going after Fury”

He wakes up screaming. It was less than a year ago that he survived a beating that nearly killed him. His last few months in prison, freedom was so close. He was on high alert at all times, just wanting to make it out alive. He barely slept. Not that sleep had ever come easy locked up. They never turn off the lights there, people yell all night long. But he held it together, he kept it together, and he got out. And last night, well in this moment, his brain isn’t letting him remember last night. His brain is punishing him for relaxing. For letting his guard down. His brain can’t keep up, isn’t explaining to him where he is. All he feels is the adrenaline boiling in his veins. His flight or fight response has been activated and it’s all fight. Hands are touching him. To restrain him. To stab him. To assault him. Fight Fight Fight. He snaps and grabs his assailant by the throat. But his vision clears and reality crashes into him. He is in Betty’s room. He has her shoved against her headboard with his hands around her neck. He lets go and scrambles away from her out of the bed to the other side of the room. She looks absolutely terrified. Of him. Fires inside him rage. The fighting for his life response is replaced by ugly self loathing, blistering anger at himself. He needs somewhere for the fire to go. He punches her wall until the drywall cracks and his knuckles bleed. “Jughead, STOP,” he hears her hoarsely call out. He stops but doesn’t turn around to face her. “I’m sorry, Jesus. Betty, I’m so sorry.” He leans his forehead to the wall and tries to control his breathing. But memories from last night crush him. Betty’s flushed face, touching her again, her touching him. The tenderness. The heart splitting tenderness she showed him, and she allowed him to show her. Yesterday was the most beautiful dream. And even though he had actively tried to fight against it, he couldn’t help it, hope had snaked its way into his head and heart. Nothing concrete, he didn’t allow himself to fantasize about anything tangible. But he went to bed last night with the hope that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be the last time he fell asleep with the love of his life. He hears her get out of bed and walk toward him. Before she can get too close he turns to face her and puts his hands up. “Don’t come any closer,” he warns her. She stops and looks scared but determined. More memories from yesterday slam into him and he can hardly bare it. She’s standing in front of him in her tiny sleep clothes, her cheeks pink, her hair slightly tousled. She’s a goddamn Angel and he’s a monster. “This,” he hisses, “is why I didn’t want you near me ever again. I am fucking ruined.” “No.” Betty is shaking her head, “No, this isn’t you. I know you’ve been through unimaginable trauma,” she stutters but Jughead cuts her off. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.” Watching his back all the time, from a Ghoulie, or a guard, or a traitorous Serpent. Walking around knowing any second someone could jump him. Stab him. Kill him. He knows these feelings and this anxiety will never leave him. “I will never get over it. This is who prison made me. This is who I am now. I don’t want you anywhere near me.” He pulls on his jeans and makes to leave. “Don’t you dare leave me again.” He can hear the rage building in her voice. “You’re going to quit without even trying? Without even trying to get better for me?” “I just fucking strangled you!” he explodes. “If anybody else put hands on you like that, I’d kill them and happily go back to prison for the rest of my life. Do I need to say it again? Prison fucking ruined me. What, you think I need some therapy? All this shit inside me, it makes me dangerous, and volatile. And I think you were on a pretty good fucking path before I showed up again. I bet before I got out no one was putting hands on you first thing in the morning.” “Why is it so easy for you to walk away from me?” she asks delicately, with shame and disappointment in her tone. And it cuts through him, because doesn’t she know? Nothing has ever been harder, but he also has never loved anything more. He almost falters when he looks into her eyes. There are still traces of fear, but what he mostly sees is sorrow. But then he sees the red marks on her neck, the marks from him. “I’d rather never see you again than have anything close to what just happened ever be repeated.” Betty steps closer to him. He tries to keep her at bay with a warning look. But since when did he ever have any control over Betty Cooper? She brings her hands up to hold his face and he wants to jerk away from her, but she’s always been able to disarm him. “You need help,” she says, but not accusatorially. “I know that. I understand that. Today, I’m going back to Brooklyn. I’m going to work my job. I’m going see my friends. I am not going to get back together with the boyfriend I broke up with the second I found out you were getting released.” That statement makes him want to look away, but she holds him firm in her hands. “And you are going to go to F.P.’s. You’re going to let him help you. You’re going to see a therapist. You are going to start a life with the money from the book advance. You are going to work on yourself. Hell, maybe even try dating. And someday, maybe soon, maybe not so soon, you’re going to come find me. And I’m going to be waiting for you.” Her gaze seers into his. “I don’t want you to wait for me,” he challenges. Betty doesn’t deserve this. Just like she doesn’t deserve a serial killer dad and a control freak mom. She doesn’t deserve waiting around for her excon boyfriend to get enough therapy so his PTDS doesn’t make him attack her. It makes him sick. He watches her jaw set in defiance and he knows she’s going to fight him. He doesn’t want her to wait around, but it’s something else too. And he owes her the truth. “And what if - what if I never get better?” he whispers. Her features stay strong as her eyes search his face, she’s still cupping his cheeks. “Yesterday, when I picked you up, I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know what I wanted. It was an out of body experience. I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to. But I know now, just like I knew when you told me not to wait for you six years ago. I can’t, Jughead. Maybe when you’re out there getting better you’ll meet someone. You can try to date. You can see what it’s like trying to be with someone who’s not your soulmate.” She takes a breath and steps closer to him. “When you were in prison, I tried. I lived like you were died. Like there was no chance we would ever see each other again. I dated, I had a boyfriend, and Jug, I tried with him. I really tried. But there was always this little piece of me that wasn’t in it. I decided the piece must have died with you. But now you’re here, and I’m alive again.” Her eyes shine as she speaks. “Betty, I’m not the person who left you. I’m so much worse.” He feels defeated. “Jughead, do you still love me?” she asks in a hushed tone. His throat closes up because how can she even ask him that? He wants to tell her she's everything, but he fleetingly thinks she’ll probably read his book soon enough. Instead of confessing out loud, he simply nods. “Why don’t you understand? I love you as much as you love me.” His heart flutters and his hands shake and he can’t stop himself from placing them on her hips and rubbing his thumbs against the bare skin of her waist. With his touch her whole body releases tension and he can’t believe she’s finding comfort in him after what just happened. “I’m going back to New York,” she states again. “I am going to live my life, but part of me, a big part of me, will always know you’re out there. And even if I try my best I know I will always be waiting for you. So, please,” she pleads, tears are rolling down her cheeks now. “Please, come find me.” He can’t speak. His hands move from her waist to her back as he pulls her to him. They hug and feel each other's heart beats rattle their bodies. He wishes he could promise her a future. He wants to give her anything and everything, but he’s so, so scared. He’s scared he’ll become a statistic and end up in prison again. Scared he’ll turn to alcohol like his father did so many times in the past. Scared this violence inside him will never leave and he’ll always be a powder keg waiting to go off. He’s scared this is the last time he’ll ever hold Betty Cooper. He never wants to let her go. But, eventually, he’s the one that untangles them. If he stays one second longer, he may never leave her, and they are both not ready for that. As he goes to leave, he hears her strangled voice. “Jughead, if you really still do, could you - could you say it out loud?” She’s blinking back tears again. “I just haven’t heard it in so long.” He’s suffocating for a moment, there is no air in his lungs to get the words out. Because all this terrifies him. These feelings and these words, they keep him tied to her when he knows he should leave her. But they hum through him, the words that were his mantra in prison. His heart is in his throat and he can’t deny her. He looks into her eyes. “I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.” She inhales lips parted. He opens the door and leaves.

Tony was not sure how long he remained there on his knees - long enough for the tick on his back to act up and his legs to cramp up in protest. He also wasn’t one hundred percent sure as to how he had managed to get himself to the kitchen, but there he was, with a drink in hand next to the kitchen sink.  Tony sighed, leaning his elbows on the table as he dropped his head with a defeated groan. He could not believe what a mess he had made of things. And, the worst part, he had no real idea how to fix this. Would Stephen be amenable to pretend nothing had happened tonight? Could they go back to being - probably somewhat strained - friends again? He could probably come up with some halfway decent excuse that they could use to justify tony’s reproachable behavior, but Tony was not optimistic enough to assume their relationship would be the same as before.  And, truly, that’s what hurt him the most. In but a second he had managed to destroy one of the most precious relationships he had with one of the few people that had befriended Tony not only because of what he could do for the Doctor but rather because he simply enjoyed spending time with him. It was one of the few healthy relationships he had left, and he could not bear the thought that he had ruined it for good.  “Tony?” Asked Carol as she quietly walked into the kitchen, a worried frown on her face.  Tony jumped a mile high, having assumed he was alone in the compound. “Jesus, Carol, warn a guy next time.” He said as he clutched at his chest, thankful that he hadn’t been holding his drink for he was sure it would be shattered on the floor otherwise.  “Sorry,” She said with a sheepish smile. “I didn’t know you were in the compound - thought it was just me tonight.”  Tony tensed slightly. “Yeah, I… just got here a minute ago,” Tony said without looking at his friend. “I didn’t realize you were coming back tonight.”  “I wasn’t supposed to come back for another week, but I finished my mission early, so I figured I’d give myself a treat and come home early. Is it alright that I decided to crash here? I… well I got to New York and I realized I didn’t really have anywhere else to go, but I should have-” Tony stopped her nervous rambling by placing a warm hand on her shoulder. He looked at her, feeling truly touched by her genuine concern of having overstepped a boundary. “This is your home too - for as long as you want or need it.”  She gave him a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Tony. I really appreciate that.” She stepped closer then to envelop the man in a hug. “Now, you wanna tell me what’s up? You’re not looking real swell tonight.”  Tony could not help but tense in her arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  She snorted. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said as she leaned her chin against his shoulder. “But don’t pretend you’re okay. I know you, Tony - and I know I haven’t known you for long, but I know you, so… if you wanna talk, I’m here.”  “Am I breaking up a moment, because if so, I am so sorry,” Hope said from the kitchen door, looking slightly nervous to be standing there. Tony and Carol whirled around, both clearly surprised. Tony looked up at Friday “You know a little warning every time someone is about to scare the shit out of me by stealthily walking into the room would be nice, baby girl.”  “Sorry, boss. I saw no risk of threat,” Friday said with a hint of humor in her voice; never let it be said that his children did not have the power to find pockets of space where it was safe to tease him.  Tony shook his head but smiled at his newly arrived guest nonetheless. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, Ms. Van Dyne” “Hope,” she corrected softly with a small smile - a small reminder of their last conversation. “I… um, well I was hoping to speak to you actually. I had so many things in my mind I forgot to call. Sorry about that,” she said with a small grimace.  Tony softly moved away from Carol’s embrace in order to approach Hope, offering her his hand. “It’s alright, no harm done. How can I help you?”  “Um, I am not sure actually,” she said, her voice sounding watery as she slowly approached the kitchen. “God, it’s silly, I shouldn’t have come.”  Carol placed her hand atop the other woman’s offering her a small smile. “Listen, I don’t know you very well-” that was an understatement, she had only seen the woman twice and had filled in the gaps with the profile sheets Tony had provided “- but I think I can speak for Tony and I when I say it’s okay; we are a team now. That means we’re there for each other, no matter how small or silly your issue may seem to you.”  Tony swallowed hard, feeling Carol’s comment strike him to the bone. It had never been like that with the old team; the most he had been able to hope for was not to be too terribly judged if he ever dared have an issue.  He shook the pain off, plastering a smile on his face as he nodded in agreement. “C’mon, I’ll make you ladies some tea if you want? Or something stronger?”  “I will have some of what you’re having,” Carol pointed to Tony’s scotch glass and the man nodded.  “Make that three,” Hope said with a sigh as she heaved herself into a seat on the kitchen Island.  “So, I take it we’ve all had shit nights then?” Tony asked as he poured two drinks and slid them towards each woman.  “I spoke with Scott today,” Hope explained taking  a gulp of her drink. “Thank you, by the way, for convincing them to let me do that.”  Tony nodded. “How did it go?”  “He doesn’t remember anything - well anything other than what we already knew-” she said as she took another big gulp before covering her eyes with her free hand. “I just… it’s very frustrating. I know she’s trapped in there - I know it - but there’s no leads and Scott just… I know it’s not his fault. He genuinely tried to help me today,” she said, mostly reminding herself of that fact.  Tony sighed and walked around the table to sling his arm around her shoulders to bring her closer. “I am sorry, Hope,” he said honestly. “Would you like me to look at the math for the tunnel? Maybe I can help somehow there.”  She gave him a watery smile. “My father will never agree to that, but I’ll try to bring some of our research here next time I come so we can look at it together.”  Tony nodded, rubbing her arm comfortingly. “Don’t lose hope yet,” he teased, feeling a spark of warmth fill him as she chuckled, looking a bit more relaxed.  “Alright, enough about me, why are you two having bad nights?” She asked, taking a second to look at them both.  “Ladies first,” Tony said as he turned to look at Carol, who chuckled.  “I had to deal with a Kree emissary on my last mission,” she revealed, leaning on her elbows as she stared at her drink. “It was… I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I lived with them for six years where I had no idea who I had been before. I was just Vers. I trained with them, I laughed with them, I went to battle with them - I was one of them - and I know I was never really a part of them, but…” she swallowed hard, shaking her head. “A part of me will always hate them, but there’s also a part of me that was… is… one of them. And I don’t know if that makes me just as much of a monster.”  “You’re not a monster,” Tony defended immediately, reaching over to tilt her chin up so she would look at him in the eye. “You are Carol Danvers , a former member of the US Airforce that was captured and used in a heinous way for six years. Whatever crimes you committed while under their influence were not done by choice and yes, you may have Kree blood running through your veins now, but that doesn’t have to define who you are.” Tony moved his hand up to her cheek to wipe a tear away.  Carol choked back a sob and leaned into the touch, holding Tony’s hand there with her warm hand.  Hope, for her part, also reached out, and squeezed Carol’s free hand, giving her a reassuring smile as she said “haven’t you been kicking ass around the universe saving everyone and anyone for the past twenty years? If anything, you’re a hero.”  Carol snorted, chuckling despite herself. “Sorry, I am not usually this… “ she shook her head.  “We’re here for each other right? You said it not even ten minutes ago,” Hope reminded her.  Carol nodded, smiling softly before turning her gaze to Tony. “Right, so now that we’ve spilled our guts it’s your turn mister. What happened tonight?”  Tony groaned, burying his face in his hands as he walked away from hope to stand at the head of the Island, not quite looking at either woman. “I… fucked up.”  “That’s not much of an answer,” Hope said dryly as she picked up her drink. “What happened, Tony?”  “I kissed Stephen,” Tony half whispered, sounding strangled. “And I am pretty sure that, with that, I managed to ruin one of the few good friendships I have made in my life.”  Carol half gaped at him. “Wait, did he… what did he say?”  “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t… well he did absolutely nothing, really. He just stood there, frozen, looking like an old computer with a virus,” Tony said as he picked up his drink and knocked it back. “God I’m such an idiot.”  Hope grimaced. “Maybe he was just surprised?”  Tony snorted “please don’t try to make me feel better about the fact that I forced a kiss on my co-worker .” Tony groaned again. “God, what is wrong with me? I mean, for fuck’s sake, we’re supposed to work together for the Avengers and I went ahead and just-”  “Okay, no, stop, don’t do that to yourself,” Carol said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “You are making this bigger than it has to be. What did you do exactly? Did you step away as soon as you realized he wasn’t reciprocating?”  “Yes, of course, but-”  “Then you took the cue and didn’t pressure him. I mean, yeah, it may get a bit awkward but to be fair, when I first saw you two together, I thought you were a couple. So it’s not like you kissing him is a crazy out of left field idea, Tony. Just… apologize next time you see him, and I can help you by always being in the room when he’s there to make it less awkward if you want.”  Tony couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “A time machine would be great right about now,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Anyway, I am gonna give him some space and apologize next time I see him.”  “And, I know this is not exactly helpful, but you have us now too, so it’s not like all your friends are gone,” hope teased. “Also, you have that Colonel of yours who keeps making heart eyes at Carol.”  Tony guffawed as a blush crept up Carol’s neck. “Oh, come on, you didn’t think no one would notice,” Tony said with a smile, sending Hope a thankful look for her prompt change in topic.  “Okay, listen, we’ve only gone on one date so neither of you can breathe a word about this to anyone.”  “Have you kissed yet?” Tony asked, as bluntly as ever, his eyes shining with childish excitement.  Carol couldn’t have blushed harder if she tried. “Oh god, I can’t talk about that with you. You’re his best friend!”  “So? He knows in explicit detail all the dark and kinky shit I got up to when I was younger. Why can’t I know about his new - and most precious - paramour?”  Carol couldn’t help but snort, smacking him softly on the arm. “You’re awful.”  “Did you get to second base? Did he even try to get to second base or was he a prude and kissed you chastely goodnight?”  Carol covered her ears. “I am not listening anymore.”  Tony suddenly straightened, his eyes turning neon blue. “We have an intruder,” Tony said as he moved away from the table, his suit quickly forming around him.  Neither woman questioned him, both getting up immediately to follow behind him, Carol’s hands glowing brightly as she summoned energy from within her. Tony flew quickly through the compound, reaching the main entertainment room in record time. He had felt the disturbance before Friday had had a chance to warn him thanks to his new connection to the network, but it was no less worrying to know someone had managed to get that far into the compound undetected.  He brought his hands up as soon as he was close enough to devise a feminine shape in the shadows. Whoever it was, she didn’t look to be armed, but Tony had learned long ago that that meant little. With a mere thought, the lights flickered on, shining a bright light on a short, lithe woman with lovely, brown, wavy hair. Tony frowned, sure that he had seen her soft features before.   Suddenly, it hit him.  “Laura Barton?”  The woman turned at the sound of her name, grimacing softly. “Bishop,” she said almost too quietly for Tony to hear. He was sure he would not have heard her without his new enhanced body.  “I looked for you,” Tony said, tilting his head as he let the suit retract back into his skin, though he was sure his eyes were still glowing bright neon blue. “You disappeared almost as fast as Rogers and co. did. I thought you were with them.”  She shook her head. “I haven’t seen Clint since he left to help his precious Captain America,” she hissed out, her jaw clenching involuntarily. “I knew trouble would come if we stayed, so I took the kids and went into hiding.”  Tony frowned. “How did you even know where to hide? You deleted all your tracks. You disappeared from every database.”  She smiled, looking a little proud despite herself. “I know you met me as Clint’s wife, but I had a life before him you know? I was Laura Kate Bishop once, before I became Laura Barton.”  Tony stepped slightly closer, curious now. “And who is Laura Kate Bishop?”  “She used to be SHIELD’s top agent before she retired. She is also the only agent at SHIELD that could ever best the Black Widow at hand to hand combat,” she said, her eyes gaining a faraway look that made Tony’s heart ache. “I admit, I am a bit rusty now.”  “I must admit, if you’re not here because Clint sent you, then I am at a loss as to why you decided to come out of hiding to break into the compound,” Tony said slowly, not willing to drop his defenses.  She grimaced. “Sorry about the break-in,” she said immediately. “I didn’t want… anyone to see me aside from you, not yet.” She sighed. “And you’re right, I am not here because of Clint, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk about him right now.”  Tony nodded. “Why did you come out of hiding Laura?”  She bit her lip, and began pacing slowly. “When Natasha released SHIELD’s information, a lot of people I knew got hurt. My information was leaked too, but I had Clint so we tried to rationalize it, and ignore the fact that someone out there could get their hands on my info and eventually find out my connection to him. So, when Clint left, I ran. I wasn’t stupid though, I kept tabs on what was happening. I got myself a copy of the accords to know why exactly everything had gone to shit.” Tony didn’t say anything, knowing the woman needed to get this out of her chest or she would implode with the rage and hurt so clearly visible on her face.  “I’ve been tracking your movements since the scuffle with the rogue Avengers, because I wanted to know… I needed to know if I could trust you,” she said quietly, looking at Tony with sad eyes. “My… Clint was wrong to join Steve Rogers, and I told him not to go but he wouldn’t listen. And because of that, now my family has been dragged into this mess. And I don’t want them to grow up in hiding, feeling ashamed of who they are, not knowing who to trust.”  Tony nodded, but sighed. “If you’re here to ask me to get him a pardon, you should know that I-” “I told you already, I am not here because of Clint. He made his choice, and he should pay for it,” she corrected, her eyes burning with anger. “I am here to help you,” she explained, turning slightly to open her bag to pull out the Accords. “Like I said, my family’s already been dragged into this, but if we have to stay in this mess, then I am going to do it on my terms. I know something is coming - I can see it from the way you are frantically rebuilding the earth’s defenses. And I want to help you protect the earth.”  Tony gaped at her, finally noticing she was holding the accords alongside a pen. “But… what about your children?”  She smiled sadly. “After a lot of video surveillance and character analysis, I realized there was no safer place for them than with you - that is here, at the compound. With your help, I can keep them safe and let them have as normal a life as possible.”  Tony couldn’t help but feel touched at the trust she was placing in him. She had not allowed herself to be swayed by Rogers or even her husband. She hadn’t blamed Tony for that altercation from the get go; rather, she had gone digging, trying to find the objective truth in order to make her decision. And she had chosen to leave behind all that she knew and found comfort in to rely on Tony.  “I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep your children safe,” Tony vowed quietly but honestly. “You can all stay at the compound, and, if you truly want to join the Avengers, then I will have my lawyers come over later this week so we can tailor a contract for you to sign, okay?”  She nodded, giving him a weak smile before tentatively stepping closer. Tony noticed the hesitance, but he also noticed the warmth in her eyes and he knew exactly what she was silently asking for. He didn’t have to think twice; he closed the distance between them and enveloped her in a comforting hug similar to the one she had given them once upon a time in her farm when she had seen him looking broken and bruised.  “I am so sorry you and the children were dragged into all of this,” Tony whispered into her hair. She did not answer, simply wrapped her arms tighter around him and allowed herself to weep.  Stephen’s brain went back online much after Tony had already left, running away via the portal Stephen himself had made him. He looked towards the now empty space, grimacing as he berated himself for taking so long to react.  But it wasn’t exactly his fault, not really. The kiss had really come out of left field for him. Yes, he and Tony flirted a lot, and yes he was half in love with the man, but Tony flirted with everyone , so that wasn’t much of an indicator. More importantly, as much as he loved the man, Stephen had never allowed himself to consider the possibility of reciprocation or the possibility of a relationship.  He had buried any and all feelings deeply inside of him and had locked that door with thrown away the key because this was worse than a bad idea; this could break them.  Neither he nor Tony had a very good track record when it came to relationships but, most importantly, their jobs added a dimension most relationships would never have to deal with. Stephen was the sorcerer supreme, he could not afford to be bogged down by… well by love. He had to be above the rest, putting the safety of the world above all else. He had to be willing to sacrifice anything and everything if it meant keeping the earth - and the stone - safe. And how was he supposed to do that if he was in love?  They would both be less effective if they allowed themselves to be bogged down by love.  Not only that, but they also had the team to consider. Tony was effectively leading the new Avengers, and Stephen was meant to be aiding him in that task, but a relationship between the two could damage the team interactions if things went south.  There were so many reasons to say no to a relationship between them - so many logical reasons that dictated they stay away from one another - and yet Tony had kissed him. Tony had thrown caution to the wind and he had taken a shot - and Stephen wanted more.  God, how he wanted. He wanted to press the man close and never let go. He wanted to protect him, to love him, to consume him and damn the consequences.  Stephen groaned and shook his head, slowly making his way to the training grounds. He couldn’t make a decision when his emotions were so unfocused and raw. What he needed was a clear mind and some distance from the situation; only then could he make the right choice, both for himself and for Tony. 

H.Jisung | X516.06.13 | It was beginning to get more and more difficult to stay awake. It seemed as though when one was awake, the rest were sleeping. It was a never ending fatigue that always lingered in every aspect. Physical. Mental. Emotional. What made it worse was that as much as Jisung wanted to speak with Felix, his mind was plagued by what Greed was taunting him with, driving his energies elsewhere.  He knew what Greed wanted in the end and Jisung wanted to keep Felix as far away from it as possible. Felix wasn't the type to be treated like a doll. He wasn't the type who could be controlled like that. It would break him.  It would be everything Jisung didn't want for the one he loved.    ° ° ° ° ° ° ° L.Felix | X516.06.13 | With the snap of the Sin's fingers, all the clothes Greed bought was neatly put in Felix's closet. The quick clean up kind of impressed the boy.  "Are you sure you don't need help dressing your wound?" Greed asked.  Felix nodded, wanting some space now. "I've got it. Thanks though...for today."  Greed grinned. "Anytime. Have a good night, Lixie." The older left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him which allowed the blonde to relax. He was happy to be alone. To be able to think for a second.  Greed seemed like he was sort of fooled, but maybe I should try someone else? Things might go quicker?  ... So Jisung made a deal with the Sin because he didn't want to lose me? They all did?  What were they promised though? Because I doubt they would've agreed to some sort of possession. "I didn't think you'd ever be back." Lust said, entering the bedroom without knocking.  Felix closed his eyes a laid back on his bed.  So much for being alone.  "To be honest, I didn't either." Felix replied, flinching when cold fingers lightly touched the cut on his side.  "He showed you?" Lust asked curiously, Felix avoiding eye contact as he nodded.  Something felt different...off about the Sin. While Lust was always a little coy, there was an unusual air about him now. A bit of pride or smugness as if he knew something Felix didn't. As if he held all the power here but was playing innocent.  "He did." Felix replied, wondering if this might be his chance to get some real answers before the Strawberry Moon. "Then I guess he really thinks he stands a chance." Lust mumbled with a slight smile. "I told him he was up on my list for who I might pick." Felix admitted. "But if I'm being honest, I think you're higher."  Lust grinned, amused. "Flattery won't get you very far with me, Felix. I know what you're trying to do, but I'm not like my brothers. If you want answers, you'll have to...how shall I put it..."play nice"."  Felix stiffened a little, wondering if Lust was mocking what Chan had told him or if it was just a coincidence? "I have my times of patience, but I'm starting to lose it with you." Lust continued to say, moving closer to the blonde on the bed. "I'll give you the answers you want, but you'll have to indulge me first. I've tried being nice, but I'm getting a little bored." Lust moved quickly, trapping Felix on the bed before he could run away. Jeongin's body was a lot stronger than when they first met back in college, and Lust's powers only seemed to multiply that strength.  Maybe this wasn't the best option? It doesn't seem like he'll let me go though.  "Don't be scared. I won't hurt you." Lust cooed, Felix slightly meeting the other's gaze.  Were his irises always a dark pink?  "I just wanna have a bit of fun." The other purred, making the other shiver as his breath tickled his ear. The younger's hands began to roam under Felix's shirt, his skin heating up with every touch or glide of his fingers. It sucked the warmth from his body, his skin aching for warmth that the other seemed to possess.  Meeting the other's gaze more directly, Felix let himself get lost in the way the pink irises almost pulsed a lighter pastel in tune with his heart beat.  So pretty... "Hmm...don't get too spaced out on me." Lust tutted with a chuckle as he moved Felix's hand away from cupping the Sin's face. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable in a different space? Or perhaps with someone else?" Felix didn't have time to really think, his mind too focused on the warmth the other was providing his cold body, his eyes closing. Jeongin's touch had never felt so...addictive before.  "F-Felix?" Opening his eyes, the blonde felt a little giddy seeing the once pink irises were now their familiar dark brown.  "Innie?" Felix breathed out, letting out a low groan when the younger's hand slipped under the waistband of his pants. "H–Help me. It...it's so cold..."  The younger looked distressed for some reason, Felix unable to wrap his mind around why that could possibly be.  Doesn't he want this too?  Doesn't he love me? "I-I'm sorry. I can't control..." Jeongin's voice strained as if struggling to hold something back. "I'm so sorry." Felix let out a moan as the younger's hand palmed at his growing erection, the older practically melting at the touch.  Reaching up, Felix let his fingers tangle in the other's hair.  So soft... Pulling the other down, Felix connected their lips, a shiver running down his spine as he desperately chased the warmth from the other's lips. Jeongin's lips seemed hesitant to move at first, Felix doing all the work for a while until the younger seemed to have a wave of confidence to take the lead.  Letting the other's tongue slip past his lips, Felix allowed the other to explore his mouth, a moan escaping him as he felt the other gently squeeze his hard member.  "Felix..." The younger breathed out, pulling away far enough so that Felix couldn't reach his lips. "Look at me...please." His tone was gentle, Felix obeying in hopes the younger would continue on. "Do you really want this?"  Felix nodded quickly, his eyes traveling elsewhere.  Strong fingers gripped under the older's chin, turning his attention back to Jeongin. "Look at me, Felix, please...Do you want me to continue?"    ° ° ° ° ° ° ° Y.Jeongin | X516.06.13 | It was nice to be back in his own body, but he wished it was by his own free will. He was still a puppet for the Sin to use...to manipulate. He wasn't really in control, he was just the face of all that was happening to his precious friend.  Felix was out of his own headspace, his whines and moans doing nothing to help Jeongin's sanity. This was something he'd dreamed about before, just not like this. The only thing that made him feel less guilty was trying to get some sort of consent from the older, even though it didn't really matter. Lust was going to make him keep going regardless and Felix was already under his spell.  Holding the other close, Jeongin tried not to think too deeply about what was happening. He hated how good it felt being inside Felix. How it felt as though the older was made for him.  Jeongin wanted to hate the way Felix was grinding his hips down in the younger's lap, but it was impossible. Felix was a sin of his own kind and Jeongin was falling deeper and deeper into the temptation.  "Need more..." Felix breathed out, frustration in his tone. "Please Jeonginnie...want you..." Raising himself up and letting himself fall back down on Jeongin's cock, Felix let out a frustrated whine. It was obvious the older wanted Jeongin to move, but the younger was still hesitant.  "What are you waiting for?" Lust asked, his voice taunting the younger. "Aren't you gonna give him what he wants?" You did this to him.  "I only heightened what was already there." Lust chuckled. "You might want to start moving before he moves on to someone else. Something tells me he's getting rather...impatient." A particular move by the other had Jeongin letting out a surprised moan, Felix's walls clenching around him in a tempting way.  Felix looked utterly blissed out and needy, a light sheen of sweat glowing against his skin as he continued to roll his hips down. "You've wanted this for so long." Lust continued to taunt. "I'm feeling rather kind right now so don't let this opportunity go to waste." I don't want to hurt him. "You're only hurting him the more you sit there like a statue." Lust argued, Jeongin hating the way Felix looked so desperate for the younger to thrust into him.  Curling his lips in, Jeongin gave an experimental thrust up, a satisfied moan leaving Felix's lips. Moving his hips in a slow, hesitant pace, Jeongin listened to the older's moans. It filled him with a little more confidence that the older wasn't in pain, but a guilt still lingered in the back of his mind.  Was he taking advantage of the older? Would Felix hate him after he snapped out of it?  "Mmm...feels good." Felix moaned, his lips capturing Jeongin's in a desperate kiss.  Speeding up his thrusts, Felix's moans became louder and higher pitched, music to Jeongin's ears.  I shouldn't be enjoying this.  This is wrong.  This isn't how it was supposed to be. Feeling his hips growing sore from their current position Jeongin laid them back down, Felix wrapping his legs around Jeongin's torso as the younger continued to thrust into him in a rhythmic way.  Felix felt so good around him...looked so beautiful under him. He looked so helpless, so meek as his hands grabbed at the younger's biceps.  Changing the angle of his thrusts, Felix let out a moan that was much different than the others, Jeongin stopping his movements. The higher pitched sound was much more raw than the others and seemed to be punched out of him, the older even seemed surprised. A smirk tugged at Jeongin's lips, feeling a bit happy to have found the younger's sweet spot. Ramming his hips forward in a quick motion, Felix let out another pleased noise, Jeongin now focused on hitting that spot.  The sweet sounds coming from Felix were neverending as Jeongin felt himself drawing closer to his release, his thrusts becoming more erratic and rough. He was still feeling guilty, but the pleasure was becoming more and more addicting. He wished this wasn't the way things were, but spending this moment with Felix was everything the younger wanted.  He wanted Felix to be his. He wanted to shower the other with care and praise. He wanted to be by Felix's side for the rest of their lives. He wanted to protect and love the older as much as he could.  Feeling a tightness in his stomach, Jeongin gave one final thrust, filling the younger with his cum while Felix spilled over his stomach.  Collapsing on top of the older, Jeongin muttered out apologies like a matra.  He couldn't believe he did that. He couldn't believe he didn't regret it much either.  Looking up at Felix, Jeongin found the other had his eyes closed, asleep already.  Unable to help himself, Jeongin leaned up, letting his lips press against Felix's forehead.  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."     1.) Purple Hyacinth 2.) Blue Violet

“I promise that I’ll take really good care of Pess,” Trucy solemnly told him. “I’m sure you will,” Miles agreed. “How many cups of kibble at breakfast?” “We’ve already been over this,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “You shouldn’t have brought it up,” Phoenix stage-whispered to his daughter. They were waiting just outside of customs at the airport. The traffic wasn’t bad that evening, especially when compared to the sights he had encountered in the past. Kay and Franziska were to the side, sipping overpriced coffee and giving them time to say their goodbyes. The reign of terror during their extended visit was finally coming to a close. Now they could conspire about the ideal colour for the wainscotting in their home, rather than his. “How many?” “Two and a half unless she had a treat the night before,” the girl recited. Miles had designed a helpful guide for Trucy, so that she would have no trouble being a good dog owner in his absence. It helped quell his fears as well. He knew Trucy was responsible when put to the test, but Pess could be a handful if she wanted to. Miles wasn’t sure how Pess would take separation for almost a week. They hadn’t gone long times without seeing each other before. He might be left sleeping on the couch for a while when he got back. Keeping her happy while he was gone would mitigate whatever damages she wrought.    “What is the ideal length of walk?” “Add a minute for every extra biscuit I give.” “I know for a fact you don’t follow either of those things,” Phoenix interjected. “Just the other day you gave her your leftover peanut butter toast and then had a nap on the couch!” Impossible! How had Phoenix noticed when he was very subtle about handing it to Pess under the table? “Nevertheless,” Miles began, folding his arms “We can have Pess call you every day if that will make you stop worrying,” he teased. He scowled, and looked away from the Wright’s sappy, grinning faces. “That isn’t… necessary.” “Aw, Sweaty-” “Don’t you mean Sweetie?” “Nah,” Phoenix squinted at his list. “There aren’t two Es there. And you did begin to sweat when I pointed out that your dog is absolutely spoiled.” “Ngh!” “Are you done tormenting my brother?” Franziska called over to them “Almost!” Phoenix replied. “Truce, go say bye to your aunts.” Trucy did as she was told, giving them room to have a proper farewell. Phoenix’s grin became more shy than smug. Phoenix angled his head, also looking to the side. The trio were sharing hugs, and no doubt planning when Trucy could come visit them. “I should still keep an eye out for that,” Miles remembered. “I wouldn’t put it past Kay to recruit Trucy while we’re off guard.” “It’s kind of strange, isn’t it?” His attention snapped back to Phoenix. “What is?” “It used to be the other way around,” he elaborated. “I was the one who would leave.” Now he understood. During that time, when he had been seeing Lang, and not even considered Phoenix Wright in that sense. It felt like an eternity ago, when in actuality, it had been less than a year. That was the funny thing about time, of course. Perceptions of it changed with age, and experience. So did opinions of other people. To think that he would be in a committed relationship with the man... “Indeed.” “That’s all you have to say?” Phoenix asked, spreading his arms for a hug. “It’s all I can think of.” “Stay out of trouble,” Phoenix mumbled into his shoulder. “I feel as if though it is I who would be saying that to you.” “Nothing’s stopping you from saying so,” he replied. “I just figured you should know I want you back here when it’s all over.” Phoenix clung to him a second longer. Trembling fingers ever-so-slightly dug into the fabric of his coat. Franziska was staring daggers at them now, her eyes pointedly flicking between their luggage and the clock overhead. “We’re being glared at,” Miles warned. Phoenix let go, and they rejoined the group. “Take care,” Phoenix said to the women. Phoenix offered them both a hand. Kay made finger guns, pointed in his direction. “Right back atcha’.” “You as well, Phoenix Wright.” Franziska hesitated, and shook his hand with an awkward motion. She was crushing his wrist, even if it wasn’t her intention to intimidate. Phoenix cringed, and tucked away his victimized hand in his hoodie pocket. “Where’s Trucy?” Phoenix asked, glancing around. “Bathroom.” “Kay." “S-she really is!” the thief said, holding her arms. “Fran back me up here!” Half a second he had looked away from the trio, and now Trucy was gone. It didn’t help that she was so capable at disappearing acts. “Even if she wasn’t, her education would hardly be lacking,” Franziska said, wagging a finger. “She would be studying under two of Interpol’s finest agents!” “Neither of you are borrowing my daughter,” Miles snapped. Silence. “What are you gaping at me for?” Had he said something without realizing it? Accidentally slipped to German? He’d been speaking in it with the couple more often, so his accent would be up to snuff for the lectures. It was probable something like that could have happened without him being aware. His question would never be answered, for it turned out they really hadn’t let Trucy stow away in their suitcases. “There you are,” Phoenix sighed. The man kept a protective hand on Trucy’s shoulder this time. There would be no more chances for vanishing performances that day. It would’ve been awkward to explain to security why there was a child hidden in the largest suitcase. “Where did you think I would be?” asked the girl. “Germany.” Everyone double-checked that they had the essentials with them, and then they parted ways. Getting through the airport security was an art that he and Franziska had perfected over the years. Kay remained on their coattails, making sure that they didn’t fall behind on schedule. The typical fuss that many went through with their luggage was avoided, a few well-placed glares prevented any “random” selections from their group. Passports were in order, tickets weren’t lost, and they were boarding the plane with plenty of time to settle in. The flight was a long hall, and the view from the window mostly uninteresting. City lights glimmered for a time, drawing together in clusters of lines. Then they were over the ocean, and there was nothing to see but pitch black, and his tired reflection. Miles’ original plan had been to prep a bit on the plane, review his notes for the first of his speeches. While he put in a good fight, reviewing the cue cards Phoenix had designed for him, the battle was eventually lost. He tucked them back into his carry-on and rested his head against the cool surface of the window. Sleep was light. Miles could hear muffled voices- the couple smothering words behind their hands. They had opted to stay awake, and were enjoying their second cups of coffee. He preferred sleeping longer to adjust to the time change, so their conversations mingled with his dreams. Trucy wanted him to bring back the entire autobahn, or maybe teach her how to drive on it? In his car no less. He decided to import a second one from Europe, so that way if she harmed his during the drive there would still be a back up- but for some reason the manufacturers had given him the wrong shade of red. It was closer to Apollo’s blazer- the upholstery was made of Apollo’s blazer, which was why he never wore a jacket in court. Of course! It all made sense! How had he not logically realized that before? Miles woke up near the end of the flight, because of air turbulence. Kay squeezed his arm and they practiced calm breathing together. He was fortunate that it left quickly. It was still dark when they landed, because they had flown west. It still felt like morning to him. Franziska had called their elder sister while they retrieved luggage. The woman still lived on the family estate. It had drafts, nosy servants, awful childhood memories, and how she tolerated it was beyond him. But this meant there was a driver waiting to escort them to Franziska’s not haunted, less ostentatious, apartment. Kay fiddled and swore with her set of keys, while Franziska leaned heavily against the railing. “Here we are.” They stumbled inside together, leaving their bags by the door. Not in any mood to be polite or explore around their apartment, Miles kicked off his shoes and lay down on the couch. “Wonderful. If I’m not awake by eleven tomorrow- today, wake me up.” He fell into a pattern of relaxed breathing, and listened to their stirring around the apartment. Lights were flicked on and off, one of them dragged a suitcase away. “I think our fish died.” “We don’t have a fish.” “I think someone broke in and gave us a dead fish in a bowl while we were gone.” “That’s not a fish that’s our eel.” “Fish are eels!” “Is it dead?” “I believe that is is sleeping.” “I would like to sleep,” he reassured them, twisting onto his side. “Sorry.” Now that they were in, Miles thought of texting Phoenix to say that they had arrived without mishap. No luggage had been stolen or lost in the system, their direct flight had not been stalled at any point. Exhaustion won over, he wound up sending a simple “here” to the man. And so began day one of six.

“I shared all my dirty secrets, now it’s your turn.” Emily smirked over her whiskey, she was sat on the opposite end of the couch facing you with a devilish look in her eyes. You knew that starting a conversation like this would be a bad idea, especially with the amount of alcohol you had both drank. Asking Emily about her sexual experiences was inappropriate and you knew this, she was your boss but she also was your best friend and it would be lying to say you’d never wondered before. Listening to the tales of her sexual adventures was an interesting way to spend your Saturday night, you had invited Emily around for drinks mostly because you were lonely but also because she was the best company. The topic about sex had come into play after Emily had confessed it had been almost a year since she had slept with anyone, picturing her in bed had made you blush but you encouraged her to keep talking; the sweet tingle in your stomach was too intoxicating. “I haven’t got anything as good as yours.” You laughed awkwardly, taking a sip of your drink in the hopes it would give you courage. None of your stories were that great, they were all awkward and ended poorly but you were too embarrassed to actually say that. “Come on, (Y/N)! You’ve got to give me something! Tell me some filthy shit like…” Emily paused to think, staring at you from across the couch. “What’s the most times a guy has made you come?” She looked very proud of her question, going to take a sip of her drink before realising it was empty and pulling a very confused face. You could have lied. You didn’t have to tell her that no one had been able to make you come during sex, that you faked it every time because you didn’t want them to feel bad. She didn’t have to know; but you told her anyways. “Um, like..zero?” You tried to joke around with it, hoping that she wouldn’t judge you or think you were weird. “I don’t know, I guess no one’s worked out how to do it yet.” It wasn’t like orgasms were this mystical thing you’d never experienced before, you could make yourself come by yourself but whenever someone else was involved, it just never happened. Part of you felt a little broken, like you’d never be able to be pleased by another person and therefore were just there for their pleasure. Emily looked even more confused than before, staring at you intently for at least fifteen seconds before understanding what you meant. She didn’t look at you with pity in her eyes, rather genuine curiousness. You watched as she put her empty glass down on the coffee table and sat up straight, crossing her arms slightly in a way that unpurposefully empathised her cleavage. “You know that’s normal, right? One in three women find it difficult to achieve orgasm, it’s not rare.” Her words brought a little comfort to you but you still felt embarrassed, maybe Emily wasn’t judging you but you still felt like this inexperienced little girl when compared to her. “Thanks Reid.” You laughed as she leant forward to hit your leg playfully, pretending to be more offended than she actually was. Instead of leaning back, she sat closer to you, taking your glass from your hand and putting it down on the table. “Stop me if I’m being too inappropriate.” Emily clarified beforehand, your nerves kicking in. Your mind raced with all the possible things she could ask next, if asking you to tell her about your sex life wasn’t inappropriate enough then what could be worse than that? “Maybe the reason you haven’t been able to come with other people is because you haven’t been comfortable around them, they’ve all been hookups not actual relationships. So, maybe if you try it with someone you’re comfortable around, you could get there.” Emily was right, you hadn’t seriously dated someone ever, all the sexual experiences you’d had were from tinder matches or one night stands in gross nightclubs. Her words made sense, if you were with someone you trusted and who made you comfortable, your body might relax. “Are you suggesting we fuck?” The words came out of your mouth before you could process them, you tried to play it off as a joke but by the way Emily was looking at you; it was clear you’d guessed her plan. You had never been with a woman before, thought about it, sure, but never had the courage to actually pursue someone. Emily was a very beautiful woman and you were definitely attracted to her, but the flirtatious had always been friendly, it was just how the ladies at the BAU were to each other. Silence hung thick in the air, Emily was looking at you and you were looking at her and neither person knew what to say exactly so silence was the best option. Eventually however, Emily was leaning over and then her lips were on yours. Her lips were so soft, they slid over yours perfectly and became the perfect fit. She tasted like cherries from her lipstick and the whiskey she’d just finished and it was intoxicating, it was different from kissing men, her kiss made you felt like she truly cared about your pleasure. You obsessed over the feeling of her body against yours, her hand resting on your thigh and how you could feel her breath against your lips whenever she pulled back for a second for air. Never had you been kissed in such a way, you felt that tingle in your stomach begin to grow. “I want to help you, can I?” Emily’s voice was always hot, husky and dominant but considering the circumstances it was so much hotter. She was hovering above you now, her nose brushing against yours and her eyes trailing down your body. God, just knowing that she wanted to get you off was almost hot enough to make you come right there. There was a tiny voice of doubt in your mind wondering if you should be doing this, it wasn’t professional in the slightest and could lead to awkwardness in the future but right now, why not try it? “Go ahead, Prentiss. Impress me.” You didn’t know where that confidence came from but you were thankful for it as it made Emily kiss you again, rougher than before. Now she knew that you were okay with everything, her mannerisms changed. She was always a take charge kind of woman but you could already tell she was the dominant one in bed, you felt yourself melt back into the couch as Emily moved on top of you, knees either side of your waist. Her hands began to wander, stroking up your thighs and then up your shirt, her cold fingertips against your skin. Every touch had you keening, this was like nothing you’d ever experienced before, she hadn’t even touched you sexually yet and you could already feel the heat between your legs. You groaned against her lips and pressed your hips upwards, wanting any friction you could get. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you?” She husked against your neck once she pulled away, leaving slow kisses against your pulse point. You couldn’t form any coherent words so you just moaned, feeling so needy for her touch. As if she read your mind, Emily slipped her hands out of your shirt and began unbuttoning it, taking her time until she was done, helping you remove it from your body. “I’m going to take such good care of you.” She whispered before her mouth was trailing down to your collarbone, her skilled tongue tracing around the curve of your breasts in your bra. She knew exactly how to touch you, this wasn’t like those inexperienced boys who just cared about getting their rocks off. Her hand snaked around to your back to unclip your bra, looking up at you to check you were still okay; instead of talking you just slid your bra straps down your arms and took it off yourself. Emily was looking at you like you were the most delicious thing she’d ever seen, and she intended to taste every part. Emily was intent on taking her time. She continued to kiss around your breasts, interlocking her fingers with yours so she could pin you down on the couch. Slowly, she progressed down undoing your jeans to then help wiggle you out of them. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” She made herself at home between your thighs, brushing her dark hair out of her face before diving in. She licked you over your panties, smirking as your thighs tightened around her. Emily didn’t want to tease you this time, her focus was on showing you what you’d been missing out on or at least having an enjoyable experience. After peeling your panties off, she took a second to look at the most intimate part of you before her mouth started to water and the urge to taste you as too intense. You weren’t prepared for her mouth, it was apparent she was no stranger to this anatomy because she knew exactly what she was doing. You’d never had good oral sex before, it was always from guys who were just doing it so you’d then give them oral in return so to have someone actively eager to please you was hot in itself. Her tongue flicked against your clit and you were putty in her palms, your head thrown back and mouth agape. “Oh my god!” You gasped as your hands found their way down to Emily’s hair, tangling themselves in it to keep her in place. You weren’t sure how long it normally took people to come but with the way her tongue would slide against your folds or how when she wasn’t paying attention to your clit with her mouth she’d use her thumb to rub tiny circles - it wasn’t going to be long until you exploded. It wasn’t until you felt two of Emily’s fingers slip inside of you that the feeling really set in, that rush of adrenaline you felt by yourself when you knew you were on the brink. Her fingers curled inside of you as she slowly pumped them in and out, substituting your clit for your g-spot. Feeling her rub against that extremely sensitive spot was enough, you looked down at Emily for a second caught her looking back at you, the sight of her between your legs was all you needed. “Emily!” You cried out, your back arching up as you came, she continued to eat you out whilst you orgasmed, only pulling away when you collapsed a heaving mess. To say she was proud would be an understatement, she licked over you one last time before pulling away, licking her lips. “…Fucking hell.” You managed to say breathily, watching as Emily crawled up your body. “What can I say, ladies know how to take care of ladies.” Emily collapsed next to you with a grin, wiping your wetness off from around her mouth. All you could do was nod before you had to kiss her again, the urge was too strong. You felt her smiling against your lips which in turn made you smile, you were thankful that Emily had given you this and were hopeful it wouldn’t be the last time.

Chapter 13 Lucky Latchkey Life Five managed a smile. He managed to scrape up enough effort from the bottom of the empty reservoir inside of him. He managed to turn exhaustion into effort, into energy, into enough bullshit patience to curl his mouth into some semblance of a grin. It was all so pointless and dumb, and fucking trivial in the dullest senses of formality. It was almost mechanical the way that his mouth worked. It was a force of wills, a fight against gravity, a brainteaser on how to work his own fucking mouth because he didn’t want to smile. He didn’t want to play nice in the final round. He didn’t want to be here anymore. All he wanted – no. No. All he needed was the key to the bathroom so that he could leave Klaus, and Diego, and the whole damn city behind. But no. No. Of course not. He was stuck in this stalemate of stale smiles and way too many fucking teeth, moving at a half speed so slow that it felt like he was suffocating above water. After a while, a smile was just a smile, and after too long, it meant something sinister. They were grimacing pointless politeness to each other while not quite letting go of the cards that they still had to play. It was verbal poker. It was Texas Hold ‘Em in nonverbal cues. There was a tension building up to a point because Klaus was crazy, and Five was feral, but despite every lie and story that could weave, Lance truly did hold the last card. Five was stuck playing nice, playing polite, playing this topsy-turvy game of power Jenga. He was stuck working a Rube Goldberg contraption of complex mental pullies from his brain to his mouth just to prop up the corners of his lips. It was expected of him to smile, to be grateful despite the fact that he had to fight just for the inch of give that he got. It was a kid thing. Kids were always supposed to be grateful no matter how they got things. Kids were supposed to smile and say thank you,  and kids got what they wanted, but kids had to wait patiently for adults to get over themselves. By all definition, Five was not a kid. He was technically a teenager and only really in age, but teenager just meant kid in the eyes of some people. He wasn’t a kid. Orphans weren’t allowed to stay children for very long because kids got hurt and kids got crushed under rocks and choked on dust and needed help that wouldn’t come. They got held and protected and loved and were supposed to be safe. Kids got what they wanted in the very end because kids got happy endings. Five never got anything that he didn’t have to fight for. Five didn’t even have a name. He had calloused fingers on calloused hands and scars everywhere else. He had trauma on top of trauma written in brief therapy sessions. He had nuns and he was bleeding. He had been attacked and shot at, and he had crawled his way out of hell through broken windows. The walls pressed in close. His lungs burnt a claustrophobic fire. All he so desperately needed was that fucking key. He was not a goddamn kid. There was still blood beneath his fingernails, blood clotting on his bottom lip, blood seeping through his shirt, vest, jacket. It was all his and that only furthered his point. Kids didn’t bleed this much without someone noticing. “I’ll take the key,” Five drawled out through his split lip, through exhaustion and frustration, and a thin patience. His blood-tacky fingernails tapped against the table in time with the tick of the clock. “Now.” Five was not a kid, but he looked like one. Five was not a kid, but he had the face of one. Five was not a kid, but he was not taken seriously like one. The clock on the wall ticked, ticked, ticked the seconds by as Lance B. – Floor Manager thought that he still had options to take back control. It ticked, ticked, ticked as Lance gritted his teeth and crossed his arms, huffing. It ticked, ticked, ticked as he took in a breath, took in his indignantly and his anger at being backed into a corner by a kid. Time was crawling by like it was crawling over broken glass, and Five felt every cut on his skin. He felt it echoed in the hollow of his cheekbones, in the tired exhaustion draining blood inside of him. He was so close to the plan coming together, to the end, to the exit. He could taste open air on his tongue and he needed it. He was going to get it, one way or another. He didn’t have the fucking patience for this anymore. This stalemate was pointless. Card games were stupid, mental or otherwise, and the tension that was building was towering over. Five was going to cry. “I’ll start crying,” He threatened, voice as cold as ice on a July summer day. It was melting quickly into something wet at the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes. He curled his shoulders in and sniffled, but his eyes stayed defiant. “I’ll cry right now, and I’ll tell a story so much worse than anything that Séance can come up with, Mr. Biggs. Those guards will be in here any minute now and I won’t just get you fired. I will ruin your goddamn life if you do not give me the key. Now.” Five looked like absolute hell, worse since he walked into this room. Klaus was still bleeding from his forehead, silently watching from his chair with an amused grin, “Might want to listen to the kiddo, man.” Five ignored him. He didn’t take his eyes off Lance B. – Floor fucking Manager. He was bleeding all over with intensity and intention, and finally. Finally, Lance broke his standoff with a sigh and the security guards came into the room. One was a tall man with broad shoulders and blond hair stuck up under a hat that said ‘security,’ stepping into the room before assessing it. He moved the way that overeager soldiers moved, reacting before realizing what he was reacting too. He dropped his hand from his gun, “Sir?” The guard that came in after him was slower in her movements – squared shoulders, cheap suit, caramel colored hair. She moved with a purpose, assessing the situation with a laser-focus and finding it not worth her time. Five could not fault her for that. He let his eyes slide sideways off her back to Lance and the way that he crumbled under the delusion of his own power. He let his cards drop to the table, he folded. He pitched forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead against his fist, and Five managed to smile again. There was an ease to the pulley system that wasn’t there before, something like satisfaction oiling the strings as everything started to slot into a place that he found manageable. Klaus waved off the security guards with a grand gesture, coming up with a believable story about tripping and hitting his head, “And poor Lance here, had such a fright at the sight of blood. We thought he might pass out.” Five barely noticed anything beyond Lance’s defeated pinch to the bridge of his nose and his deep heavy sigh as Klaus said, “Luckily we’re not the type of people to sue.” Five allowed himself to breathe just a little. He could almost have laughed when Lance had straightened his spine and snapped his fingers at the woman, “New girl.” “Carol, sir.” “Carol, yes. Get the first aid kit for Mr. Hargreeves.” Five could squeeze warmth back into his fingertips when he had a purpose as meaningful as this. He could force himself to lean off the desk without feeling black-spotted and dizzy. He could ignore the aches and the pains in every movement because he won. He picked the right horse this time. He got the good cards. He got first place. So, he smiled. He said, “We would really appreciate that.” It was a misshapen little smile, stretched and misplaced on his face. It pulled at all his frayed ends and tangled them together in a knotted-up smile, but it was a smile because Klaus pulled through. It was an ever-polite presentation of teeth that backed a big man into a corner, and Five smiled gratefully, “I’m glad that we could come to an understanding, Mr. Biggs.” “Mr. Katz,” Lance sighed, straightening up in the illusion of middle management power as he addressed the guard with blond hair. “Please give Mr. Hargreeves’ son the key to the restroom in the back and escort him there.” “Oh, please, Mr. Hargreeves was my father, call me-“ “That won’t be necessary, I know the way,” Five said, dropping his smile into something severe as he held his hand out for the key. “No, thank you.” “Sir, that bathroom is under-“ “You have five minutes in there,” Lance sighed, turning back to his guards and telling them, “Tell the construction workers to take their next break. It’s not a request. Radio that to them. And Carol, where is that first aid kit?” “On it, sir.” Five smiled. It felt almost surreal. After so long of so many things going wrong, the key felt like a finality in his hand. It was a conclusion, a dream come to fruition. It was heavy like implication, like doors opening up for him and relief because he was moving forward. The end was weighty and heavy, and triumphantly there within his reaches. Five was standing at the cusp of a new age, one where he could breathe, and the walls were distant, and things went right. Klaus had called for him to wait a second, but Carol was back with the first aid kid and Katz wanted her to watch how to patch up customers if needed. Five didn’t wait. Klaus didn’t even notice, too busy asking the guard, “So, you said that your name was Dave, right? Dave Katz, that’s a nice name. Do you like to dance?” Five kept his fingers looped around the key tight. He kept it close to his chest as he walked to the back of the store once more. He followed the same path and walked, and walked, and walked until he met the plain backwall again. He walked, and walked, and walked with his heart low in his chest and his blood pumping, and an air of anticipation buzzing inside of his bones. This was what he wanted. This was what he was getting. A plan complete. An end in sight. It wasn’t ideal. It was messy as all fucking hell, and he was going to have to forget his duffle bag. He was going to have to drop everything and run, forget Diego and his thieving hands, forget the doughnut shop, forget the masks and the guns. He was going to have to leave the city. He was going to break the city limits and lay low just to be able to breathe. He just had to get one thing before he could do that. Five slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. He let it bounce on its hinges and close behind him as he stepped into the small windowless room. It pitched into a single-bulbed darkness, throwing shadows on every wall. Five breathed out, “Okay.” He took in a breath that tasted stale and chalky, took in the room for what it was worth, and he assessed his plan. The inside of the bathroom was small, picking at his claustrophobia like a needle beneath the skin but he pushed the thought down. The single exposed light fixture above him casted the three stalls on the right and the sinks on the left into darkness. It left the room in an almost eerie state of demolition. The piping under the sinks were gone. Two of the three stalls doors were taken off already and discarded in the corner. There was a layer of dust that permeated the air and crawled into his mouth, and a portion of the floor tiles had been ripped up. Five let his gaze linger around the room and wrinkled his nose. He took in a dusty breath and held it for a second before letting it go, watching his shadowed reflection in the mirror as he repeated the action. He was here, not anywhere else. It was dark because the lights were off. It was dusty because of the work. The room had solid walls and high ceilings, and he only had five minutes. He took another breath. He let his hands brush down his rumbled damp jacket and pushed it back. Even in the dim light, he could see the red that had seeped almost black through his vest, “Shit.” His actions were careful but hurried as he pulled up his vest and his collared shirt to the swollen skin and the broken stitches beneath. The wound was still seeping blood but most of it had dried and clotted, radiating a warmth that foretold a possible infection. Five swore again, squeezing his eyes shut as he rolled back down his shirt. He didn’t have time. He buttoned his jacket and told himself, “Deal with it later.” He told himself, “Forget the bag, drop everything. Run.” He told himself, “You have five minutes.” When he opened his eyes again, all he could see was his own pale face and his sunken hollow eyes. His hair was a mess like he never kept it, his uniform unkept. He felt gross, but he pushed it all down and told himself that he had a job to do. He lost his duffle bag and his whole life that was packed inside of it. He lost his room at the orphanage to gun violence. He lost a lot of blood and he was going to lose Delores too. There was no getting to her with his duffle bag gone and a target on his back. I’m sorry, he wanted to tell her. I know that you’d understand, but I’m so sorry. He had to go. Delores was the smartest person that he had ever met, and he knew that she would understand. It wasn’t abandonment, it was about survival. He was a danger to her, he was in danger. He would try to come back for her eventually, but – but everything was so big and a lot, and if he was honest with himself, he was so out of him depth. There was no way to really articulate the fear that rolled inside of him. He could place himself in the shoes of all those comic book characters, but Diego outlived the monster that had adopted him and broke him. Five just wanted the chance to be able to breathe, so he had to lose everything that he had to do it. He’d lost everything before. But not Delores. Never Delores. Shut up, he scolded himself mentally. The pain in his chest was blossoming into something barbed at the edges, catching on the corners of his plans and tearing into them because no. He had to force himself to move forward because if he thought about leaving her behind than he would never move again. He didn’t want to leave without her. He vowed to her unhearing ears as he moved into the last stall, “I’ll come back for you, Delores.” He vowed, “I’ll figure out what to do next and I will come back.” He could hear her voice like velvet and marshmallow peanut butter sandwiches in the corners of his mind, washing over like a blanket. She was there like she was always there, you must take care of yourself. You must help yourself. Be careful, Five. I love you. Delores was smarter than he would ever be, and he knew that. HE could admit that in this empty room and this empty stall. He could admit it in the same way that he knew that he could live without her, without his duffle bag, without his plans, but he didn’t want to. Five blinked back the heat behind his eyes. He swallowed down the wetness choking up his throat. He got to work. Five knelt onto the dirty floor next to the toilet, feeling the grainy press of broken tiles digging into the bandages on his knee. He ignored the pain as he wedged himself closer to the vent at the back of the stall. It was a boxy stretch of ventilation, square with four screws holding it in place. Five ignored the way that the skin on his fingertips snagged and tore as he worked all four of the screws out of place and dislodged the vent. He smiled a little to himself as he reached inside and pulled out a blood splattered briefcase. He laughed a little, surprised that it was still there honestly. The briefcase had been nothing but surprises. It had been a topic of conversation when the man at the diner had let it slip that it was a very powerful leveraging chip right before his head got blown off. It had been a snap decision to grab the case and run into the back. It had been a calculated decision to wedge the thing into the ceiling tiles at the doughnut shop and a calculated decision to go back for it when he was attacked. It had made sense to hide it in Grimbel’s because Grimbel’s was a safe place. And it was here. And now, Five could leave. He took a breath and he laughed a little more, unbelieving. The laughed died on his lips when he heard the bathroom door open and close again. He sighed and he rolled his eyes, calling through the stall door, “I do not need you anymore, Séance. Leave.” The footsteps came a little closer and Five sighed louder. He unsnapped the clasps on the briefcase, reaching into the pocket where the man said he kept extra money. He tossed out a little role of twenties, “Here, I paid you in abundance. Go.” “Klaus, I told you-“ Five snapped when a hand rested heavy on his shoulder as he snapped the briefcase closed. He turned his head to glare at the hand with an insult on the tip of his tongue, but it all died a quiet death. There was a bite mark on the hand. Thick fingers curling into the fabric and the imprint of teeth in the flesh. Five felt very cold, very suddenly. His eyes traced the bite mark up the dark fabric of a cheap suit to that of a metal mask. There were only two works spoken, muffled, “Times up.”

While Oliver wanted to attempt to fix his relationship with Felicity right away, he knew he should give her space. He needed space himself and time to mull over all he had learned that day. In theory the day he got his memories back after two long months should have been filled with relief and celebration. Instead it had turned out difficult and exhausting. He had no one to blame but himself, he knew that, but even so a part of him was angry. Granted, the anger was mostly directed at himself since he hadbeen that kind of guy before the Gambit had gone down, but there was anger directed at the people around him as well. Proving that he had changed wasn’t new to Oliver. On the contrary it was exactly what he’d been striving to do for the past two years, since his return from the island. However, seeing how everyone kept their distance after just two months of behaving like his old self left him feeling weary. Did they still think him so fickle that he would truly revert back to being as spoiled and self-absorbed as he was, even now after his memory had returned? After two years of trying to prove that he was a different man now? That night upon returning home and informing his mother and sister about his recovery, he saw that the answer to those question might be affirmative. Even though his mom and Thea were extremely happy and relieved that he had gotten his memories back, the way they looked at him had changed. They seemed…distant. In his mind Felicity and Diggle were completely justified in being puzzled and not liking who he had been before, but he felt hurt that his family obviously felt that way. Sure, for his first year back he had tried to throw people off the scent by promoting a public persona in line with the one he had before the island, but he had struggled to turn that around since then. He’d undertaken the responsibility of being the CEO for Queen Consolidated, and had even done well. Even more than his public image though, he had strived to prove to his family that he had changed. That he was no longer a selfish bastard, but a caring brother, son and friend. Which apparently hadn’t been enough, since just two months of acting like the Ollie of old had made people view him as a live grenade ready to explode any minute. The unfairness of it all made something tighten in his throat, which was made worse after a few hours spent with his mother and Thea that night. The looks they shot him when they thought he wasn’t paying attention were enough to make him crave some solitude, so he quickly excused himself and went up to his room. He changed and got ready for bed, going through the motions, his mind still trying to process all he had learned and remembered that day. He needed this time alone. He needed the time to come to terms with what had happened to him, what he had done. To look at the memories of the past two months through the eyes of ‘Oliver’ and understand what he had to do to fix the things he was responsible for breaking. He got in bed not expecting to sleep any time soon. What he also didn’t expect was that the minute his breathing slowed down, the moment he pulled the memories of everything that had happened that day to the forefront of his mind, his heart would speed up. Faster and faster it beat until his breaths became pants and a vice tightened around his chest. Thoughts of strategizing and fixing things flew from his head as he shot up and hunched his shoulders, trying to slow down his breathing. It didn’t work. Instinctively he got up and started pacing, somehow thinking that releasing some of the energy that was fuelling him would slow down his heart. Wrong. Unhelpfully, the memories bombarded his mind. Thinking back on what he’d done right after the accident he recalled how as Ollie he wasn’t so much troubled by the absence of memories when his condition was explained to him. He’d figured that even with seven years gone by, everything would be just as he’d left it and while he’d been confused at the changes around him, self-medicating through alcohol was the surefire solution he’d turned to. Now though, as he relived the terrible sensation of having dark, unknown gaps in his mind he felt…adrift. Delayed reaction to past events, his brain provided, but that didn’t make his heart settle down or the tightness around his chest ease. Even the thought of her, the thought he’d always invoked when he’d lost the battle with his nightmares in the past, didn’t soothe him. For now the image of her face didn’t bring him peace. Instead he thought of all the ways he had screwed things up with her. At that his breathing became labored, so he tried clearing his mind. Focusing on a landscape painting hanging on the wall above his bed, little by little he tried to steady himself. He didn’t know how much time he spent like that. All he knew was that he felt every single second of it. It felt like hours. When he finally felt calm enough to move, he walked to his desk, picking up his phone on the way and then falling heavily on the chair. Carefully he focused once more on what had happened to him. He had to think things through but first he needed to make sure he could handle it. Stubbornly, he recalled every time he’d been a dick to the people he cared about and waited for his heart to start racing again. When it didn’t, he dropped his head back, closed his eyes and attempted to reason everything out. ///// The shadows faded slowly around him, as the soft, lavender light of dawn filtered through the trees outside his windows. The room brightened until golden rays of sun invaded every corner of the room. He was in the same place the dark of night had left him. He sat there on the desk chair and as the sunlight fell on him, one by one the shadows inside him scattered. He’d kept the video playing on a loop for hours. Time and time again he heard himself telling Felicity – or more accurately her door- that he loved her until the echo of the words, the tone he’d used to say them had settled in his bones. The alert of his battery getting low finally had him dropping the phone on the desk in front of him. Slowly, with eyes gritty from sleeplessness he looked around the room.  Everything around him held a memory of his life before the island, nothing betraying the man he thought he had become except the increased number of business suits in his walk-in closet. And after the night he just had he decided this had to end. Slowly, he got to his feet taking the time to stretch and get rid of the kinks the night of stillness had brought to his body. He had things to do. ******* When Oliver walked into Queen Consolidated later that morning with Diggle in tow, it felt like he hadn’t done so in ages. With renewed purpose he walked into his office ready to get things back on track. One by one everything that had taken the backseat in his life would be put to rights. Starting with his company. The next few hours flew by as he arranged emergency meetings with the department heads, made conference calls to most international subsidiaries and firmly stood his ground against the decisions Isabel had taken that he disagreed upon. All to establish that he was back, all he could towards safeguarding Queen Consolidated. Stubbornly he resisted the urge to get in the elevator whenever he escorted someone there, refusing the compulsion to travel down the eighteen floors that separated them. Space. He needed to give her space. Soon, he promised himself as he stared longingly at the closed elevator doors. ******** By lunchtime he knew Diggle was getting impatient. Oliver had told his friend they would talk later when he had driven him at work this morning, and while the other man usually had the patience of a saint, the visible fidgeting clearly showed he was at the end of it. Twice during the morning hours, Oliver had caught Digg on the phone, carefully not looking his way, betraying it was Felicity on the other end of the line. The thought brought a soft smile to his face. If she was calling John then she hadn’t given up on him completely. There was still hope. And while Oliver had prepared for the event of there not being any chance she’d hear him out, now that he knew that there was, made him all the more determined to do this right. After ending the last morning conference call, Oliver stood up and buttoned up his jacket, noticing from the corner of his eye that Diggle straightened up as well. Without hesitation he strode to the outer office. “I’ll be back in an hour, Mrs. Fitzhughes,” he said, ignoring the disconcerting feeling at the sight of the woman in Felicity’s desk. Glancing at Digg he turned towards the elevators, sure that his friend was following. “Big Belly Burger?” “I’d say we need it,” was all his friend said. By unspoken agreement neither of them said anything else until they arrived at the diner. They situated themselves in a booth by the window and ordered after exchanging small talk with Carly. “So,” Digg brought his hands together on the table. “So,” Oliver repeated and stared steadily back at him. “You know what you’re going to do,” came Digg’s as always astute observation. “Yes,” he paused to take a sip of coffee. “I spent all night thinking about it. Everything.” “And?” “It wasn’t easy,” Oliver let out a deep breath searching his mind for a place to start. “I didn’t think it would be,” Digg said. “What happened, Oliver? You went to her apartment drunk?” Oliver’s eyes snapped to Digg’s in surprise. He had forgotten that his friend didn’t know about what Tommy told him. Here he was gearing up to explain everything he’d thought about his life and get his friend’s input, when they hadn’t discussed one of the most important factors. So haltingly he told Digg everything Tommy had said. After he was done, Oliver fished his breast pocket for his phone and finding the video, set it down on the table pushing it towards Digg without a word. Oliver watched the other man’s face as the video went on and mirrored every wince. Soon enough it was over and the phone was silently returned to him. He remained stoic waiting for Digg to pass judgment on what he had seen. Several minutes passed and they only spoke to thank Carly as she set down their food on the table but neither made a move to eat. “When was this?” was the first thing Diggle asked. Easy enough to answer. “About three weeks ago. I told you was going to stay in but I didn’t. I headed out after you dropped me off at the mansion.” “And that worked out great,” Digg said picking up his burger. “Clearly.” John looked back at him plainly while he took his time chewing the bite he had taken. After taking a sip of water he finally spoke. “What do you want me to say about it?” “Usually you’re very vocal about these things.” “I’ve never been vocal about you and Felicity. I’ve kept all my thoughts to myself and if you ask me I was right to do so.” “Why?” “You’re two of the most stubborn, guarded people I know. If I had said anything to either one of you, you’d have pulled away from each other in denial.” Thinking it over as he started eating, Oliver couldn’t deny the truth of Diggle’s words. Before any of this happened he’d have refused to vocalize his feelings for Felicity no matter who asked him or how insistent they were. Now though, now that everything was out there, the tables had turned. He realized last night that he couldn’t take anything back nor did he want to. Being in love with her had felt like a close guarded secret before; buried deeply inside him never to see the light of day, but now it was the exact opposite. Hearing himself uttering the words in the video, letting them color the air around him, had been liberating. So much so, that it felt like those three little words had become a tangible thing, an armor covering every inch of his skin. Something to be shown off and not hidden; something to bask in and relish. He could no more shut it away than he could stop breathing. It was now a part of him, and not a deeply hidden one, but something as essential as air or sunlight that he couldn’t shy away from. So he accepted it. “How about now? Still nothing to say?” he finally asked his friend, focusing on the present. “I didn’t say that,” Digg said, balling a napkin and throwing it on the table. “But first, tell me what you’re going to do about what you showed me,” he said, waving towards the cell phone on the table. “There isn’t a plan. Not exactly.” “Then what?” “It’s more of a conviction. I’m done screwing things up,” Oliver said softly, steadily looking back at John, hoping he conveyed his determination in following through on what he said. Digg simply nodded. “That’s a good objective. How will you get to it?” “I can’t change who I was in the past no matter what I do.” Oliver laughed hollowly at the thought. “Even when I think I’m done with that part of myself, it comes back to haunt me. I can’t keep rejecting it, hiding from it, ignoring it. So I’m accepting it. No more roles and identities. Just me. Oliver Queen.” “Does that mean no more…green?” Diggle asked, his eyebrows raised at what he was hearing. Oliver shook his head slowly. “No. I can’t stop being…green. I can’t stop all the lies. But I can stop running away from myself. Both who I was before the island and on it. So, if you’re free tomorrow and willing to listen…maybe we can get a drink?” Oliver held his breath, wondering whether Diggle understood what he was asking. For months his friend had asked him to open up about the island. It was a point of contention between them, and Oliver last night had realized that if he wanted to move forward, if he wanted to be the man he wanted to be, he had to open up. The two parts of him, the playboy and the soldier had to come together. The silence that followed his stilted suggestion was short lived. “You asking me out, Queen?” Diggle asked, making them both laugh.  They sobered up quickly enough, though a knowing smirk remained on Digg’s face. “Why tomorrow?” “I have some place to be tonight,” Oliver answered seriously, smiling when his friend nodded. “Fair enough,” Digg said, throwing money on the table and moving to get up.  “You’re buying tomorrow. We’ll probably need a bottle.” “Let’s keep it at the mansion then. Neither of us will be fit to drive afterwards.” Oliver tried to make light of it, pushing against the usual reticence that gripped him at the thought of opening up about those five years. “Just because you threw tomorrow at me doesn’t mean I didn’t notice the subject change,” Digg threw over his shoulder and then held the door for Oliver to pass in front of him. “I assumed as much.” “And?” Digg asked, as they walked to the car. “I’ll try to make it right. Whatever it takes,” Oliver replied seriously, holding his friend’s eyes as he ducked into the car. Digg said nothing until he was situated in the driver’s seat. “Make sure that you do.” His stare even reflected from the overhead mirror was no less meaningful. A hard, protective stare, not unlike the one Tommy had given him when they’d talked about Felicity. In an instant however it was gone, replaced by a humorous glint. “And so we’re clear, despite all the heart-to-heart shit: We still ain’t dating.” “Now, you’re just playing hard to get.” They both smiled, Oliver feeling lighter despite his trepidation about sharing secrets he’d thought he’d never have to. “What are you going to do to fix it, then?” Diggle asked some time later. Oliver swallowed heavily and looked out the window at the passing traffic before turning back to meet his friend’s eyes in the mirror. “Anything. Anything I have to.” ******* That night after hours of internal pep talk and going through scenarios in his head, Oliver braced himself and knocked on Felicity’s door. She’d probably been expecting him, because it only took a few seconds and there she was in colorful, flannel pyjama bottoms and a t shirt calmly looking back at him. “Will you be yelling at me this time?” she asked, the small curl of her lips both an olive branch and an ice breaker. “No,” he said solemnly. Taking a deep breath, he fought against the fear inside him and hoped she wouldn’t close the door on his face. “But I can’t promise I won’t beg again.”

Loki is lying on a meadow, facedown, limbs sprawled outwards, blades of grass tickling his nose. He lifts his head, his gaze sweeping the landscape of the richest green stretching out towards the horizon, where the God of Thunder and Odin Allfather stand on the edge of a cliff. He recognizes the land in which once dwelled the Vikings and tries to prop himself up, shouting his brother’s name but he realizes that he does not have a voice. There is a storm coming, says Odin solemnly, and isn’t it rather odd, Loki thinks, that he can hear his words as if he is standing right next to him even though the visual distance between them is so great that Odin and Thor are merely a few inches tall on the horizon. He turns around and, the Allfather is right, there is a storm coming, no, not a storm, a tornado, a swirling tornado of ice that is rapidly approaching, spluttering snowflakes into the air. Fear settles into Loki’s stomach and he begins to crawl away, towards Thor and Odin, but his limbs are leaden and the distance between him and them does not shrink even though he is moving forward. He cries out again, cries out without a voice, and then the tornado is upon him and out of the violently rotating column of icy air step three giants that swiftly grow in size until they are eighteen feet tall at least, towering above him in whirls of snow. Here he is, one of them says as he reaches for Loki’s right ankle, pulling him off the ground by his feet, dangling him head down at his side. You come with us, snarls another. Help me, Loki shouts, dread robbing his body of its breath, but the words do not make a sound when they leave his mouth. Please, help me! Odin and Thor stand, unmoving. Brother, please. Loki thrashes in the giant’s grip, limbs trembling, but the giant shakes him so violently that every sinew in his body seemingly comes unstrung. They hid you from us long enough, says the third. You cannot escape any longer. The other two grunt their approval and Loki gasps as they step into the spinning tornado and the icy air swirls around him, numbing his face, and his sense of gravity dissolves and he is thrashing once more and screaming and there is a sound coming out of his mouth now, a horrid screech, and there is a weight on his shoulders, another pair of hands grabbing him, shaking him, pressing him down, and the back of his head is touching something soft and where is that softness coming from, all of a sudden and why is there— Loki! That voice … Loki, wake up! He realizes then that the giants and the spinning vortex of ice are not real, that they are not really there, and he pulls away from the scenery, pulls, pulls, pulls, until his eyes snap open and he stares into the blurred features of his brother’s face, who towers above him, his hands on his shoulders. “Loki?” A wail of terror tears out of his throat unrestrained, leaving him shaking. “It was just a dream,” Thor murmurs, his hand traveling from Loki’s shoulder to the side of his head, stroking his hair. “Just a dream.” “No,” Loki whispers breathlessly as the significance of the nightmare registers on his consciousness. He glances at his hands, lying unmovable at his side, their sapphire blue contrasting sharply with the pristine white of the duvet. “It was not just a dream. That is precisely the problem.” “I am sorry,” Thor mumbles, his white, warm, fleshy Aesir hand lingering, stroking him. “Will you stop touching me?” Loki hisses before he can restrain the words. “You aren’t mother and, quite frankly, I find your display of physical affection eerily unsettling.” Mother. The mother that is no longer his and it is quite unfair, is it not, that Thor deserves the whole of Asgard and you don’t even deserve to know your own identity? Thor draws back his hand, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip. “I am sorry.” “Stop apologizing,” Loki snaps because it sets his teeth on edge that his brother is always sorry about the things that are beyond his control but never about those that are not. “If you apologize one more time, I am going to transform you into a slug as soon as my magic is restored.” “I am,” Thor begins, interrupting himself with a swallow. He holds up his hands, palms outstretched. “Understood.” Loki blows out a sharp, annoyed breath. He is vaguely aware that none of this is Thor’s fault. It is not Thor’s fault that he is a Frost Giant—and, by the Norns, that name still fills his mouth with the taste of vomit—by birth. It is not Thor’s fault that Odin brought him into Asgard to raise him as the second prince. It is not Thor’s fault that Odin and Frigga have lied to him for centuries. No, his brother revealed to him the truth as soon as he discovered it but still Loki feels waves of rage and resentment surge upwards from the depths of his stomach because Thor will not ever have to face a dreadful realization such as this after years of suspicion that he doesn’t belong scarring the core of his very existence. “Did you ever wonder,” asks Loki, an edge of hostility in his voice that genuinely surprises him, “what you might be underneath all that perfect muscle? A dwarf, maybe?” Thor’s face falls. “You didn’t even think to ask them,” Loki says and it is not a question. “Of course you didn’t.” He snorts. He doesn’t want to lash out at his brother, he really doesn’t, no, he loves Thor, he does, but there is that part inside of him that wants to hurt Thor the same way he has been hurt. “You see, this right here, this is the difference between us. Even after coming to know that I am not an Odinson, you never even thought that the same might be true for you. Not the Mighty Thor, no. You did not even question your heritage even after you learned that mine is a lie because you belong here. You have always known that you do and you do not question it. Not even now.” The look on his brother’s face is one of pure terror. “If our positions had been reversed,” Loki concludes bitterly, “this would have been my first thought.” Thor gulps. “I am sorry.” “Slug it is,” Loki snaps. “B-but,” stammers Thor. “N-none of this is my fault. I swear to you I had no knowl—” “I didn’t say it was your fault, now, did I?” Loki interrupts him in a soft growl that he doesn’t even recognize as his own voice. “Then why are you being so hostile?” Thor yells. He springs to his feet at the sound of his brother’s foreign voice, anger flashing across his face, and Loki hears a soft thunder rumbling in the distance. “I spent five days by your bedside, never leaving your chambers because I care for you, reading about your ancestors in those norndamned books of yours, trying to make you feel better and in turn you try to make me feel horrible!” “Because you don’t understand!” Loki yells back because his inability to pull himself together angers and frightens him in equal parts and because he despises himself for the fact that Thor had to spend five days watching him in all his vulnerable glory. “That is right, I don’t,” replies Thor, his wrath slowly burning down to a smoldering fire of anger and disappointment. “And how could I? How could I possibly understand anything if you choose to fool me with your lies and your tricks instead of trusting me with what is on your mind as you once did?” He draws a deep breath. “I will not stand for these accusations,” Thor grumbles, turning away. A shock jolts through Loki’s body. The sensation refills his depleted strength, allowing himself to prop himself up into a half-sitting position at last. “No, p-please,” he stammers, tears welling into his eyes. “I a-am sorry, brother. Puh-please, don’t g-go.” A trembling breath rolls out of Thor’s mouth. “None of this is my fault,” he repeats, his back still towards him. “I know,” Loki whispers and all the anger inside him withers. “I know. P-please just … don’t go.” His hands fisted at his side, the veins sticking out, Thor draws in a deep breath and, eventually, he does turn around, his fingers slowly unclenching. “I know you are distraught,” he whispers, almost tonelessly, his rage shrinking until there is nothing left of it but a slight tremble in his voice. “But please, Loki, please know that if there was anything I could do to lift the burden of that knowledge off of you, I would do it without hesitation.” Loki waits a few beats, a thin smile creeping into his voice. “You could have some more mead brought to us or, even better, you could go and sneak some of Odin’s prized wine out of his secret cellar.” “Should you really—” Thor begins but then interrupts himself when he sees Loki’s eyebrow hiking up. “I am not mother, understood.” He nods his agreement and then takes his leave. Loki exhales a deep breath as soon as the doors have clicked shut behind his brother. He tries to prop himself up further and, with a grunt, he manages to heave his leaden body into a sitting position against the headrest of his bed. His gaze sweeps the chambers in which he grew up in the belief that he was an Asgardian prince. A lie, all of it. No, not all of it. Thor is still is brother even though … he glances down at his hand, flexing his fingers, before raising his arm, slowly, very slowly, bringing it closer to his face. His blue fingers are still long and slender but the veins on the back of his hand stick out more prominently than before. He lifts his hand all the way to his face and presses it against his lips. His skin is harder than he remembers it but it is not cold and it does feel like skin. It feels a lot more like skin than Thor’s or Frigga’s hands did when they touched him. The truth of that sensation fills his eyes with new tears but, curiously, he also experiences a tremendous sense of relief because he finally has answers to the questions that tormented him for so long. Because his silent and sometimes not so silent suspicions are finally confirmed. Loki ponders over this, trying for once to tap into his emotions and not suppress them, until Thor clatters back into the room carrying a barrel of wine upon which he balances a plate filled with meats, bread and fruits. “I suppose you are hungry, too?” he asks, placing the barrel down beside the bed. He is not, not really, and the smell of the meal Thor brought him hooks into his nose and churns his stomach. “No, I think I’ll pass.” Thor raises an eyebrow at him from where he crouches on the floor, tapping the barrel. “Alright,” he mumbles as he fills the mug from the nightstand. “I hope this isn’t going to kill you, brother,” he jests, handing it to him. “It might,” Loki mumbles and then brings the mug to his lips with both of his weakened arms. He takes a sip, waiting for the sweet taste to explode in his mouth and run down his throat, trickling into his empty stomach, but this particular wine is oddly crude and stale. “Where did you get this from?” he complains. “This has no taste.” “Yes, it does,” Thor objects after taking a large slurp of his own mug. “It tastes … Oh.” Loki glares at him. “What?” “I think it might be your Jötunn taste buds,” says Thor, almost apologetically motioning his head in the direction of the pile of books on the windowsill. “You know, according to those, your folk sustains themselves with ice, which apparently contains nutrients for you?” Loki’s mind goes blank at this for an instant, the sensation the information awakes in his stomach eluding all attempts at verbalization. “Maybe we can freeze the drink into icicles for you,” Thor suggests, a flicker of mischief in his eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Despite everything, a laugh rises in Loki’s throat. “This is not funny. Stop.” “So that you can, I don’t know, suck on them, maybe?” Thor finishes, snorting out the laugh he tried to suppress. “You really are the worst, brother,” Loki gasps but he is laughing too because this is all so incredibly absurd and isn’t it quite hilarious how his life turned into a theater of the absurd within just a few days? “Y-you will spend the rest of your days as a slug for this. You will ascend to the throne in your slug form.” “I suppose that is only fair,” Thor wheezes. “It absolutely is,” Loki cackles and takes another sip of the wine that no longer tastes like wine. “Because even with this face, I will still be prettier than you in your fat, Jörmungandr-sized, slimy, squidgy slug form.” They both laugh for a good long while and when their laughter subsides, Loki feels comfortable enough around his brother to carefully approach the truth of his heritage. “Did Odin tell you who my father is?” he asks, softly. “He did not confirm it when I asked him but his tale made it sound as if you,” Thor pauses and takes a sip to steady himself, “were the son of Laufey.” “Laufey?” Loki echoes. “Well, that means I am a prince after all, aren’t I?” He cackles. “So, at least the ‘both of you were born to be kings’ part of the Allfather’s narrative wasn’t entirely a lie.” “I suppose not,” Thor presses out, his face twisting into a deep frown. Loki hesitates before asking the next question because he has a sense of foreboding that the answer will be devastating. “How come he took me?” Thor seems to think the same, for he replies with, “That I do not know,” avoiding his gaze. “Brother,” Loki sighs and Thor shifts in the armchair he has sprawled into. “You are a terrible liar. Just tell me.” “They abandoned you,” his brother whispers. “The Jötnar … they left you … to die.” The Jötnar. Thor has not called them Frost Giants once, Loki realizes then. He has never once said … but that does not even matter, does it, because they left you to die. “W-why? Be-because I …” His thoughts fail him for a moment. “Because I was too small?” He really doesn’t have the size of a giant, does he, no, and what if they cast him out because they didn’t want him because of that? Because they thought he wouldn’t ever fit in with them either? “We should got to Jötunheim to find out,” Thor announces all of a sudden, placing his mug on the nightstand. “Everything we know about your ancestors comes from these books, from father’s tales. We have no way of knowing that this is all there is to them. I mean, you turned out halfway decent, so maybe the Jötnar aren’t all bad.” Loki chokes on a laugh. “I mean it,” Thor insists. “As soon as your magic is restored, we should travel there. Visit them. See what they are really like. And even if it remains forbidden, I am sure you will find a way for us to slip past Heimdall’s gaze.” “I could do more than that,” Loki whispers, thinking of the secret portal to his birth planet that he discovered with Amora. “But are you sure you would … break the Allfather’s laws?” He gulps. “For me?” “Brother, I would do everything for you,” Thor replies without a moment’s hesitation and Loki’s heart takes a tiny leap of joy. “I will admit that I find your company insufferable at times,” he continues in a half-jest. “You are terribly obnoxious, you have grown quite antagonistic, and your sharp humor exhausts me sometimes but none of these things are ever going to make me love you any less.” A sob rises in Loki’s throat. “Nor is this,” Thor continues, his outstretched palm indicating Loki’s skin. “You are my brother and you will remain my brother until the day Ragnarök befalls us and nothing could ever change the fact that I would do everything for you.” “N-nothing?” Loki stammers. “Nothing,” Thor confirms, his tongue lying a little heavy in his mouth. “Because, let’s face it, we wouldn’t make sense without each other.” “Where did you pick up that line, uh?” Loki teases him. “No, don’t say anything, let me guess. This is Kvasir’s mead we are drinking here?” Thor shakes his head, a half-grin playing upon his lips. “Kvasir’s mead is nothing but a myth.” “Forgive me, brother, if I can’t seem to tell myth from truth these days,” Loki replies solemnly and the grin on Thor’s face dies. “Do you really think I might be a dwarf?” he asks, hesitantly. “Or was that just …” His voice trails off. Loki hesitates for a few beats before he replies. “No,” he whispers. “I have no doubt that you are Odin’s trueborn son. But speaking of dwarves,” he continues, his gaze flitting to one of his bookshelves, “I think there is something you can do to help me after all.”

Nino didn’t think that he could have been surprised anymore. The last week he had been on a rollercoaster, with figuring out the truth about Lila and breaking up with Alya to the events of today he was exhausted. Marinette had assured him that she didn’t need him to do anything until tomorrow, so he was hoping to distract himself by working on his music or finishing up some assignments. He certainly didn’t expect there to be a knock coming from his window. He turned, eyes widening in surprise before he quickly rushed over to greet the two heroes. If they were here, then that must mean that an akuma was out and either after him or Carapace was needed. Given how, as far as Nino knew, Chat Noir didn’t know his identity, he was assuming it was a case of the first. A chill ran down his spine, as he realized that it would mean that Alya got akumatized. His fear vanished, though, upon opening the window and the two heroes stepped in with smiles, showing no concern about there being an akuma on the loose. “Nino Lahiffe. We have some important information for you, as well as a very special request.” Ladybug turned to Chat and he picked up where she left off. “Due to some circumstances, we are switching out some of the old holders. That means that you will no longer be Carapace. However, we both agreed that you do make a good hero, so we figured that you could receive a different miraculous if you would like to continue being a hero.” Nino’s eyes widened. He felt a little sad about not getting to be Carapace or see Wayzz again, but getting a different miraculous? “Why am I getting a different miraculous if I can still be a hero?” The two holders exchange a look before Ladybug answered. “I made some bad choices with a couple of the past holders. It didn’t result in anything too bad happening, but there was a possibility of something bad happening if I had continued to keep them as heroes. I wanted to ensure that no past hero would feel victimized for no longer being a holder, so we are making any remaining holders switch miraculous. If you want to continue being a hero, you would be getting the fox.” Her serious expression changed as she offered a sly smile. “I remember you directing a movie project with your classmates a while back. Being able to direct what happens in an illusion is key. You can be as imaginative as you want with creating the illusion, but if there’s no direction in it then it all falls apart. Do you want to do this?” Does he want to do this? He actually had time to think about it, what with no akuma attacking and no pressing motivation. Nino enjoyed his time as Carapace, not for being known as a hero but just being able to help save Paris. Plus for some reason the two heroes decided to keep him on, instead of just telling him about whatever excuse they told the other holders they let go. He was important enough to be wanted. He nodded, mind decided. “I’d be honored.” The two heroes smiled and Ladybug opened her yo-yo, pulling out a foxtail necklace. “Well then, welcome to the team again.” Nino eyed the miraculous. Why was she handing it to him now? There wasn’t actually an akuma right? “You’re not giving me it to keep, right?” Chat was quick to shake his head. “No. We figured it might be a good idea to take out the new holders on patrol. Maybe let them test their powers if it’s safe enough to use outside of an attack.” Nino sighed in relief. He didn’t want to say it, but he was worried about Alya sneaking into his room or bag and stealing it from him. It was only after he broke up with her that he realized how invasive she could be. If she would look and find a miraculous… well he was pretty sure that she would want to take it. Once he slipped on the necklace, an orange ball of light formed. Then appeared a small fox kwami. It had a mischievous look on its face. “The name’s Trixx, it’s nice to meet you. All you have to do is say ‘Trixx, let’s pounce.’” Nino nodded. “Trixx, let’s pounce!” Ladybug and Chat Noir watched as he transformed, not bothered by the flash of light. Nino looked down at himself. His suit was more of a brownish orange than Rena Rouge’s, and he could feel that he had a cape. “So, foxy, got a hero name figured out?” He thought for a minute before responding. “Let’s go with Fennec.” “Well, Fennec, let’s get going on patrol. We can show you our main route before maybe letting you test your powers.” With a nod, the three were out of his room and off towards the rooftops. During his previous times as Carapace, he had experienced the feeling of being transformed and running along the rooftops. However it was always during an akuma, and he was too focused on the battle to think of anything else. Now, being transformed and not having to worry about being hit by an akuma, Nino could appreciate the feeling more. The power coursing through himself and the energy it gave him, not to mention how cool the city looked while he was above it. He understood why the two heroes did patrols. Nino followed their pathing, zipping across buildings just slow enough for them to point some things out. “We usually split patrols fifty fifty between looking for trouble on the rooftops and going on the ground to talk to civilians. It helps people feel safer, not to mention that the kids love it. Today we won’t be going on the streets unless there’s an akuma, but be prepared for it on later patrols.” Chat explained. “I’m patrolling again?” Ladybug laughed at the excitement in his voice. “Yes. With the switch off of heroes, we figured it would be the easiest way to get people used to the new faces. Even after all the hype has died down, having more people to help, as well as letting the holders get more used to being transformed, would be beneficial.” Nino grinned. He couldn’t wait to get to go out like this again. They continued to go around and say different things about their usual route before they stopped. “Okay. I think that should be good enough. Now we should go somewhere so that you can try out your powers.” Nino nodded and Ladybug led the way towards an outer part of the city that he hadn’t been to before. It was void of all people, which he supposed was important since he would be using his powers. “Since you’ve worked with Rena Rouge before I know you know the general power of the fox miraculous but I can explain it further. In order to cast a mirage you have to focus on what you want the illusion to be like. Once you have a clear image, you cast your magic by playing your flute and saying the word ‘mirage.’ “If you want to get rid of the illusion then you say the word ‘reality.’ You can either cast an illusion at a general place or you could even cast an illusion on yourself to make yourself look different. If anything touches the illusion then it will disappear. Do you want to give it a go?” Nino grabbed the flute and looked at it. He had seen Rena Rouge cast her illusions before so he did know, at least slightly, what he was doing. However he didn’t have any goal to focus his illusion on now. Sensing the unsaid issue, Chat prompted him. “Try casting an illusion on yourself. Maybe into someone you can easily recall?” Nino’s eyes lit up and he was already focusing on someone. He brought the flute to his lips and played a few notes before holding the weapon out and saying “mirage!” In a flash his image changed. Once the mirage was fully casted, he looked at the two heroes to see how well he did. Ladybug smiled, but it seemed to be more of a smirk. Chat blinked before shrugging. “I guess the guy whose face is plastered all around Paris is easy enough to recall.” “I’d say you look spot on Nino.” Chat glanced over to Ladybug and smirked at the pun she made. Nino felt like there was something else going on in their interaction, but quickly brushed the feeling off. It wasn’t important. “Well he is in my class, and is my friend so- hey… wait my voice is different!” Ladybug let out a giggle at that. “Yeah, that comes with your powers. It wouldn’t be too effective if you could look like someone or cast an illusion of someone but didn’t sound like them.” Nino guessed it made sense. That had actually worked similarly for while he was Carapace. He heard his voice in some video clips and he sounded different. Before he could speak again, a distinct beeping was heard. “Well I guess this will be all for now. Dispel the illusion and we’ll take you back home.” “Actually, my lady,” Chat interrupted as Nino said the word ‘reality’, “you’ll have to do it. I need to get to my thing before I’m late.” Ladybug frowned and checked her yoyo. “It’s almost six already? I didn’t even realize how much time had passed. Well I’ll see you tomorrow Chat.” He gave one final wave before he bonded off the rooftops. Ladybug swung her weapon in a lazy loop as she smiled at him. “Let’s head back. If you reach a minute before we get close, we can just land on a roof and I can carry you back.” Before he could respond, she threw her yoyo and swung off, prompting him to follow her. Luckily the trip back was quick enough that he was able to land inside his room before the final beeps were heard and his transformation came undone. As he took off the necklace and began to hand it to her, Ladybug held out a hand. “Actually, you should keep it for now.” He frowned. “I thought that I wasn’t keeping it.” Thoughts of Alya discovering the miraculous came to his mind. Even though she was currently avoiding him that didn’t mean that she couldn’t notice the necklace. But even if Alya wasn’t a concern, he didn’t know how he felt about keeping a miraculous with him. “It wouldn’t be permanent. It’s a special circumstance. I’m sure you’ve heard about the drama happening at Françoise Dupont by now. Well, there is almost no uncertainty that someone will be akumatized over it.” “I understand that, but what’s that have to do with me keeping the miraculous even temporarily.” Ladybug looked out the window before sighing. “I unfortunately cannot give all the details, but Chat and I were informed that we would need the fox miraculous soon for an akuma. We are going to be getting all the new holders out for patrol for the rest of the week, but we started with you first because of that. Chat and I agreed that it would be best for you to keep your miraculous until that battle happens, just in case we cannot get the miraculous to you while the akuma is out. The next akuma attack there is, just transform and meet us.” Nino nodded, deciding to just trust the heroine. “Is there anything else that I need to know?” “Yes. It’s most likely that Lila will be akumatized and will get some form that allows her to look like us or other people. If you want to know if it’s Chat or I, press the button at the base of your flute. It will cause our weapons to beep. No beeping means that the person you’re seeing is the fake. Also if we see Adrien Agreste or Marinette Dupain-Cheng while Lila is an akuma, we are going to assume that they are fakes as well.” The dj’s mind flashed to a video he saw when Lila first got akumatized, and the idea of the real Adrien being dangled over the top of the Eiffel Tower before being dropped made his stomach turn. “But what if they are actually real?” “They should know to go and hide during akuma attacks. Besides, Lila likes to use fakes of people more since it makes the situation easier to control. And in the off case that they are real, the cure will save them. They’ll be okay, Nino. I promise. Now are you okay for keeping the miraculous until then?” Nino paused before nodding. “Trixx will explain some other things to you about your power and also what they eat. If you need to reach out to me then you can shoot an emergency message while transformed. My kwami will feel the magic and then I can transform and read it. Any questions or worries that I can answer while I’m here?” He shook his head and she offered a smile. “Well I’ll be off then. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” As Ladybug swung out and away from view, he turned to his companion. The kwami’s eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief. “Well kit, if you could get me some grapes so that I can recharge then I can begin to explain some more things about your powers. I think you’ll find them a lot more powerful than you first thought.”

‘’ Come on Ned.’’ Arya hits him with her practice sword before dancing away. Edric huffs once before getting back into his fighting stance. It had been weeks since his name day and they never spoke of what had happened. Allyria said he was being stubborn and stupid, ‘some misplaced sense of honor’ she called it. So Arya had taken to avoiding it because if he was being stupid than let him be stupid. Thankfully, he hadn’t avoided entirely and they still sparred. ‘’ You’re never going to wield Dawn like that-‘’ she yelped as Ned tripped her with his sword sending her to the floor. She scowled as he circled her with a smug smile on his face. ‘’ That was a dirty trick.’’ ‘’ All’s fair in war my lady.’’ ‘’ Is that so?’’ Arya takes hold of the wooden sword and pulls him down with her, quickly straddling him and pointing the weapon at his neck, ‘’ and may I remind you I’m no lady.’’ She wiggles a little and brushes her lips against his as he groans. He sits up and Arya thinks that he is going to push her off but instead he pulls her closer and tilts her head down till his lips meet hers. He is more forceful than the other night; tugging at her hair and pulling her closer until there’s no space left in between them. When they break apart Edric places his forehead on hers and chuckles, ‘’ you’re going to kill me.’’ Arya hums but doesn’t say anything, twisting the hairs at the nape of his neck and tightening her legs around his hips trying to find relief from ache that is building in her. ‘’ Gods, ‘’ he moves his lips down to her neck, sucking and biting; keeping her hips in place when she tries to squirm. She’s never felt anything like it and to her shame it brings a flush to her cheeks, (it’s certainly becoming a common occurrence), ‘’ I’ve wanted this for so long.’’ He whispers in her ear and she can only whimper as he cants her hips to his. Gods, if he doesn’t stop soon- ‘’ Arya! Edric!’’ Allyria’s voice echoes down the hall cooling Arya’s blood. She scrambles back running her fingers through her hair and picking up her practice sword. Edric does the same and Allyria enters the hall moments later with a smile on her face.  ‘’ Supper is ready.’’ Edric clears his throat, ‘’ Thank you- Arya why don’t you go ahead and I’ll clean up here.’’ Arya licks her lips and she can’t help but grin at the flash of hunger in his eyes. When they’re far enough away Allyria nudges her, ‘’ so…’’ Her eyes are full of mirth and if Arya didn’t like her so much she would slap her. ‘’ I hate you.’’ ‘’ I know.’’ Allyria laughs. ----------------------- ‘’Allyria?’’ Arya puts her ear to the door, frowning as she hears coughing from the other side. ‘’ Come in Arya.’’ She cautiously opens the door to see Allyria wiping her mouth with a handkerchief. ‘’ Are you alright? Should I get the maester?’’ Allyria smiles before tears start to run down her cheeks. ‘’ Allyria-‘’ Arya takes tentative steps towards the woman, hugging her as Allyria begins to shake with sobs. ‘’ I’m with child.’’ Allyria mutters into her neck. ‘’ Oh,’’ Arya knows that Allyria and Beric are to be married when he comes back from Kingslanding-, ‘’ does he know?’’ Allyria shakes her head. ‘’ Oh,’’ Arya says again and she winces from how much she sounds like a crow. She thinks of Jon and how mistreated he was, how he had winced when they had called him bastard and looked down on him, but then she remembers the youngest sand snakes. How happy they were playing and laughing in the pools; taking turns riding Nymeria and presenting flower crowns to Arya, and how Ellaria looked on with love and pride in her eyes. --------------------- Arya chews on her lip as she begins to write her father. Father,        How are you? I know it must be stressful to be the Hand but I am sure that you do it well, and I am sure that Sansa is enjoying herself. It is all that she has ever wanted and more. Please give her my regards.        I am sorry that I’ve not written you in so long. I have been quite busy helping Allyria get ready for the child- it is hard to imagine that she is eight moons along. Robb writes that Bran has awoken and has gotten the plans for the wheel chair, I hope it helps. That is not why I wrote this letter though.          I know I was stubborn and angry when you first told me I was to go to Starfall and marry Edric, but now I am grateful. I was afraid of being shackled but you have truly given me my freedom. I ride along the beach and practice with my sword in the gardens and play with Oberyn’s youngest daughters in the Water Gardens. They love Nymeria as much as I do, and tell everyone to bring their wolves with them for the wedding as I’m sure Dorea and Loreza would enjoy it.         And Edric- Edric is a good man and I cannot wait for you to meet him, and Allyria as well. They are like family to me now, although I still ache for you and mother and Robb, Bran, Rickon, Jon, and even Sansa.  You know I miss the Godswood most of all? I even dream of it sometimes. I cannot wait to see you again, and I pray to the old gods to keep you safe. Arya ------------------ Allyria fans herself as she lies in bed, belly large with child. ‘’ And so the High Septon crowned Aegon Targaeryn the first of his name-‘’ ‘’ I can’t take this anymore-‘’ Allyria wipes the sweat off her forehead as Arya shuts the tome and places it on the bed. ‘’ I’m miserable Arya.’’ She whines. Arya rolls her eyes and places a cool cloth on her forehead. Allyria clutches it gratefully and wipes her face. ‘’ You’ve only got a few weeks left.’’ ‘’ Yes just a few weeks.’’ Arya watches as Allyria rubs her stomach a smile on her face. ‘’ Has Beric written yet?’’ A small frown appears on the Dornishwomans face, ‘’ no- nothing of late. The last letter he wrote, your father was sending him on an errand. Help me sit up.’’ Allyria pushes herself up before freezing. ‘’ Arya it’s time-get the Maester.’’ ‘’ Nymeria,’’ the wolf pops her head up, ‘’ go get maester Ardin.’’ Allyria shoots a confused look at her but Arya just presses another cool cloth to Allyria’s cheek. ‘’ You trust her to find him?’’  Arya shrugs. ‘’ She found Sunspear without me, I’m certain she can find the maester.’’ Minutes later Nymeria comes back dragging the poor old man who is maester Ardin with her. -------------------- Allyria labors a full day before Arthur is born. Placed in a lavender swaddling blanket he looks up with curious eyes as Nymeria sniffs him and then lays her head on Allyria’s lap, closing her eyes. ‘’ He’s perfect.’’ Allyria whispers tiredly. Arya touches the small patch of gold hair on his head. ‘’ He is.’’ Edric watches from across the room with happy eyes. He had nearly killed his horse just to come in time for the birth, riding a day and a night from Sandstone. ‘’ The lady needs rest.’’ Maester Ardin holds his arms out for the child which Allyria places gratefully in his arms. She slumps onto the pillows finally able to rest. Edric crosses the room and kisses his aunt on the cheek commenting on her beauty for which she swats him playfully on the shoulder. Arya yawns and gets up from her place beside the bed taking one last look at mother and child before exiting the room. She hears Edric behind her, and steps to the side when she reaches her chambers, inviting him in.   Edric plops down on the bed, ‘’ is this appropriate?’’ Arya rolls her eyes and pulls off her breeches and tunics, crawling under the silk sheets letting them cool her heated skin. ‘’ Of all the things to deem inappropriate, it’s this?’’ Edric grinned and stripped down to his breeches joining her in her bed. She closed her eyes as he kissed her eyelids, and cheeks, and shoulders-  She sighed and let herself drift back to the night when he had taken her under the stars. ----------------- Arya watches as Allyria walks around the room, rocking Arthur in her arms. ‘’ Nymeria.’’ Arya hisses at the pacing wolf. Nymeria answers with a bark which sends Arthur crying. ‘’ Out.’’ Nymeria goes with a whimper, her tail between her legs. ‘’ What’s wrong with her?’’ Arya sighs, ‘’ I don’t know she’s been acting like this all day.’’ ‘’ My lady.’’ Maester Ardin hands her a letter, sealed with red wax. But why would- Arya only reads the first sentence before letting it drop onto the floor. She sees Allyria and maester Ardin look at her with concern, but she doesn’t care. Why should she? Why? Just why? She doesn’t realize that she’s running until she is out of the castle, but she still doesn’t stop until she reaches the cliffs. It is then, and only then, that she screams, the waves crashing against the rocks, muffling the sound. She screams until her voice is hoarse. Then she paces, moving back and forth along the cliffs edge. Why would they do this? Her father was a good man. This has to be some sort of trick. It cannot be true- Her thoughts whirl around her head, spinning, making her dizzy until she can’t breathe.      It is nightfall before Edric finds her. ‘’ Arya,’’ He steps toward her slowly, but she puts her arms out and steps back, willing him to stay away; willing him to just let her be. He doesn’t though. Instead of the slow and sure he had been taking he rushes to her and wraps his arms around her. She pushes him away, ‘’ don’t touch me! Don’t-‘’ she repeats it over and over again; pounding her fists on his chest until she collapses at his feet sobbing. All while he looks at her with sad eyes and wraps his arms around her; letting his tears soak his tunic, and when her tears dry her lifts her up and carries her back to the castle.

“You might be wondering why I’m here trying to talk to… Well, you.” Miyeon raises one of her eyebrows, before she smirks a little. Minho doesn’t let it affect him, a tight grip on the beer in his hands as he locks eyes with Miyeon, not letting any emotion show.   In the past years Minho’s learned how to annoy Miyeon too, it’s a two-sided fight. Like a cat and dog.   “No, doesn’t really interest me at all.” Minho says, before taking a small sip from his drink. Disgusting.   He’s really not used to the taste of alcohol, sue him for being a well-behaved teenager.   Miyeon smiles at that, though, and turns around in the kitchen as she makes her way towards the table full of bottles of alcohol, her long hair braided on one side. The hairstyle looks perfect and Minho feels a little jealous, thinking about how her good looks got her Jisung. “I’ll mix you something good, you just wait until you taste this,” She says, and Minho barely hears her sickly sweet voice over the loud music.   Here she comes with the poison, trying to kill Minho.   Minho has hardly any time to empty his mind from all the unsettling thoughts before Miyeon’s standing in front of him again, pushing a cup into his hands.   “Try it,” She forces, a tight smile on. “It will make you loosen up, I promise.”   Minho knows he shouldn’t accept anything from this girl and he knows Miyeon can surely tell he doesn’t trust her either. “Do you really think I would do something to harm my, well, brother-in-law ?” It doesn’t really sound like a question, but rather a statement. Her cheeks turn rosy in the dim lighting and Minho almost chokes on air when he realises Miyeon isn’t joking about this.   Minho drowns the drink in one go. It only burns a little bit.   “I hope we can leave the past behind us, Minho oppa. I mean you’re almost like a brother to Jisung oppa and I know it’s what he would want.” Shut up shut up shut up.   “And considering he doesn’t have any other siblings, it’s really important that we two get along.” Like a punch to the gut. If Minho could let his dramatic side out right now, he would fall to the ground while gasping for air, eyes shining with unshed tears.   But Minho smiles, nods even a little at the girl in front of him. Even though all his mind has been repeating for the past minute is brother brother brother brother brother brother-   Like a mantra.   But they’re not brothers.   Minho didn’t fall for his own brother.   “Can you make me another one of these?” Minho says much to his own surprise, shaking the empty cup in Miyeon’s face, his already blurred out vision making him miss the suspicious smile that spreads across Miyeon’s face.   “Sure.” Minho’s leaning his whole body weight against the wall, his eyes drooped close as he hums to the familiar pop song. He doesn’t know how he ended up next to the dance floor, dance corner or whatever teenagers call it these days, but he knows he’s ready to show off some real moves.   He just needs to rest for a second. Just a small second.   A heavy hand rests on his shoulder and Minho’s eyes would fly open if it weren’t for the alcohol in his veins making him somehow so much slower than usual.   “Minho hyung, where have you been?” Jisung asks over the loud music, even leaning a little bit closer. He looks good and he smells good and Minho’s trying so hard not to say anything but again, he wants to blame the alcohol because it’s so damn fucking hard to stay quiet.   “Were you worried?” Minho feels himself slur the question out, the hand on his shoulder burning his skin. You didn’t seem so worried when Miyeon literally dragged me away from you.   “Of course I was, you dumbass.” He says, no bite to his words and Minho feels even dizzier, if it’s somehow possible.   Jisung locks eyes with him and Minho tries so hard to not fall into them. His beautiful Jisung, standing right in his reach, looking at him like that.   “Well, you don’t- don’t have to.” Minho says, standing up straighter and making Jisung’s hand fall down. He misses the body heat already. “I’m not your fucking-”   “My fucking what, Minho hyung?” Jisung cuts between, his eyes finding Minho’s so quickly, even if Minho tries really hard to avoid any eye contact, and the serious look he gives Minho makes a shiver run down his spine. The effect the younger has on him is mind-blowing.   It’s then that Minho realises Jisung probably already knows. Jisung might have overheard them or the whole conversation with Miyeon might have been Jisung’s own idea, Minho doesn’t know and frankly doesn’t care which one of these options it is. Because either way it hurts just the same.   “Leave me alone, you don’t have to look after me,” Minho pushes Jisung further away and turns away from him, “I’m my own family, I can take care of myself.”   He heads straight to the crowd, not looking back once. Minho’s never been in a more crowded place as the sweaty bodies dance and jump around him, trying to suffocate him. He would probably be dead by now if it weren’t for the alcohol bumping in his veins, keeping him alive and making him follow the others around him.   He feels himself letting loose, his body becoming one with the other drunk kids around him, probably just as fucked as him.   He tries not to think about how he hurt Jisung and how Jisung hurt him and how they’ve been doing this for years, even centuries, without giving each other a break. His thoughts really don’t go well with the hype music that’s blasting loudly, and so he pushes them far away, just like he pushed Jisung away.   He thinks his mind is playing tricks with him when a pretty girl from a class younger, with long legs and a skinny waist and really really long hair that somehow shines under the light starts giving Minho more attention than the other guys around her, her arms circling around Minho’s neck as they sway together, super close to each other. Minho doesn’t really say anything to her, finding no harm in this as it seems just like casual dancing.   But when she turns around in his arms and starts grinding her ass against his crotch, Minho feels disgusted with himself. Suddenly, he feels like the jeans he’s wearing are too tight and he can’t breathe properly in this outfit.   “I don’t-I don’t wanna-” Minho leans over her shoulder, trying to talk to the attractive girl. If only someone turned the music down.   “You don’t wanna do it here?” The girl laughs, her unfocused eyes locking with Minho’s. She has pretty eyes, but they could never compare with Jisung’s. “Let’s go upstairs then.”   “N-No, I mean, I’m not-” Why is talking so incredibly hard? “I’m not really i-into you.”   The girl stops dancing instantly, facing Minho again but now with a forced smile on her lips. “Well, you think I’m ugly?”   “No, no, I mean-”   “Because I’m the best you can get, let me tell you that.” She furiously rambles, and Minho wants to run for his life as she looks into her disappointed and annoyed face.   “It’s not about you.” He wants to apologise but he doesn’t even know the girl’s name. He shouldn’t really care.   “You already have a girlfriend? Because baby I don’t care about that, trust me she will never find out.” She says then, the real smile returning to her face. Her eyes look hopeful again and Minho realises she’s not okay. Really not okay. And Minho can’t listen to this anymore. “I’ve seen you around in school, but you have never looked this good before, oppa. Let me make you feel good, I promise I’m better than your girl-”   Word vomit.   And Minho’s far too gone to stop it now.   “I’m gay.” Minho feels like the whole world just went quiet as he blurts the words out. Eveything stops, his heartbeat stops and the words echo everywhere around him. Did he really just come out to a stranger?   The said stranger takes a quick step back, her eyes looking like they’re about to pop out of her head. “You’re what? What the fuck?”   She looks like she wants to scream and for once Minho’s glad for the loud music. “You let me do that shit to you while knowing damn well you’re-you’re, well, you know damn well what you are! You’re fucking sick dude.” She turns around and storms away, somehow easily finding a way out from the crowd.   Minho doesn’t realise the consequences his words will have as he pushes himself past the kids dancing, far away from the mess. He needs to breathe, to take a second and close his eyes. Maybe act like this never happened.   He finds the balcony, and considering how the house was fully-packed inside, the place is weirdly empty. But maybe it’s finally Minho’s luck turning, because that’s what he wants and needs right now. A place where he can be alone and sober up as quickly as possible.   He stumbles a little when he tries to stand up straight, so he leans against the wall, the fresh air working wonders. He lets his eyes close slowly and deeply breathes in the cold air, trying to keep himself from having a panic attack.   Minho prays the girl doesn’t say a word about his sexuality. The fact that he’s gay.   He’s gay he’s gay he’s gay-   But maybe Minho should’ve taken church more seriously, because this is definitely God’s payback. A group of boys Minho barely recognises from school suddenly opening the balcony door with a loud bang, like they had been looking for Minho.   “Heard there’s a fucking faggot here,” One of them spits, and Minho realises it’s one of the guys Jisung hangs out with.   Jisung.   “You really dare come here, huh.” He steps even closer, cornering Minho. His face shows no emotion, but he’s angry, Minho knows. Maybe Minho would feel more confident right now if he were taller. And weren’t completely alone. “And touch our girls with your dirty, dirty motherfucking hands.”   Minho wants to run, but the damned alcohol in his system has made him weak.   A little voice in his head tells him he has always been weak.   “I didn’t do anything to her.” Minho whispers, his voice barely audible in the dark. He wishes he hadn’t said anything though, because his voice seems to trigger the other.   “Don’t fucking talk to me, you fag.” He says, before Minho feels the guy’s fist connect with his face. To be more exact, nose. Minho’s eyes close instantly and he falls to his knees, grabbing his face and already feeling the warm liquid run down his chin. He’s bleeding, of course.   Atleast he doesn’t feel any pain. Yet.   “It’s that Changbin’s impact, huh?” One of them asks and Minho feels his blood boil. “He put some gay spell on you, didn’t he.”   The group of people laugh at him and Minho wishes the ground would swallow him because even at a moment like this, where he’s torn between collapsing and fighting back for Changbin, his mind goes back to thinking about Jisung.   How Jisung took care of him when his nose started bleeding after the nightmare. How he always helps him after those terrible sessions, even if he’s tired and really doesn’t have to. His Jisung. So kind and caring and helpful-   But Jisung will never speak to him again after this, he knows.   If only he had stayed home.   “Just let me leave, please.” Minho learns how to speak again, even if he doesn’t dare to open his eyes. It takes too much energy and he would probably end up crying. He hears the guys around him laugh again, and realises there’s even more people standing outside.   But of course no one’s helping him.   “Why would I do that?” Another kick at him, but this time he receives the punch in his lower stomach. Some screams, whistling and yelling, and Minho’s vision blurs out completely as he tastes blood.   He loses count of the punches he receives and realises he doesn’t even care anymore.   He feels like he has died already.   “What the fuck is going on here?” Someone yells and Minho only registers the sentence in his head because he knows the voice, knows the person. “Get the fuck away from him.”   Minho feels hands resting on his back as he stays kneeling on the ground, eyelids too heavy to even open them. Everything has started to hurt and the cold wind touching his scars doesn’t make it better, but somehow Jisung’s warm touch makes it more bearable. Jisung’s touch always works wonders.   “You’re really stepping out for a faggot now?” Someone barks, but Jisung seems to ignore them, because there’s no answer coming from him.   It’s when Minho feels another pair of hands touching him, softly grabbing at him that he moans in pain.   “Hyung, hyung are you okay?” Jisung whispers close to him and to Minho he sounds furious. “Oh, don’t you fucking touch him,” He hears Jisung yell over him and Minho has honestly never heard him this angry. The other pair of hands let go of him and Minho hears shuffling over him.   “Jisung, he’s my cousin, let him help.” Another voice. Minho doesn’t recognise it anymore, though.   “He could be the president for all I care, but he’s not touching Minho hyung.”   “Jisung, Woojin hyung could really help!” Minho notices how desperate and scared the stranger sounds, he ends up feeling bad for the guy. Minho must be the first person he’s seen getting beat up.   “Unless you have a car, I don’t see a way you could be helpful.”   “I do! I do have a car! Let me drive you guys somewhere far from here.” Another stranger says, with a deeper voice, before Minho finally feels himself giving him, feeling safer knowing Jisung is by his side. He blacks out and hits the ground, no strength in his body left.

Tim calmed down a little by the time they entered the sport center. Damian, along with Bruce, Talia and Ra's went to the changing rooms while the rest looked for seats. Because of Barbara they took the seats in the first row, for which Dick was really happy, but Jason and Tim couldn't help but make a face. Damian was competing in kata, kumita and kihon, all of them paced out thorough the whole day, and even if they didn't count the ceremony which will be at the very end of the day. And if they sat in the first row, it will be much more obvious if they fell asleep or started playing on their phone. "It's not like anyone will care, too many people will be running around for them to notice just the two of you, so quit bitching," Barbara said from her place beside the row. Jason sighed and threw his arms over Tim's shoulder to lean it onto his seat. "I'm just saying, that when you want food, I'll be the first one to leave for it," he said as he leaned his head back. A woman behind them shushed them, giving Jason a very angry look, but the man only glared back at her. "And you wouldn't even come back," Dick gave him a soft smile, before apologising to the woman behind them. He charmed her enough so she was paying more attention to him in the end than her kid who was performing the katas. "And why the hell are we already hear? The brat will come on after an hour and we're supposed to sit here and watch the kids? Why couldn't we just come here later?" Jason asked and pointed at the tatami where a new pair of kids took their places. They were around ten years old, and Damian was in another age category so they were nowhere near his turn. Tim leaned against Jason's side and took out his phone. "Because Bruce thought it would be better if we all came with the minibus because this was he knows that everyone is within the building," he answered, opening a file the man sent him previously. As much as him and Barbara tried, there was too much work with the Christmas merchtravaganza and with making sure everything went well, so he gave some of it to Tim. "Great. Fucking amazing," Jason groaned and slid down on his seat. "Wake me up if I snore too loudly," he leaned a little more heavily against Tim. "You guys have been so attached lately," Dick commented softly, giving them a gentle look. He didn't want to bring it up in front of Damian, not knowing how he would react in front his mother and grandfather. But now he wasn't there. "I'm just making sure that creep stays away," Jason answered, not even bothering to open his eyes. "So it's really him," Dick sighed catching Tim's gaze over the man between them. Tim nodded his head softly. "But Ra's isn't here right now," Barbara commented from Dick's other side. She Pulle doubt her laptop from the bag she hung on the back of her wheelchair. She opened it up and turned it on with a few quick movements. Jason gave her a death glare. "You seriously want to have this conversation now?" he asked. Barbara barely glanced at him from the corner of her eyes with a smirk dancing on her lips. She shrugged. "I'm just pointing out facts," she said, opening a document she was working on. "I need a smoke," Jason moaned with a pained expression on his face. He rested his head on the back of his chair. "You only have so many cigarettes on you and we'll be here the whole day," Dick sing-sang, obviously enjoying the situation. He clapped along with the crowd when this pair of kids finished their routine. "This is hell," Jason murmured. Tim patted his thigh in commiseration before turning back to his work. Clark arrived with Jon a few minutes before Damian's first number, so by the time the boy stepped onto the tatami, they were sitting beside Tim, both cheering loudly when Damian stepped onto the tatami. Damian's eyes widened slightly when he saw them in the first row, but then he quickly scolded his face into a frown before wiping his face completely void to focus on his task. Eventually Bruce also joined them when Damian only had one last presentation to do. Jason and Tim took the chance to get some food for both themselves and the boy, leaving their seats for the first time in hours. His legs felt numb as Tim stood up, an she clung onto the other for a little to stabilise himself. They came back with a vegan burger for Damian and two bags of stuff for themselves, decidedly ignoring that Dick has also asked them to get him something. Tim eventually gave him his fries to shut him up. Ra's and Talia took their places, so Tim sat onto the ground, leaning back against Dick's legs, to put some distance between himself and Ra's even in these last minutes. He had less than twenty hours to go, and even if Damian continued to bitch about everything, Tim could see how he was enjoying the attention a lot. He bitched how the kids around them were loud and nobody knew anything about karate, yet he answered every single one of Jon's questions and took him around the venue. He hated how the parents were filming their children left and right, and yet he made sure to show off a little more whenever he saw that Bruce was watching. It was both hilarious and endearing in a way. It proved that even though he was a little weird, Damian was also just a child at the end of the day. Damian acted like a king as they made their way home. He told everyone where they could sit (meaning that he sent Tim and Jason into the back so he could sit next to Dick), demanded extra food for his pets for that night and they ate his favourite meal that Alfred prepared for the special occasion. Neither of them were the least bit surprised when the gold medal was placed around the boy's neck. He would've beaten anyone there, and just as Talia has commented, restraining him into his age category was humiliating. But even so, Dick engulfed Damian into a bone crushing hug as he gushed about how good he was and so on, and Barbara called ahead to let Alfred know how to prepare for the night. Talia and Ra's weren't even the last bit impressed with him, and they made that very clear. Bruce and Dick kept shooting them warning glances, but the two kept on ignoring them. If it hurt Damian, he didn't show it. Tim locked his door after himself when he went to bed. He knew better than to try and go work downstairs when Alfred was out for him. Less than twelve hours to go. If he was lucky, he may even be asleep when Ra's and Talia left and wouldn't need to see him again. And even if he wasn't so fortunate and someone woke him up before then, he would only a few hours left if he survived the night. He wrapped himself tightly into a blanket cocoon even he will have a hard time getting out of, so no one else would pry away his blankets, before he closed his eyes. **************** The mattress dipped in beside him and Tim's eyes snapped open. His heart went from zero to one hundred within a second, his breath caught painfully in his chest. He closed his door. He locked his door. And yet as he lifted his eyes from his pillows, he saw Ra's al Ghoul sitting by his side. The man didn't touch him, he was just sitting there, watching over him. "It's a bit over one in the morning. I honoured your request, Timothy and kept to myself during Damian's day as foolish as I think it was," he started. The moonlight highlighted the gray locks in his hair, his white dress shirt seemed to shine in the dark. It may have been just the play of the lights, but he seemed completely unaffected by the late hour. Tim sighed. He, on the other hand, was tired. He sat up in his bed, still keeping his blanket-wrap around himself. "Don't you think this proves that you may have some sociopathic tendencies? No normal person would wait up for this loophole," he said, pulling back against the headboard so there was some more distance between them. "I think it would be wise to quit insulting me before I get angry, dearest," Ra's said, moving slightly closer to Tim. "I think we have already established that I am stronger than you and can use that power over you any time I want. I don't want to have to resort to force this time, my heart," he said, grabbing the blankets and pulling them away from Tim's body. "What do you want, Ra's? I don't want to make a scene, but I'll yell and everyone will be here within seconds," Tim tried to pull his blanket back, but Ra's yanked it from him before he had a chance to make any movement. He fell forward as the material was pulled from underneath him, and then Ra's hand was back at his neck. Tim's eyes widened and his pulse sped up once again. His head knocked against the headboard as Ra's slammed him back against it, climbing over him. "You don't want that, sweet," he murmured softly, leaning into Tim's face. The moonlight reflected back from the poison irises, and Tim suddenly understood how a tiny mouse might feel when facing a snake with its jaw unhinged. Ra's finger kept on caressing the vein on his neck, strumming against it gently with every pulse. Tim didn't even dare to breath, and slowly but surely spots started dancing in his vision. "I'm going tell you what's going to happen now, dearest. You're going to be the good boy I know you can be when you're not acting rebellious. You're going to quietly pack a bag of your essentials, and we are going to leave. I've already arranged the plane for us," he said, giving Tim a soft smile. He gave Tim an affectionate peck on the forehead. "You're perfect for me, darling. I only need you to see reason and quit your childish games," he said, and even if his tone was gentle, there was an underlying warning in it that didn't skip Tim's attention. Tim opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Ra's fingers were still pressing down on his pulse with every heartbeat in his chest. He couldn't breathe, as if hundred bricks weighed down on his chest. But Ra's was leaning closer, his eyes never once breaking away from his and Tim felt like he was going to throw up, even if his stomach felt to be the size of a child's fist. He forced himself to take a shaky breath. "Help! JASON! HELP!" He screamed out as loud as he could, before starting to trash in Ra's hands. "ANYONE! HELP! Please..." the last bit came out a bare whisper as Ra's pressed down on his throat again, grabbing it just to slam his head against the headboard again. "I warned you! Keep quiet and obey the rules I set! This is ALL I asked you to do, and I will give you the world!" he snarled. He lapped Tim across the face, not minding how Tim's fingers clawed into his hand that held his throat. Tim's cheek throbbed, the back of his head pulsate, and tears of frustration leaked from his eyes. He was powerless in the man's hold. But instead of slapping him again, Ra's gently took Tim's face into his hand, caressing his cheek softly. "When will you learn? I don't want to hurt you, dearest. You make me do this, and I..." "And you will take your hands off him before I shoot you in the head," Jason's voice was steady and deep, and Tim let out a sob. Ra's turned towards the door, his hand still holding Tim's throat. And to Tim's terror, Jason as holding a gun. Ra's chuckled softly. "You don't think this seriously, child. Put that down before I take it away myself," he said, like he was talking to a naughty kid. But Jason only clocked the gun. "Try my, asshole," he growled. His hands were steady, his hold perfect. "Jason, put it down. Please, we don't need to take this that far," Dick said as he stepped into the room. He lifted his hands into the air to show he wasn't armed. "I'll put it down once he steps away from my boyfriend," Jason said, not even glancing at Dick. As much as Dick wanted to push Ra's away from Tim, he couldn't make a move until Jason was holding the gun. "Please, Jay. You can't do this to Damian. Isn't that why you guys kept this a secret?" he asked. Ra's pulled Tim to the other side of the bed, still holding his throat with an iron grip. He pulled Tim in front of himself, putting the boy in the line of fire. "Listen to him, Jason," he said, but his voice got overshadowed. "Do what you need, Todd." They all turned to look at Damian who stood behind Dick by the door. "And don't think I didn't know. I overhead Drake telling it to Todd right after the original assault," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. He looked at them with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you think I wanted to be at Grandfather's house for two weeks?" he asked. Tim's heart sunk. Damian knew and yet he still invited Ra's over. He knew the boy hated him, but he never would've thought it was to this extent. And by the broken look on Dick's face, he wasn't the only one who thought this. " Dami..." "I worked a bit overtime than my original schedule, but I still managed to find enough evidence to put him behind bars, even if Drake doesn't wish to testify, be it as foolish as it is," Damian said. "What did you just say?" Ra's asked. Surprise mixed with rage in his voice, and even if it was only for a second, his hold weakened. And Tim went for it. He threw himself out of the man's hold, ignoring how Ra's finger jabbed into his vein when he tried to re-establish his grip. But Tim was already out, and he ran right into Jason who only let the gun down once he had Tim within an arms reach. "I said that you're going to jail, Grandfather. I have found the messages you exchanges with numerous hitman and assassins to kidnap Drake next week, shall your attempt today not succeed. I also have your emails printed, in which you blackmailed the Drakes, threatening to leak Drake's info to the press. And let's not forget the evidence we have on photographs and multiple eye-witness testimonies that you attempted rape and physically assaulted him. And currently I don't even want to go into detail about the tax-frauds and embezzlement I found out about," he said, letting Dick step in front of him when Ra's stepped forward. He may be a martial artist, but with a gun aimed on him, and two another well-versed people in the room, even Ra's didn't try his luck. "Father is already outside, leading the police here," Damian finished with a smug grin as he watched Dick bind Ra's hands behind his back with Tim's sheets. "You're a disgrace to our name," Ra's spat as he looked at his grandson. They could already hear the police running up the stairs. He could struggle, but then he would've lost his dignity. It wasn't worth it. "I don't care. I already have the papers filled out to change my name to Wayne," Damian countered. His expression was cold, his hands behind his back. He looked at Ra's like he was just shit on his shoes. "So you're going to be marked with the name of sex-worker? Serves you right, shows your true value," he said, not even looking up onto the officer who took his from Dick's hold, clicking the handcuffs onto him beside the sheets. "At least here we value consent," Damian answered, looking as Ra's was lead down the corridor. Jason put his gun down and pulled Tim against his chest even tighter. "Fucking hell," he muttered, pressing a kiss against Tim's dark hair as the younger clung onto his shirt. "Shit..." Tim whisperer, burying his face into Jason's shoulder. He didn't care that the others were around, he didn't care that the police wanted to question him. Jason' scent overwhelmed his senses, his warm embrace made him feel safe again. He didn't even care for the gun anymore. "Now, if I can interrupt, give me the gun, Jason," Bruce said, making them look up. He was standing beside one of the officers. He held his hand towards Jason. The man rolled his eyes but gave it to him. Dick watched the exchange with slight horror written on his face. "Why do you even have a gun in the first place?" he asked. Jason shrugged as he put both his arms around Tim again. "Stole it from set. It's the one we used for Red Hood. Made me feel powerful so I took it," he answered nonchalantly. Dick winced. "That... doesn't exactly make me feel calmer..." he whispered. "Gentlemen, if I may," one of the officers stepped forward. "I need you all to come in to the precinct so we can question you and record your testimonies," he said, strumming his pen against his notebook. Tim turned his face away from Jason's shoulder to look at him, but Bruce stepped in front of them before he even had time to open his mouth. "Alright. We'll drive there as soon as possible, just let us change into a more formal clothing," he gestured down his body to show that all of them were in their pajamas, standing barefooted in Tim's room. The officer nodded. "We'll be awaiting for you. Until then, we need to take some pictures of the room," he said, as another few men came forward, followed by a woman holding a camera. Bruce agreed, but Jason only snorted. "Look, Timmy, you'll be on the police record as a slob," he commented with a demented giggle. Tim hit him on the chest. "Shut the fuck up," he groaned but couldn't help the smile that sneaked onto his lips. "Officer, who do I need to give the evidence I collected?" Damian asked as he turned towards the policeman. The man was clearly shocked at how the young boy spoke to him, so he sputtered over his words as he answered: "Me... Please, give it to me." Damian nodded before turning on his heels, but before he disappeared, Tim called after him. When the boy turned back, Tim caught his eyes. He gave Damian a small smile. "Thank you." Damian frowned. "Don't flatter yourself, Drake. I didn't do it for you," he answered and left before any more words could be exchanged. Bruce sighed, and even if he tried to hide his emotions, there was a soft smile on his lips. "Everyone dress up and get ready. We should leave as soon a possible, so we can come home early and get some sleep," he said, and patted Jason's shoulder before leaving. Dick looked after him, and almost left with him but then he turned back towards Tim and Jason and gave them a big hug. He squeezed the breath out of them, before pressing a kiss onto Tim's head. "See you guys in a few," he said and ran out of the room. "Idiot..." Jason groaned and shook his head. He looked down to meet Tim's gaze. They just watched each other for a second before Jason leaned down to press their lips together in a chaste kiss. "Come on, you can borrow my hoodie. Let's leave them to work," he patted Tim's lower back gently to lead him out of the room.

The low rumble of the train is peaceful. The heavy vibrations and even the occasional metallic whine as something scrapes against the track as distance closes between them and Cheongju. She'd see her family again, and that's a warm thought. They'd get to meet Ryujin, which she knows will go over just fine. Ryujin is charming, and she knows the second they let her in the kitchen, she'll win everyone over. It's not even a concern she's entertaining. These thoughts anchor her, along with the persistent hand holding from Ryujin. The way she toys with each finger boredly while staring out the window. Jungeun knew her attention would be on the book, so she'd forfeited the coveted window seat. As she goes over the section detailing Minji's death she wonders if maybe staring outside would have been the healthier option. Her eyes sting. She sniffles, roughly swiping at her face quickly to catch a tear that'd escaped, but it's not missed by Ryujin who snaps her head over to look at her. "You okay?" she asks, and Jungeun only nods, chewing on her lower lip while still reading over the lines. Ryujin gives her hand a little squeeze. The chapter about Minji ends with the line: I never would have guessed that the worst thing to ever happen to me would be followed by the best thing that could ever happen to me. And the following chapter starts with the story of how she broke Toshio's arm when she met Jungeun. Her breath catches in her throat. With just a few simple lines on a page, she has that Jinsoul shaped wound in her heart torn open again and it bleeds and bleeds and bleeds. She tries to keep reading. She gets to where she mentions how happy she was when she got to stay and be friends with Jungeun after her name was cleared and the first time Jungeun fixed her uniform bow for her and she can't take it anymore. She closes the book draft. When they finally make their arrival, they're given a warm welcome. Though Jungeun's mother can tell something is off immediately. I'm just tired, she tells her, and to Jungeun's benefit, she backs off. It's not the reunion either of them were hoping for, but Jungeun makes a promise to herself to be especially sweet after she's been given an opportunity to shake off this feeling that's gripped her. And as expected, Ryujin is immediately a hit. She's charismatic as ever and has them laughing within minutes of meeting, and the sound of it puts Jungeun immediately at ease. And while Ryujin is putting on the charm, she still spares that sliver of her attention for Jungeun. Maintaining that silent sort of reminder that she's there at a moment's notice if Jungeun needs her. And she does. When they get to her parents' house and lug all of their things up the stairs to her room, she has to stop and cover her face. "I don't want to be like this," Jungeun says, exasperated. Sad. "This is an important week." Ryujin is there in an instant, holding her, kissing the side of her head and muttering reassurances that don't really sink in. But they're still nice to hear. Pulling her hands from her face, Jungeun takes a deep breath and lets herself rest her chin on Ryujin's shoulder while she's held. "You're gonna see Yerimie again and feel ten times better," Ryujin says confidently, and Jungeun thinks she might be right. They hadn't seen each other in a while. Pulling back, Ryujin holds Jungeun at the shoulders and angles her head to try and connect their eyes. "You're gonna be okay. We'll get through this week and make some happy memories with everyone. You shouldn't go living in the bad ones in that book." Jungeun nods numbly. She knows she's going to read it again the moment Ryujin is out of the room. She leans in, planting another noisy kiss on Jungeun's forehead with a loud "Mwah!" before letting her go. "I'm gonna help appa with dinner," she says before slipping out of the room. And, of course, the second she's out the door, Jungeun is fishing the draft out of her laptop bag and opening it as she sits on the bed. From where she continues, the book details her friendships with Jungeun, Jiwoo and Hyunjin and how they helped her cope despite never having known there was anything wrong. Something about it twists a knife in Jungeun's gut. She wishes she'd known. There isn't too much focus given to her time in high school. Even if Jungeun would gladly read about how much Jinsoul preferred math to history, or about her favorite lunches, she knows these things aren't relevant to the message being delivered. Still, there's a heartfelt mention of Yerim that's kept that manages to make Jungeun smile. Rather, the part focusing on her teens has more to do with her developing relationship with Kang, and the realizations they were having about themselves. Callbacks are made to sections in Kang's section of the book--Jungeun still doesn't bother to read the first half, though. It makes little difference to her what Kang went through. She cares only about the ripple effect it had on Jinsoul. Though Jungeun finds out she's the reason Jinsoul had begun to question things. Sure, she'd started looking at girls a little differently in the locker room, or when walking down the hallway. But she didn't link feelings to it until Jungeun had come to join her in high school a year later. The realization that the two of them had been quietly pining for each other for that long makes her laugh. It's certainly a mirthless sort of laugh, though. Again and again, Jungeun was becoming aware of how cruel the fates are. But in a way that almost has her smirking. Oh if only you knew, she thinks, reflecting on little fifteen year old Jungie. Explicitly, it mentions that she realized she was in love with a girl when this girl was taken by someone else. Jungeun remembers Haseul. Remembers how Jinsoul was suddenly there when she needed her most during the breakup. And then the book mentions Busan. Not... in any great detail. And for that, Jungeun is grateful. But it's mentioned all the same. Treated as a place that mattered a lot to her and how her memories during that time are something she thinks about every day. It makes Jungeun's chest tight. Closing the book, Jungeun remembers their game. She remembers her walk on the tightrope. She remembers not knowing anything and believing the wrong things. Believing what Jinsoul was saying, but not what she was showing. She swallows dryly, her breath feeling too hot in her throat as she tucks the book back into her laptop bag. She can smell dinner is almost ready and thinks to finally get back downstairs. She hadn't seen her family in months after all. ♡♤ Three years earlier, New Years Eve ♧♢  The sidewalks feel so packed. So cramped. Despite the chill in the air and the snow starting to fall again, Hyeju feels too hot, too stifled. Her eyes burn as she pushes past people, weaving through them. She thinks she hears someone call out to her. Depravity. Morality. Dignity. The words all stung. Worst of all, the look on Jungeun's face. Horrorstruck and humiliated. Hyeju didn't think people like that existed anymore. Not outside of bantering politicians with an agenda--and maybe that's exactly what he was. Hyeju couldn't know. All she knows is that this was the reality she'd have to face if she wanted to be happy. If she was going to be honest with herself. She thinks of Hoseok. That boy she didn't even dignify with a breakup. She wonders if she could meet another like him and settle into a quiet life where people like that loud man back at the exhibit couldn't make a mess of things. She wonders if she could pretend to be happy with some boy for the sake of keeping a healthy relationship with her parents. She wonders why her happiness has to come at a cost. And she stops. The heat built up in her chest and throat and eyes suddenly burning up from secondhand humiliation into anger. Into a defensiveness. Into a want to protect people like Jungeun who are too scared to speak up for themselves. She wants to turn on her heel and find that man and make him pay. Instead she finds herself frozen. Stuck on inaction. What does she do? How is she even meant to feel about all of this? God she wishes Sooyoung was there to tell her. "Hyeju!" she hears, and suddenly realizes she did have someone calling after her. Worst of all, it's Chaewon. Out of breath, she stops in front of her, fixing Hyeju with a look that's somewhere between angry and concerned. "What are you doing?" she asks and Hyeju wishes she had an answer. "I can't do this," Hyeju finally says, fear winning out over anger. Chaewon does a double-take, puzzled. "Can't do... what?" "This!" Hyeju answers, raising her voice, frustrated as she gestures between the two of them. Chaewon recoils, hurt, and the sight of it forms a lump in Hyeju's throat. She can't look at her. She feels like a coward. "So... What then? We're over before we even get started?" Chaewon asks, half smiling in disbelief. Hyeju doesn't answer. Looks up and away, swallowing down the lump, but it refuses to leave. There's a hurt, mirthless laugh out of Chaewon when she realizes she's not even going to be dignified with an answer. "Unbelievable," she mutters, but a moment after she steps closer, grabbing Hyeju by the lapels of her coat. It catches her attention and she looks down at Chaewon, finally facing the angry sadness in her eyes. She didn't think Chaewon cared enough to feel so strongly--but here Hyeju has no choice but to face it. "I didn't wear you down to walk away with nothing," she says bitterly, and it's all the warning Hyeju gets before she's pulled down and Chaewon kisses her. It's fast, and for a split second Hyeju actually reciprocates. It stirs up such an intense conflict of emotions at once but the one persistent thought is how she doesn't want things to end like this. But Chaewon steps back and Hyeju watches her. Sees the disappointment and the... heartbreak? She doesn't wanna believe it's heartbreak written on her face. Then again, why does she feel compelled to follow? To take it back? Instead she just watches. Rooted to the spot as the head of blonde hair disappears into the crowd. /\/\/\/ "Did you ever find Hyeju?" Jungeun asks as Sooyoung takes her coat for her. "Nah. I'm sure she and Chaewon either went off to be alone somewhere or she went to give that asshole a piece of her mind." "Right... Long as she oka--Wait what am I doing here?" Jinsoul and Sooyoung both stop and look at her like it's the weirdest question to come up all night. "Jiwoo's not back," Jinsoul says, like it's the obvious answer. "Huh?" "You hate being alone," Sooyoung supplies, completing the thought, "You also just went through something kinda..." She pauses for a second, toeing off her shoes, "I don't like to throw around the word traumatic, but..." "Traumatic," Jinsoul says with some finality, Sooyoung making a noise in agreement. Jungeun deflates a little. They aren't wrong. She didn't need a reminder of her humiliation. But Jinsoul immediately takes notice and closes the gap between them, grabbing her hands and drawing her to come sit on the couch with her. "You'll stay the night with us. We'll watch movies, make you laugh and you can forget that guy," Jinsoul reassures. Jungeun frowns. "I don't think I'll ever forget that guy," she mutters. But a second later Jinsoul kisses her. First on the cheek, then the forehead, then on the lips and then just all over. A rapid fire kiss machine, making Jungeun giggle and sputter until she's leaning away and Jinsoul is on top of her, unrelenting. "Ugh. God, you guys are gross," Sooyoung says, though there's a layer of affection to it as she flings the blanket from the back of the couch over them. "Can you scoot over so I can sit please?" Jinsoul finally eases off, pulling Jungeun upright, though just as Sooyoung is about to sit, there's suddenly banging at the door as someone frantically starts beating. "... Who the hell?" Jinsoul mutters, looking to Sooyoung for answers who shakes her head and shrugs. The both of them rise, though Jungeun grabs Jinsoul's arm a second later in a quiet bid to make her stay close. Sooyoung gestures for them to stay put as she approaches the door to check the peephole. "The fu--" is all Sooyoung manages to get out before she's flinging the door open and pulling the person inside. Jungeun quickly recognizes the coat as Hyeju's, though her knitted cap is pulled low and her scarf is around her face. "What are you--" Sooyoung goes to ask, but cuts herself off when Hyeju pulls her hat off, revealing a nasty rugged looking wound on her forehead, like she'd be knocked into a concrete wall--or a sidewalk. "What happened?" Jungeun asks, sitting up and watching over the back of the couch. Sooyoung quickly helps Hyeju pull her winter layers off, saying nothing. Though even at a distance, Jungeun can see the poor girl is in distress. Tear-streaked face, bloodied forehead, and once the scarf is gone, she can see the flaked blood under her nose. She looks like she got into a fight. Sooyoung gets her onto one of the barstools and remains wordless as she gets a wet washcloth to clean the blood from her sister's face. Jungeun can see her touch is just the right amount of rough to clean, making Hyeju recoil just barely, but she sits as still as she can. Though the longer Jungeun stares, she realizes: Anyone who'd known Hyeju for more than a few minutes can tell those tears weren't out of pain. Once she's satisfied with how much she'd cleaned her up, Sooyoung gets rid of the washcloth in favor of the first aid kit. Then comes the question. "What happened, Daechu?" she asks, and Jungeun is caught off guard by how gentle it is. She almost feels bad for listening. Hyeju doesn't answer at first, and then there's a hiccup and Jungeun realizes she's started to cry again. Something about seeing the tough younger sister get emotional draws a reaction out of her and she unconsciously reaches for Jinsoul's hand. "I got scared," she explains, her voice low and stuck in her chest, "And then I got angry." "Will you tell me from the beginning? Are you in trouble?" Sooyoung asks, her voice still so gentle as she carefully gets gauze taped over the wound in her forehead. "That man. The one who started yelling. Freaked me out," she explains, her sentences short because it's clearly hard to string together the thoughts and produce them audibly. "I left. Chaewon found me and I told her I couldn't do it." "Hyeju..." Sooyoung murmurs, almost cooing but clearly trying not to lapse into being condescending or infantilizing. "She was upset. And I got upset at myself for hurting her. Then I saw him." The air in the room suddenly grows tense. "... You saw him?" Sooyoung repeats, "Outside? And then what happened?" Hyeju chews the inside of her cheek for a second and looks away before finally getting to the explanation they'd been holding their breath for: "I tripped him." "Oh my god..." "Then I got on top of him and punched him in the face a couple times." "You WHAT?!" And this response comes from two people: Sooyoung and Jinsoul. While Sooyoung sounds mortified, Jinsoul sounds... almost impressed? And a little amused. Hyeju looks between the two of them, acting a bit like a kid who got caught stealing a candy bar. "He shoved me off and I hit the ground hard. He tried to grab me, but I slipped away and ran like... I don't know, five blocks to shake him? Then I got a cab here." Sooyoung brings her hands to the sides of her face, looking at Hyeju with wide-eyed disbelief. Meanwhile, Jungeun thinks Jinsoul wants to high-five her. "For fuck's sake, Hyeju... He-- oh my god. He probably reported you to the cops. You could be expelled." "... Can I lay low here for a little while?" Hyeju asks in a small voice, earning a groan out of her older sister. "What kind of a big sister would I be if I didn't harbor my criminal little sister?" /\/\/\/ Yerim doesn't know why she thought getting the late train home would be a good idea. Something about spending extra time with family, probably, but as she's dragging her suitcases through the school courtyard and up the dorm steps, she suddenly regrets everything. To her surprise the dorm is quiet. Usually even at midnight, there'd be noise coming from at least one of the rooms, but she figures since she came back a little early, maybe the party monsters were still back home or out in Itaewon. Though she does notice one of the girls standing outside a room, poking her head in, talking softly. And she realizes she's looking into Chaewon's room. When she gets closer, she recognizes her--Yujin, a taller girl who had the tendency to be a bit of a worrier despite her cool exterior. Conveniently, she pulls back just as Yerim approaches. "What's going on?" Yerim whispers, Yujin jumps, not having heard her approach. "Oh, Yerim-unnie. It's Chaewon. She hasn't left her room all day. She won't tell us what's wrong." Yerim frowns at that. "Will you talk to her?" Yujin asks, brows upturned and hands pressed together as though to plead. Of course I will, Yerim thinks, as if the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. She holds out the handles of her two suitcases. "Go roll these into my room for me. I'll take care of her," she insists. Yujin whispers a fast thank you and immediately takes the suitcases, scurrying down the hall to Yerim's room. Everybody knew where her room was--half of the first years practically thought of her as their own big sister. She gives the door a couple of soft knocks before quietly turning the knob and nudging it open. Inside, she's met with Chaewon, who... Honestly, she's too pretty to be this sad, Yerim thinks. Yerim finds her sitting on her bed with nothing but a dim lamp on, but it's enough to see the tear streaks down her face and how puffy her eyes are. There's a little waste bin next to her bed full of wadded up tissues and Yerim's heart breaks. "I'm fine," she says, her voice nasal and an octave lower than usual. Yerim doesn't wait for permission. She steps in, closing the door behind her carefully--being mindful of Chaewon's sleeping roommate. At first, she comes to sit on her haunches in front of Chaewon at the side of her bed, reaching forward to hold her hands. Chaewon doesn't pull away, but she doesn't meet her eyes. "Talk to me," Yerim says softly, giving Chaewon's hands a soft squeeze. Apparently the tiny nudge had been too much. Chaewon grimaces, taking her hands from Yerim's and covering her face. It catches Yerim off guard and she quickly gets up on the bed to hug her from the side. "What happened?" she asks, though it takes a few minutes for Chaewon to even pull her hands from her face. "Hyeju..." she starts, and Yerim braces herself, "Doesn't want anything to do with me." Now that's just not true, Yerim thinks, but obviously she can't say that. "Did she say that?" Chaewon nods. "We were at Jungeun's exhibit on a date and some old man said some things that scared her. She ran away. When I chased her down she said she couldn't do it anymore." "What...? What did he say??" Chaewon grimaces again, another wave of emotions hitting her. "Stupid stuff. It doesn't matter." "No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," Yerim quickly says, hugging her a little closer for a second. "Hyeju likes you, Chaewon. I think she just got scared..." She shakes her head, looking down at the tissue in her hand. "She made her choice. It's fine. It's not like we were that close." Yerim takes a deep breath, tilting her head into Chaewon's for a moment. Even if she was trying to play things off as no big deal, the evidence was already mounted in the other direction. Clearly Hyeju meant more to Chaewon than she could have expected. "Don't give up, okay? We'll talk to her." And once again, Chaewon shakes her head. And Yerim knows she can't be reached anymore. Not tonight at least. So she gently takes the tissue from her hand, dropping it in the waste bin and moves the tissue box to the edge of her nightstand, still within reach. "Get some sleep, okay? I wanna take you to breakfast tomorrow." Chaewon nods numbly and doesn't protest when Yerim flips off the lamp and sees herself out. Though Yerim nearly walks directly into Yujin the second she gets out. "Oh--" "Is she okay?" Yujin asks, brow knit with worry. ... Well if Hyeju won't date her... Yerim muses, letting that thought float away. "She will be. She's getting some sleep now." Yujin looks past her at the door, seeming to consider an option before giving it up. "Thanks unnie. I've been worried about her." Yerim smiles warmly, but then shoos her off in the direction of her room. "Go, go. It's late and you'll worry yourself sick," she insists, earning a giggle out of Yujin before she sees herself off to her room. Then, Yerim pulls out her phone. CYr: Baby CYr: Please be awake CYr: I need to talk to you Hyunjin responds with a gif of a cat with its legs tucked under its body, face down in the carpet. CYr: Chaewon and Hyeju broke things off KHj: Huh? CYr: Hyeju broke things off bc she got scared KHj: Is everybody bad at having a relationship but us? CYr: You didn't even know we were dating KHj: ... There's a solid minute long pause. KHj: Aeong... CYr: Make it up to me and talk to Hyeju. Talk some sense into her!! CYr: And please eat something if you haven't CYr: I love you And to cap off the conversation, she sends a string of hearts and sparkles. Very Kim Jiwoo of her. KHj: I'd like to make it up to you other ways too KHj: :) Yerim's mouth falls open at that and it takes her a moment to realize she's just been standing in her dark dorm room with her phone in hand. The message, innocent as it might seem on the surface, had managed to ignite a number of thoughts Yerim preferred to save for when she was alone. /\/\/\/ "I should come over more often," Hyeju mutters, digging her spoon back into her omurice. Naturally, staying with her sister meant she was being treated to some pretty good food, and she's come to realize just how much garbage she's been putting in her mouth compared to the kinds of things Sooyoung can throw together in half an hour. Sooyoung approaches from behind, flicking the back of Hyeju's head with her free hand while the other scrolls through her phone. "What I've been saying," she grumbles with a sigh before taking the seat next to her. Hyeju grunts angrily in response, food in her mouth. Sooyoung and Jinsoul both had been making a habit during their waking hours to periodically check their phones for any news regarding crime reports. Hyeju was effectively under house arrest until they figured out how serious this was going to pan out. "Ah! I found something!" Jinsoul calls from the couch, Jungeun stretched across the cushions with her head in her lap. She shows it first to Jungeun who bursts out laughing, then to Sooyoung who comes to stand behind the couch. "Assault occuring on December 31st at approximately 10pm," Sooyoung reads, "Gwan Hangyeol, a local politician, reported the unprovoked battery to the police, stating the assailant is likely still at large." Sooyoung then bursts out laughing, "Perpetrator described to be male, approximately 188 centimeters and 90 kilograms." Hyeju, with food still stuffed in her cheeks, looks up, blinking. "Hang on. Hang on," Sooyoung says, still laughing as she taps something into her phone. A moment later she's laughing even harder. "It is him!" she howls, showing the search results for Gwan Hangyeol. Sure enough, it's the same man from the exhibit. Apparently he was on the city infrastructure board or something equally boring. Hyeju doesn't care. She just thinks his face is infinitely more punchable when he's smiling for the camera. Scoffing, Sooyoung pulls her phone back, pocketing it. "He probably didn't want to admit his injuries were from a girl," Jungeun chirps, earning a thoughtful noise out of Jinsoul. Sooyoung nods, "I think that's exactly it. Daechu is a free woman." She holds up a finger, adding, much more seriously: "But if you ever do something like that again--" Hyeju waits, starting at Sooyoung, food still stuffed in her cheeks. "Call me, dummy." /\/\/\/ Stepping into her dorm, Hyeju is relieved to finally be back in her own space. Much as she's come to enjoy spending time with Sooyoung, she's not sure how much more of Jinsoul and Jungeun she could stomach. Not after what happened with Chaewon. "Oh good, you're back," Hyunjin greets, sounding a bit more chipper than usual. It immediately puts Hyeju on her guard and she looks up to see her getting off her bed. that also has Hyeju perplexed. Was she going in for a hug? But then she sees her reach back-- WHAP. With hardly a second of warning, she swings her pillow directly into Hyeju's face, almost knocking her off her feet. "Idiot," she says coolly, and yeah. Alright. Maybe Hyeju deserves that. She fixes her hair and sets out a sigh, staring Hyunjin down, trying to wear her out fast with a classic Hyeju glare. But, it has absolutely no effect. Hyunjin stands ready, pillow coiled back, ready for another swing, and a huge smile on her face. Hyeju realizes: She doesn't just have this coming. This is revenge. She holds a hand out to try and block the angle the next swing might come from. "What did you say to Chaewon?" she asks with saccharine sweetness and Hyeju suddenly feels dread wash over her. "... I told her I couldn't do it, becau--" Nope. She's not allowed to finish. And Hyunjin swings the pillow from above so she can't block with her hand. WHAP. "Fucking-- Kim Hyunjin! Let me explain!" Nope. WHAP. This time swinging in from the side so once again Hyeju can't block. Rather than trying to stop the assault, she brings both arms close to her head to keep the blows from hitting her face. Hyunjin can't stop grinning. "You finally--" WHAP. "--meet a nice girl--" WHAP. "--who takes you out for sushi--" WHAP! "--and you throw it all away!" Hyeju tries grabbing the pillow, now getting to her own boiling point. She already feels awful for the way she ended things. She can't stop thinking about the way Chaewon kissed her. Now she has to suffer through this?! But Hyunjin manages to wrench it out of her grip, winding back for another powerful hit, but holding it there. "I got scared!" Hyeju says, serious this time. "Scared of what?" Hyunjin asks in a low voice, threatening. "There was this asshole that showed up and started saying all this stuff. It made me realize that people like me--" "Us," Hyunjin corrects, and something about it stings. In a single word, Hyunjin made a point of calling Hyeju a coward. "... People like us aren't allowed the same right to be happy." "So you think breaking things off with Chaewon is going to make you both happier?" Hyunjin asks, almost mocking. And Hyeju knows she deserves it. And that's the point that really makes it sink in. Hyeju doesn't want another Hoseok. She doesn't want to fake anything so shitheads like Gwan Hangyeol are more comfortable. Hyeju wants an annoying blondie that gets under her skin. Hyeju wants Chaewon. "You're gonna talk to her, right?" Hyunjin asks, pulling Hyeju from her thoughts. "Are you gonna hit me again if I say no?" And Hyunjin feints, causing Hyeju to reflexively bring her arms up again as she flinches. "Yes! God. I'll... talk to her during practice or something." WHAP. "Good!" /\/\/\/ Returning to class after the exhibit feels... odd. Jungeun knows she did well, but she's also certain word has spread about her humiliation. And if not by now, then certainly by the end of the week. And, inconveniently, the moment class ends, her professor calls her over, meeting her in the middle of the class before leading them both off to his office. While she manages to keep a calm facade, her insides churn with anxiety as the door closes behind them and he shutters the blinds. "Here's this..." he murmurs, gesturing to a set of for pictures carefully bubble wrapped and leaned against the wall, "They saw that your work was taken down after the exhibit, though Mr. Lee himself stood in your place, singing your praises after you'd taken an early leave." Professor Boem comes to stand behind his desk, hands folded plaintively in front of his stomach like he has something he needs to say, but feels awkward about it. "He also wanted me to extend his deepest apologies once again, for what happened." Jungeun remembers Hyeju and the incident report they found and has to restrain a smile. "Please tell Mr. Lee that I'm alright, and that I don't blame him at all for what happened." That seems to quickly assuage any lingering anxieties and the professor relaxes, finally finding his seat and gesturing for Jungeun to take the one across from him. "I hope that you'll forgive the informality of this meeting," he starts, and Jungeun almost wants to laugh, "But, I have to admit I'm a little too... excited to simply keep the news to myself while I wait for the actual award certificate." "Award?" Jungeun asks, confused. "Yes, they've begun making calls for which students will be welcomed to join the exchange program in the event any of those students were looking to make any transfer plans or changes to their living situations." Jungeun's mouth falls open, and Professor Boem purses his lips to hide a smile he can't fully restrain. "It probably goes without saying, but you've been chosen early, Jungeun. Along with a second year culinary arts student." Jungeun's breath suddenly gets caught in her lungs, mouth still hung open as she tries to quickly work through the disbelief. "I'm going to Japan?" The professor grins, chuckling low. "If you choose to accept, yes. I'd recommend seeking out a Japanese tutor." An invasive thought enters her head as she's reminded of Nako. It makes her chest ache. She hopes she's well. "I don't even know what to say," Jungeun blurts, which stirs up an even louder laugh from the professor. "Well, hopefully you'll say yes, but give yourself a little time to consider, hm?"  /\/\/\/ Slipping into the auditorium, Hyeju pulls her sweater off over her head, leaving her in just a loose t-shirt and sweats. It immediately annoys Chaewon that she finds herself staring. That she can't help but notice how good she looks. Hyeju shakes her head to straighten her hair, running a hand through it, feeling how messy the wind had blown it. She apparently feels eyes settle on her as she approaches, her nose still a tiny bit swollen and the gauze on her forehead isn't placed well. She looks like she just got in a fight. "What?" she asks gruffly, and immediately the rest of the dance team straightens themselves out. Except Chaewon, who stares with a mixture of contempt and interest. She didn't think Hyeju would show up again. She'd even had a discussion with Jinsoul prior to this that they may need to adjust the routine to make up for Hyeju's absence. Instead, she's shown up. And now she has to deal with being in her arms again. It makes Chaewon's stomach lurch and she considers leaving. Until she catches a strangely encouraging look from Jinsoul. Her frustration comes in the form of a sigh and she knows her movements are a bit stiffer than normal when the music starts. But Hyeju seems oddly determined. Each run-through, she hoists Chaewon up with practiced ease, and razor precision. Even if she hadn't been a dancer before this, she continues to move like she has something to prove. It makes her chest feel tight each time. Hyeju makes such prolonged, intense eye contact and Chaewon has to swallow back the urge to stop and fix the gauze on her forehead. She hates the way she's gotten under her skin. How Hyeju's ice has slipped into her veins, giving her chills every time those eyes meet hers. The moment practice is over, she puts space between her and Hyeju, fetching her water bottle and phone to make herself seem occupied as she cools down. Though she's not given the chance to even unlock her phone before Hyeju's shadow is darkening her corner. "Can we talk?" she asks bluntly, wringing her sweater between her hands. It's weird seeing her nervous. Chaewon takes a deep breath. She doesn't want it to show that she'd spent the better half of two days crying. Over someone you had one and a half dates with, she thinks bitterly, What's that even about? "You said enough the other night. I get it," Chaewon says, not dignifying her by looking her in the eye. "... Please," she says, much quieter. Much sadder. It makes Chaewon's stomach twist painfully. Don't do it. Just get over her, she tells herself, against every urge to just say yes. "Please." She turns on the balls of her feet. It's so sudden it startles Hyeju. "You get one minute," Chaewon says. Then Hyeju takes her hand, pulling her backstage, away from the rest of the team. "I'm sorry," she starts, eyes pointed at the floor, "I got scared and what I said was stupid." Chaewon almost wants to dig the knife in a little deeper and tell her just how much it hurt, but she doesn't. She listens. "I still haven't completely figured myself out. I had a boyfriend I didn't care about, then I had feelings for Yerim and then you... you got under my skin and I can't stop thinking about you." Something we have in common then, Chaewon thinks, and she can feel the rime on her heart beginning to thaw. She almost hates how effective this is. In so few words, even. She finally meets Chaewon's eyes and she's not prepared for it when she continues. "Hyunjin made a point. That not being with you isn't going to make either of us any happier." "What makes you think being with you makes me happy?" Chaewon counters, and she knows it's a defense mechanism. Hyeju was tearing down her walls too quickly, so she opts for ballistics. A half smile tugs up the corner of Hyeju's lips, it'd be a smirk if it didn't look so goofy. So lovestruck. "Do you sit in the grass and tell everyone about how much you miss your family? Or how you want to write your mom's biography?" Chaewon opens and closes her mouth. Admittedly, she hadn't ever told anyone that last part. "Do you normally kiss someone goodbye when you're mad at them?" "Don't get cocky." "I'm not. I'm hoping you'll do it again. Without the goodbye part." It's definitely been longer than a minute. And a tension comes to live between them at that last part that Chaewon can't ignore. "Will you give me another chance? A third date?" She's not sure why, but her eyes feel hot again. Some part of her doesn't want to believe this is happening. "... You're buying. Don't mess it up this time." /\/\/\/ It was one of the rare occasions where Yerim had homework to do on her own. Specifically for a literature class. Hyunjin and her couldn't very well read the same book and write the same report, so this time they'd have to work separately. Not that Yerim minds! She loves spending time with Hyunjin, obviously, but working on separate assignments also gives her an excuse to go elsewhere. Hyunjin loves her routines, loves their table at the library and orders the same thing every time at the campus coffee shop, and sometimes getting her to move outside of these little routines of theirs is a bit like pulling teeth. So she'd taken advantage of it. During their last date when they'd walked along the Han, she'd spied a quaint little coffee shop advertising homemade donuts and wifi. It was only a short bus trip away, and there's something soothing to her about watching the people outside the window go about their lives. So much so that it's actually a bit of a distraction from her homework. But at least the donuts are good. "Hi, excuse me," comes a voice next to Yerim, making her jump. She finally tears her eyes from the window to the source and she actually catches her breath at the sight of her. Black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, and features so so sharp. At a glance, she almost looks like one of those girls that knows they're prettier than everyone else. But with her upturned brows and nervous smile, Yerim is immediately taken by how gentle she seems. "Is it okay if I sit with you? Just for a little bit. This is one of the only tables with an outlet and I..." She holds her laptop awkwardly in front of her with the coiled up power cord. It takes Yerim's brain a second to catch up before she's quickly scrambling to clear the space in front of her. "Please, of course!" she says and the stranger lets out a sigh of relief as she takes the spot. "Thank you so much. I don't normally do this, but there's an electrician over at my shop and--" she stops herself, smiling even wider and Yerim can tell she's so nervous for some reason. It's immediately endearing. "I... Yeah. Thank you," is all she says, cutting herself off as she quickly flips open the laptop. Yerim watches her for a moment. Almost transfixed until she realizes she's staring. Doing that gay thing she'd been teased about by her classmates back in high school when she'd get hung up checking a girl out and have to literally shake herself out of it. Yerim was never made for closets. You can't look at pretty girls inside a closet. And she can't explain why, but she wants to talk to this girl. Thankfully that's one thing she's always been good at. Even as a kid, she'd make friends with strangers--much to her mother's chagrin when they'd be out grocery shopping. A lot of strangers had their pant legs tugged on. Yerim just has so much to say. "Are you a student?" she asks, skipping all pretense and smiling with her coffee brought up to her lips, "I feel like I'd remember seeing you on campus if you were..." The girl looks up at the sound of Yerim's voice, seeming surprised to have someone talk to her. "A student? Oh. No, I didn't really get the chance. My mom got sick." Oof. Yerim winces, mouth open, ready to sputter an apology. "Oh, she's okay now! But I've decided to take over her shop, so I'm sort of... skipping college, I guess," she says sheepishly, a little nervous laugh leaving her that sounds so pretty. "Oh thank goodness," Yerim says, deflating into her seat dramatically for a second before sitting upright. "What sort of shop is it?" "Ah... It's..." She turns her laptop screen to face Yerim, showing her the virtual shop front of a florist--the same one she'd passed on her way here, in fact. "You're a florist?" Yerim asks, eyes alight, earning another smile out of the girl, who nods. "Yeah, we grow a lot of our own flowers. We also teach flower arrangement to stay-at-home moms, but mostly we attend funerals, and weddings. A lot of weddings." Yerim leans in, so much more invested now. "I love weddings." The girl's face immediately goes pink and she brings a hand to her mouth, giggling at Yerim's sudden enthusiasm. "Me too! It's why I decided to take over." "My mom was a seamstress back in Cheongju, so she got commissioned to alter and fit a lot of wedding dresses," Yerim sits upright, folding her arms over the surface of the table and leaning in. The two of them go back and forth, discussing their favorite things about weddings, and exchanging anecdotes. For her new friend, her love is appropriately grounded in the flowers and the theater of it all. She puts a lot of thought into the meanings of the flowers used in the ceremonies when couples come for consultations. Meanwhile, Yerim's love comes from the outfits. Obviously the both of them are children from their roots, but there's an appreciation and a curiosity from both ends as a result. They talk and talk and Yerim learns the meaning of at least five flowers and she shows her new friend some pictures on her phone of some of the dresses her mom helped alter. "So I'm guessing you're a design major?" The question makes Yerim sit upright. She hadn't decided yet, but she was quickly approaching the point where she'd have to pick. Maybe this is her turning point, she thinks. "No, I uh... I haven't decided yet, but..." The girl grins, but there's no nervousness there anymore. A little shy, maybe, but so earnest. Then Yerim remembers her manners. "We've been talking for..." She checks her phone, "Two hours?!" "That long?" she asks, similarly disbelieving. "I haven't even given my name, I'm so sorry. My name's Yerim." "Yeji," she says, gesturing to herself. "It's nice to meet you, Yerim."

It was late and Magnus was already getting ready for bed when he heard someone knocking at his door. He sighed exasperated, wondering who on earth would bother him at such an hour, but he got up to open the door. “Alexander?” he asked, pleasantly surprised, when he saw who it was. “I thought you had to attend your parents’ dinner party?” Magnus knew Alec had been dreading it for weeks because it would be the first one in which he wouldn’t have his siblings by his side. “I did,” Alec confirmed and he looked quite shacked. “I left early,” he explained. “Early?” Magnus couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped him. “It’s almost one a.m.”  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here so out of the blue,” Alec apologized and no, that was not what Magnus had meant. “I can come back another time,” he said, turning to leave. Magnus caught him by the arm. “Stay,” he asked quietly. “You know you are always welcome here,” he added when he saw the other man remained unsure. He kept holding his arm until Alec nodded then he smiled and stepped aside to allow the taller man to enter his apartment. “Do you want something to drink? I have tea, and coffee.” “Something stronger maybe,” Alec answered and Magnus’s suspicions were confirmed, something was definitely wrong. He desperately wanted to ask what it was but he knew Alec would tell him when he was ready. He had come to Magnus’, after all. So instead of pushing he just got the vodka and made a couple of cocktails, one with far less alcohol than the other. “Here,” he said handling that one to Alec who had made himself comfortable in his couch. “Thanks,” the other man answered drinking half of it in one go. “Wow, slow down, tiger,” Magnus joked, trying to get Alec to relax. “It’s not like we are on a hurry.” “Sorry,” Alec grimaced. “I just had a rough nigh,” he explained looking intensely at his glass. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Magnus asked trying to convey that it was also fine if Alec didn’t want to. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” “It’s just my parents, you know,” he started sounding so sad Magnus' heart broke for him. "They are always so obsess with impressing their friends and colleagues. And I usually try to avoid having to do the impressing because Izzy and Jace are great at dazzling people but tonight it was only me so I had to sit there and answer endless questions about my career and my future and about when am I going to find a nice girl.” His voice grew bitter at the end. “Luckily, Lydia was there and she stood with me when I had to do the rounds. It was getting almost bearable until mother made a joke about how Lydia and I should get married because we work so well together, even though she knows about Lydia and John,” Alec kept going, his voice growing more and more anxious. “So Lydia told her that she didn’t think her boyfriend would like the idea. And I just knew mom was about to make some comment about how beneath all of us John apparently is and I was just so fed up with everything that I, well...” he stopped himself, drinking what was left of his cocktail. “I may have said that I didn’t think my boyfriend would like the idea either,” he ended looking sheepish. “You did?” Magnus was torn between being delighted and worried. “I’m so proud of you,” he told him causing Alec to smile shyly. “How did she take it?” Magnus asked, already dreading the answer when he saw how Alec’s smile fell. “She just... She laughed,” he told Magnus sounding extremely hurt. “It wasn’t a joke and everyone knew that but she just pretended it was, made a comment about me always kidding around and resumed her conversation.” “Oh, darling,” Magnus said placing a hand comfortingly over Alec’s. “I’m so sorry” Alec stared at their joined hands, unable to meet Magnus eyes. “I always knew she wouldn’t like it, specially not if I blurted it out in front of everyone she knows. But she just dismissed it, completely. Like it was something she could decide it didn’t exist. And dad just didn’t say anything, didn’t try to contradict mom.” His voice broke. “I’ve always done everything, Magnus, everything that they’ve asked. And I’ve never complained. Ever. But I can’t do this.” He was sobbing now and Magnus moved closer, trying to offer him any comfort he could. “I can’t find a girl and fall for her, not now, not ever. I can’t do it and I don’t want to do it, not when I have you,” he added making Magnus smile. “I can do everything else though, I have done everything else, shouldn’t that be enough?” “You should be enough, angel,” Magnus whispered. “You are enough,” he corrected. “And If they don’t see that then it’s their problem, not yours.” “But what if I’m actually not good enough?” Alec moved his eyes from their hands to Magnus eyes. “What if mom is right?” he sounded terrifyed and Magnus felt the urge to strangle Maryse. “What’s your mother opinion on Izzy?” his boyfriend asked him. “About her clothes, her relationships, her desire to study to be a forense pathologist?” Alec blinked confuse. “She doesn’t like it,” he answered slowly, like fearing it was a trick question. “She disapproves,” Magnus confirmed. “She doesn’t think Izzy is good enough either, then. She thinks there are things Isabelle should change about herself. Do you think she’s right?” “Of course not,” Alec sounded insulted. “Izzy is perfect,” he stated causing Magnus to smile. “And so are you,” he told him making his cheeks blush. “And your mother is wrong about you, Alec, just like she is wrong about her. You’re more than good enough. You are amazing. And that’s my opinion, and Izzy’s and Jace’s. Okay?” he asked and Alec just smiled at him. “And really, if someone is not good enough it’s her. It’s a wonder the three of you have ended as great as you are with her parenting skills if you can even call them that.” Magnus scoffed. “I... You... You are amazing too,” Alec stated, surprising Magnus. “I... Thank you, Magnus,” he told him smiling bashfully. “Can I stay tonight, please? I really don’t feel like facing her, yet.” “Of course,” Magnus smiled. “I told you, you are always welcome here.”  

The ship was massive! Well, sort of. Luke had been on bigger ships before, but they’d all had so many people on them. This was just for the three of them and was so shiny and sleek that Luke literally saw himself in the metal as they loaded up the ship. They were moving. Which was different somehow from being on the move, but Padme said it firmly like it was an event so Luke nodded and left them to it. It did mean that he’d had to say goodbye to the tally chart he’d kept on the floor under his bed that told him how long he’d been with Padme and Anakin. It was at sixty-three when he left. He was sleeping on the ship tonight. They were doing a night flight so that they’d be in Naboo by the time that Luke woke up. And Naboo was where Padme was from so it was going to be a good place. In fact, the ship was Padme’s which explained a lot, Luke thought. There was a fancy conference part of the ship with the softest chairs and a table that you could pull up a holo on. Padme said that sometimes she talked to people about the galaxy around that table. He jumped up on to it and swirled the Delta 7 around, quietly making the noises to himself. Then he leapt on to the sofas opposite, twirling the ship into a complicated arch and imagining doing it at the controls. He continued swirling it around, jumping from seat to seat and sometimes back to the table. When he looked up, Padme was standing at the door, hands on her hips and watching him with an expression that didn’t quite stay steady. Unsure, he paused. They stared at each other for a few seconds. “What is furniture meant to be for?” Padme asked and there was a wobble in her voice that didn’t feel threatening. Luke looked around the cabin. “Telling people what to do?” he tried, scrunching up his face as he thought. Her lips pressed together and she lifted a hand to almost cover them. When she moved a little, he could see that she was trying to hide a smile and it made him feel warm. Grinning, he leapt down and ran over to her to rest his head on her stomach and stick his tongue out up at her. It made her laugh, like he’d hoped it would. She dropped her hand down to his face and stroked his cheek with her thumb. “It’s not for jumping on,” she said softly. He turned back to look at the cabin, leaning into her as he peered, then turned to look up at her again. “Where can I jump?” he asked earnestly. “When we get to Naboo, we’ll jump,” Padme said. “I’ll teach you to jump across the rivers and on trees.” He liked that idea. “Just us?” he asked. “Maybe Anakin too,” Padme said and there was a flicker of something on her face. “Come on. Do you want to see if you can help fly?” Help fly? Luke nodded, eyes wide as she took his hand and led him up some steps and into the pilot’s cabin. It was a spacious area, enough for a co-pilot and some benches close. The viewer was narrow and pointed and Anakin was at the controls. He turned to look at Luke and gestured him forward with his metal hand. Luke wasn’t allowed to study it because it was attached to Anakin’s nerves which was a bit annoying. He found it oddly fascinating, but Anakin had stopped wearing gloves when they were out and about so he saw it more and more. Anakin said he’s lost his arm once because he’d been impatient, but Luke wasn’t sure how that worked. The stars were in the viewer and Luke sucked in a breath, oddly fascinated. He’d never really had a chance to see space – no-one wanted him up in the pilot’s cabin and he’d seen it, just never had the chance to stare.  A playful tug brought him closer to Anakin and he grinned as the man sat back a little, offering up his lap. Luke scrambled up and Anakin winced slightly then wrapped his flesh arm around Luke. “Want to help us jump to hyperspace?” Yes! Luke twisted a little to look up at him and grinned. Padme had taken the seat next to them and was pressing some of the buttons and adding in some co-ordinates. Anakin shifted them forward and guided Luke’s hands to the lever. Their fingers linked as they held the bar and Luke stared down at the sight. Together they pushed and then the stars in the viewer started to streak as if they were pulling them from their place. He could feel the ship getting ready and Luke sucked in his breath, in awe as they entered. “Have you ever seen it before?” Anakin asked quietly. Luke shook his head as the ship suddenly lurched forward. It was a smooth motion; he’d been on ships that jerked and creaked on the entry. This jump was amazing and he leaned forwards, wanting to watch forever. “How is the siege going?” Padme asked quietly. Luke felt Anakin shrug. “They’re going,” he said. “Destroying the factory on Geonosis will make a huge difference.” He sounded unhappy. “Ahsoka and Obi-Wan have worked together many times before,” Padme said gently, but Anakin didn’t respond. “Who else will go with them?” she asked in a different voice. “Master Mundi,” Anakin said. “And Vos.” He said the second name like he wasn’t sure what to make of it. “I imagine Obi-Wan was delighted with that,” Padme said with a small smile. It seemed to make Anakin lighten a little. “I told Ahsoka to record his reaction,” he said with a grin. “It was glorious.” Padme laughed and batted at his shoulder, then ruffled Luke’s hair. “I think that was an impressive first jump,” she offered. Luke blinked and then tipped his head back so that his chin was up to the ceiling. “You’ve jumped to hyperspace before?” he checked. “It was our first jump,” Anakin said smoothly. “As a family.” Hmm. Luke pulled his thoughts away from that and looked away. They kept making those sorts of comments at the moment and it made him feel…bubbly. Like something might pop and everything was a bit jittery and unsteady. He felt Anakin sigh as if disappointed and continued to stare out the viewer. “Ani,” Padme said gently. “Just leave it.” “Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit annoyed still. He ruffled Luke’s hair and then shifted forward to the controls. He was fiddling though, Luke could feel that and it felt like Luke had done something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. “Come on,” Padme said and, when Luke turned, he could see that she was standing. “Shall we get you ready for bed?” Anakin kissed his head as Luke shifted off his lap, but didn’t say anything. His face looked tight, as if he was annoyed by something and Luke didn’t want to ask. Instead, he reached out for Padme’s hand again. It was like they weren’t on a ship. There was a fancy cabin off of the room that Luke had been in earlier and it had a huge bed that bounced softly under Luke when leapt at it. “Come on,” Padme encouraged. He lifted his arms and let her pull off his shirt and put his pyjamas on. “Is Anakin mad at me?” Luke asked as she reached to pull back the covers. She paused and then shook her head. “No, sweetheart. He isn’t mad at you.” Luke hummed at that and snuggled down. “Are you sure?” She tucked him in and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I promise you,” she said, looking it his eyes firmly, “Anakin isn’t mad at you. He’s just…he loves you. We both do. Sometimes he is just a bit impatient. He wants you to be happy and safe.” She stroked his hair. “I am.” He liked it when she smiled in that gentle, secret way that made him almost sure she didn’t smile at anyone else like that. “Good.” She gave his cheek a kiss and then put the Delta 7 on the covers for him. “I still think we should give you something softer to sleep with.” Luke shook his head firmly and gathered the ship up close. Xxx He didn’t need to be in the pilot’s seat. Auto-pilot would work fine, but there was something about knowing that his son was on-board that made him just want to be sure. When Padme’s hand slid down his chest from behind, he turned his head into her, pressing a kiss to her lips, still a little distracted. “Ani,” she said in a way that made him want to snap at her. He restrained the urge and glared ahead. She must have picked up on it because she made her own annoyed sound and pulled away, turning the co-pilot’s chair so that she was sat facing him. “He’ll do it in his own time.” “Yeah,” Anakin said, not looking at her. “He thinks you’re angry with him.” “What?” Anakin whirled around to her. She was watching him carefully, her brown eyes assessing in the way that she did in a diplomatic conference. He hated the fact that she was dealing with him like that and it was only the knowledge that Luke was downstairs that kept him from snapping at her. “You bring it up and then get frustrated when he doesn’t reply. He’s seven-” He shoved the auto pilot on and stood, determined not to have that argument. “Anakin, would you talk to me?” “We don’t even know that,” he hissed. “We don’t know our own son’s birthday. We do know he was shoved in the corner of some kriffin’ ship like cargo. Force knows whether he should be eight by now or-” She grabbed at his arm and he stopped, staring over the top of her head. When her hands cupped his face, he resisted for a moment and then gave in to her. “I know,” she said firmly. “I know.” Yeah. “I…I need him to know,” he said as he leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. “It won’t…I…” he pulled back. “I just want him to say it.” She stroked his face. “I know,” she said, her own face sad. “But he needs to be ready, Ani. Dr Firra said-” Yeah, he knew that the good doctor said. Luke could keep attachments relatively casual on purpose. It could be years before he’d name them as Mom and Dad. He might never. He understood he was in the past, would talk about his parents and he’d talk about Padme and Anakin, but he’d never link any of those things together. It made him ache. The idea that his son had been so lost in the universe, so alone made him want to choke something and rip a ship apart and he didn’t know how to deal with it. “Is your mom finally accepting that?” he asked, turning away and sitting down on one of the benches, keeping one eye on the controls. Padme hummed at that. “We’ll see how that one goes,” she said.   Xxx   They arrived early in Thebes. Luke was still completely out so Anakin gathered him up, wrapping a blanket around him and settling the boy against his shoulder. His son shifted and snuggled in to Anakin’s neck. He picked up the Delta 7 and rolled his eyes and the thing. Not that he didn’t approve, but he really did wish that Luke had found something softer to attach himself to. The amount of bruises that they’d all gotten from rolling on that force forsaken toy was idiotic. Dawn was just coming up on the city and he’d forgotten how quiet the place could be, how peaceful. Strangely, Anakin wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t worse to be so quiet and he shifted Luke a little closer in his arms. The streets were familiar, vaguely, from the last time they’d been here. He could remember Sola’s thoughtful gaze as she glanced between him and Padme. The worry from her mother and the frown on her father’s face as they’d all skirted around the issue of the fact that she’d needed a Jedi Knight to protect her. It was different, he thought as she pressed a kiss to Luke’s head. He hadn’t really appreciated a parent’s fear before. He’d accepted it and known to expect it, but if in fifteen years’ time, Luke came home with an assassin on his tail- Anakin scowled at the thought. They’d be dead, that he knew. This time, when they entered Padme’s parents’ house, they were greeted at the door by her mother. It was early, Jobal must have been up at the crack of dawn to get ready and she hugged Padme to her with a fierce grip that made Anakin look away. His mother would have adored Luke. The sadness was like a blaster to the guts. The shock and pain of it almost robbed him of breath and he stood, almost adrift for a moment. “Ani?” Padme said softly. He stepped into the house, following the women down a wide, spacious hall that quickly opened to the dining room he remembered from last time. Through into a few steps and then up into the lounge area that opened up into the beautiful garden where he had once played with Padme’s nieces. His nieces too now, he supposed. “Oh Padme,” Jobal said, turning and looking at Anakin. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes on Luke. “Is he completely asleep?” she asked, almost sounding amused. “He might wake,” Anakin said gently. “He’ll go right back to sleep though do don’t worry too much.” Jobal’s eyes met his and she smiled. “And my son-in-law,” she said. “I told you,” she added with a sly grin at Padme who actually flushed a little and for a moment looked awkward which Anakin was almost sure he’d never seen. Amused, he looked at his wife. “She told you?” he questioned, smiling. “Handsome,” Jobal said, busying about with some tea. “I said that you would make a lovely pair. I was right.” That was…huh. She might actually be the first person who had reacted to the news of their marriage with pleasure. Not sure what to do with it, Anakin glanced down at the seats. “Oh, please. Do sit. I imagine the little one isn’t as light as he looks.” He was. Heavier than he had been because Luke had been almost scarily thin when he’d first arrived. But he was still light and slight. At his age, Anakin hadn’t had that same waif like look to him; he doubted Luke would ever fully grow out of it. Padme fussed as he sat down, still a little red cheeked as she tucked the blanket carefully around Luke. “Handsome,” he teased. “She said it. I didn’t,” Padme muttered, her cheeks going redder. “She didn’t argue,” Jobal said to Anakin, as if spilling some secret. “My daughter always argues unless she agrees.” It made him laugh, even as Padme looked skywards as if for help. They talked a little. Sola’s twins were Luke’s age which would be good for him. They’d debated going up to the lake again, but Anakin wasn’t sure he or Luke would cope with being quite that remote. And Luke did need to socialise and keep up his appointments talking to someone. Ruwee came in a little later. He’d been a mild-mannered man when Anakin had met him and he hadn’t really known what to make of him. He remained quiet and Anakin found himself almost hyper aware of Ruwee and he wasn’t really sure why. By the time Luke stirred, they’d been in Thebes almost an hour. He could feel his son’s presence flicker a little as Luke naturally reached out and then contracted away again, hiding. “Morning,” Anakin whispered to him and Luke lifted his head to blink blearily up at him. Luke made a noise which Anakin easily interpreted, being used to it. He reached with the force and pulled the Delta 7 over and Luke tucked it under his arm and snuggled in again, awake but apparently not ready to wake up properly. “What ship is that?” Ruwee asked. “Delta 7,” Luke mumbled. He yawned and then turned a bit in Anakin’s arms to face the man. “The Jedi…” he trailed off a little and Anakin could feel his son waking properly now to try and assess what he was allowed to say. “Who are you?” he asked curiously, one hand reaching up to bunch in Anakin’s shirt. Ruwee opened his mouth. “This is my father,” Padme said, cutting in smoothly. “Ruwee.” He felt Luke whisper the name to himself, apparently committing it to memory. “And Jobal, my mother.” Luke twisted, almost impossibly twisted, to blink owlishly at Jobal. Then he turned back to Anakin and looked a little unsure. “Do you want to try some tea?” Anakin asked and Luke nodded as Anakin brought the cup close with his metal hand. He let Luke take a sip and then almost laughed at Luke’s disgusted face. “No?” Luke shook his head, eyeing the cup warily, like it might leap out at him. He sighed and buried his head back into Anakin’s neck. Then craned a little to whisper in Anakin’s ear. “They’re watching,” Luke said, so quietly it was like he was hardly speaking. “Shall we hide for a bit?” Anakin asked, whispering back in his son’s ear. Luke nodded quickly and Anakin caught Padme’s eye and shook his head. Her face fella little, but she nodded and glanced towards the garden. “Luke, why don’t you show Anakin how to climb a tree.” Luke show him? Anakin rolled his eyes, even as Luke’s cheeky face appeared, apparently delighted. “You can climb trees,” Luke laughed, suddenly like a different child. “You have to,” he added, swinging around to look at Padme. “Ahsoka said it was in the Jedi data guide.” Jedi data guide?! “There’s a data guide?” Jobal asked, in an amazed voice. “My former Padawan thinks she’s funny,” Anakin said, standing and lifting Luke over his shoulder so that his son dangled down and cackled with laughter. “You know she’s fibbing,” he added to Luke. “Ahsoka said you have to crash at least three times too,” Luke added and Anakin imagined his cheeks were turning red. “She said you’re the expert.” He and his former padawan were going to have words. “That is not true,” he said as he strode to the beautiful glass doors that opened onto the gardens. “I am not the expert in crash landings.” He glared at Padme when she didn’t look convinced. “I’m not.” “Gosh,” Ruwee said suddenly as Anakin's hand rested on the door handle. “Do you remember Padme’s flying test?” His wife suddenly looked mortified. “There’re many trees outside,” she tried weakly, but Luke had already gotten himself back up and was sitting on Anakin’s left shoulder, head tilted curiously and there wasn’t a sith alive that could turn Anakin away from that nugget of information. “Her flying test?” Anakin asked, looking back at the man as Luke clambered back down to his arms and then jumped to the floor, though he stayed very close to Anakin’s legs. “You’ve never mentioned that,” he realised, looking at his wife. “Ruwee,” Jobal said in a mock scolding tone. “Really, if Padme wishes to keep her crash landings quiet, then she should be allowed to.” What? “Really?” Anakin asked, oddly delighted. “You crash land, do you?” Padme glared at him. “Do not even go there,” she instructed. “There is no way my stories are as bad as yours.” “Didn’t crash in my flying test,” Anakin said with a shrug. “In fact, I got a perfect score.” “And a speeding ticket five minutes after leaving the centre.” “There was Jedi business,” Anakin said dismissively. “That’s convenient.” Luke was glancing between them, like it was a beep-ball tournament. At some point, his eyes fixed on Jobal and he was smiling shyly at her when Anakin looked down. “Padme said her mom had cookies,” Luke suggested sweetly. “I like cookies.” It made Jobal laugh. “Cookies and then climbing trees?” Luke nodded seriously and then turned to Anakin. “Cookies first,” he said in a grave tone, as if Anakin was a misbehaving child. And then, with that, he scampered to follow Jobal into the kitchen. “He’s a little champ,” Ruwee said suddenly and Anakin suddenly realised the man had been watching Luke all along. He gave Padme a gentle kiss and Padme leaned into her father with a strange noise and Anakin realised, startled that she was trying not to cry. He left them alone, oddly aware that she might need some time to be with her parents. So he went outside, feeling that uncomfortable stillness within him, as if he were trapped in a vast empty room and deeply aware of nothing happening. He had no idea why he suddenly wanted to call Obi-Wan.   Xxx Having Luke in Naboo was unbelievably soothing. Her son was such an easy going child that before long he was running around the house and the garden as if he’d always been there. Pooja and Ryoo had come over to play too and the three of them spent most of the afternoons after school running around the gardens. The first time, Luke had been adorned by a crown of flowers and seemed unfazed by it, giggling like a mad thing every time someone pointed to it. If he tired of their games, he'd just wander off and play with his ship, though Ryoo seemed to be equally fascinated, especially when Anakin made it fly. It was Luke’s nature. He was so much like her father, she’d realised. They both found a simple joy in life and had easy going natures. There was perhaps a stubborn core and a flicker of a temper to Luke that her father lacked, but it crashed over him and was gone quickly. The day that Pooja had called his Delta 7 poodoo, Luke had turned away and refused to speak to her for the rest of the afternoon. But he’d accepted the apology and seemed to have forgotten about it the next day, even as Anakin glowered at Pooja. It was Anakin that she worried about. They’d settled into a routine of sorts. They’d get up early and have a walk together as a family. Anakin would spend the mornings out by the lake doing exercises while Padme and Luke found a quiet place to meditate then they would swim. Sometimes Anakin joined them. Then he and Luke would spend the afternoon together while she was at the palace. There had been scattered conversations about places that she should buy, areas that they could look into, but it had never gone further than that because it wouldn’t. Anakin was calmer, but she could feel that he was going to get restless. He dabbled with repair work and upgrading some of the palace ships. He’d taken some of the pilots out to teach them manoeuvres. He meditated and had even made some half-hearted noise about helping to train up the clones, especially in their piloting, but she knew. And she thought he did too. This wasn’t for Anakin. In fact, she was starting to think there was only one thing for Anakin, but she had no idea how that would work, or even if it could. There were beautiful moments though. Anakin was in the garden with the children and he and Luke were play-fighting with sticks. Anakin was playing the role of villain as he held Pooja with one arm and the little girl shrieked with joy. Luke and Ryoo were trying to ‘save’ Pooja with big smiles of their faces and a lot of squealing. Especially from Ryoo as her braids dangled in the wind. He was a wonderful man, she thought as she watched and sipped her tea. She loved it when he smiled the way he was now, all easy confidence and eager fun. Watching him surrounded by children seemed right somehow and it still stole her breath when she found him and Luke curled up together or whispering with each other. “He’s a rare one,” her mother said, standing with her. “Like a child himself sometimes.” Yes. But she wondered about that little boy that she’d met so long ago and how much of a chance he’d actually ever had to be a child. Maybe, somewhere, it was balancing out for him, giving him a glimpse at a life he had never had. “He’s a wonderful father,” Padme said quietly. “Do you think you’ll have more?” her mother asked. “The more conventional way,” she added with a smile. More? The idea of Anakin with a baby took her breath away a little. It came with a slight ache that they’d never got to have that with Luke but…another youngling? “He needs to find something first.” Anakin let out a dramatic cry as Ryoo ‘wounded’ him and he fell to the floor. The girls looked a little worried but Luke, evidently sensing that Anakin was perfectly fine, threw himself down to the floor and clambered on top of Anakin like he was conquering a mountain. “He misses being a Jedi.” “Will they have him back?” “No.” That was irrevocable. “But you do not need to be Jedi knight to fight at their side and use the force.” “And you?” “I can take less diplomatic missions. Attend meetings more remotely. I think…I think I’m starting to realise how I want to balance this. And he,” she said, watching her son as he howled with laughter at something Anakin said, “is what I want to prioritise. And Anakin…he needs to find his own way to balance all of this.” Xxx That night, as they lay in bed, Padme turned to him. “Geonosis isn’t far from here,” she pointed out softly. “How is the siege going?” Anakin turned to her, blinking in confusion. “Not well,” he said, not even pretending that he hadn’t been keeping on contact with either Ahsoka or Obi-Wan. Probably both, knowing him. He sat up slowly. “The factory is well guarded, no matter how much of the planet we take. As long as those droids are being pumped out..." He trailed off, head tilting in the way that Luke had picked up from him. "What does it matter how far away it is?” She watched him. He was tempted, she could tell. Reaching out, she smoothed a hand down his chest. “We need to find something that works for us,” she suggested. “Would you go, if it wasn’t for Luke?” He looked torn. “But Luke…” “I went away for a few days,” she pointed out. “You won’t be far. If he needs you to come back-” “It’s a war zone,” Anakin pointed out, but he looked already more focused. “The factory is the last problem. The planet’s mostly under the republic’s control. Of course, I suppose that might not be interesting enough for you-” He kissed her with more heat than he’d shown in weeks. She sucked in a breath, as he rolled them back down the bed. “I don’t want to leave you,” he whispered. “I know who you are,” she murmured into his lips. “You’re a hero, Anakin. You can’t sit on the side lines for long. The fact that you have…I love you for that.” His hand stroked down her side, fingers touching in a barely there caress as he looked down at her, eyes darkening. “You and Luke,” he vowed to her. “You are everything.” She took hold of his face so that he looked at her properly. “Go,” she said, smiling. But a mischievous smile was twisting his lips. “Now?” he asked, as his hand slipped under her night dress. “Tomorrow,” she amended and gasped as his clever fingers got to work.

Tony enjoyed spending some time with Loki & Thor and their mom - she "mom'd" him too, which was nice (kinda melancholic, but nice), but he was glad when they headed off to Jotunheimen Park together.   Of course he'd set up a place for them, complete with AI support. Jarvis was awesome enough to monitor their location in case they needed him, and they could use google for practically anything else. And he was independent enough to help them out in case they were a "little too Asgardian" for comfort.  There weren't any issues re. Loki anymore, thank goodness. Once Tony'd given the evidence he'd compiled to the UN and the US government re the attack and related brainwashing, charges had been dropped. The fact that Loki had actively assisted in the recovery of NYC cemented his acceptance - there was even some talk of making him an ambassador, which Tony found unsurprising and hilarious at the same time.  Eventually, Frigga and Thor gave Tony a head's up that they'd decided it was time to return to Asgard and have a "conversation" with Odin. OH, to be a fly on that wall, Tony thought. Loki was to remain on earth, under his own AND his mother's protective spells to keep him safe from prying Asgardian eyes - they covered Loki himself, as well as the Jotunheim Park house, Stark Tower, and Malibu locations.  Did Tony say Frigga was awesome? Yeah, she was.  They'd been gone for a few earth days when Jarvis alerted Tony that Loki was in distress. "Try my panic-attack protocols and see if they help", Tony responded.  Tony hadn't been super excited about therapy - a few tell-alls from previous experiences in his youth had left a really bad taste in his mouth. But he'd done some research and found some... "interesting" people, and managed to find someone he thought he might be able to trust and might understand the rather special circumstances of the situation. (Seriously, what was his life where finding a therapist required someone who could deal with alien-attack-related-PTSD on top of the "generic" human stuff?!?". In the meantime, yeah - DIY panic-attack management.  Tony asked Jarvis if he knew what triggered the problem, and in a million years, Tony would never have guessed what had Loki so unsettled. A movie - granted, a good one, one he'd enjoyed himself.  Now that Tony thought about it, he wasn't entirely surprised, because yeah, after their reasonably in depth conversation way-back-when, with the shitty family history and overall insecurity - it would have been a bit of a shock. Seconds later he had a slightly panicked demi-god in his living room. Jarvis was still talking, and Loki seemed to be calming down, gradually becoming aware of his now-not-Norwegian surroundings.  "Hey Reindeer Games," Tony figured calm and relaxed was the best way to go (hopefully not for too long, because, well - that wasn't exactly his default setting).  Loki looked at him, and said in such a lost voice, "I don't know who I'm supposed to be!",  then just collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. And yeah, Tony could identify with that a bit. He'd been - literally - blown apart and had to remake himself - it was a work in progress. He said as much to Loki.  "You can be yourself here", Tony reassured him, "and it doesn't matter what form that takes".  Tony meant it; he was 100% done with trying to be what other people expected him to be (media BS aside). It was still a work in progress because of the old baggage and new traumas that had piled on since Afghanistan. Tony was going to make damn sure Loki got the support he needed to be able to reach that place as well. He joined Loki on the floor, looking out at the skyline, doing his best to give off an "I'm here for you" vibe and feeling pretty sure he was sucking at it as the silence stretched on.  Until ice crystals started to form on the floor and the temperature dropped noticeably along his side. He turned to face Loki and couldn't restrain the hushed "wow" when he saw the deep blue of Loki's skin and the vibrant red of his eyes. Then he noticed the fear in those eyes and the expectation of rejection, and he said the first thing that came to his mind. "I see you, Loki". Tony smiled - he was a smart-ass, yeah, but he was also completely serious.  Loki managed to combine an eye-roll, an exasperated sigh, and an appreciative smirk in response.  They were both completely aware that a single movie wasn't going to change the world, but a healthy shift in perspective, however minor, would never be taken lightly.   ***** Time passed. Loki's case had been presented to the United Nations, along with every scrap of evidence Jarvis was able to discover, the power of Stark Industries Legal, and a magic user willing and able to provide reparations. Agreements were made to address the damage and to provide aid in future protections. It didn't hurt that part of that aid was the possibility of a relationship with Asgard. Loki was a skilled politician in his own right, and after a magically-facilitated back-and-forth with Frigga and Thor, Ambassadorship was on the table, and was an opportunity to make things right, improve earth's position on the galactic stage, and NOT be around Odin - a win/win/win all around. The only downside was having to head back to Asgard - however briefly - to make it official.  While his "Bros-in-arms" were away, Tony built & tweaked suits, Jarvis continued digging through Shield, and the Spy-Assassin-Twins came and went (they were pretty fun for spies, Tony had to admit - snark to rival his own). If his military schedule allowed, Cap visited occasionally - usually when Clint & Nat were in town. They'd do pizza and movies, and sometimes Cap would spend time with Jarvis to do more in depth "future" catch-up (Jarvis could answer pretty much any question without Tony's snark, so Tony had to admit that was the better choice). Both Tony and Steve had been hit with a "baggage" clue-by-four and dealt with their initial oil-and-water-personality conversation/glow-stick-of-destiny-inspired insult-fest. While they weren't expecting to be best friends, they saw each other as individuals instead of the caricatures they'd walked into their relationship with. It was a vast improvement.  Things were going smoothly all around.  Until Jarvis uncovered HYDRA.   ***   Tony hoped Thor and Loki were having a better time than he was.  Tony was tempted to reach out to Fury, but had to wait till the one-eyed pirate contacted him; the waiting was, ha - infuriating! Tony didn't envy the amount of crap the man was going to have to deal with, but considering their "ends justify the means" operating system and the fact the world's greatest threat was growing inside their supposedly "good guy" operation, yeah - he was hoping some introspection was on the horizon. Wake up calls were a bitch, but he was glad he'd had his.  Jarvis, of course, was still working his way through the system. There was NO WAY Tony was going to NOT keep an eye on Shield-ra now, with that threat level cranked up to 20 on a scale of 1-10.  He did suddenly have a taste for calamari, though.    **** Thor and Loki were not having a better time than Tony.   

“I’m gonna turn out the light, okay?” Eiji says sleepily, reaching over Ash to shut off the lamp on their nightstand. Reluctantly, Ash grumbles and sets down his book on the bedside table, pulling off his reading glasses. He massages the bridge of his nose where they had left indentations and lays down against the pillow, feeling Eiji cuddle up against him, wrapping an arm around his waist, his soft breath ghosting over the back of Ash’s neck. Ash’s heart swells, still not quite able to accept that he’s allowed to feel like this. He’s safe, in the arms of his love, far away from the guns and bloodshed of New York, thousands of miles across the ocean in their new apartment in Japan. It still doesn’t quite feel real. He’d always thought he would die in New York, choked by the stench of blood and smell of garbage, buried as another no-name youth killed in a meaningless gang war. He drifts off, the arms of his love securely around him. But in his dreams, the comfort of the present bleeds away, and once more he drowns in the dark streets of New York. He’s walking down a dark alley, surrounded by the familiar sounds of water dripping and the echo of police sirens in the distance. Ash shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, tracing his thumb over the familiar shape of his gun. The environment and its sounds are as familiar to him as the back of his hand, yet that fails to lend to a sense of security. Night has always heightened his senses, honing them razor sharp. Suddenly, a figure steps out from behind the corner of a nearby building, its face lit harshly by the fluorescent yellow light. “Yo, Ash.” Arthur smiles, a sinister grin on his lips. Ash’s blood runs cold. “You’re supposed to be dead.” “I...I killed you.” His voice shakes. He still remembers the feeling of twisting the knife into Arthur’s gut and the dead, empty expression that had stared up at him when he had peeked down from the train overpass. “Or so you thought,” Arthur chuckles, and steps further into the light, twirling his knife between his fingers. Before Ash can react, Arthur’s goons materialize around him and hands grab him from behind, pinning him against a wall with his arms above his head. He curses, spitting and thrashing, as one of them reaches into his pocket and tosses his gun to the side. It clatters on the pavement, outside of his reach. He can’t move his arms or legs, held down by rough, heavy hands as Arthur comes towards him, brandishing the knife and licking his lips. “Finally, I get to have my revenge on the little lynx who nearly bit my fingers off.” He grabs Ash’s chin, tilting it upwards with his thumb, a sadistic glint dancing in his eyes. Arthur’s hand begins to skim up Ash’s thigh. His mind goes white. No. —- Hm? Eiji blinks open his eyes to bleary darkness. He had only been asleep for a short while, but something had woken him up. He feels Ash’s body, tense underneath him, a garbled moan escaping his lips. Eiji carefully wretches his arm out from underneath Ash and sits up, looking at him. His breathing is fast, eyes screwed tight, murmuring terrified, half formed words and syllables. "Ash...” Eiji felt his heart constrict, like the wind had been knocked out of him. It always hurt, seeing Ash in the clutches of a nightmare. It made Eiji feel powerless, seeing Ash battling with his demons in a land he could not set foot in. He put his hand on Ash’s bicep, shaking him gently. “Ash, wake up!” —- “Arthur, what the fuck!” He thrashes, trying to pry his arms free. “Get your hands off me, you sick fuck!” Terror floods his system—an injection of ice water through his veins. He can feel himself starting to go numb. His surroundings swim in front of him. The world sounds muted and faraway to his waterlogged ears. He can’t feel anything. It doesn’t matter. Arthur can do whatever he wants to him and it won’t matter if he can’t feel a thing. Arthur’s voice reaches him garbled, as if underwater. "You ain’t ever gonna be the same when I’m done with you.” The goons holding him down laugh at him. “You got it comin’ kid,” says the one in aviator sunglasses with a pathetic, greasy-looking mustache. Arthur’s hand skims over his thigh, pushing up the hem of his t-shirt, exposing his hip. The rush of blood in his ears and his ragged breath are the only sounds he’s aware of, overpowering everything. His fingers hover over Ash’s waistband, then retract. As Arthur’s hand leaves him, Ash sees him reach into his own pocket, for his knife. He leans forward to whisper in Ash’s ear, knife resting threateningly low, teasing the waistband of his jeans. “I’m gonna cut your dick up just like you did to my fingers.” Panic slams into Ash so hard that he wretches his hands free, cutting his knuckles on the teeth of the man he socks in the mouth who had been holding him down. His eyes lock on Arthur, an unholy cocktail of fear and panic singing in his veins. Adrenaline is the only thing he knows at this point. Logic is gone. His instincts propel him and he pulls back his arm, locking eyes on Arthur’s disgusting face. His fist connects, striking Arthur square in the jaw and— —- “—Aarugh!!” Huh? He looks around himself, drenched in sweat, and Eiji is crouching on the bed a few inches away from him, holding both hands over his nose, blood dripping onto the mattress. The gears turn in his mind. Shit, Shit, Shit. “Eiji—fuck,” Ash pulls several tissues out of the box near their bed and thrusts them toward him. “Tip your head back,” he helps Eiji position himself, a guiding hand on his back. “Yeah, like that...good.” There were tears in Eiji’s eyes, and although he knows they’re probably involuntary from the impact, Ash still feels shame grip his heart like a vice. He keeps his hand on Eiji’s arm, rubbing it apologetically, until the bleeding seems to slow. A blanket of silence falls over them, neither of them speaking, the only sound between them their equally uneven breathing. “Fuck, Eiji. I’m so fucking sorry.” This was why Ash had been nervous when he and Eiji had begun sleeping together in the same bed. When they had lived in the condo, as much as he would have loved the feeling of sharing Eiji’s warmth and as much as Eiji would have allowed it, he had insisted on maintaining the distance between them, for his own safety, he supposed. He’d known something like this would happen eventually. He felt so disgusted with himself that he wanted to scream. It was over. The violence was over and here he was again, bringing it back into Eiji’s life. Polluting their happily ever after all because his mind still couldn’t let go. He dug his nails into his scalp, a shaky sob wracking through him. “Ash, look at me.” Eiji clasped a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t even realize he was shaking. “I’m okay. I know you didn’t mean to hit me on purpose.” Eiji’s tone is even, steady, as if he’s talking to a spooked animal. “No, Eiji—you’re not fucking okay, you’re fucking bleeding!” His voice cracks with a sob. He wants nothing more than to claw his skin off, dig his nails into himself and tear it from his flesh. “It’s my fault…” he croaks out, tears spilling free and falling down his cheeks. Eiji must be terrified of him, or hate him. He wouldn’t be surprised if Eiji flinched away from his touch and kept his distance. Eiji’s heart constricts painfully again, yet he finds his throat dry, at a loss for words. He’s just scared. It was just a dream. He wants to reach out and touch Ash, but he himself is still shaking, the bloody tissue in his hand. What can I do about this so he feels safe and I don’t get hurt again, Eiji thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ash, is there anything I can do better next time? So I won’t wake you up so suddenly?” Ash remains silent. “…I don’t know.” His voice sounds hollow, a million miles away. Eiji feels the weight shift on the mattress, realizing Ash has gotten up. “I’m going to go sleep in the living room,” Ash announces, voice still raw. Before Eiji can protest, he slings the blanket over his shoulders and grabs his pillow.   “Ash wait—” The bedroom door slams shut, Eiji’s words dying in his throat. The spot on the bed next to him is empty, and his limbs feel heavy and cold.

It’s a week to the day he had arrived here. A year has almost passed and he is freaking out because he has been called out to the back of the school and though he supposedly is alone with this girl he can feel the piercing stares, eyes closed and an awkward smile, ‘Those little fuckers better walk the hell away…’ “Umm… Takemichi, I was just wondering… would you like to go out?!?!” Play dumb. “Uh out where? ‘Cuz uh… we’re already outside?” Too dumb. A smack could be heard, the motion of hand slapping a forehead comes to mind, but the blonde keeps a confused and innocent face as he looks at the girl earnestly. Just a bit more and she’d likely leave in embarrassment, it would be embarrassing for both of them, but he really didn’t want to go out with her, he’d leave the first date to the actual Takemichi. God he hoped he came back… She looked red, Hinata Tachibana was a cute girl, one of the most popular girls at the school from what he heard, well liked, and very attractive, him getting asked out by her was something he should be proud of.  Still… “No I- Uh I mean would you-” Then the sweet, sweet sound of a teacher yelling at his friends who were hidden behind a bush invaded their senses, Hinata seemed to burn even more red and Takemichi just continued to look at her confused. “Umm… well I gotta go if you still need to talk about it you can ask on monday?” He gave her a warm smile as jogged away meeting his friends who had been caught out by the gym teacher, a charming smile, and an easy explanation got them off with a warning, but the piercing stares would not leave him. “Sooo….” Yamagishi had a teasing grin, and Makoto elbowed him, "What did she say?!" Takemichi played the dense idiot, "She said she wanted to go out, I didn't really get it because we were already outside." Takuya shook his head, hand hiding a smile, Akkun looked embarrassed for the both of them but mainly for Tachibana. Makoto and Yamagishi looked at him like he was the stupidest man alive, then looked at one another doing that weird silent communication thing, simultaneously they spoke, "You are an idiot." A shocked and terrified look crossed the blonde's face, "I am deeply offended and slightly nauseous that you would say something like that to me." Offended sounds escaped them as the three of them fell into a play fight that might have ended up with one of them getting their hand bitten. Takuya laughed and Akkun rolled his eyes, shaking his head as if done with them though the smile evident on his face showed his amusement.  . . . "So… how are you doing? There's only a day until the deadline, what'll you do if he doesn't come back?" The blonde laid on the roof of his house. Takuya had stayed with him worried he would do something drastic, he might have felt the clawing feeling of… something. "I don't know… I kind of really hoped that I would disappear or something, but I kind of hoped it would take me when I had least expected it. It would hurt less you know, but now… I don't know, I'd like to say I've got it all figured out but most likely I'll throw up, have a panic attack and then fall asleep hoping this was just like a real long coma dream. I mean I lost everything. Everything. Takuya… I just don't know." Takuya bit his lip before taking in a breath, "If it makes you feel any better, if you're still here the day after tomorrow, I'mma stick with you. You're just as much my friend as Takemichi was." With those words he left. . . . It was 3 minutes before midnight. 3 minutes before January 1st. 3 minutes before he would likely have to accept that yeah he was dead, and yeah he would never see his family ever again, and yeah he still had to live for however long this body would last, because unfortunately as he had said he was too much of a pussy to take himself out. And because maybe he wanted to live… He wanted to be… The alarm on his phone rang. It was silent and nothing had happened. "Shit." He laid on the floor he felt dizzy and light, yet at the same time heavy because now he had to take charge again. God… he really was going to throw up. . . After emptying out his stomach he walked out of his house in an effort to escape the feeling of dread and emptiness. He was truthful with Takuya. He had no idea what he was going to do, this was life, not just the main character from a delinquent manga. He had a life, he had dreams and aspirations and family and duty, he had money and independence and here he was again, a child. A neglected child for sure, but 14 again. Sighing as he snuck into a 7/11, buying chips, he gave a weak smile to the cashier who, like a zombie, stared at him unseeingly, walking out he opened the beer he had stolen. Sticking a tongue out he sat heavily on the empty park bench, "I forgot beer tastes like shit…" He leaned back, head snuggled into a balck hoodie he pondered the meaning of his existence for maybe a moment or two, before hearing the rumbling sounds of a murder of motorcysles looking over he saw the flapping wings of a black jackets.  He felt sick. He wished he had stayed home. Standing he left the park, but not before gaining the attention of some of it’s more unruly members after all not all of them could be admirable delinquents with strong morals and even stronger wills, some were just bullies using the Toman name to throw their weight around in their own small ponds. It was a shit pull though, that they chose to rough up a half depressed and half insane individual. Standing over the faces of beaten up Toman members, a crying Takemichi wiped his nose, “God why… what the hell was this shit, fucking delinquents… fuck I’m a delinquent too.” He left them like that, murmuring all the way he ran, not wanting to deal with them anymore. They would have gone after him, but had to hurry back, but their pride was hurt and a plan was forming. Their bruised and roughed up expressions pulled some raised brows, but they ignored it or bowed depending on who it was from, a fanged and long haired teen laughed at the sight of them. “You get your asses beat by that scrawny piss-haired brat?!” Baji had never had a delicate bone in his body, the boys tensed, before nodding, the teen cackled, “Man either you guys are weak as shit or he was strong as fuck either way… next time don’t fucking lose.” They tensed necks aching as they kept their bow, the biggest of them was kicked, but he barely let a sound fall as his legs wobbled in an effort to keep him up, soon enough Baji left them to it. The boy tried to regain his breath, “We gotta kill that guy.” Truly it was embarrassing, after all they are the ones who picked a fight thinking it would be an easy mark. . . . At home Takemichi grumbled, eyes blurry with tears and dull as though they could see nothing, “Fuuuuuuck… this body has shit alcohol tolerance…” he bumped into the doorframe and opened up the fridge taking out a water bottle, the sight of senbei on the counter made his stomach grumble, “Aw~ maaan~... what am I gonna do, I’m so goddamn short, and scrawny in this body even after eating healthy and working out…. I FUCKING WORKED OUT FOR THIS GUY AND HE DIdn’t even have the decency to come back…” He sniffled as he fell to the ground and cried like a child, like the child he was. “Mamá… mamá perdóname… perdón…” He fell asleep on the kitchen floor, half eaten senbei gripped in his hand, as he snored snot and tears drying on his red face.   .   Takuya found him in a supremely embarrassing position, sighing as he put the soup on the counter as he squatted before the other boy. He was an ugly sight. Poking at the other cheek the boy opened up crusted eyes, before they closed again face grimacing in pain and regret, “The hell happened to you?” The other boy grumbled unwilling to speak much less look at the boy, finally though he looked up, his nosy and cheek had a nasty bruise and blood was smeared across his face, “I’m still here, I threw up, left in the middle of the night, stole beer, got beaten up, ran away and then fell asleep while eating senbei.” “That’s kinda pathetic man.” Renewed tears escaped him as he grunted and sat himself up, “I knooooow~, but I panicked and honestly I should’ve stayed home, but honestly I didn’t want to contemplate my existence and stuff…” Takuya stared at him eyes soft and kind, and pulled the bag full of food down, nudging it towards him, “I brought sustenance, you can tell me what you think or we can eat in silence…” Rubbing his eyes he gave the other a watery smile, “Sorry, sorry, here I am a whole 19 year old, crying to a kid…” Puffing out his cheeks, “I’m fourteen you know.” “Still a kid man, you’ll get it when you're older, even 17 year old's look like babies to me.”  

Getting back to Solitude was a challenge. Once we were clear of the Embassy grounds, we found a nice, quiet spot for me to squat down and push as much of the troll's mess out of my ass as I was able; I conjured up a still-energetic Jex to help with cleanup as well. Fortunately, we were not followed and were able to find our way to the road and trudged back toward Solitude. I wished I'd smuggled in some warmer clothes, I was shivering all the way back. Dravos, now once again disguised as an olive-skinned Imperial, hugged me close to his side and I conjured up some fire in my hands to try and keep warm. Jex even bumped his flank against my hip in an effort to keep the chill out. When we approached the gates, the guards on duty looked us over and saw me shivering in the torchlight. “What happened to you lot?” he asked. “My friend here lost his cloak, unfortunately,” Dravos said, rubbing his hand over my side. “Doing our best to keep him warm until we can get to an inn.” “Well, Winking Skeever's probably got rooms,” the guard said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Then I saw him twitch his nose. “Smells like you were out having a good time, huh?” I felt my cheeks warm up in spite of the nighttime chill. “Yes, it's been a very...eventful night.” “I'll bet,” the guard said and walked over to me. “How many men did you take, Argonian? I can smell the cum on you from here.” “Oh, uh...” I flushed again and the guard laughed. He turned toward Dravos and asked, “Hope you don't mind if me and some of the boys take turns keeping your friend warm?” “Provided he's willing,” Dravos said and moved a hand down to squeeze my ass. “He has had a long night.” “Tempting though it is, I should really go get some sleep,” I said. Normally, I wasn't one to turn down a good time, but I was sore from dealing with that troll and suddenly very tired on top of everything else. “Maybe tomorrow if I'm free?” “I'll hold you to that,” the guard said and gave my ass a swat as he let us pass through the gate. It was sorely tempting, but I had to deliver the goods first. We made it back to the Winking Skeever and crept up toward the rooms we had rented, sneaking in and closing the door as quietly as possible so as not to wake any of our companions. I pulled the folders out of my shirt and handed them to Dravos, who looked at them curiously. “Hold on to those,” I said quietly. “They won't be able to find them if you have them.” Dravos smirked and nodded once, disappearing in a flash of violet light. I started to strip out of my clothes when I heard rustling on one of the beds nearby. Enough moonlight was shining down through the window for me to get a glimpse of pale, Nordic skin and long, dark hair. I saw Kai lift a hand to stifle a yawn and turn his head toward me. “Keeran?” “Yeah, I'm back,” I said. “I got what we need.” “Good.” He took hold of my wrist and tugged me right over to the bed; I didn't resist. Kai made room for me under the blankets and I eagerly snuggled up against him, starved for warmth after that trek through the chilly night. My people were not made for these frigid conditions. Kai wrapped his arms around me and rolled me onto my back, sliding himself over top of me and between my legs. I wrapped my legs around his waist and the head of his cock found my sore pucker as if he'd been waiting for me all night. He slid into me with ease and pressed his mouth hard to mine to stifle a nascent cry of pleasure. I was still sore from that troll, but Kai was someone who could have it whenever he wanted it. Right now, he wanted it badly and so did I. The bed creaked lightly under us as Kai rolled his hips and my legs squeezed around his waist, my hands gripping at his naked back. I panted against his ear and felt him bury his face into my neck, his lips pressing a line down the side of my neck to my shoulder. I heard rustling in the bed on the other side of the room, but paid it no mind. I just squeezed my eyes shut and held tight to my loving housecarl as he took me. And after so long without release, I sprayed my load between us, making a mess of Kai's belly. With a deep-chested groan of effort, he repaid me, flooding my already-sundered guts with his own seed. He panted heavily and lifted his head, pushing his hair back with one hand. By the pale moonlight coming in through the window, I saw him grin. “Happy to have you back in one piece, Thane,” he said. “So are the rest of us,” Lydia's sleepy voice said on the other side of the room. “Save the noise for the morning, please?” “Heh, sorry,” I said and felt something tugging at my arm. I looked over to see Jex still sitting patiently at the bedside, cocking his head and panting expectantly. “All right, all right, get up here and clean us up...” * * * With the morning came relief and the sudden realization that the bed was far too small to comfortably accommodate myself, Kai and Jex. I imagine this is what it was like having an actual dog. I gently nudged myself out from under the four-legged Daedra and sat up, groaning a bit. Inigo and Lydia had fallen right back to sleep on the other side of the room. I felt the bed shifting and a pair of arms slid around my middle from behind. Kai peppered my neck with kisses by way of 'good morning', sending pleasant shivers down my spine. “Good morning to you too,” I said and leaned back into him. He wordlessly tightened his arms around my middle. “Anything happen while I was gone.” “All quiet here,” Kai said, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” “Been better,” I sighed. “May as well go wake everyone up, we need to figure out a plan.” “Right,” Kai let go with clear reluctance and just then, the door cracked open and Hjoromir poked his head in, sagging with relief when he saw me. He held up a finger and retreated again, I assume to get the others. At least everyone else remembered to wake up early. It wasn't long before the rest of my companions had all filed in, everyone in various states of undress. It felt more like another orgy was about to break out than a discussion on our attempted espionage against the Aldmeri Dominion. Tyr had also stopped in under the guise of a regular civilian to check in on us and sidled into the room, shutting the door so we could begin our talks in peace. I relayed everything that had happened in the Embassy with some help from Dravos. He calmly explained that he'd been pulled aside by guards and accused of snooping around, to which he repeatedly replied that he had no idea what they were talking about. He and Malborn had been dragged off toward the dungeons, where they'd assumed the “spy” had been hiding. “So, what does this mean for us?” Ghoro asked. “Do we need to leave Solitude?” “Probably not the best idea,” Tyr said. “You all leaving the Embassy the morning after a break-in? They'll be staking out the road for anyone who looks even a little bit suspicious. They'll have eyes on the docks, too, so leaving by boat is just as risky.” “So stay in the city walls and act like everything is normal?” Lydia asked, sounding very skeptical. “For at least a few days,” Tyr replied. “The only one who would be in any trouble is Keeran if they're looking for an Argonian, and he's hardly the only one in the city. It's not like they have any proof.” I sighed and pinched my eyes shut. “Those guards saw us come back in last night. If anyone asks guards from the night shift, they'll give me up.” “I'll deal with it,” Tyr said, his expression stern. “How many were there?” “Just one that I saw. He propositioned me,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “What are you going to do?” Tyr smirked a bit, “Gently ask some questions about last night and make sure everyone's story stays straight.” “All right,” I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face. I didn't like the idea of staying, but Tyr knew the Dominion better than we did. I trusted him. “As for the information I found, probably best if Dravos keeps that in his little pocket of Oblivion for the time being. The Thalmor won't be able to find it there and it's honestly safer if no one else looks at those files until we're well outside the city walls.” “If they're after this old man in Riften, shouldn't we try and get to him first?” Hjoromir pointed out. “If they're after him, he's in danger.” “That prisoner we rescued hadn't broken yet,” I said. “They seemed to think he knew something, but whatever he does know, he didn't tell them. That should buy us some time, we just need to be smart about our movements.” “Any chance we could get a message back to, uh, our friend?” Inigo asked, looking at Tyr and lowering his ears apologetically. “Sorry, probably best if you don't know who that is...” “No offense taken,” Tyr said and rubbed his chin. “Might be safe to send a coded letter out with a courier. In the meantime, I would stay put for two or three days.” “What are we going to do in the meantime?” Inigo asked, his ears perking right back up. I just gave my friend half-smile, “Inigo, what else do we ever do with our free time?” * * * Tyr had very handily dealt with the issue concerning the night guard, seeding some story about how I was a prostitute hired by one of the Legion officers at Castle Dour and he was investigating as the Legion officially disapproved of such behavior. But the city guard had no such restrictions, so that gave them plenty of freedom to hire me out. Only problem was that public nudity was apparently frowned upon in Solitude. The guards “hauled me in” and I found myself locked in some stocks in the dungeon of Castle Dour. I was stuck there until someone came to “pay my bounty”. The guards on duty left me there for all to see, guardsmen and Legionnaires alike lining up to have a turn at my ass, my already-sore backside left gaping and raw, a constant trickle of seed dribbling from me. Others lined up to use my mouth, leaving a mess on my face more often than not. It was nice to have things largely back to normal after sneaking around like a spy. Eventually Tyr came and “rescued” me from my predicament with a set of clothes in hand. I washed up and walked out of the dungeon, clothed and carrying a sizable sack of gold. “I thought the Legion disapproved of that sort of thing,” I said. “Officially,” he clarified, giving me a sly half-grin. “You know how I feel about that rule. And speaking of official, I've been thinking. Do you think your merry band of dragon slayers has room enough for one more?” I perked up at that, “I'd be happy to have you along, but would you be able to get away from your post here?” “General Tullius was at Helgen too,” Tyr said. “I think he'd agree that having a task force to deal with the dragon threat would be a good thing. And since the Stormcloaks already have a representative in your ranks, I think he'd want to match that for fear of looking bad in the eyes of the people. If he looks like he's putting politics ahead of people's safety, it would only strengthen Ulfric's cause.” I smirked and asked, “So you only broke me out of jail to talk business, huh?” “No, I fully intend to take you back to the inn and have my way with you for a bit,” Tyr said and I felt his hand squeeze down on my backside. “We have some time, we may as well make the most of it, right?” Hard to argue with that logic. We went back to the Winking Skeever to make the most out of those rooms, and as sore as my backside was from the treatment it had gotten the last few days, Tyr was kind enough to focus on my mouth instead. And by that I mean he laid back on one of the beds and let me pleasure him at my leisure. He ran his fingers through my crest and I felt his fingertips brush over the old scar on the back of my skull. I had barely been aware of that since I could start using magic again without blinding headaches. I thought back to when Tyr and his men hired me in Helgen, I received that message from Inigo and felt over the scar while sitting in that tavern. Now we were both in a city on the other side of Skyrim doing the same thing. Was I suddenly going to get a message from my missing uncle before we left? Probably too much to hope for. For now, I could just enjoy being a whore again. A very important whore, but a whore nonetheless. I bobbed my head between Tyr's legs until the Imperial shuddered and drew his legs up, holding my head steady to feed me a fresh load of seed. I gulped him down hungrily and pulled my head back with a gasp to see him smiling down at me. “You are a man of many talents, my friend,” he sighed, folding his arms behind his head. “I find it good to be versatile,” I said as I crawled over him and straddled his waist. “It's important to have a lot of skills at your disposal if you're going to do the adventuring thing, you know?” “Better to wiggle your ass than brandish your sword?” Tyr asked with a hearty slap to my naked backside. “Well, I can do that too, just in a different fashion,” I teased and leaned forward, laying over him. “Speaking of which, is there anything I can do to further convince dear old General Tullius that making you part of my 'dragon task force' is a good idea?” “If you're thinking along that route, you may want to stop,” Tyr said dryly. “General Tullius doesn't exactly fancy other men as far as I'm aware. He went to that bath house near the Blue Palace and was apparently put off by the men there propositioning him.” “There's a bath house?” I asked, perking up. “Keeran, please focus.” “Right, sorry,” I muttered. “Fine, I guess I can be diplomatic and remain clothed.” “I appreciate it. Let's go get cleaned up and have a word with him, shall we?” * * * Freshly bathed and dressed, I followed Tyr to Castle Dour after we had rounded up Kai, Inigo and Lydia. Tyr claimed that having both Thanes of Whiterun present would probably help sway the General's decision. Inigo didn't much like it, but I could tell he was more amenable to meeting with Tullius given his severe dislike of everything even remotely related to Windhelm. As Tyr led us through the front doors, he leaned over to whisper to me. “I thought being a Thane was an honorary title,” he muttered. “Yeah, so did I,” I whispered back. “Just be polite and follow Tyr's lead. We can always turn on the charm if need be.” “Hard for you to do that with your pants on, my friend,” Inigo said, earning some barely-constrained snickering from Kai. Tyr turned his head to shush us as he led the four of us back to an office where we were met by an older Imperial man in full Legion regalia. He looked us both over, his expression clearly skeptical. Whether that was just because that was just because he had to be skeptical or because of other reasons, I couldn't immediately tell. I'd at least give him the benefit of the doubt – Tyr clearly respected him. “Thanes Keeran-Rei and Inigo, I presume?” he asked. “I am General Tullius, military governor for Skyrim. You have my thanks for aiding Captain Tyronius at Helgen.” “I had the pleasure of meeting him before the incident at Helgen occurred,” I said, giving Tyr a little half-smile and did my best not to emphasize the word 'pleasure' too much. “I consider him a good friend.” “And from what he tells me, the feeling is clearly mutual,” Tullius said and took a few steps forward. “He's also told me about your efforts about the dragons, so I'll ask plainly – what can the Legion do to assist you in that endeavor?” Straight and to the point – very Legion-like. He didn't seem like the type to put politics ahead of the people's safety. “Captain Tyronius has asked to join me, so I would like him to accompany us for the time being,” I said. “At the moment, we're mostly collecting information on why and how the dragons are returning. We have a lead or two, but nothing entirely solid yet.” Tullius simply nodded and rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “I see. Is there any information you're able to share with us?” “Nothing useful,” Inigo said. He met my eye and then Inigo's and considered that for a moment, as if trying to seek out the lie. I wasn't about to tell him that I'd broken into the Thalmor Embassy and stolen secret files from the First Emissary's own office. After a moment, he nodded his head slowly. “Well, hopefully that will change,” he said. “There is one other thing I feel I should share in the interest of honesty,” I added. “Ulfric Stormcloak has committed one of his own men to my group in the interest of stopping the dragons.” Tullius' eyebrows went up at that and he turned toward Tyr. “Captain, is this true?” “It is, sir,” Tyr said. “I've confirmed that a Stormcloak officer is present here in the city in Thane Keeran's company for that express purpose.” Tullius nodded again, “Very well. I appreciate your honesty, Thane. I'll allow Captain Tyronius to travel with you for the purpose of investigating and dealing with the dragon threat as a representative of the Imperial Legion. Captain, I'll expect regular progress reports from you.” “Yes, sir,” Tyr said and snapped to a salute. “Good. If there's nothing else, I have a meeting with the Jarl soon, I should get over to the Blue Palace. Best of luck to all of you.” With that, Tullius left flanked by two soldiers, one of whom looked at me curiously and then suddenly blushed before hurrying off after the General; it was very tempting to ask him how he enjoyed his time in the dungeon, but there was no point in getting the poor bastard in trouble. I exhaled once everyone was gone and turned to look at the others. “Well, that was surprisingly easy and painless,” I said. “Yes, to be honest, I was expecting a bit more resistance,” Inigo added. “The General's a very busy man and he takes his position very seriously,” Tyr said. “Though I fully expect he'll try to arrest Soren as soon as the opportunity presents itself.” I sighed, “Great. Well, I think we'll be okay for now. And if we're going to stay in the city for another day or two, maybe we can go visit that bathhouse you mentioned earlier...?” Everyone perked up at that and Tyr turned toward Lydia to give her an apologetic look. “Yes, but it's a 'men's only' bathhouse, if you get my meaning...” Lydia pouted, “Damn. All right, go have fun. I'll go track down and Soren and make sure he hasn't been arrested.” We exited Castle Dour and parted ways with Lydia, following Tyr in the direction of the Blue Palace. The entrance to the bathhouse was discreetly tucked away in an alley, giving the whole affair a rather scandalous feel. We entered a finely-decorated reception area and a handsome Nord man standing at the counter requested that we pay a small entry fee before going inside. “And please remember that we have a no clothing policy in the bathing area proper,” he said, scooping up the gold we laid out on the counter. “Sexual activity is allowed as well provided that all parties consent, so if anyone starts getting pushy with you, please speak with one of the attendants.” “I like this place already,” I said and followed the others into the next room where everyone disrobed and put up their weapons and armor. “How long has this been here?” “Quite a while, apparently,” Tyr said, now completely naked. “Come on, I think you'll like what they have going on here.” Kai slipped his arm around my waist and we followed eagerly, walking through the next door and into a gorgeous room with a marble balcony and high ceiling that let sunlight stream in from windows set up high. Down below I could hear a gentle murmur of indistinct voices and the splashing of water. The room we entered ended at a balcony that overlooked a huge bathing room with a large pool in the center of the room where men were lounging and swimming around. Others walked around the edge of the pool stark naked and I could just make two men in an alcove having a bit of fun with each other. “Seems like our sort of place,” Kai said as he moved his hand down to cup my naked backside. “Surprised there isn't anything like it in Whiterun.” “There's the bath chambers in Dragonsreach,” I pointed out. “Mmm, not quite the same,” Kai said, giving my ass a squeeze as we descended the fine marble steps into the chamber. “You may have to do something with all that gold you're making, Thane.” “Don't tempt me, you know I'll do it,” I said and turned to grin at my faithful housecarl. Kai simply smirked and tightened his grip on my ass. He used that grip to tug me in close and kissed me firmly on the mouth. I draped my arms around his neck and returned the kiss in earnest, hearing a few delighted chuckles echo through the chamber as the other patrons were no doubt enjoying the show. “Well, don't you two make a lovely pair,” a deep and friendly voice said from somewhere to my left. I turned to see an impressively naked and handsome Nord man leaning against the nearby wall. He had long, dark blond hair hanging down past his shoulders and a wonderfully long and thick cock hanging between his powerful thighs. He looked like a character pulled straight out of an erotic story. Then again, a good number of the Nord men I've fucked could be described that way. “I take you two are new here?” he asked, stepping forward and giving us both approving looks. “I'd love to give you both a tour if you're willing.” “Oh, we most certainly are, isn't that right, Keeran?” Kai asked and punctuated the question with a sharp swat to my ass. I couldn't help but giggle and stumble toward the towering dream of a Nord. “We most certainly are,” I said and laid my hands over that rippling chest. Oh, there was no way he could be real. “Where does the tour start?” “Down there,” the big man said, nodding toward his waist. “I was hoping you'd say that,” I said and immediately dropped to my knees, grasping that heavy prick and stroking it firmly. Kai playfully nudged his own against my cheek and I reached up to occupy my other hand with his, working the two well-hung Nords until they were both good and stiff. Past my new friend, I could see Inigo chatting merrily with two other men, another Nord and a Redguard, both of whom were getting a nice feel of Inigo's fur. Tyr had disappeared from view, but I could only imagine he had found someone to play with as well. With my own playmates now stiff and waiting, I went to put my mouth to work. I took the new fellow first and he groaned appreciatively as I slid my mouth down over his shaft, bucking his hips toward me in response. “He's very good, isn't he?” I heard Kai ask. “Oh, he is excellent,” the Nord groaned and I pulled off him with a wet pop, grinning up at the towering man before turning my attention to Kai. I hadn't gone down on him very far when a third member was brushing against the side of my head. “Room for any more?” I heard a voice ask above me. I pulled back from Kai's cock long enough to voice an affirmative and went right back down on him. Within moments, I was surrounded. Two more men approached and I found myself in the center of a circle of swollen, throbbing pricks, working my hands and mouth around to make sure each and every one of them received some attention. Between everyone's legs, I could see Inigo bouncing on the Redguard's cock while the Nord pumped into his mouth. Lucky him. At one point, my new friends must have decided that I was getting uncomfortable being on my knees and one of them laid down, pulling me over to straddle his lap and lined his spit-shined cock up under my tail to press into me. I slid onto the Nord with a happy groan and another of the newcomers slipped right back into my open mouth the moment the opportunity presented itself. Each of my hands grasped another length of needy manhood as I was set to bouncing, dribbles of precum slicking my palms and wrists. Before long, those dribbles turned into pearly ropes of seed splattering against my arms and into my mouth. Yeah, I think I could stand to follow Tyr's advice. Staying in Solitude for a bit seemed like a good idea...

“You don’t even know what the positions are and you’re trying out for the team?” Yoongi can’t really believe that it’s happening, either. It was a spur-of-the-moment idea that he never thought would actually come to fruition. He is surprised that Jin and Namjoon even allowed him to try out in the first place. They care a lot about his and the other boys’ safety and, to be honest, they tend to worry over nothing most of the time, so it really came as a surprise when they decided to let him play a sport this dangerous. He doubts that he’ll make the team anyway, but it’ll be fun to try. Wait, fun? Yoongi has never thought about this kinds of situations as fun before. He’s always thought that auditioning, trying out, or having to show off his skills in any way is completely nerve-racking and terrifying, but now he thinks this could be fun? Strange, he thinks. Right now, the coach is yelling at him. It’s pretty understandable, too. He was asked which positions he was hoping to get, and Yoongi responded by saying the he has no idea what the options are. Understandably, the coach seems somewhere between shocked and furious. If Yoongi were the coach, he would be yelling at himself, too, so he doesn’t take it personally. This is a pretty weird situation, after all. Yoongi was asked to wear shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt for the tryouts. He doesn’t normally wear shorts or short-sleeved shirts because more of his body gets exposed to the heat or cold that way and it gets to be too uncomfortable for him. The only times he ever wears clothes like that are when it’s way too hot not to, and during the annual family beach trip. He’s really looking forward to that this year. It’ll be his last before he goes off to college. The thought makes him a bit nostalgic. “Yes, sir,” Yoongi responds. He knows better than to say anything that will risk the coach getting even more upset at him. The yelling doesn’t bother him much today, but he definitely doesn’t like to be screamed at. If he were feeling any more sensitive at the moment, he might have had a meltdown already, but he’s feeling okay today. He’s feeling confident. “I just wanted to try out.” He hears some of the other boys laughing at him, but he tries not to pay attention to it even though the noise makes his ears burn in embarrassment. He isn’t sure why they are laughing. Did he say something weird? The coach glares at him as if inspecting him. Then he eventually says, “You’re a weird one, Min Yoongi. If you want to try out, be my guest. Just make sure you can keep up.” He seems to get an idea. “Say, what are you good at? What makes you think I’ll choose you for my team?” Yoongi has thought about it for a while. If he wants to join the team, he has to be especially talented in some way. There are guys that can throw the ball extremely far, run incredibly fast, or tackle the opposing team’s players. He’s thought about what he’s good at and he knows what it is by now. “I’m very precise, sir,” he says. The coach seems inquisitive, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. He hears the other boys muttering amongst themselves, but he knows what the reason is: it’s a strange answer. Almost everything Yoongi does is strange to other people. He knows that his autism makes him act differently than most people do, but he doesn’t mind. He’s never really had a desire to fit in, which helps give him some peace of mind. “You’re going to have to demonstrate that for me, boy,” the coach says. “You do realize that you still have to complete the same tasks as everyone else, right? You still have to run, throw, and kick your heart out.” The wording doesn’t really make sense, but Yoongi gets the idea. He nods, saying, “I do. I’ll try my best.” The coach says nothing more, walking away from Yoongi as he blows the whistle to get the other boys to pay attention. He explains that tryouts will take anywhere from one to two hours and that it will be very physically demanding. Yoongi sees a water cooler by the sidelines, so he knows he’ll be okay as long as he can get a water break at some point. He isn’t sure what to expect, but he’s a bit excited. The first assessment (as Yoongi likes to think of it) is sprinting. The coach lets them stretch for a few minutes before they are to line up on one end of the field and get prepare to sprint all the way to the end and back while the coach times them. The rest of the boys seem to know exactly how to position themselves to start, but Yoongi just stands there. He isn’t a very fast runner, so he knows he won’t do very well in this part. The boys who are slightly crouched with their hands on the ground as they prepare to sprint give him weird looks. It’s probably because he’s just standing there, he thinks. Maybe he should do what they’re doing and— Before Yoongi can contemplate his positioning any further, the coach blows the whistle and the boys start running. It takes Yoongi a second longer to start running since he wasn’t prepared, but it’s not like it matters. He knows he’s coming in last place anyway. He runs as quickly as his body will allow him, but that still isn’t much compared to the others’ sprinting. He sees one boy who is leaps and bounds ahead of everyone else and it makes him feel even more incompetent. But Yoongi isn’t going to allow himself to be discouraged. He knows where his strengths lie, and sprinting just isn’t it. Yoongi finishes last, as expected, and tries desperately to catch his breath. He rests his palms on his knees, bending over slightly in an attempt to cool down. He sees sweat drip from his face and he wonders if he should be this sweaty after running only two hundred yards. “43.1 seconds, Min,” the coach says, pressing his stopwatch. He doesn’t look impressed, but Yoongi isn’t surprised. He isn’t a runner. In fact, he hardly ever runs. It’s partially because Hoseok isn’t allowed to run very much so he doesn’t want his brother to feel left out, and it’s also partially because he doesn’t enjoy running in the first place. “That’s a new record low. Congratulations.” It doesn’t bother Yoongi. Well, it kind of does. He doesn’t like that this adult man is being so cruel towards a teenage boy who is just trying his best, but he knows better than to voice his opinion right now. Besides, he’s breathing too heavily to say anything. “Wang,” the coach says. “18.6 seconds. Even better than last year.” It looks like he’s referring to the boy who finished first and was incredibly far ahead of his competition. “Wang...” Why does that name sound so familiar? Then it hits him: that’s Taehyung’s guy. Jackson Wang who is in Taehyung’s chemistry class and looks like an athlete. Yoongi didn’t receive much about Jackson’s physical appearance other than “he’s so hot, hyung,” but he knows this is him. It couldn’t be anyone else. Yoongi has a new objective: talk to Jackson. That’s much easier said than done, especially since Yoongi has zero social skills and Jackson seems to be incredibly popular (he’s already high-giving the other boys, so he must know everyone really well), but he’s going to do it for Taehyung. He just needs to find an opportunity to talk to him. The next assessment is kicking. Yoongi isn’t really sure how far or how high he can kick a ball since he’s never really tried before, but he doesn’t think he’ll be as bad as he was with the sprinting. Well, he isn’t very good at kicking, either. Every time he thinks he’s kicking the ball as far as he possibly can, it always ends up a few feet shorter than the others’. Yoongi is starting to get a bit discouraged. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. He should have never tried out. It was a stupid idea to begin with. Who was Yoongi to think he could make it on the football team even though he’d never played a game of football in his life, much less known anything about the sport itself? He goes to retrieve his ball and comes back to his original position, but he just stands there idly. The other boys have so much athletic ability and Yoongi is just...there. He’s obviously the odd one out. Even the boys who are going to be cut from the team are probably doing better than him right now. Why did he ever think this was a good idea? As Yoongi begins to put himself down more and more, he eventually sits down on the ground. Feeling the grass beneath his fingers helps to ground him a bit despite the yelling of the other boys and the intensity of his emotions. He briefly wonders what life would be like if he were like the rest of the boys at his school. Would he be happier? Would he make the football team? Would his brothers still love him? He is snapped out of his thoughts when a hand touches his shoulder. Yoongi reacts immediately, turning around with wide eyes. His immediate thought is that it is the coach coming to scold him for sitting down in the middle of the assessment. Much to Yoongi’s surprise, it turns out to be Jackson Wang. “What are you doing on the ground?” he asks. He has a smile on his face. It seems genuine, but Yoongi isn’t the best at reading emotions. Maybe if he were better at it, he would be able to help Taehyung out more. “We’re in the middle of assessments.” It takes Yoongi a moment to respond due to the ringing in his ears. It’s too noisy, but being able to focus on Jackson and his words is helping to distract him. “Sorry,” Yoongi mutters. “I was just...overwhelmed. I needed a minute.” Jackson nods. It seems like he understands. At least, that’s what it seems like to Yoongi. “I get it,” he says. “This segment’s about over, though. We’re supposed to try passing next. Do you wanna be my partner for that?” It’s a bit ironic that Jackson keeps pairing himself up with Yoongi and his brothers, but it’s not like Yoongi is in much of a position to refuse right now. It’s not like he wants to be put with any of the other boys that were laughing at him earlier. Besides, he finally has the perfect opportunity to get some information for Taehyung. “Sure,” Yoongi says, acting like it isn’t a big deal even though he is freaking out on the inside. “You’re Jackson Wang, right?” “Yeah,” he says. “How’d you know?” Yoongi hopes he isn’t being too obvious. To be fair, he only knew once the coach said his name. Taehyung barely gave him a description of his physical appearance, so it’s not like he had much to go off of. “Um, the coach was praising you a lot earlier. You had the fastest sprinting time.” “Oh, right,” Jackson laughs. “And you’re Yoongi. Min Yoongi, right?” Yoongi nods. He has a feeling of why Jackson knows his name, but he’s too embarrassed to suggest it himself. “The coach was kinda berating you earlier. Sorry about that, man. He’s always like that, though. Don’t take it personally.” Yoongi already got that feeling, but it’s nice to have it confirmed by someone else. “How do you know?” he asks. “Do you know him?” “Oh, yeah,” Jackson says as if he had forgotten something. “I’ve been on the football team since my freshman year. Hopefully, this’ll be my third year. Are you a freshman?” Yoongi flushes at the question. He isn’t sure whether he is embarrassed or insulted. Probably both, he thinks. Yeah, he’s shorter than most of the kids his age, but that doesn’t mean he’s a freshman. “I’m a senior,” he murmurs, looking at the ground. If this is Jackson’s third year, then that means he’s a junior. So Hoseok’s age, basically. It’s a bit of an age gap, Yoongi thinks, but at least Jackson isn’t a senior. That would be a bit much. “Oh, sorry man,” Jackson apologizes with a laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just asking since I haven’t seen you at tryouts before. Do you just want a change of pace?” “Something like that,” Yoongi says. It looks like the others are getting ready to transition from kicking to passing, so he thinks this is a perfect time to sneak in the question that has been lingering in his mind for a while now. “By the way, do you happen to know Kim Taehyung?” For some reason, Jackson looks less happy than he was a moment ago. He seems more guarded. But maybe it’s just Yoongi reading too much into things. “Yeah, he’s my partner for this chemistry project,” he says. “Why?” “He’s my brother,” Yoongi says. Jackson looks surprised. They do have different last names, after all, and they don’t really look alike, either. It makes sense that he would be surprised. Most kids aren’t adopted, Yoongi reminds himself. “I was just asking because he seems really happy to be working on that project with you.” Something glimmers in Jackson’s eyes. “Oh, really?” he asks, sounding amused. “That’s good to hear. We’ve only met up once after school, but I’m looking forward to getting to know him some more.” Yoongi has successfully completed Operation: G.I.F.T. (Get Info For Taehyung).

Shall I Compare Thee    Technically speaking Anakin is fine. The medical droid on board has been very clear on this - the bruises scattered here and there on his tan body are an unpleasant affair but routine after two years at war and the bulge on his neck, where the dart pierced the skin, will reduce in a matter of days even without the application of bacta. The effect of the poison is a whole other story. "Well, it could be worse" Ahsoka decides with a cheerful voice and though she sounds and feels sincere, it's evident what she's trying to do.  Obi-Wan takes his eyes off the sandy-haired boy beyond the glass to focus on his grand-padawan with a dark glance that he hopes convey exactly his reluctance. "Your Master has been shot with a poisonous serum that is obviously tampering with his ordinarily faulty brain-to-mouth filter, which is causing him to ramble on and on about me in un inappropriate manner for a Jedi, and you honestly think it couldn't get any worse" he says anyway, just to make sure that the young Togruta is actually conscious of the situation, tone loaded with a mix of doubt and sarcasm. In all fairness, Ahsoka really seems to give it a thought and the fact that she doesn't retract her statement is testament to how Anakin has rubbed off his sometimes senseless optmism on her. "Think about it, Master," she starts, resembling her real mentor even more so, "we could be at the Temple and someone else could hear him."  It goes without saying that the someone she's referring to is any member of the Jedi Order or worse the High Council. That would be a disaster. Fortunately they have still many hours - around twenty-six - to arrive on Coruscant and with the just amount of providential help from the Force Anakin will be truly fine by then.   Obi-Wan returns with the attention to a bare-chested Anakin, regretting to not have insisted more on letting him go of his inclination for partial nudity. With a hum he concedes Ahsoka's a point.  "You should see him in action, my little friend" Anakin is saying, eyes bright with enthusiasm and childish amusement, smiling even more when R2-D2 starts to beep furiously. "Yes, Artoo, I know you see him everyday but not as I do and, let me tell you, he's kriffing majestic. The lightsaber seems like an extension of his arm and his movements are so kriffing graceful. I'd give my right hand to see him fight without all the kriffing stupid tunics" he concludes, the dreamy look dampened only a little by a tiny sliver of frustration, which explains the rich rhetoric.  Generally Obi-Wan is good at controlling the colour increasing of his neck and cheek mostly because there aren't many things that cause it - praises are never been a problem until now. He clears his throat twice. "I'm sure he means it for a strictly scientific purpose - you know, muscles and..." he trails off because he has no idea of how to finish the phrase, because it's evident that's not the case. The combination of Anakin and scientific motives is even more laughable than his attempt.  Ahsoka hurrumphs, an amused aura all around he frame, and she has no right to sound like Master Yoda. "At least he wants to sacrifice his mechanic hand."  Obi-Wan sighs. Qui-Gon as his Master, Anakin as Padawan and Ahsoka as Grand-Padawan - it's a miracle he still has his sanity for putting up with the three of them without dire consequences, there should be a special rank for Jedi this brave.  "But that would be so uncivilized" Anakin resumes, doing a more accurate impression of Obi-Wan's accent now than when he's not under the influence of an inhibitor venom. "It's not proper for a Jedi to show skin or sweat in public or not, Force forbid. He gets this little line between his eyebrows, that he blames on me by the way, every time I suggest to spar shirtless and, trust me, Artoo, I've lost count of all the times I've tried. Or he pinches the bridge of his nose. Or strokes his beard. Force, I love his kriffing beard." The Jedi Master chooses to pointedly ignore the L-word and the spark of something in his chest, and is grateful when Ahsoka too keeps quiet, though she's clearly on the edge of a laughing fit.  R2-D2 beeps again what hopefully is an invitation to finally shut up based on the outraged expression on Anakin's face.  "What? No! It doesn't make him look old."  Figures. Leave it to Anakin to be so horrified by a rude comment to his Master's beard. No, not Master. Not anymore, corrects himself Obi-Wan, as usual. But still a Jedi, supplies a voice in the back of his head that resembles dangerously Mace Windu's.  "It gives him a refined style. Just like his hair. Can you believe Obi-Wan invented the definition of bed-head, Artoo? I don't know why he insists on combing it. He looks so soft in the morning with his messy, adorable hair out of place. It's a torture to not go and touch it, I swear." Anakin's flailing arms, probably to stress the urgency of his just expressed desire, almost sends the glass of water flying. He poutes - such a childish look hasn't any reason to be endearing on a grown-up man and normally Obi-Wan wouldn't find it so, but Anakin has always managed to surprise him. His younger friend is immensely cute and he hates himself a bit more for thinking it.  "Speaking of, he's so touchy-feely lately. His hands are always all over me, on my shoulder or my knee or arm. He touched my chest two weeks ago! And I wasn't even hurt, Artoo. How I am supposed to focus like that? If I didn't know Obi-Wan to be so kriffing oblivious, I'd say he's doing it on purpose to drive me insane. Maybe my stealth wooing is working and now I need to use a more direct approach, what do you say?" Ahsoka has abandoned every pretence of control the moment Anakin's mentioned exemples of Obi-Wan's hands on him, belly-laughs climaxing with something in between a snort and a grunt at the part on stealth wooing. Obi-Wan, instead, runs a hand over his face and tunes out R2-D2's blat, fighting against to many urges to pick up one: the blushing, the impulse of chastising Ahsoka, the desire to put a pillow on Anakin's mouth and finally stop him from talking. He does nothing, especially entering the medbay because he dreads what Anakin would say if he saw him and more importantly his own reaction at that.  "Or maybe it's best to leave things as they are. I don't wanna drive him away. I don't know what I'd do with my life without Obi-Wan in it."  There's a moment of silence after that. Obi-Wan is vaguely aware of Ahsoka awwing and his heart beating faster, his chest getting incredibly warm and tightening at the same at time, taking in the sad expression on Anakin's face. His stomach drops at the realisation of how much guiltly pleased he is at these words - obviously he wishes everything that's good in the galaxy for Anakin but he would be lying if he said that the prospect of his best friend helpless without him isn't somewhat moving, albeit in a very twisty way. And Obi-Wan understands the feeling so perfectly because, at least to himself, closed behind his shields, he can admit to be irreversibly, deeply, recklessly attached to Anakin, way over point of no return. Of course he's not oblivious as Anakin wants to believe, of course the stealth wooing has not gone unnoticed (possibly due to Anakin's lacking abilities rather than anything else) and of course Obi-Wan's thought of giving in to temptation, more than once if he has to be honest.  He looks at Anakin with old and new eyes, thinking that whatever he chooses to do, he needs to find a solution. Fast.  Anakin pulls out of his contemplative state and shrugs. "I guess, I can always ogle his ass from afar, uh, Artoo." Fine. Pillow it is. 

Dabi freezes the moment they step through the gates, and he watches Hawks’ figure make its way up the stairs. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he says, but the wind catches his words and throws them away. He doesn’t know anyone here, aside from Shouto - not that he’d recognize Dabi, not like this. Would he? He can’t decide which he’d prefer. But everyone else at this event, they’re all strangers aside from Hawks. Not that he has trouble socializing, but these people...Hawks had called them family, and the sudden, overwhelming pressure to impress drops onto his shoulders. “Coming?” Hawks calls from the door, and Dabi runs a hand through his hair and takes a step forward. He can hardly turn back now, especially not after being the one to suggest he come along. Hawks sticks a hand out as Dabi climbs the stairs, and he takes it. He expects Hawks to knock, so he’s mildly surprised when he just pushes the door open and drags Dabi inside. As quickly as he can, he lets his gaze sweep the space he can see: the sofa looks well-worn, blankets drape the cushions, and he can see a few people bustling around the kitchen with bright grins. On the other side, a long dining table extends for ages, and a few people sit around it with various drinks in hand. He’s not exactly sure what he anticipated, but the place feels lived in, nothing like the sterile house he’d inhabited for so many years, nor like the apartment he barely does much more than sleep in. No, this place is a home, at least for someone. “Hawks!” A green-haired kid bounds up to Hawks with a bright grin on his face. “You made it! Aizawa’s gonna be- well, you know him. But Mic’ll be really excited to see you!” He glances over at Dabi, then, and - somehow - his smile widens even further. “Dabi, right?” he asks, and Dabi’s brows lift just a bit. Sure, he knew Hawks had mentioned he’d be coming, but he hadn’t expected anyone to really remember. Or know his name. “Yep,” he shrugs, then glances over to find Hawks grinning at him. Maybe this was worthwhile, just to make Hawks happy. And… He glances around over the kid’s head, searching for a familiar face. But he doesn’t see it, at least not right away, and he’s distracted by the green-haired kid sticking his hand out. “Midoriya Izuku,” he says, and Dabi glances over at Hawks again before shaking it. Hawks seems utterly over the damn moon, and he wonders if he’s gonna have to hide his own grin all night. He hadn’t expected Hawks to be this pleased, and it’s making his chest feel all fluttery. “I’m sure Hawks will introduce you to everyone, but we’re really glad you could come too!” Someone shouts ‘Midoriya’ from somewhere upstairs, and the kid’s head whips around. “One sec!” he calls back, then flashes another smile at Hawks and Dabi. “Anyway, it was really nice to meet you!” He throws a quick wave over his shoulder when some girl with pink hair shouts his name again from the top of the stairs. “Are they all like that?” Dabi mumbles as he leans into Hawks’ side. Hawks just laughs, then drags him into the kitchen. He’s admittedly grateful for the fact that Hawks hasn’t let go of his hand - he’s a bit overwhelmed by all the people. This is what they’d consider a ‘small dinner party’? Not to mention there are evidently still some people elsewhere in the house. “Hawks!” He seems to get an equally enthusiastic greeting from a girl with black hair tied up in a ponytail, and a vague flash of a memory creeps into his head. Right at the same time, her gaze lands on Dabi, and it darkens. “What the hell is he doing here?” All at once, Hawks starts rambling about how Dabi’s not like that, his friend was the asshole, and so on, and god these kids must really trust him - the girl gives him a narrow-eyed glare, but doesn’t say any more than that, and Dabi almost feels bad. He’d apologize, but he doubts she or her friend - oh, that pink-haired girl at the top of the stairs…right - would want to hear it from him anyway. Dabi suddenly feels like he’d like to go back to his apartment and curl up under the covers, but Hawks’ grip tightens on his hand as if he’s read his mind. “I mean,” some guy with yellow hair waves a knife around like it’s any other utensil besides one that could literally cause extreme bodily harm, then points it at Dabi. “He wasn’t really much of an asshole.” Dabi’s not sure if that’s meant to be a compliment or not. “He didn’t exactly help though,” ponytail girl says back. “I dunno, if Hawks has been dating him for the past, what, six months?” Yellow-hair turns to Hawks and Dabi, and Dabi’s eyes widen. “Almost seven?” Hawks says, and Dabi turns to stare at him - he’s got a perfectly neutral expression, and if Dabi didn’t literally know better, he’d probably believe him. “Yeah, I mean he can’t be a bad guy, Hawks wouldn’t be dating him if he was.” Yellow-hair shrugs and turns back to whatever he’d been chopping, and Ponytail makes some kind of grumbling sound, then grabs a stack of plates and finds somewhere else to be. Dabi’s admittedly still reeling from finding out he’s been dating Hawks for nearly seven months now. How the time flies. Hawks drags him from the kitchen and into a hallway, one apparently empty of anyone to overhear them. “I feel like I should’ve mentioned-” Hawks starts, and Dabi lifts his brows. “What, that we’ve been dating for over half a year?” He shakes his head - what the hell was he thinking? “Well it sorta snowballed…” Hawks seems to be finding anywhere to look except at Dabi. “They were sorta...well, it sounded weird to just be like ‘let me bring my brand new boyfriend’, so I said we’d been dating for a while, and they were all like ‘oh, well how long?’ and-” “And you said six months.” Dabi shakes his head. In a way, he understands - it was kind of strange to bring him after being together- “Boyfriend?” He hadn’t really thought much about it, but he hadn’t really had much time to. “I- uh, I mean...if you want?” Dabi exhales a breath of laughter at Hawks’ sudden lack of confidence. “I mean, we have been dating for almost seven months now...” Dabi tilts his head, letting a smirk touch his lips. Hawks’ mouth twists up into a grin, one that looks a little like a smirk as well. But Dabi can see the genuine smile behind it. His boyfriend. Fuck, Dabi had better live up to the part. ------ Hawks drags him around the party, introducing him to everyone - not that he seems to need the introduction, the immediate reaction to his hand in Hawks’ is apparently ‘oh, so you’re Dabi!’. He’s long since forgotten names, if he’s honest, but all the kids seem to have different hair colors, so he’s just differentiating them that way in his head. In spite of his excuse for tagging along, Hawks ends up doing most of the talking, fielding all the questions about how they met. He’s spinning it wildly, though, making claims that Dabi was the one flustered by Hawks’ flirting, that he’d been clumsy and nearly spilled his drink everywhere, that Hawks had been the one to suggest they go out on a date. He’s also definitely making it sound less risque. Although, to be fair, if he sees these people more as family than friends, he’s probably not about to divulge the details of their hook-up. Dabi plays along, though, happy to pretend he’d been the lovesick fool at the start. Mostly because he sort of had been - and still is. Every now and then, he’ll catch himself just staring at Hawks as he spins a tale about their first meeting, or some date they’ve supposedly been on, or something else entirely. He’s entrancing. He can almost feel the loss when Hawks excuses himself to grab another drink. “Just so you know, Dabi,” Dabi turns to find Yellow Hair staring at him, eyes narrowed, “if you do anything to hurt Hawks…” he leaves the threat dangling in the air, and Dabi’s not sure if he should take it as a joke or actually come up with a response to that. Out of nowhere, though, someone bursts out laughing, and Dabi turns to find a guy sitting on the sofa, his arm around Red Hair - he’d met that kid earlier, he thinks - and a brow quirked. “He said the same thing to me, don’t take him too seriously,” he advises, and Red Hair frowns. “Wait, seriously Denki? Did you threaten Bakugou?” Dabi’s brows quirk up, suddenly caught in the middle of this family feud. Yellow Hair sputters out some nonsensical response and tips his drink back, and Dabi’s eternally grateful for Hawks’ return. He does much better hanging onto Hawks’ arm than he does as the center of attention. “Who’s threatening you?” Hawks chimes in, handing Dabi another drink - he must’ve made them, Dabi hasn’t seen anyone else with any kind of cocktail. This Bakugou kid waves a hand at Yellow Hair, and Hawks raises his brows. “Yeah okay, Kaminari, you’re not fooling anyone. Sorry, but Bakugou here would beat you to a pulp in a matter of seconds.” He tips his drink back, like he has the empirical evidence to back up his claim, and Bakugou coughs out a laugh. The guy beside him giggles as well, but he hides it behind a sip of his own drink, and Kaminari’s left with his mouth wide open, glancing between them all. A purple-haired kid walks in - he’s pretty sure he’s met this one - and stops in the doorway. “Whatever it is,” he says, eyes fixed on Kaminari, “count me out.” “No no no,” Kaminari stomps over, dragging on the guy’s arm, “tell them I could beat Bakugou in a fight, I totally could!” Dabi watches with amusement as Purple Hair’s face shifts from one emotion to the next. He finally looks over at Kaminari. “Bakugou would probably rip you in half, if he were really trying,” the guy says, and the whole room breaks into laughter. Dabi finds himself smiling at the banter. Which is why it takes him more than a few seconds to notice the person climbing down the stairs, head dipped as he says something to that Midoriya kid who’d greeted them at the door. The second he does, though, the whole world fades into nothing around him. Shouto looks...well, he still has the scar. Which he’d definitely had before Dabi left, but a fresh wave of anger bubbles up in his chest - Dabi hadn’t been able to protect him, then. But Shouto seems okay now, at least. Midoriya’s hand rests on the small of his back, and he leans into the kid’s side. Dabi’s heart thuds in his chest, a steady rhythm of Shouto’s okay Shouto’s okay Shouto’s okay. Half of him wants to run over and sweep Shouto into a hug, apologize for leaving, for everything, say all the things he’d never heard as a kid, that he was loved and accepted and valued. The other half demands he stay utterly still, give no indication he knows Shouto at all. This was stupid - what right does he have to barge in here, into the place Shouto’s made into a home, and dredge up old memories, bring things back from the dead? He’s probably buried them, made peace with them, and here Dabi is, threatening that peace. Threatening the stability Shouto has built for himself. “Hey, I’m gonna, uh,” Dabi hikes a thumb over his shoulder, not really sure where he plans on going but needing to escape for just a minute. Hawks’ eyes widen, like he’s about to ask something, and Dabi shakes his head, hoping it’s enough to stave off a question. Hawks squeezes his hand and lets it go without a word, and Dabi slips through the kitchen and back toward that hall he and Hawks had been in earlier. He’d really meant to just stand there for a while, piecing his thoughts back together into something coherent, something that’d help him get through the rest of this without breaking down. Until he notices a door at the end of the hall with an inset window, and he makes the split-second decision to go outside instead. Besides, it’s far less likely anyone will find him awkwardly standing out there and try to make small talk when they’re all bunched together out of sight of the door. The cool air feels nice after the warmth of so many bodies, and it helps clear his head of whatever’s been stuffed in there. It also brings him a sense of clarity around Shouto - he shouldn’t have come here, it’d been wrong to try to insert himself back into Shouto’s life. Dabi had made the decision to leave, to break all ties with his family, and he has no right to go back on that just because his brother happens to live in the same area now. And he doesn’t have the right to steal Shouto’s family from him. Dabi’s long since broken away from his past, changed his name and his look and his identity, and he has no idea if Shouto’s done the same. But it isn’t his place to bring that all to light again, or to make his friends - his new family - doubt him. Dabi focuses on his breathing, on the slow inhalation and exhalation of the night air. Clouds block out most of the stars, but a few shine through little cracks, and the moon makes an appearance after a few minutes of sitting in silence. He wonders if he should text Hawks, tell him he’s not feeling well or some other half-assed excuse to get out of here. He’d been right from the moment he stepped through the gate - this was a mistake. “I’m not surprised you’re out here.” The voice behind Dabi startles him, and he turns to find Shouto standing in the doorway. His head feels like a mix of cotton balls and ‘this was a mistake this was a mistake this was a mistake’ running on repeat. “I also like to get outside whenever it’s too much.” Dabi watches his gaze flick up to the sky, his arms crossed over his chest. All the words he’d thought he’d say, everything he wanted to tell Shouto, it all blows away in the cool evening breeze. “I don’t know why you’re here,” Shouto says, but his eyes never drop back to Dabi, “but you shouldn’t be.” He inhales, exhales. “Father found me, he might be looking for you as well.” Dabi’s eyes widen, then they narrow. How dare that bastard- if he destroyed Shouto’s peace, he’ll have hell to pay for it. Touya didn’t know how to fight back, but Dabi sure as fuck does. “Don’t go after him,” Shouto says - Dabi wonders if Shouto’s always been this way, cold and emotionless, or if he has Enji to blame for yet another thing. “It’s what he wants.” Dabi swallows the protest that’d been building in his throat - of course it is. His father wants what he’d had for so many years: control over them, control over their whole family. But with him and Shouto both gone, he no longer has that. And Dabi will be damned if he gives that bastard the satisfaction. “You’re happy,” Dabi says - the first words he’s said to his brother in years, in so many damn years. Shouto tilts his head, then closes his eyes, and Dabi wonders if he’s crossed some boundary - he’s his brother, but are they really siblings any longer? Were they ever, in any way that really mattered? He’d never stood up for Shouto, never stood in the way of his father’s heartless brutality, never held his brother’s hand when things felt impossible, when Shouto had to be feeling so alone. No, he’d run away instead, found an escape that never really felt much like an escape. And he’d left Shouto alone, or nearly as good as alone. “I think so,” Shouto says, finally, and Dabi exhales. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness - he can’t, he could never forgive himself, and he would never expect Shouto to do so. But knowing that he’s happy, or he’s somewhere near that...that’s enough. “Are you, Touya?”

Alucard rolls onto his back and exposes his belly In an attempt to cheer up his lady companion. He is met with a blank stare, although her eyes are on him, he can tell her mind is somewhere else. After a few seconds of whimpering to get her attention, he rolls onto his side and his body slumps in defeat. “Damn, usually rolling around like a new puppy is a guaranteed way to get her to smile”. He almost shakes his head at his own foolish behavior. He knows he is acting way out of character, but he almost can’t help it seeing her act like this. Every passing second he can almost hear her heart shatter into continuously smaller pieces. He almost prefers earlier when she was crying, now she looks so empty. Like if her tears carried away all her emotions with them. Emphasis on almost. Truthfully, he can barely deal with his own emotions of being left behind by Sypha and Trevor on a daily basis, and now he has to deal with this? He turns to look at her blank expression, poor thing she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. A twinge of guilt creeps up on him as he thinks of his earlier selfish thinking. Sleep. Maybe he can help her with that if he can’t make her smile. He curls his large frame around her in a protective circle with his head in her lap. He almost rethinks this move until he feels her hand on his head. If he wasn’t in his wolf form currently his cheeks would definitely be turning pink because of her touch. He starts to scold himself mentally for making such a big deal about her small sign of affection, but his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of her voice. “I am sorry. I am probably bumming you out. Maybe I should go back home? I don’t want to ruin your mood. Which would be a real shame considering how nice it is today.” You can’t help but sigh as you say this. You start to get up but you grunt as you feel the wolf put his whole body weight on you. You frown as you look down at him and scoff as you notice his golden orbs for eyes are shooting daggers at you. “Fine! You are so stubborn”. Though you don’t want to admit it, you are glad he doesn't want you to leave. You feel so safe and comfortable with him surrounding you like this and you are so damn tired. Alucard can’t help but feel a bit sad as he watches her already start to fall asleep. Being alone with her thoughts clearly has taken a toll on her. He feels a mix of anger and frustration start to bubble up inside him as he recalls her saying that when the search party went looking for the missing boys all they found was one of the boy’s severed hands gripped tightly around a bloody pocket knife. Ever since his friend’s left, he has always patrolled around the area taking care of whatever night creatures he ran into. What is strange, is he has not seen any signs of even one wandering these parts in a while, yet this tragedy has happened. He can’t help but feel at least somewhat responsible. To make it worse, his neglect has hurt his friend. Friend? He hesitates at the thought of considering her a friend, but then again he is currently snuggled up to her. You would have to at least be friends to be doing something like this. There is just no avoiding it. He puts his paws over his head in frustration, but his theatrics are quickly interrupted by a small snore. He looks up at her to find her finally asleep. It’s good she stopped fighting it, she needs rest. She looks so peaceful now. The face that was minutes ago tormented by dark thoughts, is now peacefully unaware of the world. Looking at her sleep like this makes him realize that she is a very pretty young maiden. Because of the unfortunate circumstances of their first encounter he knows she has a nice figure, but he never really had a chance to take in her facial features until now. Afterall, he was raised to never stare at a lady like that, it is rude and could understandably make a maiden uncomfortable. However, with his head in her lap like this it is not like he can look at much else right now. Something about her face makes her seem so approachable. If he didn’t know her already, he could walk up to her and just know somehow that she is a good person. Something about her seems so innocent, he can’t help but want to protect her. His eyes widen at that thought and he tries to think about something else but her sleeping face brings his mind right back to that subject. His heart starts to beat a little faster and he can feel butterflies start to form in his stomach. In an attempt to distract himself he tries to think about how he can perhaps patrol the woods more often to try and find what is probably a night creature causing all this harm. They aren’t very smart, so maybe he just needs to be out more often to find it. Suddenly he hears a small whimper escape from her lips. He looks up to find her still asleep. He almost starts to wonder if he is hearing things when she whimpers again. This time her body twitches some. She must be having a nightmare. He thinks back to when he used to have nightmares as a child. He tried so hard to be independent and not bother his parents when they happened but sometimes he just needed someone's touch to calm him down. His heart aches some as he recalls his mom holding him and whispering into his ear until he fell back asleep. Maybe his companion needs the same. But, would it even be appropriate for him to touch her like that? Especially, since she is not even conscious to consent to such a thing. Plus, it is not like he ever held Sypha when she was upset. But then again, at least Trevor was there to do that for her. No one is here but him in this situation. His thoughts are interrupted by her mumbling panicked nonsense in her sleep. She then grabs a chunk of his fur and pulls on it. Alucard can’t help but yelp loudly and scramble away from her grip. He looks at her, expecting her to have been awoken by his noises and his movement, but somehow she was still asleep and with a chunk of his fur in her hand nonetheless.. Her sleeping face is now twisted up in discomfort. She almost looks like she is in pain. He almost wants to wake her, but he thinks twice since sometimes waking someone in the middle of having sleep terrors could result in them waking up panicked and lead to them maybe hurting themselves. “Fuck it.” He mutters as he shifts into his human form. He frowns when he hears her whimper again. He approaches her slowly and kneels down in front of her sleeping form that is leaned against her favorite tree. He gently puts her hands in his. She whimpers again and her body twitches at his touch. He hesitates, but then puts his forehead to hers and whispers, “Shhh, it is ok. You are safe. I am here. I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you.” He is pleased when he sees her body relax. His thoughts about his mother comforting him almost makes him want to hold her the same way. If that helped comfort him, why wouldn’t it help her? But he decides against it, it seems a bit much for someone who is just a friend. Instead he sits next to her and carefully places her head on his shoulder. Maybe he should take this opportunity to nap as well? After all, he will have a lot of patrolling to do tonight.

Professor Severus Snape couldn’t have anticipated the chaos of the day ahead.  Indeed, he’d challenge anyone--Sybil Trelawney be damned--to foresee the literal fireworks and shite show that was to come.  Waking at his normal half-past five, Severus stretched before throwing off the bedcovers.  Just as an Ukranian Ironbelly was compelled to breathe fire, Severus always woke at dawn. After decades of poor sleep, taxed by constant insomnia and stress, his body didn’t allow for lie-ins however much he wished for them.  He had grown to accept this part about himself over the past seven years following the end of the War. It was just too difficult after four decades of abuse, be it kin, peer, or workplace, to convince his body that things were safer--better--now and he could risk sleeping in. During his morning routine, his body went on autopilot and his mind cleared: showering for exactly eleven minutes, shaving with a sharp straight razor, and finally dressing in freshly pressed black wool trousers with a crisp white long-sleeved shirt.  After making himself presentable, Severus enjoyed his first cup of self-brewed black coffee in his sitting room while he riffled through correspondence. He had found the private--silent--first dose of caffeine necessary to better prepare for the theatrics of Hogwarts’ youths.  Unknowingly to Severus, no matter how much stimulant he’d consume this morning it wouldn’t be enough. At exactly a quarter to seven Severus tucked in his shirt, buttoned on his dark wool frock coat, and then shrugged on his outer robe.  He rolled the tightness out of his shoulders. After slipping his letters in a pocket, Severus hid his wand in a sleeve. Regarding his reflection in the purposefully silent mirror, Severus adjusted the buttons at his neckline one final time.  He deftly flicked his inky hair over his shoulders, and smoothed some errant folds on his robe. Severus passed his daily inspection. Methodically neat, and put-together, he looked every bit the part of a respectable Potions Master. On his way out, Severus adjusted his cuffs until both coat and shirt aligned perfectly and pinned them in place.  Old habits die hard; this daily discipline had given him an inch of control during the worst of his past, when he had very little autonomy to speak of.   The Bloody Baron stopped him on his way up the stairwell to the main floor to warn him that he had overheard a group of plotting third-year snakelets in the toilets.  Apparently, they were planning a spot of revenge over an inconsequential matter with some Gryffindors. While the choice to hold court in a toilet was idiotic and conspicuous, it didn’t seem to be serious enough to follow-up on before breakfast--no bloodletting or petrifying had been spoken of--so Severus thanked his informant and proceeded to the Great Hall. I’ll have to deal with that sticky wicket soon or risk falling behind on the House Cup, Severus thought.  I’d really like to win that bet against Minerva that we can capture it two years in a row. He was pleased to find that he was the first to arrive for the day, even entering prior to Burchard--a prefect, allergic to tomatoes--who seemed curiously hellbent on memorizing the entire Library’s collection on Divination as of late.  The silence of the empty room was meditative, and the only thing that echoed in the space as he approached the High Table were his footsteps. Indeed, Severus had found that his mood was infinitely improved if he didn’t arrive to the Great Hall when it was already at full capacity with the volume cranked up to eleven.  On those rare mornings when he was tardy, he would fleetingly desire to cast a Mimblewimble on the entire jabbering lot. If nothing else, the fantasy of shutting up the masses was incredibly emotionally satisfying.    A cup of steaming coffee, and two pieces of toast with a side of butter materialized in front of him as Severus took his seat.  As the rich, dark liquid passed his lips he felt himself relax, and his shoulders dropped away from his neck. The blend is superb today.  If tea could be said to taste better when prepared without magic, the opposite could be said about coffee.  Severus was half-convinced it was the way the Elves crushed the beans. When he was asked to return shortly after the War he had attempted to make a footnote in his contract that he would be privy to the method.  Unfortunately, the Elf Matron had turned out to be quite a ruthless negotiator and Severus had to drop the matter lest he be cut off from his main source of hydration entirely. Severus pulled out his correspondence from the day before and began to write out a few replies so they could go out with the morning mail.  Pleasingly, in contrast to a decade ago, his letters were of nothing pressing; an apothecary inquiry, a dry reply to Lucius about Draco’s career ambitions, an altogether different and more supportive note to his godson, and a settling of his tab from the Three Broomsticks.   Draco may do better away from the Manor for a while, Severus thought as he finished his letter to the younger man.  He wrote a quick postscript that he had an Alchemical contact on the continent if his godson wished to be connected.  Merlin knew that Lucius could be a bit pompously overbearing at the best of times. Separating the Malfoy men may ease relations until Lucius could pull his head from his arse.    Something unusual near the back of the Hall caught Severus’ attention.  He turned his head and observed how the colors from the stained glass flickered across the grey stone floor.  Is that a rare streak of February sunshine peeking through the east windows? Yes, I do believe it is. Above him, the charmed ceiling had the promise of a hint of blue sky, despite the cold, wet weather that was more familiar to this particular spoke on the Wheel between Winter and Spring.  Severus allowed himself a contented sigh. Things were good. Slowly, the room’s population rose as students and professors rambled to their seats. As he signed the bill to Rosmerta with a flourish Severus felt someone settle next to him at the High Table.   Looking absolutely drained, Professor Granger muttered with a frown, “Good morning, Severus.”   Immediately, a plate of two decadent chocolate waffles topped with whipped cream, and a small pitcher of syrup popped into existence in front of her.  “Oh, put your eyebrow down,” she scolded him as she observed his reaction. “Indulging this morning, are we?” Severus asked as he folded his letter and placed it with the others in front of his place setting.  Is she hormonal or merely trying to pre-emptively up her chocolate intake ahead of the mid-February hedonism? If it’s the former, I dare not ask more.  I like my bollocks attached to my body. “I had the first half of the overnight patrols last night, if you must know.”  “Ah.”  That explains it.  The only other duty that was more undesirable than night rounds was manually mucking out the blast-ended skrewt pen when Hagrid fell ill or was otherwise indisposed.  Severus watched with morbid fascination as she poured syrup over her plate. At first, Granger was paying careful attention to fill each pocket of her waffles equally.  Then with a sigh she dumped the rest of the pitcher’s contents over the entire stack. “It was awful,” Hermione continued, stabbing her first bite with enough force that the fork scratched against the plate.  “Seven students out of bed! Three of them were in that alcove behind Julio Furtado’s tapestry.” Before Severus could process that completely she barrelled onward, “I swear it’s the weather.  The students are so cooped up that they’re actually willing to do anything to escape the monotony. Even if that means scandalizing a seventeenth-century weaving of a man with his prized braguette.” Remembering the proud stance of the Portuguese wizard in the tapestry in question, Severus replied sarcastically, “Minerva thought the wall hanging would horrify the wee bairns.  That’s why it’s hanging so far off the beaten path on the fifth floor.” “On the contrary,” Granger said with a sniff.  “It only seemed to inspire them last night.” Almost like an afterthought she muttered, “Pomona really has her hands full this year with her sixth years.” In an effort to steer the discussion away from the sexual exploits of the rutting badgers, and recalling the earlier glimmer of actual sun, he said, “It looks like the weather is taking an unusual, pleasant turn.  Perhaps today will grant us a reprieve from the idiocy of our charges.”   She hummed in reply as she slipped the fork into her mouth.  The pair fell into a comfortable silence as they finished their breakfast.  Severus began to reflect on his friendship with the woman at his side. Hermione had been the Arithmancy Professor for the last five years.  When Vector wished to return for good to her family’s villa in Italy, her successor was clear; there was no one more qualified. Former War Heroine and Cursebreaker, Granger outshone all other candidates.  Indeed, her professorship has been an overall success; there have been more students enrolled in NEWT level Arithmancy courses than when Severus first joined the staff. Time had truly worked its magic for the two Order of Merlin recipients; there was little that would add animosity in their relationship now beyond Pre-War house prejudices.  As this was Hermione’s first year as Gryffindor’s Head of House, Severus had tested those waters more purposefully as of late. Minerva proved to be a loyalist to the very end of her tenure as Head; he needed to know where Hermione stood in her convictions to better craft his arguments at any meetings where he’d have to defend his Slytherins.  The first time he took more than ten House Points from one of her students this year she didn’t later demand an explanation from him. When she came across Severus ranting at Walsh--second-year, loves toffee--who had pushed Jenkins--first-year, often homesick--in a corridor, Granger didn’t try to gaslight him and switch the narrative painting her student as the victim.  How easy it would have been for her to come to her cubs’ defense at the cost of all others, feeling like she had something to prove. Yet, Hermione had not questioned any of the point deductions or detentions given out by anyone. After being on the receiving end of the nasty literal fanged bite of reality, a period of self-introspection followed and Severus realized that he didn’t want to follow the antiquated way of thinking regarding house divisions and bigotry any longer.  It bred nothing but ignorance. At best, the world was grey. Placing children together for socialization within a found family was all fine and good. However, people couldn’t--nor shouldn’t--be exclusively cloven to the tidy stereotypical bullshite expelled by the Sorting Hat.  While it had seemed that Hermione agreed with him through her actions, time would tell if she really didn’t play favorites or respect old party lines. His musings were interrupted when the hatch on the ceiling opened with a loud creak.  Through the opening, the morning’s Owl Post began to flutter into the Hall. If Severus were more observant of the student body rather than being distracted by his thoughts about the woman beside him he might have noticed the calm before the storm.  Indeed, he might have observed how four students from Slytherin had strategically placed themselves along the edges of the room. In retrospect, one couldn’t blame the Hufflepuffs; as they were fellow dungeon dwellers the two houses could be surprisingly chummy at times.  But perhaps, in this one instance, the badgers should have been a tad more suspicious of the two interlopers at either end of their table.   Unfortunately, as with everyone, Severus was completely blindsided when his third-years released several Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bangs into the air, impeccably timed to the entrance of the avian post carriers.  The resulting boom of several Whiz-bangs colliding was closely followed by the parliament of owls dropping their letters and packages en masse and fleeing back into the hatch to get out of the line of fire.   In her haste to mitigate the disaster, the Headmistress attempted to vanish the fireworks immediately before they did any more damage.  Regrettably, Minerva had forgotten that these specific pyrotechnics were charmed to multiply when hit with Evanesco.  She swore and the fireworks obliged by mockingly spelling out TALLYWASHER over the Ravenclaw table.  Severus tried to keep a running tally of the many infractions his students had just earned and how many House Points were now at a loss, but he found himself distracted. And how could he not be?  The gold sparklers danced across the room and hit the flying, flaming pink pigs, which then caused stars to shoot off into the corners of the Great Hall.   Severus slowly rose from his seat.  Putting aside the obvious fallout of this mess--floo calls home, detentions, probations, and the very great chance that this stunt had cost them the House Cup this year--it really was a spectacular show.  In a pinch of nostalgia, the pyrotechnics reminded him of the joyous Bonfire Night celebrations when he was a child. They had been chaotically massive displays, at least until the mills had closed; there wasn’t much joy for many in Cokeworth after that.  If there was any justice in the world, the chance for merriment--for proper fireworks--would only increase for these children in front of him, students who had grown up in the shadow of the War. Severus found comfort in that hopeful feeling; that his and so many others’ sacrifices had been worthwhile.  His gaze softened as it followed the jets of light crossing the Hall, exploding into new variations when they collided. Yellow daisy chains broke off to become bubbles, pink hearts curved under white hopping rabbits. The student body, however, was either mesmerized or terrorized at the anarchy reigning around them. Filius lifted his wand to attempt to stall things but Minerva stopped him with a raised hand.  She didn’t want a repeat of her earlier mistake. By the pinched look on the Headmistress’ face, it was clear that Slytherin’s hourglass was going to be quite depleted before the first block of the day.  Despite the obvious rule-breaking, more than a few teachers seemed to be in awe. The last time these fireworks were deployed in the Castle, the majority of the staff weren’t witnesses to it as the pink-clad autocratic hag Umbridge had locked the Great Hall down for her draconian exams.  Professor Sinistra looked on in amazement, hands clasped at her chest. Likewise stunned, Sybill was in a trance, but the bright reflections on her eyeglasses hindered Severus from getting a more accurate read on her reaction. Filch, though, appeared to be absolutely disgusted. Severus was surprised.  One would think Argus would be gleeful at the prospect of more detentions but perhaps the caretaker hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. As the combustible reactions finally started to naturally wind down, the prank’s purpose soon became apparent.  The reason behind Filch’s offended reaction became more clear. The Gryffindor table, located directly under the main hatch of the owlery, was unfortunately where a hundred frightened owls literally had the shit scared out of them.  The table and its occupants were covered in bird droppings. Only a few students had donned hats to stave off the morning chill, and the rest now had white sticky head coverings. The entire house was still as they took in the appearance of their peers.  A diminutive first-year gingerly reached up to her hair and recoiled her hand in horror. Their plates of food--once oatmeal, crepes, and fresh fruit--were coated with a glossy patina of shite. A smelly plume of ordure was thick in the air. Severus turned slowly to Hermione.  This act of public hooliganism was unacceptable and Severus was fully expecting her to aggressively come to her cubs’ defense.  But to his surprise, her shock didn’t ebb into a Dumbledorian disappointment or righteous anger. Hermione instead broke into a fit of laughter.  The explosion of mirth didn’t truly last for more than a few heartbeats and she managed to hide it behind a hand, but Severus witnessed it all the same.  In that instant, he found her to be absolutely beautiful. Hermione’s brief moment of amusement, of finding humor in an act of desecration against her House, caused an odd feeling to unfurl in Severus’ chest.  He suddenly felt a fondness for her that had leapt beyond simple friendship. What is happening... However, the pyrotechnics then truly ceased, and incensed yelling immediately broke out amongst the tables.  Severus would have to analyze this newfound feeling at another time; there were more pressing matters to attend to.  Hardening his expression, he thought, I need to set this mess to rights. But his new feelings overtook his sense of responsibility again almost immediately.  “A reprieve from idiocy, you said?” Hermione murmured low as she touched his arm commiseratingly.  She turned to hurry down the dais to her panicked and filthy charges.   Severus was once again stunned.  How easy it would have been for Hermione to stab him with a sharp word about her suspicions regarding Slytherins and their innate desire to always play the villain.  There was no better proof of her turning away from past prejudices and house allegiances. She truly was no longer the girl from her youth who demanded immediate justice without knowing the full story.  Recalling a conversation from earlier this morning, Severus thought, I need to track the Bloody Baron down, he’ll know what precipitated this action.   He felt Minerva moving behind him, already on the warpath; just because Hermione showed leniency, he couldn’t--wouldn’t--expect it from the Headmistress.  Beyond House loyalties, she had an institution to run and Merlin knew she abhorred theatrics such as these. He would too if he was still responsible for the paperwork.  As Severus descended the dais behind Minerva he spared a glance over at Hermione. With the help of the Ravenclaw prefects she was Scourgifing each individual pupil.  Hermione had just finished with the small first-year from earlier, the one who had been horrified by her hair.  The girl--Morris; Muggleborn, proficient at ballet--pointed aggressively at one of the guilty third-year Slytherins that had been rounded up by Minerva.  Hermione gently placed her hand on Morris’ arm and lowered it. With a shake of her head, she cupped her student’s face and whispered something with a smile.  Whatever she had said had the desired effect; Morris visibly relaxed. Hermione looked up at that moment, and caught Severus’ gaze as he walked down the length of the room.  Her smile didn’t falter in the least. If anything, it finally reached her eyes. Oh. Severus suddenly felt lightheaded, and he knew he couldn’t blame it on the residual effects of the flashing or booming Whiz-bangs.  He felt anxious and frustrated over his students’ behaviors, true. But there was something else tumbling in his chest; the fondness that had been sparked earlier was now a fully flickering flame.  Severus was unable to deny it. The realization was too steady, and only growing exponentially with every interaction.   I fancy Hermione Granger.    

  ✪★ Ch. 8 ★✪ When Steve calls Bruce, he gets Tony instead. It’s the second time in as many calls that Tony’s inserted himself between Steve and the person he’d been trying to reach, which has Steve wondering if Tony’s been screening for him. If, in his own stunted way, this is Tony trying to show that he cares.  Steve knows Tony still feels guilty about the first and only time he’d come face to face with James—even if Tony would go on a coffee strike before admitting to it. And while Steve still doesn’t know exactly what was said, Tony’s genuine attempts to make up for it means it must have been pretty bad.  “Brucie bear is sciencing at the moment, mon Capitaine,” Tony says. “But your favorite billionaire genius is happy to be of service in the meantime. What can I do you for?” Steve explains the situation as succinctly as he can manage.  “My people came across some pretty nasty stuff when they were doing cleanup,” Tony says, once Steve’s finished. “Bruce and I have been analyzing the samples so we know most of the compounds in that lab were still in the experimental stages but... The stuff they were cooking up, Steve, was— Well, it was biohazardous for sure but also: the way they were designed to interact with the human body? It’s inhumane, Cap. Cruel. If your boy was exposed to any of that…” “He got knocked through one of the refrigeration units,” Steve says, limbs going shaky with dread. “His back was all cut up from the glass. Based on what he’s going through now, I’m pretty sure he was exposed to whatever toxins were stored in there.” “Shit.” Tony blows out a breath. “Well shit. Let me see if I can find out which stuff he fell into. Call you back.” Tony hangs up and Steve spends the subsequent wait pacing the room, stomach churning unpleasantly. Thankfully, the wait isn’t very long, Steve’s phone buzzing in his hand less than ten minutes later.  Turns out Tony’s clean-up crew had gathered samples of all the substances Hydra had left behind, thoroughly sanitizing the place of any and all remaining evidence once they were done. The substances within the crushed refrigeration unit where James’ blood had been found and collected had been inventoried along with everything else. “We think Barnes was exposed to a variant of super-virus,” Tony tells Steve, getting straight to the point. “This one apparently acts as a carrier for different types of pathogens, while initially presenting itself as something relatively harmless. So, like, a person might get diagnosed with an ordinary cold, right? No big deal, not really a cause for alarm. So that person goes home, unsuspecting and then, bam. Suddenly the virus releases what it’s really been carrying, something far deadlier than any cold, and no one saw it coming because it was hidden inside the ‘harmless’ cold virus.” Steve sinks onto the edge of the bed across from James, gazing at his flushed face, his shivering form. “What does this mean for B—for. For James,” he asks, lowly.  “It’s dangerous,” Tony says. “Scratch that, highly dangerous for a normal human. No surprise: Hydra scientists are evil assholes. But for someone with the serum, someone like you and Barnes, we’re thinking it’s probably not as big a deal. The only reason he even contracted it is because it was directly introduced to his bloodstream.”     Relief, almost painful in its intensity, washes over Steve, and he slumps forward, bringing up a hand to cradle his forehead as he exhales a long, steady breath. There’s a faint sound of shuffling over the phone followed by an indignant squawk from Tony, and then Bruce is on the line. His voice is calmly reassuring as he informs Steve that James’ fever likely means the serum’s already fighting the virus in his system, that it shouldn’t be too long before he comes out on the other side. “It’s horrible,” Bruce states, “But I’m pretty sure Hydra used Barnes as a guinea pig for these viruses. There were some notations about an enhanced test subject in the files Tony’s team recovered. And it makes sense that they’d use him. With someone enhanced, Hydra would have had a better chance of testing their deadly pathogens on a subject they wouldn’t have to worry about dying on them.” Of course. Steve grinds his teeth. Of course they’d used James as their test subject. Just when Steve thinks he’s learned everything Hydra put the Soldier through, some new, horrific gem of information pops up.  “There’s a silver lining in all of this, Steve,” Bruce says. “Barnes survived. Which means he will again.” Steve slowly unclenches his jaw, anxiety beginning to recede even as the bitter sorrow of learning yet another cruelty James had been subject to rises in its place.  Still, James is okay. He’ll be okay, Steve reminds himself. That’s what matters. He’s strong. He’s made it through countless tortures; he’ll make it through this virus just the same. He’ll make it through, and Steve won’t lose him, again, so soon after he’s gotten him back. “You’re right,” he manages. “Thank you, Bruce.” Bruce tells Steve about the plan to reach out to Cho and Strange, and any other medical professionals they can be sure aren’t Hydra, with the goal of formulating cures for the biohazardous horrors Hydra’d cooked up in that lab. About how familiarizing themselves with Hydra virology has made top priority.  “If these viruses somehow got released, they could wreak havoc on the human population,” Bruce says, and Steve feels a wash of pride, of gratitude that there are people like Bruce, Cho, and Strange—counterparts to the evil of Hydra, willing to help rather than hurt.  “You should work on keeping Barnes hydrated, and have him rest as much as possible,” Bruce says before they end the call. “Typically, fever in adults is okay so long as it doesn’t go above 103 degrees, but keep an eye on him just in case. If he seems like he’s getting worse, let us know right away. I’ll be near the phone. So will Tony.” - The Asset shivers convulsively, teeth chattering as the body is pummeled by a powerful current of freezing, pressurized water.  ‘Hurry up with that, the chair’s waiting.’ Fire spills across its back.  ‘Отказ требует дисциплины, Солдат.’  The Asset lies prone on scorching desert sand, waiting for its target, the scope of its rifle hot against its face. Heat beats down on the body, steady and unrelenting. The lips are cracked, tongue swollen. It’s going on hour four and the target has yet to appear. Grit has snuck into the Asset’s tac gear, coarse and unforgiving, rubbing deeper into raw skin with every minuscule movement.  Every breath hurts, whistling hot and dry through its parched throat. The rapid flutter of its heart tattoos against its sternum, each beat accommodated by a pounding rhythm of agony within its head; nausea in its belly. The view across the dunes wavers dizzyingly, bright, bright sun constant, piercing, neverending— Something ice-cold touches his forehead and the Soldier rolls, landing in a crouch on carpeted floor, limbs shaky and alarmingly weak.  There is a sound above him, a voice speaking nonsense syllables and the Soldier recoils, pitching backward to press himself into the cramped corner where bed frame and wall meet, making himself as small a target as possible.  Fire explodes across his back as his body meets the wall and a raw, grating sound slips from between his lips before the Soldier clenches his jaw tight, muffling any further expression of pain. The Soldier— The Asset— It is not allowed— “James.” The Soldier jerks, startled from his spiraling thoughts. His breath hisses sharply through his teeth—too fast, too loud—  He tilts his chin, a tiny movement just enough to part the strands of hair falling over his face. A man—tall, blond hair—stands beside the bed the Soldier must have been lying on before—  Before this.  The Soldier darts a surreptitious glance around the room and recognizes nothing. He doesn’t know where he is.  He must be— Had he been on mission? His back spasms in renewed pain and, no. Pain like this indicates disciplinary correction. Punishment. Had he passed out in the middle of it? That’s happened before.  The man—handler?—watches him, eyes calculating, and the Soldier keeps perfectly still, anxiety ratcheting higher with every silent heartbeat that passes.  “Don’t be afraid,” the man tells him. “Please. I’m not going to hurt you.”  The Soldier stares. Pain is inevitable. The only unknown variables are how soon and how much. His back throbs, underscoring the point. The Soldier is already hurt. Why would the man bother with such an obvious lie?  Unless the man's words are meant to convey that he won't hurt the Soldier any more.   Sometimes, rarely, pain and punishments can be mitigated by compliance.  The Soldier forces tense muscles to relax, working to appear unafraid, as directed, and parts dry lips to relay the expected response: “Я-Я готов ответить.”  Perhaps, the Soldier dares, his compliance will be enough. Perhaps the body will not be subjected to further pain at this time. But the man’s expression falls, clearly disappointed, and the Soldier realizes with dismay that he’s somehow managed to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. Dread coils sour in his belly. He waits—prey caught in a hunter’s snare—for the man to act.  The man doesn’t move toward him, as expected. He doesn’t move at all. But his expression is still unhappy as he says, “James it’s—it’s me. Don’t you know me?” The Soldier swallows, dry throat clicking in tandem with the loud pounding of his heart. It’s clear what the blond man wants him to say, and the Soldier could lie. He could. But if he gets caught in the lie…  There is no right answer to the question, and the Soldier is bitterly, painfully aware of this as he opens his mouth. Rasps, “I—please. I’m. Sorry. S-sorry—”  ‘Shut your fucking mouth, Soldier. Weapons don’t beg. And I’ll cut out that tongue again if that’s what it takes to teach you.’ The Soldier’s jaw snaps closed so fast his teeth clip his tongue, blood filling his mouth as his too-fast breathing goes shallow, the rapid beat of his heart growing even louder in his ears. His fists are clenched and—clenched fists are a sign of aggression. He forces his fingers to uncurl, clutching tightly at his raised knees instead. The blond man lifts a hand and the Soldier flinches, barely registering the words spilling quickly from the other’s mouth, “It’s fine James, it’s okay. You’re okay.”  - It’s Winter all over again. Locked inside the containment room in the tower, spiraling into a panic attack brought on by Steve’s mere presence.  Except this time there is no glass window for Steve to retreat behind, and no way he’s going to leave James alone in his current state; weak and afraid and—Steve fears—likely to bolt given half the opportunity.  He lowers himself to the floor, slowly. Puts himself at eye level so that he’s no longer looming over James, trying to curtail, as much as he can, the threat of simply being. Luminous eyes track him from behind dark hair, James’ breathing coming quick and erratic. Steve wants so very badly to move closer. To touch and soothe away this terror the way he could have, and had, seventy-some years ago in the wake of Zola-fueled nightmares. But this isn’t Bucky. Not in the same way. James has been broken much more thoroughly than Bucky’d ever been. The knowledge of that, the helplessness it engenders, makes Steve violently angry. Watching James, knowing that Hydra had done this to him, to Bucky, purposely—that they’d broken him down piece by piece, made him like this, seen him like this, lost and terrified and defenseless, and had hurt him anyway—stokes the fury burning deep in the pit of Steve’s stomach.  He forces himself to swallow it down, to bury it deeper because, right now, he absolutely cannot let that anger rise to the surface. Right now, James’ needs take precedence.  So Steve checks himself. Says, voice steady, expression open and hands to himself, “Hey.”  James, attention unwavering, says nothing, but his breathing is still too fast, and so Steve decides to start there. “Hey, buddy I need you to breathe with me, okay? Nice and slow, in and out. Like this, see?” Steve slows his breathing, making it deep and even, and James, ever obedient, matches him breath for breath.  Gradually his breathing begins to ease, and Steve offers a small, encouraging smile counting it as a win, a single step in the right direction. “That’s great, pal. Really well done.”  James watches him, all guarded focus and carefully bridled fear, and Steve knows the next step out of the dark pit James had woken up in is to help James ground himself before this fragile moment of calm has a chance to break apart.  He sifts through his memories, thinks back with bittersweet emotion on the sort of practice he’s had in this area.  After Azzano, Bucky’d been plagued by nightmares to such a degree that it wasn’t all that rare to find him mumbling his name, rank, and serial number, blank-eyed and shell-shocked and unable to slough it off as easily as he did during the daylight hours.  Back then, physical touch tended to be the best way to bring Bucky around. How that touch was delivered, though, was entirely dependent upon Bucky.  When he was in a calmer frame of mind, Bucky’d allow Steve to touch him. Simple touches—a hand combing through his hair, arms around him in a loose hug, gentle fingers down his back. These went a long way toward soothing Bucky when he was fresh out of a nightmare.  More often, Bucky preferred to control the touching. He’d pull Steve close, run his hands over Steve’s frame, press his face into the join between neck and shoulder and breathe him in until the shakes subsided and the remnants of his nightmares cleared from his eyes. Times like that, Steve kept his hands to himself, allowing Bucky to take comfort where he would, not touching until Bucky let him know it was okay. With James, Steve has no doubt that touch is completely off the table. He won’t seek it out, and Steve doesn’t even consider taking the initiative himself. But, Steve remembers, there had been once or twice where it was the same with Bucky.  During those times, when Bucky would cower away, lost and confused and not seeing Steve at all, touch was out of the question.  It had come down to talking, then. Or more accurately, Steve talking, while Bucky—curled up and wild-eyed and looking much the same as James does now—listened.  “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve begins, same as he always had. “You were born March tenth, nineteen seventeen, to George and Winifred Barnes. Today is Tuesday. It’s 0100 hours. You’re in a motel, and besides us, there is no one else in the room.”  James is watching him avidly now, and Steve continues, relaying as much information as he can, filling in blanks which have doubtlessly played part in provoking James’ anxiety.  “We’ve been tracking down coded messages, but you were injured yesterday and exposed to a toxin. That’s why you’re not feeling well. Your body needs rest so that you can heal. I— I’m Steve. I’m not your handler, and I’m not— I won’t hurt you. Not ever.”  As he speaks, something shifts in those blue eyes, and when he’s finished Steve thinks he can tell that he’s talking to James again, rather than Winter, or the Soldier. “You know me?” James dips his head in a tiny movement, still wary but at least no longer panicking, and Steve offers another small encouraging smile. “Good, that’s—” Steve releases a short breath, a huff of relief. “That’s good to hear, pal.” He gets to his feet, putting space between them, not wanting James to feel crowded against the wall. It’s reflex to offer James a hand, something he’s done for Bucky throughout their entire lives.   James studies the hand with the tiniest of frowns—as if Steve has presented some sort of test, something with terrible repercussions should he make the wrong decision—and Steve feels a tangled mix of sorrow, anger, and stupidity, even though offering had been done on autopilot, unthinkingly.  He’s about to pull back, to stuff his hand in his pocket and apologize, when James cautiously extends his own hand, the left one, smooth metal digits sliding across Steve’s palm.  Steve’s heart misses a beat.  It picks up again as he tugs James to his feet, a hard-hitting, rhythmic thud against his sternum.  James, unaware of Steve’s emotional state, sways where he stands, and Steve reluctantly releases his hand, feeling a little like he’s tearing himself away as he forces himself to retreat, to turn to the tangled sheets on James’ bed. James has managed to show a bit of trust, and Steve is grateful for it. But, Steve reminds himself, that certainly doesn’t mean he’s in any kind of state to give more. And it doesn’t change the fact that he still doesn’t truly know Steve. Now, when he’s sick and vulnerable, is not the time for Steve to weigh him down with intemperate pining. Steve takes a moment to pull himself together, straightening the bed as he does so, pulling the top sheet out of the way to make it easy for James to settle back onto the mattress. James does, too weak to do much of anything else. He sits shivering and miserable at the head of the bed.  “Here,” Steve says, proffering the sheet, and James takes it, tugging it over himself and gripping it tight.  Steve goes to the kitchen next, returning with a glass of water which James drinks avidly. His eyes are already drooping by the time the glass is empty, and Steve takes it before it can slip from shaky fingers.  He steps purposefully back from the bed after that, turning around and and moving away. He’s halfway to the kitchen when he hears the rustle of cloth, the sound of James lying down, and knows he’d read the situation right; James is more willing to lie down when Steve isn’t hovering over him.  He takes his time refilling the glass. Putters about the kitchen. Allows James whatever time he needs to fall back asleep.     -      

Scott had texted the wolves, even Derek. Scott hoped Derek did not bring his pack. However, Scott felt he had no choice but to include Derek as it did involve his family. Also, Scot knew that sooner or later, Derek would find out about Theo, his new pack member. Scott texted for everyone to meet at the edge of preserve near the old Hale house burnt out remains. When he arrived, Derek wore his traditional ‘something stinks,’ diva frown. That was the first thing Scott noticed. Derek's dark jeans, well-worn Henley, and leather jacket were so consistent, Scott wondered if the man ever bought new clothes. The older wolf had dragged along his mismatch pack of Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Isaac wore his clearly new clothes with a cocky smile that Scott felt made him look smarmy, if possibly—secretly—a bit hot, but not really. It reminded him too much of Jackson for Scott to be too open or comfortable about his possible hint of attraction to Issac. Erica stood with her hands on hips in impatience, matching in some unsettling way with her perfectly polished red lips and nails. She wore an impractical leather mini skirt and a too-tight t-shirt. At least her leather jacket seemed somewhat reasonable. Boyd had his arm snaked around her in a possessive hold with his silent intimidation turned up to thirty billion in his dead eyes and dark clothes. Totally over the odd pack of misfits, Scott found himself puffing out his chest in pride at Theo’s understated blue jeans and black t-shirt. The clothes subtly highlighted his muscles without having an air of bragging. Derek spoke first, annoying Scott further, “What the hell are we doing here?” Scott stood a bit taller, seemingly trying to assert dominance over the situation, as he said, “Look, it was supposed to be just you, but whatever. Stiles says Peter is missing. Deaton backed him up saying last he knew Peter was having control issues and was last seen entering the preserve. Thought, being his blood relative, you may want to be included.” Derek growled low. Scott assumed the growling was at his own not noticing that Peter had gone missing. Scott knew Derek could not possibly have known already since Scott only found out about an hour ago. He continued, “I figured you could join our efforts to look for him so we can take him to Deaton. He’ll make sure Peter’s okay. I had assumed it would be just you, but I guess they can look too. I think we should—” Derek rudely cut him off, saying, “Fine. Boyd and Erica. You go together, I’ll take Issac. You, Scott, can take whoever that is—“motioning toward Theo—“and… where is Stiles?” Scott barely suppressed his own growl. He took a deep breath to tamp down the frustration he felt, and then spoke, “Stiles is researching. He is looking into some stuff about the preserve. I agree on the break down. And this is Theo. He’s my beta, from the lacrosse team.” Theo stood a bit straighter. His muscles even relaxed a bit at being introduced, it seemed. Scott smiled at Theo with pride. Scott could make betas, too. He was perhaps even better at it. Derek nodded stiffly at the information provided. Scott nodded as well and motioned to Theo for him to follow as Scott left the other pack, so he could start the search first. --------------------------------------------------- Derek and his pack stayed still and silent, waiting for Scott and Theo to be out of hearing range. He spoke quietly though, just in case: “Okay, if you find Peter, text me. Do not approach. Will deal with him myself. Got it?” Isaac’s brow furrowed, but he simply said, “Okay.” Boyd gave a nod, looking to Erica lovingly before pulling Erica away. He took her into the preserve from a different direction than Scott and his ‘buddy’ had gone. Derek took Isaac with him to go into the preserve from a different angle than the others with the hope of his pack getting to Peter before Scott. --------------------------------------------------- Months before… After he had driven Lydia to meet with the others and save Jackson, Stiles had to face the lack of a shit that anyone gave for him. He also saw that Peter was back. He could not contain his own anger at being left out of so much all the time. In that moment, Stiles decided he was his own person, and if he had to face things like Gerard’s torture without anyone seeming to notice, then his choices from here on out didn’t have to be noticed either. Everyone was distracted by everything else going on. After the heartbreak and tears involved in the process, Lydia was able to save Jackson. Then, there was dealing with Gerard. He was killed due to Scott. He had secretly dosed Gerard with Wolf’s Bane earlier in the evening, so Scott knowingly forced Derek to bite the elderly creep for him to die of bite rejection. Of course, being the humble jerk he was, Scott didn’t bother to tell anyone that. However, he also was in a fight with Allison who was drinking Gerard’s Kool-Aid, so who really knew anymore what Scott was thinking. Instead of giving people drives home or even sticking around to address the chaos of the aftermath, Stiles slipped around and grabbed Peter by the arm. When Peter looked to him, Stiles put a finger to his lips, signaling for Peter to be quiet. Peter stayed quiet but had an insanely annoying smirk on his face. Stiles tugged him around to his jeep while the others were a mix of relief, betrayal, and pride. Stiles motioned for Peter to get into the jeep while moving to the driver’s side. Stiles did not even consider the man refusing as he had cooperated so far. Starting the jeep up, Stiles heard Peter get into his jeep. Stiles didn’t look over to him until a few blocks away when he had to stop at a red light. Before Stiles could speak, Peter did, saying, “Whisking me off to ravish me?” Stiles growled in a way that could nearly put a wolf to shame. He then said, “No. We’re going to rescue Erica and Boyd from Gerard’s men.” That made Peter growl, all smirking playfulness replaced with an unnerving amount of teeth in his serial killer smile. He then spoke around his wolf fangs as they dropped, “Well, maybe I am not as sane as I told Derek I was.”

Sometimes, it seemed that no good deed went unpunished. This was turning out to be the case for Izuku Midoriya ever since the class’s trip to the beach last week (he still wasn’t very clear on how frolicking in the sand and surf was going to help their development as heroes, but everyone seemed to be having so much fun that he couldn’t bring himself to mind). It had been fairly uneventful, unless you counted the usual antics that ensued whenever swimsuits and teenagers were involved. Izuku himself tended to burn easily if he stayed in direct sunlight for too long, so he spent most of the time just hanging out in the shade near the boardwalk. He was perfectly content to just do the homework he’d brought with him, chat with his classmates once in a while, and listen to the sound of the ocean. Unfortunately, things hardly ever stayed so peaceful for long. “Hey, what’s going on out there? Is that Uraraka?” Kirishima piped up from where he was getting a drink from the vending machine near Izuku’s study spot. The green-haired boy’s head whipped up at the sound of his friend’s name, and he followed Kirishima’s gaze to see Uraraka bobbing in the choppy water, separated from his other classmates and waving her arm. He was in the water before five seconds had gone by, his body crackling with Full Cowling. She thrashed and kicked when he took hold of her arms, which was understandable since that was the typical thing people did when they were drowning and panicking, but what worried Izuku was when she went limp, her head lolling in exhaustion. The water crashed around them, and only then did Izuku notice that the ocean was trying to pull them away from the shore, lapping over them relentlessly over and over—a rip current. Water rushed up around his chest and splashed up to his mouth, and he lifted his chin and held his breath. He held Uraraka as high as he could, his heart pounding as memories of green sludge seeping into his lungs and suffocating him flashed through his mind. But he wasn’t helpless like that anymore. He let the power of One For All fill his body again, gritting his teeth as he forced the water to release its hold and kicking furiously to get them back to shore. They rocketed through the water like a speedboat. The muscles of his legs burned, and his chest ached with the exertion from holding his breath. Distantly, he registered the confused and anxious shouts of his classmates, but right now he was only concerned with getting Uraraka to safety. He gasped deep, desperate lungfuls of air when he reached the shore, as if making up for all the breaths he had been unable to take when the water was surrounding him. His t-shirt was dripping, the fabric clinging to him uncomfortably. Laying Uraraka gently on the sand, he brushed her drenched chestnut hair away from where it was plastered across her forehead and cheek. She was almost as white as her swimsuit, her usually-rosy cheeks pale. When he turned her face to let water drain from her nose, her head flopped to the side lifelessly. He couldn’t feel any air coming from her mouth or nose when he centered it again, and her chest wasn’t rising or falling. His heart rate sped up again, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Something like terror raced down his spine like an icy hand. Though the shadows of the other members of Class 2-A fell over the two of them, Izuku’s focus had no room for anyone but Uraraka. He didn’t think twice about what he did next. CPR wasn’t something he’d ever performed in real life, but he knew the theory well enough. He tilted Uraraka’s chin up, pinched her nose, and delivered rescue breathing. He had to give five puffs of air, one after the other, just as the training had taught him. “Oh my god, is she okay?” Ashido’s anxious voice said from somewhere to the rear of them. “Of course she’s not!” Kaminari hissed. “Just look at her!” “Shut up, guys!” Jirou interjected. “Back off and give them some space!” Before he could even finish giving the fourth breath, Uraraka’s face twitched. His gaze moved over her, taking in every movement as her eyes fluttered open halfway. “You’re okay,” Izuku murmured as he held her cheek, not knowing if he was talking to himself or Uraraka. Then his friend’s face twisted in discomfort, and Izuku sat up to allow her to curl over to her side and cough the water from her lungs. Her breaths were ragged, her shoulders trembling, but as she propped herself up on one elbow and groaned, Izuku felt a rush of overwhelming relief. She was alive! He clenched his hands into fists to stop their shaking. A lightheaded feeling swept through him, and he sat back on his heels, suddenly feeling as if a light breeze could blow him over. “Everyone back up!” Aizawa barked, shouldering through the ring of concerned onlookers. “I leave you kids alone for five minutes… What in the world was that useless lifeguard doing?!” Izuku hauled himself to his feet, his knees wobbling as they barely supported his weight, and stepped back to allow their teacher to kneel down and examine Uraraka. When she was pulled to a sitting position and wrapped tightly in a towel, Izuku couldn’t help noting how small it made her look. She didn’t look like the strong, independent Uraraka he knew. She looked vulnerable, even helpless. Izuku decided he really didn’t like seeing her like this. “Well, we were lucky,” Aizawa informed them when she’d been checked over. “There wasn’t much water for her to dispel.” “I don’t know what happened.” Uraraka’s voice was hoarse, quiet, and her eyes were a little glazed. She was staring at the clumps of sand between her toes, but it didn’t look like she was really seeing it. “I’m good at swimming, but… the water suddenly dragged me away from everyone…” “Rip currents are very dangerous,” Aizawa told her, and perhaps it was Izuku’s imagination, but he thought the words directed towards Uraraka were more gentle than usual. “Even strong swimmers get caught up in them.” He turned his attention to the rest of the class. “No one else is going swimming today, needless to say.” Some of the students made noises of disappointment, but most of them nodded solemnly. The thick tension that hung in the air still hadn’t entirely dispersed. “Well, what are you all still standing around for?” he prompted them then. “Stop crowding her. Asui, please take Uraraka to the first-aid area to get changed into dry clothes.” The frog girl nodded and stepped forward, helping Uraraka to her feet as the rest of the class separated into groups. Izuku watched as Asui—no, Tsuyu-chan—and Uraraka made their way up to the boardwalk slowly. “Your quick thinking may have saved Uraraka-kun’s life,” Iida said, clapping a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. It was probably supposed to be a gesture of reassurance, but instead it felt kind of like a karate chop. He stumbled slightly at the force, stifling an oof. “I—I just did what we’ve been trained to do,” he said. “Anyone else could have done it.” “Nonsense. You’ve done something commendable and you should be acknowledged for it,” his taller friend insisted. He turned to their teacher, who was watching Uraraka’s progress as well. “Isn’t that right, Aizawa-sensei?” “Well, to be honest,” said Aizawa, hunching his shoulders and sticking his hands in his pockets, because even at the beach he dressed like a shabby ninja, “she would have been fine without the rescue breathing.” Izuku and Iida stared. “Huh?” Izuku squeaked. “She simply needed her airway cleared,” Aizawa clarified. “However, you performed the procedure exactly as you were instructed, so your actions are indeed worthy of praise.” He shuffled up to them and patted Izuku’s mess of wet curly hair once. “Nice work.” From Aizawa, this was indeed exultant praise. “Th-Thank you, sir,” he replied as their teacher wandered off to round up the other kids. “Did I hear that correctly?” Ashido asked from behind them, and Izuku jumped as he whirled to face her. She was wearing a purple bikini that exposed a lot of rosy pink skin and which made him uncomfortable to look at, so he fixed his eyes three inches from her left shoulder instead. “Uraraka didn’t actually need rescue breathing?” “Um,” said Izuku, feeling sheepish, “that would seem to be the case, yes.” She grinned wider than Izuku thought appropriate, given that one of her classmates had just nearly drowned. Her gold eyes gleamed. “So there was no reason for you to kiss her like her life depended on it?” His mouth dropped open. “Wh—wh—?!” “I mean, I get it,” said Ashido, holding up her hands. “Uraraka’s a cutie. But isn’t it a little crass to kiss her if she’s unconscious?” “I—I wasn’t—!” Izuku’s mouth opened and closed like the drawbridge of a very stupid castle. His cheeks felt like two miniature suns. “How dare you!” Iida interjected, his hands sawing the air in agitation. “Midoriya-kun was merely doing his duty as a hero and a friend! He had no ulterior motives!” Izuku shot a grateful glance at him, since his mouth still wasn’t working properly. “I’ve got to agree with Mina,” Jirou put in, coming up behind her pink classmate. Her swimsuit was more modest—a black one-piece, plain but flattering—so she wasn’t quite as hard to look at. She rested one hand on her hip, twirling one of her earlobes around a finger with the other. “You should probably apologize to her for stealing her first kiss.” “B-B… I…!” His mouth was working about as well as the Tin Man’s before Dorothy had found the oil can. Her first kiss? Stolen by him? That was ridiculous. Mouth-to-mouth was nothing like kissing. …Well, it was a little like kissing, if you called it mouth-to-mouth, but the objective was definitely different! “I thought it was sweet!” Hagakure’s voice chirped, her pink halter-top two-piece bouncing over to them. “It reminded me of Sleeping Beauty! Except instead of a dragon, Midoriya fought the whole ocean to save his princess!” “Don’t tease him like that, guys,” Ojiro scolded them from a short distance away. “Midoriya, you did the right thing. They’re just giving you a hard time to lighten the mood since everyone was kinda scared for a while there.” Izuku just nodded dumbly as the three girls cracked up.   Ochaco found herself wondering if everyone could somehow read her mind. Last week at the beach, she’d nearly drowned. That had sucked, needless to say. Deku had pulled her to shore and saved her, because of course he had since he was Deku. Her memory of the incident was a blur of panic and desperation. If she hadn’t been so freaked out by the water sweeping her away, maybe she would have done the intelligent thing and levitated herself out of the water, but alas, her mind had only been a chaotic rush of OhMyGodTheOceanIsTryingToKillMe and AmIReallyGoingToDieInARufflyBikini? The first thing she recalled after losing consciousness was being wrapped up in a towel, suddenly able to feel the warmth on her skin again. When she had recovered, she’d thanked Deku profusely for rescuing her, and he had turned red and told her not to worry about it. That didn’t seem out of the ordinary, really. What was out of the ordinary was that every time she teetered on the border between sleep and wakefulness since then, she found herself thinking of him leaning over her, looking down at her in concern as he held her cheek gently, and kissing her awake. Maybe most girls would enjoy the recurring dream of the person they sort-of-maybe-perhaps had the tiniest little itty-bitty bit of a giant crush on kissing them, but for Ochaco, it just felt like another reminder that she let herself get distracted too often. She’d tried a number of methods in first year to curb the feelings—snapping a rubber band on her wrist (that had ended up getting suspicious since she snapped it constantly whenever she talked to him), imagining him as a potato whenever he popped up in her thoughts (that had led to her just craving potatoes all month), even avoiding him (that had been unbearable after only two days—the heartbroken look on his face when she turned away from him and walked off without a word shattered her resolve nigh-instantly). No matter how often she mentally told her feelings for him to take a hike and get out of there, they lingered around, sprawled across a mental sofa and refusing to leave the mental house while they just grew and grew. Still, though, she hadn’t ever had indulgent dreams like this. Maybe once or twice she’d idly entertained the idea of what it would be like to kiss him, but she never got very far in imagining it, because she’d remember his fierce, single-minded determination to become a hero and instantly feel ashamed of herself for getting lost in something as juvenile as high school romance. Why couldn’t she dedicate herself to her dream the same way he did? Did she just not want it as badly? Or—and this was a scary thought—was she so weak that she wanted another person more than she wanted to be a hero? And so she pushed aside these thoughts whenever they occurred. She did not pay any mind to the fluttering of her heart when he smiled at her; she ignored the butterflies in her stomach whenever they brushed hands; she fought the floaty feelings that could rival the effects of her Quirk whenever he praised her. Rather than beating against her chest like a caged bird, her heart merely ruffled its feathers a little when he was near, and if she really concentrated, she could turn those butterflies in her stomach back into caterpillars that just sort of wriggled around and made her vaguely uncomfortable. She was a pro at dealing with this whole burying-her-feelings thing by now. And these dreams were totally screwing that up! The worst part was that she didn’t really want the dreams to go away, if she was being honest with herself. It was probably the closest she would ever come to actually kissing him. Maybe, a part of her tried to convince herself, if she had these dreams, she wouldn’t crave the real thing? No, that was stupid. So very, very stupid. Despite how persistent and consuming they were, Ochaco had always thought herself to be rather good at concealing her feelings for him. Sure, people had occasionally figured it out—Aoyama had been the first, but eventually nearly all the girls in her class had caught on—but even then she’d just carried on as usual until everyone seemed to forget about it. Maybe one day even she would forget about it. If Deku would ever stop being so damn likable, that was. She had been keeping a lid on her feelings for as long as she’d known what they were. She had never outright confessed them to anyone, and she was almost positive that the boys in her class didn’t have a clue (They rarely had a clue about anything). So why was it that now, everyone seemed to be murmuring to each other with secret smiles when she and Deku sat together or ate together? Why had she once caught Kaminari making a kissy face at them when they walked by? Why would Mina’s eyes dart between Ochaco and Deku before she shot Ochaco a mischievous wink? She didn’t know how, but her classmates suddenly all seemed to know that she was head-over-heels for her best friend, and they were making sure she knew they knew. These days she found herself looking around to check if anyone had seen whenever she accidentally let her gaze linger a little too long on him, or deliberately sitting on Iida’s other side at lunch instead of having Deku in the middle like usual. Her tall friend made a very effective wall. But still, everyone looked at her like they knew exactly who she wanted beside her. Who she dreamed of every night. When the bell rang Friday morning, Ochaco ducked her head, avoiding Jirou’s knowing smirk as she returned to her seat after bidding Deku a rushed good-bye. It had been about a week, and Izuku was getting a little frustrated with his classmates. He knew they meant well. They would never do anything to hurt him on purpose (well, aside from Kacchan, who even now in second year took a little too much delight in hurting him when the opportunity presented itself), and their jokes were mostly harmless. But he couldn’t help but feel mortified during instances like Monday’s, when Kaminari had glibly asked “Where’s Sleeping Beauty? Does she need a prince’s kiss again?” when Uraraka hadn’t arrived in homeroom yet. Or Tuesday, when Sero had casually walked by him and asked “Hey Midoriya, how’s your girlfriend doing?” He was startled out of writing something in his notebook, so he had answered without thinking. “Oh, she’s fine now!” he said with a quick smile, and then immediately felt his cheeks color. “I mean—wait, no—I—” But his stammering protests fell on deaf ears as Sero merely laughed and walked away. There had also been Wednesday’s visit to the pool after school, during which a few of his classmates had begun floundering in the water. “Help me, I’m drowning!” Kaminari had lamented dramatically. “Where’s Midoriya? I need… the kiss of life…!” He extended a grasping hand to the sky, as if waiting for a large bird to snatch him up. “Oh no, I am sinking!” Kirishima had added. His acting skills were more reminiscent of something wooden than something made of rock. “Wherever is my manly and heroic savior?” “I’m not swimming with you guys anymore,” Izuku had muttered darkly, climbing the ladder out of the pool and stalking away dripping wet. They’d called out apologies after him, but he wasn’t in a very forgiving mood for once. Izuku had a reputation for being kind, non-confrontational, and frankly, easy to walk all over. The fact that people were teasing him was nothing. He was used to it. He’d been mocked and derided his whole life. But the fact that they were dragging Uraraka into it, fluttering their eyelashes at the two of them and winking and making Uraraka’s face cloud over with uncertainty and confusion, was something he wasn’t as willing to put up with. When Hagakure had giddily asked him at lunch Thursday when he first realized his feelings for Uraraka (which was a question that Izuku didn’t even know how to properly answer—which feelings was he supposed to “realize”? There were a lot of feelings and some of them he wasn’t quite sure he was willing to classify as “realized”!), he finally lost his patience. “Listen, you’re all wrong!” he declared, having clambered atop a table for emphasis. Ordinarily he wouldn’t do something like this, but drastic times called for drastic measures. Uraraka herself had gone to the restroom, so he felt reasonably certain that talking about it now would be less risky. Class 2-A’s voices petered out as they offered their attention, and Izuku clenched his fists by his sides as he continued. “I… I’ve had lifeguard training before! I would have done what I did for Uraraka-san for anyone!” He glared around at them all as they stared, and nobody spoke for a moment. “Even Iida?” Ashido broke the silence. “Of course!” he answered immediately. “That’s very chivalrous of you, Midoriya-kun,” his friend said graciously. “However, I must insist that you get down from that table at once.” “Would you even do that for Bakugou?” some foolish person that sounded like Kaminari asked. “Absolutely!” Izuku shouted before the question was even finished, and then instantly recognized that he had made a grave error. “Wait, no,” he backpedaled desperately, waving his hands around. “M-Maybe everyone except—” “Deku,” Kacchan growled dangerously, cracking his knuckles. His face was twisted into a snarl. “I’m not a total monster, so I’m going to give you 5 seconds’ head start before I start trying to kill you.” Izuku gulped. “Good call,” he squeaked, and then booked it out of there at a speed that would make Iida proud. Lunch was better when enjoyed outside anyway.   After a week of everyone acting like they knew Ochaco’s secret, she and Deku finally found a savior in the form of Tsuyu Asui. Placing an oversized hand on Izuku’s shoulder, she called everyone’s attention with a “Listen up, everybody, kero!” as they spilled into the common area of the dorm after class let out Friday afternoon. Ochaco herself hung back towards the rear of the group, curious about Tsu’s serious tone. “I’ve been noticing lately that a lot of you have been teasing Midoriya-chan for what happened at the beach,” the frog girl began. “You should leave him alone. Ochaco-chan was truly in danger, and he did whatever he could to save her. I don’t think that’s something we should ridicule him for. I thought you all were better than this, making someone feel bad for doing something heroic.” Ochaco tilted her head, confused. Why would anyone tease Deku for bringing her to shore? Through the gaps between her taller classmates, she could see the green-haired boy duck his head, hiding his face in apparent embarrassment. Curiously, everyone else seemed to be also hanging their heads. Tsu had a special talent for getting everyone to behave and listen to reason. She was like a big sister to the entire class. “We’re sorry, Midoriya,” Kaminari spoke up. “We know you would have helped anyone if it came right down to it, not just her.” Everyone else present murmured their apologies as well. “We didn’t mean to make you feel ashamed of doing a good thing,” Mina agreed. “It was just fun to tease you and Uraraka about it because of your super obvious crushes on each other.” Izuku’s head whipped up, and he blinked dumbly. Ochaco, meanwhile, was frozen in place, Mina’s words echoing over and over again in her head like the ringing of a bell. Super obvious? Super obvious? Each other? Sero smacked her arm. “Ashido!” he hissed. “Don’t just say it out in the open!” “Our,” said Deku with a gulp, “our super-obvious what now?...” Jirou sighed, massaging her forehead. “Nice going, Mina.” “What?!” the pink girl burst out defensively, throwing her arms in the air. “It’s true! We all know it!” “Our,” murmured Izuku again, “our what?” Kirishima smacked Ashido’s arm too. “You broke Midoriya, you jerk!” Ochaco finally found her voice. “H-Hold on, everyone!” she said, her voice coming out a high-pitched squeak. She could feel her face flushing, but she decided she needed some questions answered whether she looked like a tomato or not. She shouldered her way through the group, standing at the front of them. “You’ve been teasing Deku? What are you talking about?!” Maybe if she asked them about that, everyone would conveniently forget what Mina had said. “The same thing we’ve been talking about all week, silly!” Tooru said brightly. Her sleeves moved together as if she was clasping her hands in front of her chest. “The super heroic and gallant way that Midoriya saved you when you were drowning!” She sighed dreamily. “Reviving you with a kiss… it was like something out of a fairy tale…!” “Wait, what?!” Ochaco squawked. When in the world had he revived her with a kiss? A quick glance at Deku revealed no explanation, since he was covering his face with both arms in a manner that was reminiscent of a vampire going out in the sunlight. “I… hold up, what happened?!” “She didn’t even remember?” Sero said, and then shook his head. “Harsh. Guess it wasn’t too memorable, Midoriya. Sucks for you.” As she stood before her classmates, flashes of sensation began to rise to the surface of Ochaco’s mind, emerging from the murk like the answer pyramid in a Magic 8 Ball. A blur of blue and white. Shouting for help. Sinking through cold darkness. Being lifted up as everything went black. Something soft against her mouth. Terrified green eyes looking down at her as her own fluttered open. Bright sunlight blinding her. Turning over sideways and coughing up water. Her knees felt weak. “That… that…!” She held her red face between her hands. “That wasn’t a...” Dream? she finished internally. Her thoughts whirled dizzyingly as her brain tried to reconcile what was memory and what was fantasy. Where was the overlap? Had her thoughts of him gently holding her cheek been a memory in disguise as well? Had everyone known about her first kiss before she did? Did that even count? Kaminari smacked Mina’s arm this time. “You broke Uraraka now, too!” “I didn’t even say anything this time!” Ashido protested. “And stop hitting me!” “I, um,” Deku’s voice stammered, and Ochaco accidentally locked eyes with him for a second, which somehow felt like someone wrapping a hand around her heart and squeezing. He went even redder, which was an incredible feat really, and shook his head as if to dislodge an inconvenient thought. “I have to go!” he proclaimed, and before anyone could protest, he had pushed through the group and run out of Heights Alliance. “He ran away?” Kirishima said, sounding disappointed. “That’s not very manly.” “I can’t say I blame him,” Kaminari remarked. “That guy gets embarrassed when he sits with a girl, never mind being reminded that he kissed one.” “It wasn’t really a kiss, though,” Jirou reminded him. “And like he said before, he would have done that for anyone that needed it.” “I don’t know about that,” Kaminari said in a singsong voice. Ochaco stared after where Izuku had disappeared, questions zooming through her head so fast it felt like they could give her whiplash. He saved me, even more than I realized, and he never wanted to take credit? Why has he been putting up with everyone giving him a hard time because of me? Why didn’t he just tell me what happened? Does mouth-to-mouth count as a first kiss? Amid the quiet chatter of her classmates, Ochaco had almost forgotten that Tsu was standing at the front of them all, too. She jumped when her friend patted her back gently. “You should talk to him, Ochaco-chan,” she advised quietly. Ochaco bit her lip. She had been afraid someone would say something sensible like that. “I-I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “Won’t talking about it just make things even more embarrassing for him?” Tsuyu shook her head. “Even if it does, I think you should at least tell him thank you.” She rested her index finger on her chin thoughtfully. “After all, now you know what he’s been dealing with all week.” She groaned in an I-know-you’re-right-and-that’s-really-annoying-sometimes kind of way. “Okay.” Taking in a deep breath, she slapped her cheeks twice to psych herself up. “I’m gonna talk to him!” “Good luck, kero!” her friend called after her as she turned and went off in pursuit of her rescuer. *** He looked up at her approach, but didn’t move from his spot under the large tree he liked to train near. His head jerked in a quick nod of acknowledgment. “Hi,” she said awkwardly, looking at the ground instead of at him as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can I sit?” Izuku nodded, so she plopped herself down next to him. She could sense his shoulders stiffening at the proximity, so she scooted a few inches away. His legs were crossed, and hers stretched out flat in front of her as she rested back on the heels of her hands. If she wanted to, she could easily lay a reassuring hand on his knee. She felt that her friend might freak out if she did that, however. The grounds were quiet, save for the occasional bright twittering of birdsong, and the tree was a welcome source of shade from the harsh afternoon sunlight. “So,” said Ochaco haltingly after a few moments of silence. “You… saved me. With rescue breathing.” “Um...” His mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. He swallowed and tried again. “Yeah. I-I guess.” “And ever since then,” she continued, “everybody’s been teasing you about it?” He nodded, his freckled cheeks lighting up in a blush. Bending her legs and scooting them towards herself, she buried her own face in her knees. “I’m so sorry. You endured all that just because I’m a dummy who couldn’t recognize a rip current...” “It’s all right!” he said quickly, holding up his hands and waving them like spastic jazz hands. “I’m… I mean, it’s not exactly anything new. I got teased a lot more than this in middle school!” It was just like him to instantly try to reassure her, to try to alleviate any feelings of personal blame despite him being the one who needed the comfort. She withdrew her head and smiled at him. “But this time it was my fault you got teased.” His brows angled down, but the expression was more adorable than intimidating. “No it wasn’t,” he insisted. “You were in trouble; I helped. It’s as simple as that.” She rested her chin on her knees. “Simple, huh,” she repeated. They sat in silence for a while. “Deku,” she started. “Yeah?” “Would you really have done that for anyone?” She swore she could actually see him start to sweat. “I—I mean, I’ve been trained even before UA; m-my mom made me attend a seminar, so—” “You’re not answering my question,” she pointed out. He clenched his fists in his lap. “No,” he finally got out. “At least, I don’t think so?... I don’t know. I didn’t think about it, when it happened. I just...” His shoulders slumped, and his voice got even quieter than it had been before. “...wanted to save you.” Ochaco wondered if that meant he really would have done it for anyone, since he generally wanted to save everyone. She hugged her knees to her chest. “Was it… strange?” she mumbled into her skin. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted the answer. “Strange?” “Did you…” Against her will, she felt her cheeks heating up. “Did you dislike it?” Deku scrunched up his face in thought. “Well, I thought you were dying, so it wasn’t exactly a fun time,” he said bluntly. A laugh burst from her before she could stop it. Deku was always completely honest, for better or worse. It made her want to be more honest, too. Maybe more honest than she’d been in a long time. She scooted her feet out again, resting her arms on her knees and tilting her head at him a little. “How about now?” she asked. “What do you mean?” “Well, do you think the idea is strange now?” She laced her fingers together. “As much as the others teased you all week, you never seemed to regret what you did.” “That’s because I don’t.” His voice was as matter-of-fact as someone claiming that the sky was blue. “I could never regret something like that. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” Her own heartbeat picked up. “Really?” “Of course!” He sounded dismayed that she could ever think otherwise, his expression earnest. “I don’t want to lose you!” Butterflies rapidly broke free from the cocoons she’d kept them in for too long, swirling in dizzying formations in her tummy. “I don’t want to lose you either,” she admitted, not fighting the smile that spread across her face. Maybe smiles were better when you let them happen. Maybe a lot of things were better when you let them happen. “Hey, um… Izuku.” The name felt strange but pleasant on her tongue. His head whipped up in surprise. “Uh, yeah?” Rather than butterflies, it felt more like frogs hopping around in there now. “It’s… kind of not fair that I’m the only one who doesn’t remember it. When you saved me.” “Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, you didn’t really miss much.” “I want to know how brave you were,” she continued, resting her back against the tree and looking up into the branches. Glowing sunlight spilled down through pinhole-sized gaps between the dark leaves. It reminded her of stars. “Pulling me out of the water like that. Knowing just what to do.” The blush that seemed to spread all the way down to his neck was gratifying to her. “Y-You’re making it sound a lot better than it was,” he mumbled. She shook her head. “Deku… I might not remember, but I can almost picture it in my head.” And oh boy, did I picture it, she added mentally. Multiple times. Because I thought it was a dream. “I want to remember, though.” She wished she could just say the words that were hiding behind these ones: Make me remember. Do it again. His face, when she glanced at it, seemed almost sad, his brows lifted and his mouth turned in a frown. “I’m sorry,” he said. She almost laughed again, but instead just smiled. “What in the world for?” He was rubbing the back of his neck and looking away again sheepishly. “Well, that I can’t help you remember.” You can, though! she shouted in her head. You very easily can, you adorable idiot! “Maybe if I drowned again, huh?” she quipped. The horrified look on his face indicated that he hadn’t picked up on her teasing tone. “Please don’t do that!” Ordinarily she’d just drop it as a failed joke, but he was too cute. She couldn’t resist messing with him a little. “Why not?” she said, playing at innocence. “Surely you’d just rescue me again.” “Well of course, b-but...” He bit his lip. It made her want to kiss it. “I don’t know if I could take seeing you like that again, to be honest. I was… really scared, Uraraka.” She remembered how terrified his eyes had looked when she blinked her own open on the beach, and instantly felt ashamed of herself for making light of it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Not knowing what else to do to reassure him, she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He froze up like he’d been hit with Todoroki’s ice Quirk, but he didn’t move away. “Hey, Deku,” she said then, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. Her heart pounded. There was something else she wanted to say, and though she felt it was no longer wise to swallow important words, she still had no idea whether she’d have the guts to say them. “What if I told you I was drowning right now?” “Huh?” he said, perplexed. “But… we’re not in the water.” “I can’t breathe,” she told him, her fist closing around a handful of grass. “My lungs feel like they’re getting squeezed. My heart’s shriveling up, and my vision’s tunneling.” “A-Are you all right?!” he stammered, turning to grab her shoulders and give her a little shake. “Should I take you to the nurse?” She shook her head. “I don’t need a nurse.” Ducking her head to hide the blush on her cheeks, she finally got it out: “I just need you.” He stared at her. She waited. “Huh?” he said. Ochaco sighed, frustrated, and grabbed his shoulders in return. Izuku , I love you, but you are such a dummy sometimes. “I’m telling you I’m drowning right now! Save me!” Izuku squinted at her like she was a complicated math problem. “But you’re not—” And then comprehension dawned across his face, his eyes widening to the size of saucers and his mouth dropping open. “...Oh,” he squeaked, a flush coloring his face up to his ears. His fingers, still on her shoulders, started to tremble. She just glared at him, refusing to break eye contact. “Running out of time here,” she prompted him. “I’ll be dead in 3… 2—” His lips were on hers, and it was a good thing she wasn’t actually drowning, because all the air froze in her lungs and for a moment she forgot what it was to breathe. He was soft, so soft, and warm, and gentle, and everything. She leaned into the touch, lifting her chin and returning the light pressure. It was over far too soon. Her eyes fluttered open, and the green ones that met hers were terrified this time, too, as he dropped her shoulders like she’d burned him. “What do you look so scared for?” she giggled. “I mean, I thought it was obvious, but I’m not actually dying.” “You’re not mad?” Deku asked, surprised. Ochaco tilted her head. “Why would I be mad?” “I—I didn’t do the wrong...” He shook his head and started over. “Was that the right thing to do?” She bumped her forehead into his. “Yes. You always do the right thing.” “You actually, um, wanted me to—?” The voice that was spilling out was timid and halting, and he was so close that she could easily capture him in another kiss if she wanted to (and she did want to). “I wanted you to,” she confirmed. “Oh,” he said simply, his eyes flitting away from hers. “Good. Um… me too.” Was that his strange, Deku way to say that he’d wanted to kiss her, too? She smiled at him and reached over to take his hand. It was rough and gnarled beneath her fingers, not at all matching the softness of its owner. “Thanks for saving me,” she whispered. His hand curled around hers in response. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” he said once more. And he did.

This all felt eerily familiar, the way his feet were pounding against the ground as he sprinted down the path and all the frantic screaming in his mind. It was too much like the day he lost his family. For a moment, he thought that Zenitsu was guaranteed to be dead when he finds him and the world will sink in on itself just like before. But thinking like that never got him anywhere, it only made him spiral and he had no time to do that. He needs to be optimistic, that’s what his mother used to say to him. Despair won’t get you anywhere but hope will take you everywhere. Th gems on the wall slowly began to disappear and the path darkened. Tanjirou gulped, shutting his eyes as he tried to trace the smell of peaches through the mines. Finally, he made into the largest chamber, the walls entirely made of gemstones and in the middle laid Zenitsu, face down. “Zenitsu!” Tanjirou exclaimed, rushing forward and kneeled next to him. He wrapped his arms around him, checking him over. The blonde was covered in bruises and cuts, blood coming out of his head, arms and legs. His haori was stained red and Tanjirou shook with anger, “Oh baby no…” He caressed his cheek, trying to wipe away the blood. Zenitsu groaned, whimpering in pain before slowly opening his eyes. Gold met ruby and he whispered, “T-Tanjirou…?”The redhead let out a small sob of relief, pressing their foreheads together with a shaky smile, “Yeah, sunshine, I’m here. I’m here now, everything is going to be okay. Thank god you’re alive…!”Zenitsu seemed to be processing for a moment, not entirely being sure where he was. Suddenly his eyes widened and he started pushing against Tanjirou. crying out, “Go…! You ha-have to leave, you need to leave…!”“What? No! I just found you again, I’m not leaving!” Tanjirou argued, holding him tighter, “I’m not leaving you; I love you!”The blonde stared for a moment before he started to cry, still trying to push him away, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I was too weak and now you’re here and…! You have to run, Tanjirou!”“What?” There was a sudden bang and a sharp pain ripped through Tanjirou’s shoulder, the force sending him to the floor. He shouted out before suddenly being hit in the ribs roughly, sending him careening into the wall. As he thumped into the ground, he shakily tried to get up, the aching of his chest making him wince. He saw a figure walk towards Zenitsu with a cackle, swinging around a gun on a finger while carrying a large mace. “Oh, that was too easy! Do you realize how easy it was to do that?! I just had to put the guy in front of you and you were already charging in without even looking anywhere else!” The demon grabbed onto Zenitsu’s hair, pulling him up roughly and the blonde whined out, wincing, “Good job, blondie.”He grits his teeth as he looks at Tanjirou, “I’m so sorry…!” The demon huffed, throwing Zenitsu onto the ground and giving the redhead a smile, “So you are the famous demon slayer with the hanafuda earrings! I have heard so much about you. Word gets out fast in the demon world.  Especially when a mere human is on the radar of the Big Man in charge? That’s almost impressive. I want to know what makes you so important. The names Katsuro. You’ll want to know that when you scream for your life.”Tanjirou stood up, gripping his sword and choosing not to answer, instead rushing forward as fast as he could. He slashed down quickly at the demon, but he wasn’t there. He looked around, frantically trying to figure out where he went. “Behind you.” Katsuro swung his mace down hard, sending Tanjirou flying before he hit the ground. The sound of something cracking made Tanjirou wince. That was definitely a rib. He took labour breaths and stood up shakily, gripping his sword so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Oooh, you’re getting back up! So you’re not a wimp!” Katsuro taunted, smirking, “But you’re definitely not going to be able to hit me though. See, there’s this thing I can do that’s really helpful. It’s teleportation and your human legs can’t keep up with that.”Tanjirou gritted his teeth, replying, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” The redhead rushed forward again, only to be shot in the shoulder. He screamed out, gripping onto the wound as he started to bleed. Katsuro grinned, shooting more bullets that embedded into Tanjirou’s arm. He bit his lip hard enough to bleed and he had to transfer his sword to his other hand. Panting, he stood his ground. “Just come at me!” he shouted, his arm shaking. “Well if you insist.” Katsuro mused before disappearing. Tanjirou shuts his eyes, trying to focus on the demonic smell and where it was. Breathe, take a deep breath and focus. The smell seemed to move around all over the chamber, until he could sense it next to him. He quickly blocked an incoming hit from the mace, smirking. Katsuro didn’t even flinch as he shot a bullet into Tanjirou’s collarbone, making him stumble back. He barely had a moment before he was suddenly being hit across the ground. Katsuro kept teleporting back and forth, hitting the redhead with his mace over and over again like he was some sort of ball. Tanjirou could feel his bones crack, hitting the ground with a splat as he coughed. As he panted, he saw blood on the ground and he gulped, feeling it run down his chin. “Aw, does the little demon slayer have enough?” the demon mocked, swinging his mace around his finger. Tanjirou shakily got up, spitting out some blood that pooled in his mouth as he replied, “Not even a little.”He stood up to try and use a special attack, but he was hit in the face with the mace and fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Katsuro walked over to him, kicking him onto the ground when he tried to get up, “You’re nothing special. You can barely last ten minutes in a fight with me and you’ve barely even hit me. Face it. You’re not really a demon slayer. You’re just a kid who’s trying to grow up.” He stepped on top of Tanjirou, grinding his foot into his ribs, “You’re not even a challenge.” The demon smirked as he grabbed onto the redhead’s arm, twisting it painfully as Tanjirou screamed in pain, “You’re weak.” He gripped harder before suddenly snapping it, the sound reverberating in the room, “You’re nothing.” As Katsuro went to break Tanjirou’s other arm, he was suddenly grabbed. “S-Stop! Leave him alone!” Zenitsu panted out, trembling on his legs as he struggled to stay up. He fumbled with his sword, his fingers too broken to hold onto it. The demon seemed amused, turning to meet the blonde’s angry eyes, “I’m surprised you can still stand. Especially after what I put you through. It hurt so bad that you begged for it to end, and yet here you are, defying me and trying to save your cute little boytoy. What happened to that fear?”Zenitsu gritted his teeth, “I love him more than I am scared of being hurt by you.” Katsuro stared for a moment before laughing loudly, grabbing onto Zenitsu’s hair roughly and throwing him down, “Big mistake.” He kneeled over him, grabbing onto his leg. Then, with a crack, he broke Zenitsu’s leg. The blonde screamed, sobbing as Katsuro grabbed the other leg and broke that too, “You’re both so foolish! Risking everything just to save one person! And you just get hurt because of it. Sacrificing everything for one person. How fucking stupid.” The demon stood up, staring Zenitsu down, “You should’ve feared me more, blondie-!” In a moment, a blade flashed through the demon’s neck and suddenly he was kicked to the side, with Tanjirou glaring at him. “You talk too much.” The redhead panted, a wave of exhaustion washing over him as he fell to his knees and onto the ground. Groaning, he tried to look at Zenitsu, who was trying to crawl to him, despite his broken legs.“Tanjirou!” he exclaimed, grabbing onto the ground and pulled himself over, “Y-You came for me…!”“Of course I did! I will always come for you!” Tanjirou replied, tears in his eyes as he as used his good arm to touching Zenitsu’s hair softly, “Always.” Zenitsu gave him a tired smile, leaning in and kissing the corner of his lips, “Thank you…for saving me.”“Thank you for saving me.” The redhead said, pressing his lips on Zenitsu’s cheek lovingly, “You really did.” “No… no no no no no no no nO NO NO NO NO!” The duo turned their heads to see the demon’s head on the floor screaming angrily, practically foaming at the mouth, “THIS IS NOT HOW I WAS MEANT TO END! I WASN’T SUPPOSE TO DIE BECAUSE OF TWO STUPID LOVESICK BRATS! NO! I WON’T GO DONW LIKE THIS!” Suddenly, what remained of his body pulled out a large button, “IF I’M DYING, I’M TAKING YOU ALL DOWN WITH ME!” Katsuro grinned with a manic expression as he pressed the button and above them, something detonated and the ceiling began to crumble. Distantly, another explosion was heard. “Everyone in my group has a detonator! Soon, this entire mine will go down! Have fun dying you shits!” Tanjirou watched as the demon disappeared and frantically started to get up, “We need to get out, now!” He groaned at the pain in his ribs, trying to ignore it as he grabbed Zenitsu and tried to pull him up. Struggling, he started to drag him, “C’mon, let’s go!” Zenitsu tried to get up using his arms, but he could barely even keep his head up as he slowly realized something, “Tanjirou. Tanjirou! It’s no use! I can’t run, or even stand! You need to go!”“What?! No way! I’m not leaving you here!” “I’ll just slow you down! Please, you have to go!”“No! I’m not going to leave you!” Tanjirou shouted, tears welling up as he furiously tried to pull Zenitsu towards the exit of the chamber. Exhaustion screamed in his bones and he collapsed, landing onto his broken arm, making him cry out in pain. “Tanjirou! Stop! You’re hurting yourself; you need to stop trying, please!” The blonde exclaimed, sobbing, “Tanjirou!”The redheard covered his face, trying to force himself up, “No no no no no! I’m not going to! I refuse! I can’t lose someone I love again! I can’t do it! I won’t be able to handle it!” “Sweetheart…” Tanjirou fell quiet at that, shaking with sobs and Zenitsu crawled over to him, cupping his face, “Sweetheart, look at me.” The redhead shook his head furiously, trying to pull Zenitsu forward and keep going, biting his lips to keep him from crying out, “Tanjirou, sweetheart…my love. Look at me.” Defeated, Tanjirou looked up, shaking as he said, “I can’t…I can’t lose you too…I’m not ready to lose this! It’s not enough time…!”Zenitsu nodded slowly, pressing their foreheads together, trying to breathe through the pain, “I know…I know…” “It’s not fair! I just want one thing to stay! One thing! Everything keeps disappearing or changing and I…I’m so tired of losing…” the redhead whispered, raising his only good arm up and touching Zenitsu’s cheek, breathing in the peaches and letting the blonde press a kiss on his scar. “I know.” Zenitsu pulled back a bit, eyes softening as tears streaked down his face, “Sweetheart…I love you. I love you so much, more than anything else in the world. You know that…You know I’ll always love you no matter what happens.” “Mmhm…I love you too. So please, just live for me! We need leave together!” Tanjirou argued, trying to find the strength to pull Zenitsu up, but he could barely even stand, “God damn it! Damn it!” The blonde gently pulled Tanjirou in, hugging him close as he pressed kisses into his neck. The world was crumbling around them, the sounds of the other bombs going off in the distance. The pair held each other, sobbing at the thought that this could be the way they end. “Tanjirou! Zenitsu!” Their eyes shot up, looking at the entrance to the chamber to see Shinobu, looking haggard and ragged. She ran over, looking frantic, “Can either of you stand?!” Zenitsu shook his head and Tanjirou struggled to, but couldn’t seem to get his legs to move. The pillar looked between the two of them, looking worried, “I-I’m only strong enough to carry one of you, oh no…” Tanjirou could see the gears turning in Zenitsu’s arm, “Zenitsu, no! No, you’re not!”The blonde looked up at Shinobu with pleading eyes, “Shinobu, please take Tanjirou and get out of here. Please.”“A-Are you sure?” she asked, and Zenitsu nodded with the most serious expression. “Yeah, I am.” “Okay.” Shinobu bent down and lifted Tanjirou up, making the boy try and thrash, but have no energy to do so. “Shinobu! Shinobu, stop! No!” he exclaimed, hitting his fist against her back, but not affecting her, “Zenitsu, no! Please! Please don’t do this!”The blonde smiled sadly at him, crying as he reached up, caressing his cheek, “I love you, Tanjirou Kamado…” He pulled him in, kissing him deeply, making Tanjirou sob against his lips and cling harder onto him before being ripped away as Shinobu ran towards the exit. As they ran away, it felt like the world was in slow motion and it didn’t feel real for a moment. Tanjirou saw the rocks falling slowly as Zenitsu sat in the middle of the chamber, watching them go with tears and a sad smile. He barely registered his own screaming, his own thrashing, nothing seemed to be processed. Just the fact that his entire world has once again, been uprooted and crushed. He just kept losing. Shinobu saw the exit from the mines and dove for it, sending Tanjirou flying into Inosuke, who had been staying at the entrance with a worried expression, half-tempted to run back in. The rumbling finally stopped and everyone could take a breather, for just a moment. Inosuke looked around, counting the Pillars, with Nezuko on Obanai’s back and then Tanjirou. They were all here, except… “Monjirou? Where is Tenistu?” he asked, looking at his friend who seemed to be in shock, staring at nothing as he cried silently, “Monjirou?” Tanjirou shakily lifted his head up, turning to look at the mine entrance, how blocked up it was, how much stuff had been falling. He seemed to slowly process again and he let out a blood-curdling scream, sobs wrecking his body as he slammed himself into Inosuke, who seemed to catch on as he looked at the mine in horror. “ZENITSU!”

Frigga climbs down the roots of Yggdrasil that will lead her into the cave of the Norns and, for what must be the tenth time, she almost loses her footing on the bark that is wet and slippery from the moisture rising up from the well in the cave. She reaches for a crevice in the thick roots, trying to steady herself, and a trembling breath of frustration escapes her lips. To visit those who weave the threads of fate for all beings in the Nine Worlds is a strenuous journey from Asgard even when one is in the best of health, for their lair is the only place that the Aesir cannot access with the help of the Bifröst or through portals. No one should be encouraged to seek out the counsel of the Norns on a whim and the hardship the Gods have to take upon themselves to arrive there ensures that the journey is not taken unless dire hardship demands it. The Queen herself has never traveled to the Norn cave before and she feels the strain of the voyage in every fiber of her being because she is not in the best of health. Her attempts to determine the origin of the black magic the Enchantress used to poison her youngest son have almost drained her mental strength and she is beginning to suspect that the crystal containing the dark magic she has been carrying with her for the past three days is depleting her physical strength. It is not poisoning her as it poisoned Loki but having been subjected to its black energy is taking its toll nonetheless. Her head is dull and aching. Her vision is fuzzy at the edges. Her knees are weak. She feels ill prepared descending into the cave but she knows that she must carry on. That she owes it to her son not to return home without an answer. Not that anyone ever feels prepared for a visit of such significance, she muses, for the Norns instill such awe in even the strongest of the Gods that Odin himself dared to travel here only once during his reign as Allfather, to ask the Norns’ advice concerning another truth that she helped him conceal by manipulating Asgard’s memory with her sorcery, and his body was still trembling upon his return to the palace. That recollection, along with the realization of what their secrecy did to Loki’s mental wellbeing, sits heavy on her chest. Until a few days ago, Frigga has always obeyed her husband’s and king’s commands in the firm belief that he meant to protect his children and keep them out of harm’s way. She still doesn’t doubt that Odin loves all of them, in his own distant manner that comes from having to watch over everything that transpires across Nine Realms, but Thor has helped her see that, sometimes, love such as this alone is not enough. Especially not when it prompted her to withhold a truth from Loki that she knew he would have desired just because she was afraid to lose his trust and his love. It wasn’t until Thor blatantly asked Odin who he was to decide what mattered and did not matter to Loki that Frigga realized she had done harm too, even if she had acted out of what she thought of as love. Yet, that kind of love, her kind of love, is not what Loki needs after the revelation because no amount of love she has for Loki will ever restore the relationship they had before the painful truth of his lineage came to light in such a way. No, what her youngest needs at this moment is not the love of a mother who lied to him but the boisterous, unconditional, unprejudiced love of a brother that Thor carries inside of him and that allows him to be befriend the unlikeliest of creatures with a bewildering ease. Frigga knows that Loki now needs Thor more than he needs her and the knowledge gnaws at the core of her existence but, despite the sorrows thrashing in her chest, her lips curl into a smile when she tries to bear in mind how protective Thor has always been of his little brother. She still fondly remembers the first time Thor laid eyes upon him, remembers how his small face lit up with a giant smile when he stretched out his little hand and touched Loki’s cheek, marveling at its warmth and promising his baby brother, in a solemn whisper, to keep him safe. And he has abided by that promise all his life. Thor has always kept Loki safe. Her sons could not possibly be more different and, yes, they fight constantly, especially now that Loki has grown increasingly suspicious of his identity and his place in the world and sometimes takes it out on Thor, which Thor does not understand because he is too young to imagine how life could possibly be difficult for anyone. Yet, despite all the fighting and despite all the insults flying back and forth between them, despite Loki’s tricks and Thor’s explosive temper, Thor has always tried to keep Loki safe. He has always looked out for him, always protected him from anyone who deliberately or unconsciously meant him harm. Anyone. Including Odin. Including herself. Frigga marvels at how much Thor has emotionally matured in the past years without her truly noticing and she feels a pain of regret stabbing into her chest when she realizes that she has underestimated her eldest. Thor is not usually the one to rely on his wit but his reaction to Loki’s Jötunn heritage has proven to her that he is very smart and very capable of handling emotionally challenging situations in ways she didn’t catch on to before. She knows it is unfair to wish for this because her firstborn should not carry such a responsibility but, still, she prays to Thor in silence. Please, my love, ensure that the revelation does not tip Loki’s mind over the edge. You are the only one who can do that. Right now, you are the only one who can make him feel genuinely loved. Please do not fail him as we did. As if some higher power decides to punish the Queen of Asgard for such an atrocious thought, she once more slips on the wet bark, finally losing her footing and sliding down the thick root. A hawk cries out somewhere in the branches of Yggdrasil above her and then swoops down, flapping its enormous wings. She blindly tries to find another crevice in the bark, trying to decelerate her fall, trying to focus her energies at the same time, but the hawk is right next to her now, its piercing gaze meeting hers for the fraction of a second before it snatches the little sachet she has tied to her leather belt away with its beak and then takes wing again with an almost mocking screech. Frigga attempts to shapeshift into a bird herself on impulse because that guise would allow her to chase after the hawk that just stole from her the black crystal in which Loki’s magic is stored but she is still sliding down the slippery roots of Yggdrasil, trying to regain her footing and there does not seem to be a crevice left in the bark for her hands to hook into and her burned-out glamour stubbornly refuses to comply with her silent demands, and she is sliding, sliding, sliding, sliding, ever further down, until she lands feet first on the hard rock soil of the Norn cave, splintering both of her ankles upon the impact. “We have a visitor,” announces Urᵭr, one of the three main fate weavers, in a high-pitched voice that bounces off the walls of stone, creating an eerie echo. We have a visitor … ave a visitor … visitor … isitor … “Is this what I think it is?” Thor exclaims as he fishes a little dark-brown leather pouch out of the treasure chest that Loki has kept hidden behind a row of books. He holds the pouch up by its drawstring, dangling it in front of his face, but there is no doubt really, is there, for his brother has prefaced his imperative to retrieve the chest with the words, “Speaking of dwarves.” A smirk ghosts Loki’s dark blue lips. “You possess one of Eitri’s pouches?” Thor continues, awe overwhelming him. “How did you come by this?” “That doesn’t matter, does it?” Loki asks on a shrug, taking another sip of the wine he claimed to be so tasteless. “Yes, it does,” Thor replies. “Does mother know you have this?” Loki bursts out in a cackling laugh, almost spluttering his drink. “Granted, that last question was rather foolish,” Thor admits. “But honestly, where did you find this? I am willing to help you but I am expecting you to trust me.” He locks eyes with his brother, flashing him a challenging smirk. “We cannot go on as we did before.” “Fine.” Loki blows out a breath. “I stole it.” Thor’s jaw drops. “From whom?” “From the King of Alfheim,” Loki admits. “The prince bragged about it being in his father’s possession after a few sips of mead too many at the feast held after the last diplomatic reception.” Thor grimaces at the memory of that reception because he is certain that none of the attendees will ever forget the glorious sight of the God of Thunder suddenly wearing a flowing white bridal gown in their midst. It looked so real, the Lady Sif told him later, barely containing her laughter. Loki is truly mastering the art of sorcery. You even had flowers in your hair. Pink flowers. That shenanigan enraged the God of Thunder to such an extent that he did not speak a word to his little brother for four whole days, punishing him with silence because silence is what unsettles Loki the most. But thinking of the incident now, while simultaneously seeing his brother in his Jötunn form, chained to his bed, confronted with his own vulnerability, his otherness, he can’t be angry anymore, not even a little. No, instead of anger, a sense of dread is submerging him once more, for the pouch that he is holding is one of five leather pouches that Eitri once crafted at Bor’s command and that allow its holder to soak up all the magic in the vicinity to store it and later unleash it for all kinds of purposes. After his father’s death, Odin grew increasingly wary of such power until he forbade their use and demanded all five of them to be found and stored in the vault of Asgard. Four of them have been found long ago. The location of the last has been a mystery to this day. And isn’t it quite typical that his mischievous little brother is the one who has stumbled upon it after all this time? Well, stumbled upon it might be a little too generous an expression. “So you just traveled to Alfheim and stole it from them?” Thor asks, the questions tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “How did you do that? And why? And why didn’t you hand it to father? You know how dangerous these are.” “I thought it might be useful to have in the future and, lo and behold, it is becoming quite useful in this very moment,” Loki replies with a self-satisfied grin, ignoring the rest of Thor’s questions entirely. “Wh-why, what do you want me to do?” Thor asks. Loki draws a sharp breath before he replies. “I want you to take it to the Hall of Yggdrasil, soak up a little of the World Tree’s magic and bring the pouch back to me so that I can absorb it to restore my strength.” “A little of the World Tree’s magic?” Thor echoes. “You must be insane, brother. I can’t possibly open this pouch in the Hall of Yggdrasil. What if all of its magic streams into that pouch? What if the pouch is going to tear open or Asgard is going to implode? This is impossible.” “You just have to be gentle,” Loki tells him. “Just open it a tiny little bit and then close it again as soon as you felt some of it stream into the pouch.” “Gentle,” Thor repeats, snorting the word out. “You very well know that being gentle is not among those characteristics I excel at. What makes you think I could close it again even if I wanted to? We can’t risk that.” “Do you actually remember what you said to me only moments ago?” Loki asks, a faint shimmer enveloping him, and the Thundergod’s jaw drops when the shimmer turns into a semi-translucent, well, almost translucent illusion of his own face that overlays the facial features of his brother. “Nothing could ever change the fact that I would do everything for you,” Loki repeats in Thor’s voice. “I am beginning to think we have a different understanding of the scope of everything,” he adds, his voice transforming back into his own. “What do you need Yggdrasil’s magic for, anyway?” Thor asks, the realization suddenly clattering into his mind with the force of a cannon ball. I have sustained the prince’s body with healing glamour. It will not replenish his strength but it will keep him alive. “You are using magic right now.” “What?” Loki asks back, his confusion manifesting itself as a blank stare. “I am not using magic? What are you talking about?” “Alright, that’s enough wine for you, little brother,” Thor decides and snatches the mug out of Loki’s hands. “Hey,” Loki complains. “Give that back.” “What do you know about healing glamour?” Thor asks, holding the mug out of his reach and feeling a childish and possibly very misplaced satisfaction in response to Loki’s feeble attempts to reach for the mug. Loki’s expression transforms into a question mark. “What? Why?” Thor smirks, waiting for the moment he is going to be able to rub it in his smart little brother’s face that he has figured something out before him. “Just answer the question.” Loki breathes out his annoyance in an overdramatic sigh. “Healing Seiᵭr is not like other types of magic. It is … Let me just think of how to explain this to someone as dense as you,” he says and Thor does not even bother with hiding the smirk that is widening across his face, tugging at his lips. “It is a type of fuel that preserves you, ensuring that your bodily functions will not fail, but its name is quite misleading, for healing glamour cannot truly heal you unless it coalesces with …” His mouth gapes open as the realization trickles into his consciousness. “It will only heal you when it taps into the magic you already possess. It can’t … The flame of Asgard,” Loki continues, his eyes widening as the wheels of his mind finally begin to turn again at a dazzling speed. “It’s a spark of Yggdrasil’s magic in its pure, unharnessed form,” he whispers and then delivers an explanation for what Thor has figured out even though he doesn’t quite understand the workings behind it. “He did not transform me into an Aesir. He must have hid my true form beneath the mightiest glamour in all the Realms we have access to and then layered the spell turning me Asgardian over it.” “Which means that the barrier of magic concealing your Jötunn form was so strong that whatever poison Amora gave you did not penetrate it,” Thor replies, still holding the mug too high for Loki to reach it. “The Jötunn magic I was born with, the magic that Odin concealed, was not infested, no, but the barrier, as you call it, was. Otherwise Odin wouldn’t have had to lift that spell as well but still I am using my natural powers right now,” Loki concludes, his lips standing slightly open until he speaks again. “The ones I never even knew I had. That’s why I am even awake!” “Someone as dense as me, huh?” Thor echoes, playfully punching Loki’s arm with a little more force than he has intended. “I thought of that before you did!” “And you won’t ever let me forget that, will you?” Loki grumbles, his face twisting into a grimace, and the God of Thunder cannot tell whether it does so because he is in physical pain or because he is humiliated. “Not ever,” Thor confirms, handing the mug back to his little brother with one hand and petting his head with the other. “But well done. You passed the test.” “Stop it,” Loki hisses and then takes a long drink, keeping the sweet liquid in his mouth before swallowing it, pausing thoughtfully. “But you’re right,” he says eventually. “Forget Yggdrasil. I need sustenance.” His eyes linger on the mug in his hands for a moment. “Real sustenance.” He glances up at Thor, a flicker of determination in his blood-red eyes. “I am afraid you’ll have to fetch me some ice.”

  Violetti (purple hair) and Tidus (blond hair) This drawing is made by @patchyegg87, based on these guys:   The link to her Tumblr post is right here~     “Man, I’m glad that’s over!” Floyd yawned as they all filed out of their History classroom.  “It was not as difficult as I thought it would be,” Jade said, joining their classmates heading to Alchemy.  “Yeah!” a smiling Kalim appeared beside them. “Jamil’s a really good teacher. I’m pretty sure I passed that test!” “Hey!” Floyd grinned at the Scarabia students. “That’s good news for Azul! Sea Snake’s gonna teach him to fly, right?” “I can’t teach him anything if he keeps postponing the lessons,” Jamil said pointedly, looking at Azul who was walking beside Jade.  “I’ve told you,” Azul frowned, “we’ll start with the lessons as soon as you come up with a favor to ask of me.”  “The Flight test is next week,” Jamil reminded him. “If you fail, Coach Vargas might fail me too.” “You can do it, Azul!” Kalim smiled encouragingly. “You weren’t very scared of flying when we were on the carpet, right? Jamil was beside you then too, so you know you can trust him not to let you fall!” “Oh?” Jade said with interest. “You flew on the magic carpet, Azul?” “Class is starting,” Azul said as they entered the Alchemy classroom. “We have a test, focus on that.” He did not want to discuss that carpet ride.  They went to their seats and put on their lab coats and goggles. Kalim sat beside Azul; they were going to present a particular potion today as their special project and exam.  Azul laid out the ingredients on their table, carefully placing them in the order that they should be put in the cauldron.  “Thanks again for getting our ingredients!” Kalim said. “I wouldn’t have known where to find those things.” “Jade found them,” Azul explained. “I asked him to do so in exchange for a day off. And making a potion like this was your idea in the first place.” “And I’m happy you agreed with it!” “Settle down, puppies.” Professor Crewel took his place on his desk and waited for the chatter to dwindle. “I have assigned each group with a different potion to brew. You all have one hour to make those potions, and you will present it in front of the class. Remember the safety guidelines and keep your goggles on at all times.” He looked at the clock on the wall, “Begin.” Cauldrons were uncovered, test tubes tinkled, and the sound of chopping boards could be heard as everyone promptly started on their potions. Soon enough, the air smelled of spices from the various concoctions that were brewing, the open windows allowing for ventilation and preventing them from inhaling all the fumes.  The minutes went by, and Azul made sure that he and Kalim strictly followed all the instructions on the list he had prepared. Sweat was forming on his eyebrows, but he didn’t lean away from the steaming cauldron. Their safety goggles were fog-proof anyway, and it was important that he see what the potion looks like from up close; he wouldn’t accept anything less than perfect considering his performance last time.  At last, Azul stood up straight and smiled in satisfaction. Kalim, who was already complimenting their work continuously about halfway through, held the jar steady while Azul carefully poured in the potion.  “Time’s up!” Professor Crewel said just as Azul was sealing the jar with its lid. “Get ready to present your works. First up,” he looked at his alphabetized list, “Ashengrotto and Asim!” They walked to the front of the class and Azul placed the jar on Professor Crewel’s desk.  “I thought you were going to attempt the Fire Flask again?” the professor asked them, raising his eyebrow at the greenish-blue liquid.  “No,” Azul adjusted his glasses. “You told us to make a potion that provides light, heat, and is portable.” “So we did that, but with water!” Kalim smiled proudly and put his hands on his hips.  “We infused our potion with bioluminescent algae,” Azul waved his magic pen and dimmed the classroom.  The jar glowed from the inside, bathing the room in a soft blue radiance. It was almost like they were underwater.  Azul took several moments to bask in the impressed wonder on the faces of his teacher and classmates before making their classroom lights go back to normal.  Kalim picked up the jar, “And because we also added calcium carbide, it heats up! All you gotta do is open the lid to expose the liquid to the air and activate its magic, then you can close it again and it will generate heat for about two hours!” He opened the lid and closed it.  “Of course, the heat won’t be strong enough to cook anything,” Azul explained as the room started to get warmer, “but it could keep a room warm and could reheat food if placed close enough to it. And it is far safer to carry around than a Fire Flask because it doesn’t generate any actual flames.” Professor Crewel nodded, “Not bad, you two. It wasn’t what I expected, but I admire your creativity. You may go back to your seats.” The other groups presented their potions, and the class ended without any accidents like spontaneous fires or indoor rain. They all filed out of the classroom, Jade and Floyd heading back to Mostro Lounge to manage the lunch break shift.  Azul started to make his way to the field where the third-years were having their Flight class. He needed to talk to Idia about modifying the schedule of the Boardgame Club meetings; the Flight exam was next week, and they all had to prepare for it.   He saw the students in the distance zooming back and forth on their brooms, though Idia was mostly just floating around and wobbling from time to time. Azul realized with dread that Idia was doing much better than he did in his Flight class that morning.  He stopped walking and watched them, deciding to just talk about the Board Game Club later, when Idia wasn’t near Coach Vargas and Azul wouldn’t risk getting scolded or forced to run laps.  Considering the result of his and Kalim’s potion earlier, he only had the Flight exam left to worry about. He didn’t usually stress over exams, but flying wasn’t exactly something he could learn through his notes.  “I hate flying,” he grumbled out loud.  “And I hate failing,” a familiar voice said behind him.  Azul turned around and saw Jamil standing there with his arms crossed.  “So are we gonna do those flying lessons now? Remember that 20% of my grade would depend on your grade.” “I know that,” Azul said defensively. He didn’t like it either that Coach Vargas was forcing Jamil to teach him. “What are you doing here?” “I was on my way to the cafeteria, and I saw you here staring daggers at those flying brooms,” Jamil smirked.  “Fine,” Azul relented. He didn’t want to fail either, and he certainly didn’t want to inconvenience someone else with his failures. “How about we practice after lunch? We’re free for the rest of the day, anyway.”  “Sounds good,” Jamil nodded and continued his walk to the cafeteria.  Azul followed and had been walking beside him for a few moments before he realized that Jamil might find it odd that he was suddenly following him. It was just an instinctive decision because Azul had been intending to go to the cafeteria too after talking to Idia, but he decided to fill the silence anyway. “Have you thought about—” “No,” Jamil cut him off.  “You don’t even know what I was going to ask,” he frowned.  “You were going to ask if I had reconsidered joining your staff in Mostro Lounge, or if I already have a favor to ask you as payment for teaching you to fly. And my answer to either one is no,” Jamil said.   “Well,” Azul huffed, he was going to ask about the latter but he supposed he didn’t need to. “It seems I’ve become a tad predictable, haven’t I?” “Your annoying nature is very consistent,” Jamil replied, though he didn’t sound annoyed at all.  They approached the buffet table and got their lunches; Azul taking some fried chicken and Jamil getting a bowl of dumpling soup.   “Is it okay if I sit with you?” Azul asked when they had paid for their food. “As long as you don’t talk to me about joining Mostro Lounge or asking favors,” Jamil said, sitting at the table they found.  “Not to worry,” Azul took a seat across from him, “I simply want to discuss the schedule of our flying lessons. When are you free this coming week?” Jamil thought about it. “The Flight exam is the last one we have to worry about for now, so I’m pretty much free for about 2-3 hours after classes, depending on whether we have basketball practice. And I have to get back to Scarabia in time to help with dinner.” “Okay then, how about 2 hours after classes starting on Monday?” Azul suggested. “I shall take care of some things in Mostro Lounge first and arrange the staff schedule over the weekend to make time for those lessons.” “Yeah, that works.” ——  The lights in Mostro Lounge still glowed softly an hour after closing time as Azul and the Leech twins sat around the table having their nightly meeting that Sunday.   “As usual, profits have increased during the exam period,” Jade said. “Students want to earn a lot of points to get the chance to ask for favors.” “Yep,” Floyd agreed. “The special food-and-drink set is still the most popular. Even when we ran out of those yesterday, a lot of customers pre-ordered them.” “I can see why,” Azul was looking at the receipts. “Most of those purchases are from first-years, and while our exams are almost over, theirs would just be starting next week.” Jade nodded, “Indeed. I will order more ingredients for our most popular items to make sure that we keep up with the demand.” He wrote it down on his notepad.  PING! Jade looked around and frowned. “What was that?” “It wasn’t mine,” Floyd checked his phone.  “And it wasn’t mine either,” Jade said, gesturing to his phone on the table.  The twins turned to Azul.  “It’s a text alert, calm down.” Azul looked down at the receipts again, hoping that he wouldn’t be asked any questions. “Yes, but from whom?” Jade inquired. “Floyd and I are here.” “And our suppliers for the Lounge have Jade’s number, not yours,” Floyd pointed out.  “It’s probably my parents,” Azul said, already knowing that wasn’t the case. “I’ll read it later.” “Your parents always call,” Floyd said between sips of his drink through a swirly straw. “They don’t just text.” “Maybe they did this time. And why does it matter, anyway?” Azul said irritably. “Why are we stopping the meeting just because of a text?” Floyd gasped, the straw dropping out of his mouth. “Is it Sea Snake?” “Jamil?” Jade furrowed his brows at Azul. “Why would Jamil have your number?”  “Coach Vargas is making him teach me to fly, remember?” Azul said. “I gave him my number so we could schedule the lessons easily and get them over with.” “You… gave him your number,” Jade repeated. “He didn’t even ask for it? You just did so?” “Yes, and it could prove useful in convincing him to join us here in Mostro Lounge if we could easily contact each other.” It sounded like a good enough plan for Azul, he didn’t understand why his friends were making a big deal out of it.  Jade and Floyd exchanged glances. “What?” Azul demanded, looking at each of them.  “Ah, it is nothing,” Jade smiled, assuming his businesslike tone again. “My apologies for interrupting the meeting,” he put his hand on his chest.  Azul narrowed his eyes at them but said nothing. He didn’t want to prolong that conversation.  It wasn’t until they all got back to their dorm rooms that he finally felt comfortable taking out his phone from his jacket pocket to look at the message.  “This is Jamil. Has your injury from the fire healed yet? I’m asking because it might affect our flying practice tomorrow.” Azul raised his eyebrows. He had a feeling the text would be from Jamil saying something about the flying lessons, but he didn’t expect him to ask about that.  Then he remembered how he shouted in pain when Jamil grabbed his injured arm last time. Jamil probably didn’t want a repeat of that; it had been embarrassing for the both of them.  “It has healed already,” he started typing. “Don’t worry, despite my reputation with flying, I will do my best to not give you much difficulty.”  This would have been much easier if Jamil had asked him for a favor already; they would both feel more certain about their arrangement.  Azul sighed and put his phone on his nightstand; double-checking if his potion was there in case he had nightmares, before he lay down and closed his eyes.  He wondered if he should just give Jamil a bottle or two of that potion again as payment for the lessons, so it would be a done deal already. Then he drifted off to sleep.  ——  Jamil put his backpack on a bench near the field and set down his broom. He looked around; it seemed like a good enough place to practice. It was after classes, so there weren’t any students in the area, and the late afternoon sun made it comfortable enough to fly without getting sunburned.  “Hello.” He turned to see Azul setting down his things, too.  “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” Azul walked over to him with his broom.  “No, I just got here.” Jamil looked at his watch to see how much time they had, “You ready to start?”  “Yes,” Azul adjusted his glasses.  “Put your broom down.” Azul frowned, “What?” Jamil extended his arm to the side and his broom flew from the bench to his hand. “The first lesson in flying is creating a bond with your broom. You must be attuned to it enough that you can summon it with no problem.” “Right,” Azul nodded, seeming to remember that from their Flight class. He dropped his broom on the grass and extended his hand over it.  Azul was frowning and concentrating so much that Jamil could see a vein on his temple.  “Not like that, you’re too tense,” Jamil said. “The bond is magic, and you know that magic needs to flow freely.” He threw his broom as far as he could. “Take a breath and slowly release it, summon the broom as you exhale.” Jamil lifted his hand towards the broom, took a breath, and slowly exhaled. He kept his focus on it and the magic connecting them, feeling the invisible threads that bound broom and mage.  The broom sailed smoothly back into his grip. He turned back to Azul. “See?” Azul looked down at the broom by his feet and extended his hand again, taking a deep breath and exhaling gradually.  It wobbled a little and then shot up into his palm.  Azul was so startled that he stepped back and almost dropped it. “I did it,” he looked at Jamil in surprise.  Jamil couldn’t help smiling in amusement. “Of course you did, you’re a good mage. You just get nervous when it comes to flying. Now onto proper gripping,” he held up his broom.  “Place your dominant hand on the broom above your other hand—not on top of your hand—still on the broomstick, just placed above your left hand. That way, you’ll have more control of your broom,” he showed Azul the grip.  Azul followed his instructions, imitating even his posture, and Jamil realized that Azul’s analytical mindset was what would help him learn better. He made a mental note of it for future lessons. “After mounting the broom,” he continued, “kick off from the ground like you’re jumping, but in a forward diagonal direction instead of just straight up. Keep your knees close to the broom and keep them folded so that your legs also point diagonally towards your back, that would minimize air resistance and allow you to be more aerodynamic.” Jamil demonstrated, kicking off from the ground and flying about five feet. “To keep your balance, don’t lean too much in any direction. Relax your posture and don’t grip the broom too tightly. Now you try.” “Alright,” Azul mounted his broom and took a deep breath. He kicked off from the ground. “AAAA!” Jamil’s eyes widened as Azul shot 10 feet into the air; he quickly followed and flew next to him. Azul was almost hugging his broom, eyes shut tight and teeth clenched as he hovered in place.  “Hey, hey, Azul,” Jamil tried to calm him down, but he wasn’t sure if Azul could even hear him. “Azul, look at me—don’t look down—look at me.” Jamil watched as Azul slowly opened his eyes, feeling slightly alarmed at the fear he saw in them. “Look at my posture, and try to do the same,” he turned sideways and showed how he wasn’t leaning too far forward or backward.  Azul shakily tried to sit up straighter, keeping his eyes trained forward and not towards the ground.  “Now,” Jamil continued, “to lower the broom, slowly lean back and gently pull the handle a bit closer to you so that the broom tilts back a little. Come on, let’s do it together.” Azul looked uncertainly at his grip on the broom.  “Together,” Jamil reminded him encouragingly.  Azul nodded, still pale and silent.  “One, two…” Jamil leaned back and slowly lowered his broom, watching as Azul followed. Hesitantly at first, but soon enough the both of them were smoothly descending to the grass.  They hopped off their brooms and Azul leaned forward with his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths.  “Are you okay?” Jamil asked. “Do you need to take a break?” “No no,” Azul straightened up and adjusted his glasses. “I’m fine. Thank you,” he averted his eyes.  “You did a good job landing your broom, you did it smoothly on your first try,” Jamil didn’t want Azul to only focus on his mistakes. “Let’s keep practicing on how to control the altitude.” Jamil mounted his broom again. “Don’t kick as hard as you can, try to give it just enough momentum to propel you to a safe five feet, and just control it from there.” He kicked off and flew up. “We’ll stay at this height since it’s what’s only required for the exam.” Azul kicked off more confidently this time and flew up next to Jamil, wobbling and wrestling with his broom to keep his balance.  “Your arms are too tense,” Jamil pointed out. “Take a deep breath and slowly exhale when you need to relax.” Azul closed his eyes and inhaled, opening them as he slowly released his breath. He stopped wobbling.  “There you go,” Jamil said.  They kept practicing how to raise and lower the broom and turning it in different directions. Azul could manage well enough, but he was still having trouble with balance; he kept leaning too far left or right. His glasses also seemed to be making him anxious; every time he had to let go of the broom handle to adjust it, the broom wobbled.  “At least I haven’t fallen off yet,” Azul said as he struggled to stay still on his broom, “that’s something.” “Yeah, that’s a good first step,” Jamil said, flying across from Azul. “Once you get used to staying long enough on your broom, we can get to practicing—” “LOOK OUT!” A bright blue figure was flying straight at them so fast that Jamil barely had time to react before it slammed into Azul and knocked him off his broom.  Jamil swooped down and caught Azul in mid-air, wrapping his arm around his chest. The sudden added weight threw the broom off-balance, and Jamil barely managed to slow down their fall before they both tumbled to the ground.  “Hiya, guys!” Cater gracefully flew down on his own broom and walked over to them. “I see you’ve met my student!” Jamil and Azul got up and looked at where Cater was pointing.  Idia had flown right into a tree and was trying to untangle himself from its branches. He finally succeeded and fell to the ground with a yelp, his broom following and falling on his head.  “Ow,” Idia grumbled, putting his hand on his fiery hair. “S-sorry!” he said when he saw Azul and Jamil looking at him. He picked up his broom and ran up to them.  “What are you doing here?” Azul asked in surprise. “Why are you outdoors?” “Coach Vargas said Cater should help me with flying lessons,” Idia mumbled.  “Yeah!” Cater said cheerfully. “Idia and I are hanging out a lot more now than we ever had!” Jamil’s watch beeped. “I gotta get to basketball practice,” he said, looking down at it. “We can practice flying laps tomorrow when you’re ready for it,” he continued his interrupted sentence from earlier.  Azul nodded, “I’ll be here at the same time as earlier.” Jamil said goodbye to Idia and Cater too, and left. —— “10,000 madols?” Azul asked in surprise, holding the recipe book he had been perusing in Sam’s shop. He had wanted to do some early shopping for Mostro Lounge before classes started.  “Yes! That is the only surviving copy of that recipe book from the 18th century!” Sam said with his usual showmanship. “It’s one of a kind!” “You’re aware that your shop is in a school, right? You expect students to pay for these prices?” Sam laughed heartily, “Ah, but you’re not just a mere student, Azul Ashengrotto! Your establishment is just about as popular as mine!” “So that’s what this is?” Azul narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying that you see me as a rival?” “I’m saying you can afford my prices, fellow businessman!” Sam spread his hands and gestured to his wares.  “Can I see that book?” Jamil appeared behind Sam; he had entered the shop without either of them noticing.  “It’s a 300-year-old recipe book,” Azul handed it over to Jamil as Sam stepped aside. “I’m looking for dishes to introduce in Mostro Lounge.” “Then this book is perfect!” Sam insisted.  Jamil flipped through the book carefully, even looking closely at the cover and binding. “It’s about 300 years old, yeah. But it doesn’t even have any magical shielding from water or fire damage. There’s a basic spell on it to keep the paper from crumbling due to age, but that’s it. You can see in places that some of the ink has bled because of water droplets, and there are a few scorch marks on the cover. I'm assuming they’re from when chefs left the book near a stove or open flame.” He held up the book and pointed out the features he was describing. He closed it and handed it back to Azul, “This is one of a kind, but it’s nowhere near 10,000 madols. Maybe 5 or 6,000.” “Okay, okay, lil’ devils!” Sam said. “I can be reasonable! You can have it for 9,000 madols!” “Even I don’t treat my customers that way, Sam,” Azul said. “I’m not paying that much.” Sam shrugged, “Suit yourself. Just put it back on the shelf and be on your merry way!” Azul frowned, he really wanted this recipe book but he would not pay such a ridiculous amount. “6,000 madols.” “Uh-uh,” Sam shook his head. “It’s 9,000 or nothing!” “Wait,” Jamil stepped forward. “Sam, do you have my order ready? I came to pick it up.” “Ah! Yes! I shall go and get it!” Sam exclaimed and disappeared into the back of the store. Jamil turned to Azul, “It’s for you.” “What?” Azul asked in confusion. “The thing I ordered, they’re special goggles you can wear while flying, so you don’t have to keep adjusting your glasses and letting go of the broom,” Jamil said casually.  “What—why…” Azul trailed off. As far as he was aware, he was the one who owed Jamil a favor, not the other way around. Jami crossed his arms, “You won’t learn properly if you’re always worried about your glasses falling off, and that’s bad for the both of us.” “You bought me special goggles?” Azul said incredulously. “I haven’t even repaid you for the flying lessons! And how did you know my eye grade?” “Ugh,” Jamil put his hand on his temple. “I knew you would be like this. You can pay for the goggles along with that recipe book. As for your eye grade, I asked Floyd about it during basketball practice yesterday.” “Here it is!” Sam reappeared, proudly showing the goggles in a transparent case. “Shock-proof and fog-proof as requested,” he handed the case to Jamil. “Give it to him,” Jamil nodded his head at Azul. “7000 madols for the recipe book and those goggles.” “Oh? Hmmm…” Sam considered, stroking his chin. “Ah, why not? I can make such a deal for loyal customers!”  Azul gave him the payment and took the items.  “Thank you, fellow entrepreneur!” Sam lifted his hat. “Come back anytime you like!”  Azul turned to remind Jamil not to do him any more favors, but all he saw was the shop door closing as Jamil left.  ——  “There you are.” Azul approached Jamil and sat down across from him at the library table. Their classes had just finished, and they had a few more hours before their scheduled flying practice. “I’ll be helping you with Alchemy homework.” “Why? And how did you know I was here?” Jamil frowned.  “I asked Floyd, given that it was his fault that I owe you another favor yet again. He told me you were planning to go here.” Azul took out his notes and put them on the table. “And I’m helping you so I can repay that favor immediately; you’ll take a long time again if I leave it to you to think of what to ask.” “What favor?” Jamil’s voice rose, earning him frowns from the nearby students. He noticed and lowered his voice to an angry hiss. “You paid for the goggles!” “You still made the order and haggled with Sam so I could get those goggles and the recipe book.” Azul absolutely could not let his debts pile up.  Jamil crossed his arms. “What makes you think I even need help with this homework?” “Floyd said you were going here because you thought the homework was difficult and you’d prefer to have easy access to Alchemy books while working on it.” Jamil frowned and looked away.  “Right,” Azul adjusted his glasses. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” ——  “Ow,” Azul winced as he got up from the ground. He had fallen off his broom three times already; it surprised him that he still hadn’t broken any bones.  “Your turns are too sharp,” Jamil descended and hopped off his own broom.  “Yes, I realize that,” Azul grumbled.  “You shouldn’t lean too much—” “Hiiiii, guys!”  They looked up to see Cater and Idia flying above them on his broom; Cater smoothly circling down while Idia descended diagonally with his eyes wide.  “I knew we’d see you here again today!” Cater said cheerfully. “How’re you guys? Me and Idia are having fun hanging out! We’ve never really hung out before, so I’m super stoked that Coach Vargas assigned me to teach him!” Azul looked at Idia’s resigned expression behind Cater; he didn’t seem to share the same excitement.  “We’re taking a break right now, do you guys wanna join us? Oh!” Cater’s face brightened like he just had an idea. “Jamil! We should buy snacks for all of us! It’s the responsible thing to do as teachers, right?” He grinned expectantly. “We’re kind of in the middle of something,” Jamil explained. “Azul still hasn’t learned to do turns.” Idia rushed forward. “B-But, m-maybe Azul wants to take a break, too! I saw him fall earlier, maybe he c-could use a rest?” His voice faded out uncertainly.  “Oh, right,” Jamil touched the back of his neck and turned to Azul. “You did fall off three times already, you might break an ankle or something if we keep going at this rate.” Azul frowned, confused by Idia suddenly speaking up and Jamil somehow being convinced. “No, I can continue. I’m alright.”  “You said the same thing when your arm got burned in Alchemy,” Jamil reminded him. “And you had that injury for days.” “My, you are never gonna forget about that, are you?”  “Just—” Jamil closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “Just take some time to refocus. You’re feeling too pressured about the turns so you’re attempting them aggressively. We’ll be right back.” “Yeah! Don’t fly anywhere!” Cater said in amusement before leaving with Jamil.  Azul turned to Idia. “What was that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you interject in a conversation before, and certainly not that loudly.” “Sorry!” Idia replied. “But I needed them to leave so I could ask you something.” “What is it?” Azul furrowed his brows, wondering what it could be that needed to be asked in private.  “Let’s switch teachers!” Idia stepped closer to him, hands together as if in prayer. “Please! Cater is— He’s too much! He always wants us to take selfies, he talks all the time, and he says we should hang out more after this! He wants us to bond, Azul!” Idia’s eyes shone with fear.  “And… And you think Jamil would be a better teacher for you?” Azul asked, stalling for time. He didn’t quite like the idea of switching coaches with Idia, though he wasn’t sure exactly why.  “Yeah! He doesn’t talk half as much as Cater, and he likes Moirai of the Cliffs, too! So at least we can talk about that if it ever gets awkwardly silent.” “Moirai… the band?” The name rang a bell, but Azul couldn’t always keep track of Idia’s interests.  “They’re a three-person idol unit! But—” Idia made noises that Cater might call a ‘keyboard smash’ while he raised his hands in frustration. “That’s not the point! Let’s just switch teachers, please! You can handle Cater better!” Azul fidgeted with his goggles uncomfortably, remembering in the back of his mind that Jamil had it made for him. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Idia. I’ve gotten used to Jamil’s teaching methods and I don’t have the time to adjust to another coach.” Idia put his face in his hands and took a deep breath. “Okay, okay. I know what you want.” He looked straight at Azul. “I want to ask for a favor. I want to make a deal with you, Azul. Or— or a contract or something, I dunno, however that works now.” Azul had not expected that; Idia had said a few times that he wouldn’t be interested in making any deals with him, especially not after that whole anemone fiasco.  “Come on!” Idia implored. “You never turn down someone asking for a favor, right?” He was right; Azul had never turned down any potential client before. And yet… “I’m sorry, Idia, I truly am. I wish I could help you, but— but I can’t afford to risk adjusting to a new coach this close to the exam.”  Idia sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumped. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider? I mean, we’re board game buddies!” Azul shook his head. “Our friendship is irrelevant to my chances of passing the test.” “We’re back!” Cater’s voice rang. “Let’s all fuel up before we get back to flying!” ——  “Look alive, students!” Coach Vargas said when they all arrived in class. “It’s two days before the exam and you better be in shape! We’ll start the laps in two minutes!” They all readied their brooms, a few of them doing some warm-up stretches or taking a drink from their water tumblers.  “Hey.” Azul looked up from his watch and saw Jamil holding a wrapped sandwich.  “I made too many for Kalim’s lunch, it’ll be a waste if I just throw it away.” “Why don’t you have it?” Azul frowned in confusion. He glanced at Kalim who was already on his broom, laughing and flying around in small circles.  “I packed some food for myself, too. This sandwich would just go stale if no one eats it at lunchtime after this class.” Azul took the sandwich, still frowning. “Wait, is this because I helped you with Alchemy homework yesterday?” He raised his voice because Jamil was already walking away.  “It’s just a sandwich, Azul.” Jamil replied, not even looking back at him.  Azul sighed, he didn’t think Jamil would give him so much trouble when it came to repaying favors.   A shrill whistle joggled him out of his thoughts. He joined the other students as they all flew in the air for the laps.  Azul managed to remain on his broom, though he couldn’t go as fast as the others without risking compromising his balance again.  They were on the third lap when someone zoomed past him; he startled and adjusted his grip before he noticed that it was Floyd who seemed to have lost control of his broom. He watched as Floyd collided with a long-haired student several feet in front of him, and after a moment of panicked shoving and yelling, Floyd and Jamil fell off their brooms and hurtled to the ground.  Without thinking, Azul whipped out his magic pen and conjured a cushion of wind to guide the two safely to the grass.  There was a whistle again and Coach Vargas ordered everyone to stop. “Leech! What happened?” He walked over to where Floyd and Jamil were picking themselves up from the ground.  “Heh-heh,” Floyd smiled. “I wanted to speed up and I kinda lost control for a sec.” “Kinda?” Jamil said indignantly, one hand on his torso. “You elbowed my ribs.” “Sorry about that, sea snake!” Floyd ruffled Jamil’s hair, making the latter huff and lean away in annoyance.  “Nice catch, Ashengrotto!” Coach Vargas pointed up at Azul. “Now, everyone continue your laps!” He whistled again.  “Thanks, Azul!” Floyd flew up next to him before speeding off.  Jamil hovered next to Azul, too. “That was for the sandwich, wasn’t it?” Azul hadn’t even thought of that, but it made sense. That was probably why he instinctively did what he did. “Now we’re even,” he said and flew after Floyd.  ——  “Man, I can’t believe you won again,” Idia said, rearranging the mancala pieces so they could start another game.  “I’ve been playing since I was a child,” Jamil shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of practice.” Jamil was with the Board Game Club waiting for Azul, they had planned to meet here before heading to their last flying practice for the exam tomorrow. Cater and Ortho were with them too, Cater insisting on “more hang-out time” with Idia. “Uh, you have a text,” Cater said when Jamil’s phone on the table vibrated.  “Yeah, hang on,” Jamil was in the middle of his turn and he didn’t want to stop and forget where he last put the game piece in.  “It’s just a phone number,” Cater frowned, looking at Jamil’s phone screen.  Ortho spoke up, “That is the phone number of Azul Ashengrotto, Prefect of Octavinelle and manager of Mostro Lounge.” Jamil snatched his phone off the table, cursing internally. He didn’t save Azul’s name in his phone precisely for that reason; he didn’t want people to see that he had his number.  “Whaaaaat?” Idia said wide-eyed. “Even I don’t have Azul’s number! And we’re in a club together!” “You have Azul’s phone number memorized?” Jamil directed his question at Ortho, not knowing how to explain why he has that number.  “I have everyone’s phone number memorized!” Ortho said cheerfully. “Just in case Big Brother ever needs to contact them!” “Whatever,” Jamil muttered, opening the text.  “I won’t be able to make it for our last practice today, Mostro Lounge is packed and we’re short on staff. I shall repay you for those flying lessons as soon as I am able to. And please tell Idia I can’t attend the Board Game Club today if you’re already there.” “Azul says he can’t attend your club meeting today, they’re short on staff at Mostro Lounge,” Jamil told Idia and then stood up.  “Where are ya going?” Cater asked. “Are you gonna practice flying by yourself?” “Um...” Jamil wasn’t sure if he should explain but it’s not like he had anything to hide. “Octavinelle needs help with Mostro Lounge, I’m going over there to see what I can do.” “You mean Azul needs help,” Cater grinned.  “You guys have really gotten close already, huh?” Idia added.  “No,” Jamil said immediately. “I’m just going there because he helped me and Floyd earlier in Flying class. He’s all about getting even with favors, right? I just don’t want him to think I owe him one.” He turned to leave but Cater spoke up again.  “Wait, I’m going, too!” He quickly stood up. “How about you, Idia? Wanna go hang out at Mostro Lounge and help our friend?” Idia fidgeted with the game pieces. “Ehhhh not really, Mostro Lounge is crowded,” he shuddered at the thought.  “Alright, see ya later, then! See ya, Ortho!” Cater led the way out of the classroom. “Azul doesn’t like people helping him for free,” Jamil told Cater as they walked to the Mirror Chamber. “Maybe you should just go back to Idia.” He didn’t want Cater to be around them and get more ideas about how “close” he is with Azul.  “It’s okay!” Cater waved his hand. “I’ll just ask him for a favor later!” Jamil sighed, maybe that was for the best. Cater would see that they really weren’t close. They arrived at Mostro Lounge and there was chatter in the air as the customers talked with each other and ordered their meals. Everywhere Jamil looked there were staff walking around; even Azul was waiting tables.  “Whoa!” Cater said in amazement. “Look at this place, it’s like half the school is here!”  Jamil followed Azul into the kitchen, Cater walking close behind him.  “Cater and I’ll be helping today,” Jamil found an apron and began tying it around his waist, not giving Azul time to protest. Azul whipped around, setting the used plates carefully on the sink. “What? What are you two doing? You don’t work here!” “Relax!” Cater got an apron, too. “We’ll ask for favors later!” Jade walked by carrying a tray of freshly-cooked stew. “We could use the help, Azul,” he exited the kitchen.  “Fine,” Azul took extra notepads and pencils from a shelf and handed them to the newcomers. “Take people’s orders and help bring out food, too. Don’t mess up.” He got the tray of fries and sandwiches that was just laid out and took it outside.  They all worked continuously, bringing people their food, cleaning out tables, and washing dishes. Azul remained charming to every customer, never breaking a sweat despite Jamil not seeing him rest or even sit down.  After closing time, Azul insisted that he pay Jamil and Cater.  “I’d be okay with another favor, you know?” Cater said. “You don’t have to pay me.” “No, paying you is much simpler,” Azul replied. “If you want a different favor, you can always ask me personally, or Jade or Floyd.” “Okay, I get ya,” Cater received the money. “I gotta go now, Riddle will get mad if I’m not back before dinnertime. Thanks for letting us hang out!” He waved goodbye while jogging away to the portal to the Mirror Chamber. “I didn’t ask you to come here,” Azul told Jamil when it was just the two of them in the otherwise empty lounge, handing him his payment. “That wasn’t my intention when I sent you that text.” “I know,” Jamil pretended not to notice the small envelope. “But you helped me and Floyd at Flying class earlier. Consider that debt paid.” “Wha—” Azul sputtered, the envelope still in his hand. “That was for the sandwich you gave me, I told you that! You can’t repay me everytime I do something for you!” Jamil smirked. “It’s annoying, isn’t it? So maybe don’t count every single thing as a favor,” he turned to leave and started walking away. “Good luck with the exam tomorrow.” Jamil was glad to be finally leaving. He wasn’t entirely sure what made him stay the entire day to help with Mostro Lounge; it wasn’t like he was obsessed with repaying favors like Azul was, he didn’t have to be there the entire day just because Azul helped him earlier.  Lately he hadn’t been feeling quite himself, like he wasn’t as grounded as he should be. But thinking about it only gave him a headache, so he decided to just push down those thoughts as he usually did.  Red sand swirled around as his magic lifted him from the ground. Praises from the Scarabia residents echoed in his ears— Jamil gasped, stopping in his tracks and blinking rapidly. What was that? He put his hand to his chest to steady his breathing, and almost screamed when he saw black ink running down his arms. He blinked again and tried to get a hold of his mind.  The ink flickered momentarily, but it kept coming back, like an unstable hologram. Jamil fell to his knees, a dark red glow clouding his vision before fading to black.      “Jamil?” Azul was about to head back into the kitchen when he heard Jamil gasp. He had turned to see him clutching his chest before falling to his knees and collapsing. “Jamil!”  He rushed to his side and knelt down. Beads of sweat had formed on Jamil’s forehead and his eyes were closed. Azul called his name and shook his shoulders, but he wasn’t waking up.  “Jade! Floyd!” Azul yelled for them as loud as he could.  Merely seconds later and the twins burst out of the kitchen, running towards him and Jamil’s unconscious figure.  “What happened?” Jade asked when he and Floyd had knelt down around Jamil.  “I don’t know,” Azul shook his head, “he was walking and then he just gasped and fainted.” “Do you think he got too tired from working all day?” Floyd asked in concern.  “No,” Jade said, checking Jamil’s wrist for a pulse. “He has been a servant his whole life, he is used to working. And he’s part of the Basketball Club, has he ever fainted during practices or games?” “Nope, never,” Floyd replied. “You two didn’t get in a fight and start dueling, right, Azul?” “No!” Azul bristled at the accusation. “I told you he just fainted. Should we bring him to the infirmary?”  He knew that Jade was right about Jamil being used to working hard, but what if the work at Mostro Lounge had been the cause of this? Jamil had never worked in the Lounge before, and today had been one of the busiest days. Azul had let him work for hours; he couldn’t help but feel somehow responsible.  “Yes,” Jade took out his phone. “I’ll call them right now and let them know we’re coming.” ——  Jamil woke up from feeling too warm; his blanket was pulled up to his chin and he could feel sweat on his forehead.  He slowly sat up and tried to get his bearings. The familiarity of his bedroom greeted him, but he didn’t remember getting there.  Memories of the last few hours flooded back to him and he was suddenly wide awake.  He had visions of his Overblot, but he hadn’t been sleeping. He was awake and yet he saw those things. That had never happened before.  Looking at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was almost dinnertime. He would head down to the kitchen to prepare dinner and ask Kalim how he got all the way back to his room. ——  “Of course I can attend the meeting, we don’t have to postpone it,” Azul told Jade.  “Are you certain? If you have other priorities, it’s perfectly alright—” “The Lounge is my priority,” Azul said with an edge in his voice. “And frankly, I don’t appreciate you insinuating otherwise.”  “Azul?” a surprised voice said behind him.  He turned to see Jamil in the kitchen doorway.  “Apologies,” Jade’s voice said on the phone. “Oh, and while you’re there, perhaps you can ask Kalim again how you can return the favor to him.” “What?” Azul said distractedly. He was caught off-guard seeing that Jamil was already awake and looking quite well; he didn’t fully catch on to what Jade was saying.  “Because he helped you in Alchemy class,” Jade reminded him. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” “Of course I haven’t,” Azul said. “I have to go, I still need to help set up the table. I’ll be there for the meeting, don’t postpone it,” he emphasized before hanging up.  “What are you doing here?” Jamil went to the counter, looking at the dishes that Azul had prepared.  “I thought it appropriate to take over your dinner duties for the night,” Azul began untying the apron that he borrowed, “seeing as you had fainted outside my establishment.”  “You didn’t have to do that,” Jamil frowned and crossed his arms. “Did you think you had to return the favor again? Because I showed up unannounced in your kitchen earlier, you felt like you had to invade mine?” Azul hung the apron back on its hook and adjusted his glasses. “I felt that because you had fallen unconscious after working for me—and stubbornly not accepting payment, if I might add—the least I could do was help prepare food for your dorm. I didn’t even do half the work that you did in the Lounge, and Kalim helped as well.” Jamil sighed and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes. His arms were still crossed, but he didn’t seem angry anymore. “Are you alright?” Azul instinctively asked when he saw how tired Jamil looked.  Jamil opened his eyes but kept them on the floor. “It wasn’t your fault that I fainted,” he mumbled.  Azul stayed silent, noticing that Jamil didn’t really answer his question but not knowing whether he should push the subject. “Was it Overblot visions?” Azul asked carefully.  Jamil looked at him in surprise. “Did you…?” “Yes,” Azul leaned against the counter, too. He suddenly felt tired. “I experienced them as well. I had to take a week off from the Lounge because I wasn’t sure when the visions would appear, and I couldn’t risk the customers noticing.”  Jamil nodded in understanding. “Azul?” “Yes?” He looked at Jamil.  “Thank you,” Jamil said, sincerity evident in his tired eyes. “For—” “Azul!” Kalim’s voice called out. “I finished setting up the table—” He appeared in the doorway and gasped when he saw Jamil. “You’re awake!” He ran to Jamil and hugged him tightly. “We were all so worried! I’m really glad you’re here now! How are you?” Kalim asked tearfully.  “I’m fine,” Jamil awkwardly patted Kalim’s back before he was set free from the hug. “How did I get here?” “Azul and his friends brought you here!” Kalim smiled. “Oh, uh, first they brought you to the infirmary, then when the nurses said you’re okay to go, they brought you here! Are you sure you’re really okay?” “Yeah,” Jamil looked at the food. “I’m just a little hungry, I guess.” “No problem! Azul made dinner for all of us! He even made you a batch of curry!” Kalim grinned and proudly gestured at the covered pot on the stove.   Azul walked towards the doorway. “Now that dinner is done and you’re awake, I should probably take my leave.” Seeing the Prefect and Vice Prefect of Scarabia talking in their kitchen, he felt strangely out of place.  “What?” Kalim said in concern. “You’re not staying for dinner? But you made all of this!” Azul smiled politely. “Thank you for the invitation, Kalim, but I still have a meeting at the Lounge.” “Awww! Just stay for a few minutes, just have one meal with us! I’m sure Jamil would want you to stay! Right, Jamil?” He smiled at his Vice Prefect.  Jamil’s eyes met Azul’s, and for a moment he felt a spark of hope in his chest; perhaps Jamil might ask him to stay.  Azul internally scolded himself. Why would he need Jamil’s invitation? Kalim was right, he made that entire dinner, and he would stay or leave on his own accord.  He saw the uncertainty in Jamil’s eyes and felt that he was right not to hope; Jamil had no reason to want him to stay. That was obvious. Jamil was just feeling pressured by Kalim to invite him to dinner. “I shall be going now,” Azul maintained his polite smile. “Enjoy your dinner.” “Wait!” Kalim ran up to him before he could turn to leave. “We’ll have a birthday party tomorrow for Tidus, one of our residents. It’s also gonna be a celebration for the end of our exams! It’s right after Flying class. Can you please attend? We’d love to have you as a guest! And Jade and Floyd! To thank you guys for bringing Jamil safely back to us. Please? You don’t have to bring any gifts!”  The mention of Jade reminded Azul of what he said on the phone about repaying Kalim’s favor.  “Will you let me help with the preparations?” Azul asked. “I still haven’t repaid you for helping me with Alchemy last week. I know you don’t want me to repay you at all,” Azul held up a hand before Kalim could object, “but since you want me to attend and I want to repay you, it’s a good compromise, don’t you think?” “Hmmm, okay!” Kalim grinned. “I’m just happy you’ll be at the party!” Azul smiled and nodded before walking out of the kitchen.  “Oh!” Kalim said and went back to Jamil. “Azul told me to give you this when you wake up.” He got something out of his pocket and handed it over. Jamil took the bottle, noticing the familiar blue of the potion that Azul had given him many nights ago.  “He said it would help make you feel better,” Kalim explained.  “Thanks,” Jamil managed, pocketing the bottle. He wondered if Azul gave him that potion again as his payment for working at the Lounge. “Come on, let’s eat!” Kalim smiled and took a tray from the counter.  Jamil helped him bring all the food to their dining table.  ——  “Good job, everyone!” Coach Vargas yelled proudly after the Flying exam. “You’re very lucky to be learning from me. Your flying has improved a lot already! And I knew I made the right decision to assign some students to teach the others! Clearly I have brawn and brains. We all did a great job!” He grinned widely.  The students sighed in relief and some clapped each other on the backs. Floyd rode his broom and flew in circles while whooping with joy and saying that they can finally rest from exams. Jamil went to get his things when Coach Vargas dismissed them. He had just picked up his backpack and broom when he heard Floyd’s voice behind him.  “Sea snake!” Floyd had his arm around Kalim, and they were both grinning widely.  “It’s party time! Let’s all head together to Scarabia!”  “Jade and Floyd wanna help with the preparations, too!” Kalim said as Jade and Azul appeared behind him.  “We thank you for your invitation,” Jade said with a hand to his chest. Jamil looked at Azul to see if he would say something; maybe a sentence or two about how he could finally repay Kalim’s favor, but Azul stayed quiet, standing beside Jade with his bag and broom and not looking at any of them.  “Let’s go,” he said when he realized they were just waiting for him.  ——  Kalim had wanted it to be a pool party, so it was going to be held at the oasis. Jamil assigned the Scarabia residents to bring out the long dining tables and set them up. The tables had to be far away from the pool to make room for the parade that Kalim wanted to do; the Light Music Club was going to perform some songs and then everyone would walk to the pool while the other Scarabia residents joined in playing the lively music.  Jamil also assigned the Octavinelle Trio to help with the dining set-up while he prepared the smaller tables and cottages around the pool area. He wanted to be as far away from Azul as he could, especially after last night.  He had felt vulnerable when he was thanking Azul, it was just luck that Kalim had interrupted them before he could say anything else. And he had almost asked Azul to stay for dinner, despite hearing him say blatantly that the Lounge was his priority. He was glad he didn’t ask him to stay; he obviously didn’t want to, judging from how quickly he left at the first opportunity. Jamil knew he shouldn’t let anyone get too close, especially not someone who was only interested in balancing favors and profiting from poor students he could swindle. He was glad that the Flying exam was over and he wouldn’t have to spend time with Azul anymore; he just had to come up with a favor to ask from him and they would never have to interact again.  He froze momentarily while setting up one of the foldable wooden tables. Something seemed to catch in his throat at the thought of that, at the thought of never spending time with Azul again.  He shook his head to clear his thoughts, lightly punching the surface of the table. The sting on his knuckles helped him think more logically; he must have just gotten used to seeing Azul every afternoon for flying practice. He quickly got used to his presence, he would quickly get used to his absence as well.  Jamil didn’t notice that the table was on fire until the flames reached his knuckles that were still pressed against the wood.  He jumped back and got his magic pen from his pocket, summoning water from the pool and drenching the table.  “Vice Prefect?”  Jamil whipped around and blocked the scorched and dripping table from view. “Yes?” “Which snacks should we bring over here?” Violetti asked. The purple-haired resident was Tidus’ best friend and was one of the main people helping out for the party. Jamil should have expected him to be here.  “Uh, mostly the chocolates and chips, just the light ones so no one would get in the pool with a full stomach,” Jamil replied.  Violetti nodded and left as quickly as he appeared. Jamil sighed. He knew that Violetti was one of the few residents who still didn’t fully trust him ever since his Overblot. Some of them wouldn’t even talk to him unless absolutely necessary. He was just relieved that Violetti didn’t see him set the table on fire; he didn’t need rumors to spread that he was sabotaging parties now.  Looking around to make sure that there was no one else in the area, Jamil inspected the table. Almost the entire surface was burnt and it would take a long time to fix it with magic, if he even dared to do that. His magic was being unstable, and he didn’t want to use it until he figured out what was happening. For now, the tablecloth would have to suffice in covering up the damage.  He took a few moments to calm down and then went to put away the few brooms that were scattered around; some residents had come straight from Flying class too before helping set up the oasis, and they had left their brooms there when they went to help with the dining area.  Jamil picked up a broom that looked similar to Azul’s, and it reminded him of a particular practice session when Idia and Cater arrived; the Ignihyde Prefect had collided with Azul, and Jamil had been terrified when he fell off his broom. It didn’t make sense to him afterwards why he felt that way, because he’d seen Azul regularly fall down at Flying class and he had never been worried. But on that day, he couldn’t explain the fear he felt when Azul fell, much less the surge of relief when he managed to catch him.  Jamil threw down the broom in anger, then blinked in confusion about why he felt angry in the first place.  His vision began to turn red at the edges, and as the color grew to cover everything in a scarlet hue, so did the anger grow inside him.  No.  Jamil tried to run to one of the cottages and hide, but he barely made it a step before he felt his anger spike and he dropped to his knees, his hands on the sand. He could feel his magic inside him like an angry beast waiting to be unleashed, and it was all he could do to remain in control of his mind while flickering black ink started to pool under his palms.   “Vice Prefect?” Violetti's voice called out. No. Leave.  Jamil tried to shout a warning, but all that came out was a hoarse gasp as his mind kept slipping.  With all the energy he could muster, he got up and walked away as fast as his shaking legs could carry him, not knowing where he was headed.  The scarlet hue in his vision turned darker and darker, and he felt himself collapsing again as his strength left him.    Thud!  “Damn,” Azul cursed and brushed the sand from his pants as he stood up.  He had been hanging party streamers around the few trees that were in the desert when he stepped too far to the side and fell off the ladder. He really wasn’t made for being high up. “Oof,” he heard Tidus say behind him. “Are you okay, Azul?”  The blond birthday celebrant had insisted on helping prepare the party despite Kalim telling him that he shouldn't, so Azul respected him despite having a loud and airhead energy that reminded him of Ace. Everyone else had gone to Scarabia to get the food and it was just the two of them at the moment. “Yes,” Azul adjusted his glasses, missing the convenience of the special goggles that never needed adjusting. “At least the sand here is softer than the grounds in Flying class.” He moved his ankle back and forth, frowning at the dull ache. “Sorry,” Tidus scratched his head. “It was Violetti's idea to put up streamers, I'd told him that we always had those at my birthday parties at home.” “Hm, how thoughtful,” Azul said nonchalantly as he stared up at the trees, wondering whether he should attempt to put more streamers in the higher branches. As the owner of the Lounge, he must keep up his reputation of being able to decorate any place for celebrations. “Why don't you just levitate the streamers up there?” Tidus asked.  Azul looked down; he didn't want to explain that he had been afraid to use magic ever since he saw Jamil pass out from Overblot visions. That was none of anyone's business.  “I left my magic pen in the pocket of my dorm uniform, it's at the bottom of my bag and would be a real hassle to get.” It was true, he buried it in his bag so he wouldn't get tempted. “Besides, this is a simple task that even non-magical people can accomplish.” He was about to climb the ladder again when he heard a voice calling out.  “Help!” Violetti flew in on his broom. “Vice Prefect fainted in the pool! I can't swim, I'm sorry—” his terrified eyes were filled with tears.  “What?!” Tidus' voice rose in panic.  Azul felt his breath stop like his heart had fallen to his stomach.  He reached out and his broom flew to his hand.  “Whoa!” Tidus looked back and forth between the dining table and Azul. “Wasn't that on the chair a second ago?” Azul mounted his broom and kicked upwards, ignoring the sudden pain in his ankle as he flew up.  He leaned as far forward as his balance would allow him, willing the broom to go faster.  The pool appeared, glittering in the distance. Azul spurred his broom directly over it and jumped.  Bubbles covered his vision as he went underwater. He adjusted his glasses and frantically looked around for any sign of Jamil.  There he was, his unmoving form steadily sinking to the bottom of the pool.  Azul kicked to propel himself forward—“AGH!”  A blinding pain shot up from his ankle and brought tears to his eyes.  He helplessly looked at Jamil getting further away as he realized that the injury on his ankle must have been a lot worse than he thought.  “No, Jamil…”  He’d never reach him in time using just one leg to swim.  Unless…    Jamil felt his lungs filling with water as he sank deeper. He had tried to swim at first, but his limbs felt like lead, and he was barely hanging on to consciousness.  He felt something soft firmly wrap around his waist and slowly lift him. He wasn’t sure if he was already hallucinating from the lack of oxygen, but he thought he saw a few more of those things fitted with suction cups.  Are those… tentacles? he thought before the darkness overtook him.  —— Jamil squinted and shielded his eyes from the bright light above him. He felt a blanket and heard the hum of an air-conditioner.  Sitting up slowly, he looked around and confirmed that he was in the infirmary.  “How do you feel?”  He turned and saw Azul sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.  “The truth, please. Don’t just say you’re fine, you were underwater for quite some time, you know.” Jamil shifted in his seat. “I’m still feeling a bit out of it. How long have I been out?” “A few hours,” Azul glanced at the clock. “They postponed the party to wait for you to wake up; the nurses just had to tell them to wait outside because they were crowding you. Kalim was crying.” Jamil was about to ask why Azul wasn’t ushered out when he saw the bandage around his ankle. “What happened to you?” He nodded at the bandage.  “Ah,” Azul looked down at his ankle like he had forgotten about it. “I fell from the ladder while hanging up party streamers. No one cried over it.” Jami couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. He noticed Azul’s damp hair and change of clothes for the first time, and remembered what he had last seen before losing consciousness.  “Azul?” He furrowed his brows.  “Hm?” “Did you rescue me in your merform?” He decided it was best to get straight to the point. Azul opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and bowed his head like he was ashamed.  “Thank you,” Jamil said gently. He didn’t know why Azul seemed embarrassed, but he hoped he hadn’t said anything bad. “You’ve repaid me for those flying lessons now,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.  It was Azul’s turn to chuckle. “Yes, I suppose I have.” They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts.  “I should let the others know you’re awake,” Azul said. “So they don’t worry so much.” He stood up and walked to the door, a slight limp in his stride.  Jamil watched him walking away and realized he didn’t want the others to show up just yet. He wanted to cherish these quiet moments with Azul.  “Azul?” He said again just before Azul reached the door.  “Yes?” Azul turned to face him.  Maybe he could ask him to stay. Just this once. “We don’t owe each other anything anymore.” Azul blinked and nodded slowly. “That is correct.” “I don’t think…” Jamil took a breath. He had to say it. To spare both of them any further pain. “I don’t think we should do each other favors anymore. We’ve been doing favors for each other this past week and it got pretty difficult to keep track of who owed what. I just don’t want a repeat of that and…” I don’t want to end up relying on you.  “I understand,” Azul replied, standing up straighter. “Expecting favors from each other might become a bad habit, yes?” His smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes.  “Yeah, exactly,” Jamil looked down; he wasn’t sure what he was seeing in Azul’s eyes but he didn’t want to see it anymore.  “I should call the others,” Azul went out the door.  The sound of it closing behind him felt like a punch to Jamil’s chest.  ——  Swirling sand. The air bathed in a bright red glow as Jamil forced the Scarabia residents on their knees, a deranged laugh emanating from his mouth. Robotic praises rose around him as the mindless residents obeyed his whims.  Jamil sat up in bed, gasping. He saw his bloodshot eyes in his bedroom mirror and he threw the nearest thing he could grab, shattering the glass and destroying his image.   He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them, sobbing silently into his lap. It seemed like this was one of those nights.  After his tears subsided, he wondered what he had thrown at his mirror. He walked over to it and saw the potion bottle lying on the floor, still intact with the blue liquid lying peacefully inside it.  That was it; he just needed to drink the potion.  He went back to his bed and gulped it down, barely noticing the curry taste.  He held the empty bottle in his hand, staring at it for a few minutes before realizing that maybe he needed something more than a bottle of drinkable comfort food.  He needed…    Azul woke up when his phone rang from his nightstand, wondering who on earth or underwater would call at this hour.  “Hello?” He answered it sleepily with his eyes closed. “Bad habit, I know, but I need you right now.”  Jamil’s voice startled him awake and he sat up. “Jamil?” “Can you help me out?” His voice sounded a little strained, like he had just been crying.  “I’ll be right there.”

~*~ When Jaskier woke it was to a steel-gray sky, neither raining nor windy, but heavy all the same. Geralt was already moving around the camp when Jaskier sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. He stared up at the impenetrable gray. “Did I--?” Geralt nodded. “I calmed you down.” “I don’t remember.” His heart felt as flat as the sky. “I...held your hand until it went away.” Geralt looked uncomfortable and turned to pull food out of his bag. Jaskier looked down at his empty hands. “Oh.” Geralt tossed him the last of their bread and an apple, and they ate a quick breakfast in silence. Jaskier stole glances at Geralt, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s the matter? You’re even more taciturn than usual.” “Nothing at all,” Geralt replied, though it sounded like a lie to Jaskier’s ears. “Just thinking ahead to the day.” “Ah. Right, Yennefer.” He drawled out her name with theatrical dread, though the sentiment was real enough. Geralt gave him a sharp look and he ducked his head, chastened. Geralt saddled Roach while Jaskier cleaned up their camp, working in practiced motions around each other like well-oiled cogs in a clock. There was comfort in the ritual. “With luck we’ll find her in the next few hours, and you’ll be able to sulk and scream and laugh as much as you like,” Geralt said neutrally, tying off the last of their bags onto Roach’s saddle. “We’ll ride together. It’s not far to the town.” Jaskier knew it was such a short amount of time really, that they were lucky to be so close to his possible salvation, but time seemed to slow, and all he could think of was how much longer he’d have to hold it together. All he wanted was to go back to pining in silence and sublimating any wayward emotions that might jeopardize his friendship with Geralt. Secondary only to his fear of Geralt finding out his true feelings, was Yennefer finding them out. He knew that she’d be able to read him as easily as a book, if she got her fingers in his brain, and given his recent luck with witches it seemed likely that he’d be sharing all of the most intimate parts of himself very soon, and with someone he loathed. And he absolutely knew that, no matter his self-control, it would only take one moon-eyed look from Geralt in Yennefer’s direction and there would be scorch marks at their feet from a lightning strike. ~*~ It was unsurprisingly easy to locate Yennefer’s latest abode. Geralt and Jaskier stopped at the first tavern they came to and asked after a sorceress with purple eyes, and were immediately directed to a red-bricked villa that overlooked the town. As they approached the hill and the elaborately curved wrought iron gates came into view, Jaskier’s stomach turned sour at the thought of her. “Awfully convenient that she happens to be so close when we need her. Were we headed for her all along, Geralt? Is that why you knew where she was?” Geralt grunted and didn’t answer for a while, and Jaskier bit his tongue. It was none of his business. It shouldn’t matter. Finally Geralt just said, “We never seem to be very far from each other.” Jaskier held his breath until lights danced before his eyes, then he let it out in a steady stream. The sky remained gray and still. Yennefer met them at the gate in a black dress heavily embroidered with white roses, her hair caught up in an intricate tumble of curls, and a wry smile on her perfect face. “Must you only turn up when you want something?” “How do you know we--oh right. Magic.” Jaskier didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. “Yenn,” Geralt said, his voice softer than usual, “It’s good to see you. And we do need your help.” They dismounted and she led them toward the stable, indicating it with a graceful sweep of her hand. “I’ll be in the garden when you’re finished. Bard, with me.” Jaskier followed her to a walled garden next to the main house, exquisitely designed with a winding gravel path and a riotous abundance of flowers, almost certainly tended by magic. She sat on a marble bench under a heavy arch of lush scarlet roses, and after an awkward moment he joined her there. He didn’t explain his situation, as it appeared he didn’t need to. She stared at him for a while, and her gaze was shrewd, piercing. “I can see it as plain as day. It’s an inventive curse, but one cast in haste. There should be gaps I might pry into, if we’re lucky.” He felt such a visceral rush of heart-pounding relief that the sky began to darken, and Jaskier covered his face with shaking hands and breathed slowly, focusing on the scent of the roses until the gathering storm clouds dissipated. “I wasn’t built for this kind of thing. Moderation of emotion.” Yennefer smiled, and it was only a little sarcastic. “I imagine you’ve never had a moderate day in your life, bard. That’s no doubt why this curse was chosen for you.” Jaskier nodded. “She chose perfectly.” “How did it happen?” Her voice was dry, unaffected, but her purple eyes glinted with curiosity. “Did you sleep with her? Steal from her? Did you compose a terrible song for her?” “She killed twelve people and stole their organs to try to create the eternal youth that Aretuza denied her.” Yennefer blinked. “We tried to stop her. She cursed Jaskier and portalled away,” Geralt said, joining them and standing at Jaskier’s side. He briefly touched Jaskier’s shoulder, and Jaskier shivered. A flicker of her shadowed eyelids told him that it hadn’t escaped Yennefer’s notice. “Why Jaskier, of all people?” She spoke to Geralt as though Jaskier wasn’t even there. Jaskier frowned at her. “So I’m not worthy of even a curse, now?” “Jaskier.” Geralt didn’t sound amused, but Yennefer laughed. “Only you, bard, would take that as an insult.” “She thought he was feisty, and she looked inside his mind. She said he was hiding secrets, called him ‘lightning in a bottle.’” Jaskier swivelled to look up at Geralt. “Can I tell my own story, please?” Yennefer tilted her head. “What was her name?” “Theda.” Her face did a complicated thing that Jaskier couldn’t quite read. Her hands twitched in her lap, just enough to catch Jaskier’s attention. “You know her?” Geralt asked, stepping close enough to brush Jaskier’s arm where he sat. He couldn’t help but lean ever so slightly against Geralt’s warmth, a nearly imperceptible touch. “I know of her,” Yennefer clarified. “She came long after my time at Aretuza, but there have been rumors. As I heard it, she was the first of her class to catch lightning in a bottle and the first to master alchemical creation. She also cursed two of her classmates who looked as though they might surpass her in power, and one of them died. She was denied final transformation and expelled.” Jaskier scoffed. “Seems like the wrong tactic to take with someone who is powerful and crazy.” Yennefer smiled wryly. “I’ll be the first to tell you that not everything that occurs within Aretuza’s hallowed halls is right, or fair.” “Yenn, can you help?” Geralt’s tone was soft with her, always, and it made Jaskier’s chest tighten painfully. He found his gaze drawn to Yennefer’s, and he was curiously able to bring himself under control before even a breath of wind could disturb them. Yennefer nodded slightly, approving, knowing. “I can try,” she answered, looking up at Geralt. “I’ll need to examine him first.” “Whatever you need,” Jaskier said, getting quickly to his feet. Geralt’s hand was briefly at his back, steadying him. “Point the way.” Yennefer led them through the villa, past servants who bobbed in deference while she breezed by without notice. It was a beautiful place, and everywhere were Yennefer’s touches of decadence. Rich colors and luxurious textures everywhere lent an air of sensuality that made Jaskier both intrigued and slightly nervous. He expected to see an orgy in every room they passed, but the villa seemed to be occupied only by Yennefer and the servants. “Where is the gentleman of the house?” Jaskier asked archly. “Oh, he doesn’t live here,” Yennefer said with a wave of her hand. “This is for my personal use. His wife prefers it that way. As do I.” “You’re using him to get his house?” “He’s more than happy to be used, trust me.” Jaskier stole a glance at Geralt, whose face was as impassive as ever. They followed her to a richly furnished library with tall windows that overlooked the gardens. The room now clearly served as Yennefer’s workshop. A large table held glass jars of mysterious concoctions, fragrant powders in bowls, stones that glittered. Books with tattered pages lay strewn about beside quills and ink pots and dried bundles of herbs. It was nothing at all like Jaskier would have imagined, had he given any thought to such a thing. “How do you find anything here?” he asked, poking at a large crystal. Yennefer glared and slapped his hand. “I have a system,” she said. “No one has had any complaints about my quality of service.” “And what service do you provide, exactly?” “The service of curing rude bards of their unfortunate curses, out of the goodness of my heart.” “You have one of those?” “Jaskier.” Geralt pinned him with a quelling look. Jaskier bit his lip and tried to look innocent. “I think we could all do with some wine first, don’t you?” Yennefer’s voice was richly amused, and when Jaskier turned to look at her she just raised an eyebrow. “I could drink,” Jaskier replied. Geralt shrugged. “And for the gods’ sake, Geralt, take off your swords. You’ll find no harpies here.” Jaskier opened his mouth, and then closed it again when Geralt pointed a finger at him. ~*~ Two glasses of wine later Jaskier found himself collapsed sideways on a reclining couch beneath the tall windows, his head on a cushion and his wine glass dangling over the edge. He blamed his sudden weakness on sleeping poorly the night before, but it was possible that Yennefer had slipped something into his wine. He wouldn’t put it past her. Geralt was seated in a wingback chair with his own glass of wine, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and Yennefer was at her table flipping through a book that looked at least as old as she probably was. Jaskier drained his glass in defiance of his possible poisoning, and watched Geralt, who was watching him back. “What?” he asked finally. “Did I spill wine on myself?” Geralt’s lips did a thing that almost looked like a smile. He shook his head. “Your clothes may be free of wine but they are full of dust and sweat and who knows what else. You’re both bathing before you even think of sleeping here.” She didn’t bother to look up at either of them. Jaskier felt a blush rise in his cheeks, and Geralt looked at the floor. “Alright,” Yennefer said finally, closing her book and setting aside a chunk of citrine she had been idly playing with while she read. She came around her table and strode purposefully toward him. “I need a peek inside your head, bard.” He had known it was coming, but it still filled him with dread. “There’s really no other way, is there?” Yennefer’s gaze softened minutely. “Not if you want me to understand the curse.” Jaskier set down his glass and started to sit up, but she forestalled him with a hand on his shoulder. She urged him to lie on his back on the couch just as he had been, and she sat down beside his hip. “This should hurt far less now that you’ve relaxed a bit.” “Of all the things I never wanted to hear from Yennefer of Vengerberg…” It wasn’t his wittiest response, but he was nervous, and it made Yennefer purse her lips almost fondly. Geralt didn’t say a word. “If you’re quite finished,” she said, and reached for Jaskier’s head. He caught her wrist in a reaction that startled both of them. “Can we do this without--without an audience?” he asked carefully, and before Yennefer could even open her mouth Jaskier heard the quick, heavy tread of Geralt’s boots and the closing of the door. “Well, that was...odd. Then again, it is Geralt,” Yennefer said, staring at the door. Jaskier swallowed hard. “I’m ready, so do your worst. Well, actually, please don’t. You know what I mean.” Yennefer hesitated. “I don’t know what it was like when Theda did it, but I’ll certainly see things you don’t wish me to see. If I could look away, I would, believe me. I have no desire to see your intimate exploits with barmaids any more than you wish to show them to me, I’m sure.” “We’ll just have to agree not to say anything about it, then.” It was a vain hope, he knew. “Hmm,” she said, sounding like Geralt, then her cool fingers were pressed to his temples and she was inside his head like a thousand radiating silver threads of a spiderweb. It wasn’t agony like before, but it still felt invasive and he shrank from it as the threads caught and tugged on pieces of himself he’d rather keep hidden. “Jaskier,” he heard her say from a long distance, “relax. Breathe deeply.” His body breathed for him at her insistence, but his mind still struggled in her web. Dimly he heard the sound of rain and the howl of wind. “Let go of it, Jaskier. I need to see it.” He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, could hear the rain on the window, and he let her see. After Yennefer removed her fingertips from his skin they sat quietly for a minute while the storm raged outside. There were many emotions on her face, half turned away from him, but surprise wasn’t one of them. Jaskier wiped the tears from his cheeks and sat up, hearing a banging sound. Yennefer moved gracefully to the door and opened it for Geralt, who looked worried to the point of anger. “What happened?” he growled, striding over to Jaskier, who looked away. “It was difficult to see how interwoven the curse is with his mind,” Yennefer said briskly. “I had to follow some of the paths that Theda took.” “Can you not see what I see out there?” Geralt demanded as he pointed to the window, and there was nothing soft about his voice now. “That’s what he feels right now.” “Calm him, then. I have no talent for such things.” She retreated behind her desk and picked up her crystal again, turning it over and over in her hands. Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Jaskier, look at me.” He looked into Geralt’s frustrated golden eyes and lightning flashed outside. Thunder rattled the glass panes and Jaskier whimpered. Geralt tipped their foreheads together and his breath washed warm across Jaskier’s cheek. “Focus,” he said, and Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand, focusing on the strong grip, the callouses, the scarred knuckles. In the midst of his torment he forgot to be afraid, and there were no more flashes of light, no more thunder. The wind died down and the rain fell softly against the glass. When even the rain was gone Jaskier stepped away, releasing Geralt’s hand. Oddly, Geralt looked just as bereft as Jaskier felt. Yennefer cleared her throat and Jaskier jumped guiltily. “Well, I’m afraid the garden may not recover,” she said drily, but her gaze was on Jaskier and not the garden. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry,” he muttered, and looked out at the slate-gray sky. No sunlight tried to shine through this time. “I can’t break this curse.” Her words were followed by silence. Outside, water dripped from the top of the window frame to the bottom, a slow and steady metronome. Jaskier went to the side table to refill his wine glass and no one stopped him. “If not you, then who?” Geralt sounded bewildered, something that Jaskier couldn’t recall Geralt being before. It said a lot about his unshakeable faith in her. Yennefer’s mouth twisted. “Theda.” “Bollocks,” Jaskier whispered, then sighed. “She may have cursed you in haste, but it was far more seamless than I had expected.” “Meaning?” Jaskier took a healthy swallow of wine and it burned in the back of his throat. “Meaning there are no places to dig in my fingers, so to speak, without ripping out parts of you altogether.” She rolled her crystal from one hand to the other, her rings clicking on the stone. “Which I can do, if you wish. But you’ll never get those pieces back.” “No. We’ll find her, we’ll do whatever it takes,” Geralt vowed, and Jaskier looked at him, startled, then nodded. “I’d rather keep all the parts of myself intact, thank you. For better or for worse, they are mine.” Yennefer shrugged. “Then your only option is to find Theda and get her to remove the curse.” “But how are we supposed to do that?” Jaskier threw his arms wide, encompassing the whole of the rain-drenched countryside out the window. “And how many times will I put people in danger as we search? One of these storms might turn into something deadly. They’re getting harder to stop.” “What about the castle you saw through the portal?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier paused, remembering. “Describe it to me,” Yennefer said, curious. Jaskier recalled every detail he could, down to the crumbling outer wall and the town at the base of the hill, a glittering lake beyond, a mountain with three peaks in the distance. Yennefer smiled triumphantly when he was finished. “I’ve been there,” she said, turning to sift through the chaos that was her work table. “Very interesting little place. I spent a month there selling charms, and no one tried to extort me. They’re very tolerant of magic wielders, which is likely why she chose to go there. I imagine she thought she could hide in plain sight for some time.” Geralt let out a relieved sigh, and Jaskier darted a glance at him. Jaskier was also obviously relieved, but he was surprised to hear Geralt express it. “Can you take us there?” Jaskier entreated, watching Yennefer shuffle aside papers with a slight frown. “And what are you looking for?” “I can open a portal for you.” She peered inside a small chest and nodded to herself. “As to what I’m looking for, I’ll explain tomorrow. Tonight you’ll stay here.” Jaskier shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure if you just open the portal now, we could--” “It’s nearly sundown,” she pointed out. “And you won’t find her at night. You can rest here, we have plenty of rooms. And bathtubs.” Geralt hummed and nodded. “Thank you. We’ll do better after a good night of sleep.” Jaskier bit his tongue and looked away from both of them. ~*~ After a brief and awkwardly tense dinner, in which no one said much of import and they each seemed to be dancing around something unspoken, Yennefer escorted them to the guest rooms. Jaskier’s room was pointed out first. He watched Geralt walk down the hall beside Yennefer and had to swallow around the lump in his throat. He had to take several deep breaths before he could look away. The room Jaskier had been offered was more than adequate, with a spacious bed that looked decadently soft, and a bathing area separated from the main room by a partition. Servants brought in buckets of hot water while Jaskier pulled out his clothes from his bag. He had nothing clean to change into, besides spare smallclothes. “I’m instructed to take your clothes for washing,” a maid said, appearing at his elbow. She watched while he undressed unselfconsciously, and gave him a slow, sideways smile as she took the pile of clothes from him. Jaskier understood her meaning well enough. He thought for a moment about indulging himself, though it would be a poor substitute for the pleasure he longed for. In the end he just returned her smile with an apologetic expression and a little shake of his head. He wandered to the window to watch the sky while the servants finished filling the bathtub, making sure that the weather remained stable in spite of the jealousy roiling in his gut. He didn’t know for sure where Geralt was spending the night, but he had a pretty good guess. He only hoped they were on the far side of the villa so he wouldn’t have to hear them. Before he stepped into the bath Jaskier removed the bandages on his hands. Geralt’s salve had done quick work, and the rings on his wrists were nearly healed, leaving faint red lines. His knuckles were still a little raw where he had punched the tree, and he felt ashamed of himself and his lack of control. He wondered if there would be scars. Jaskier sank into the water and sighed, letting the heat pull the tension out of his shoulders. He washed slowly with the lavender soap that had been provided, grateful for the luxury of a bathtub he could easily fit in and the collection of oils and salts on a little shelf within reach. It had been many, many months since he’d had such a pleasure. Soon, however, his thoughts came back around to Yennefer and Geralt, and he felt a rising tension that was both bitter jealousy and hot desire. Not for Yennefer, though she was beautiful enough, but for imagining Geralt in a decadent bed like the one in his own room, silk sheets and a velvet counterpane in rich jewel tones that would complement Geralt’s pale skin. Jaskier felt his cock begin to fill and he snuck his hand around it, slipping in the warm water. He thought of Geralt’s pleasure soaked sighs, which he had heard through the fabric of tents and the thin walls of rented rooms. It was impossible to know a man for a decade and not hear such things. He knew that Geralt was not a vocal lover, no more so than he was in conversation, but his shuddering sighs were more than enough to fuel Jaskier’s fantasies. He groaned quietly, squeezing his cock harder and lifting his hips into the sensation. He imagined Geralt’s hand on him, larger and more calloused, rougher than Jaskier was used to, and he trembled enough to splash water up the sides of the tub. He opened his eyes, startled, and happened to look at the window as he reoriented himself. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the branches of the tree outside his window waved in the wind. Jaskier cried out in dismay and yanked his hand away from his cock, taking heaving breaths and gripping the sides of the bathtub until his knuckles cracked. There was a knock on the door and Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut. “A moment, please,” he called, trying to make his voice as even and calm as possible. He dried himself quickly and put on the only thing he had to wear, his smallclothes, and went to the door. He was shocked to see Geralt in the doorway, a concerned look on his face. “I…” Geralt began, looking at Jaskier’s bare chest and then up at his face. “Are you alright?” “Fine,” Jaskier said stiffly, glad that his cock had softened at least, though the tension that coiled through him still remained. “Just a bit overwhelmed, I think.” Geralt looked over his shoulder to the window, and Jaskier glanced at it too. The storm had continued to brew, the tree now lashing at the glass. “Do you need my help?” Jaskier bit his lip and shook his head. “Best not, I think,” he said, but was unable to offer any further explanation when Geralt tilted his head in confusion. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Geralt said slowly, turning away. He hadn’t made it five paces before Jaskier called out, “Geralt. Would you?” Geralt came back and nodded, relief clear in his eyes. “What do you need?” You. Always you. The lines were blurring, his desires confusing, but still he held out his hand. Geralt didn’t hesitate to take it, and Jaskier closed his eyes. His heartbeat kicked hard in his chest, but as he forced himself to breathe he heard Geralt doing the same, giving him a slow rhythm to try to match. Geralt’s hand squeezed his and he returned the gesture, and eventually he calmed. “Good,” Geralt whispered, and Jaskier opened his eyes. The wind had died down again, and the storm was dissipating. He took a deep breath and tried on a relieved smile. “Thank you, Geralt,” he said, and Geralt nodded. “I can stay.” “Stay?” Jaskier asked, slow to understand. “If you want. For the dreams.” He looked earnest and serious, and Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “And what of Yennefer? Won’t she be waiting for you?” Geralt frowned. “Yenn is in her room, I suspect. I have my own.” Jaskier stared, still uncomprehending. “She’s not waiting for me,” Geralt clarified. “Oh,” Jaskier said, and then without fully appreciating the consequences he stepped aside and let Geralt in. It was only then that he noticed Geralt was only wearing his smallclothes and a clean shirt that clung to his damp skin, and his hair was still wet from his bath. “You’ve let your hair tangle again,” Jaskier said, smiling in spite of everything. “Come here.” Geralt followed him silently to the bathing area and sat on a stool there for Jaskier to comb out the tangles for him. It was a time-honored tradition, platonic yet intimate, that always soothed Jaskier’s heart. He might not be allowed to touch anything else, but he could do this for Geralt. He could take this small pleasure for himself and hold it close. Once finished, he set the comb aside and ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair, checking for tangles, and Geralt leaned into the touch with a little hum. Gently, Jaskier removed his hands and backed away. He busied himself with stoking the fire in the hearth until it was high enough to warm the room again, then looked back. Geralt had climbed into bed, carefully occupying no more than his share of the bed despite his muscular bulk. The sight of him against midnight blue silk sheets made Jaskier’s mouth water and his belly tighten. Geralt’s white hair spilled across the pillow like moonlight, Jaskier’s poetic heart noted, and he cursed himself for his foolishness. Jaskier slid in beside him and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Beneath the bedclothes, Geralt’s hand tentatively tucked Jaskier’s into a loose grip, reassuring and solid. Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed. He wanted, and wanted, and wanted, but it was nothing new. He’d lived with this for years, he reminded himself, and he’d live with it for years to come. He must. His fingertips rested on the pulse in Geralt’s wrist, and he fell asleep counting the slow beats. ~*~

“Entrance exam tomorrow, hm?” Kakashi bounces a rubber ball off the wall. He catches with his left, throws it, catches it with his right, throws it. It snags oddly off the corner of peeling wallpaper and shoots by his ear, crashing against the post of his rickety bed that creaks ominously. After a few seconds, the bouncing dies down, and it rolls somewhere to be never seen again. Kakashi sighs and leans on the back legs of his chair, throwing his head back. “Maa,” he says to the upside-down crayon drawings tacked up above his bedspread, “what a situation I’ve found myself in. School.” The crayon drawings, predictably, do not reply. Kakashi stares at the scribbled mess of blonde hair wearing a bleach-white smile that stretches just slightly too far from the confines of Minato-sensei’s lopsided head. Sighs. The television crackles in the background, volume turned down low. Kakashi rights himself with a thud of the chair’s legs on the ground, winces—that was not a very comfortable position for his neck—and stands, achingly slow. He pads over to the bathroom, twists the cold tap, cups water in his (too-small) hands and splashes it on his (too-small) face. He avoids his reflection as he pats his face dry, eyes zeroing in on the bottle of hair dye sitting innocently on his counter. Ah. He’d nearly forgotten. Picking it up, Kakashi squints at the bottle, twisting it over in his hands, distorting the words with the water left on his hands. Sterling Silver, it proclaims, best offer you’ll ever get! The price tag is scribbled out in sharpie. Overtop it is a bright red sticker that says 50% OFF, BUY ONE GET THREE FREE! Kakashi eyes the cabinet under his sink where the other three bottles hide. Sterling Silver. It was the cheapest one at the store… What a stupid name. He raises his eyes to the mirror, braving his reflection. He needs a haircut. Slowly, Kakashi combs out his hair with a few fingers, brushing in front of Obito’s eye. Hm. That could work.         His seat is 19B. Kakashi could find his seat, or he could head over to the only empty one. When he reaches his seat, a predictable 19B emblazoned across it, the test is slated to start in thirty seconds. The packet on his desk is thick, a standard pencil set beside it. He slides into the seat just as the examiner stands up. "You are allotted three hours for the test. Cheating will result in expulsion from the Yuuei and any subsequent hero schools, plus a mark on your record. Raise your hand if you have any questions. Begin!" The room fills with the rustling of paper, and Kakashi leisurely flips through the booklet, reading everything with a half-lidded gaze. The physical exam is mostly for the hero course, so he has to do good here to make it into General Education… It's only cheating if you get caught. Kakashi sighs, then hunches over his paper. It's only cheating if you get caught, yes, but Kakashi didn't burn entire history books into Obito's sharingan for nothing. He breathes out, softly, and starts on the math portion first. This one should be relatively easy, at least.          Kakashi's got to look like he's trying, right? He meanders out of the bus last, hands in his pockets, lurking at the back of the crowd. The bustle of people is loud—too loud—and he squeezes his eye shut briefly, like it'll help with the sound, then immediately opens it. He gives the mob of participants a cursory glance, noting the anxious ones and the confident ones. He sweeps another look back over and his eye catches on a shock of familiar lavender hair. Cat kid. Immediately, he slips away, inconspicuous as possible, trying to put more distance between them. Of course he investigated the boy. Shinsou Hitoshi. Single mother. Quirk: brainwashing. Barely scraping by. Scars on the back of his head and the bridge of his nose where a muzzle would rest. No faith in authority figures, so Kakashi would be safe until he found, say, a more permanent solution to silence the boy. He’s loath to kill children, but he does what he has to. He always does. A minute ticks by, the crowd shifting and muttering in front of him. Kakashi stays far away from Shinsou. "START!" a voice shouts. Kakashi snaps his eyes up, scanning for the source. It's a figure, high above, half his height seemingly made up of hair. Resisting the urge to dart into the opening gates, he instead hovers uncertainly with the rest of the classmates. This kind of hesitation would get you killed on a battlefield. He watches the gates yawn open into a city made of concrete, stone arching up into the sky. Sighs. This isn’t a battlefield, though. Hair man shouts something along the lines of Villains won't wait for you! and the crowd gets moving, dust kicking up. Kakashi stays with the pack until it peters out, the test-takers splitting into side streets and running for the giant hunks of metal. Kakashi looks around if distressed, running towards a robot and watching as it blows apart due to someone’s quirk. Some sort of laser. He jumps from fight to fight, rubble and rebar tumbling around him. Kakashi rounds a corner and stumbles across Shinsou trapped under a slab of concrete, not injured, just pinned. The concrete is propped up by half a fake, broken storefront. He hesitates, but then, a smile curling across his lips, moves to go help.         Hitoshi is going to die. Perhaps a tad overdramatic, but… He takes a deep breath in, trying to calm himself. The blackness creeps in on him, thick and tight and suffocating. If he listens closely, he can almost hear the skittering of bugs beside him. Hitoshi tries to take another calming breath. His throat catches. Fuck. Only two minutes in and he's already done for. Great. “Hello,” a voice says. “Need any help?” Hitoshi cranes his neck up to meet brown eyes. Brown eye. The other is covered by a wash of grey hair. “No,” he answers, despite the very obvious need for help. The boy stays solemn. “You look like you need help,” he says, flicking a strand of grey hair away from wire-rimmed glasses. If he accepts… he’ll be in debt… “Fine,” Hitoshi says sharply. “Hurry it up.” He rankles at the thought of owing someone, but he needs to get out of here. The boy struggles to shift aside the slab but manages, sweat beading on his brow and arms trembling. “Go,” he wheezes out. Hitoshi scrambles away without a second thought, then pauses. Remembers the touch of a warm hand and waking up healed in an alleyway, a cat sleeping peacefully next to him. Unharmed. “Thank you,” Hitoshi says, the words fighting out of his mouth. He bows, stiff. “I am in your debt,” he spits, and runs to get points before they’re all gone.         Kakashi smiles, a faint twitch of the lips. Good. The kid hadn’t recognized him—it stands to reason most other people wouldn’t, either. He brushes away the chakra-induced sweat and adjusts his fake glasses, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear that pops out right after. Presses a finger over his bare chin. Contemplates. He’ll be home soon. A loud rumbling begins, the zero-pointer rising up tall. Screaming echoes from the other side of it, and he watches its back as it begins its trek forwards. People run past him, in the direction of safety, and he lets himself be pulled along into its current, yells and shouts echoing in the distance.         Kakashi doesn't bother with a greeting as he sweeps into the bar, avoiding the creaky floorboards and grimacing under his mask—a full face one, this time, like his ANBU one used to be—when he steps on a sticky patch of something. Equal chances to be piss or beer, considering where he is: a seedy bar smack dab in the middle of the red light district. Quietly, he slips into his usual chair in the corner, the one that faces all the exits with a wall to his back. Prime seating he had to fight for. "That's my spot, loser." The slim woman spits at him, the table smoking where it lands. The acrid smell of burnt plastic and charred, chemical-treated wood curls up into the air, framing the woman's forked tongue. The bar goes quieter, eyes turning their way, the clatter of glasses and chatter lowering in volume. Kakashi doesn't flinch, slumping farther into his seat. "Ha! You're funny!" he exclaims, raking his eyes over her. A red-orange tail swipes back and forth behind her. A lizard quirk with acid spit, maybe. "Take it outside!" The bartender scowls at them, waving a hand at them as if to say shoo! "Sure!" Kakashi chirps, rising. He hops out of his seat and trails after the woman with a flowing grace, his movements smooth and his footsteps silent, the door shutting behind them with a click. They exit into an alleyway. The air outside smells like weed and stale cigarettes, not much better than the smell inside. "Who're you to sit there?" the woman asks, fingers elongating into wicked sharp claws. Rocking back onto his heels, he clasps his hands in front of him as if in prayer. "Nobody, really," he says cheerfully. "Just your friendly neighborhood villain." The woman leaps at him, teeth bared and tail lashing out. Kakashi manages to sidestep, bounding backwards. "Now, now," he chides, flashing forwards to kick the woman in the stomach, "that's not very nice, is it?" Stumbling backwards, she wheezes, the air knocked out of her. "Shut up!" She straightens despite her obvious discomfort and spits at him. It goes farther than it should, grazing Kakashi's shoulder. The acid doesn't hit his skin, but he darts away all the same, baiting the woman into another, more enclosed alleyway. She follows. "Too slow," he taunts, then races forward and slams her in the jaw, fist following through as her head snaps up almost comically. She's out before she hits the ground. Kakashi, in a rare show of compassion, hides her limp body behind a dumpster, piling garbage up in such a way that nobody will see her from a glance inside the alley. There's no telling what kind of people will stumble across her. An attractive woman passed out in the red light district? No way someone won't try to take advantage of her. He checks over his handiwork with a nod, then leaves. He re-enters the bar, everyone hushing at the sight of him without the woman behind. Money exchanges hands. Cheekily, he gives a little wave, then sits pointedly down at his chair. "Don't stop talking because of me!" he calls after a minute of near-silence. Slowly, conversation resumes. Nobody tries to challenge his spot. Kakashi sighs, bracing his chin on his hands. "Get me your cheapest beer," he tells the bartender, if only to appease the man. He won’t be drinking anything tonight. The bartender nods, then says, “Sure.” Tapping his fingers on his chin, Kakashi waits calmly. He listens carefully to the chatter in the bar, collecting gossip like one might collect stamps or precious metals. When the bartender absently slides a glass across the tabletop, Kakashi doesn’t spare a second glance, keeping it by his elbow and not touching it. Of course, he can keep alcohol as well as any ANBU. Could flush it out of his system with chakra, too, but this body is weak and Kakashi needs all the chakra he can spare. “Hey.” Humming blithely as answer, he slots on his mask of indifference to hide the way he catalogues everything about the man who sat down, from the black shoes to the ruffled hair to the way he smells like ash. “Interested in getting some cash?” Giran, information broker, says. Raises an eyebrow. “Depends,” Kakashi replies, adding a bit of cheer to his voice. “How much?” Giran smiles knowingly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded paper. He slaps the table with it, then flicks it over. Cautiously, Kakashi snags it from the air and unfolds it. Inside, it reads— “Is this a recruitment flyer?” Kakashi asks with a hint of disbelief. “They’re calling themselves the League of Villains,” Giran drawls. “Say they’ve got a plan to kill All Might.” Kakashi laughs. It’s sudden and he almost chokes on it, wheezing with mirth. “Alright,” he manages to get out, wiping at where his tears would be if he wasn’t wearing a mask. “Anything else?” Giran frowns, small and slight and fleeting. “They’re the real deal,” he insists, not moved by Kakashi’s weak attempt at directing the conversation. “How much are they paying you to spew that kind of stuff?” “They’re—a lot,” Giran admits, cutting himself off. “Gotta go where the money’s good.” “Anything else, then? “Hey. Well…” Giran leans closer, as if spilling a secret. He glances around. “I heard All for One is backing them.” “That ghost tale? I thought he was made to, you know,” Kakashi says derisively, wiggling his fingers for emphasis, “scare children and all that.” Giran shakes his head before standing. “Well, spread the news, hm?” “Of course!” Kakashi exclaims, fake-happy. “Won’t let you down!” All for One. Finally.         Hitoshi yawns, sliding open the door to General Education. The desks are set into partners and then rows. And… he's the first one here. He glances at a window and frowns—no wonder. It's still early as fuck. Rubbing at his eyes, he staggers over to a desk near the back of the room and slumps down it, pressing his forehead to the cool wood. Carelessly, he tosses his bag over the chair beside him, freeing up his arms to pillow his head. Shutting his eyes, he tries to sleep. It comes, eventually, despite the awkward position.         Hitoshi awakes to a low chatter and the fading echo of the first bell. He keeps his head down, letting the sound wash over him. Lethargically, he lifts his arms up to stretch, exhaling softly when his bones creak and pop. The door slides open as the second bell rings. Hitoshi pays it no attention, eyes instead fixed on the loud Present Mic chatting with a blue-haired boy near the front of the room. "Ah, listener, just on time!" Present Mic exclaims, leaving the blue-haired student to scuttle back to his seat. "Hello, Present Mic-san," an all-too familiar voice replies. It’s the boy from the entrance exam. Shit. Present Mic brightens. "Take a seat! We should have enough time to do a speedy introduction before orientation!” Quickly, Hitoshi sweeps a glance across the room. He counts the empty seats frantically, realizes there are none, and turns his gaze slowly to the single empty seat beside him. The one with his bag on it. That he forgot to move. So nobody sat there and now Entrance Exam boy who had to save him gets that seat of honour. "Excuse me." Exam boy stands next to the empty seat, stare boring into Hitoshi’s skull. Hitoshi yanks his bag out of the seat beside him. Decidedly does not look at the boy and instead fixes his stare out the window. Exam boy shuffles, sits, shoes scuffing against the floor. Hitoshi begrudgingly looks back at the front of the room when Present Mic speaks again. “You listeners can call me Yamada-sensei, ‘kay? I like chinese food.” The man cocks his head, much like a puppy, and eagerly gestures for someone in the front row to continue. Chair legs screech across the ground. The girl stands up, leaf-green hair sweeping down to her shoulders. “Uhm, hello!” Her eyes are fixed somewhere to the left of the whiteboard. “My name is Saito Hanabi.” She dips her head in a quick half-bow. “My quirk is photosynthesis. I can convert light to energy”—she lifts a hand, producing a pale emerald glow that glints off her glasses—“but it doesn’t stay for long outside my body. Please take care of me." “Cool,” someone whispers. Hitoshi glares at nothing. Someone else stands after she sinks back into her chair; her desk partner. He introduces himself in a lazy drawl, displays his webbed fingers as his quirk, and sits back down. They keep going, one by one. Most state their name, their quirk, maybe a favorite colour. One boy with big, hooped silver earrings has an uncomfortably long introduction. The rest go quicker after that. And then it’s Exam boy’s turn. “My name is Akatani Mumiko. I like dogs." Huh. Hitoshi begins his introduction before Present—Yamada-sensei calls on him to do it. "Shinsou Hitoshi." His heartbeat thunders irrationally loud in his chest; he scowls. "I'm not here to make friends," he says, blunt. "Most of you here have probably tried and failed to make it into the hero course. I have, too. The difference between me and the rest of you is that I'll make it." Exam boy coughs. The drag of wooden chair legs on the ground is too loud in the silence. Hitoshi tries not to sink into the floor. "Well!" Yamada-sensei claps his hands together, surveying them with a smile. "Wonderful to meet you all. Orientation starts… very soon, actually, so let's get moving!" Hitoshi refuses to shy away.         “Hello.” Hitoshi blinks the sleep from his eyes. “What,” he mutters, flattening the end into a demand rather than a question, then yawns. He squints at his seatmate. A small smile crinkles the other’s eyes as he offers a slow blink, mirroring Hitoshi’s own half-asleep state. “Oh,” Hitoshi realizes after a moment, “you’re Akatani.” “Yup,” he begins, “and I’m cashing in that favor you owe me.” Hitoshi bristles. “I don’t owe you anything,” he shoots back automatically, then winces. He kind of does. He even said that he was in his debt. “Eat lunch with me.” Pausing, Hitoshi mentally runs through the conversation again. “...what,” he manages. “Eat lunch with me.” Akatani tugs Hitoshi up by the arm, either oblivious to the way Hitoshi stiffens or uncaring. Akatani pulls Hitoshi along, nearly toppling their desks as they go. Hitoshi’s no choice but to follow or trip over his own feet—something he’d rather not do in front of the slowly emptying classroom. The noise level rises with his entrance into the hallway. Students jostle and talk and yell and bump into each other. It makes for a very unpleasant sound, the voices grating and harsh on his ears, but he endures it. Akatani leads Hitoshi through the crowd. Hitoshi tries to dislodge the hand a few times but the grip is firm. He’s strong, and eventually Hitoshi relents and lets himself be led away. They order from Lunch Rush. Well, Hitoshi orders. Akatani half-smiles and tells Lunch Rush to make two. Akatani refuses the little juice box Lunch Rush offers on the side. Hitoshi takes it. It’s mango-pineapple. Precariously balancing his tray, Hitoshi trails after Akatani, resigned to his fate. The boy strides past all the tables, going right out the doors instead of sitting down to eat. Hitoshi sighs, squares his shoulders, and follows. They make their way through the school to an empty stairwell tucked behind the music room. A wide window sends afternoon sunlight splashing across the concrete floors, deepening the shadows around Akatani’s face. A tray lands with a clatter. Hitoshi startles, gripping his own tighter. Akatani looks up to him on the floor. “Sit down.” Hitoshi complies, sitting down slowly. He snaps open his chopsticks. It echoes. Akatani stares him in the eye. Hitoshi sets down the chopsticks next to his juice box, opens his mouth, picks his chopsticks back up. What is there to say? Akatani lifts the tray up to his face. Hitoshi resists the urge to slap the underside and send the fried rice up his classmate’s nose, instead watching with tired eyes as Akatani—sniffs? What the fuck. Akatani just sniffed his food. Seemingly satisfied, the boy puts the tray back down, mutters a quick thank you for the meal, takes a few grains of rice and eats only that. Akatani then pulls out a small novel from inside his jacket pocket, leaving the rice alone. Hitoshi catches a glimpse of a dragon and a tall tower on a page; in fact, Hitoshi actually knows this story. It’s a fantasy, centered around a ‘damsel’ that can turn into a dragon and the troubles that come with it. It’s… pretty bad. “You going to eat,” Hitoshi says flatly, ignoring the book in the other’s hand. “Mhm,” Akatani says agreeably, burrowing his nose deeper into the pages of his book. They spend the rest of the time eating in awkward silence. Well, Hitoshi eats. Akatani sits there and reads his novel. Someone’s footfalls thud through the stairs, at one point, but otherwise all is still. “Why are we here,” Hitoshi says finally. Evenly, without the hint of a question. “Nobody much comes here, since the garbage cans are right by the door.” Akatani shrugs absently, tapping his chopsticks on his tray. “It’s quiet.” Hitoshi desperately wants to ask Why do you know this, it’s the very first day, but restrains himself. “No, but, you and me…” Hitoshi sits back in a bid to seem more intimidating, eyes narrowed. “You and me,” he repeats. “Why are we eating together.” Akatani shrugs again. “We need to eat lunch sometime, maa?” Hitoshi opens his mouth to reply, but the bell rings, cutting him off and signaling the end of lunch. “Better return these trays,” Akatani says, stretching his hands above his head with a satisfied sigh. “Coming?” Hitoshi nods. Wait, when did Akatani finish off his food?         The next school day, Akatani arrives just on time again. Hitoshi fixes his eyes on the front and tries to listen to Present Mic talk. And talk. Present Mic talks a lot. But then the other teacher comes in quietly, nods to them, writes their name in chalk with quick, even strokes. Cementoss’ voice is even, steady, a low rumble about the pre-quirk era authors compared to the ones today, and Hitoshi fights the urge to nod off. Hitoshi listens, takes notes, answers questions dutifully when called, ignores the way his muscles pull oddly, and when the lunch bell rings there’s a hand on his desk. “Eat lunch with me,” Akatani says again, leaving no room for argument. “Sure,” Hitoshi says listlessly back, but makes no move to stand. “One second.” He thins his lips and stands a bit unsteadily, wincing when his leg knocks against the desk leg. “Let’s go.” Akatani steps back, watches with unreadable eyes. Hitoshi nudges the other boy aside to get to the door. He makes his way to the cafeteria, winces when someone smacks into him, and waits in line silently. Akatani’s not far behind, of course, and this time when Hitoshi orders his eyes land on the ramen. It’ll be hell to bring back to the stairwell, but he shrugs and decides why not. “One miso ramen,” Hitoshi requests, holding up a finger in case Lunch Rush can’t hear him. His sleeve slips down his arm, and he tugs it back with an annoyed sigh. “One miso ramen for me, too,” Akatani adds, stepping over to Hitoshi’s side, and Lunch Rush slides a second ramen next to the first. “Thank you,” they say in tandem. Hitoshi scowls and takes the food.         Kakashi groans, flopping down on his rickety bed. He stays there a moment, then rolls over to check his phone. He unlocks it with an overly long password, exits the 102k smut book he'd been working on finishing, and clicks open google. He sighs as autocorrect fills in 'fucking' and backspaces a few times. Recent searches pop up—how to make a child stop crying, how to comfort a lost child, why is my teenager acting weird, how to make friends—and he clicks the wiki link for how to make friends and skims the entire thing again, despite having it committed to memory. "Take the first step." Kakashi groans again. "Alright, what do I do now?" Having no friends is oftentimes more suspect than having friends. So he's... Kakashi squints at his screen. So he's getting himself out there. Making friends. Hooray. "Are you proud of me, Minato-sensei?" A half-chuckle escapes him. "Finally making friends."  

Molly holds Sherlock's hand tightly as they go back into the restaurant and over to John and Mary's table. They sit across from the other couple. Molly and Mary greet each other and Molly greets John but the words die on her lips when she realizes that the two men are staring each other down. John sits back with his arms folded across his chest and Sherlock lounges languidly in his chair, feigning bored indifference. The fact that he can lounge in a restaurant chair as gracefully as he can on a sofa makes her a little sorry that she insisted on going out this morning. Molly gives their food orders while the two men continue to glare at each other. Finally Sherlock sighs. "Okay, John. How did you figure it out. Please stun me with your massive brilliance." Molly kicks him under the table. "You can blame her date," he says, gesturing to Molly. "He felt so bad about her having to rush back to work that he suggested we bring her some dinner. So we did. Oh, Molly it was a beautiful spinach ravioli in cream sauce. Which we ended up taking home with us because, when we got to Bart's not only was Molly not there, but no one had seen her since she left at six, no one had heard from her via text or any other channels, and she certainly didn't leave any work undone. They seemed to think that was quite funny, Molly, the idea you'd leave work undone. So well done on the work ethic." "Thank you," she says, looking intently into her cup of coffee. "So anyhow, we knew something was fishy but we were also a bit worried so we phoned Sherlock. Went straight to voicemail. This git never shuts his phone off. You can hardly get him to put it on vibrate. So off we went to Baker Street. It's dark and empty there and Mrs. Hudson hasn't seen you since that afternoon when you'd left the flat wearing what she called shamefully tight dungarees. We figured you had to be holed up together at Molly's place, but we weren't going to interrupt. Luckily, Mary remembered that you love this place, Molly. You brought Mary here to recover after her hen night. We figured why not. If we didn't run into you we'd have a nice brunch then pop round to Molly's after since it'd be a more suitable hour. But here you are, walking in smelling like a bordello with your face all glowing." "Very good, John, I'm glad it only took you several months to figure it out." "I didn't just figure it out, you prat. We just never caught you." "Why didn't you just ask me, or Molly?" "Because I shouldn't bloody have to," John says through clenched teeth. Molly realizes that John is more hurt than angry, but she's not sure that Sherlock realizes it yet. She gives his thigh a squeeze, trying to communicate to him to be careful. He rubs her hand gently. "You're right." Everyone at the table gapes at Sherlock. "What?" Sherlock asks. "He's right. We were wrong. There was no real reason to hide our relationship from John and Mary. They wouldn't tell anyone or let it slip. So has everyone who needs to know been informed or do we have to tell Lestrade, too?" "Wait, Mrs. Hudson knows?" "Yes, apparently she's known for a while but just let us know she knew yesterday. So how does it feel to be out sleuthed by an old woman?" "This has been just another bloody game to you, hasn't it? Anything else the two of you need to get off your chest, then? Secret marriage? Love child?" "Well, if you must know—" Molly elbows him in the ribs. "John," she says, "That's it, no more secrets. We were just being overly cautious." "Sherlock, this had better be the last time you ever lie to me, do you understand?" Something in John's voice makes Sherlock drop all pretense of nonchalance. "Yes." "Right. So, how long has it been, then?" "I kissed Molly for the first time in August, but because of scheduling and a few murders we didn't go on our first date until October." "October?" John sputters. "Sherlock, it's May." "Fantastic observation, John. Here comes our food. How about we all shut up and eat?" John opens his mouth again, but then shuts it, shrugging and digging into his food. He is two bites in when Sherlock's text alert goes off. Molly knows by the way Sherlock smiles that it is a case. John realizes it too and groans. "Perfect timing as usual," John mutters, throwing his napkin on the table. Sherlock is already up. He gives Molly enough cash to pay for all their meals and kisses her on the forehead before heading to the door. "John, I'll have to stop by my flat for a change of clothes. You head to the crime scene." John nods and kisses Mary. He takes one last longing look at his meal, grabs a piece of toast, and follows Sherlock out the door. Molly and Mary stare at the overabundance of food at their table, then burst out laughing. The waitress comes over to refill their coffee and surveys the scene. "Well, they had to rush off, didn't they? What are they, surgeons or something?" "No, erm, they're dog whisperers," Mary says. "Yes," says Molly. "Just got a frantic text from a client. Standard poodle that's developed a bit of a crush on the cat." "Oh, well, I'll just put this in takeaway boxes then?" "Thank you," says Molly. She looks at Mary after the waitress leaves. "Dog whisperers? Is that the best you could do? I nearly pissed myself." "Well, I couldn't say detectives, could I? She might have put two and two together and recognized them, despite that awful getup Sherlock is in." "That's one of John's jumpers, you know." "Yes, I know." "So, you're not mad, then?" "A little irritated I've missed out on all these months of relationship talk. All of the girls at work are single and I just can't relate to that whole walk of shame, knickers in your handbag stuff anymore. But no, I'm not mad. I do hope you know that you can trust us." "I do. And I'm sorry. Really." "It's okay. So, have you finished that book I lent you, or have you been too busy shagging Sherlock?" "Mary, keep your voice down. And I'm almost finished. It's brilliant. And that's not all we do, by the way." "Yeah, I guess you are far enough into the relationship for that to be true." Molly's text alert rings before she can retort. -Got more info from one's only a seven. Should be wrapped up by tomorrow evening if no exciting twists pop up. Pencil me in for a late dinner. SH— "Well, looks like my day just opened wide up. Want to see a movie?" Mary is looking at a text of her own. "Why not? But let's stream something so we can watch it in our pyjamas." "Brilliant," Molly says. Her text alert rings again. -You were fantastic, by the way. Glad I didn't have to face him alone. Love, SH.— She fires off a reply before turning back to her friend and her meal. -Always.—

Junho stepped into the shower, hot water running down his body as he rested his hand against the cold tiles, leaning forward and closing his eyes. His mind kept going back to Youngwoo from earlier, her face so close to his as she looked at him with those big wide eyes.       Her lips were parted, soft puffs of air ghosting across his face and he had to hold himself back from pressing his own to hers. He had seen how she tensed, her thighs pressing together, the little shiver that passed through her when he had pressed his lips to her soft skin. He wondered how she would react when his lips would ghost over her skin, kissing her in places she couldn’t even dream of.           What if he had laid her across his bike and slipped his hand up her pretty dress right there and then, pressing it between her legs? Would she have been wet for him? Would she beg him for more? Her soft little voice whimpering for his touch as she spread her legs, unable to wait any longer?         He reached down, gripping his cock in his hands as he stroked himself slowly, his breathing picking up, letting his fantasy play behind his closed eyes. Maybe he would have her bounce on his cock right there, dress half unbuttoned, his mouth wrapped around her breast as she buried her hands in his hair, tugging on them hard. Pretty moans would spill out of her lips and he would have to silence her, not wanting anyone to know what they were upto, slipping his fingers into her mouth and making her suck on them.      Or he could have those sinful lips wrapped around his cock as she struggled to take all of him in, gasping for breath. He would need to guide her slowly and tell her how perfect she was, how perfect she looked like that with his cock down her mouth.          Junho groaned, stroking himself faster at the vision. She would be so good for him, eager to please and his body tensed at the mere thought and it didn't take him long to reach his climax, coming hard onto the tiles in front, his breath coming out in harsh pants as he rested his forehead against the wall. He composed himself before he cleaned and washed himself off quickly, eager to get back to Youngwoo who he had left deep in conversation with Myeong Seok.         He knew that his fantasies would probably never come true but he was okay with that, knowing that having her around him was all he ever actually wanted.    Meanwhile, Youngwoo was sauntering along the dimly lit hallways of Junho’s safehouse, stopping to examine each and every object that caught her eye. Su-yeon had been showing her around before she had been called away for an emergency and Youngwoo had reassured her she would be fine on her own while she waited for Junho.           Junho had gone to wrap up some work while Youngwoo caught up with Jung Myeong Seok, the talk mostly consisting of him answering all her questions about working as an unofficial mob lawyer patiently. “Is Hanbada treating you well?” he had asked. “Yes, I like working there and the people have become more accepting lately too.” He had expressed his happiness at that, glad she was being recognised for her talents and not her disability.             He had to leave soon after for a scheduled call with a client he couldn't disclose to her and she had bid him goodbye, taking up Su-yeon’s offer to show her around.         Now she found herself alone but she didnt mind one bit, occupying herself with looking around. She turned around the hallway, frowning when she found it familiar from a few moments ago. Had she been going around in circles? Smacking herself lightly on the forehead she turned to go back the way she came. She walked back slowly, trying to map the house in her mind, decisively gripping the doorknob before she pushed it open, just to be met with an unfamiliar bedroom, frowning at her wrong door choice.         “Why is this house so huge?” she mumbled to no one in particular.       “Youngwoo?”         “Junho-ssi?” she peered into the room, eyes searching for the man she had been waiting for only for him to step out of the open closet with just a pair of grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, water droplets making way down his toned chest and stomach, his hair still wet from the shower. “Where’s Su-yeon?” he asked, walking towards her as she stared at him wide-eyed.         “Sh-she got called away,” she stammered out, breathing picking up a notch when he trapped her against the wall, her eyes staring a hole in the wall behind him. “Eyes up here kitten,” he mumbled softly, smiling when she made eye contact, her hands clenching and unclenching around thin air. “J-Junho,” she breathed out again, her heart beating faster when his thumb came to rest on the edge of her bottom lip. “So pretty,” he whispered, leaning in more, hot breath brushing against her ear.         His hand reached around her neck, tugging her headphones away gently before he placed them on the bed behind, his gaze falling on the necklace he had gifted her now that it wasnt obstructed.     “A-ah” she whimpered out, hands hesitantly resting on his shoulders.       “You want me to stop, you tell me to stop yeah?”     “Y-yes.”     “I need to hear you say it Youngwoo-yah.”       “If-if I tell you to stop, you stop?”     “Not a question. I stop.”     “Okay.”     As soon as that word left her mouth, his lips descended on hers, lips hot and desperate as she whimpered against him. His kiss was rough, ravaging her mouth as she clung to him desperately. “Ah- ah ah” she called out, pulling away finally for air, her hand extending into the air, flapping wildly as he moved back, panting heavily.       “Stop?” he asked, only for her to shake her head. “Again,” she whispered, standing up on her tip-toes to touch her fingers to his lips in wonder. He obliged albeit slower this time, her lips timidly moving against his.         He pressed her into the wall, her hands hovering uncertainly between them. She felt his large hand enclose around her wrists, tugging them up above her head and pinning them there and her knees shook, almost giving way at the sudden act of strength. His hand steadied her, tugging her closer but he did not break the kiss. He finally pulled away, resting his forehead against hers, thumb caressing her cheek softly.         “My pretty girl, you have no idea what you do to me do you?”       She shook her head, looking away from his intense gaze and chewed at her lip trying to calm her racing heart. “You drive me wild, the things I want to do to you,” his voice was low and deep and she could feel it down there in her stomach, heat rising from within. “Wh-what do you want to do?” she asked dazedly, tracing her finger against a tattoo of a coiled black snake that snaked up his arm.         “You want to know?” he asked and she nodded reflexively.       “Are you scared of me?" he asked again, lips trailing slowly down her neck as she cocked her head to the side. "Aniyo I am not scared of you. You may appear to scare someone because of your intimidating nature but otherwise you are-" voice hitching when his lips pressed against the swell of her breast over her dress. "Mhm continue" he said but her mind couldn't get back to the train of thought, now only focused on the hypersensitive touch of his lips over her clothed skin, brows furrowing.         "Speak baby, what's going on in that smart little brain of yours?" he asked, slowly kneeling down as she gulped and looked at the ceiling.    "J-Junho, I- is this a one time thing?" she suddenly asked as he looked up in surprise at the question posed. "One time thing?"        "L-Like a hookup?" she blurted out, making him stare at her before he stood up. "Hookup?" he repeated.          "Yes? Yes I- uh I don't want to continue if th-that's the thing on your mind. I know I am not someone who can be loved easily and I seem stupid to most people but I am okay with that. Y-You can have anyone you want, no one would ever say no to you and you have probably been with a lot of people before but not me. I have never even kissed properly before a few moments ago. Don’t- don’t guide me on if you are doing this for fun. Just don't do this and then leave the next day, I won't h-handle it well-" she broke off, tears forming in her eyes, her lip quivering as she wrung her hands somewhat agitatedly, Junho blinking at the sudden change in her behavior.         "Youngwoo? No I would never- hey look at me," he said quietly wiping away her tears but they only started to fall harder, her body shaking. "Please don't," she cried just when his arms wrapped around her firmly, pulling her into his chest. “I am sorry, shh, I am sorry, don't cry, please don't cry,” he whispered again and again till he felt her slowly relax in his hold, her cries dying down.        He turned her around slowly, brushing the stray tears that clung to her clammy skin away with his digits before he guided her over to the bed onto his lap, her legs on either side of him.          “Who filled that in your brain hm? Who told you that you are hard to love?” he asked, playing with the ends of her hair. “It's true, I am not a part of the world you live in and society doesn't like people who don't fit in,” she said quietly, her eyes darting across her lap.         “But I seem to fall more in love with you every moment sweetheart. Maybe we can just build our own world hm? Only you and me?” he teased, brushing his fingers against her waist making her move away, a small smile gracing her lips. “And whales,” she added. “Of course, whales are a must. Gimbap too.” It made her laugh as she nodded and wiped her hand across her eyes, trying to get rid of her blurry vision. “This is not a one time thing,” he said turning serious, his voice deliberately slow. “This is not a one time thing,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. “I am crazy about you, I don't know why or how but I am Youngwoo-yah. I think about you a lot and its driving me mad. I can’t seem to concentrate on work knowing I could be with you like this, so close, kissing you all over until that brain of yours only remembers my name,” he breathed out.       “Y-you occupy my mind too,” she blurted out, eyes fixed on his shoulder. “I do?”       “Yes, m-more than whales and dolphins, but you aren't one.”       “Well that's disappointing kitten, do you wish I was one?”       “Aniyo- that would be silly. I like you like- like this.”       A chuckle escaped his lips at the blush that rose on her cheeks. “Makes me very happy to hear that,” his hands caressed her waist, lips pressing soft kisses against her nose and eyes.         “D-do you like me too?” her words made him pause.        “I think I need to show you in a better way how much I adore you,” he said and before she realised, her back was against the mattress, Junho hovering over her, eyes holding such an intense expression it made her shiver. “You” lips pressing against the corner of her mouth “are” lips against her jaw “so” lips mumbling against the pulse of her neck “precious” lips hovering against her collarbone “I” lips brushing against the side of her breast “lo-”         A deafening sound of what could be a gunshot rang somewhere, Youngwoo flinching, her hands coming to press against her ears. “Fuck” Junho cursed, glancing at Youngwoo who lay below him with her flushed cheeks and mussed up hair, eyes looking at him worriedly before they heard another sound, this time much closer.         “Up,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh, making her scramble up. He stumbled to his closet, hand closing around the firearm he always had at hand before he turned to see Youngwoo staring at him in shock. Her breathing picked up when he stepped closer, almost as she was afraid, her eyes trained on the gun in his hand.         He reached out for her, almost as if to reassure her that he would never hurt her only for the window in the room to shatter, raining glass inside. He snapped out of his daze, grabbing her arm and her headphones from where they lay on the bed before he opened the door to the bathroom, pushing her inside and securing them over her ears.         “Lock the door from inside and stay quiet, you only open it when I come back and these stay on until then” his tone leaving no room for argument. “D-don't- dont get hurt,” she sniffled, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “I can’t promise you that, but I promise I won’t let anyone even touch a hair on your head,” he said, stepping back before he left, closing the door softly, unknowingly taking along a piece of her heart with him.

  Felix can’t believe he’s going to do this again. After his last time at the bookshop he promised himself he’d not follow the couple again if they went to a secluded area. Yet, there he stands, hidden behind a bookshelf whilst he watches Minho stack books as he waits for Chan so they can probably suck face. At least that’s what happened last time… among other steamier things that make Felix blush if he thinks too much about it. Which again, is more than enough reason for him not to be there. He feels guilty. This was supposed to be about taking cute photos of the couple’s wholesome moments but it’s gone far beyond that. He realises now he’d been overstepping several moral boundaries by watching the couple so intently for so long. He’s… he’s a stalker, isn’t he? Fuck, he totally is. He might not follow them home, but with how much he’s captured of their lives on camera, he’s definitely in the category. Not only that. Now he’s stooped to a new low. Watching the couple be together like this when they clearly sought privacy – although still in a public place – was so wrong. However, he couldn’t stop himself from following Minho when he climbed the stairs again, and he can’t control his finger as he takes some pictures of him from the slit in the row of books. These aren’t photos he’ll be posting though. These are just for him. Just shows how much of a stalker he is. Damn. He’s ashamed, he truly is. He’s been taught better than that. His mother would give him the scolding of his life if she ever knew about it. Even Hyunjin would. But neither Hyunjin nor his mother are there to stop him, and the weight on his conscience loses to the desire to see the couple together again. They sound so pretty while they kiss, the few words they shared and he managed to hear were teasing, sexy. The hushed whispers he couldn’t make words out of were even worse, instigating his imagination to fill in the gaps. Chan passes by the section he’s in without noticing him, a tall pile of books shielding him. Differently from the previous time, Minho sees him coming, beckons him with a wiggly finger and a sly smirk, one of someone who knows how sexy he is. And fuck, he really is. Felix has to wipe drool from his lips, because just seeing Minho like this gets him going. It’s so wrong; these expressions aren’t even for him, they’re only for Chan, and yet there he is, witnessing everything first hand. It’s like a forbidden apple, and Felix is risking everything to take a bite out of it. If only he knew how into it the couple is… Just when Chan is within reach, Minho pulls him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him to the back of the corridor, his back hitting the books harshly as he loses his footing. Minho doesn’t let that stop him though, kissing Chan like nothing happened. Felix holds his breath as he watches them. “You’re being too loud baby,” Chan says lowly, voice dropping an octave. He grabs Minho’s hair and pulls it back, making him look into his eyes. Minho usually stands a centimetre taller than Chan, but with him backed up against the bookshelf he looks a bit smaller, and Felix has difficulty seeing much of him. What he can see, though, is Minho looking smugly at Chan, that cheshire grin never leaving his face. Felix bites his lip. Sexy. Minho is effortlessly sexy, making Felix’s mind reel at the thought that this isn’t something new between them if they’re so comfortable doing these things in public. For the first time he wonders if maybe the couple doing it in public like this might mean they actually like the idea of someone watching them like he is. “And what are you gonna do about it, huh?” Minho challenges Chan. “You say we gotta be quiet, yet here we are.” Chan groans as Minho hits the jackpot. Yeah, he likes this too, whatever. “You’re such a brat, Min, no need to rub it in, baby, you like it too.” Daddy, is the thought that crosses Felix’s mind. He’s never thought of calling anyone that, but Chan? He craves it. It feels right. Holding back a whimper, he digs his nails into his palm to keep himself from doing something shameful. Gosh, he wishes so bad he could see Chan’s face when he’s called that. Would he like it? Would that make him pin him to a wall like he did with Minho that first day on the second floor? A flurry of motion and a dull thud take him from his spiralling thoughts. Chan turned Minho around, shoving him face first against the books. Minho moans louder as he’s pressed to the bookshelf, Chan’s whole body pushed against his. “You need to shut your mouth if you don’t wanna get us caught, Min.” Chan says the words sternly and bites at Minho’s ear. Felix is glad Minho whines, because he lets out a little sound of his own as well. They’re so hot, he can almost taste blood from how hard he’s biting down on his lip to keep quiet. From then onwards Minho doesn’t talk anymore, and Felix watches raptly as Minho scrunches his eyes and puts a hand over his mouth as he tries to keep quiet. Chan’s body covers most of what they’re doing, but Felix can see how he rocks his hips against Minho’s ass, the hand that is not in Minho’s hair pushing him to the wall going around Minho’s body to his front. What that hand is doing there is left to his imagination though. Is Chan’s hand inside Minho’s pants or outside, teasing him to no end? He can’t tell, but he needs to know. He might be insane, but he decides to move closer, and silently enough that the couple’s ragged breathing covers for any sound he might make, he kneels down and pulls three books further ahead on the shelf away, lower so he faces more of their middles than their faces, and sets them down on a pile beside him. The new spot is dangerous, he can almost see Chan’s face if he looks up, but he gets almost a side view of them, meaning he can see the heel of Chan’s hand grinding on the obvious bulge of Minho’s pants, the arch of Minho’s back and the roll of his hips pushing back against Chan’s hard-on. He can see Minho’s thick thighs so fucking close, quivering and working along with his hips, the veins and muscles on Chan’s arm tensing as he cups Minho’s dick through his trousers. Minho’s mouth is still covered, but the tiny sounds that slip through are so airy and pretty, fitting perfectly with Chan’s grunts and groans. Felix wants to touch himself so fucking bad, this is better than any porn he has ever watched. His dick twitches and rubs against his pants as he squirms in place, and when they start talking to each other again, telling each other how good they feel, how much they love each other, how they’d fuck each other silly if they were at home... Felix thinks he might cream his pants without even touching himself after all. The closer Minho gets to coming, the whinier he gets, and to help him reach his orgasm, the hand on Minho’s hair lets go and trails down to find one of Minho’s nipples, teasing it in circles, pinching it until Minho’s hips stutter and he starts warning Chan of his release. “Chan-nie, p-lease,” Minho hiccups amidst moans, “G-gonna c-cum, f-fuck–” He cries quietly, holding back his noises to the best of his ability. Felix wants to come as well, wants to beg them to let him, but he holds back from touching himself altogether. He’s already gone too far, and he doubts he can keep quiet if he dares wrap a hand around himself. He blushes at the thought, how much of a pervert he is if he’s even considering whipping his dick out in a public bookshop while voyeuring an unsuspecting couple? Or as unsuspecting as one can be doing all that in public… Fucking hell, just thinking how they would punish him if they were ever to find out he was spying, how hard would they be on him? Minho gasps, and before he can outright scream into the air in the silent bookshop, Chan puts a hand over his mouth, cutting his sound almost completely. Minho’s eyes roll back, as do Felix’s as he soils his pants along with Minho. He holds his breath and slumps against the shelf while the couple winds down as well. He can’t even tell if Chan came, but he’s gonna guess he did. There’s no way he could’ve not when Minho is just so pretty unraveling like that. After Minho and Chan leave their little corner, Felix walks away too, leaving the bookshop without looking at the couple as shame heats up his ears and coils around his stomach. He promises himself he won’t be back, that he’ll put an end to his madness. He’s better than a pervert that watches people in their private moments… He really is… He… he is… right?     He’s... not. He’s in fact a filthy pervert who is spying on the couple again. Minho is against the wall again, this time with his legs spread as he sits on top of a tall stack of books, Chan grinding their dicks together while sucking at Minho’s neck and talking dirty by his ear. And Felix is at his new spot, kneeling on the ground and hiding behind the shelf like it's his reserved spot for a show. Minho and Chan do make a show out of it though. Hushed whispers, quiet moans and hands exploring, they leave nothing behind. And today Chan seems to be twice as hungry, tasting the sweat that builds on Minho’s skin like it is water in the desert, Minho holding on to him for dear life as the stack of books sways underneath him from the strength of Chan’s hips against him.  Perhaps it’s because he’s not been caught after so much has happened, but Felix is feeling bolder today, and before he can grasp what he’s doing, his hands are on his dick over his well-fitted jean shorts. He almost chokes as his hand finally gives him some relief, and right away he can tell this is a big mistake. He’s not used to being quiet, he’s as whiny as one gets, and he’s treading turbulent waters already just with the visual stimulation. The rough fabric over his soft underwear gives him that much friction though, and the pressure of his hand throws him into a haze in which his only thought is to seek more. He watches Minho and Chan basically dry hump each other over their clothes, mouths less than an inch apart and breathing hot puffs of air in each other’s faces. They look starved for each other even if they clearly get it on often. It only makes it hotter for Felix, to see such passion between the couple he’s seen being so soft for so long. It’s so different to see this fire between them, burning hotter than hell and as intensely as their love, their hot embers making Felix burn as well. Minho and Chan come, their voices mingling so prettily together as they keep grinding until they’re both done and only their quiet heaving fills their little corner. Felix is close too. He’s so into it, he’s so close and their lazy aftermath kiss, all tongue and drool and so fucking messy throws him over the edge. But he slips up. He comes with a high-pitched moan, not too loud, but loud enough there’s no way the couple hasn’t heard it. His eyes shoot open and he panics, pulling away from the bookshelf he had leaned his forehead on and falling to his ass. He tries to get up quickly and get the fuck out of there before Chan puts those huge arms to good use on Felix and not in a way he’ll like, but his legs feel like jelly under him and he trips, falling again and even letting his phone slip away from his grasp. He looks forward to where it slid to the entrance of the section he’s in. His breath is punched away from him, his blood drains from his face and limbs so fast his vision even darkens for a second. His phone is beneath a foot. Minho’s foot. And behind Minho is Chan. Fuck. He’s so fucking fucked. As fucked as someone will ever be. He can see his name in a newspaper cover already: “bookshop pervert caught spying on people”. This is how his life ends. He can’t breathe or get up, and with both of them standing there he doubts there’s any point in trying to run anyway. He’s been caught. Minho takes his phone and saunters over to him with Chan on his tail. “Tsk tsk, naughty boy~” Minho says slowly, his index finger tutting along with him. Felix is trembling, stuck in place since his body has decided that running isn’t an option. He’s scared, Minho has a dangerous look on his face that Felix can’t really discern what it means, although it seems to hold some amusement. “What shall we do with you, hm?” “Minho, you’re scaring him,” Chan reprimands Minho, then crouches in front of Felix, raising a hand to his cheek, fingers brushing lightly over his skin, as if he’s trying to show he means no harm, but Felix flinches all the same. “You poor thing, don’t be so scared, we’re not mad.” Chan smiles softly at him, doing his best to sound soothing and not horny with the whole ordeal. Felix perks up at his words, looks up at Minho, who’s still standing, with wide eyes, then back at Chan, as if he can’t believe it. “Y-you’re not?” Both Chan and Minho’s eyes widen, Chan looking up at Minho and scoffing in disbelief. Felix’s voice is nothing like they thought it’d be. It’s so deep, not fitting the moan they heard or his cute face at all. It’s hot though, and Chan can already imagine how much Minho will love getting him to crack and moan all high-pitched and cute for him. Well, Chan will enjoy doing that very much too. That is, if Felix agrees to their proposition. “We knew you were there from the beginning.” Minho smirks, crouching beside Chan and offering Felix his phone back as if to show him it was ok. “We’ve seen your thread. We’ve been watching you too, you know?” Minho smiles when Felix takes it with a shaky hand. “Our very own little stalker.” Minho titters. Felix pales again despite both saying they aren’t mad. “Y-you- I- I’m so sorry, I can delete it! And I didn’t record anything up here I promise–” he tries to apologise, but is interrupted by Chan’s finger on his lips. He gulps loudly, cheeks flaring. “We’re not mad, Felix,” Chan says, “but sneaky perverts need to be punished, don’t you think, little pixie?” he smirks, biting on his lip as his eyes rake Felix’s tiny frame. He’s Chan’s height, but sitting on the ground and watching them with big wary eyes he looks so small. He’s thinner than both of them too, doesn’t have all the meat Minho has on his thighs or the build of muscles Chan has on his arms and shoulders. Chan’s way of putting it seems to finally hit Felix, and once more his eyes flick between Minho and Chan, trying to assess if he’s understanding well what is going on. His throat feels dry at the pet name, he likes it way too much. Chan’s voice is like honey to his ears, sickly sweet and enticing. It feels like a dream, but he’s getting whiplash from all that is going on. First he discovers they knew he was there… for how long? And if they knew why did they let him continue…? Does that mean it was ok that he did it? Did they like knowing Felix was there? “I… I don’t think I understand…” “Oh, I think you do, little pixie.” Minho smirks as Felix’s pupils double in size at the nickname, then he kneels and leans forward. Felix can’t even move to lean away, just gasps when Minho’s face stops an inch away from his. “Do you want to join us? Wanna let us put you in your place? We’ll take very good care of you, I promise you that.” Felix gawks, looks at Chan, then at Minho again, trying to gauge if he’s going insane and imagining the whole thing. “Only if you want to…” Chan says, “but like I said… naughty boys like you need to be punished, don’t you think, pixie?” Chan tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. “J-join b-both of you…?” he croaks out, then clears his throat, “A-are you sure? I…” “Only if you want to, of course.” Chan reassures him. “If you don’t want to, you can just walk away.” Like Felix would ever refuse such an opportunity. “I want to, I’d love to…” he blushes, avoiding their intense gazes on him. Chan and Minho smile at him, bright and satisfied, and help him to his feet. There’s a moment of silence and then Chan extends his hand to him. “I’m Bang Chan, nice to meet you Felix.” Felix blushes, reaching his hand out to shake Chan’s. “Uh.. nice to meet you.” “Well, aren’t you two cute?” Minho rolls his eyes. “I need to get back to work, but you should discuss things with him, Channie-hyung.” “T-things…?” Minho blinks blankly at him. “Boundaries. If we’re doing this we have to set some, know what you’re comfortable with.” Felix nods eagerly, still unbelieving that this is really happening. Is this really ok? He had been doing something so wrong, and yet they’re acting as if everything is fine. “If you have time, we can sit at the bookshop’s cafe and talk a bit,” Chan offers, knowing very well that Felix has at least two more hours free, because he’s usually watching him flirt from afar with Minho whilst he works. “S-sure… but…” Both of them stop in their tracks, waiting for what Felix has to say. “Isn’t it better to wait for all of us to be together…? I…” he doesn’t know how to put it, but it’s kind of hard to believe both of them are really agreeing with this. Why would they even want Felix, their stalker, to do anything with them when they have each other? “I’ll join you guys whenever I catch a break, but don’t worry, I trust Chan to discuss this with you, and this whole thing was my idea anyway, so…” Minho shrugs, as if it’s nothing much. To Felix it is a whole lot though. Minho had planned this? This... what? Is he falling into a trap? Will Minho call the police while he talks to Chan? “Hey,” Chan snaps him out of his own head, “If you’re not comfortable with this, you can walk away anytime, no hard feelings.” Felix searches his eyes for lies, a trick, anything, but he can’t find any. He… Chan seems like someone he can trust, although he’s probably biased from watching him from afar too much. “O-ok, let’s talk.” With that, Minho goes to his station behind the central counter, and Chan accompanies him to the cafe. They sit at the last table, close to the mathematics section, where Chan knows there’s usually no one sticking around for too long and they’ll have more privacy. Felix sits down first, Chan pulling his chair close to his by the round table so they can talk more quietly without risking anyone eavesdropping on them. Although the only one who would do such a thing in this bookshop sits next to him. Finally. An awkward silence settles between them, with Felix fiddling with his fingers and looking down at his hands or away from Chan, feeling both a bit wary of the situation and shy. Chan clears his throat, trying to drown his natural awkwardness by leading the conversation. Usually he’d leave that to Minho, since he’s much more blunt with what he wants, but he can do this. He wants to make this work. He’s about to try and make at least small talk and break the ice when Felix beats him to it. “Is this really ok?” Chan tries to read Felix’s expression – he looks worried. Well, if Chan had been caught doing what Felix did… he'd be as well. “It really is, don’t worry, Felix,” Chan says reassuringly, “You know, a friend of ours found your thread many weeks ago. And although I was kind of scared at first,” Chan laughs, continuing before Felix starts apologising again, “Minho was really eager from the start to play with you. I ended up being swayed pretty easily too.” “But… why?” “You’re cute. Your reactions to us are nice, your view on our relationship is adorable, and you’re a bit of a pervert.” Chan sees Felix’s eyebrows frowning again and rushes to add, “That was a compliment, by the way.” “O-oh,” Felix’s blush spreads to his ears, from this up close, Chan can almost count his pretty freckles. And just like that it’s like a switch is flipped in him, his awkwardness swiftly drifting away. “Do you like that, pixie? Like being called a pervert?” He whispers, watching how Felix’s Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, his teeth catching his lower lip briefly as he nods positively. “I need words, pixie.” “Y-yeah, I like it,” Felix answers, his gaze still not meeting Chan’s. “And do you think you can be a good boy for us?” Chan tests the waters, knowing very well that Felix might not be into what both of them want from this encounter even if he enjoyed spying on them during their little adventures. Felix gulps, face red as a tomato. He wants to. It’s very embarrassing, but he really wants to be good for them. “Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Chan adds, a little flustered himself. “Is Minho-ssi really okay with this?” Chan scoffs, shaking his head. “He’ll get off on it as much as I will, don’t worry. You can ask him later if you’d rather confirm with him too. You can also call him hyung, he’ll like that a lot,” Chan smiles. Felix can’t believe it’s really happening. However the more he talks with Chan the more he learns he means every word he says. So they keep chatting, Felix loosening up little by little as they wait for Minho to show up, and once he does, he sits at the table with the biggest smile ever. He kisses Chan softly, then winks at Felix, as if it is a treat to him and not his boyfriend. It sends all kinds of butterflies in his stomach flying. “So, what did I miss?” Chan fills him in on some things Felix and him discussed, like a safety system in case any of them got uncomfortable, in which they settled for the colour system for the sake of simplicity, some of Felix’s hard noes and some of theirs that Chan had told Felix about. Minho hummed and listened in silence for the most part, nodding at times to confirm he was paying attention. “So what I gather from all this is that little pixie will be a very good boy, hm.” Minho grins, a fingertip rubbing the back of Felix’s hand as he leans to whisper in Felix’s ear. “Are you, little pixie? Will you be a good boy for Channie-hyung and me?” Felix feels like he must’ve been a saint in his previous life to deserve Minho and Chan talking to him like that, scrambling his brain with sugary words that sounded so dirty. “Yes…” Felix looks at Minho, “I’ll be good for hyungs.” For the first time since Minho joined them he’s the one a little flustered. Of course, there’s no problem with that. It’s not like Minho isn’t used to being called hyung, it’s more about how adorable Felix looks as he says it, with those big innocent sparkly eyes that make him want to do unspeakable things to him. “Did the fairy catch your tongue, baby?” Chan teases him, breaking him out of the daze Felix had put him on. He blushes, being put in the spotlight like this. He stammers a quick “s-shut up” and stands up. “Well, since we’re done here, I’ll get back to work. Set up a meeting with him, Channie-hyung! Bye~” he runs away from the scene, leaving a chuckling Chan and a shocked Felix behind. And so the conversation goes for long minutes, with Minho sometimes showing up again, being mostly covered by a very grumpy Changbin. By the time they’re done and Felix gets up to go home, his legs feel like gelatine under him, and he’s sure it’s because all his blood is concentrated in his flaming cheeks and his hummingbird heart. He has… a threesome scheduled… with none other than his favourite couple.  

The drag contest? A weird joke, but fine. Any other year but this one, it was entirely voluntary right up to the day of, so that one got a pass. But an actual beauty pageant? For teenage girls, with an audience of mostly guys? That was creepy. Again, it usually got a pass since it was voluntary, but a certain new teacher just had to get her hands on the controls. She cranked it all the way up from ‘off-putting’ to ‘what were you thinking?’ Not that most of the crowd complained. “Man, we scored this year!” “I know, right? Yukiko-chan and Risette? I think the universe is paying us all back for how sucky this year started!” “Hey, quiet down! You really want Narukami to know you’re eyeing up his girlfriend?” Even if they weren’t vocal about doing so (and setting aside that Rise wasn’t his girlfriend ), Yu knew. He knew without actively trying to read the crowd. They acted like any other audience for the ‘Miss’ Pageant, but now that it was real women who were coming to the stage, he felt like the sheer weight of their combined stares should have pressed its boards into wood pulp. Sex sells. Plain and simple. He knew a few brokers who’d have all of Yasogami by their wallets in an hour if they had the chance. Surprisingly, there were more than a few girls in the audience, too. It looked to be about a third, by Yu’s estimate. None of them were staring down the stage with the same slack-jawed demeanor as the guys, so he ruled out the possibility of them being a gay crowd covertly expressing their orientation. What could they be hoping to get out of this? He tried to tune into a group of them talking nearby. They had the decency to whisper properly, but with a little effort, he could still make out what they were saying. “You’re kidding, right? It’s not even a fair fight. Kashiwagi is going to get her butt handed back to her.” “Yeah, but like, by who? Sure, Risette is popular and all, but Amagi is a local legend. You know, that stupid Amagi Challenge?” Ah. That explained it. From the looks of things, Kashiwagi had earned a great deal of scorn. Rise was her main target, but any girl who had a mote of popularity was fair game for her ridicule. No one was going to openly call out a teacher, though. The next best thing? Watching her go up in smoke against the student body she tried to lord over. Yu occupied himself with his idle observations and eavesdropping. Much could be learned if you were willing to drift into the background and listen. Parsing out the din of a hundred overlapping conversations wasn’t quite as relaxing as sinking in the babbling of a river, especially the Samegawa, but it beat letting his mind roam on memories best left buried. “Say, wasn’t Shirogane signed up, too?” “Wait, what? The Detective Prince, that Shirogane!?” Hmm. There was a new thread from one of the women clusters . Yu tilted his head just so. Enough to hear them more closely, but not so much as to make them suspect him. “ I heard someone put her name on the board, and Kashiwagi wouldn’t let her drop it.” “Ugh, that’s horrible… But, she does have a mysterious charm to her. Think she could take the win?” In the span of a sentence, their thoughts turned from empathy to examining it as another part of the act. Disgusting. “Hmm… I don’t know. She hides so much under that big coat, and looking around, I think most of the votes here will be looking for a fuller figure.” “I guess so. She’ll have to show what’s under that thing for the swimsuit part, though. She might surprise us.” That was when it became harder to hear them. Not because the chat ended, nor because they lowered their voices, but because the tapping of Kanji’s foot drowned them out. He was staring at the back of the next seat, his hands locked together over his mouth. The look in his eyes was one of rabid anxiety. “Just had to be a swimsuit part. Would’ve been fine if she could stay in her coat, but no, they’re making her do that shit.” He must’ve been overhearing them, too. Knowing Kanji, it was gnawing at him all day, and them talking about it in earshot made those thoughts even more ravenous. “What pinhead thought that was a good idea?” Yu couldn’t do much to assuage Kanji’s worries directly, but he could probably help derail them for a few moments. “Hanako.” His voice was a puff of air, only holding his words long enough for himself and Kanji to hear them. “She and Kashiwagi talk a lot. I overheard them brainstorming ways to show up the others, and Hanako said that Rise might use some fancy idol costumes to ‘trick,’ her words, the guys into thinking she’s pretty. It was a short jump from there to taking away the clothes advantage as much as possible.” “...Yeah, that makes sense.” Kanji brought his thumbs up to massage the bridge of his nose. It was like his brain was having indigestion at the thought. “And, sure as shit, Kashiwagi couldn’t help herself when she realized she could make guys look at her in the next smallest thing to underwear.” As quickly as the fires in him were stoked, they simmered down, leaving Kanji once more as a wildly crackling mess. In any other setting, Yu would have applauded him for not lingering on his anger to cope. Considering what he was stuck on instead, though, it wouldn’t have been the best timing. Maybe he could bring it up later, depending on how this went. Any further need for distraction ended with the heavy clack of stage lights. Conversations sped up to finish their final thoughts, then died out. From stage left, the announcer emerged, refreshed and ready to rumble. He left the goofy pink wig behind, letting his short, windswept hair breathe. He kept the sunglasses and bow tie, though, which was understandable. Those bright lights could do a number on the eyes, and the bow kept some heat off his neck. Maybe he skipped the wig specifically because it was getting too stuffy. Even with the pink streak gone, his voice still bounced with pep . “ Welcome back to the show, everyone! I hope you saved some energy, because now, it’s time for the Miss Yasogami Pageant!” As the crowd went wild, Chie stared out from stage right. She knew how it must have looked when she stormed off for the dressing room with all that thunder, but now that she was actually at the show itself, her heels were quickly going cold. “So… This is how it looked for those guys, huh? It, uh… It’s really something...” “ It’s okay, Chie. Focus on your breathing.” Rise was doing just that, honing in on the methodical rise and fall of her chest. Besides that, she was as cool as a summer breeze. “Remember what I showed you for the concert and you’ll be just fine.” “This isn’t like the concert, though.” Even as Yukiko tried to follow Rise’s advice, she couldn’t help the unease welling up inside her. How her Shadow managed to flaunt for a camera before, she would never know. “Everyone there was having fun with us. Now, they’re the only ones having fun.” “Butterflies in you stomach? What a shame.” Well, them and a few key others. Whenever Kashiwagi deigned her competition worthy of her attention, her gaze was always laced with bitter cruelty. She rarely shied from baring her fangs, but now, in the dark where no one else could see her, the real ugliness of her heart bloomed like bouquet of hemlock. But then, you couldn’t have a bouquet with only one flower. Enter Hanako. “It’s no fun to beat someone that’s not even trying. Why not let them run away? Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long to win. ” Her own taunts were so funny to her that she went into a fit of mocking laughter, broken up by labored snorts for air. That sound. That gasping, croaking sound set the hairs on the back of Chie’s neck to rise. She remembered all too well when that pig’s snoring kept her from sleeping. When she was driven so mad that she risked expulsion just to get away from it. Suddenly, whatever she was worried about went out the window. It was a whole lot easier for her to focus when she was pissed off. “And before we forget, let’s welcome our guest judge for the evening, Mr. Teddie!” The announcer stepped aside, letting the winner of the last pageant take his rightful place. When he reached the stage, the real reason why the announcer wasn’t wearing that wig came to light. It was sitting proudly on top of Teddie’s head. He had even personalized it, moving the rose bro o ch from his shirt up to the side of his new afro, right where the pick would have been sticking out in an old disco video. He was dancing the part as well, sliding on stage with his arms spinning around each other and his head bobbing. The crowd ate it up, cheering and laughing almost as much as when he won that spot in the first place. “Thank you all for the warm welcome! But, I’m sure we have something even hotter , right?” “That we do, my friends!” The announcer pulled out a handful of cards, fanning himself off with them as he continued. “Yasogami is a land of beauties, and a handful of them have come here today to prove they’re the best of the best!” Right. They ‘came’ here, Naoto thought to herself. Much like how lions and tigers ‘came’ to the zoo. She was glad she could disappear behind the dueling egos backstage, but how long would that last in front of a crowd? She could only hope. Her hopes fizzled as the announcer began to read his list. “First up is the mysterious transfer student, of the first-year’s class one, Miss…!” “ Hey! ” Naoto jumped from one shock to another as any and all pretense of civility fell from Kashiwagi like a musty coat. She glared from behind the curtain with murderous intent at the student who dared place someone ahead of her. He was paralyzed by her interjection, which was surely heard beyond the stage as well, but he was thrown back into gear when she tapped at her nonexistent watch. He cleared his throat, hastily shuffled through his cards, and began again. Much to Naoto’s relief, she saw her card had been relegated to the bottom of the deck. “ My bad, folks. What I meant to say was, our first contestant is, naturally, the very first brave beauty who answered our call...” Even spooked into compliance, that announcer tilted the show in his favor, albeit subtly. Kashiwagi couldn’t see the way he rolled his eyes from behind him, but the audience in front of him caught it loud and clear. Kanji seemed to enjoy it, breaking out of his spiraling panic to crack a grin. “That ain’t helping her vote, is it?” Teddie ran to the other end of the stage, leaving one judge on each side. “The terrific teacher here to tutor the tots thereafter…!” And like that, Kanji lost his grin. In fact, he was downright bewildered. “Senpai, when and why the Hell did you teach that bear sarcasm?” “Wasn’t me.” Yu lifted his palms in surrender, a light chuckle breezing out with the claim. “He probably picked it up from Yosuke.” “Kashiwagi-sensei!” Oh, now that was interesting, Yu thought. Both of the judges said her name, but he noticed that Teddie only mouthed the honorific. He didn’t actually call her ‘sensei.’ Of course, Kashiwagi herself didn’t notice as she strutted to the stage, much to the tepid cheers of the audience. She must have filled in the missing clamor herself, as she didn’t drop her sexier-than-thou demeanor. “ Good afternoon, my dear students. Are you ready for a special lesson ?” The crowd’s response was superficially positive, but behind the polite clapping and the one-or-two people who actually liked her act, a few guys muttered what they really thought. “Yep, just like having class with her.” “She really thinks she knows what we like, doesn’t she?” “You know, setting aside how she’s twice our age.” “Eh, if it were only that...” Any and all praise, no matter how watered down it was, got soaked up by the dry sponge of Kashiwagi’s heart. She basked under the stage lights as a sunflower, tilting her head back in a haughty laugh. Yukiko rolled her eyes, but Rise was using hers diligently. “Hey, look, I can see her crow’s feet.” “Finally, someone else noticed those things!” “Ah, how wonderful to have such adoring fans.” Kashiwagi was deaf to criticism, turning to the backstage with an invitational wave. “Hanako, dear, come here and feel the love.” “Okay, Ms. Kashiwagi!” The announcer put on a brave face, but he visibly withered inside as the reins of his show were yanked from his hands. He sighed away from the microphone before attempting to cover the usurpation. “And here comes our second contestant, from the second-year class three, Hanako-chan!” He decided to skip the gag portion of his written notes. He had an intense premonition that there would be enough of an introduction already. The mild applause refreshed for the second coming, and... “Hey, you like what you see!?” ...Yep, there it was. The two of them waved out to the crowd, but the way they held their noses up said that the cheering, no matter how much they enjoyed it, was to be expected. It was only natural for them to be showered with all the attention they wanted. Teddie stood in the wings for a few moments, glancing between them and their ‘adoring’ public. Kanji happened to glance over just as an idea struck the pink-haired bear. For a brief second, he swore up and down that it looked like an assassin closing in with a knife. It was gone before he could commit it to memory, leaving him to wonder if he hadn’t just imagined the unadulterated malice in their softest member’s face. “Wow, you two are positively glowing!” Teddie was acting all happy and bouncy, like usual. Maybe Kanji was mistaken after all. Just as he was shaking the fever dream, though, he saw a glint of steel in Ted’s eyes. And his smile was a little too wide, a little too sharp. Hungry. “Is our humble pageant all you hoped it would be?” “Yes, it’s lovely!” Kashiwagi preened on, unaware of Teddie’s piercing stare. “Stars can only shine their brightest on the right stage. And this, hmhm, is the perfect stage for us.” “Everyone knew we were great before, but now we can show them our best!” “Too true, Hanako, too true!” Kashiwagi laughed into her hand, winking coyly at the students. “I only hope our bright selves haven’t blinded everyone. Otherwise they won’t even see the other… contestants.” Further back in the audience, many openly winced at the claim. She was trying to mask her contempt for girls who weren’t her or her bootlickers, but it wasn’t working. Everyone already knew she thought at least one of them was ‘jailbait.’ Kanji wasn’t surprised, but he was disgusted nonetheless. “Someone should tell her she ain’t in a swimsuit yet. Way too early for this much bare ego.” As Kanji shook his head, he noticed that Yu was smirking. He relaxed in his seat like he was thoroughly engrossed in the show. “Senpai, don’t you see this shit every day? Why’s it got you hooked now?” “Did you notice Teddie?” It was almost like Yu had marched right on by the question, but Kanji trusted him to not be so dismissive. He must’ve been going somewhere with this. “You mean how he looked like he was gonna jump her and slit her throat?” “That, and what he said. Did he ask them to gloat?” “Uh, no. The question was kinda… normal, I guess. Just what they thought about the...” That’s when it clicked. Kanji was left staring as he stumbled into what caught Yu’s attention. “What they thought about the pageant. And those two think it’s an excuse to show off.” “A classic trap.” Yu wished he had brought some popcorn. This was turning out to be quite the spectacle. “Hand someone else the shovels, and let them start digging. Leaves them holding all the dirt.” “...Again, what the Hell are you teaching this bear?” “More than I thought, obviously.” “I hope you’re having fun so far, but we’re just getting started!” The announcer sprung in as soon as there was a lull in their dialogue. He didn’t lose his last show to Bara-Monroe or the Ice Queen, and he wasn’t about to lose it to two girls who didn’t know a high school pageant from a red carpet event. “Our third contestant is a firebrand from the second-year class two. Many unlucky guys out there know her well as the hot-tempered dragon guarding one fair maiden’s heart.” “Wha- Is that what they all think of me!?” She could have played ignorant, but Chie saw recognition run in streams through the crowd. In fact, she could remember a couple of those faces particularly well. She knew Yosuke’s would be among them if he had been there. “Introducing Chie Satonaka! Come on out, Chie!” “You’ve got this.” Yukiko saw her off with a smile and a firm fist pump. “You wooed me without even trying, so those guys should be a breeze.” Ha. Good to see Yukiko could look back and laugh. If nothing else, Chie could call that a victory. She still felt the thrums of pressure as she made to present, something Rise couldn’t ignore. “Remember. Just breathe, and keep your eyes on the prize.” Right. The prize. As Chie made her way to center stage, followed by the gaze of a cheering crowd, she saw Kashiwagi and Hanako all but looking down their noses at her. Those smug jerks. Her temper flared, and the frost of caution melted from her steps. Those two were her opponents here, no one else. It was hard to think that way when she faced the crowd to introduce herself. Suddenly, it was like staring into the headlights of a passenger plane as it came crashing down on her head. Just as she was about to lose her cool, Teddie jumped in and blotted out a solid quarter of the staring student body. “Welcome to the show, Chie-chan! Are you as fired up as the other girls here?” Chie felt a pang of familiarity in how he said that. It was almost like when he was the one watching over their battles. He used that exact tone of voice when pointing out enemy weaknesses. Was that what he was doing, pointing out the gap in their enemy’s defenses? Because, it was kind of working. She was about to retreat into her shell, but she couldn’t beat them if she shrank in on herself now! No way! Teddie won his way into that wig by being bolder than the rest, and if Chie couldn’t muster up more guts than a red-and-blue pretty boy bear, what kind of fighter was she!? “You bet I am!” She snarled through her grin and spat smoke as she pointed defiantly into the crowd. “If you think you’re getting close to anyone else up here with me around, you’ve got another thing coming!” They wanted to call her a vicious dragon? Fine. Then she’d give them what they wanted! Those knights she struck down as they ventured after Yukiko’s attention saw their old foe return, and while some slumped into their seats at the sting of old wounds, many others chose to laugh and clap. “Hey, from way over here, isn’t her attitude kind of charming?” “I get what you mean. Now that she’s not barking after us, she’s like a… scrappy underdog taking on Kashiwagi.” Kanji overheard them, and he shook his head. “They’re just happy she’s taking on someone they don’t like this time.” Still, Kanji looked on at Chie’s vigor with no small amount of respect. She was owning her reputation well. “Woo, it’s getting hot up here! How could we possibly make it hotter?” The energy was spiraling up around the stage. From Teddie, to Chie, and now back to the announcer. He signaled a pass to the audience as he launched the hot potato like a fastball. “How about with the princess this dragon’s been keeping to herself? Freed from the tallest tower to walk among the peasants, it’s Yukiko Amagi of the second-year class two!” The crowds were especially loud as the potato detonated in their fingers. Kanji covered his ears so he wasn’t deafened by the verbal blast. “Damn, they really have a thing for Yukiko-senpai.” “Clearly.” He and Yu shared a look. They weren’t about to out her aloud, but they knew what they were both thinking. ‘Too bad she doesn’t have a thing for them.’ “Okay, you deal with people all the time. Just like hostessing at the Inn.” Yukiko breathed in, and when it came out, it was like a robe being draped over her. Her head was straight forward, and her steps were short and even. Rise nodded approvingly. “Pulling inspiration from different places, nice! That’s how you give people a one-of-a-kind act.” “I-is that so?” It was probably too late to be asking herself, but did Naoto have any transferable skill sets like that? Professional interviews, no matter how sensationalized, differed a bit too much. As did her elementary school keyboard concerts, or the full concert she played in a few scant weeks ago. As Naoto let herself get lost down another whirlpool of half-baked solutions, Yukiko entered the light to overwhelming applause. The hands she had crossed in front of her tightened their grip slightly, but beyond that, she held off any visible reaction. Teddie noticed this, as well as the distinct manner she portrayed herself. She settled into her spot on the stage, and he was there to greet her. “Thank you for gracing us this evening, Amagi-chan. And, might I say, your complexion is dazzling in these stark lights. Is this the famous Amagi Inn hot springs at work?” “Yes, it is.” Yukiko let her cheeks relax and tick up in the most subdued of smiles. “The warm mineral water is relaxing and cleansing. If you’re ever in the area, please give us a visit.” She bent down in a smooth bow, and as she came up, the waves of her hair trailed gently along. She was as the river, aloof, yet mesmerizing in her grace. The crowd more than made up for her own lack of zeal, their cheering redoubled. This was the Yukiko Amagi so many of them pined for. Distant, but almost within reach, like a spirit dancing in the mist. Yu almost had to laugh. It was like watching sailors telling each other about the mermaids they saw at sea. Yukiko was playing the part of the legend they wanted swimmingly. And, at the same time, she was weaving in endorsements for her family’s business. It was a class act, one he would have to compliment her on later. And Ted for catching onto it, of course. “Thank you very much for the invitation, Yukiko-chan! It sounds like a lovely time.” The announcer gave away a hint of his burgeoning excitement as he saw who was on his next card. He cleared his throat, then launched back into the performance with enthusiasm to spare. “Now, we’ve seen the fire and finesse of our very own Inaba, but how will it hold up against the best that Japan at large has to offer? Please, put your hands together for Rise Kujikawa!” Some small part of Yu noticed that he failed to mention which class she was from. But then, no one really needed to have who Rise was clarified. They all knew her. The auditorium was already sounding like one of her normal venues with the racket that the guys were raising. The girls largely sighed and rolled their eyes at the idol fever, though a few joined in on the fun. His attention returned to the stage just in time to see Rise skipping up front. She was waving both hands in quick, sweeping greetings, making sure they faced every direction at least once. It was a small way of making the audience feel like she was aware of, and grateful to, each and every person in attendance even though her eyes were closed. A way to keep the initial burst of those stage lights from blinding her and making her wince, most likely. “Hi-hi! My name’s Rise Kujikawa!” Ah, ‘my name is’ instead of ‘I am.’ She was acting as if this was her first appearance, her chosen response providing her name instead of assuming people already knew it. No subtlety of the kind cut back on just how loud the crowd was at her entrance, but it implicitly undercut the idea that she was at all conceited in her fame. “I’ve only been in town a little while, but it’s a great place and I’m one hundred percent thrilled to be here!” Now, that was how you endeared yourself to people. Where Kashiwagi’s introduction felt like she expected them to like her already, Rise’s went out of its way to make them feel special even though they actually liked her from the get-go. Or, more aptly, that was part of the reason why people liked her. She never forgot she was there for them, not the other way around. It was a shame the structures built up around idolhood wore her down so much, Yu thought. She was a natural talent. Some investors just didn’t know how to properly care for a good thing when they found it. Short-sighted pricks. When Rise opened her eyes, her gaze happened to link with Yu’s. There was an initial thrust of shame in how obvious he made it that he was looking right at her. After everything he had put her through these last few months? But then, she smiled a little wider. Almost imperceptibly so. A wave of warmth washed over Yu’s heart, and for a little while, he felt clean again. Mother always warned him about girls like her. They knew how to entice your fortune right out of your pocket, and you wouldn’t even know it until you were looking at her from the other side of a divorce hearing. Well, Mother-dearest could go choke on her fortune. Yu was actually happy here. In fact, he was so happy that he didn’t notice time pass as the announcer thanked Rise and she moved back into line with everyone else. He only snapped out of it when Kanji elbowed him in the ribs. “Earth to La La Land, you there Senpai?” He had a wry grin on his mug, and a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Yu felt the pink rising to his cheeks. “Yes. I am. Sorry, don’t know what happened.” “Sure you don’t.” Yu hadn’t felt this short on words for several months. But to Naoto, it was a new experience entirely. No matter how she twisted the pieces, she couldn’t find a way out of this predicament. And now, standing alone backstage, she knew her luck was running dry. The flap of shuffling note cards filled her with dread. “Now that we’ve seen the beauty, here comes the brains. An enigma stalking the murky streets, she’s stepping into broad daylight for all to see!” While Naoto respected the creativity behind her introduction, it felt like a handful of mud being slapped in her face. Her supposed brains weren’t doing her much good. Their gears were clogged by all this filth. “Next is the mysterious transfer student, of the first-year’s class one, Ms. Naoto Shirogane!” Her waning pride was a bitter lump to swallow as she shuffled out of her vestigial cover. The trench behind her, she was left to face the booming cheers and piercing gazes of no man’s land. They were staring at her, picking her apart like maggots chewing through a rabbit’s corpse. She sank deep in the shame, hiding behind the flaps of her coat’s neckline. It didn’t do much to cover up her missing hat, however. Normally, the longest strands of her hair were tucked up so that it didn’t surpass her chin. Now, the navy blue locks flowed free, rolling down almost to her shoulders. That one gap in her disguise shattered the illusion of androgyny she carefully constructed. She stood on that stage, undeniably, as a girl, and most everyone down below watched her with certain expectations. One smart guy noticed how unsettled Naoto was, and he found a devilish grin. A pair of fingers lifted up to his lips. He took a deep breath. He was ready to blast the high and mighty Detective Prince with the whistle to end all catcalls. A sharp slap to the back of his head made all the air whump out of him like a broken whoopie cushion. He spun around in his seat, ready to give the bastard who hit him a piece of his mind. All that rage froze in his throat when he saw the scowl chiseled onto Kanji’s face. There was murder in those eyes. The would-be catcaller slowly turned around, sat down, and tried to make himself look as small and meaningless as possible. The exchange slipped past Naoto’s notice. Her field of view was fuzzy at best, like her brain was preemptively repressing the experience. She couldn’t see any single person, but she was sharply aware of their combined presence. It was one thing to be watched by a normal studio audience for a news broadcast. It was another for that audience to be all but picking the clothes off her with their eyes. She was crushed under the weight of their hungry expectations. Her voice could only escape as a mouse-like squeak. “H-Hello. I’m… Naoto Shirogane.” Her normal tone was unfamiliar on her tongue. It was physically easier to speak, but mentally, it hacked at her confidence with every letter. This wasn’t what the person she wanted to be sounded like. Not at all. A detective spoke with confidence, not demure resignation. She felt her stomach churning… “It’s great to have you here, Shirogane-san.” She was shocked when one person came into clear view. Teddie was as goofy looking as ever with that wig on, but the way he spoke was more measured than usual. Loud and performative, but not immature. It was a few paces closer to the sort of announcer she was used to conversing with. “If you don’t mind me saying, though, you seem a little high strung at the moment. Let me guess, work’s been rough?” Oh thank God. A professional topic. And it came bundled with an excuse for how reclusive she was behaving. What little control she had left over herself immediately piloted the rest of her shambling meat suit to follow that thread. “To put it lightly. I was up late… investigating a robbery.” The thing that was stolen being her self-respect. Oh, look, she found a few grains of it. She would need that in a bit. “Crime never sleeps. And neither do I, apparently.” Okay, she sounded like a narcoleptic Batman, but it was preferable to sounding like a curvy airhead. She could stomach this result. “I think I speak for everyone when I say, thank you for your service.” The announcer filled in for her lacking energy, tipping over in a bow so low that one of his legs lifted off the ground behind him. “And for finding the time to join our show! We’ll have some coffee waiting for you during intermission.” She gave him a halfhearted nod of acknowledgment before scurrying to the end of the lineup. She was still visible, but much less so in the shadows of more popular girls. Rise leaned over an inch and whispered. “You’re doing great. Just one more part to get through and we’re done.” “Perhaps.” Now that she was allowed to breathe again, Naoto was reminded of how hard her heart was pounding. Her chest was being repeatedly battered by a drumstick. “But it’s the next part I’m dreading most.” “And with that, all six uniquely beautiful contestants are on stage!” The announcer stepped up to the forefront, conveniently standing right in front of Naoto. His blessing, though, came with a curse. “But sit tight, because this year, there’s a twist! By the suggestion of one enthusiastic sponsor, the Miss Yasogami Pageant will now feature a swimsuit competition!” He held out the microphone expectantly, but the rebound added was only a drop in the bucket next to the earth-shattering cheers leased by his ravenous crowd. Caught in the middle of it, Kanji’s anger was left to simmer. “Don’t these idiots know there’s swimsuit shit all over the net for free?” “Rule one of adult entertainment; the market doesn’t bloat. People always want more.” “Fucking animals.” The announcer took back his mic with a flourish, nearly yelling to be heard. “We’ll take a short break while our contestants change. Don’t go anywhere, because the show will go on in just ten minutes! After you, ladies.” “Let’s go, Hanako-chan. It’s time to sweep these pretenders off their feet.” “Hehe, yeah!” Hanako was close on Kashiwagi’s heels, the two sustaining each other’s egos as their ‘adoring’ public was left in the dust. “Grr… Still hate them. Hate them SO much.” Chie hoped they choked on their chortles. Yukiko walked by, her aloof act creaking open as the mics went silent. “Just stick it out a little longer. It’ll be great to watch them eat their words, right?” “Oh it better be. If I go through all of this and don’t get a front row seat to it blowing up in their faces, I’ll blow up!” “Don’t worry, you’ll get that seat, Chie-senpai.” Rise winked as she passed. “Those two think that slapping on a swimsuit and jiggling a bit is enough. There’s a technique to this sort of thing, though. You want some tips?” Naoto was the last girl on stage, trudging along behind the rest. Every second under the harsh lights was draining her, and soon, her skin would be exposed to its searing rays. She glanced out at the audience one last time, knowing that they would eat her alive anew in a few short minutes. But she didn’t see the wide, faceless mob this time. Instead, she somehow found herself looking right at Kanji. He was staring down at the row in front of him with a scowl. When he looked up and saw her, his expression softened. He gave all the sympathy he had to her in that exchange, and sealed it with a low thumb-up. It was a small gesture, and she only saw it for a second before slinking into the dark backstage again, but any assurance was welcome. At least there was one person down in that pit who was on her side in all this.   -   The first thing Naoto did when she got to her makeshift changing room was throw her coat over the mirror. The curtains hung up around her kept anyone else from seeing her, and now, she couldn’t see herself. It was a comfort that couldn’t last long. She kept her eyes level as she changed from there. The most she saw was her exposed shoulders. Even with these layers of defense, when she picked up her… stage outfit, she shuddered at the sheer lack of layers. It was the best Rise could find in her size, though. That woman was infuriating sometimes, but if she could have found a more reserved option, she would have gotten it for Naoto. Junes didn’t stock school-sanctioned one-piece swimsuits. All they had were bikinis. And for Naoto’s size, there wasn’t anything available with longer skirts like Yukiko’s, nor concealing sportswear like Chie’s. It was just a pair of cups and brief bottom piece. It might as well have been waterproof underwear. At least it was a flattering color. Dark blue, a cool, calming shade. Maybe she could hide in the dark of the stage yet. It wasn’t too uncomfortable to put on or wear either. The bottom didn’t cut into her skin, and the top was supportive enough without squeezing excessively. Oh joy, so she could use the full capacity of her lungs to hyperventilate when everyone started staring at her. That was just wonderful. No, really. Next she’ll get the choice of what knife to plunge into her own heart. She was in her swimsuit relatively quickly. It was on before anyone else. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave the booth from there. She sat in front of the coat-blocked mirror and shut down. She would hold onto whatever privacy she could get for as long as she could keep it, because after this, her body would be an open secret. What privacy could she get when everyone had seen her stripped down like this? The classroom door opened and closed a few times. The others were finishing up. Soon, the excuses would run out. Their footsteps grew quieter and quieter, until only one set remained in the room with her. The last one left came close to her booth. “Are you okay? Do you need help? Or, someone to talk to?” Rise’s voice was soft and worried. She must have thought Naoto was blacking out again, just like when they found out about the involuntary sign up. “I’m roughly as okay as I can be, given the circumstances. And the… swimsuit wasn’t difficult to put on. Thank you for helping me find this one.” “No problem. I’m always here if you need me.” She didn’t sound convinced that Naoto was alright. Naoto wasn’t much convinced either. “So, how do you think you look?” “I don’t know. I covered the mirror.” “Ah. I see.” A silly question, but not one she could really be blamed for. “Shows like this suck, right? They call it a beauty pageant, but the judges are always narrow-minded about what looks good or not. People have different tastes. The girls in them have different tastes.” Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say. In Naoto’s experience, it was a quote that everyone knew, but that very few used earnestly. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do with this small talk, Rise, but it’s only delaying the inevitable.” “I’m actually trying to make a point!” Rise took a breath to gather herself, then she continued. “That narrow view I mentioned, it hurts a lot more than just girls in pageants. People think that a girl trying to look good anywhere is vain, or stupid, or some crap like that. It’s people who think like that who made you so worried about being seen as a girl at all. Right?” “...You could say so, yes.” The sting of exclusion was still fresh. It always would be, she feared. If it was between her and Rise, maybe she could open up about it. “In an isolated sector such as law enforcement, people look for whatever they can to discredit newcomers. The cards were already stacked against me, since they saw my name and age and thought I was just some brat parading around in my parents’ shoes. If they saw me as a girl on top of that, or saw anything about me that so much as hinted that I wasn’t serious… I never would have made it this far. Doors would have slammed shut.” “I realize that linking all of it to just my gender was a mistake on my part, that they still saw me as a brat and excluded me anyway… But...” “But you’re still afraid that them seeing you as anything but the Detective Prince will make you lose everything you’ve worked for.” Naoto didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Rise had hit the nail on the head, and it hurt. “...You see what I mean? They look at a girl being a girl and see stuff like this. Beauty pageants and skimpy outfits. But people are more than just that. I mean, do you look at me and just see some dumb idol?” “No… I see someone with a passion for making people feel better. Someone who has worked hard to get where she is.” Naoto crossed her arms on her desk, and she glanced back with a small, wry smile. “And I see a devil who enjoys pressing people’s buttons a little too much.” “You’re dang right!” It was good to laugh. Naoto spent enough of her life not being able to do that. “What I’m trying to say is, people will always try to put you into boxes you don’t belong in. You can let them, you can try to make them put you in a different box… Or, you can be yourself. Anyone whose opinion is worthwhile will see you for who you really are. You think someone will really look at your record, at all the crooks you’ve caught, and throw it all away just because you’re a girl? Only an idiot would do that.” Rise’s idea sounded… nice. Utopian, even. But, it felt too out of reach. “That’s easier said than done, you know. After all the repression I’ve undergone, I can’t even look at myself without feeling sick. Let alone allowing anyone else to see more than my face.” “And that is why I’m making you an offer.” A note of determination hit Rise’s tone, a sharp pang of confidence that made Naoto listen. “Like I said before, everyone has their own tastes in looks. This showy swimsuit stuff? Obviously not you, but it’s what you’ve been forced into thinking a girl should look like. It’s what all those kids out there think looks good. But I want to help you find what you think looks good.” Naoto nearly laughed again, but much more pointedly. “Are you genuinely trying to help me… with a makeover?” “Hey, laugh all you want, but I’m serious.” Rise turned around, leaving with one last pearl of wisdom. “The first step in making others accept you is being able to accept yourself. And I know one of the first times I was ever able to accept myself, was the first time I could look in the mirror and like what I see. Everyone deserves that much.” Rise tapped away after that, the door closing behind her with finality. Naoto was left alone with her thoughts, and Rise’s thoughts. She spoke a lot of truth. Being buried in unfair expectations was a sad fact of life. Responding to them somehow came naturally, either by sinking into them or actively refuting them. What kind of person would it take to march through them without a second thought? ‘Haven’t we been screwed over by stuff like that enough?’ Kanji’s advice arose as briskly as it first arrived. Rules that weren’t even rules… Boxes that you were filtered into without reason… Those things were linked. Naoto was preemptively sorted out as a bratty little girl, and bratty little girls, they decided, didn’t deserve respect as a detective. It was a straightforward claim. If X, then Y. But the statement was flawed. Despite being a girl, Naoto had filled the role of her station. She was among the few who knew the supernatural bent of the Inaba murders. She was closer than anyone to finding the killer. She was a Shirogane, through-and-through, not just some brat dumped into the name by circumstance. They couldn’t call her a brat and retain their respect, so they would call out her womanhood instead. And yet, she wasn’t a brat either. Neither the root of their disrespect nor the smokescreen meant to cover it held water. It was all a fallacious cycle of self-aggrandizement to which they meant to sacrifice her for their precious status quo. And she had allowed it to chew her up, to mangle her view of herself. She had allowed them to create shame in the idea of being anything less than perfect. In the idea of simply being herself. She looked up at the covered mirror, and with a dry gulp, she reached towards it. Her fingers were heavy. Her bones were leaden weights. Her heart pounded, and her lungs tried to make her take in air to compensate, but she forced her breathing to remain slow and constant. She wouldn’t fuel the trepidation of her heart, and when it burned through its fuel, it slowed. She reached the coat. And she pulled it down. The face staring back at her wasn’t some monster. It wasn’t repulsive, no matter what the wheezing of her stomach said. It was just a face. Her own face, bordered by her own hair. The tips of it laid daintily on her collarbone, coming to little blue curls as they rested. She lifted her heavy hand and made her stiff fingers run through it. Her hair was soft and smooth all the way down. She let her fingertips linger at the curled ends of her hair, rolling it between them. These longer strands, that she had hidden for so long, were still pleasant to the touch. She took in the shape of her face, too. Now that it wasn’t tucked between a high collar and a low cap, she noticed that the sides of her head were gently curved. They paired well with the long strands of hair running beside them. This was the first time she had looked at herself so directly since she was twelve, at least. When did her features become so… soft? And yet, when she looked at her eyes, her gaze wasn’t any less attentive. They flicked to every minute detail, finding and exploring the curves and bumps of her appearance with studied ease. The thoughts in her head didn’t suddenly cloud, either. If anything, having something brand new to examine like this was a treat to her inquisitive mind. No matter what she looked like, nor what she registered as how she looked, she was still the same Naoto inside. She was still the Detective Prince. She was still a Shirogane. But then, that was about as far as she was willing to explore at the moment. She noticed that she was holding her coat in a way that hid anything below her neck from view. She wasn’t ready to see that particular aspect of herself just yet. Exposure therapy worked best in increments. It was for the best anyway. This swimsuit, she decided, was absolutely not for her. And why was she wearing it? Just to appease the ego of one powerless teacher? Did Kashiwagi think her fair game just because she was, technically, a girl with notoriety? The same narrow box she stuffed Rise and Yukiko into? Ludicrous. Simply ludicrous. Her internal ranting was interrupted by a knock on the classroom door. It didn’t open, but a voice came through it instead. She recognized him as one of the stagehands for the pageant. “Excuse me, Shirogane-chan? The show is about to start. Is everything alright?” Naoto took one more look at herself in the mirror. She looked into her eyes, as if discussing it with herself, then nodded in agreement. “Yes, everything is fine. Tell them to run the show without me.” “Huh? I mean, the show is already going. Your part is coming up...” “And I have decided to not participate further. I apologize for any inconveniences, but my choice is final.” “Um… Okay. If you say so.” Seeing no way to cut through the awkwardness on his part, the stagehand opted instead to leave it at that. He walked away, Naoto’s resignation in hand. Kashiwagi would certainly take it as a victory. She would think Naoto left because she couldn’t handle competing against her anymore. She could think that as much as she wanted. Naoto truly could not care less. Right then, all she cared about was getting out of that glorified bra and into clothes that were more her taste. Ah, speaking of taste, she forgot all about her coffee. It was cold, but she was fine with that. Her eyes were wide open.   -   Rise skipped back into the line, her feet kicking up to obscure just enough of her backside to keep anyone from getting too clear a view of her butt. A professional tease was a delicate balance of what was and wasn’t shown. It wasn’t easy to strike that happy middle without an editor splicing film, but Rise knew enough to get close to the mark all on her own. She tried to impart that knowledge onto Chie and Yukiko, but the two still felt wildly out of their depths sandwiched between a trained idol, two clearly untrained attention seekers, and a whole lot of hungry glares. Yukiko’s distanced act was looking more and more like an unevenly painted daruma doll. She wished they hadn’t bothered to paint in her eyes. “How did you keep up with stuff like this every day?” “I didn’t.” Rise kept her happy-go-lucky demeanor outwardly shining while her voice hissed like a deflating balloon. “Now you see why I dropped being an idol.” “...Yeah, I definitely understand.” Rise didn’t lie about how tiring it all was, but at the same time, she sort of missed the thrills that came with the back-breaking work. The hearty applause she got for her performance was a warm broth she had yet to find a substitute for. It was fulfilling to be back in the saddle one more time. “Thank you very much, Risette!” Their announcer was all charged up. One performer’s spirit jump-started another’s, and he was running all the way home with it. “Don’t use up all that excitement just yet, people, because we still have one more beauty to behold!” “Here it comes.” Kanji shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. The guy in front of him jumped on reflex, but it flew under his radar. The only shithead trying something funny now was a teacher, and Kanji couldn’t slap her for it even if he wanted to. He was about half-and-half on that, honestly. Which way he tipped depended on the next few minutes. “You did everything you could. We all did.” Yu hunkered down, his eyes shaded over by the tilt of his head. “Now, we’ll see if it worked.” “Last time, everyone put your hands together for…!” The announcer raised a finger to the sky as if to call down the thunder, but the weatherman was distracted by someone inching out of stage left. A stagehand was barely visible, a hand cupped around his mouth. His whispers scratched the mic. Not even Yu could decipher it. Only the announcer was privy to the details. “Really? You’re sure about that? Okay, okay.” The stagehand vanished, and their host stuttered back into character with a conspicuous cough. “There’s been a small change of plans, unfortunately. It seems Naoto-chan has opted out of this part of the show.” “Ha!” Kashiwagi didn’t need a microphone to be heard all around the room. Her haughty laugh likely crossed the school on its own. “That’s one twerp down, three to go. We’re on a roll, Hanako-chan!” “Huh. Would you look at that.” The tension that had been coiling up in Kanji as a hissing cobra misfired all at once. He didn’t know what to do with the broiling nerves he had been sitting on now. “She actually took my advice. Heh. Who would’ve thought.” Yu let out a sigh, though it wasn’t in relief. It was more like the beep of a bomb being disarmed. The announcer pointed to the back of the auditorium, and other stagehands began passing out slips of paper and pens. “With that, all our contestants have strutted their stuff, but who among them shined the brightest? That’s for you in the audience to decide!” “Make your choice! But keep it a secret!” Teddie huddled with a finger held over his lips. “Where’s the suspense if it isn’t a surprise?” The lead-up was part of the fun, sure, but Yu knew who Kanji was picking. His Kohai didn’t wait a second past getting his ballot to fill it out. Yu took a few seconds more to decide, but this last round sealed his vote rather well. Took guts to show up in a swimsuit. It took more to throw it back in a corrupt despot’s face. Though, he voted with some certainty that his and Kanji’s calls would be little more than cries into the void. Guys showed up wanting skin, and Naoto hadn’t shown them any. He heard a few among them chatting about it against Teddie’s request, and every name on that stage popped up across the board. It was a chorus of unorganized chicken scratch. But then, he noticed that there was much more consistency among the softer tones. His eyebrows lifted with great intrigue. Helpers collected their ballots in a sealed box, and after a few minutes backstage, the results were handed to the announcer on one last slip of paper. “And the votes are in! Hold onto your seats, because this will be winner takes all.” He opened the final tally with a fanciful flourish, though he exposed its face only to himself and Teddie. The latter made quick work of the numbers. “It looks like you fellas out there were in a heated struggle for the top pick. It’s neck-and-neck across the stage for the guys’ votes!” “But for all your struggling, the decision was made by an uproar of support from the ladies. It’s a landslide! We’ve never had a gap like this, people!” Spotlights followed them as they spread to opposite sides of the stage. A drum roll tapped along as they held out for any suspense they could wring from the moment. “Miss Yasogami 2011 is…!” The lights dimmed. Everyone was at the edge of their seats, waiting for one brilliant beam to rain down on the victor. They were all blinded when the whole stage lit up, and the hosts proclaimed, “Miss Naoto Shirogane!” There was much bewilderment to be had. The guys were looking around like a bunch of chickens dumped in an unfamiliar coop. About a sixth of them were left to cheer for their pick, and though Yu and Kanji ranked among them, they held their peace for the moment. Yu in particular found it pleasing to turn his ears on the quiet cheers and high-fives spreading among the girls. He was almost as pleased to see how Kashiwagi and Hanako’s faces withered at the revelation. The dams were breaking. And it seemed Yu’s own prodigy was as keenly aware of it. Teddie took a sidelong look at their devastation, and that evil gleam came back with unsheathed fury. “Yes, her dedication to the detective arts let her steal all your hearts, as the competition falls apart! She might not be here, but if we clap hard enough, she’ll have to hear us anyway! Come on, make some noise for our big winner!” Though many of their votes were for naught, no one in the audience wanted to be a party pooper. They clapped and hooted and hollered per Ted’s orchestration, their exuberance crashing hard against the fragile shores of Kashiwagi’s ego. The dam burst, and as she grit her teeth to hold it in, her frustrations came screaming out as a torrent of tears. “H-how… How… How could I lose a BEAUTY PAGEANT!?” Beside her, Hanako felt no rage. Only crushing defeat. She sobbed and hiccuped as their fantasies shattered around them like so much glass. “Miss Kashiwagi… I-I can’t believe thi-i-is!” “Oh Hanako!” The two receded into their bubble of self-pity, a star imploding into a black hole of despair. With them sucking up all the sadness in the room, Chie snickered in the abundant leftover happiness. “Got stuck in this dumb swimsuit by Yosuke again. Worked myself up for a fight. And we were all beaten by someone who didn’t even show up. That’s… actually pretty funny.” “Shame she wasn’t here to see it herself.” Yukiko watched the high-and-mighty Kashiwagi lose all her bluster as closely as possible. She was going to relay it all to their champion, down to the smallest detail. Meanwhile, Rise could only nod, graceful in defeat. “I knew you had it in you, Naoto.” Yu couldn’t hide his smirk if he tried. All around him, obscured by the clamor of Ted’s calculated assault on their enemies’ weak point, the girls celebrated their victory. This wasn’t just a bunch of people having the same idea on a whim. It was a conspiracy to put a shared enemy in her place, and Naoto was their unwitting ringleader. His mother told him how dangerous a conniving woman could be. Perhaps she wasn’t completely full of it, for once. His eye trailed over to Kanji, who found a good use for his nervous energy. He craned back in his seat, faced up at the heavens, and he laughed. He was a captain at the head of his ship, watching a galleon sink before him. The crown wasn’t his that day, but he sure as Hell felt like the king of the world.

Alicante Academy was an amalgamation of every fancy boarding school shown in movies and on television. The buildings were red brick, the lawns were immaculate Kentucky green, and the uniforms were plagiarized from much older schools in much older countries. The dark gray commemorative plate near the entrance proclaimed the institution’s establishment in 1872. Raphael found his own way to the Administrative Building, accepted a thick stack of paperwork from the woman behind the counter, and followed a senior student named Underhill along winding, gravel pathways to his designated dorm building. “That’s the Science Building,” Underhill said, gesturing to a wide, rectangular box with polarized windows. “You’ll be spending at least half your class hours in there, so try to memorize the floor plan as soon as you can.” His long, pale arm swung in the opposite direction. “Gym’s over there: workout room, Olympic pool, and three halls for indoor activities like tennis, basketball, soccer, archery, kendo, what-have-you. Outdoor courts, track and field, and shooting ranges are behind the chapel on the back forty with the horse stables.” Because of course they have horse stables. Raphael rolled his eyes. He trailed after Underhill who rattled off more orientation stuff, moving rapidly past three or four other buildings before they arrived at the dormitory. “This is Blackthorn Hall, your home for the next two years.”  The building was not what Raphael had expected. It was an old two-story Tudor, whimsical chimneys and all. Triangular gables protruded from the length of the steeply pitched roof, framing diamond-grill casement windows. Craftsman timber on top of old-world masonry. Raphael wanted to puke. Everything about the place was anathema to him. “You’ll get used to it,” Underhill said as if he’d read his mind. His room on the second floor was little more than a shoe box with a twin bed, a desk, and a window. “We don’t do roommates at Alicante,” Underhill explained, “but that means some of the rooms are pretty small, and naturally, seniors get first choice.” “It’s fine.” Raphael wasn’t even lying. He couldn’t care less if they stuck him in a coffin and buried him alive. “Right-o.” Underhill shot him a funny look, but at least he didn’t pry. “Dinner starts at six. Mess hall’s in the Lightwood Building. Don’t be late.” The door closed behind him, leaving Raphael alone with his thoughts. He pulled out his phone. No messages. It was 4:48 pm. He didn’t remember what being hungry felt like. With no interest in anything, and nothing but meaningless time stretching ahead of him, Raphael dropped the suitcase on the bed and walked away. “Hey, are you the new guy?” He fled from the unpleasantly chipper voice behind him, and burst through the pressed wood front door with its fake iron hinges, no idea where to go except out. The gravel pathways extended across the grounds. Raphael followed them for lack of any other kind of direction. The next time he looked up from his feet, he was standing in front of the chapel Underhill had mentioned earlier. It was a small stone building with stained glass windows, a single steeple, and an old copper weather-vane with a bright green patina at the top of its shingled spire. The door at the entrance was thick, actual wood. Dark brown and weathered, it smelled like moss and furniture polish, and the black iron bar handle was worn to a smooth gray shine where people’s hands had grasped it a million times. Raphael curled his fingers around the handle and pulled. The door was heavy. It felt solid and real like nothing else had in days. The church was quiet. His footsteps echoed on the stone floors and the pew creaked in protest when he sat down, halfway between the entrance and the altar. He wasn’t ready to go up there and kneel. He wasn’t ready to talk. So, he sat quietly and looked at the familiar surroundings and tried to remember all the times his father had taken them to Sunday mass. Raphael didn’t remember the first time, of course, because he’d been going from birth.  This was the type of church where they should have held the funeral service. Camille hadn’t even allowed them that dignity. Instead, she’d arranged for a non-denominational service at the funeral home in Connecticut, right next to a bland, beige room with empty caskets. His family’s remains had been cremated within twenty-four hours of arriving at the New York City morgue. A clerical error. Bile rose in Raphael’s throat every time he thought about it. His parents and siblings were dead, burned, gone. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. He should be with them. A heavy hand on his shoulder jolted him awake. Raphael had no idea when he had fallen asleep or what time it was. He looked up into the concerned face of the priest who had woken him. The man was in his thirties. His tight black curls were shorn close to his head and the lower half of his light brown face was covered by a neatly trimmed beard. His bushy brows furrowed, but there was a gentle smile on his wide lips. “I’m sorry to disturb your sleep, son, but I have to lock up for the night.” “What time is it?” Raphael asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Nine-thirty,” the father said. Raphael’s eyes were wide open. He had slept clear through dinner.   “I’m afraid it’s past curfew.” The father stepped back, allowing him to scramble out of the pew. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said honestly. “I have no idea how this happened.” “It’s all right. We all take comfort in the Lord’s presence.” “Yeah.” Raphael swallowed uncomfortably, acutely aware that he had never said a word to God the whole time he’d been here. “Why don’t I take you back to your dorm?” the father offered, motioning toward the door. “I might be able to negotiate some leniency from your Residential Head.” “I couldn’t…” Raphael didn’t deserve leniency, definitely not at the expense of someone else. “Nonsense.” The father placed a hand on his shoulder and ushered him out the door. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t make sure you get back safe.” He paused as if something had just occurred to him. “This is the first time I’ve seen you. You must be a new student. What’s your name?” “Raphael Santiago, Father.” “Raphael,” the father repeated his name with a smile. “The healer.” He locked the door to the church behind them and guided Raphael onto the gravel path that led back to the main building complex. “My name is Victor Aldertree. I’m the school chaplain.” They walked in silence back to Blackthorn House, and Raphael was relieved that Father Aldertree didn’t ask him any questions. The head of Raphael’s dorm was Iris Rouse, a pale, narrow-faced woman with a long nose, thin lips, and a sharp tongue. She was not impressed by his chaperone. “I don’t care if he’s out feeding the homeless or converting people to your cause. Curfew is at 9 pm.” Her gaze moved sharply from Father Aldertree to Raphael. “That’s one demerit.” “Actually,” said Father Aldertree smoothly, “curfew can be extended under special circumstances with permission from a member of the faculty. I have enlisted Raphael to help clean the chapel before closing.” Raphael snapped his head around to look at Father Aldteree, shame slithering down the nape of his neck. The priest had just lied on his behalf. He opened his mouth to protest, but the father cut him off with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Raphael will be needed between the hours of 8:30 and 9:30 pm, Monday through Saturday. Additional hours may be needed on Sundays. I’ll be happy to send you a copy of the permission form.” Ms. Rouse’s eyes narrowed even further as she looked between the two of them. Raphael wasn’t sure she wouldn’t slam the door in their faces until she stepped aside with a derisive sniff. “Make sure you do,” she said. Raphael slipped past her with hunched shoulders and only turned back long enough to throw a grateful look at Father Aldertree who stood on the doorstep as if no evil could touch him. “Good night, Raphael.” “Thank you for your kindness, Father.” The next morning, Raphael dressed in his brand-new uniform for the first time. The arctic green blazer clashed with his dark honey skin tone, and the silver-and-mint striped tie was a backhanded slap in the face of fashion. His itinerary for the day started with a morning assembly in the auditorium of the Lightwood Building at 7:45 am. He found his way to the building in question by following the map in the school's app and the hundreds of students in arctic green blazers that dragged him along like a churning river. The swell pushed up a flight of wide stone steps, divided between two sets of glass double-doors, and spilled into a large entrance hall with granite floors and panoramic windows. Raphael let the stream carry him forward, down a long hallway until they all ended up in an auditorium big enough to sit two hundred people with room to spare. He watched the other students pick seats at random, any rows except the first two directly in front of the stage, and ended up somewhere toward the back, one seat away from the very end of the row close to the sound-proof wall. The hard plastic seats on either side of him were still empty by the time the teachers climbed the steps onto the stage. Raphael breathed a sigh of relief. He allowed himself to relax and draped his arm over the seat on his left. A square-jawed woman in her late fifties, presumably Headmistress Imogen Herondale, stepped up to the high-tech podium at the center of the stage and cleared her throat. Her makeup was too dark for her sallow complexion, and the microphone whined at her first attempt to speak into it. She clearly had trouble moderating her voice.  “Good morning,” she said. Her next words flew right over Raphael’s head because someone slipped into the seat beside him and, in the same liquid motion, snuggled up against his side. “Thanks for saving me a seat, cinna-bun. Did I miss anything important?” The irreverent purr belonged to a lithe boy with golden-brown skin, spiky black hair, and a stunning pair of dark brown cat-eyes. “Whu-um-huh?” Raphael’s brain was having trouble making coherent words. “Pleasure to meet you,” purred the cat-eyed boy. “I’m Magnus. Now, hush, we wouldn’t want to miss what I’m sure is going to be a riveting speech by our merciless leader.” Raphael was too stunned to move when Magnus grabbed his arm, snuggled closer and linked their fingers on his bony shoulder, keeping Raphael trapped in a position that made them look like a couple.  He tried to pull his arm free. Magnus tightened his grip. His skinny fingers were unnaturally warm and strong, and the edges of several rings bit sharply into Raphael’s skin. He relented. Up on the stage, Headmistress Herondale had continued her prepared speech, blissfully ignorant of what was happening in the back rows. “We are here to welcome three new students into our fold: Clarissa Fray, daughter of alumna Jocelyn Fairchild, and Simon Lewis, recipient of the Fairchild scholarship, both from Manhattan, New York, as well as Raphael Santiago from New Haven, Connecticut, whose aunt, Senator Camille Belcourt, has graciously agreed to sponsor our upcoming Fall Formal.” The students cheered. “Ow, ease up on the grip, cinna-bun,” Magnus murmured in his ear. “Miss Fray, Mister Lewis, and Mister Santiago, would you please rise?” the headmistress ordered them with a sweeping motion of her hands. Raphael unclenched his fingers, and Magnus released him so he could get up. The two other students stood up on the opposite side of the center aisle, closer to the front. The girl was a tiny red-head and the boy a lanky brunet who wouldn’t let go of the girl’s hand even though he was vibrating with anxiety. “Welcome,” Headmistress Herondale looked at each of them before she turned her predatory gaze to the crowd at large. “Please, ensure that the transition for our newcomers is as smooth as possible and show them that our motto extends not only to flesh and blood but to everyone here at Alicante Academy. Familia Ante Omnia.”   While the student body dutifully chorused the school motto, Magnus muttered beside him, “Familia anima obruat.” Raphael had never taken Latin. He could cobble together the official school motto, thanks to being bilingual in English and Spanish, but Magnus’s phrase was a mystery. All he knew for sure was that the enigmatic boy didn’t agree with the idea of putting ‘family before everything’. Raphael dropped back into his chair and pointedly crossed his arms in front of his chest. Magnus ignored the gesture and leaned closer. Vexed and embarrassed, Raphael stewed in silence while Headmistress Herondale went on and on about the upcoming dance. “Fall Formal, seriously?” he growled between clenched teeth. “Why not just call it Homecoming like everyone else?” Magnus chuckled. “Darling, we’re more special than that,” he purred, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin on Raphael’s neck. “We have one of these for every season. Spring Fling, Summer Slummer, Fall Fuckfest, and the Winter Wonderland. Of course, that’s not the official nomenclature.” Raphael could feel heat climb up his neck and spread on his face like lava. Why did he have to ask? He hooked two fingers behind the Windsor knot in his tie and pulled, suddenly feeling suffocated by the ugly-ass uniform and everything that came with it. “Awful, aren’t they?” Magnus flipped the length of Raphael’s tie between his index and middle finger. “It’s like they’re trying to get us used to being on a very tight leash.” Raphael noticed that Magnus wore his tie loose, with a haphazard knot dangling in front of his sternum. “I hate the colors,” he admitted. “That’s because they were chosen to flatter their pasty-ass complexions.” Raphael followed Magnus’s dancing fingers to the two rows right in front of the stage. The seats everyone else had avoided were now taken by a gang of eight, four boys and four girls. “Who are they?” Magnus somehow slid even closer and placed his lips right by Raphael’s ear, making him want to crawl out of his skin. “The blond bad boy at the end of the front row is Jace Herondale. Next to him is Helen Blackthorn, then her special friend Aline Penhallow, and next to her is Isabelle Lightwood. Notice a theme?” Every family name Magnus had mentioned belonged to a building on campus, and the boy named Jace was probably directly related to the Headmistress. Raphael nodded, and Magnus made a sarcastic little affirmative noise in his throat before he continued. “Second row features Sebastian Verlac and Jonathan Morgenstern, Lydia Branwell and… Oh. My. If that’s who I think it is, someone grew up tall and hot.” He shook himself. “Sorry. What I meant to say was, I think that’s Alexander Lightwood, back from an extended stay in rehab. Excuse me, Europe.” Raphael closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The concept of high school royalty wasn’t new to him. Despite that, his previous school was an all-boys Catholic school where guys like Magnus and “special friends” like Helen and Aline simply didn’t exist. The absence of his best friend Lily hit Raphael like a sucker punch in the ribs. She would have put herself between him and Magnus and provided the snarky quips that Raphael could never come up with on his own. Instead, Raphael swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded dumbly. Headmistress Herondale’s sharp order of “Dismissed!” unexpectedly saved him from having to try to say something clever. There was a cacophony of noise as everyone got up from their chairs at the same time and broke into disparate conversations. Raphael wanted to use the opportunity to get away, but Magnus made it impossible, sticking to his side like glitter glue. “What’s your first class?” “I don’t know.” Raphael shrugged and pulled out his phone to check. “AP Physics?” “Bummer. Are you in AP Chem?” Magnus nearly climbed on him to get a peek at the screen.  “No.” While Raphael tried to squirm out of his grip, Magnus opened his mouth to say something else but he never got the chance. “Magnus!” A sharp female voice barked somewhere behind them. It belonged to a tall black girl who stalked up the gravel path like a soldier. Her eyes were narrowed to the point that all you could see were the thick, long lashes, and the tiny braids in her elaborate up-do rustled with every resolute thump of her heavy boots on the ground. Magnus froze and held Raphael stiffly to his side. “Don’t move. Pretty sure her vision is based on movement.” “Where have you been?” The girl stopped right in front of them and made a disgusted noise in her throat. “Ugh, you look like you just crawled out of bed … and not your bed.” Her nimble fingers flew through Magnus’s hair, fixed his collar, and straightened his tie, all before Magnus had a chance to even raise his hands in protest. “Catarina, stop fussing,” Magnus whined. “I will if you stop showing up to morning assembly disheveled and reeking of sex.” “I do not reek of sex,” Magnus insisted, only to turn wide eyes on Raphael. “Do I?” Raphael took an involuntary deep breath. He had no idea what sex smelled like, but Magnus smelled like sage and spearmint chewing gum. “No?” “Don’t sound so hesitant,” Magnus complained and sniffed at himself. “No, I’m fine.” “Who’s he?” Catarina asked, pointing a finger at Raphael before she turned her head to muster him like he was trying to join the army. “Weren’t you paying attention?” Magnus teased. “He’s Raphael Santiago from New Hav—” “New York,” Raphael interrupted sharply. “I’m Raphael Santiago from Harlem, New York City. My parents were Antonio and Guadalupe Santiago.” Magnus muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Prepare to die.” “What?” Raphael’s vision turned dark. “Sorry, cinna-bun.” Magnus snickered. “You were having a very ‘Inigo Montoya’ moment there.” The death of his parents was not the punchline of a joke. Raphael exploded. “Fuck you!” He roared and pushed Magnus away from him. “They meant everything to me. You might not give a shit about family, asshole, but if you ever – ever – joke about their death again, I will kill you.” His hands were shaking, his heart was pounding, and he could barely see through the darkness blurring his vision. “Whoa, shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” “Good going, dipshit.” Catarina slapped Magnus upside the head. “I had no idea.” Magnus flapped his hands in distress. “Honestly, Raphael, I would never have made that joke if I’d known. I swear. Please, let me make it up to you?” Make it up to him? This wasn’t like Magnus had accidentally spilled a drink on his shirt or stepped on his toes. Raphael hoped the expression on his face managed to convey what he was thinking because words, as always, failed him. “I get it,” Magnus said, and his quiet voice for once lacked any purr or drawl. He met Raphael’s gaze head on, all playfulness vanished like it had never existed. “I lost my mom when I was nine.” Raphael knew he was telling the truth. The loss was carved on Magnus’s soft, rounded features, older and more subdued than Raphael’s own pain, but there all the same. He accepted the apology with a stiff nod. It took Magnus less than five seconds to drop the shroud of glamour back over his face and break out in a brilliant smile. “I pick him,” he announced, firmly cupping his hands around Raphael’s shoulders. “Excuse me?” Raphael shook his head, confused. “Are you sure?” Catarina sounded skeptical. “You just screwed up big time, magpie. Maybe he doesn’t want to be picked.” Raphael was losing his patience, overwhelmed by Magnus and Catarina’s ability to switch gears so quickly. Lily could have kept up with them, which reminded him that she wasn’t there, which only irritated him more. “What are you talking about?” “You, cinna-bun.” Magnus booped the tip of his nose. “Every year since Sophomore, Catarina and I each pick one person whom we take under our wing and raise to the heights of Olympus, using the considerable powers of our popularity and style. This year, I pick you. You’ll be my final project, my pièce de résistance, David to my Michelangelo.” “I’d rather not.” “Oh, don’t be a spoilsport. If you don’t let me pick you, they’ll assign Underhill as your student mentor and you will d—” Magnus cut himself off, switched gears again, and continued in a sultry drawl. “You will be so bored you’ll come back begging me to pick you.” Catarina snickered. “That’s a challenge if I ever heard one.” Raphael clenched his jaw. “I don’t beg.” Magnus pouted, furrowed his brows, and widened his eyes in a creepily convincing impression of a cajoling puss-in-boots. Raphael rattled off his father’s favorite expletives under his breath and looked to heaven for patience and guidance. He was stuck at this school for the foreseeable future without any of his friends. Aside from Father Aldertree, Magnus was the only person who had approached him, and it seemed that despite his overbearing personality, there was a genuine soul underneath it all who at least was able to partially understand what Raphael was going through. “Fine.” “Wonderful!” Magnus actually jumped on his heels and clapped his hands. “But first things first, we gotta get you to class. You do not want to be late for AP Physics with Ms. Graymark. That woman is fierce. And let me see your schedule so I can figure out if we have any free periods at the same time.” Catarina remained behind in the middle of the gravel path. “And what am I supposed to do?” Magnus looked back over his shoulder. “Find your own pick. Time’s ticking. Only two weeks till FF.” He rolled his hand in an elegant shooing motion.  Classes were not significantly different from Raphael’s old school. The plethora of individual styles of clothing on his new teachers took some getting used to, but the basic personality types were by and large the same. He made a mental note to steer clear of the I-just-wanna-be-your-pal Econ teacher. Raphael went through the first part of the day on autopilot, walking into the mess hall around 11:30 am because his schedule said so. He accepted his tray of food without looking at it and picked a solitary spot near the windows. It turned out he did share the same lunch hour as Magnus and Catarina when they suddenly surrounded him. A loaded food tray clattered down next to his on either side. Magnus dropped onto the chair to Raphael’s left while Cat scraped her chair closer to him on the right. “I picked someone,” she announced proudly. “That was quick,” commented Magnus as he reached for his glass of orange juice. “It was divine intervention, really. A sign from God.” She fluttered her hand and reached around Raphael with cat-like speed to snatch the brownie from Magnus’s tray. “Hey!” Magnus protested. “I wanted that!” Raphael pushed his tray closer to him. “You can have mine.” “Thanks, cinna-bun, you’re the best.” Magnus kissed the air in his direction and snatched the brownie from his tray. “So, who’d you pick?” he asked Catarina with a glare as she shoved Magnus’s brownie into her mouth. “Phy-mon Loo-iph.” “Try that again with less than a pound in your mouth.” Catarina crossed her eyes at Magnus and somehow managed to stick her tongue out without getting brownie everywhere. Then she gulped down the food with a bit of juice and repeated herself more clearly. “Simon Lewis,” she said. “We have Comp Lit together and he dropped his pencils in front of me.” Magnus rolled his eyes and even Raphael couldn’t stop himself from raising his brows with a grimace of pity and disbelief. “You pick the guy who’s trying to upskirt you on his first day?” “No! That’s the thing.” She bounced with excitement, stifling a cackle. “It was a genuine accident. Like he didn’t drop a pencil, he dropped all his pencils. We’re talking dozens of them. He must be an artist or something. I don’t know. Anyway, he got so flustered, he banged his head on the desk, twice, and the whole time he’s babbling about how he’s not looking up my skirt and he didn’t mean to and I swear he had his eyes legit squeezed shut, trying to fish for his pencils blind. It was so damn cute. How could I not pick him?” Magnus and Raphael exchanged a look. Magnus sighed exaggeratedly. “Cat has this thing for lost causes. If they allowed pets here, she’d be the one with a zoo full of strays stashed in her room.” “Not fair,” Cat grumbled. “Plus, he’s hot, too. Like nerd-hot. I don’t know, it’s something about the way he wears his glasses, maybe? Anyway, he has the biggest brown puppy eyes and I’m pretty sure there’s a toned body under that uniform. I’ll find out when we go shopping.” Magnus snickered. “The poor boy. Does he even know you picked him yet?” Cat bit her lip and shoved a fork full of macaroni and cheese in her mouth. She looked altogether too interested in her food for a moment. Raphael knew that expression, had seen it on Lily’s face a million times when she hadn’t thought one of her crazy plans all the way through. He chuckled. Then he caught himself and quickly sobered up, feeling guilty. “Hey, that was a real smile.” Of course, Magnus couldn’t just let it go. “Nay, a whole chuckle!” Raphael sank low in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Magnus flashed his eyes at Catarina, drawing attention to the thick lines of guy-liner that emphasized their shape. “So, what? Were you just planning to sneak up behind him, drop a hood over his head, and kidnap him to the mall this weekend?” “No!” she protested, shoving a few more bites of food in her mouth. “I’ll figure it out,” she mumbled. Her umber cheeks suddenly developed a deep cherry undertone. “God, I’m starving.” “Here.” Raphael pushed his tray in her direction, putting her out of her misery. “You can have mine. I wasn’t hungry anyway.” “Thanks, babe,” she said with a genuine smile and pulled his tray in front of her.   Magnus drummed his fingers against his chin and pursed his lips in a dramatic fashion. “Oh, I know!” he suddenly exclaimed, a spark of something truly wicked in his eyes. “Invite him to my party tonight. Bring him as your plus one. A couple drinks, a wink, a nudge, maybe a hug against your ample, loving bosom. He’ll be yours before he knows what happened.” Raphael’s eyes froze in a hard stare as he furrowed his brows at Magnus. He couldn’t understand how Magnus talked so casually about breaking the rules and about Cat’s body. The only bosoms that ever got mentioned at full volume around Raphael’s old school belonged to Jesus Christ or the Holy Virgin. Cat didn’t seem fazed. Her hand flew around Raphael to smack Magnus in the shoulder and she rolled her eyes. “You know you’re just jealous you don’t have the same awesome powers my boobs can wield.” “Oh, honey, you know I do. My powers just happen to be farther due south.” Magnus waggled his brows. Raphael felt the lava crawl up his neck and all over his face. He brought a hand up against his forehead and reached for his phone with the other. Lunch had to be over soon. “Don’t be embarrassed, cinna-bun,” Magnus purred in his ear. “You’ll get used to us. Now, tell me, what house are you in? Just so I know where to pick you up tonight.” Raphael glared through his fingers. “I’m not going to some unsanctioned party. I almost got a demerit last night for staying out past curfew as it is.” Magnus interlaced his fingers, pulled out the cajoling puss-in-boots eyes, and wheedled. “Please? I promise it’ll be fun, and small, and you won’t get caught.” “No.” Raphael shook his head firmly. “But—" “Don’t push him, magpie,” Cat said sharply. “You heard him say no.” “Fine.” Magnus sat back with a pout that would have made a five-year-old proud. “Spoilsport.” “Besides,” Raphael pointed out. “I already have some place I need to be tonight. I’m helping out at the chapel until 9:30.” “Yeah, right,” Magnus drawled. “Tell me another one, choir boy.” Raphael’s back stiffened. He had figured that Magnus wasn’t religious, but he still didn’t like the way he had made it sound. “Wait,” Magnus said the next second. “You’re serious. This is actually a thing for you.” Suddenly there was a nervous tension in Magnus that hadn’t been there before. He pulled back and sat up straighter, all his flirtatious behavior gone up in smoke. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he said quietly.  “Why?” Raphael asked with an edge to his voice. “Afraid to be hanging out with a religious nut? Don’t want to be seen with a bible thumper?” Cat choked on her food. Magnus stiffened. His slim shoulders tightened and he blinked glittering eyes at Raphael. “More like I’m not interested to hear I’ll burn in hell when you catch me making out with a guy.” Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Just because I believe in God, doesn’t mean that I agree with every single one of his followers or what they said. Leviticus was just one of them, and he was wrong about shrimp and mixed fabrics, too.” Magnus relaxed marginally. “So, we’re good?” Raphael shrugged. “If you can keep yourself from making fun of me,” he said, glancing in Cat’s direction before he added, “or God.” Cat looked confused for a second until her eyes widened and she realized what Raphael was referring to. “You know,” she said, “I kinda meant that. I mean, what are the chances that I’m desperately looking for a person, and then the perfect guy, the new guy, actually sits next to me and drops a whole bunch of pencils right in front of me. There’s got to be some higher power involved in that, right?” Raphael looked her up and down, trying to gauge how serious she was. Cat swallowed nervously and looked down at her lap. She fiddled with the collar of her perfectly straight uniform and revealed a delicate gold chain around her neck. A tiny gold cross dangled from the end. “Team Jesus, represent,” she mumbled quickly and shoved the cross back under her shirt. “But don’t make a big deal out of it. Okay?” He raised one eyebrow, looking at her skeptically, but there was a tiny part of him that felt better. Relieved. Like he wasn’t all alone. “Okay.” The second half of the day passed by in a blur of lectures and assignments. Raphael skipped dinner in favor of hiding in his room, not interested in a repeat of listening to Cat and Magnus chatter about the party or Magnus trying to not-so-subtly get Raphael’s dorm info out of him. At a quarter past eight, Raphael left Blackthorn Hall and made his way to the chapel to meet Father Aldertree. He had no idea what sort of help the father needed at the chapel on a daily basis, but Raphael was happy to have an excuse to spend time at the church. He still wasn’t ready to talk to God, but at least he could show that he hadn’t turned his back.

Chapter 62 September 5th, 1994 Hogwarts If there was anything to be said about Mad-Eye Moody's teaching methods, it was that they were certainly 'unconventional.' From the very first day in DADA, the eccentric man had made it abundantly clear that he didn't give a rats arse about the Ministry approved curriculum and would be teaching them more about the dark arts than how to defend against them. Not that Harry could complain, considering all of the illegal and highly dangerous spells he'd learned on his own over the years. At the end of the first week, Moody introduced the class to the unforgivables. Moody's chosen victim was a small bird with black wings and dark eyes. It was sat innocently in a cage atop his desk at the beginning of class and most didn't notice the timid little thing's presence until the professor brought attention to it by flicking open the cage. The bird was in the middle of its desperate escape when it was hit by a plume of hazy yellow smoke and changed courses, slowly flying back to Moody's desk. From there, the wizard's mismatched eyes filled with wild anticipation as his fun began and he made the bird fly all over the room. It nipped at fingertips and tittered cheerfully in ears, eliciting a wonderful chorus of laughter and shouts of surprise. At one point, it even attacked a Hufflepuff's hair with its small wings, ruffling the carefully styled locks much to the squawked indignation of the girl. Harry was one of the few who watched in apprehension, knowing that the Imperius curse was no laughing matter, it could make people do horrible things, and that there was a reason it was called an 'unforgivable.' Something darkened in Moody's expression as he forced the bird over to a basin of water and it flapped helplessly over the still surface, unable to fight against the curse. Laughter dried up quickly at the panicked chirps coming from the small creature. "Shall I make it drown itself? I could." The simplicity of the statement had the entire class slowly realizing the power of the curse and just how dangerous it could be. After a moment of silence, Moody brought the bird back to his desk and looked out over the room of pale faces that didn't meet his eyes. "Some might say that the imperius curse is the least harmful of the three, but I'd beg to differ. Every day, we take advantage of our free will, unable to imagine what it would be like to be imprisoned within our own bodies, completely at the mercy of another." Moody looked down at the bird on his desk, still under the influence of the unforgivable. "Does anyone what the next one is?" Moody spat out in distaste as he scanned the room. Knowing where he was going with that line of questions. Harry spoke after Moody prompted with an impatient gesture. "The cruciatus curse, sir," Harry answered blankly, hoping that he was wrong about what might happen next. Harry hated unnecessary suffering and especially hated the Unforgivables after what had happened during the World Cup. He would not react well if Moody tried to torture the bird, in front of a class full of near-children, no less. "Crucio!" Harry closed his eyes as the bird he had been looking at began to screech and flap helplessly against the desk as it suffered unimaginable pain. He heard the startled and distressed complaints of his peers at the gruesome display, even though their 'instructor' seemed to be lost within his own mind as he tortured the innocent creature. Realizing that 'Moody' would not be stopping any time soon, Harry took matters into his own hands. Not moving an inch, Harry sent a wandless cutting curse at the bird's neck causing the little creature to crumple onto the desk, suddenly still and put out of his misery. Moody jolted, shock momentarily sparking in his face before he seemed to come back to himself and clear his throat as he realized what he'd done. Moody looked up at Harry, then, something unreadable in his eyes as the air slowly warmed. Harry's face remained completely blank under the professor's scrutiny. Their staring was interrupted by one of the other students speaking up in the otherwise silent class. "Professor, does the cruciatus curse usually kill its victims like that?" "Only if the victim is very weak or ill before-hand and after a long period of time." He answered distractedly. The same student spoke up again. "Was the bird sick?" At this, Moody's eyes shifted to a chilling glacial green that pierced through him and left a cold sweat on the back of his neck. "Perhaps." Was all the man said before returning to his lesson—though he seemed rather distant and a bit shocked for the rest of it—choosing to teach the last unforgivable only in theory since his test subject was already gone. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The week following was far more interesting than the first, seeing as Moody made it his duty to make sure that his students knew how to actually fight off an imperius curse. After the rather grim note, the previous lesson had been left on, Moody had decided to once again aim for a more light-hearted approach and kept the commands he made of the students under the curse quite silly. Such as, jumping on one foot or making animal noises. Harry lingered near the back of the class, trying—unsuccessfully—to go unnoticed, as he despised the idea of being under the influence of the curse. Harry would be the first to admit that he had problems relinquishing control to another. If it could be helped, he knew he would never do as such unless it was to someone he completely trusted. And he certainly did not trust Moody that much! Eventually, though, Moody called Harry forward with an interesting light in his eyes. Harry barely had time to prepare himself before the Imperius rolled onto him Harry could feel the insistent press of Moody's will against his own, but his mental shields where unyielding and he remained outwardly unaffected. Professor Moody grinned at the challenge and doubled down on Harry. A faint sheen of sweat formed on Harry's forehead as he continued to resist. Harry had very little practice with the imperius curse—which meant none—and so he was putting unnecessary amounts of energy and magic into resisting the cruse. He was doing it with brute magical force, and it was already beginning to drain him. He only technically needed to shield his mind, but he couldn't risk shifting his magic while the blunt edge of the curse was pressing in on him. The briefest moment of hesitation could allow Moody in to control him. By the time Moody finally relented, he was also sweating and a bit red-faced as he grinned almost victoriously. Harry was breathing a little heavy and had to quickly swipe the sweat from his brow, but was composed once again after only a minute or two. Moody had boasted to the class about Harry's success in resisting and even made Harry share some techniques he'd used. Well, that was fun Harry thought. Moody's approach to teaching DADA was undeniably rough and brazen. Harry had even heard that one of the Gryffindor students had had a particularly hard time with the initial unforgivables lesson and had to be comforted after class. However, nobody dared go and complain to their head of house or another professor about the unconventional methods. Because, despite the slight danger and uncomfortably gruesome topics, none of them could deny that Moody was an amazing instructor. Moody didn't tiptoe around anything because of their age and was working hard to make sure that they knew as much as possible.

By the time morning came around, Camilo's eyes had returned to normal and he'd managed to get some more sleep than before. This time, when they gently coaxed him awake, he didn't panic and immediately shift. Pepa took that as a good sign, showering her hijo in love and affection, and making him laugh.  The sound was like music to her ears and if it wasn't so important to get Camilo eating regularly again, she'd cuddle with him all day in the blanket fort Felix had helped him build the night before. Seeing him cuddled up in a nest of blankets and pillows with Lola secure in his arms had been enough to bring tears to her eyes. She still could hardly believe that her baby was home. She'd been so afraid to go to sleep. What if she did and woke up only to find out that it had all been a dream? That would break her. Eventually, Felix had convinced her to join him and Camilo in the fort and waking up to find her hijo's peaceful sleeping face right there helped calm her initial panic. "How are you feeling mijo?" She asked as they got ready for the day. "Are your eyes better?" He nodded before briefly disappearing under his ruana as he tugged it over his head. He'd changed clothes again, keeping to the familiar colours of yellow and brown. He looked better at least. Less like he was about to collapse if the wind blew wrong. His ruana hid most of how thin he was except for his face and he held his chameleon plush close to his chest. That had been a brilliant move on Felix’s part. The toy meant a lot to Camilo and he hadn't had it for two years. The comfort it brought him was worth learning about the state of her baby's room. She hoped they could fix that soon. "Are you ready?" Felix asked gently. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. We can have breakfast up here and Dolores will join us in a heartbeat." Camilo shook his head though. "I want to eat with mi familia," he mumbled into the top of the plush's head. Pepa smiled gently at him and walked over to wrap her arm around his shoulders. "And they will be thrilled to see you there," she reassured.  He leaned into her side and smiled up at her. His smiles were still a little dim but they were more frequent at least. Felix moved to stand on Camilo's other side and ruffled his hair. "Let's get some breakfast hmm?" He suggested. They walked out of the room together and Pepa felt like she was walking on air. Casita flipped her tiles at their feet and Camilo smiled a little. "Hola Casita. I missed you," he murmured. Their house shuffled her roof tiles happily and Pepa knew without a doubt that if anyone tried to touch Camilo right now, Casita would physically throw them out a second-story window. As they moved towards the stairs which Casita helpfully shifted towards them,  Camilo stumbled to a stop. They looked down at him in concern before following his shocked gaze. Pepa swallowed hard as she looked at the dark door. "It went dark right after you went missing," Felix told him quietly. "Locked up too. Casita only opened it last night so that I could get Lola." Camilo looked shaken by the sight so Pepa nudged him. "Just gives me an excuse to cuddle with you more," she told him in a whisper and was relieved when he smiled a bit in response. He glanced at the door one more time before they headed down the stairs. The kitchen was noisy as usual, already bustling with activity. Camilo leaned a little further into Pepa's side as they got closer but he didn't hesitate so they walked in. Dolores was immediately there, smiling at the sight of the chameleon toy before she tugged Camilo into a hug. He returned it happily while Julieta came over with Antonio. "Gracias," Pepa told her hermana gratefully as she accepted her youngest. When she looked back at her niños, she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Camilo was already craning his head to try and see his hermanito. He was too adorable. Felix shooed them all to the table where Camilo sat next to Pepa with Dolores on his other side. Felix sat next to their hija and Pepa couldn't blame him for wanting to keep their niños between them. Camilo was still trying to peer at Antonio so Pepa shifted a bit to let him get a better look. She was doing her best to ignore her mamá for the moment. She didn't want to lose her temper again. Isabela, Luisa and Mirabel greeted Camilo with beaming smiles that he did his best to return before focusing on Antonio again. "Morning Antonio," he whispered to the curious baby. Antonio waved his arms at Camilo with a wide grin. It was enough to draw a proper smile from Camilo again. Julieta quickly got everyone seated and eating and Pepa didn't miss how she'd prepared Camilo's favourite breakfast. Her hijo was quick to tuck into the food and Pepa couldn't be happier. Her family was together and eating at the same table again. A quiet part of her mind pointed out that Bruno wasn't there so it wasn't the whole family. She didn't want to ruin Camilo's first family breakfast back though, so she pushed that thought aside. "Everyone's back together," Dolores murmured. Pepa glanced at her to find her staring intensely at the family tree. A little odd but it had been a hectic time lately. Dolores was still just sixteen so it was understandable if she acted a little oddly after all of that. "Sí," she murmured, heart heavy in her chest as she thought of Bruno. She couldn't help but wonder if he would have seen the danger coming if he'd stayed. She couldn't help but wonder if they would have blamed him for any vision he did have. She'd never know. And it was her own fault. Behind the kitchen wall, a man in a tattered ruana covered his mouth to muffle his relieved sobs at the sight of his sobrino. Alive. Camilo was alive.

Intro... Hi my name is Sara. I'm 22 years old and bisexual. I am permanently horny 24/7, which is a curse because I have trouble focusing on anything other than sex. I have been reading the stories here at Literotica for a couple of years now because they help to get me off, especially the 'Loving Wives' stories for some strange reason. I'm very broad minded and in to most things except scat (eeuww!). I've been sexually active for a while now, I was definitely an early starter although obviously we can't discuss underage sex here. I've decided to start writing about my sexual exploits here as a creative way to try and deal with my obsession. I hope you will like my efforts. Sara at the Nudist Beach My grandparents live in beautiful sunny Tenerife and I usually visit at least twice a year for a cheap holiday in the sun. On one of my earliest visits to the island they introduced me to their good friend Sue. Sue is in her mid thirties and widowed. Sue and her husband were naturists and swingers I discovered gradually. Sue was really nice and drove me around the island, showing me the tourist sites etc and introducing me to some of her younger friends, which was nice as my grandparent's friends were mostly older people that had retired to the sun. Sue rang early one morning and asked if I would like to go to the beach with her. I said yes and she picked me up around 11 just as the heat of the day was beginning to build. As we were driving she explained that the beach we were going to was popular with naturists and it was one of her favourites that she used to visit often with her husband. She said that clothing was optional but that there was no pressure to be naked and that there was usually a mix of naturists and non naturists. Well I've always been broad minded and certainly not embarrassed to be seen naked. Truth be told I've always been an exhibitionist and enjoy people ogling at me. So I was really looking forward to our day. The 'beach' such as it was turned out to be a rocky promontory that extended out into the Atlantic Ocean. Amirilla (Yellow) Mountain they call it. Sue led me too the very far end of the outcropping, a difficult walk over some rough terrain, and we passed a few people who, as Sue had promised, were in various states of undress, all very laid back and casual. There wasn't any sand at the 'beach' but rather many areas where the rock had been worn very smooth and was ideal for getting comfortable. We found a small secluded spot, got naked and spread ourselves out to catch some of the gorgeous sunny rays. As the day progressed the area got busier and busier and was filling up quickly. It was a beautiful day and Sue informed me it was a bank holiday in Spain therefore there were more locals than usual. About 2 O'clock a couple of very tanned local guys approached asking did we mind if they shared our bit of rock as there were very few decent spots left. We made room for them and chatted casually whilst they got themselves comfortable. Kiko did most of the talking as his English was the best. They began to disrobe and I pretended to be staring out to sea. However, I couldn't help but sneak a few crafty glances at their emerging bodies. These guys definitely worked out, a lot, they were in great shape and almost black from their time living in the hot tropical sun. I was just wondering to myself would they be getting totally naked, when Kiko whipped off his tight speedos just a few feet from my face. I feigned disinterest and continued looking out to sea for any passing ships. Then it was Paco's turn. He was wearing baggie surfer shorts which he slowly pulled down his thighs. As he did so the largest penis I've ever seen popped out to say hello, it reached most of the way to his knees and was very fat. I continued to stare nonchalantly out to sea but I'm sure everyone must have noticed that my eyes nearly popped out of my head. If they didn't notice that then they must surely have heard my huge intake of breath. Sue continued the conversation with them whilst they got comfortable on their towels. They pulled out some suntan oil and began to cover their bodies. Neither of them were shy and they were very careful about making sure their cocks were well covered in the oil. They then asked would we mind doing their backs for them. Well this was obviously a terrible chore for us, not! We gently applied the oil to their backs, I did Paco. We then got into a conversation about suntan oils and how to get rich deep tans such as theirs. They insisted that the oil they used was their secret weapon and that we should try it. So that's how we came to have two hot guys massaging oil into our backs. I was laid face down and Paco was gently applying the lotion to my back. He was very gentle and the massaging rhythm was making me feel pretty good. I'm sure that my back was well protected by now but he continued to stroke my skin and I was in no mood to stop him. I glanced over at Sue who was laid on her back with Kiko massaging oil into her legs. I don't know why that was necessary but from the look on Sue's face who cares. Paco was now massaging oil into my bare ass. His gentle caresses were making me so horny I thought I would come just from this simple pleasure. I felt a finger gently running down the crease of my ass and begin to nudge at my ass-hole. I looked round at Paco and our eyes met. He inquired with his eyes 'do you want me to stop?'. I closed my eyes and laid my head down on the towel. He took this as a green light and his finger slipped gently into my ass. I sighed audibly, not caring if anyone heard. Paco's finger began to wiggle in my ass. He pushed harder and I knew it was all the way in. I felt him adjusting his position beside me and when I opened my eyes his huge cock was inches from my face. I closed my eyes again and he began working his finger in and out of my ass quickly building up a rapid tempo. I was squirming hard now bucking against his firm hands, I'd never cum from anal sex before but this was quickly getting me to the point of no return. I had to look around to see if anyone had noticed what was going on. I glanced at Sue who was on her back with Kiko's fingers working in and out of her pussy, she was totally oblivious to anything and clearly at the point of cumming herself. I looked down the cliffs and everyone seemed to be going about their own business. Then Paco directed my gaze up the cliffs to where a single guy was sat wanking his hard cock not 10ft away with his eyes glued to the action. That was enough for me, the sight of guys wanking is one of my biggest turn ons. I ground my ass hard into Paco's hand and had a huge orgasm. My sphincter muscle was pulsating around his finger clenching and unclenching wildly. As I relaxed I looked around at Sue who was sat looking at me with the biggest most satisfied grin I'd ever seen. 'Wow!' she said, 'how amazing was that?' Pretty god-damned amazing I admitted. 'So what are you going to do for us?' asked Kiko. I looked around and there was Paco with his giant manhood stood at full attention. It had to be well over 10 inches long and fat as fuck. Obviously we had to return the favours but we were in the middle of a public beach. I looked to Sue for guidance and she was already pushing Kiko onto his back. She swung a leg over and quickly mounted his solid shaft. I looked around to see who might be watching and still everyone appeared to be busy with their own lives. I glanced up at our voyeuristic friend who was still wanking his own hard member and was gesticulating for me to follow Sue's example. 'Oh fuck it' I thought 'what the hell', I pushed Paco down and straddled him. 'Fuck' I thought 'I'm never going to get all that cock in my tight little pussy'. I didn't have to worry long though, as soon as I was in position Paco grabbed my hips and speared himself into my cunt. I gasped with shock and pain but quickly stretched to accommodate him. He held my hips tight and held me firm on his huge cock. I began to squirm, rotating and grinding my hips into his pelvis, he held me firmly in place impaled on his engorged cock. I could feel another orgasm quickly mounting, my hips began to squirm and rotate faster and faster, I wanted to buck and slide up and down but he held me firmly down on his cock, I could feel the tip of him way up inside, his massive girth was stretching my pussy lips wide. Then the waves broke, I could feel myself gushing all over his cock, his whole body went rigid and he forced himself even further up inside of me, I thought he would puncture my lungs, and then the delicious spurt as his hot spunk splashed against my inner walls. I collapsed on top of him, drained and shaking, I looked up to see our friend shooting a stream of spunk all over his belly. I looked around at Sue, at some point they had switched positions and Kiko was now on top, he pulled out of Sue and sent a stream of spunk shooting up her belly towards her tits. Sue looked at me and smiled contentedly, Paco and Kiko exchanged an exaggerated high five and then we all collapsed in a fit of hysterical giggles.

Steve’s first feeling upon graduating high school was relief.    He wouldn’t have to see Eddie every day anymore, and maybe, just maybe, those feelings would fade away. They hadn’t in the years that had passed between that summer and freshman year, but maybe that was because he had only just recognized what those feelings were. Maybe now that they weren’t newly realized, they could disappear.   And they almost had, in the year that had been consumed by the Mind Flayer and its aftermath. He hadn’t thought about Eddie much at all when he had been getting the shit beat out of him by real-life Russian spies or running for his life from unearthly horrors for the third time in as many years. He hadn’t thought about much besides surviving.   Then Dustin started high school. And he joined Hellfire Club.    Initially, Steve had been stoked that there was someplace that Dustin could feel at home in his nerdiness, especially when the Byerses moved to California and Dustin’s original D&D party was fractured into a million little pieces. His excitement was dampened when he remembered that Eddie was still in high school and Dustin started talking about how cool the club president was and every other word that left his mouth was Eddie.    Dustin accused him of being jealous that he had another older friend, but that wasn’t it at all. He was jealous that Dustin got to listen to all of Eddie’s stories, for hours and hours on end. He hated how much he wished that it could be him. He even considered going inside the school and listening when he came to pick Dustin up from his meetings, but he restrained himself. Eddie wouldn’t want him there. Eddie never wanted to see him again.    As it turned out, Eddie didn’t have a choice, and neither did Steve. Eddie had to go and get himself tangled up in the Vecna ordeal. It was hardly his fault that a girl had died on his ceiling. Steve knew that, but he couldn’t help but be annoyed with the other boy for not being careful. And with himself. Steve wished he had been able to protect Eddie from this.    He’d tried. He’d tried to protect Eddie and all of Hawkins from this thing, but it was so much bigger than him. It was too big to beat off with a stick. Or a bat covered in nails.    Everything happened so quickly: Eddie, at Skull Rock, crouched like a terrified, wounded animal in a place he had once been so happy. Eddie, in the boat, watching Steve as he stripped off his shirt, too scared to even enjoy the weight of Eddie’s eyes on him. Eddie, throwing his stupid fucking vest in his face for his modesty , and Steve’s stomach turning when he pulled it on, fully enveloped in the smell of home . Eddie, telling him to go for Nancy, as if everything Steve wanted wasn’t standing right next to him, frightened and beautiful, in that fucked up Bizzaro version of the woods where they had spent that perfect summer. Eddie, roughhousing with Dustin as they prepared for the battle with Vecna, making it so easy to imagine a world after all this blew over where all three of them were friends, instead of civilly sharing custody of the boy they had both adopted as a little brother.    Eddie. Bleeding out in front of him, when Steve told him not to be cute, not to be a hero. That was Steve’s job. He had promised himself.    I’d never let anything get you, Eds.     But he’d promised that before he’d known about any of this, about Venca and demodogs and flesh-eating bats.    Now, all he could do was keep Eddie alive.    They’d been dropped off Hopper’s cabin in the woods to hide out until everything settled down. The rest of the group had gone with Max to the hospital. He couldn’t think about Max (her arms and legs twisted at inhuman angles, the blood streaming from her eyes); he was sure he would vomit if he let himself fully process just how much pain she must be in.    Now, he was standing over Eddie, unconscious on the couch, and he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, staring. It felt like hours. Eddie was so still, so quiet. It was so easy to imagine him in a casket.   “Steve, we need to change your bandages,” Robin said softly, tugging at his arm.  He brushed her hand away, collapsing to his knees next to the couch.  “Steve.” “Him first,” he whispered, brushing Eddie’s hair away from his forehead.  “I don’t even know where to start with him,” Robin said, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.  “Get the first aid kit,” Steve said, motioning towards the kitchen. “And a knife.”   Robin handed him both. He took the knife and began cutting away Eddie’s shirt, carefully pulling the tattered fabric away where it stuck to Eddie’s wounds.    “You clean his arms. I’ll do his…” Steve motioned vaguely to the entirety of Eddie’s torso.  “Okay,” Robin whispered.    They started dousing cotton balls in rubbing alcohol.  “This is gonna hurt, Eds,” Steve said softly, even though he was sure the other boy couldn’t hear him. “I’m sorry.” He dabbed at the wounds on Eddie’s stomach, heaving a sigh of relief when he found they weren’t that deep once the blood was cleaned away.  “Steve?” Robin asked, holding up Eddie’s arm gingerly.  Steve turned to look at her, expecting to find that she had found a place where the bats had chewed through to the bone or had torn out some vital artery.  Instead, he found Robin looking down at Eddie’s bracelet, stained brown with dried blood. She had the bead with the barely visible ‘S’ stamped into it pinched between her fingers.   She had asked Steve about his own bracelet a million times, and he had always brushed it off. “It’s just someone I used to… care about,” he’d say. There must have been something in his voice when he said it because Robin had quit asking. Sometimes, he’d catch her looking at it with a sympathetic glint in her eye, but she didn’t bring it up again. Until now.   “What’s this?” she asked quietly, watching him carefully. “Later, Rob,” he said, turning back to begin work on Eddie’s chest. “Your ‘E’. I always figured it was an Emily or an Emma. Maybe an Eleanor. But it’s Eddie, isn’t it?” she pressed on.  He didn’t answer.  She reached out, stilling his hands where they were on Eddie’s chest. “Steve.” “Yes, okay? It’s Eddie,” he said, pulling his hands back. He took Eddie’s right hand and turned it over, showing her the scar before she found that, too, and began asking more questions. Robin’s eyes went wide. “You said that scar was from an accident,” she breathed.  “I said it was a mistake,” Steve said, dropping Eddie’s hand carefully and cleaning the wounds on his neck. “Not an accident.” “What is it?” “It’s from a blood oath. We promised we’d always be friends.” “I didn’t know you knew each other,” Robin said. “I didn’t want you to,” Steve said. “It was embarrassing.” “It’s not embarrassing to care about someone,” Robin said, going back to tending to Eddie’s wounds on his forearm. “It’s embarrassing when they hate your guts,” Steve said. “He doesn’t hate you,” Robin said, dropping a blood-stained cotton ball into their growing pile of discards on the floor.  Steve paused.  “What makes you think that?” “I spent a lot of time watching you, Steve, remember?” Robin said, moving around the couch so she could tend to Eddie’s other arm. “So, I noticed when other people were watching you.” “You’re saying he watched me ?” Steve asked, his breath catching in his throat. He watched Eddie incessantly. He would have noticed if Eddie was watching him in return.  “All the time,” Robin said. “I figured he had a little crush on you.” “No,” Steve said, laughing humorlessly. “No, he was probably plotting my demise.” “I’ve never seen someone look so fondly at a person while plotting their death,” Robin said. Steve shook his head.  “He hates me, Rob,” he said. “He probably wouldn’t even want me to help him if he was awake.” Robin fell quiet.   He picked up a tube of medicated ointment, slathering it over the wounds they had already cleaned. He began wrapping Eddie’s arm, securing the gauze with medical tape when he finished.    “Help me lift him,” Steve said.  Robin hooked her hands under Eddie’s shoulders, struggling to lift his dead weight off the couch. Steve worked quickly, wrapping gauze haphazardly around Eddie’s torso. When Robin set him back down, the wrap job was messy, but it was good enough to make sure the medicated ointment stayed on and any additional bleeding would be soaked up.    Steve rummaged through the bedroom that had once been Hopper’s. He found a moth-eaten flannel and brought it out to Eddie, gingerly pulling it onto the other boy’s body. He buttoned it up to hold in what little warmth Eddie’s body was capable of retaining. Robin appeared with an equally ratty blanket, handing it to Steve so he could cover Eddie.    “Do you think he will be okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not as bad as it looked when we found him,” Robin said, taking Steve’s hand in hers. “He’s in shock, I think. But he’ll be okay.” “It hurts,” Steve said, remembering his own wounds for the first time in hours. He brought a hand to his stomach, his skin burning hot under the wrappings. The wounds throbbed, threatening to bring him to his knees. If he felt like this, he couldn’t imagine how Eddie would feel when he woke up. “He’s in so much pain.” “We’ll give him something when he wakes up,” Robin said. “Now, let’s take care of you.” He let Robin lead him into the kitchen, cutting away the cloth that wrapped around his stomach. He hissed as she wiped his wounds with rubbing alcohol.  “Is it bad?” he asked, unable to look down. “It’s not good. Definitely not as bad as Eddie’s, but also not ideal,” Robin said. She looked a little green in the face as she began wrapping him with clean bandages. “Do you need painkillers?” Steve glanced towards the couch, towards Eddie.  “Save them for him,” Steve said.  “He’d want you to take them if you need them,” Robin said. “Save them,” he repeated. “Steve, do you…” Robin trailed off, looking up at him questioningly. “Do I what?” “Define care,” she said. “When you say you cared about Eddie.” “It’s kindergarten-level vocabulary, Rob, you know what I mean,” Steve said, glaring at her. She took his hand again, squeezing it. “I’m just wondering if you’re using that word when you really mean a different four-letter word. A bigger, scarier one,” Robin said. Steve let his eyes find Eddie again, his heart clenching at the motionless figure on the couch. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well,” he said, his voice faltering. “But yeah. Yeah, I love him. I have for a long time.”  “When did it start?” Robin asked. “1978,” Steve said. “Tell me,” Robin said.  “It’s a long story.” “We have time.”   Steve sighed.  He sank down into the kitchen chair across from Robin. He began talking. Robin listened.   ****   He’d taken it upon himself to stay with Eddie. He’d only left once, to go sit with Max for an hour while the others went home to shower and change and then go home and shower himself.   But he wanted to be there when Eddie woke up.   Eddie began to stir around six in the evening on the second day.   Steve was sitting at the kitchen table, sorting through the new first aid kit Robin had dropped off.    “Hello?” a broken, raspy voice asked, making Steve jump.   He hurried over to the couch, crouching next to Eddie.   “Hey,” Steve said, his throat tight. “Hey. You’re awake.” “Stevie?” Eddie asked, his face lighting up as he tried to sit. He grimaced when he found he couldn’t. “Fuck, that hurts.” “I know,” Steve said. “Did we get him?” Eddie asked.  “We got him,” Steve said, smiling.  “Max?”  “She’s… alive,” Steve said, tentatively. “In worse shape than you. She’s still unconscious.” “Is she going to be okay?” “We don’t know, Eds,” Steve said. Eddie tried to lift his hands to his face but found the movement hurt too badly, too. “Fuck. Is there any place they didn’t fucking bite?” “Your face looks okay,” Steve said, touching the cuts on Eddie’s chin, then his cheek. “Just a couple of nibbles here and there.” “As long as I’m still pretty, that’s all that matters,” Eddie said with a weak smile.  Steve smiled back, shaking his head. “What’d you have to go and do that for?” Steve asked, his fingers tracing the line of Eddie’s cheekbone. “You scared the shit out of me.”  “I wanted to help,” Eddie said. “You could have done that without getting eaten alive,” Steve said.  Eddie shrugged.  “I said I wouldn’t let anything get you,” Steve whispered. “It wasn’t your fault, Stevie,” Eddie said. “You couldn’t save me from myself.” “Don’t do it again,” Steve said.  “Trust me, I don’t plan to.” “Good.”   Eddie laughed, cutting himself off with a wince. “Now that you’re awake, let’s get those bandages changed, huh?” Steve said, getting up to get supplies from the kitchen. “It’s going to hurt like a motherfucker, huh?” “It’s not gonna feel good,” Steve agreed.  “We have anything to take the edge off?” Eddie asked. “I have some pills, but they won’t kick in straight away,” Steve said. “I was thinking something more of the liquid variety,” Eddie said. “I have whiskey,” Steve said. “That’ll do,” Eddie said. Steve brought over the first aid kit and the bottle of whiskey.  “Just a little bit,” Steve said, taking off the lid. “You’re really dehydrated. Open.” Eddie opened his mouth and Steve poured out a generous gulp, pausing to let Eddie swallow. Steve wiped an errant drop from Eddie’s lower lip with his thumb. “More?” Steve asked. Eddie cleared his throat. “Maybe a little,” he said.  Steve tried to avoid making eye contact with Eddie as he poured out another mouthful. A heat spread through his belly as if he were the one taking shots instead of administering them. He fixed his eyes on the line of Eddie’s neck, as if that was somehow safer than his eyes, watching the muscles move as he swallowed again. When that did nothing to quell the heat in his stomach, he turned away and took a swig from the bottle himself. He went back to the kitchen and washed his hands.   “How’d you end up playing Florence Nightingale for me? Did you draw the short straw?” Eddie asked.  Steve returned to his side, kneeling on the floor next to the couch. He took the little medical scissors from the new kit and began cutting the bandages away from Eddie’s arm.  “I volunteered,” Steve said, gingerly pulling away the wrappings. “Actually, I insisted.” “Oh.” “I can see if someone else would stay with you if you’d be more comfortable with that,” Steve said, tentatively. “No,” Eddie replied quickly. “No, I’d like you to stay. If you want.” “I do.” “Okay, cool,” Eddie said. Steve inspected the newly uncovered wounds. They looked alright. They almost looked like a bad case of road rash, but nothing more sinister than that. “These are looking okay,” he said.  “That’s good,” Eddie replied. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here, but I feel like we should let them breathe for a second, right?” Steve said, picking up the scissors again. “You’re the nurse here, not me. Do whatever you think is right,” Eddie said. “This is going to hurt more,” Steve said, turning his attention to Eddie’s torso. “They’re the worst of them.” Eddie nodded, screwing his eyes shut in anticipation of the pain.  He hissed, his hands clenching into fists as Steve began to gently pull the gauze away. “I know, I’m sorry. I know,” Steve murmured as he unwrapped Eddie. “Almost done. You’re doing so well, Eds.” He did his best to pull the wrappings out from under Eddie so he wouldn’t have to sit up until it was time to rewrap him.  There was more dried blood on Eddie’s torso than there had been on his arms. Steve carefully cleaned it away, wincing in sympathy each time Eddie’s stomach spasmed at his touch. “Now we’ll have more matching scars,” Steve said, cleaning a gash next to Eddie’s navel. He had expected Eddie to chuckle at that, or at least give an amused huff. But Eddie surprised him like he always did. “I’m sorry, Stevie,” he whispered.  Steve glanced up at Eddie’s face and shook his head. “Save that sorry for when you have more strength, Munson.” “I should have said something when I came back, I just didn’t know… We were so different,” Eddie continued. “Eddie. Later.” “But I–” “You almost died. We can talk about it later. Right now, I’m just glad you’re talking at all,” Steve said his voice firm. Eddie fell quiet, watching as Steve applied disinfectant to his wounds, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Told you so,” Eddie said.  “Told me what?” Steve asked, spreading a thin layer of Neosporin over a graze on Eddie’s hipbone. Eddie’s skin was too hot, feverish, under his fingers. “That you’d be good at this. Taking care of things,” Eddie said. “When you wanted a dog, remember?” “You’re not a dog, Eds,” Steve said, unable to keep a smile from his lips. “The way I acted, I’m as good as one,” Eddie said. “A dog wouldn’t have treated me like that,” Steve said. “You’re right,” Eddie said. “And you’re taking care of me, anyway.”  Steve swallowed. “I can’t believe you remember saying that,” Steve said, quietly. “I remember everything, Stevie,” Eddie said, his eyes fluttering shut as Steve started applying the ointment to his arms.  The words hung between them as Steve finished cleaning and medicating Eddie’s wounds.    “Do you think you can sit up?” Steve asked.  “Do I have a choice?” Eddie asked, grimacing. “Not really,” Steve said. “Then I guess the answer is yes,” Eddie said. “Give me a hand.”   Steve stood and took both of Eddie’s hands, hauling him up into a sitting position. “Fuck,” he groaned. “That’s awful. It’s really fucking terrible, Steve.” “I’ll make it quick,” Steve promised, picking up a roll of gauze and beginning to wrap at Eddie’s waist.  Eddie’s breath quickened. His hands gripped the edge of the couch cushions as he struggled to keep himself upright. “Hold onto me, Eds,” Steve said.  Eddie’s fingers scrambled for purchase until he hooked them into Steve’s belt loops with such force Steve was sure he would rip them off.  “Steve,” Eddie breathed, his face twisted terribly with effort.  “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just a couple more seconds,” Steve said, abandoning any hope that his dressings would be neat in favor of getting Eddie comfortable.  “Alright,” he said after securing the bandages. He dropped the gauze into the open first aid kit, taking Eddie’s hands from his waist and guiding Eddie back down onto the couch. “Why does it hurt so bad?” Eddie asked.  “I don’t know. Can bats have venom?” Steve asked. “I don’t think it matters what normal bats can have. These are like… Evil, fucked up bats. They can have anything ,” Eddie said. “Then maybe it’s that,” Steve said. “Maybe. I just know it hurts and I’m tired,” Eddie said. “Then sleep,” Steve said, smoothing a hand over Eddie’s hair. Eddie closed his eyes. ****   Eddie slept through most of the third day. The pain pills made Eddie tired, but when he was awake, he was incredibly silly. Steve worried that he had maybe given him too high of a dose.  Steve was checking under Eddie’s bandages before he went to sleep on the pallet he had set up next to the couch. The areas around the wounds were still a little red, radiating heat. He pressed his hand against Eddie’s forehead and found it a little clammy, but not over-warm.  Eddie startled him by speaking, his eyes still closed. “Feel weird,” Eddie mumbled. “I’m sorry, Eds,” Steve said. “But the good news is you’re not hot, so that means no fever, which means no infection.” “ You’re hot.”  Steve felt his own forehead. It felt fine. He wasn’t surprised; his own wounds were healing quite nicely. “No, I’m fine, too.” “Stupid. You’re stupid, Steve,” Eddie mumbled, glaring at him. Steve shot him a puzzled look. “Not as stupid as you, Mr. Hero,” he retorted.  “No, not as stupid as me,” Eddie agreed with a chuckle. “Go back to sleep, Eds,” Steve said. “Don’t leave.” “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie,” Steve said.   He put Eddie’s bandages back in place and laid down on his makeshift bed on the floor. He had only just settled in when Eddie spoke again. “Steve?” “I’m still here,” Steve said. “Just checking.” “Okay,” Steve said, smiling to himself in the darkness. “Stevie?”  “What, Eddie?” “Still here?”  “Yes, Eddie,” Steve laughed. “It’s only been about ten seconds.” He’d have to take Eddie’s dosage down tomorrow. “St-” “Eddie. I am and will continue to be here,” Steve said. “Go to sleep.” “Wasn’t going to say that,” Eddie said. “What were you going to say?” Steve said. “Thank you,” Eddie said. “Oh,” Steve said. “You’re welcome.” “You didn’t have to,” Eddie said. “Do this, I mean.” “I know that. I wanted to,” Steve said. “Thank you. For wanting to,” Eddie said. Steve stared up into the darkness, his cheeks burning, a pleasant feeling bubbling up in his chest.  He didn’t say I’ll always want to, Eddie. But he hoped Eddie knew, just the same. ****  On the fifth day, Eddie was able to get up and move around on his own. “I would kill for a fucking cigarette,” he said, sitting up on the couch.  “I don’t know, Eds,” Steve said warily. “Come on. Half of one. Split it with me,” Eddie pleaded.  “Okay, but outside so the others don’t smell it,” Steve conceded.    They sat on the front steps, passing the cigarette back and forth between them.  “So let me get this straight. You’ve been dealing with this for years, and you still graduated before me?” Eddie asked. “Yep,” Steve said. “That doesn’t seem fair,” Eddie pouted.  “Oh, yeah, it’s totally unfair that I graduated high school while dealing with horrors beyond human comprehension,” Steve rolled his eyes.  “Not all of it was horrors. Some of it was espionage,” Eddie pointed out. “That was after high school,” Steve said. “You really took down a Russian spy operation in a tiny little sailor suit?”  Eddie asked, taking a drag off the cigarette before shooting him a leary smile. “Mhm.” “Steve Harrington, you’re my hero,” Eddie teased. “Shut the fuck up,” Steve laughed. “I saw you at the mall, you know. Before it blew up, obviously. But I saw the sailor suit,” Eddie said, passing the cigarette back to Steve. “Jesus Christ. You must have thought that was really funny,” Steve groaned. “Funny? No. That’s not what I thought,” Eddie said. “What did you think?” “ Helloooo , sailor,” Eddie grinned, wagging his eyebrows. “Now you’re just being mean,” Steve said, glaring at Eddie as he took a draw on the cigarette. “No, I really mean that. I love a man in teeny, tiny uniform. The teeny, tinier the better, that’s what I always say,” Eddie said. “I’ve never heard you say that.” “Well, I say it. All the time,” Eddie said. “Do you still have the uniform?” Steve hesitated. “No.” “Oh my god, you do ,” Eddie said, and Steve didn’t love the look on his face. He felt like he was a tiny animal being stared down by an apex predator. A very handsome apex predator. “I don’t.” “You totally do.” “No.” “Can I see you in it?” Eddie asked, leaning forward. “You already saw me.” “Can I see it again?” “No.” “Can I try it on?” Steve paused, considering this for a moment. Eddie in those little shorts was too good to pass up. “Maybe,” he said, finally.  “So you do still have it,” Eddie said, triumphantly. Steve reached out to slap him (gently, of course, as he was still healing) but Eddie caught his hand. Steve’s breath hitched as Eddie didn’t drop his hand, instead, manuvering it so he could link his pinky with Steve’s, letting their joined hands rest between them on the porch stairs.   He swallowed, looking away from Eddie. He looked up at the night sky, his eyes catching on a familiar spot of light that hung there amongst the stars. He felt Eddie studying him, wishing desperately that the other man would look away. “Do you think they could still live happily ever after?” Eddie asked. “Who?” Steve asked. “The knight and the weary traveler,” Eddie said. Steve sighed.  “I don’t know, Eds,” he said. “The traveler has kind of been a piece of shit,” Eddie said. Steve laughed.  “Yeah. Yeah, he has,” he agreed.  “But he’ll do anything to make it up to the knight,” Eddie continued, falling into their old rhythm, his pinky tightening around Steve’s. “Then he should rest and get better before he worries about anything else,” Steve said. “Is that really all he has to do?” Eddie asked, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s. “And never, ever almost get killed again,” Steve added.  “That’s reasonable,” Eddie laughed.  “And stop pretending I don’t exist,” Steve continued. “I thought we were talking about the knight and the traveler,” Eddie said. “ Eddie .” Eddie shifted uncomfortably where he sat. “I won’t pretend you don’t exist,” he said quietly. “Almost getting eaten alive by hell bats on steroids makes you really stop and think about what’s important to you.” “It does tend to have that effect,” Steve said.  “Turns out, your existence is pretty high up there on the list,” Eddie said. Steve closed his eyes. “Number one on the list, actually,” Eddie said. Steve nodded, feeling more than a little shaken. He wasn’t ready to talk about this, even though he had spent a better part of a decade waiting. The reality of Eddie, friendly and sweet and right there next to him like he had been all those years ago, knocked him flat on his ass.  “Stevie –” “Let’s get you back inside, huh? You need to eat,” Steve said, pulling his hand away as he stood from the step. Eddie looked up at him for a long stretch before nodding. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “But you have to let me help make dinner.”

If you asked Jason, Dick Grayson was dating all the wrong men. He had bad taste in people as a general rule, everyone knew it, but it seemed to Jason that the older he got, the worse his taste in partners got. He’d some good people when he was younger: Barbara, Kori, and Roy to name a few, but his current fling was just disturbing. It was an all new low for Dick Grayson: disaster extraordinare. It was so bad that Jason didn’t even want to think about it, because if he did he threw up in his mouth a little. Dick Grayson was dating Slade “I kill people for a living” Wilson. Jason had been reasonably sure his eyes were deceiving him, but the kiss had just gone on for so long. Slade had Dick wrapped up in massive arms, while Dick’s hands wound their way into Slade’s hair. They’d been working with Slade because being around Dick usually made his dubious morality come out and play and they’d needed a known mercenary to go undercover for them. Jason was regretting asking him now, now that he had big hands spread over Dick’s back, and one hand in particular was reaching farther and farther toward indecency. Jason watched, one eye twitching, as they finally broke the kiss. Dick smiled lightly and ran his hand through Slade’s hair. “Thank you for helping,” he said softly, like they were having some quiet emotional moment or something. Jason felt a little bit like he was going to puke. “Anything for you beautiful,” Slade replied. Jason choked on air. Slade finally turned away and jumped off the roof, his grapple line catching and swinging his body away. There was silence for a long moment as Dick stood watching Slade retreat. The line of his shoulders was tense, and he wouldn’t look back at Jason. Jason who hadn’t really known up until this point that the golden boy was dating the world’s worst. Which was a lot of hypocrisy to come from Bruce’s little “no killing” prodigy. How many times had he lectured Jason for not being a better man? Then he goes and sucks face with one of the worst men in the world. Jason folded his arms across his chest and felt a lecture brewing. Finally Dick sighed. “Lay it on me,” he said, resigned. “What the fuck, Dickie?” Jason snapped. “Look, it was a long time coming. We’re just seeing where it goes,” he replied. That didn’t make any more sense to Jason than the rest of the situation did. “What the hell are you talking about? The guy’s got to be at least a decade and a half older than you! Plus, he kills people for a living! What the hell do you have to say about that? What does Bruce think?” Dick sighed, and turned fully to look at him. “Bruce knows, and he doesn’t like it either. Look, Jason, I get it, okay? I don’t think it’s going to last, but I’d like to at least see where it’s going. Slade and I have a long history together, it’s worth a shot.” Jason felt like oddly like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone, or maybe Punk’d. He subtly looked for cameras or maybe Ashton Kutcher. “Dick, what are you going to do when you’re on opposite sides, or when he kills someone who didn’t deserve to die?” Jason asked. He wasn’t thinking about himself, not really, but it was hard not to be at least a little bit jealous. Slade was worse than Jason by all accounts, and really, what did Slade Wilson have that Jason didn’t? It wasn’t really that Jason had a thing for Dick, only, he sort of did, but so did pretty much everyone who laid eyes on Dick. He was the ultimate kind of handsome. Jason had his first sex dream about Dick, and while he wouldn’t go so far as to say he was in love with him or anything, he wouldn’t have said no if given the chance to go out with Dick. Only, here was Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, holding Dick, touching him like he owned him, and it made Jason sort of furious. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Dick said. If anything that just shocked Jason even more. Did he think they were going to last long enough to face that situation? Was he so serious about Slade that he would be willing to compromise on his twisted morals and his job as a mercenary? Jason didn’t want to admit it, but Slade must really mean something to Dick if he was willing to look past all that. Would he be willing to look past it for other people, too? For Jason? No, he was stopping that train of thought right there. There was no need to continue along those lines, especially when Dick was clearly into someone else. “Is it serious?” Jason asked. That was the more pressing issue here, anyway. Dick sighed, then shrugged. “I can’t say yes,” he said. “But you can’t say no, either,” Jason finished for him. Dick nodded. “This is ridiculous, Dick, he’s a villain ,” Jason protested, bewildered. “Like you’re one to talk.” “I’m not a mercenary!” “No, Jason, you’re just a crime lord.” With that final remark, Dick twisted off the roof and flew through the air, headed back in the direction of his apartment. Jason stood there, a little hurt but mostly confused. It was true, he’d been a crime lord, sort of still was. Only he hadn’t been a real crime lord. He’d killed people and assimilated territory, sure, but he was only doing it to dismantle the really bad syndicates, and to put a better one in their place. He had hard limits. No people trafficking, no drugs to kids, no prostitution. He’d say that compared to some of the other syndicates he was down right Mother Teresa. Only, maybe not when compared to Deathstroke. They were too similar for Jason to be entirely comfortable. Neither of them could claim to be good people, and yet Dick wasn’t willing to give up on either one of them, not like someone else might have so easily. Jason sighed, it wasn’t really his place to question Slade or Dick, but someone should before Dick did something he’d regret. Jason turned in the opposite direction and began the long journey back home. He flew through the rooftops, contemplating the night’s events. If it was true that Bruce knew about Dick and Slade, then Jason might just have to go see the Big Bad Bat, and see what he really thought about his precious golden boy dating a killer. ---- Jason landed hard on his fire escape and pried open the window. He slipped inside and felt himself relax at the sight of the penthouse apartment he shared with Roy Harper. “Hey, Jaybird,” Roy called from where he sat on the couch playing with Lian. They were playing some kind of card game that looked a little too much like poker. Lian held her cards in front of her face, which was expressionless, as she stared her father down. Roy held his cards a little bit lower so she could see the ridiculous expressions he made as he studied his hand. Jason smiled at them and made his way to the kitchen. “Do we have anything for dinner?” He asked. “Just take-out unless you want to make something.” Jason nodded and pulled out a pot for spaghetti. He gathered the ingredients for meat sauce and began to boil water. He was silent for a long moment before deciding to confide in Roy. “Hey, Roy?” “Yeah?” “Did you know Dick’s dating Slade Wilson?” There was a sharp gasp and then silence from the other room. Jason heard footsteps and turned to see Roy standing in the doorway, a completely dumbfounded look on his face. “What the fuck?” “Yeah, I had to do a case with them tonight-” “That private security deal? The one with the human traffickers and their mercenary army?” “Yeah, that one. Anyway, I was working on it with them, and it all went smoothly, which, of course, is a first, but then we met up at the rendezvous, and Slade kissed Dick goodbye. And not like a peck on the cheek or some shit, but a full on scar me for life french style goodbye kiss,” Jason said, sounding a little desperate. “Wow,” Roy said, dazed. “Isn’t that against his little holier than thou bat code?” “No shit, and then he said it had been a long time coming. What the fuck does that mean?” Roy shrugged. “I mean, he isn’t wrong. They’ve sort of had a lot of weird unresolved sexual tension for a really long time. Slade used to hit on him a lot when we were younger, nothing ever happened, but I guess we’re all older now.” “Not that much older! Dick’s twenty-two, he can barely drink legally. He shouldn’t be fooling around with freaking Deathstroke! I mean I’m pretty sure dating someone with that name alone breaks about every rule in Bruce’s little Robin handbook. I mean, you saw how he reacted when I came back, he’s got to be pissed about this.” Roy didn’t argue. Lian came wandering in and reached up for Jason, who picked her up and put her on his shoulders. Her little fingers went straight for his mess of black hair and set about tangling it up. “So has he told Bruce?” Roy asked, idly stirring the spaghetti while Jason was occupied with keeping Lian from falling off his shoulders. “He said he did, and that Bruce isn’t happy, but that’s all he said. I almost want to go talk to Bruce and ask him what he’s thinking letting Dick shack up with the likes of Slade.” Roy shrugged. “Maybe you should,” he said. Jason jerked around to look at him. “What do you mean maybe I should?” “I mean just that. In this particular case I think you and Bruce are probably on the same side. He probably hates this just as much as you do. If you guys work together maybe you can get Dick to see the error of his ways and put a stop to it before it ever really starts.” Jason raised his brows. “That might be a great idea, Roy.” Roy shrugged. “I do my best.” He moved the pot off the stove and drained the spaghetti. Jason put Lian down and got to work on the sauce. When the food was finally ready Jason piled two plates high, and made a smaller plate for Lian. Roy set the table and they all sat down to eat. “I’ll tell you one thing though,” Roy said around a bite of spaghetti, “you’d better hope Damian already knows.” ---- Damian did not already know. Jason, like an idiot, pulled into the Batcave, stormed up to Bruce, and just shouted, “What the fuck is up with Dick and Slade Wilson?” Damian, who had been hidden behind his father’s cloak, stood up sharply. “What? What are you talking about, Todd? Father? What is Todd talking about?” Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead. He shot Jason a small mostly weary glare. “Dick and Slade are… involved,” he tried. Jason gave him points for effort, but it didn’t stop Damian’s face from purpling with anger. “ What!? And you allowed this? Father! How could you allow Deathstroke to defile Grayson!” Damian bellowed. Jason only felt a little bit bad. Damian was right after all, and Bruce deserved some sort of comeuppance for letting this happen. “Damian-” “What, Father? What could you possibly say that could excuse this outrage you’ve allowed to happen?” “I didn’t allow him to do anything, he just did it, you know how he is.” That didn’t placate Damian in the slightest. His little face was turning a truly fluorescent shade of puce. “Still! He listens to you, and you could’ve stopped him!” Alfred appeared out of nowhere and quickly made his way toward them. “Master Damian, I suggest you come upstairs for dinner. Master Bruce and Master Jason need to have a private conversation,” Alfred said sharply, grabbing Damian’s wrist. “Unhand me Pennyworth! I am not finished speaking!”“Damian!” Bruce snapped. “Go upstairs. Now.” Damian huffed, spun sharply on his heel and stomped all the way out of the cave. Jason forgot how young he was sometimes. He forgot that Damian still threw tantrums like the child he was. Maybe Jason would’ve remembered if he was around more often. Bruce and Jason faced each other in tense silence until the sounds of footsteps disappeared. “I think he made some excellent points,” Jason said suddenly. “Like, for example, how the fuck could you let this happen?” Bruce sighed and pulled the cowl off. Now, with the cowl down and Damian gone, Jason could finally see the stress in his shoulders, the lines in his forehead. He looked like he’d aged a decade in seconds. “Like I said, I didn’t let him do anything. Dick never asked for my permission, he just informed me of his decision. When I tried to talk sense into him he brushed me off and just threw Selina in my face. I told him Selina never killed anyone, but he wasn’t having it. He said I didn’t have to like it, but that I couldn’t do anything about it, and he’s not wrong.” It was probably the most Bruce had spoken to him in a long time. Jason felt his defenses drop, and he slumped into a chair. “I need to stop this,” he said. Bruce glanced at him. “Why you?” He asked. “Because- Because I just- Because he doesn’t understand that I-” Jason cut himself off. He sighed. “Because someone has to, and maybe he’ll listen to me.” “No,” Bruce said. “No?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because you want him, and that’s why you want to stop it.” Jason glared at him, “No, I don’t.” “Yes you do, Jason, you always have. Only recognize that the reasons you’d give Dick for why he shouldn’t be with Slade are the same reasons why he shouldn’t be with you.” Jason stood sharply. “You really are the most unbelievable ass,” he snarled. Bruce looked up at him. “All the same, I’d rather he be with you. At least I wouldn’t worry about him if he were with you.” Jason stood frozen, completely flabbergasted. “What the fuck are you talking about?” “You’re not stupid Jason, don’t act like you are just because you don’t like what I say,” Bruce sighed. Jason swallowed hard. Bruce wanted Dick to be with him. No- no he preferred Dick with him over Slade. That was an important distinction. Bruce didn’t approve of Jason, he was just the lesser of two evils. Jason nodded. “Well, even I know I don’t deserve him, so I won’t insult you by saying I’m any better for him than Slade. I don’t think we’ll ever be together, but the least I can do is get him away from Slade,” Jason said decidedly. Bruce nodded, like it was exactly what he expected. It probably was. “Just be careful with him Jason, he’s always been emotional, you know that.” Jason nodded. He did know that, they all knew it. “See you around, Bruce.” With those final words, Jason got back on his bike and rode out of the cave. ---- It turned out that Jason saw Slade again before he saw Dick. Jason was posing as Red Hood looking for a new drug supplier, and was waiting for a meeting with an up and coming distributor whose operation he was planning on dismantling. He was sitting in the VIP section of a very exclusive club for very bad people while waiting for his meeting, when Slade sat down next to him. “Red,” Slade greeted. Jason honestly wasn’t sure if Slade knew who he was. Slade knew the Robin’s well simply on the principle of being one of their collective biggest foes, though he’d definitely had more run-in’s with Dick than anyone else. Jason wasn’t sure if Slade had ever recognized his fighting style (though this was unlikely given how much he learned while abroad after the pit), or if Dick had ever told him, but he never called Jason anything other than Red or Hood, and since he referred to the Robin’s generally by first name, Jason had to assume he didn’t know who he was. “Wilson,” Jason snarled, not even bothering to hide his contempt. “Dick told me you don’t approve,” Slade began. Jason snorted. That was an understatement. “No shit,” Jason muttered. “What I’d like to know is why your opinion matters. Dick wouldn’t tell me, so I thought I’d go to the source.” That was mildly surprising. “Fuck off, Wilson, that’s between me and Dick, and if he’s not telling you shit, I don’t know why you think I would.” Slade gave him a considering look. “I didn’t really think you will, but I had to ask. No one really knows who you are, so it’s mostly a mystery as to why the bats let you hang around given their general aversion to firearms and murder. I have a theory, of course.” “Of course you do,” Jason sighed, taking a big swig of his beer. “My theory is that Jason Todd didn’t actually die in that explosion. Somehow he got away, fooled Batman and the rest of the family into thinking he was dead, and then went off to become a psychopath. Of course, it’s just a theory,” Slade smirked. The fucker knew he was right, but Jason wasn’t about to encourage him. Jason’s greatest strength was the perfect anonymity his death had given him. He wasn’t about to give it up for Slade Wilson. “Wow, Slade, how one man can be so close and yet so completely wrong I have no idea, but you’ve somehow managed it. I’m not the kid that got blown up by the Joker, shithead.” It was true, he wasn’t, that kid had been killed by a crowbar and a warehouse fire. Slade looked a little miffed, but it wasn’t Jason’s job to contribute to his ego. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you here since I don’t like you: Stay the fuck away from Dick Grayson before I make you,” Jason growled. Slade raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “No,” he said simply. Jason swiftly pulled out his gun and clicked off the safety. “And why, pray tell, not?” Slade was silent for a long moment. He watched Jason with a considering look, his eyes only minutely flickering down to the gun in Jason’s hand. “Because I care about him, and I don’t want to let him go,” Slade finally replied. Jason could admit to being shocked, both with what Slade said and how bluntly he said it. “That’s selfish.” “I’m a mercenary, being selfish doesn’t even crack the top fifty on my list of sins.” Jason couldn’t exactly argue with that logic. “You don’t deserve him.” “Certainly not, but I have him, and I’m not going to be the one to make him leave.” “I’m going to shoot you.” “Go ahead, but maybe later when you don’t have a position to compromise.” Jason shot him anyway. The bullet went straight into his abdomen. Slade honestly looked a little surprised, Jason noticed smugly. The patrons of the bar jumped, and looked around at them, but quickly returned to their drinks. This sort of thing happened all the time in this particular establishment.Jason smirked as he watched the wound sluggishly pump out dark red blood. “Dammit, the bullet didn’t go all the way through,” Slade sighed. Jason snorted. “I’m sure Dick would be happy to dig it out for you,” he shot back, taking another sip of beer. Slade glared at him, grabbed the knife off the table, and proceeded to dig the bullet out of his gut. “He’s going to be pissed when I tell him about this,” Slade muttered. “Let him be, he’s already pissed at me for existing,” Jason shot back. Slade glared at him again, and finally rooted out the bullet. He dropped it and the bloodied knife on the table, then stood. Jason watched in annoyance as his skin began to knit back together. “Look, kid, I know you hate it, watching me have someone you obviously want-” Jason spluttered, ready to argue, but Slade cut him off, “but he’s mine now, and you need to be a grown up about it because for some reason you and your opinion matter to him. He’s better than all of us, you should really treat him like it more often. Maybe if you did, he’d be with you, not me.” With that final wisdom Slade stalked away, leaving Jason red-faced and furious. Did everyone know he had a thing for Dick? Had he been that damn transparent? He stood briskly from the table, and kicked down the door to the office of the supplier he was supposed to be meeting there. The man looked up from the paperwork he was filling out, and his eyes widened in surprise at seeing Jason there. Jason didn’t even bother with a witty remark, he simply pulled out his gun and unloaded in the man. He snatched the bloodied paperwork off his desk and stalked out of the bar, gun still in hand. A few security guards tried to stop him, and Jason grinned under his helmet. He holstered his gun and went in for a fist fight. He was in the mood for a good old fashioned beat down. The first guard that came at him was no bigger than a minute, and Jason had the man flipped and his neck broken within seconds. The second man who came after him met the unfortunate end of some of the bar’s finest silverware. The third man came after Jason with a gun, which Jason snatched from him, and then used to shoot out both knee caps before shooting the guy in the head. Jason threw the gun to the ground and made his way out of the bar. No one else tried to stop him. ---- When he got back to his apartment that night Roy and Lian were nowhere to be seen, but Dick was sitting at his kitchen table in a pair of jeans and a worn blue sweatshirt. Jason sighed as soon as he saw him, and removed his helmet and domino mask. He knew Dick would just get mad if he left it on. He didn’t like talking to the helmet; it was the same with Bruce’s cowl. He really had all of them wrapped around his little finger. Even Slade Wilson, apparently. “Slade told me what happened at the bar.” Jason shrugged. “I didn’t take him for a snitch,” he sniffed. Dick sighed. “Jason, I know you don’t approve but you can’t just shoot him.” “Why not?” Jason asked petulantly. Dick’s lips thinned. “Because it’s wrong, and before you go and make a fuss about Slade’s wrongness, you can’t judge someone based on past actions.” “Yes, you can Dick, that’s the whole fucking point of them.” “I don’t judge you,” Dick said, unfairly in Jason’s opinion. “Look, Dick, there’s a big leap between running a mob to keep all the really bad mobs out of Gotham, and killing people for money, even I know that. I know I’m no peach, but Slade’s a bad guy, Dick, and people like that don’t just reform. You can’t help him,” Jason protested. Dick shook his head. “You don’t know that.” “Yeah, I think I do. You can’t reform me and I’m not half as nasty as Deathstroke.”Dick sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You’re right, you’re not as bad as he is. This will probably end up being a huge mistake that ends in a world of hurt, but I think I have the right to make that mistake. I’m my own person Jason, and neither you nor Bruce can make my decisions for me.” His eyes blazed like blue fire, and Jason found himself cowed by their intensity. Dick was right, of course, he always was. “I know, I just don’t want to see you hurt,” Jason muttered, looking away. Dick smiled softly at him. He reached across the table to grab Jason’s hands and uncrossed his arms for him. “I know,” he said, holding Jason’s hands in his, “and I love you for that,” Jason’s heart skipped a beat, “but I need to see this through. As weird as it sounds, I care about Slade, and he cares about me. I’ve been in a lot of relationships where that hasn’t been the case. I deserve to see where this goes now that I’ve started it.” Jason didn’t want to agree with him, but he couldn’t disagree, not when Dick was being so reasonable. “Dickie, this is a terrible idea,” he pleaded. Dick smiled a sad little smile. “I know,” he replied, unrepentant. Jason sighed and pulled away. He leaned back in his chair and fingered the blood on his pants. “I’ve got to change, want to stay for dinner?” He asked. Dick smiled brightly at him. “Sounds awesome, what’re we having?” He asked. Jason stood up and grabbed the cordless phone from it’s charging station. “Pizza, you call it in. Get me pepperoni.” He threw the cordless phone at Dick and walked off to his bedroom, ignoring the sound of Dick dialing. Jason stripped off his uniform and threw it in the blood hamper. He and Roy each had two dirty clothes hampers. One for regular laundry, and one for bloody laundry. He made his way to the shower and turned the water on as hot as he could stand. He needed to burn the night off of himself. Dick knew being with Slade was wrong, knew that it was going to end in pain, but he didn’t care, no instead he wanted to see things through. Jason stepped under the spray and watched the pink tinted water swirl down the drain. Only Dick Grayson could do something stupid on purpose and keep doing it just to see how it ended. Slade was unbelievably bad news, but it looked like Jason wasn’t going to get anywhere with that argument. Not when Dick knew and acknowledged that it was true. Jason grabbed the soap and began to scrub himself clean. His traitorous cock began to stiffen at the attention, and the persistence of Dick in his thoughts didn’t help. Jason, just this once, just to get back at Dick for being so purposefully stupid, let his mind wander. He imagined Dick in his Nightwing suit, skin tight polymer sticking to his skin, showing off the best ass on earth. Jason imagined getting his hands on that ass, all clad in black bodycon, squeezing handfuls, and then pulling Dick sharply back to him. He would grind his cock into that ass, listen as Dick moaned in pleasure. He would pull down the suit’s zipper until it ended just above his ass, and pull the top of the suit completely off of Dick, exposing his cock to the cool air. He’d get his hands around Dick’s cock and stroke until Dick cried out, throwing his head back as he came. Then Jason would shove Dick down to his knees, and Dick would smirk up at him as he pulled Jason’s cock out of his pants. Jason would grab fistfulls of pitch black hair and fuck Dick’s face on his cock until he finally came, spilling himself down Dick’s throat. Of course he’d pull out at the last second and cover Dick’s face in his come. Jason imagined the look on Dick’s face, sated and satisfied, with fucked red lips and come clinging to his eyelashes, and came. Jason slumped back in the shower, and let the water wash his shame down the drain. He looked up at the ceiling as his breathing returned to normal. He was still angry, and now a little bit ashamed. Dick made him crazy, there was no doubt about that. Maybe it would be better if he avoided him while Dick was with Slade. The thought only lasted a second. He knew he could never leave Dick alone, not ever, and certainly not now that he was letting Slade in close. Jason was resigned to his fate to forever be one step behind Dick’s many, many conquests. He didn’t even know if he wanted to be part of that whole situation; that toxic will they won’t they relationship that Dick seemed so fond of. He just wanted Dick. He wanted to live in his space, to make him dinner and patch him up after patrol. He wanted to be happy, but he was Jason Todd, and he knew better than to believe in happy. ---- Jason walked back out into the living room dressed in sweatpants and a worn red t-shirt. Dick smiled at him when he walked in. Dick was sitting in front of the TV, which was turned to a sitcom that had ended a few years prior. He liked watching comedy shows, he said they were something he didn’t have to worry about. Jason sat down next to him and laid back. He spread one out along the back of the couch, Dick just beyond his reach. “Which one’s this one?” He asked. “Karen’s supposed to write an essay on friendship for her psychology class, but all her friends are idiots,” Dick replied. Jason nodded, he remembered this show well. It had been one of his mother’s favorites. She used to put it on a lot while she got high. “Oh, yeah, I remember this one. Sort of a shitty episode,” he said. Dick snorted. “Better than a cop drama, which is the only other thing on right now.” “Fair enough. I don’t think there’s anything I hate more than a cop drama.” “A vigilante drama?” “Okay, you got me.” Dick laughed and leaned back. If Jason reached just a little bit further he could probably brush Dick’s hair. Before he could gather the courage to try, the doorbell rang, and Dick stood up to pay the pizza guy. He brought the pizza back to the couch complete with paper plates and napkins. “Want something to drink?” He asked. “Yeah, I’ll have to grab it though. I hide the booze so Roy doesn’t see it,” Jason said. He stood up and went back to his room to grab a bottle of whiskey. It was the only alcohol in the apartment, and it was mostly for emergencies. He’d used a bit of it to clean out a bullet wound, but there was plenty left for two people. It was a big bottle. He brought the bottle back and noticed that Dick had grabbed two glasses from the kitchen. He filled them both a third of the way and grabbed a slice of pepperoni. Dick dug into the other box and pulled out an absolute monstrosity of a slice covered in a dozen different toppings. Jason snorted. “I don’t know how you keep that perfect ass of yours with a diet like that,” he muttered. Dick raised a brow at him. “It’s because my ass is magic,” he said. “I’m sure Slade would agree,” Jason shot back. Dick made an afronted noise and smacked his arm. Jason just laughed. “All right, drink up, magic ass.” Jason handed Dick the drink, which he shot back in one swallow. Jason willed himself not to get hard. “Oh, I see, it’s going to be like that, is it?” Jason asked. Dick smirked at him, and Jason grinned back. He shot back his own drink and refilled the glasses. The pizza boxes emptied slowly, while the bottle of whiskey emptied much more quickly. Jason poured himself the last of the whiskey and shot it back while Dick watched with rapt attention. When Jason finished it off Dick cheered and laughed. He was shit at holding his liquor, and was already very tipsy. Jason was made of sterner stuff, and so he was a little more coherent, but not by much. “You know when you swallow your adam’s apple goes up and down and up,” Dick laughed, demonstrating with his finger, his eyes on Jason’s neck. “Yeah, that’s sorta how it works, Dickie,” Jason slurred. Dick giggled, and put his finger on Jason’s neck. “Do it again,” he said. Jason swallowed obediently and Dick laughed, his finger following the movement up and down Jason’s neck. Jason felt his cheeks flush and his cock start to stiffen.“Get off,” he grumbled, shoving Dick’s hand away. Dick rolled his eyes as he listed a little to the side. “Y’know you grew up really well,” Dick said suddenly. He put his hands on his hips and looked Jason up and down. “You’re so tall,” he muttered petulantly. “It’s not fair, I don’t know why I never got tall, but I never did! Everyone’s taller than me. Except Tim, of course.” Jason choked on a laugh. “Tim’s a fuckin’ hobbit, Dick, no one’s shorter than him. Oh wait, fuck, am I taller than Slade?” He asked. Dick considered him for a long moment. “No,” he said finally. “Fucker.” Dick shrugged. “Sorry, buddy, but he’s like a million feet tall, don’t tell anyone, but I have to go on my tippy toes to kiss him, isn’t tha’ weird?” He asked. Jason nodded vigorously. “Really weird, you should date someone shorter, like me,” he said, then froze. He hadn’t meant to say that outloud. Dick giggled. He crawled toward Jason and stopped to kneel in front of him. “I should date you, huh? I dunno Jay, aren’t we sorta like brothers?” He asked. Jason, for some ungodly reason, shook his head. “No, Bruce didn’t adopt you until after I died, plus I was dead, I barely lived with Bruce for like two, no three, no two, no- fucking whatever, it wasn’t long. Plus we’re not actually related,” he explained. Dick thought carefully about that, and nodded decidedly. “Good point,” he said. Then he grabbed Jason’s shoulders and pulled him close. “I think I’m gonna kiss you,” he said softly, looking down at Jason’s mouth. Jason licked his lips and Dick’s eyes followed the movement. “Okay,” Jason said. Dick smiled and moved forward. He pressed his lips to Jason’s, and kissed him hard and deep. Jason grabbed his hips and pulled him forward sharply, so he was sitting in Jason’s lap. Jason grabbed two handfuls of Dick’s ass, and kissed back, shoving his tongue in Dick’s mouth. Dick moaned and sucked on Jason’s tongue. He smiled into the kiss and pressed forward, pressing his hard cock into Jason’s stomach. Jason pulled him down hard, and ground up into his ass. Dick moaned and threw his head back at the sensation. Jason immediately attacked his neck, kissing and sucking at it. Suddenly Dick stopped moving. Jason, undeterred, kept sucking at his neck. Dick shoved him back, and leapt off the couch. He stood with wide eyes, and his hand against his mouth. Jason looked up at him confusedly, before realization dawned on him. “I have to go,” Dick said quietly. Jason shook his head, which was sobering quickly and ruthlessly. “Not in this state. Take my room, I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said. Dick nodded and walked off, not sparing Jason another glance. Jason laid back against the couch, and even in his inebriated state he could understand the horror of what had happened there. He’d kissed Dick, no- Dick had kissed him . Only Dick was with Slade, and Slade would not be happy when he found out about this. Jason felt terror strike through his heart. What if Slade got really mad? What if he hurt Dick? What if he killed him? Jason forced himself to swallow down those thoughts. Slade wouldn’t kill Dick, by his own admission he cared about him. If he wouldn’t kill Dick before they’d started dating, he sure as hell wasn’t going to now. Jason forced his eyes closed. He needed to sleep off the alcohol. Jesus, no wonder Roy got off the sauce. It was nothing but trouble and regret. ---- When Jason got up the next morning Dick was gone. He wasn’t surprised. Jason spent the day in his apartment. He watched shitty TV and ate Dick’s leftover pizza, which, for all it’s weird toppings, was surprisingly tasty. Roy got home later in the day, carrying groceries in one hand and Lian in the other. “So, did you see Dick last night?” He asked as he began taking out the cold things for Lian to put in the fridge. “What?” Jason asked, jerking upright and nearly dropping his pizza. Roy looked over at him and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. “What the hell happened to you?” “Swear jar, daddy.”“Sorry, pumpkin.” Roy fished a dollar out of his wallet and put it in the jar marked ‘Lian’s Candy Fund.’ “Dick and I made out on the couch,” Jason muttered. Roy dropped the pickle jar, which shattered against the countertop and spilled pickle juice everywhere. “Shit, fucking dammit,” he snapped. “Daddy.” “Yeah, I know kiddo.” He grabbed a stack of paper towels and swept the whole mess into the garbage. Then he fished four dollars out of his pocket and threw them in the jar. Fuck was a very bad word, so it meant two dollars in the jar. Roy sprayed the counter and wiped away the sticky pickle juice residue, then turned to Lian. “Honey, Daddy and Jason need to have an adult conversation, why don’t you go to your room and play with your dollies, okay?” Lian looked at him suspiciously. She probably thought he didn’t want her there so he didn’t have to donate the entire remaining contents of his wallet to the swear jar. She wasn’t wrong. “ Fine, ” she sighed dramatically. She made her way out of the kitchen, and it wasn’t until he heard her bedroom door close that Roy reacted. “ What the shit, Jason!?” he hissed. “The fuck do you mean you and Dick made out on the couch? The same fucking Dick that’s dating fucking Deathstroke!? The man whose name literally means fucking killing blow!? God dammit Jason, he’s going to come here to fucking kill you! Dammit! He’s going to come here to fucking kill you! He knows where you live! He’s going to kill me and Lian! Dammit Jason if Deathstroke comes here to kill me and Lian because you couldn’t keep it in your fucking pants around Dick fucking Grayson, I’m going to kill you!” Jason blinked up at Roy. “You owe twenty dollars to the swear jar,” he said. Roy’s face turned the same shade of red as his hair. Jason watched it with fascination. “Jason!” “What?”“You fucking macked on Deathstroke’s fucking boyfriend!” “Twenty-four dollars.” Roy let out a frustrated noise and snatched his wallet off the counter. He fished twenty-four dollars out of his wallet and shoved them into the jar. Then he turned back to Jason. His face was now redder than his hair. “Jason!” “Look, Roy, I know, okay? I fucked up. We were drunk, and he was talking about how Slade’s really tall and he has to stand on his tippy toes to kiss him, and I said you should date someone shorter like me, and he was like okay, and he fucking kissed me,” Jason’s voice got very high pitched toward the end, and Roy couldn’t stifle his laughter. “Shut up fucker! This is serious! Deathstroke’s going to fucking kill me!” Roy rolled his eyes. “Now he’s worried. By the way that’s six dollars, shithead,” he realized what he’d said and rolled his eyes. “Dammit.” Jason pulled out six dollars and Roy grabbed another two. “Look, my advice is to stay out of their way. Dick’s going to tell Slade, you know he is, and when he does you probably don’t want to be within a mile of either of them, so I suggest staying home tonight.” Jason shook his head. “What if he hurts Dick?” It was on the tip of Roy’s tongue to say he’d brought it upon himself, but he didn’t. That would be needlessly cruel and Jason didn’t need it right now. “Watch from a distance. Keep an eye on them, but keep out of their way. Got it? You don’t want to be in the middle of that argument.” Jason nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” “I usually am, now put that pizza down, it’s my turn to make dinner tonight and you’re not getting out of it by claiming to be full.” ---- That night Jason kept to the shadows as he made his way to Dick’s side of town. He hadn’t heard any chatter of Nightwing out on the streets, and he was a little worried that Slade had hurt Dick so badly he couldn’t go out. Jason made his way slowly to Dick’s building and jumped down softly onto the fire escape. He crept down the side of the building until he reached Dick’s floor. He rolled his eyes again at how shitty Dick’s apartment was. He insisted on living off of a cop’s salary, even though his millions of dollars inheritence was tucked nice and tight in his bank account. Jason looked through the window to the living room, but he didn’t see anyone. He jimmied open the window and slipped inside. Dick might be laid up in bed, or cleaning a wound in the bathroom. Better safe than sorry. Jason crept through the apartment in the direction of the bedroom before he heard something that made his heart stop. Somebody, Dick, cried out, and something slammed into the wall. Jason quickened his step and made his way to the bedroom, where he peeked through the crack in the door. What he saw made his stomach sink. Dick was laying on the bed, ass up in the air, as Slade slammed into him from behind so hard the bed smacked into the wall. Dick moaned and Slade wrapped a hand around his throat, pulling him up until his back was flushed with Slade’s massive chest. Slade’s hand tightened on Dick’s throat and Jason’s hands tightened to fists, despite Dick’s moan. “That’s it Dick, you’re going to act like a slut then I’m going to treat you like one.” He gave a particularly vicious thrust and Dick cried out as he came, untouched. Jason’s cheeks flushed as Dick leaned back into Slade, panting. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and his body was flushed red from exertion. Slade pulled out carelessly and Dick moaned, dropping forward onto the bed. Slade turned him around, and Dick sat up. Slade stroked his cock hard and fast and let out a long moan as his orgasm hit him, his come covering Dick’s face. Dick’s eyes, lust blown and vividly blue, shot open as he looked up at Slade. Slade smiled down at him, and took Dick’s face in his hands. He kissed him hard and claiming. “You’re mine, pretty bird, and don’t you forget it,” he hissed. Dick could only nod. Jason didn’t need to see any more. Heart in his stomach, he turned on his heel and slipped out as quietly as he’d arrived.

The images restarted. Gobber lifted the gate to the training arena. Hiccup winced. The Gronkle at Gyda's feet winced as well. Her ears lowered and she laid her head upon her paws. [I am so sorry, youngling,] she said. [Why are you apologizing?] Toothless asked. [What will this show?] “Just watch, Toothless,” Gyda said. “You will see. Just remember there is more than meets the eye.” Toothless stared at her but the images began before he could ask anything. /Welcome to dragon training./ The teens walked in, looking around. /No turning back. I hope I get some serious burns. I'm hoping for some mauling, like on my shoulder or lower back. Yeah, it's only fun if you get a scar out of it./ [Tuff, why would you want to get burnt?] Shadowfire asked. [Ruff, why would any mauling be a good idea? And Astrid, your definition of fun is vastly different than mine.] [Mine as well,] the female Gronkle said. [Scars means wounds,] the Terror said. [Wounds means pain. Some wounds are hard to recover from. Some don't recover at all.] “Who?” Hiccup asked as the Terror shuddered and curled in on itself. [My parents. They led the flock and died defending our tree from another flock.] Hiccup gathered the Terror closer. Toothless stared at both for several heartbeats then leaned over and nuzzled both of them. [You have a new flock now,] Toothless said. The Terror curled his neck, staring at Toothless. [You're sure?] [I'm sure.] [Thank you, Protector.] “Why do you call him Protector?” Hiccup asked. “Ah, don't answer,” Gyda said. “That will be explained later. There are somethings the Vikings do not know.” [They do not know about her?] the other Nightmare asked, its voice female. “Her?” “Hiccup, please, do not ask for things ahead of the tale. All will be revealed and understood at the end. I promise.” Hiccup stared at Gyda but nodded his head. He trusted her as he had trusted no one except Toothless. She accepted him and defended him. She raised a dragon from an egg. Not something most would do. The images restarted with himself quipping a sarcastic response to Astrid's comment about scars. /Yeah, no kidding, right? Pain. Love it./ The teens turned and several groaned. /Oh, great who let him in?/ Gobber stepped forward before anyone could answer Tuffnut. /Let's get started! The recruit who does the best will win the honor of killing his first dragon in front of the entire village./ “His?” Astrid asked, spinning to stare at Gobber. “There were two girls there, Gobber.” “Eh..” Gobber rubbed the back of his neck to the laughter of Vikings and dragons alike. Snotlout's voice from the images pulled everyone's attention back to the images. /Hiccup already killed a Night Fury, so does that disqualify him or…./ Some of the teens laughed before walking further into the arena. /Can I transfer to the class with the cool Vikings?/ Gobber walked over and placed an arm around Hiccup's shoulders, guiding him into the arena. /Don't worry. You're small and weak. That'll make you less of a target. They'll see you as sick or insane and go after the more Viking-like teens instead./ Gyda groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. Hiccup turned from the images to stare at her in concern. “Gobber,” Gyda began, “you lot believe dragons are mindless beast that just attack and kill. You tell this to everyone who will stand still long enough to listen. You write it in a book over and over. Correct?” “Yes,” Gobber said slowly. “So, why then did you tell Hiccup that? Mindless beasts will not look at a group of kids and go – hm, that one is healthy looking so I should attack it, but that one over there is small and might be the easier target...oh, nope should leave it alone. Beasts will always...always go for the easier target. Predator versus prey at its finest.” “I wanna him ta feel better,” Gobber replied. “By telling him the other teens were 'more Viking-like'? What did he say to you at his house before you convinced his father to put him in the training?” “Oh.” “Right, oh.” Gyda looked at the other Vikings. “You lot speak and don't think, ever. You just run your mouths and don't care what or who hears you. Here we have a saying: Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. That is a lie. Words can kill just as effectively as sword.” She turned back and waved her head. The images began once more. Gobber pushed Hiccup into Fishlegs before moving to a cage door. /Behind these doors are just a few of the many species you will learn to fight. The Deadly Nadder. Speed eight. Armor sixteen./ [Uh, youngling, what did that larger youngling mean?] the female Nadder asked, head tilted. “I'm not entirely sure,” Hiccup replied. “Stats,” Fishlegs said. “To determine strength and weaknesses so we can know what dragon is good or bad at what.” [Who determined these numbers?] the female Gronkle asked. “Uhm, I did,” Fishlegs whispered. “After reading the dragon manual.” “Smart,” Gyda said. “Knowing what your enemy is good or bad at is always a good idea.” The images continued with Gobber announcing different dragon species and Fishlegs continuing to add his stats. /The Hideous Zippleback. Plus eleven stealth. Times two. The Monstrous Nightmare. Fire power fifteen. The Terrible Terror. Attack eight. Venom twelve. Can you stop that?! And… the Gronkle. Jaw strength eight./ Hiccup chuckled as the images showed Fishlegs lean over and whispered the last stat. The images showed Gobber grip one of the levers next to a reinforced door which shook. That caused Snotlout to jerk and step forward. /Whoa, wait. Aren't you gonna teach us first? I believe in learning on the job./ Gobber pushed. The lever lowered. The log lifted. The Gronkle barreled out. The teens scattered. Gobber's voice was calm even as chaos reigned in the arena. /Today is about survival. If you get blasted, you're dead. Quick, what's the first thing you need? A doctor?/ [That's for after, Alpha,] Shadowfire said, snickering. /Plus five speed./ Hiccup, Gyda, and all the dragons turned to stare at Fishlegs. Said teen just laughed nervously. The images began again. /A shield? Shields go./ “Of course, my daughter gets the right answer,” Eydis said as the images showed the teens scramble for various shields laying around the arena. /You're most import piece of equipment is your shield. If you must make a choice between a sword and a shield, take the shield./ Gobber aided Hiccup to secure his shield. Tuff and Ruff fought over a single shield. /Get your hands off my shield. There are like a million shields. Take that one, it has flowers on it. Girls like flowers./ Everyone watching winced as Ruff cracked the shield over Tuff's head. She then held it out. /Oops, now this one has blood on it./ [Youngling,] the female Nadder began, [are those two, hm, how do humans put it..] [Not right in the head?] Toothless asked. [Completely insane?] Shadowfire supplied. “Devotes to Loki?” Gyda offered. “All of the above?” Hiccup quipped. “They know us,” Ruff said. “Spies,” Tuff said. “Or the witch can read minds and H's learned by sitting beside her.” “Not a witch,” Gyda said. “And I can't read minds. I just know quite a bit about you two.” The images continued. The Gronkle fired, hitting the shield. Ruff and Tuff spun before hitting the ground. Gobber called them out. The Gronkle flew on, leaving the twins on the floor. Hiccup frowned. “You only hit the shield and not them,” he said, looking down at the Gronkle. [The point of the lesson was to teach survival,] Gronkle said. [Hurting the younglings would be counterproductive. Myself, the Spike-thrower, and the Double-mind have been in that stone den for several months, teaching many of your previous flock to fight against dragons. If we harmed any humans we were not fed.] Hiccup's eyes narrowed. He leaned around the Terror and scratched the base of the Gronkle's closest ear. The Gronkle gave a contented growl and wagged her tail. Gyda giggled and moved her legs before the Gronkle's tail hit her. Hiccup stopped scratching and the Gronkle tilted her head. [Sorry,] she said. “Not a worry,” Gyda replied, pointing at Shadowfire. “Remember, I raised him.” [Mom,] Shadowfire whined. Gyda chuckled. “What?” she asked, looking up at him. “I had a lot of whelps and bruises until you learned to control your tail. Lot of broken toes too until you stopped stepping on them.” [Mom!] The dragons and Hiccup laughed. Hiccup saw the Vikings staring across the barrier. Some, the mothers mostly, stared with fond looks of remembrance. Some held disbelief on their face. Some smiled. Others stared with disgust or anger. “We should continue,” Gyda said, drawing Hiccup's attention. She was smirking. “Before my son dies of embarrassment.” [Mother!] Gyda giggled and scratched Shadowfire under the chin. He grunted but Hiccup could tell he was not all that annoyed. Hiccup turned away. They held a better relationship than he and his father and it hurt. He felt Gyda's hand on his shoulder and Toothless nuzzle him. Then the Terror, the Nadder, and the Gronkle nuzzled him as well. Shadowfire lifted his head, curled his neck around and nuzzled him as well. /Those shields are good for another thing. Noise. Make lots of it to throw off a dragon's aim./ The images showed the remaining recruits, including Hiccup, gathered close and began banging their weapons against their shields. Hiccup frowned when the images shifted, showing a warbled image. His eyes widened when he realized it was from the Gronkle's point of view after the images showed the Gronkle shake her head. He looked down. “Did that hurt?” [Yes,] the Gronkle replied. [A dragon's hearing is sharp. My kind have worse than others but ours is still better than a human's. That banging always makes my head feel like boulders are falling on it.] “I'm sorry. I will find a way to get you and the others out of there.” [We are safe there, youngling,] the Gronkle said. [Only the Flame-skin is in danger.] “Flame-skin?” [Your kind call them Nightmares,] the Gronkle said. [They light their skin on fire when they fight.] “Do all dragons have different names for their species?” “Eh, Hiccup, we really don't have time for this, my friend,” Gyda said softly. “The message must be delivered and you all returned.” “Oh, sorry,” Hiccup said. “It's okay, Hiccup. Let's just keep watching.” Gyda waved her hand and the images began again. /All dragons have a limited number of shots. How many does a Gronkle have? Five! No, six. Correct, six. That's one for each of you! I really don't think my parents would-/ Fishleg's shield got blasted, cutting him off. Snotlout, watching, crowed. “That's what know-it-all's get, Fishface!” Gyda and Shadowfire snorted. Hiccup looked over only to have Gyda point back to the walls. He turned and sighed as the images showed Gobber yelling at himself. /Hiccup, get in there!/ Hiccup watched himself step away from the wooden half wall. The images switched, focusing on Astrid. Hiccup could not help but smile. As with everything she did, Astrid was focused. He watched Snotlout walk up. /So anyway, I'm moving into my parents' basement. You should come by sometimes to work out. You look like you work out-/ Astrid rolled away. The Gronkle blasted Snotlout's shield. Hiccup snickered and scratched the Gronkle's ear. “Good girl,” he whispered. The Gronkle chuckled. Out of the corner of his eye, Hiccup saw Shadowfire lift his head and turn towards the barrier. [Shouldn't have sought to court Alpha's mate,] he said. “Huh?” Hiccup asked. “Don't worry about it, Hiccup,” Gyda said. “Just keep watching.” He stared at her, eyes narrowed, but she merely waved her hand and the images began again. /Snotlout, you're done!/ Astrid rolled to a stop beside Hiccup. Watching, Hiccup winced at his voice breaking when he posed a question to her. /So, I guess it's just you and me, huh? Nope, just you./ Astrid rolled away. The Gronkle blasted Hiccup's shield. Hiccup took off after it. /One shot left!/ “Gobber,” Stoick began, “why didn't you end the lesson? Astrid was the last standing.” “Eh, uhm, I don't rightly know.” “Gobber.” Stoick's voice held a tone of warning. “You can't play favorites in dragon training.” [At least he gives the youngling a chance,] the male Nightmare said, walking over. He stopped behind Toothless, who shifted so he could see the Nightmare. [And you are?] Toothless asked him. [The one they are training to kill.] The Nightmare stared down at Hiccup. [I knew what I was there for. The Double-mind told me my first night in that stone den. I hated all of you, but now I understand.] The Nightmare turned to Gyda. [I know you do not want the tale told before its time, but I must know.] He tossed his head towards the barrier and the Vikings on the other side. [Do they learn the truth?] “Of?” [The war and the youngling both.] Gyda hummed and tipped her head once. “Witch!” Stoick bellowed. “If we learn these truths then why are we here?!” [I believe I know,] the Nightmare said before Gyda could answer. [You lot might learn the truths, but you still may not gain understanding. These visions are to teach that understanding.] “Aye,” Gyda said. “The present is but a product of past events that shape it. While the truths are learned sadly some are not kept. And that is all I will say on the subject.” [Fair enough,] the Nightmare replied. [Protector, may I sit behind your brother?] [Hiccup?] “I don't mind.” Hiccup shifted so he could look over his shoulder at the Nightmare. “Though, why do you all ask Toothless if he's just going to ask me?” [He is the elder in your flock, youngling,] the male Nadder said. Hiccup shifted again. To his surprise, Shadowfire immediately stepped back so Hiccup could see the Nadder. [If an outsider to a flock needs to approach a flock member they must approach an elder first. To otherwise would be the height of dishonor.] “Okay, that I get.” Hiccup turned around, facing Toothless. “And you ask me, why?” [You have the right to make your own decisions, brother. Had you've said no at any point, I would have refused all of their requests.] “Really?” [Really.] Hiccup blinked. He looked over at Gyda then past her to his tribe. None of them had ever asked his opinion or he desire on anything. Not even Gobber. He heard a shuffle of more feet and turned to find the other dragons had moved closer to Toothless. Toothless stared at them. The other Nightmare tipped her head down. [We also wish to sit near your brother, if we can.] [All of you?] The other dragons nodded. Toothless turned to Hiccup. [Your call, brother,] he said. “You all want to sit with me?” Hiccup whispered. [Yes,] the other Gronkle, a green one that sounded male, said. Hiccup looked around, stunned. No one had ever wanted to sit with him. Most of the time he sat by himself, especially when in the Great Hall. The only times he ever sat with anyone were times other tribes visited and his father made him to sit with him at feasts held in the visiting tribe's honor. Even then the others were required to be there. None wished to. [Brother?] Toothless asked. Hiccup blinked, realizing he had yet to answer. “Uh, yeah, I don't mind,” he whispered. [Brother?] “No..no one ever wanted to..” Toothless nuzzled him as did the Terror. “Thank you,” Hiccup whispered. The other dragons moved to find seats around Hiccup. The male Gronkle ended up in front of the female Nadder. The other Nightmare sat next to male one. The two Zipplebacks found their places behind Toothless and beside the female Nightmare. Shadowfire returned to his spot behind Gyda's right shoulder. Hiccup turned when the female Gronkle suddenly gasped. [My apologies,] she said looking at Gyda. [I asked your son and not you. I should not have assumed he was the elder of your flock.] “It's okay. Most times the dragon is the oldest. How could you have known our flock would be different?” Gyda looked over her shoulder at the male Nadder, who kept to his place between Shadowfire's body and the barrier. “You can move closer if you want. I don't mind.” [Thank you,] the male said moving to the space beside the bench. “Now that everyone's settled once more,” Gyda said, “let's continue.”

Well, that certainly had been a birthday party that we would talk about for awhile, don’t you think? Haha! I mentioned a couple of chapters back that I felt as though my clothes were thoroughly safe, when I stashed them in a Sunday school room and it turned out they weren’t. As the summer wore on, I began to experience extreme feelings of horniness. This was due to school being out and not seeing Mr. Boyd and Thad Jenkins, our assistant minister, was finally given a church of his own. Go Thad! But it was too far away for me to visit. I still didn’t have a boyfriend; certainly not because I hadn’t been asked. Practically every boy I knew had asked me to be his girlfriend. Boys have a tendency to want to have a girlfriend, who enjoys stripping herself stark naked all the time. But I hadn’t met anyone yet, who had made my heart go pitty-pat much less any other part of my body. The boy, who I had seen on that one ill-fated Sunday that Mrs. Bulldyke, or whatever her name was, caught me flashing suddenly reappeared one Sunday morning late in June. I was determined this time to meet him. Again during the closing prayer, I looked up and saw him looking directly at me. This time I made damn sure no one was watching us and then I did something I had never risked before and, to this day, I still can’t believe I did it. I reached down to the hem of my choir robe and pulled it completely off my body. I was standing in church during a service stark naked! I didn’t even have shoes on. Then I ran my finger slightly along my pussy lips.. He appeared stunned for a second and then was grinning broadly at me and waved. I quickly slipped the robe back on with no one being the wiser. After the service, I observed him attempting to make his way toward the choir. He finally was able to push his way through the crowd of well wishers and family members and reach me. “Hi, my name is Frank – Frank Stein,” the young man introduced himself. He stood somewhat taller than me, but was not a giant by any means. He had longish wavy dark hair, brown eyes and one of the cutest smiles I had ever seen. “I’m,” I began, but then he interrupted. “I know who you are,” he informed me. Frank went on to explain that he had asked around the last time he had seen me and discovered who I was, but couldn’t find out anything else, such as where I lived, etc. “I’m flattered,” I replied shyly, acting as though me showing him my totally nude body had nothing to do with it. “Hey, Sara!” The discordant voice of Audrey the young woman, who sat next to me in choir jarringly interrupted our conversation. “What, Aud-rey,” I said with a long sigh indicating to her that I was plenty put out by her interrupting us, but that I would deal with it. “The choir director said we needed to turn in our choir robes immediately, so they can be gathered for dry cleaning. You wanna give me yours now?” “No!” I shouted, drawing attention from several people. “No,” I reiterated in a lower tone. “I’ll give mine over in a minute.” Audrey stuck her tongue out at me and replied, “Geez! Some people! You try to help them and they throw up all over you.” Audrey turned her back to Frank and I. I could just see myself acceding to her request and handing over my choir robe to her. Man, that would have been something! Since I wasn’t ready for a public stripping of that magnitude, I suggested to Frank that he come along with me, while I retrieved my outfit in order to turn in the robe. Of course he dutifully agreed and traipsed after me downstairs to the classrooms. Once inside the correct room I went straight over to where I had left my clothes. And they weren’t there! “Oh shit!” I exclaimed. “My clothes are gone.” Frank wandered over to where I was standing. “Are you sure?” he asked, peering around owlishly. “What’d you mean – am I sure?” I responded angrily. “Of course I’m sure! I left them right there. Do you see any clothes?” Frank shook his head silently. Just then Audrey’s unpleasant drone cut the tension in the room. “Hey, Sara! Are you in there? I have to get that robe. Hey, why’d you have the door locked?” Now I was between a rock and a hard place. My clothes were missing, they wanted the choir robe and Audrey was attempting to get in the room. I had no choice at this point, but to hand my choir robe out to Audrey through the cracked door. As I handed it out to her, making sure to keep the door closed enough so she couldn’t see anything, I explained, “I have the door locked because I’m in my underwear.” “Oh yeah,” Audrey replied sarcastically. “Hehe, you don’t wear underwear, Sara. You’re probably naked in there.” I was beginning to realize that my sexual proclivities were becoming too well known. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard Audrey’s high heels clicking away down the hallway. Turning to Frank, whose mouth was completely agape at the sight of me standing next to him stark naked. I was blushing furiously. I know, you gonna say why, that I was just standing in front of him nude out in the church. Well, that was completely different. He was a lot further away from me and we were in a room full of people. Now it was just me and him and he was standing right next to me as I was completely nude and I didn’t have on stitch of clothing to put on. And I had just met him! I noticed immediately that he either had an erection or a mouse in his pants. So I reached down there and felt around. Sure enough, it was an erection and it was getting larger. I pulled his zipper down and reached in and released it. I gave it several yanks and he suddenly went off like a sky rocket! “Oh Sara!” he exclaimed. I pulled his handkerchief out of his suit pocket and handed it to him. “Here, clean yourself up and then stash that.” I realized I was being abrupt, but I had some things I needed him to do and there wasn’t much time. After Frank had completed his task, I explained to him. “I need you to go down to the janitor’s closet and bring me back some rope. And hurry!” I’ll say this for him. He obtained that rope about as quickly as he had his orgasm. Then I instructed him to find Audrey and bring her back to me and don’t let anybody see him. You see, I had figured out who had taken my clothes. It suddenly occurred to me whose perfume I had smelled in the corner of the room when I went to search out my clothes. A few minutes later, Frank knocked gently on the door and I allowed him and Audrey to enter. Her eyes became as large as saucers, when she obtained a good look at my total nakedness. “Sara! Whatever are you doing and where are your clothes?” “I think you know where my clothes are, Audrey,” I accused. “Now how would I know that?” the girl inquired suddenly appearing quite malicious. “Give it up, Audrey,” I retorted. “I smelled your perfume over there where my clothes had been. Now I want them back this instant!” I demanded taking a step closer to her. “Well, you’re right, I did take them,” the girl whined. “But I can’t give them back because I destroyed them!” I reached out and grabbed her by the right upper arm and shook her as I exclaimed, “You’d better be kidding, Audrey.” “Well, I’m not,” Audrey replied in a ‘what are you going to do now’ tone. “Then I’ll just have to take yours,” I retorted grinning evilly at her. “What!” the girl screeched. “Grab her,” I ordered Frank, as I looked around for something to gag her with. Spotting his cum rag, I jammed that into her whiny, obnoxious, screeching wide-open mouth! Mwahaha! While Frank held Audrey in a vise like grip, I quickly denuded the young woman. I even took her underwear off, even though I didn’t want it for myself. Man, you should have seen her blush. It turned out that, beneath all that staid clothing Audrey wore, she was actually quite attractive as is often the case with young women, who for some reason or other don’t feel they are pretty and hide their beauty under a bushel. She had long light red hair, a cute face peppered with freckles, pert little breasts with large nipples and a big red-haired muff. I handed the rope to Frank, who quickly hamstrung her by tying her wrists together behind her back and then tying her ankles together and then joining her wrists to her ankles via the long rope. I checked the ropes to assure they were secure and then complimented Frank on a good job. He was a natural. Good thing we weren’t interested in serial killing, we’d have made a good team. Haha! Upon my encouragement, Frank set Audrey up against the back wall so she could watch if she so chose. “Take your clothes off,” I ordered Frank. He stripped completely down to the buff in no time. I had been right. He was fine looking with good body definition, a narrow waist, long legs and a big prick. I cast a quick glance at Audrey, who had been assiduously studying Frank’s nude form and only turned her head when she noticed me looking at her. I giggled softly to myself thinking that I was getting ready to really give her something to stare at. I sank to my knees and placed his penis in my mouth and quickly sucked on it ‘til it reached its full length. I swear I heard Audrey moaning lowly to herself. I bet she hadn’t seen many erections, if any. After laying myself down directly in front of the blushing young woman, I directed, “Come on, Frank, hop aboard! We haven’t got all day, you know.” The young man quickly dropped to his knees in front of me and leaned over and began to suckle my nipples. God, that felt especially good considering the circumstances with being in the Sunday school room and having Audrey watching us. She hadn’t been able to even tear her gaze away for a few seconds. As Frank was busy sucking on my aureoles, I stroked his elongated sexual organ until unbelievably it grew even lengthier. My labia was wide open in invitation and I was already dripping wet just from having Audrey witnessing our love making. I am twisted, I know that. I guided his seven-inch tool into my wide-open pussy and whispered to him to get on with it. Frank began literally pounding into my body. I guess he wasn’t kidding around anymore. Man, I couldn’t remember when I had felt so good, but I realized I was extra horny due to not having much sex all summer. I glanced up at Audrey and it appeared to me as if our sexual interaction was really getting to the young woman, but she was unable to effect anything herself because of being tied. She still appeared to be attempting to move her legs up and down having them tied at the ankles in an effort to rub her pussy lips together. Haha! I almost felt sorry for the poor hypocrite – almost! When Frank continued to pound his seven-inch erection into my labia, I suddenly began to orgasm. I came and came and came and came; in other words, I came a lot. I crossed my legs in a vise like grip on the young man’s hardened penis and he could barely move it and the feelings must have been out of this world for him as he shouted, “Oh sweet Jesus!” as he shot his torrent of hot sperm into me. I thought his crying out for Jesus was highly appropriate since we were in church at the time. After that he collapsed beside me and we lay and cuddled for a few moments, before I advised him we’d better be on our way before someone came to investigate where Audrey might have disappeared to. We dressed hurriedly and then we untied our would be voyeur. I had decided it was much crueler to allow Audrey the run of the church completely naked than to leave her tied up and have her family or friends find her, which would probably elicit their sympathy. This way Audrey really couldn’t say anything about me without incriminating herself. She had tears running down her face as she pleaded with me to at least leave her the bra and panties to wear. I laughed in her face. I retorted, “You were going to leave me without any clothes, so deal with it bitch!” I took Frank by the hand, strolled out of the church and never looked back. I never did really hear what happened to Audrey after we left. I think she had to be hospitalized for awhile because of a nervous breakdown and then once she did return to the choir she sat way over on the other side away from me. But I never did have any more trouble out of her. The End

Tomorrow was a new day indeed, a very chaotic one, but not for the sleepy Monkey King who was huddled up in a nest of sheets and pillows. ----In an unknown location   "UGH! How much I want to crush that monkey's skull! He got away again! We lost like fools!" Spider Queen was furious as she trashed the new hideout spot, her henchmen far from her violent outburst. Macaque just stared silently tucked in a dark corner with his shadows. "On the contrary my Queen, we managed to find our needed artifact while the enemy was distracted. And it also seems like one of your henchmen managed to contain the Great Sage's magic in a container. The knowledge this investigation could provide us could define our victory." A soft voice emerged from the shadows, coming near the Queen unhinged by her fury. Macaque’s fur stood up as he remained far away from the demoness yet he remained with a sharp look.   "You sure you aren't playing any tricks?! Cause you promised my destiny!" The Queen pointed at the girl, her voice full with venom and she showed her fangs in a hiss. "And you will fulfill your destiny when the time comes, but one must first push towards it." LBD answered as her eyes went towards Syntax, the Queen followed with her gaze. "Syntax! Give me a status on that ape's magic we took!" she hovered threateningly over the scientist who took a step back. "My Queen, I need more time and the proper equipment to analyze the data. The only information I have is that the monkey's magic seems to be fluctuating abnormally." "That's not enough info!" "I would need the proper equipment as my last one was incinerated." Syntax explained, also pissed off that his precious data went to waste. "How long till you build a new one?" Spider Queen wondered as she brushed her hair straight in an attempt to keep her composure. "Perhaps a month-"  "A month?!" "-if we move quickly to find the pieces." and that composure would have been lost again if it weren’t for the intervention of LBD. "No need to alarm my Queen, while your scientist does his project we could continue with the extraction of the artifacts we miss." her voice, clear as day yet as smooth as a whisper. The Queen took a fine breath, she had no choice but to follow with that girl’s advice. "Fine, Huntsman! Strong Spider! Find the materials Syntax needs!.” Spider Queen yelled before facing LBD, “And you girl, we will find the position of the next artifact.” ---------Back at Red Son's medical bay When Sun Wukong opened his eyes with the sound of a curtain moving, he was surprised by the amount of sunlight that came from the window. He groaned as he turned over in an attempt to keep sleeping, the sheets felt the right amount of comfy and warm. But just when he was finally dozing off again a beeping sound went off. That was the last straw. “Okay okay! I’m up. Turn that thing off.” his voice croaking and his orange fur sticking out in random directions all messed up. "Sleeping beauty finally woke up." joked Red Son as he made some quick examinations on him, fixing his medical bracelet. Monkey King glanced at the clock.  1pm. Damn. Wukong scratched his neck as he rolled his eyes comically. "Try it when you are hungry as heck but gag at everything. Haven’t had a good meal since the attack."  Red Son’s eyes opened like plates. "Wait! You haven't eaten any food since the attack?!" Wukong winced at the sudden shouting as he waved it off, "Relax kiddo, of course I have, I had tea after waking up, oh! and a mango at like midnight or something." "This doesn't suffice the nutrition you need!" Red Son replied as his hair bursted in flames. "Well it's not like I want to starve! Your mom is a witness of that. Oh yeah, quick note, your mom knows about my-..situation." Wukong said as he played with his tail and avoided the fire demon’s eyes. "Not surprised, my mother has a witted mind. Now that she knows you could seek her knowledge and experience on the topic." Red Son’s mouth turned into a proud smirk as he spoke, his hair no longer avid flames. "Yeah." was all that the monkey replied as he remembered the conversation he had with PIF last night. "Where is she?" Red Son frowned, "First you eat, then I will tell you." Sun Wukong chuckled, "Okay kiddo, I'll let you have this one." ---- The hallways of DBK’s castle were surprisingly not as deadly as MK told him when he and the others ended up there.  Maybe because Red Son deactivated the traps, he will have to ask him when he returns from visiting MK and Mei at Pigsy's restaurant, to keep them at bay. Sun Wukong took the liberty to wander off, his tummy happy after having a fulfilling breakfast. It turns out that he can eat many types of food, he just has a strong dislike for food that he was already very familiar with like peaches and Pigsy’s noodles which was both a blessing and a curse. And all that was for now, who knows if it’ll change or not? Luckily he just needed to watch out for those foods and take his vitamins for the meantime.    After going through a couple more hallways Sun Wukong had finally found the training pitch, where the flame boy told him his mother was. He took a peek inside and saw PIF who was polishing her weapon. She seemed calm and not busy, perhaps he could talk to her a bit more, she did say her doors would always be open for him right? Sun Wukong was about to enter the room but doubt suddenly invaded his mind, maybe it was too soon? He began reconsidering his choices as he took a step back. He felt a small wind and just as he turned he saw her, PIF face to face with him, weapon at his throat.  -------- Pigsy's noodle shop MK was beaming at Red Son when he visited the shop. As soon as he entered the shop he ran straight for a hug, crushing a very flustered flame boy.  "M-MK! Unhand me this instant!" Red Son cried, red as tomatoes, giving a fake cough to regain composure just as MK released him  "Sorry! I'm just happy to see you Red." MK replied as he gave him a quick peck to his cheek. Red Son's heart skipped a beat but he quickly returned the gesture, thinking of it as some weird human couple custom that he was giving his best to reciprocate in order to show his devotion for MK. Stuff like this he could do, hugs were still a work in progress. "Hey! Leave all that sappy stuff at the door! This is a restaurant!" Pigsy yelled from the kitchen to the couple. "Awwww how could you say that?! They look so cute!" Mei awed with her phone already taking dozens of photos.  "Delete those dragon girl!"  "Call me Mei first and try again!" Mei replied as she pulled out her tongue.  "MK!" "She does have a point, Red." MK laughed as she signaled discretely towards Mei to send him those photos later. "By the way, why are you visiting? Aren't you taking care of Monkey King? He's sick!" MK continued, quickly escalating before Red shushed him. "I know MK. I came here to give you all a status of him, to ease all your worries." Now that got the attention of Tang, Pigsy and Mei; Sandy was back at his ship.  "Oh! How's he doing?" Tang wondered after a bite of noodles. "He is doing okay, he will be taking a couple of weeks off to rest, just to be sure." Explained Red Son, now more comfortable with letting MK lean on him as he stroked his hair. "Can we visit him?" Mei asked "Sure, starting tomorrow, just send me a notice so I can get you there with my flames, I know my place is quite far." "And if you're here, how do you keep track of him? You know, if there's an emergency?" "Simple, he has a medical bracelet that detects any abnormal vitals and sends me an alert on my phone." "Oh! Like that one that says abnormal adrenaline spike?" Mei said as she pointed out a notification on Red Son's phone screen. "Yes just like- WHAT??! I need to leave" Red Son exclaimed in a hurried manner, ready to use his flames as he let go of MK. "Wait! We'll come as well!" Said Tang with eyes full of concern, Pigsy following behind. "I can't teleport everyone! Max two!" Explained Red Son. "Then Mei and me!" Replied MK as both stood in front of him, faces full with determination, there was no way of telling them no. "Okay fine, let's just hurry!" Red Son said as he grabbed both of their hands and quickly summoned his flames, teleporting them back at the medical bay at his place. ------- Red Son's place Sun Wukong felt a small wind and just as he turned he saw her, PIF face to face with him, weapon at his throat.  Fortunately, after seeing his face PIF quickly backed off, retrieving her metal fan. "Woah woah! Relax PIF, just good old Monkey King." Sun Wukong laughed nervously as he stood in defense, arms protecting his middle. PIF made a small bow with her head, "Apologies, old habits. Let me compensate for my rudeness, how can I help you?" her voice being firm but open. "I just came to seek your precious knowledge on inmortal pregnancy.” Sun Wukong joked as he made a grand gesture with his arms. “Also your son said I could.” He added with a nervous smile, “I hope that’s okay." PIF eyes slightly opened as he gestured towards a near seat. “Oh, will you continue the gestation?” Sun Wukong followed her, his tail twitching from one side to the other as he scratched his ear, “Uh, maybe?... Should I?” PIF took a seat next to the monkey, setting her weapon aside.“I can’t decide for you. You must decide or you could discuss it with your partner." "I know."Wukong let out a heavy sigh as he took a seat on a softest spot. "Speaking of partners, where are they?” PIF wondered as Wukong felt as his heart was pinched with a needle. “Take a guess, princess.” The monkey gritted his teeth in a forced smile, trying to give the hint that he wanted to just save himself from the embarrassment of a confession yet PIF gave him a confused look clearly unamused.  Of course she needed direct answers, Wukong cursed to his insides. “It’s Macaque.” he spat out as if his name was vinegar. PIF hummed at the answer as she closed her gaze, “The six-eared monkey. I thought you were enemies.” Monkey King let out an annoyed sigh as he played with the cushion, “Long story.” "Care to share?" "Not really, maybe another day." he replied, avoiding her eyes. PIF tone subtly changed, "He didn't-?" Wukong interrupted her, just like he did with his son before, why was everyone coming up with that conclusion? "All consensual. I just don't want to talk about it." PIF’s features relaxed slightly as she resumed her polishing of her fan. “That's okay. What’s his opinion on the matter?”  All PIF received was a crooked smile from the monkey, “He doesn’t know, heck I didn't even know!” He said as the realization hit him. "I see." "Yeah." Both stayed for a moment in silence, neither knowing how to continue the conversation until PIF spoke once again. “Do you want him to know?” Wukong's heart skipped a bit and his breath shortened, “Maybe?" "Why maybe?" PIF was confused, she wasn’t very used to indecisiveness, where she came from every decision was taken with determination and assertiveness, very common amongst demons at her times. Wukong's eyes suddenly flashed doubt as he hugged himself with his arms and tail, "I don't know." the words slowly dragged out of him. "What's the impediment?" PIF replied a bit more firmly. Sun Wukong quickly stood up in front of PIF, an unbelievable look on his face as he extended his arms, "Many!" "Well, then don't." PIF answered as if it was the most logical answer. Wukong stuttered as he paced near PIF, his tail frantically fidgeting, "That doesn't sound right either." "Then just pick the best one." “It’s not that easy!” Wukong’s breath quickened its pace with his heart, the lights were suddenly too annoying.  “How do you know if you don’t choose?” PIF pushed and that touched just the right nerve.  Sun Wukong turned abruptly at her, his fur all stood up, "That 's the thing!I don’t know and it sucks! Choosing sucks!" PIF opened her eyes in slight surprise as she put her weapon away, "Sun Wukong-" Wukong grabbed his tail and squeezed it hard as he stared at PIF, eyes slightly bright, "I know it will all be over if I just terminate but a part of me wonders the other route, I don’t know, maybe being a parent? It’s not like I never want to be a parent, it just never crossed my mind that this could happen. What if I don’t ever get a chance like this, of having a kid on my own? And if I decide to have them then what?! Do I raise them on my own? Will I even tell Macaque?! What if he tries to hurt them? What if it’s selfish of me to want children because it puts them at risk of every enemy I have? I DON’T KNOW!” PIF stayed silent, listening, which helped Sun Wukong ground himself as he realized what he just did. He flopped down at his seat, defeated; he covered his face with his hands,“This sucks.” As those words left his mouth he felt the warmness of a hand caressing his back and that’s when he looked back at PIF, now taking deep breaths, “I’m sorry.” PIF nooded, “Don’t need to, I’m sorry if I crossed a line.” Wukong shook his head, “Don’t be, you were just telling the truth. You have done nothing but help me despite our history.” PIF frowned as she kept caressing his back, “And I will continue to aid you, history has been settled. You mentioned before wanting to know about inmortal pregnancy from my experience. We could start with that if that helps.” She offered to a now calmer monkey. Sun Wukong let out a big breath fixing his fur,“Yeah, thank you.” Just as he said that MK, Red Son and Mei bursted through the door and rushed towards them surrounding the monkey. MK was the first to speak, his eyes teary, "OMG! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Red Son followed concerned, "I received an alert telling me you were experiencing an abnormal level of adrenaline. Couldn't stop them from following me." Mei just smiled, "Who do I have to murder?" Sun Wukong was too perplexed to say anything at all, still recovering from his conversation with PIF when said princess stood up and raised her hand for silence. "No need to worry young, Sun Wukong and his unborn are just fine." Sun Wukong suddenly felt as if time slowed down, feeling all eyes in the room pierce his soul. Wait. "WHAAAAA-?????!!!"

The sun was just rising when Sakura eventually showed up, running as fast as she could into the Nara Forest. Itachi was waiting at the base of a large, gnarled oak tree. She stopped when she reached him, panting. "You're late, Sakura." Itachi said coldly. "Sorry, sensei! My mum woke up when I snuck out of bed; I had to wait for her to fall asleep." Sakura explained. Itachi grunted in acceptance of her excuse and jerked his head towards the tree behind him, "Can you climb this?" Sakura's large eyes scanned the tree's bulk. She looked down at herself. "No, sensei. I'm too small." "Wrong," Itachi said, "Size doesn't account for anything in the ninja world. Tell me, can you pump chakra to your feet?" "Yes." Sakura said without hesitation. "Do it. Put one foot on the tree like this," He demonstrated, "And walk up." "Aren't you going to show me how?" Sakura asked, confused. "I've told you what to do. You don't need me to hold your hand and help you climb a tree. Do it." Sakura frowned, intelligent eyes measuring the tree's width and length. She looked at her tiny feet. She concentrated, pushing all of her chakra down to her feet. They throbbed in response to the sudden chakra overload. "Well done." Itachi said with a slight smile. Sakura had caught on quicker than he expected, "Now climb." Her foot looked silly when she placed it on the tree, but she followed through, picturing her feet sticking to the bark with her chakra. The transition from ground to tree happened smoothly. Sakura simply walked up the tree. Itachi's smile grew. "Like this?" She asked, turning around to face Itachi, both feet firmly glued to the tree. "Yes. You learn quickly. Keep it up." Itachi frowned suddenly, "I wonder… what subjects are you best at in your school?" "Genjutsu and academic." Sakura said, "My chakra control is good and I'm the best in my class when it comes to learning." "Better than that Sasuke boy you talked about before?" Itachi asked carefully. "I guess." Sakura shrugged. "Right. Sakura. I need you to do something for me. I need you to talk to a woman named Yuhi Kurenai. She's a genjutsu expert. I believe she was promoted to jounin recently. Ask her to tutor you in genjustu. I can help you learn how to dispel genjutsu, but the type of genjutsu I use is too difficult for you to learn at the moment." Itachi said. Kurenai had been a chuunin when he knew her, but he had always admired her genjutsu capabilities. Sakura could learn well from her. "OK." Sakura nodded obediently. "I will focus on improving your stamina and your taijutsu. How are you in one-to-one combat?" Sakura blushed. "Bad. Very bad." "I see. Then we will begin with the basics." Itachi said leniently. Sakura looked relieved. "Hit me." Itachi said. "Sensei?" Sakura said, puzzled. Itachi did not repeat himself. Sakura set her face in a determined frown and charged. She was on the floor in seconds. Itachi had barely moved, and yet she was sprawled on the ground. Sakura fought the urge to cry when her wounds began to sting. "Good." Itachi said tonelessly. She pushed herself up off the ground, determined not to give up. If she became a strong ninja, Sasuke would like her. That was what she had promised herself. Even at six years old, Sakura's stamina was awful. A few minutes of sparring had her panting for breath. "Stop." Itachi finally commanded. Sakura lurched to a halt. "Sakura, is there anything that drives you to fight?" Itachi asked. Without something to aim for, Sakura would never really reach her full potential. Itachi himself had nothing driving him to fight. He hated every battle and hoped it would be over as quickly as possible. His pacifist nature made it almost impossible to be a ninja. "Sasuke-kun." Sakura whispered, wiping her face. Itachi closed his eyes. He rarely lost his composure, but seeing this girl care so much about his poor little brother was… emotive. There was one thing Itachi used to drive himself. It seemed as though he and Sakura had something in common. "And why do you like him so much?" Itachi asked. "He is alone, like me." Sakura said, almost as though she was talking to herself. Her smile was wistful, "I don't have any friends, and he doesn't want any. So we're always alone at playtime. That's... that's why I noticed him." Itachi's stomach clenched. "Picture his face when you fight. Pretend you are fighting each battle to protect him." Itachi said. Sakura nodded, her little face grim. Itachi smiled. He knew what would get Sakura fired up to fight. He cast a genjutsu, a weak illusory technique that any genin could see through. Suddenly, Sasuke tottered up to them. He was covered with cuts and bruises, his face desperate with fear. "Sakura-chan!" Sasuke cried, staggering, "Please – please help me!" Sakura gritted her teeth. She raised her hands, "Kai!" She shouted. Itachi blinked, taken aback. Sakura had seen through his technique and had repelled it. Sakura's face screwed up in effort, her eyebrows drawing sharply together, her jaw clenched. Itachi's sharp eyes caught sight of the illusion flickering into place. Sakura was attempting to recreate the jutsu Itachi had used against her, from memory, from scratch, having never done it before. At six years old. Perhaps Itachi truly had stumbled upon another genius. Sasuke flickered into view, a perfect mirror image of the illusion Itachi had created. Itachi stared at the bleeding, desperate vision of his little brother, and broke the genjutsu abruptly. Sakura panted and fell, exhausted. Itachi caught her easily. "I didn't tell you to repel my jutsu, or to recreate it." Itachi said sternly, "But, well done. Who taught you how to do that?" She looked up at him with a wide, smug grin, "I did. I read a book and it showed you how to do it." So, she was self-taught. The sooner she went to go see Yuhi the better. Her genjutsu skills could be even more advanced than he had suspected. "A girl spoke to me today." Sakura said suddenly, beaming. "What?" Itachi frowned. What had that got to do with anything? "She said I shouldn't hide my forehead with my fringe. She said I should show it off. Then I wouldn't be bullied anymore." What awful advice, Itachi thought to himself. Sakura's forehead was average-sized, but showing it off would just give the bullies more material to mock Sakura with. "Talk to Yuhi, Sakura. She'll help you." Itachi said wearily. He wasn't the person to go to when you had emotional problems. He was a missing nin, and he had never been the most social of thirteen year olds, even before the massacre. He only knew how to repress and hide emotion. "OK! Um, sensei… is it alright if I tell my mummy where I go when I come to train with you? She'll get worried if I don't…" Sakura mumbled. "No," Itachi said sharply. Sakura may not see him for the murderer he is but her mother certainly would, "Tell her you are with a friend." Sakura peeked up at him through the pink strands of hair covering her eyes and said shyly, "Are you my friend, sensei?" Itachi felt amused. How wonderful it would be, to be thirteen and to have friends... How amazing to be a genin, going on missions with friends, coming home to a welcoming family, not living on the run, bearing the burden of your village's hatred. "I'm your teacher, Sakura. I'm just here to help you." Itachi said, ignoring the melancholic tone colouring his words. He felt the loneliness then all too keenly – the knowledge that his new home was a hideout for criminals and his new family were monsters. Sakura mulled that over for a while and then looked up, her eyes bright and intelligent, "Why are you teaching me, sensei?" To keep you alive and give Sasuke some of the happiness I robbed from him, Itachi thought. "I sensed that you had potential, Sakura. I didn't want to see it going to waste." Itachi said. It wasn't exactly a lie, though he hadn't truly noticed her potential until she reversed his genjutsu. It made Sakura smile unreservedly, chirping, "thank you, sensei!" Itachi looked at the sun with a calculating eye, "You should be able to find Yuhi now. She'll most likely be on a mission, but you should still ask around the village for her." "OK!" Sakura agreed brightly. She set off at a run and then hesitated. She turned back and hugged Itachi quickly around the waist. Itachi froze. "Thank you for believing in me, sensei." Sakura said quietly. She released him and ran off. Itachi breathed out sharply when she left. She reminded him of Sasuke so much… her fawning adoration, her easy displays of affection, her wide, proud grins… He climbed a tree easily and sat down on a thick branch, wiping away the excess leaves and moss. It was dangerous, visiting Konoha so much, but how could he stop? He could just ensure that Sakura had enough skill to defend herself, and then he would be back to full concentration, able to do his duty to his village. xxxxxxxx Sakura ran through the village. She stood out from the crowd with her pink hair and the many cuts and bruises adorning her skin. She didn't care about the pain that running brought her. She had a sensei! Her very own sensei! She skidded and came to a halt when she saw a few jounin hanging around the ramen shop. "Excuse me, please, is there, do you know…" Sakura stammered, mixing up her words. There were three jounin and they were all staring at her. "What is it, young one? Are you lost? Are you in need of assistance from Konoha's Sublime Green Beast of Prey?" A very large man in green boomed at her, his eyebrows alarmingly large and his teeth abnormally shiny. Sakura shrank away from him in fear. "You're scaring the poor girl, Gai." The single woman amongst the three of them scolded. She was very beautiful, her dark hair fell in waves and her eyes were piercingly red. "What's up?" The last man asked. His face was covered by a dark mask and his hair was silver, like an old man, despite his voice's obvious youth. "I… I… Do you know where Yuhi Kurenai-san is?" Sakura managed to say despite her embarrassment from having grown-ups stare at her. The two men looked at the woman they were with. "That's me," Kurenai said seriously, "Did someone have a message for me?" "P-Please train me in genjutsu!" Sakura cried out. Kurenai blinked, "What? I'm not a sensei yet. I can't train you." "But… but you're the best in the village." Sakura said, despairing. If she returned to her sensei without Kurenai's training, would he be disappointed in her? "Who said that?" Kurenai asked sharply. The masked man scratched his head, puzzled. "Everyone says it." Sakura said, lying smoothly. Her sensei may not approve of using such underhand tactics in order to secure Kurenai's help, but it was all Sakura could do. Especially when the large green man with the eyebrows kept grinning at her. "They do?" Kurenai's eyebrows shot up. She looked as though she was trying to suppress her pleasure at the compliment. The masked man coughed, "It doesn't matter how good your teacher is, kid. You're only what, five, six? Genjutsu is complicated. You have to have excellent chakra control and high intelligence." "That's true. I'm sorry, I'd teach you if you could – " Kurenai began to say before she was interrupted. Sakura's hands formed the seal she had watched her sensei make. The masked man pulled down his mask slightly, revealing both eyes. One of them was scarred, and blood red. A clone of Kurenai walked over to them, mimicking the posture of the jounin. She was a perfect copy of the real thing, only a slight waver in her appearance where Sakura had not quite got her eyes right. "Wow." Kurenai said, eyes wide. She put her hand out to touch her clone. Her hand when through it, "It's not a clone, just an illusion. But a clever one! Who on earth taught you that?" The pupil in the masked man's red eye began to spin around as he stared at Sakura. "I read it in a book!" Sakura said defensively. "You taught yourself how to project perfect illusions?" Kurenai said flatly, "At your age?" Sakura nodded firmly. "Well, I admire your resolve, seeking genjutsu training at such a young age. I might be able to pass on some techniques to you." "Really?" Sakura said, beaming. "I'll be hard." Kurenai warned. "I don't mind!" Sakura said sincerely. "I think she can handle it." The masked man said, his red eye still focused on Sakura's face suspiciously. xxxxxxxx Sakura was returning to the Nara forest to see her sensei when something caught her eye. Sasuke was walking down the street, alone. He never seemed to want company. Sakura could remember when they had both been younger, seeing Sasuke with his friends. He smiled back then, and laughed openly. Now, he ignored his old friends and never smiled at all. It made her feel sad. Sakura did not like being sad, it was like when her tummy hurt, but it would not go away, not even when her mummy made her soup or rubbed her stomach for her. Sasuke did not look as though he had anyone to make him soup or even care when he was sad. She allowed herself a second to watch his progress. He looked tired and beaten down. "Sa-sasuke-kun!" She called out, jumping in front of him. He froze. She smiled encouragingly at him. He glared at her, "What do you want?" He spat. Her smile wavered slightly, "I made you something, Sasuke-kun!" She pulled out the bento and offered it to him. She had seen Maiko-chan share her bento with Kenji-kun, once, though he had not liked it very much. She hoped Sasuke would like hers. He barely glanced at it. He walked around her, ignoring the outstretched bento. "Sasuke-kun…" She mumbled, "I- I made you –" "I heard you before." He said coldly, "Why did you make me a bento?" She blushed, "Because, because I love you, Sasuke-kun!" "You don't even know me." Sasuke said harshly. Sakura lowered the bento. Her tummy ached. He walked off, hands in his pockets. Sakura was left standing alone in the street, clutching the bento. xxxxxxxx Itachi sat in the tree, contemplating his burden. He had killed his own family in the name of a village that despised him. He had to sneak into the village these days. He wondered, yet again, if he had made the right choice. He had left Sasuke alone with no family. Sakura was his last chance to make things right. He heard a rustle in the bushes to his left and he had a kunai in his hand before he knew it. But it was only Sakura, pushing her way noisily through the bushes. Itachi made a note to teach her about stealth. He dropped down from the tree. Sakura was wearing a new red bow, tying back her hair and revealing her forehead. It was obvious she had been crying, her eyes were red and sore-looking. "Did she teach you?" He asked in a low voice. "Yes." Sakura nodded, "She said I have a natural aptitude for genjutsu and I'm very smart." "Good. Why have you been crying?" Sakura rubbed at her face with a scowl. "I made Sasuke a bento. But he didn't want it! I told him I love him and he said I didn't even know him. I don't like him anymore." Sakura said childishly. Itachi sighed. Sasuke would never have rebuffed a girl so bluntly before. He had witnessed his behaviour with girls in his class, he was meek and overly polite, most of the time. Either he really did not like Sakura, or he had simply changed since Itachi last knew him. He suspected the latter. Sakura gave a great big sniff, eyes tearing up again. Itachi shook his head. "I'll build up your stamina and your strength. I don't live in this village, so don't expect me to be here whenever. I will summon a crow and have it come to your window when I am in the village. When that happens, come to this forest. I will continue to train you." He said. Sakura might not be able to offer Sasuke love, but if she stayed alive, Itachi was certain she would affect Sasuke for the better. After knowing Sakura for such a short time, he did not want to return to Konoha and find only a grave, a sad relic to mark a wasted life. He had seen too many children die. He would train this little girl and keep her alive, his own quiet kind of repentance for the deaths he had caused.

Jaskier wasn’t much of a hunter. He had managed to scrape up enough to keep himself alive, from age seven until he showed up on the doorstep of Oxenfurt, and during the winter months when Geralt disappeared to his mysterious hidden witcher whose location no outsider could ever know, but in general, he preferred to pay to have other people do that for him. But Villentretenmerth refused to leave the cave for even a second, so hunting duties were split between Jaskier, Teá, and Veá. Jaskier was the worst at it. And every other traitor in the cave thought that was just hilarious. <If you keep laughing at me like this, your hatchling is going to come out a bully,> he said. Teá snorted as she skinned the tahr. The stringy, wimpy looking tahr. <Yes, thank you for your wisdom, Elder Julialfrepankratz,> Villen said. <Jaskier, please.> <Is that not your human alias?> <No, Julian Alfred Pankratz is my human alias. Jaskier is my name, just… translated. A concept I’m sure you’re familiar with, Mr. Three Jackdaws,> he said. <Say, where’d you get the name Borch from? Did you just pick it at random?> <A long time ago, a human named Borch was kind to me. He saved my life and allowed me to recover in his home for the winter. I carry his name to honor him.> “Borch was Zerrikanian,” Veá said proudly. <Yes, he was,> Villen said. <A credit to his people. He went on to become one of the very first priests at the dragon temples.> <Ah. You know, I’ve never been to the dragon temples? I keep telling myself I’m gonna go someday but Geralt never has a reason to travel there. Almost no monster problems at all in Zerrikania.> “We are protected,” Teá said. <Yeah,> Jaskier said. <Who knows? Maybe I will go down there after this. Once the baby is settled.> <A fine idea,> Villen said. <Zerrikania is a beautiful land. Warm and away from the dangers of human society.> “If I might ask, where are you from, Jaskier?” Veá asked. <The Kestrel Mountains. Mine is Lettenhove. Though, really, it’s not actually mine, per se. I’m living out of my parents’ old cave. I’d go find my own, it’s just, there’s not much point, is there? It would take a lot of effort to transport their old hoard. And I’m young, I’m not even thinking about courting. I just don’t need a cave of my own, really.> <There is no shame in waiting,> Villen said kindly. <As you said, a young hatchling such as yourself has no need of a cave yet. Better to wait and find the right one than hurry into the first hole in the rock you stumble across.> <I’m not a hatchling, old man.> He huffed. <You’re a hatchling, alright.> This was the most over-protected egg in the history of eggs. Well, it wasn’t, Jaskier knew some dragons were full-on paranoid, but still. Since Villentretenmerth literally never left the cave himself, he instead politely asked Jaskier to run a full sweep of the mountainside three times a day in his stead. Veá and Teá also ran patrols (separately from Jaskier, so there were more patrols per day) at dawn, mid-morning, mid-afternoon, and dusk. Villentretenmerth, it turned out, was yet another terrifyingly powerful gigantic softie. The egg couldn’t be moved from its place by its mother’s dead body, but it needed to be kept warm, so Villen would often lay along it’s other side or blow a small stream of fire onto it. Whenever the old man did step away for a few brief moments, Jaskier immediately took his place. “Her current is pulling you closerAnd charging the hot, humid nightThe red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you foolBetter stay out of sightI’m weak my love, and I am wantingIf this is the path I must trudgeI welcome my sentenceGive to you my penanceGarrotter, jury and judge. “What do you think, little egg? Does that get the whole… general point across?” “If the point is that you had a bad breakup, then yes,” Teá said. He sighed. “I was going for force of nature disaster storm sort of energy.” “You achieved that,” Veá said. “Thank you, Veá, my favorite Zerrikanian.” <If I might make a request?> Villen asked. “Yeah! Yes, you may.” <A blessing for my child?> He nodded. “Give me a minute. The better the song, the more powerful the enchantment.” Villen nodded, and the two sisters shared an excited look. He took a week to compose the song. It had to be perfect. Everyone had heard it a hundred times over and declared it good, fine, just get on with it, by the time he decided it was ready. Jaskier put the full force of his magic into his voice. <First dragon of the new ageGreatest hope of us allThey’ll sweep through the valleyA force who can’t be cagedA long life well livedSpreading peace and goodwillFirst dragon of the new ageGreatest hope of us allThe bridge of love traversedA draconid leaderWith flame brighter than starsA new course they will stakeThe child born of goldSaved through force of loveWill bring a new type of wisdomFirst dragon of the new ageGreatest hope of us all.> He paused. Magic tinkled in the air even after the last note ended. Jaskier wriggled closer to the egg between Villentretenmerth and the dead body. He breathed fire on it. <Thank you,> Villen said. <It’ll take better the more it’s sung,> Jaskier said. “Even by humans?” Teá asked. <Yes. Music is music.> The baby’s song became the anthem of the cave. Veá hummed it while tearing bones out of fresh kills. Villentretenmerth sang it awkwardly, stilted and out of tune. It never failed to make Jaskier smile and join in. Teá was more confident with singing it on her own, and would often drum the beat of it with her fingers. Jaskier poured peace and longevity and love and wisdom into every word he sang. The egg pulsed with magic. The lifeforce in it was strong, growing stronger by the day. It was fed a constant stream of heat and music. Fire and magic. Jaskier was out on patrol one day when a massive ribbon of fire lanced into the sky from the direction of the cave. He turned on point of his wing and raced back as fast as his wings would carry him. He hit the ground outside the cave running, bounding inside in a streak of red. Villen was trying to keep up a continuous flame surrounding the egg. Jaskier added his own fire to it. <Catch your breath, I’ve got this for now,> he said. He thanked Melitele for mindspeak. Villen laid down on the cave floor, slitted eyes fixed on the egg. Jaskier may not have all the experience of the old geezer, but he did have his voice lessons from Oxenfurt, and the improved lung capacity did transfer over. He blew. The tiny crack in the egg got bigger. The hatchling was strong, it was working fast. Probably very easy to with this nice and warm fire around them. Jaskier can and has sung for hours before, sometimes through most of the night with only minimal breaks. But that wasn’t going to be necessary here. Villen budged him out of the way just a few hours in and took over. It was his egg, after all. They switched on and off throughout the night and the following day and the night after that. In an ideal world, a hatching would have a whole great family in attendance, having flown in from all over the Continent to guard the egg and keep it warm as it cracked. But there weren’t that many dragons anymore. These days, even an esteemed golden one only had one helper at the hatching, and not even family at that. Then the egg was shattered and a tiny, slimy green dragon lay in its place. The hatchling basked in its father’s fire, letting out a happy little chirp. Teá and Veá rushed forward with a bucket of water and some cloths and began cleaning the baby. “A girl,” Teá said. “What will you call her?” <Saesenthessis,> Villen said. Protector of all. <Saesenthessis,> Jaskier repeated. He would die for this little girl, he realized. Kill for her too. It was a good thing he never met Geralt’s Child Surprise, or he’d have been doomed from the start. Saesenthessis tried to stand up and fell over on her face and started crying. Jaskier nosed her up gently, cooing. There wasn’t much to pack up. Myrgtabrakke and Villentretenmerth had not been true mates, simply paramours—hence the separate caves. Her hoard would stay where it was. Her body, too. Her place of living would be her place of resting. Any dragon who came across it would turn around and leave, even after her scent faded. Only after her bones had faded to dust would the cave be considered empty. Saesenthessis was situated in the place of ultimate safety between her father’s wings, with Teá riding behind her to make triply sure she didn’t fall off mid-flight. Jaskier was carrying what minimal supplies they did have in a net lashed around his stomach. Veá would be riding on him. This was not, in any way, because Villentretenmerth was incapable of carrying both humans. He could have a whole small village on his back and it wouldn’t even slow him down. On the contrary, they split the warriors between the two dragons “just in case.” Jaskier pointedly did not comment. Which was for the best, really, because he had absolutely no say in that decision. “Is everything ready?” Teá asked her sister, the last one out. “The cave is completely empty?” “Save for how it was when we arrived,” Veá confirmed, jumping up to settle on Jaskier’s back. <Let’s ride,> Villen said. The gust of his wings taking off nearly pushed Jaskier down for a moment, and efforts to disguise this motion failed when Veá—the traitor—laughed at him. <See that I don’t fling you off my back then, you can walk to the Fiery Mountains,> he muttered. “I apologize,” she said, voice still full of mirth. “I merely was not expecting that.” <Just because I’m not a billion year old golden dragon the size of a castle…> “You are very impressive,” she said. She stroked along his neck, and, well. That helped. They flew southwest. The Dragon Mountains, ironically, were not a main hub of dragon civilization. That was the Fiery Mountains, the ones right along Zerrikania and above the Korath Desert. Zerrikania was set aways from most of the Continent’s inhabited lands. It was pretty much just them and the dragons out there. Paradise. Or so Jaskier had been told. They couldn’t actually travel as-the-crow-flies. They had to take the most desolate, deserted route, the one farthest from any human habitats. They flew over the Kestrel Mountains (Jaskier pointed out all the sights to Saesenthessis as they went) and straight through Kaedwen. Then came the Mahakam range and a twisted, convoluted path through all the many cities of Aedirn. On past Lyria, the Solveiga Gate, and finally, the Fiery Mountains. The whole journey took nine days. Villen’s cave was exactly as opulent as Jaskier had expected. He had a whole room just for his hoard—which was almost entirely golden objects, no big surprise there. He also had a cave in the system that opened up to huge pools of hot springs. <Ohhh now this is the life,> Jaskier said, sinking into the water. <That’s it. I’m never getting out of this water. I live here now.> No one else was in the room with him, but that didn’t matter, with mindspeak. He could be a nuisance from the whole other side of the cave if he wanted. And that was Villentretenmerth’s problem, for ever letting him stick around for more than a second. One week in, Saesenthessis had mastered walking. She was a walking expert. She could scurry with the best of them. She was already trying to climb up walls. She had immediately discovered the fun of chasing other people’s tails and trying to catch them. Jaskier was pretending he was not aware of the infant dragon behind him. He dragged his tail across the ground verrrrry slowly. Clawed little paws pounced on it, and Jaskier whirled around, yanking his tail away. Saesenthessis skittered after it but Jaskier swooshed away again right as she got close. The hatchling raced off in the new direction. She got her claws around his tail right as Jaskier stood up and “ran” away. Their chase was epic. The stuff of legends. And afterwards, when Saesenthessis was purring herself to sleep, snuggled up against him, Jaskier began to compose the epic. It morphed and took on a life of its own. Saesenthessis’s little play hunt turned into the story of the only-slightly-more-real dragon hunt to find and rescue her. He sang of her mother, defending her to her last breath, dying beside her egg in a last attempt to keep her warm. Of her father gathering his team of heroes and infiltrating the hunt. Of the witch and the witcher who fought off those who would harm her. The tragic twist where it was revealed the witcher had tried to force the sorceress’s love with the power of a djinn. And the sorceress, powerful beyond belief, turning her back on him without a thought. A final end verse where Saesenthessis was safe and cared for with her father, Teá and Veá, and the humble bard who was just along for the ride. <You can never sing that in public,> Villentretenmerth said. <I know,> he said. <But Saesenthessis deserves to hear it.> The gold dragon nodded. <Thank you, then, for your kind words.> Dragons do not age like humans do. Their development is completely different. Saesenthessis was walking and seeing within days of hatching. She could project simple concepts with her mindspeak shortly after that. And now she was happily exploring her physical limitations. <Up!> she said. <Up up up!> <Alright, give me a moment, give me a moment,> Villen said. He scooped her up by the scruff of her neck and deposited her on a low shelf in the rock. Saesenthessis’s eyes widened comically. Jaskier laughed. <Not so fun once you’re actually up there, is it?> he asked. <Here.> He hunched down next to the shelf and Saesenthessis crawled onto his back, settling in between his wings. <Up!> she said again. “She’s a true adventurer at heart,” Veá smiled. “She’s already had one epic written about her. I imagine there will be more,” Teá agreed. <Hey, speaking of that,> Jaskier said. <She needs a human alias. Or at the very least a nickname, like what I use. She can’t stay in this cave forever, and the name Saesenthessis is a tad obvious.> <A translation will be acceptable,> Villen said. <But Protector is hardly a regular human name either.> “In certain languages it could pass,” Teá said. “There are names that have meaning. Surely one that means protector,” Veá said. “I could look into it. There are books on the subject. I could purchase one at the market.” <That would be greatly appreciated, thank you, dear Veá,> Villen said. Jaskier ambled around the cave at a slow pace, trying to jostle Saesenthessis as little as possible. <Vrrrrrrrooooom,> he said. <Zoooooooooom. Vvrrrrrrooooooom.> Saesenthessis laughed gleefully. There was a small stream that fed into the Solveiga and ran right by Plaoi Cror, Villen’s mountain. It was at burbling stream levels in several points. Perfect for Saesenthessis to splash around in and learn the concept of swimming. So far her only experience with water was drinking it out of bowls that Teá and Veá had poured it in. Jaskier trotted out into the center of the stream and stomped around. <Look, Saesenthessis. It’s… splashy.> The little hatchling peered out from her safe place on Villen’s back. Wide blue eyes took in the stream, the sunlight, the tittering birds. <Do you want to go explore, little one?> Villen asked. Saesenthessis slid down the steep (for her) slope of his back. She tilted her head up, and Villen walked right alongside her to the water’s edge. He put his forelegs into the shallows. Saesenthessis sniffed the water, and wrinkled her snout when it sprayed up her nose. <It’s water. Like what you drink, but more. See?> Jaskier demonstratively drank some. Saesenthessis took a hesitant sip herself. <Water,> she said. <Yes, water,> Villen said. <You can swim in it, too. See what Jaskier is doing?> Jaskier was almost entirely submerged, with just his snout, tail, and the top of his back out of the water. He was doing his best impression of a crocodile, which was always fun no matter what age you were, and was also socially acceptable if you happened to be a reptile. Jaskier waggled his eyebrows at her. Saesenthessis touched the water with one paw. <Cold!> <It is cold,> Villen agreed. He stepped deeper into the stream. <It’s also perfectly safe. But you don’t have to get in if you don’t want to.> Jaskier snorted out bubbles at her and Saesenthessis laughed. Ten minutes later, she was happily splashing around in the shallows and projecting vague thoughts about being the water snake she had seen. Which was really cute right up until the point she tried to sink her fangs in Jaskier’s neck.

My next adventure happened in the middle of summer. Let me tell you a little of what led up to it. Mike was home for the weekend to see his buddies and me I guess. On Friday night Chris came over to hang out for a bit before they went out. It was the first time I had seen him since our encounter. He was cordial as was I but the tension in the air was stifling as far as I was concerned. I don't know if he felt it the same way. He told Mike and me he was going to California for a job as a co-op while finishing school and we probably wouldn't see him for quite a while. Before they went out Chris said good bye to me and went to give me a hug like he always had. Mike was out in the hall when Chris hugged me and gave my ass a squeeze saying, "Still nice Mrs. H." Nothing happened except me fingering myself to sleep that night. About three weeks later I got a call from Mike that he was offered a job and accepted it in Atlanta. They would pay for him to finish his education while he worked for them. I felt at first I didn't want him to go but it was a good opportunity and I couldn't get in his way, besides he is a grown man now and has been on his own for some time. I decided I was going to pay him a visit and say good bye in person, wish him well. I got a hotel room near his college and spent Saturday and Sunday with him. He left Sunday night but I decided to stay a day or two longer and just hang out and enjoy the pool and area shopping. While I was shopping at the nearest mall I got to thinking even though I was going to miss my son immensely, I was now also free to do what ever I felt without need to be concerned with consequences other than my own safety and such. I decided to look at some outfits I'd probably never wear outside in public, just to see how they made me feel. I took a few things in the fitting room of one store to try on but didn't like them much. I went into the next store and there was only one other lady in there. I picked out a short skirt and white top, like a sort of school girl outfit, and tried them on. The skirt was a bit shorter than I thought, just below my butt, so I figured since there was only that one lady in there I'd go out and look for a bit longer one without changing first. Just before I left the fitting room I heard a lady say, "I'll be out in a few minutes." And a man's voice say "Ok but don't take all day!" I thought what the hell it's just her husband and went out anyway. I walked up to the rack where the skirts were and noticed her husband sitting on a chair waiting. He wasn't alone, he had a friend with him. I was about 15 feet away and noticed a mirror behind me. I decided to see if they were paying any attention to me so I bent over to look at a tag on one of the skirts. I saw the married guy's buddy nudge him and point at the mirror behind me. They stopped talking for a minute. I was feeling frisky now and walked around with my back to them facing the rack with the mirror in my view too. I bent over again and peeked in the mirror to see their reaction. They're eyes got big and grinned. I knew they could see my panties easily and stayed in that position for about a minute, then stood up straight and took the slightly longer skirt back to the fitting room with me. I didn't care too much for the white top, I'm a little old to be playing the school girl anyway, so I put it back when I came out and the shorter of the skirts. Just after I paid for the skirt and walked out the door I noticed one of the men follow me for a short distance. I stopped to look at the window of a lingerie shop, looked back at him and smiled then went inside. He didn't follow me in but was still there when I came out. He approached me and said "Excuse me for being so forward but would you be interested in maybe dinner or a drink some time? My name is Mike and I just thought you were so cute I didn't want to pass up the opportunity to meet you." I said "I don't know, I don't usually do blind date things or pick ups. No offense though, you seem nice but I am only here for a day or two." Mike said "No offense taken. Then tonight might be the only chance huh?" I laughed and said "Funny and persistent, cute." He said "Here, let me give you my number and you can think about it. I have to get back to my friend." Then he wrote down his number on a receipt he had and gave it to me and left. My guess was he was in his early to mid 30's, a little cushy in the waist but nice friendly face and confident attitude. I put his number in my purse and went on my way shopping. I bought a few things but my mind was occupied with what I should do about this guy. By the time I left the mall I decided I would give him a call when I got back to my room. I put my stuff down and found his number and called about 6:30. When he answered I said "Hi this is Sarah, how are you?" He said "Sarah who?" I realized I hadn't given him my name before and said "The lady in the mall today. You gave me your number? Or are there more ladies you gave your number to today?" "Damn!" he said "I was really hoping you'd call but never though you would! Can I tell you I think you are so hot, I mean real pretty! I don't want to seem too forward but can we meet tonight?" "Yeah, about that." I said "I see," he said "well I had to try. Thanks for calling then to let me know." He sounded so dejected. I said "I didn't say no, I was just going to say that maybe if we met there should be others around so I'd feel safer. After all, I don't really know you. What about your friend, is he married? Maybe they could join us?" Mike said "Wow, really? You'd really meet with me? I'll ask, just a minute!" He muffled the phone but I could hear male voices in the background, then he came back. "Chris, that's my friend said his wife has a baby shower tonight so she couldn't go but if you felt ok with it he'd join us so, is that ok?" I thought, oh shit, Mike and Chris, what are the odds they have the name of my son and his friend that had his way with me to start this whole thing. I started having second thoughts but figured, what the hell they probably are the most common names out there. "Ok" I said. "How about in the lounge at the hotel here?' and I told him which hotel I was at. He said "Sure, what time?" "I need time to freshen up. About 8:00? I asked "That's great!" he said. We said good byes and hung up. What was I going to do now, I started thinking. I looked over my purchases of the day and wondered what I should wear. Am I planning on just getting to know them or going MUCH further? As I looked over my potential outfits I knew I wanted it to go much further at some point. I made a game plan to not look too eager or sluttish, at least not right away. Let me get to know what they are like first. I had purchased a burgundy tank top with ties at the top that were a little thicker than a good shoestring, maybe a half inch thick. Also a beige cover up in kind of a thin gauze material, very easy to see through, more like an accent to the top underneath. It was wide at the shoulders just enough to hang a bit off of one side or the other. I also got at the lingerie shop a burgundy lace bra with satin straps and lace thong. I don't have the ass for the thin string kind and haven't had the desire to stick a string up my butt so this was a little bit wider in the butt area but still let my ass show well if I wanted. I decided on the bra, tank top and cover up with blue jeans and a plan. I went down to the lounge at about 8:05. They were both there having a beer at a table not too far from the bar. There was music playing but only about 10 people there. I could tell Mike was happy to see me arrive. He asked if I drank beer and I said I did and he bought me one. I told him my son's name was Mike and had just left for his job, that's why I was in the area. Chris was married 10 years and had 2 kids. Mike worked for Chris at an engineering firm. They were best friends since college. We visited and listened to the music for a bit. Chris then went and got beers for us. When he came back he said "I see they have a pool table over there, do you want to play a few?" I said I wasn't very good but would try, so we went by the pool table. They had is situated so it was around a corner from the rest of the lounge area but with a mirrored wall on the far side. I assumed it was so the bar tender could keep an eye on kids and such while they were playing. I told them I was expecting a call from a friend in the area and may have to go by her later if she couldn't get a ride from a co worker. I suggested first the guys should play so I could watch and then play the winner. Mike won easily so it was my turn to play him. I kept an eye on the guys through the mirror and out of the corner of my eye to see what they were looking at as I played. When I bent over facing them it was hard to see too much of what they were doing but as I turned away I could see in the mirror they were checking out my butt and trying to see down my top. I had the strings tied tight enough not to show too much but I am sure they could either see my bra or some cleavage. To my amazement I won! Now it was time to play Chris. I excused myself to go to the ladies room. While in there I loosened my top strings a little to give a little more show, but not so much as it would be obvious. When I came back Mike had bought more beer for us. They seemed a little chattier, started getting a bit more provocative. Maybe the beer was getting to them too. Chris seemed to set me up to have to stretch and reach more, causing me to bend over more than before, but I didn't mind. I lost this time. As they began to play my cell phone buzzed, I got a text. Mike looked concerned as I read it. I told them I had to go talk to my friend and that I'd be back in a few minutes. I actually set my alarm on my phone and had no plans to meet anyone but it gave me a way out if needed or an excuse to go to plan B. Plan B is was! I went to my room and took off my blue jeans and put on the short skirt I bought earlier. Much to my surprise I must have put the wrong skirt back on the shelf, this was the 'too short' one! It did have some elastic material at the top so I could slide it down some to make it look longer and my top and cover up were long enough to cover the top of the skirt. I also decided it was time to take off my bra. I liked the way my top now swayed and jiggled with my tits unencumbered. I loosened the strings for my top and retied them so it hung lower giving better opportunity for them to look down and also to help cover the top of my skirt. Time to go back down. I went around to the pool table area and said "Good news, I don't have to go!" They both looked at me and got big smiles while looking over my outfit change. Mike had won the last game and told me to rack em up while handing me another beer. I carefully squatted down to get the balls in the rack and had to bend over a bit to set it. I looked up to see Mike peering down my top smiling. He broke them and left the Q-ball in the middle of the table for me. I decided to get the ball rolling. I picked a ball away from them to hit and went on the side they were standing on. I leaned way over to reach the Q-ball causing my skirt to ride up and give them a peek and my cheeks and maybe undies. By the look in the mirror they liked what they saw, I missed the shot. Mike missed his shot but it seemed like he did on purpose and left the ball near the middle again. This time I picked a ball to hit facing them. I had to bend way over to reach the Q-ball giving them an easy look down my top and made my ball, but in doing so also left myself with a tough shot where I would have to stand right in front of them and bend far over the table to reach my next shot. I stretched over having to lift one leg giving what I can imagine a great shot of my ass and lace thong, I missed my shot. Mike went on to win the game and had to play Chris again. I sat on a stool and drank my beer giving a little glimpse from time to time up my skirt. Just when Chris won the game I said I had to go to the ladies room. Chris said he'd go get more drinks while they waited. I did my duty and looked at myself in the mirror, 'not bad' I thought but needed a little adjusting. I took off my panties and put them in my purse, then pulled up my skirt, just a little so it was right at the bottom of my butt. I also loosened the strings a bit setting the top just a bit lower but still with the cover up on, and went back to play more pool. Mike must have racked and Chris was just breaking when I got there. He made a couple balls and left me with an easy one. I made it then had to reach for my second. I was facing them with the mirror behind me. As I bent over Mike almost choked on his beer. He must have seen my ass in the mirror with no panties. I missed and then Chris set me up for a tough shot right in front of them. I had to get on my tip toes and bend over to reach the ball. I knew they had a close up of my ass and pussy up under my skirt and I heard a little snicker and small applause as I missed. Chris won the game. I suggested we stop playing pool and go to my room. They both agreed. I started up the stairs with them following me. As we got to the top I realized I left my purse at the pool table and said I'd be right back and told them my room number, to wait for me there. When I got to my purse the bar tender was there cleaning up the drinks. He looked me in the eyes and said "When your done with them call me at extension 155 and I'll come take care of you." I went to turn away and he grabbed my hips pulling my skirt up so over half my ass was showing and said, "That's how you wear it." He reminded me of Sam Elliot with his deep manly voice, only he was a bit bigger in the chest and shoulders and had a pony tail. He looked like a rugged biker type. I went around the corner and noticed the last few people there were watching the whole thing. There were three guys at one table and a couple in the corner at another. I went up stairs. The guys were waiting by my room when I reached the hall. I turned around to show them my butt showing and they laughed. As I started walking toward them I reached up and untied one side of my tank top and they said "You wouldn't dare!" I untied the other and just as I did an older man came out of his room and started walking my direction. I kept walking and my top slipped off my tits just before he got to me. I thought it would stop at my waist but it fell right to the floor. He turned around just as I was bending over to pick it up giving him a clear shot at my ass too. I stood up and walked toward Mike and Chris and opened my door. I walked in and put my top on the table and saw Mike and Chris come in then turned away from them wiggling my hips. I pulled my cover up off and threw it by my other top. While swaying my hips back and forth I slide my skirt up higher to reveal my whole ass and bent over to give them a full view. With the top of the skirt at my belly and the bottom at my hips I turned around to show my pussy from the front. Much to my surprise the old man from the hall was standing there too. He must have followed Mike and Chris in. Mike and Chris sat on the couch but the old guy just stood there watching. I walked over by Mike and straddled his legs with mine putting my hand on the top of the couch leaning in to hang my tits in front of his face. He reached up with both hand and cupped them taking one then the other to his mouth to kiss each one on the nipples. I let out a sigh as he started licking and sucking on the left one. Not to be left out Chris took the right one to his mouth and began kissing and sucking it as well. I leaned over and put my legs out so one was between each of their legs to give Chris a better angle. I felt one of each of their hands rubbing and kneading my ass while the other hand worked on my tits. Then suddenly I felt a hand from behind reach up between my legs and start rubbing my pussy. I tried to look back but couldn't see, and then a finger went in me. I let out a deep groan and started moving in rhythm with his finger. Mike and Chris then each reached around and spread my pussy with their hands and I felt a cock enter me from behind. I couldn't see around so I looked down to see two legs with pants around their ankles moving as he thrust into me. With two guys working my tits over and another fucking my from behind I let out a big gasp and came hard on the older guy fucking me. It didn't take him long to unload his hot cum into my pussy. He pulled out and rubbed his soaked cock head on my ass. Mike slid out from the couch and dropped his pants and came around behind me. Chris pulled his off too. As I bent over to start working on Chris's with my mouth Mike entered me. He was much bigger than the older guy but with all the juices already there entered me easily. Chris grabbed my hair as Mike grabbed my hips and worked me like a piston between them. I then felt a pinching of my boobs and looked at the older guy pinching and pulling them, stretching my nipples in different directions. I felt a wave go through me and shook like there was an earthquake happening in my core. Chris lay on the floor and Mike stood up helping me to straddle Chris's cock and lower my self onto him. Mike then offered his cock to my mouth and I took it in as much as I could. I could taste my juices as well as the old man's cum on Mike throbbing cock making me want to swallow the whole thing. It didn't take Mike long to start spurting into my throat and mouth. He pulled back just a bit and I held my mouth open for him with my tongue out to catch as much as I could. He sprayed my face and hair and stroked onto to my tongue his last drops. I closed my mouth and swallowed it. This sent Chris off as he filled my pussy with his own load of sperm. I reached out to hold onto something as I came hard again and found a cock in my hand swelling up. The old guy started rising again much to his own surprise. As I started calming down I took his cock into my mouth to get it harder for more work. It took him a little while but he started moaning and pulled his shaft from my mouth and sprayed my face and tits with his cum. He didn't have as much as the first time but it was thick and hot on me. Mike helped me off of Chris's now softer member and pushed my face and shoulders onto the couch bending me over with my ass out. He said "This fucking bitch wants it bad, so I'll give it to her bad." He started fingering my pussy with two or three fingers and told Chris to hold me there. Chris sat on the couch and pulled my hair putting his cock in my mouth holding me tight. Then Mike took his fingers out of my pussy and put one in my ass and started going in and out. He said "That should be enough." I thought he meant he was done, but then felt the tip of his cock press against my anus. He pulled my cheeks wider and pushed in. I had never had a cock in my ass before and it felt very uncomfortable but I couldn't scream or say stop or anything with Chris's cock in my mouth. Chris held me tight as Mike went deeper inside my ass. I felt my nipples being pulled again, I assumed by the old man. Mike's thrusting sent a wave through me like I have never felt deep inside my ass. With all that was going on my head was spinning and I came harder than before. Just as I did I felt Mike spew hot cum in my ass sending me over the edge. I shook and shook for what felt like five minutes but I'm sure wasn't that long and collapsed. Chris slid out from under me and they all got dressed and left. I stayed half on the couch and half off for several minutes, too tired and sore to move. Then I remembered the bar tender telling me to call him, but I was in no condition for more, or so I thought. I reached for the phone and called 155 and he answered. I said "I can't, I can't." in a faint voice and hung up. I heard a door key and my door opened. He walked in and looked me over. I couldn't move, laying there with cum dripping from my pussy and ass, hanging from my face and hair and tits. He circled around me and said "Damn, how many were there?' I muffled "Three" He said "Let me guess, the old man down the hall?" I just nodded. He got a warm wash cloth and wiped my face and tits off, then wiped off my pussy. Lifting my hips to get me on my knees he said "No need to waist a good opportunity." He unzipped his pants and pulled out his stiffening cock. I looked over my shoulder and saw the thickest cock I ever saw. My eyes got wide and said "I can't, please, I can't!" "Oh sure you can." Was all he said and he shoved it in my ass with one quick move. I thought I was going to split open. He just kept going until it was all the way in then worked me over like a fuck doll. "Wow" he said, "you are one fucking hot slut! I bet you're kind of new to this too, aren't you." I nodded again. He fucked my ass like a jack hammer then groaned heavily and pumped his cum deep in my ass sending heat throughout my body. When he finished he pulled out and I lay on my back grabbing my pussy and rubbing it hard till a little squirt came out and just shook all over. He smiled and said I'd be welcome back any time and left. I stayed there for what felt like hours actually falling asleep for a bit. When I awoke I had thick sticky cold cum all over and went to soak my sore body in the shower until I was sure it was all off of me. Then I ran a hot bath and soaked in there too. The next day when I got ready to leave, my ass, pussy and tits were so sore I couldn't wear underwear. I wore enough to not show but enough to be comfortable for my ride home. The bar tender saw me leaving in the lobby and just smiled and winked at me. I had never been used like that or called a bitch or slut, but somehow I guess that's what I've become. Did I mind? Was I trying to be? Not sure yet. But somehow I knew I wasn't done seeking for more answers or for more adventures.

Ian loads his duffel bag into the back of Gordie’s van. It’s actually Linus’ duffel bag, one he had to borrow when he realized it would be embarrassing to show up with a laundry bag full of his shit. He’s already feeling weird about the weekend, just a little out of place as some unfamiliar techno music blasts from the speakers. Theo is sitting in the front passenger seat so Ian finds himself sitting next to some guy he doesn’t know with purple nail polish and a purple beanie. “Oh, Ian!” Gordie says as they hit the road. “You’ve never been to Theo’s lake house before.” “Yeah,” Ian says. He wants to mention he’s only known the guy for a month or so. “Oh you’re gonna fuckin’ love it. His parents have this thing where they hire a guy to come make churros, it’s insane.” Ian knows what a churro is, although he can’t recall if he’s ever had one. Most likely not. He wonders how much it costs to hire a guy to come to your house and make churros all weekend. He wonders why anyone would want this when they could just buy a batch of them from somewhere, pre-made. It's just a sweet pastry, after all. “Ian’s a freshman,” Theo says to the rest of the van. “We met at a frosh party.” “Leave it to you to find the prettiest freshman on campus,” one of the girls in the van jokes. Ian feels flattered and just a little bit objectified but there’s something about being called pretty that he unironically enjoys. * It’s only been ten minutes on the road and already Ian is getting a headache from the weird electronic techno music that’s been playing repetitively. No lyrics or anything, just strange mixes of sounds. As if reading his mind, Theo turns in his seat to look at him. “You like the music?” he asks. “Kenny made it. He’s a music genius.” Kenny is in the van, in the seat behind Ian’s. He is forced to turn and nod to Kenny, “Oh cool,” he says. “This music is sick.” Internally, he wants to die because now there is no chance in hell they’re going to be ok with a request to switch to other music. * Ian texts Mickey about the terrible music but receives no response that day. He figures Mickey is busy dealing with his own shit but he finds he wants so badly for Mickey to respond with a joke at Kenny’s expense, to validate Ian’s opinions on this garbage music. He doesn’t even know what kind of music Mickey listens to but he can be sure it’s not this. Kenny taps Ian on the shoulder to show him something on his phone. “You should follow me on soundcloud.” “Oh, I don’t have that,” Ian says. “It’s really easy to make an account,” Kenny says. “I’ll text you the link to my account so you can follow me.” He can see Kenny's name on soundcloud is "Kenny the G" and doesn't know how to react appropriately to this. * “So how’re you finding your classes?” one of the girls asks. Ian really needs to start learning some names. “Oh they’re not too bad,” Ian says. “I like linguistics.” “The study of language,” she nods. “I’m a big fan of Chomsky’s works, particularly On Nature and Language. It really opened my eyes to the way language functions in society and the way it relates to our cognition.” Ian blinks back at her. “Are you in linguistics?” She laughs as if it’s a ridiculous question. “No, no. I’m a sociology major but I got into a really deep Chomsky binge the past summer, read a bunch of his books and sent him a few emails after asking for his opinion on the positive aspects of globalization.” “Oh, cool,” Ian says. “Personally I find his views on Israel a bit too extreme,” Gordie says from the front seat. Ian sits back and wonders if he’ll ever be able to really partake in these discussions, to even understand what the words mean. He wonders if he’s in the wrong field too, like maybe he should have chosen something a bit less intense like Astrophysics. * They stop at a gas station to fill up on gas and Ian goes with Theo to the convenience store for some snacks. Using the gas station wifi, Ian googles Noam Chomsky and is surprised this man is still alive, much less receiving emails from college girls. * Ian would normally buy some pop, some beef jerky or chips. Maybe even a Kind bar when he’s feeling healthy. But Theo stacks up on those green bottles of San Pellegrino that Ian has never tried and white cheddar popcorn. Ian follows suit and does the same. “We’ve been obsessed with white cheddar popcorn lately,” Theo says. “Like legit addicted.” Ian smiles politely at that, and imagines everyone in that van munching on those bags of popcorn the same way his father guzzles beer at the Alibi. He imagines everyone having to go to AA but for their white cheddar popcorn addiction and laughs to himself. * The white cheddar popcorn isn’t that bad but it leaves Ian with an empty feeling, one that is definitely not satiated by what turns out to be soda water with maybe a hint of lemon or something. Ian has never craved a beer and a cigarette more in his life. * They arrive at the lake house and Ian doesn’t know why he expected some cabin on Lake Michigan when they arrive and it turns out to be five times the size of the Gallagher house with a pristine white exterior and a car parked in the driveway with a boat attached to it. “Just a heads up,” Theo warns Ian as they grab their things from the back of the van, “My parents can be really overbearing. Dad’s pretty conservative, mom’s hella liberal. So no politics or else things can get really heated. And if you’re a Marxist, definitely don’t say anything.” Ian frowns as he follows the group into the house. He wasn’t going to talk about politics, wouldn’t even know where to start. But he does know that Theo’s parents’ marriage sounds like a prison sentence. * The inside of the “lake house” looks like it came straight out of an Architectural Digest magazine with various vases and artwork of ships that Ian is sure cost more than his yearly tuition. The rest of the gang trickle in, completely used to the surroundings, as if they haven’t just been teleported to a different dimension. “Holy shit,” Ian can’t help but say. “If this is your lake house then I can’t even imagine what your actual house looks like.” “My parents just like big spaces because they’re obsessed with throwing huge parties,” Theo says, as though it is a casual reason for owning a second mansion in what is possibly the wealthiest town in all of Illinois. Ian thinks about how his family back in the southside always loved throwing backyard parties and barbecues, how much they could do with such little. He can’t even imagine the Gallagher clan stepping into a home like this, tracking in mud and looking out of place in their secondhand coats that are always torn and pilling. “Where’s the bathroom?” Ian asks, feeling overwhelmed. “The closest one is down the hall,” Theo says. * Ian sits at the edge of the marble bathtub, feeling ashamed to even piss in such a luxurious bathroom. He checks his phone. No response from Mickey still. He considers calling but imagines Mickey in the middle of some family bullshit and becoming annoyed seeing Ian calling him just because he’s feeling a little anxious. When he finally emerges six minutes later, more people have arrived -- some people he has briefly met before and others he has never met and already does not want to. Theo offers him a beer and he takes it. * Later, when Ian is buzzed enough to double text Mickey, he sneaks off to the bathroom again. Ian (7:04pm): what the fuck I miss you He looks at the text and figures he can regret it tomorrow when he’s sober. * Ian has no idea what’s going on -- whether the party has already started or if this is just the warmup. The house is packed with people, including all of Theo’s friends, his cousins that show up, and parents who have their own friends. It’s only Friday so Ian can’t even imagine what the actual weekend will look like. There is no churro man in sight so Ian figures the festivities will truly begin tomorrow and for now they’re just having a casual dinner which apparently consists of wooden trays absolutely toppling with various cheeses and cold cuts. There are weird chunks of dark chocolate and nuts scattered randomly across them too. It looks like a strange meal, one a chimp would throw together. But then someone calls it “absolutely stunning” and he realizes it’s a matter of class differences. He gets introduced to Theo’s parents. “This is my friend, Ian,” Theo had said. By the look his parents had given Ian, he can tell Theo is very much not in the closet and the parents know they’ve banged at least once. His mom is very friendly and touchy, incredibly warm with Ian right away while the father just nods stoically and gives him a generic "It's a pleasure to meet you, hope you enjoy the weekend." When it becomes late, they trudge to their separate rooms. Even in a house as big as this, people have to share rooms and some get the couch. Ian, however, gets to stay in Theo’s room. The only problem is Theo is also there and Ian, despite being buzzed, still feels a bit weird about it. He wants to take his pills, but needs to remove them from his duffel without raising questions. Theo, annoyingly, is not drunk at all and lingers around Ian to try and get him comfortable. “Make yourself at home,” he keeps saying. Ian doesn’t know how to tell him this is an impossible task. * When Ian successfully makes it to the bathroom with his pill bottle gripped in his right palm, he briefly checks his phone. His heart sinks when he realizes he missed a call from Mickey. It’s nearing one in the morning but still he calls him back right away, three hours after Mickey had initially called him. The phone rings for a really long time and Ian is just about to hang up when Mickey answers. “Hey.” Mickey’s voice is gruff, as if Ian just awoke him from his sleep. “Shit, did I wake you?” Ian asks. “No,” Mickey says, clearly lying. “You ok?” “Yeah. I saw you called.” “Oh yeah. Got your text. Was worried you were losing your mind.” Ian leans against the door and breathes a sigh of relief. The sound of Mickey’s voice soothes him immediately. “I don’t know if I can survive this weekend. Everyone talks about philosophy and art and who knows who. It’s too much and I can’t keep up.” “You’re being dramatic,” Mickey says. “You’re the bougiest person I know, you probably fit right in.” “What? I’m not bougie. Why would you even say that?” “You always act like if you don’t pile your plate up with fruits and veggies, you’ll die.” “Health is important, Mick. Just because you live on carbs and weed--” “I’m not done,” Mickey interrupts. “You also use the word ‘brunch’ like that’s a normal thing people do. You know who goes to ‘brunch’? People with no fuckin’ job.” Ian can’t even argue. He likes the idea of daytime drinking with breakfast food -- mimosas and omelettes. He’s never gotten to try it because the prettiest brunch places are always so overpriced, but he does recall bringing it up to Mickey as a possible hangout option at one point. Mickey had laughed at him; told him if he wanted, he could just go buy some orange juice and make his own mimosa and eat the scrambled eggs offered in the dining hall. “Ok well maybe I strive for a higher standard of living,” Ian mumbles, “I’m still uncomfortable as hell here. Wish I could hop on a bus back to campus right now without telling anyone but then I’d have to delete Facebook and transfer schools to never have to deal with the repercussions of that.” Mickey snorts. “Just enjoy your weekend, Ian. These people aren’t better than you, they just have more money.” Ian sighs, checks his watch. He knows Theo is going to start to wonder what’s taking so long. Ian figures he’ll lie and says he has stomach problems if Theo tries to fuck tonight. “You doing ok?” Ian asks quietly. Mickey is quiet for a few seconds. “Yeah, I’m good. Also can’t wait for the weekend to be over.” Ian wants to ask what happened, wants to know about Mickey’s day and whether he had to deal with bullshit from his father. But Mickey is tired and says, “I’m gonna go back to sleep now, ok? Just try to relax. Don’t go insane.” Ian laughs. “Yeah ok. I’ll drink myself through it all.” They exchange goodbyes and Ian hangs up, looking at his reflection in the opulent mirror. He looks out of place in this house, this he knows. In fact, he’s felt out of place the entire day, surrounded by people in clothes that make his own look like scraps, rolexes that make his own watch look like he won it through a claw machine at a fair. He knows it’s partly in his head, that no one questioned why he was there. Everyone was friendly, accommodating. The sinking feeling, he realizes, is homesickness. * Ian decides to try not to text Mickey all weekend. He falls asleep in Theo’s bed and, thankfully, Theo doesn’t try anything. Maybe they really are just friends now. Maybe Theo realizes how sexually incompatible they are. It’s strange too, because Ian has never considered himself sexually incompatible with anybody. * It is the following day that more people arrive, when everyone emerges dressed in thick knits and a whole lot of Ralph Lauren. Ian is wearing one of his beige henleys, not being able to help but notice how the material is so much thinner than everyone else’s cotton blends. “Ian!” Theo’s mother calls out through the crowd. She offers him a champagne flute and puts an arm around him. “Theodore tells me you’re a freshman studying linguistics.” “Yeah, that’s accurate,” Ian says. He doesn’t quite understand Theo’s mom’s fascination with him but ever since the day before, she’s been mothering him like he was her own son. “That’s really great. A great field to go into. What are you planning to do with your degree?” Ian is a bit miffed by this question. He’s only been studying linguistics for a little over a month and knows just as much about dead Russian playwrights than he does about the science of language. “I’m just taking as many courses as I can,” he explains. “Trying to see what I like best.” “Of course, of course,” she replies. “You know speech pathology is a quite lucrative field. My sister in New York runs a speech pathology clinic. Now you tell me if you ever want me to introduce you to her, I’m sure she can offer you some valuable advice.” Ian nods, grateful for the offer but confused as to why she’s offering this to someone she just met -- a freshman at that. She leans in and whispers. “You know before I met my husband I was working paycheck to paycheck, trying to get through law school while trying to prevent getting into too much debt. I know what it’s like.” Ian is left speechless as she grazes his arm tenderly and walks off to greet a gaggle of new guests. He had never mentioned his upbringing to Theo or anybody. No one knows he’s from the southside. But perhaps, it was a lot more obvious than he had initially thought. It sends a chill down his spine. * Because Ian is actively trying not to bother Mickey, he calls Lip and tells him about what happened with Theo’s mom. “They can probably smell it on you,” Lip says. “The poverty.” Ian groans. “Don’t say that word. We’re not in poverty, we’re just… low-income.” “Yeah, ok, don’t think there’s much of a difference in their eyes.” “I’ve wanted to leave since yesterday,” Ian admits. “And now I feel like I have to. Did they just invite me here because they feel sorry for me?” “I thought you got invited because you’re boning the host.” “Not so much boning anymore,” Ian says. “I think he might have expected a blowjob last night but he didn’t say anything or push it, just asked if I was tired and I said yes.” “Hm.” “I’ll probably visit home next weekend. This whole thing made me miss the chaos of being back at home. Also wanna grab a few things for Mickey.” “Like what?” Ian laughs lightly. “I don’t know, some random scraps and junk to put in a box and sell to dumbasses on the internet.” Lip doesn’t even ask Ian to expand on that. “Grab some of Frank’s shit-stained boxers. Either that or we’re gonna have to burn them ourselves. How is Mickey anyway?” “I don’t know, he doesn’t tell me that shit. I’m not even sure if he’s staying at his dad’s or crashing on some guy’s couch.” “Couch, huh? Maybe he’s got a side piece at home, you don’t know.” “Shut the fuck up, Lip. I don’t need to think about that. Also, I’d be the side piece in this situation.” There’s some commotion in the background which Ian knows means Fiona just came home with groceries. “Gotta go,” says Lip. “If I catch Mickey around town with his secret boyfriend I’ll let you know.” Ian hisses a curse as Lip hangs up. He didn’t need that imagery in his head, in fact he hadn’t even considered it at all. Mickey could very well be fucking other people, maybe not on campus but back in the southside. He had definitely lost his virginity somewhere and the way he fucks is way too aggressive to not have originated on those streets. * Ian tries to think of other things. He tries to engage in conversation with everyone, to look like he’s having a great time. The churro guy shows up, this middle-aged Mexican man, who stands behind his stall for what looks like will be the entire day, in front of a giant vat of oil frying up the crispy treats. Ian does want to try one but the man is so busy fulfilling everyone’s requests that he feels too guilty to approach. “Try one,” Theo urges, putting a hand at Ian’s waist and guiding him to it. Theo orders two, one filled with dulce de leche for himself and a chocolate one for Ian. And he feels childish and uncultured for asking for the basic chocolate one because he didn’t know how to pronounce dulce de leche. The churro is good but he doesn’t know if it’s necessary to have them freshly made by this singular man. “Miguel is like family,” Theo explains when he catches Ian staring at the man. “His face just looks like that but he actually does really enjoy it. Churros are his passion.” Ian guesses if anyone has to be passionate about anything, churros is a good thing to choose. However, he keeps making eye contact with the help -- the various cleaners and caterers and servers carrying around silver trays -- and he can’t help but think that he has more in common with them than anyone else at this party. He feels like he’s violated some sacred space and that it’s only a matter of time before he’s called out for fraud. Theo leans in to whisper something in Ian’s ears and he feels the hair on the back of his neck rise at the sudden closeness. “Do me a favor?” he asks. “I hate to do this to you but my ex is here so can you…” Ian looks up to see a kid their age who has entered through the gates and into the back lawn, and Ian can see that Theo’s ex is not so different in appearance from himself. The guy is tall, with light brown hair and a soft face. Suddenly Ian realizes why he’s even there at all. “Yeah, ok,” he says easily, putting an arm around Theo’s shoulder. He’s honestly just relieved he’s found a purpose. * When night falls and half the party migrates to the docks to watch fireworks from their boats, Ian and the rest of the Northwestern gang stay back and get into the jacuzzi. Ian is used to swimming in his backyard but Theo’s jacuzzi is massive and embedded into the ground, its edges crafted in some sort of stone masonry. It makes him feel like those Japanese snow monkeys that spend their days soaking in hot springs. He stayed by Theo’s side the entire day, letting Theo get intimate with him even to get some sort of reaction from his ex -- all of which led to nothing as the ex stayed mostly civil. Ian even began to wonder if this guy had any feelings left for Theo at all. Now they’re all in the jacuzzi -- Theo, his ex, Danny, Nimi, Kenny, Gordie and the rest. When Theo maneuvers Ian’s chin to give him a soft peck on the lips, Ian has to try not to look at the ex right after. “So Ian,” Nimi says, “How was your first Indigenous Peoples' Day celebration?” Ian flushes as all the attention turns to him, the clear newbie. “Really awesome,” he says. “I’ve never been to a party like this before.” “Ian, you’re a first year at Northwestern, right?” Theo’s ex suddenly asks. Ian doesn’t even need to answer because Theo does for him. “He’s a freshman, yeah. Took a two-year gap after high school which makes him the same age as us.” Theo’s ex nods. “Where did you spend your gap years?” Ian thinks about the honest answer. Gay clubs in Boystown. “Travelling. Working,” he says simply. “Oh neat. Where in the world did you travel to?” Already, Ian feels himself sinking deeper into a lie. “Ukraine,” he says, not knowing exactly where it came from but also knowing it tumbled out of his mouth because Mickey has been weighing heavily on his mind. “Ukraine?” Gordie snorts, yet not in a disbelieving manner. “What were you doing there? Charity work?” “Yeah, uh, just thought it would be an interesting experience. I didn’t wanna travel to someplace everyone goes to. I just needed to get away for a bit, threw a dart at a map and it landed right there.” “Fuckin’ awesome,” Kenny says. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” “No wonder you’re close with Milkovich,” Nimi says. “I’ve never seen a more Ukrainian looking dude.” Ian’s head snaps in her direction. “You know Mickey?” She shrugs. “We all do. He sells us all our weed.” Jesus Christ, how did Mickey get such a monopoly on the weed business on campus? He panics for a moment, wondering how close he is to involuntarily outing Mickey. “Yeah he’s my RA and we got a class together,” Ian says. “A friend of mine runs the Ukrainian Student Society on campus,” Nimi says. “They’ve been trying to get Mickey to join all of last year thinking it’ll get them free weed.” “Just put his name on the mailing list, he’ll show up to an event if there’s free food,” says Ian. * Ian stays back in the jacuzzi with Theo while everyone wanders off, getting ready for bed. “Thanks for today,” Theo says. “I only get like once a year to make him jealous.” “What’s the situation there?” Ian asks. “He wanted to go to Dartmouth, I wanted to stay in Chicago and go to Northwestern. Long distance is tough so he broke up with me our senior year of high school, wanting some fancy New Hampshire dick I guess. But our families are close so I have to see him all the time at these get-togethers.” “Tough,” Ian says. He thinks that must be the most boring breakup story ever told and regrets how much acting he had done that day to provide some spice to the drama. Theo looks at Ian, giving him a curious glance. “Did you really spend like two years in Ukraine?” “No, I lied,” Ian sighs. “I danced half-naked for older men at skeevy bars for some cash. Barely finished high school, got lucky with a scholarship for lying in front of a truck transporting gay youths to a conversion camp.” “Shit,” Theo says. “You’re more interesting than I thought.” I wish I could say the same about you, Ian thinks. He nearly rolls his eyes. “Just don’t tell anyone. I don’t need them having that mental image of me.” “But you told me?” Ian doesn’t know how to tell Theo it’s because he truly does not give a fuck about what Theo thinks of him and how that may affect their interpersonal relationship. * On Sunday, Ian finally gets to experience brunch. It’s the wind-down day, before they all pile into Gordie’s van and head back to campus. Ian hasn’t texted Mickey at all as was his goal but he is still bummed to see Mickey hasn’t reached out to him. He wonders if maybe Mickey died, that maybe his dad found out he was gay and really did put a bullet between his eyes. That is the only reasonable explanation for why Mickey would go this long without even a short text, Ian decides. Ian (11:36am): having brunch He includes a picture of his avocado toast and grapefruit mimosa and the large trays of sliced fruit and belgian waffles. Mickey texts back five minutes later and Ian feels a wave of relief. Mickey (11:41am): what the fuck is that green shit Ian (11:41am): please tell me you know what an avocado is Mickey (11:42am): sure but whys it spread on bread like peanut butter Ian (11:42am): im making this for you on monday so you can try it. Maybe itll change ur life “Who are you texting to be smiling at your screen that hard?” Nimi asks from across the table. Ian has to control his expression. “My brother just had a baby,” he lies. Tammi is nowhere close in her pregnancy to be giving birth yet. “Oh my god, congrats!” Nimi says. “You’re an uncle.” Everyone starts congratulating him like he pushed the baby out himself. * It’s on the drive back to campus that Kenny is finally able to push Ian into creating a soundcloud account to follow him. “Yeah,” Ian says as the techno music starts up in the van. “Music kicks ass, Kenny.” “Thanks,” Kenny says coolly, not catching the lack of enthusiasm in Ian’s voice at all. * He is happy to see that things between him and Mickey have not changed much. It’s Sunday night and Ian, after giving Linus a brief greeting, headed to Mickey’s room immediately after. They spend the evening relaxing against the headboard of Mickey’s bed. They both have to catch up on their reading for drama but since neither want to do it, Mickey searches up Marriage Nikolai Gogol on Sparknotes only to realize it’s too obscure to even be on there. They end up reading the plot on Wikipedia instead. “Why do they all have to have such long Russian names,” Ian complains, unable to keep up with the characters. “And why do these stories all have to be so mundane? Like anyone cares if some guy named Podkolyosin gets laid or if three hags move to Moscow or not.” But still, Ian can’t help but feel like this character, Podkolyosin, is very much like himself in a way. Podkolyosin, too, strives too hard to create a life for himself that he has romanticized, believing that his wife has to be beautiful and French. Ian is beginning to hate how these ‘mundane’ plays reflect his own life so much. Mickey laughs. “You’re not a fan of these long Russian names, huh? Or are you jealous because yours is like a syllable long?” “It’s two syllables, actually,” Ian says, knowing enough linguistics by now to count his syllables correctly. “Een,” Mickey says. “You’re gonna lose your mind when you learn my full name.” “Mikhailo Milkovich isn’t your full name?” Ian thinks that if he read a long Russian play about a character named Mikhailo Milkovich he might be interested, if only for the alliteration and the way it rolls off the tongue. Mickey reaches toward his backpack on the floor and fishes out his ID, showing Ian his full name: Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich. “Were you your parents’ favorite child?” Ian asks. “Cause you got a brother whose name is just ‘Colin’.” Mickey shakes his head. “I think my dad just got really into Ukrainian nationalism around the time I was born.” This time, Ian laughs, suddenly remembering the lie he had told in the jacuzzi. He tells Mickey about it, about his ‘gap year’ in Ukraine. Mickey nearly loses his mind -- “And they believed that shit?” he says. “You know no one goes there unless they’re Ukrainian themselves.” Ian rolls his eyes. “It can’t be that bad.” After all, he grew up in the southside. He can’t imagine Eastern Europe is any better or worse than Chicago. “Well I never been,” Mickey shrugs. “But if they’re churning out pieces of shit like my father then I’m good.” To, for no real reason, prove Mickey wrong, they search up Ukraine tourism and watch travel vlogs of people exploring the city of Kiev. Turns out, it’s not so bad. The people seem friendly, the food looks decent, and the markets eccentric. “We should go,” Ian murmurs. “Ok after our trip to Italy, we’ll go to Ukraine,” Mickey says a bit sarcastically. “You cannot force me to eat that borscht shit though.” * Ian sleeps a lot better in Mickey’s bed. He missed the sex, even though Mickey is back to not kissing him. It was a one-time thing, he supposes. Maybe watching people go through torture traps just turned Mickey on. He feels comfortable cuddling in close to Mickey after sex, so unlike the way he instinctively jerked back when his bare leg brushed up against Theo’s. Mickey doesn’t even ask about the weekend and Ian just tells him some minor details -- he talks shit mostly, about how they had a Mexican man make churros for them all day and the terrible music he had been forced to listen to. He shows Mickey Kenny’s soundcloud and is satisfied when Mickey snorts and says the music sucks. * The next morning he wakes up to Mickey’s head nested in the crevice where his neck meets his shoulder. He feels the wetness of Mickey’s mouth on his shoulder blade, a bit of drool dribbling onto his bare skin. “Gross,” he says to himself but doesn’t move or wake Mickey. He only grabs his phone from between the bed and the wall and checks his notifications to see he has none except an email that his stats assignment was graded and he got a 97. Mickey is in such a deep sleep that Ian, out of boredom, starts reading Marriage for real, to prep for the class discussion later that day. He finds this character Podkolyosin even more annoying than before. Fyokla, the matchmaker, is trying to set him up with a merchant’s daughter named Agafya and just on the name alone this bastard Podkolyosin assumes she’s an old maid. Her property. What about her property? Tell me again. he says to the matchmaker A grand estate, a house, a two story stone house. It’s a pleasure to see. There’s a shop on the ground floor, pays seven hundred. There’s a beer cellar in the basement that also brings a lot of people. There are two additions-- a stone one and a wooden one – rented to very nice tenants, each brings 400 apiece. There’s a little garden elsewhere, three years ago an older gentleman rented it for cabbage. Such a nice, sober man he was too. He never took a drink and had three sons: two of them were married. “As for number three,” he’d say, “he's a youngster, let him sit around and take some of the load off me”— the matchmaker is saying He cuts her off. So? Agafya? What does she look like? This guy is really starting to get on Ian’s nerves. If he were to take Lip’s advice on writing essays, he would for sure argue that this guy is gay as hell. He talks about his shoes too much and is way too picky about a wife despite being chronically single. When Mickey wakes slowly, Ian tells him his theory that Podkolyosin is probably super gay for those reasons. Mickey just scoffs, not even caring about the puddle of drool he’s left on Ian’s collar bone. “Sounds pretty straight to me.” * They go to the market on campus to buy sourdough bread and avocados. Mickey grumbles the entire time but when they get to the cash register he pushes Ian aside and pays for the items himself. “Broke bitch,” he says before Ian can be sentimental and thank him. They walk back to Sargent’s dining hall and Mickey takes a seat while Ian goes to toast the bread. He comes back with utensils and begins cutting the avocados, not really sure the best way to do it. It turns out very messy but still he manages to smear it onto the bread and sprinkle salt and pepper on top. It may not look as great as the one at Theo’s house which, to be fair, was made by a professional chef, but he’s still proud of it. He almost wants to snap a pic. “This tastes like nothing,” Mickey says after one bite. “The avocados were like two dollars each.” Ian takes a bite as well and sure it isn’t as great as the one at brunch but it isn’t that bad. “Well it’s healthier than pancakes and bacon,” he says weakly. “God look at this shit,” Mickey is still complaining about the avocado toast. “The avocado shit is already going brown. Fuckin’ gross, throw it out.” Ian begrudgingly tosses it in the garbage. “I put my heart and soul into that,” he whines. He feels like the avocado toast represents something about his life but he’s no English major, he can’t just pluck metaphors out of thin air like that. * Kochkaryov: Rubbish, rubbish! I'll get you married so quickly you won't feel a thing. We'll go to the bride right away and you'll see. Podkolyosin: Right now? No… Kochkaryov: Why not? What’s stopping you? Just look for yourself: what’s so good about this single life of yours? Have a good look at your room! What do you see? Podkolyosin: A shoe, some tobacco, a broken mirror- Kochkaryov: Garbage! It’s all garbage! And all you can do is lie around the whole day like a stuffed beaver. Podkolyosin: it’s true. I’m a mess. Ian had pretty much spaced out for the entirety of linguistics but now that he’s in drama sitting next to Mickey, he’s alert to the class discussion. The entire class is rightfully tearing into Podkolyosin and his petty bourgeois ways. “Comparing this play to The Three Sisters what can be said about Russian society back then?” the professor asks. “Rich people liked to complain about circumstances completely within their control,” a student answers. “And is that so different from now?” the professor asks. “This play was published a generation before the Bolshevik Revolution--” This is Ian’s cue to zone out. * Ian missed studying in the library with Mickey. They’re sitting not so far from where Mickey first kissed Ian. He wonders if maybe Mickey will do it again tonight. “Do you wanna rent a movie after this? I think Piranha is on DVD now.” “Already seen it,” Mickey replies. “It wasn’t even good. Nothing but tits.” “Total turn off, huh.” “Yeah, I guess? Those spring breakers had it coming anyway, swimming in a lake.” Ian is anxiously bouncing his leg and Mickey puts a hand on it to stop the motion. “Jesus, what’s with you?” Mickey asks. “Have too much coffee?” “Jittery, sure,” Ian says. “Waiting for you to maybe kiss me again.” Mickey huffs a breath. “You and your library kink, where the hell did that stem from anyway? Did you get your first boner in a library?” “A library in the southside?” Ian laughs. “No, I got my first boner watching Justin Timberlake in an NSync music video. What about you?” He tries to ignore the fact that Mickey is trying to lighten the conversation instead of moving it toward a kiss. “Don’t even remember,” Mickey says. “Probably when I was a kid watching TV while I was home alone.” Latchkey kid, Ian thinks. “Might have been during the Simpsons,” Mickey adds, causing Ian to blow air out his nose. Mickey removes his hand from Ian’s leg, much to his disappointment. He doesn’t know how they had been able to take a step forward only to have taken two steps back. He wants to feel Mickey’s lips on his again, wants to taste his stupid mouth. Ian leans in after checking their surroundings first, noting the emptiness of their little corner of the library. “How mad would you be if I kissed you right now?” he asks. Mickey frowns. “I wouldn’t be mad, I just don’t get why you want to.” “It was so fun last time,” Ian says. “You’re a good kisser.” Mickey turns red at that. “Ok fine, you can kiss me while we fuck. But I’m not dropping my pants in a library.” Ian figures he’ll convince him one day. But for now, there’s a more pressing matter. “What about when we’re not fucking?” he asks. “What about when we’re just studying in the library and you look really hot and I want to kiss you?” “Then you’re gay as hell.” “Yeah.” Mickey’s face is positioned in not the most convenient of places but Ian still tries, scooting in closer and leaning his head in, angling his mouth to get at Mickey’s. At first, Mickey is slow to lift his mouth to meet Ian’s but then their lips touch and within seconds they’re kissing for real. Their tongues briefly meet before Ian deepens the kiss, getting his hands in Mickey’s hair. And their makeout session is loud in the silent library but Ian doesn’t care and surprisingly Mickey doesn’t either. But it is Mickey that breaks the kiss, pulling away from Ian with wet lips. “You happy now?” he says, as if the kiss had just been meant to satiate Ian. “Are you?” Ian asks. “Don’t worry about me,” Mickey says, annoyingly casual. “Can we finish this assignment now?” * Agafya: And how old is he? Fyokla: A youngster. About 50 Agafya: And what’s his last name? Fyokla: His last name? Omelette. Agafya: Omelette? That’s his last name? Fyokla: That’s his last name. Agafya: Gosh, what a last name! Fyokla what is this?! If I married him Iwould be called Agafya Tikhonovna Omelette! Their assignment is to recreate the play in the form of a short story set in contemporary society. “They had omelettes back then? In 1800s Russia?” Ian asks. It is what sticks out to him the most as absurd. “Russians love their omelettes man. You of all people should know that since you love brunch so much.” Ian scowls. He is trying to focus on writing his short story but Mickey keeps distracting him with his existence. And irritatingly enough, Mickey has already written up the short story -- completed it within an hour, in fact -- although he refuses to show Ian. “You could at least help me with mine,” Ian says. “Fuck that, my mind has checked out for the day. I could help you by giving you a blowjob though, might clear your mind a little, make you less intense and weird.” Ian considers that and agrees that he is in no place to start writing a short story unless he can first properly bust a nut. The kiss with Mickey had gotten him really horny and he’s been packing a half-chub ever since. * Ian sits at the ledge of Mickey’s bed but Mickey shakes his head. “I’m not getting on my knees, lie down on the bed.” Ian has no qualms about this. He knows Mickey refuses to kiss him after a bit of ass-eating but he’s pretty sure Mickey would be fine kissing him after letting Ian cum in his mouth. It makes no sense to be ok with one but not the other, unless Mickey secretly thinks Ian’s mouth is dirty. Once Mickey begins to suck at the head of his dick, Ian immediately enters a state of euphoria. He wants to believe Mickey is so good at this because he’s watched a bunch of porn and not so much due to experience. The thought of Mickey being like this with anyone else almost drives Ian into a rage. “You’re so good at this,” Ian sighs. Mickey lifts his head. “Then why do you keep guiding my head?” Ian’s hand has been gripping the back of Mickey’s head, clenching his dark strands of hair. “I’m not!” Ian exclaims. “I just need to hold onto something while I get my world rocked, is that ok?” Mickey shrugs. “Push my head down one more time and you can go get your dick sucked by Linus.” Ian blows out a breath because Mickey is back to sucking his dick before he can even get a word out. He is careful not to push, scared shitless that Mickey will legitimately kick him out half-naked. * Ian decides to write his short story on a dating show, not too dissimilar from those Bachelor series. He’s never seen an episode of the show, but he gets the gist. He creates a character named Tom, the most basic name he can think of. Tom is a middle-aged white man that works in stocks. He makes 100k a year and has a full head of hair. The only problem is that he wants badly to have the picture-perfect marriage -- he wants the beautiful trophy wife, the children who look exactly like him, and all the perks that come with being a married man. But once Tom is meeting all the contestants, all these beautiful ladies in evening gowns, he begins to pick apart each one: That one has weirdly shaped toes That one has a crooked smile That one was wearing black shoes with a red dress That one is the child of divorced parents. She’s no good All these beautiful women are obsessed with him but he finds flaws with each one so in the middle of the night he jumps out of his hotel window and runs back to his mother’s house. He lets Mickey read it before they sleep and finds it incredibly satisfying that Mickey laughs throughout. “It’s his gayness,” he says, explaining Ian’s character to Ian. “He’s gay as fuck. Gayer than you.” * They kiss more regularly now, always in private. And always as a prelude to sex. * The week after, they get their assignments back and Ian is asked by the professor to see her after class. “She hated your story so much she wants to kick you out of this class,” Mickey says. “Shut the fuck up, Mickey.” * Mickey accompanies Ian after class when he approaches the professor’s desk. She is sitting there in her little cardigan and Ian spots a copy of Lenin’s The State and Revolution on her desk. “You wanted to speak with me?” Ian asks nervously. “Ah yes, Ian,” she says kindly. “I was quite impressed with your story, how you captured the humor and essence of Gogol’s work but managed to stick to the assignment and make it incredibly contemporary. Your writing, it is quite impressive. Have you ever considered entering local writing contests?” Ian is a bit stunned by this. “No,” he says. “I don’t really write unless I have to.” “Well, you should consider it,” she tells him. “Finalists get quite a lot of money and get to be published. This looks great on future resumes.” “Oh, I’ll think about it, I guess.” She goes on. “It is your prose I really find impressive. You have quite a Dickensian manner of writing, has anyone ever told you this?” Ian feels his face heat up at the flattery, even though he has no idea what Dickensian means. “No,” he says a bit bashfully, almost wishing Mickey wasn’t around to witness this. But Mickey finds the entire thing humorous. “What about me?” he asks loudly. The professor looks up at him through her glasses and squints as if she doesn’t recognize him at all and hadn’t even known he was standing there. “Oh, Mikhailo,” she says, putting him together. “Yes, your story. Are you familiar with the works of R.L Stine? You are like him in a way.” “Cool,” Mickey shrugs. She gives him a pointed look. “It was not a compliment.” * The professor emails Ian a list of various on-campus writing contests and it overwhelms Ian immediately. He and Mickey are walking to get lunch at the dining hall when Ian asks to read Mickey’s short story out of sheer curiosity. “You must have written something really weird,” Ian says. “You can’t read it but I’ll tell you the plot.” Ian listens as Mickey explains the short story he had written -- a man with memory loss wakes up everyday forgetting he is married and his wife has to watch him ogle at other women and every time that he is reminded he is married he finds a new thing to criticize about his wife. I would never marry someone with such an ugly perm he would say on one day and then I would never marry someone with such small tits on another. And then finally, one day, his wife snaps and cuts his dick off. He lost some points on the story because it was a “happy ending”. * Mickey thinks Ian should enter the contests for a chance at the cash prizes but Ian realizes there are some fees to enter -- the cheapest one being a $25 "reading" fee. “Look, man, I’ll cover the cost of that for you, just write something and enter,” Mickey says. “And then when you win you can split the prize money in half with me.” “Split it in half?” Ian asks. “Why the hell would I do that?” He’s joking though because he’d do it in a heartbeat. “You would have never even finished that assignment if I didn’t suck you off as good as I did,” Mickey says. Ian considers that a fair point. “Yeah, maybe I’ll submit something if I can even think of a story to write.” “Since when do stories have to be about anything? So far all we’ve read in that class is Russian people being unhappy with their lives.” “So what should I do?” Ian asks. “Write about how much I hate being a janitor?” “Yeah, why not?” Ian shrugs. “I’ll see what I come up with and let you know.” * Later when Ian is on the phone with Lip, he tells him all about the play, the short story, and the writing contests. “You should enter some of them,” Lips says. “That’s what Mickey said.” “Hanging out with Mickey a lot these days?” Ian will never know why Lip is always so curious about his love life because for their entire lives, Ian could never be bothered to even pretend to care about Lip’s. “I haven’t slept in my own bed in weeks,” Ian says as a response. “So what, then? Is it official? Bringing him home for Thanksgiving?” Ian laughs. “It’s far from official, I think Mickey is allergic to commitment. Plus, he’s still in the closet.” “So you’re both still seeing other people?” “I don’t know,” Ian says. “I guess technically I am but I can’t stand any of them. Being with Theo is like watching paint dry, his only positive trait is that he’s nice and smart and wealthy.” “Those are some pretty good traits. Marry him and then divorce him, you get half his trust fund.” “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a long con, just kinda wanted to meet a normal cute guy and start something stable for the first time in my life, why is it so hard? Am I Podkolyosin?” Ian says dreadfully. “I don’t know what that is,” says Lip. “Why don’t you try dating other people who aren’t Mickey or Theo?” “Ugh,” says Ian. “Because Theo knows every gay guy on campus and I don’t want to be messy.” “Date someone off-campus. Expand your Grindr radius,” Lip offers. Ian forgot he even had Grindr. He turned notifications off a while ago and now that he thinks of it, he has never heard that sound go off on Mickey’s phone since the first time they hooked up. He continues talking with Lip, things about his own life, Tammi’s pregnancy, baby names, how things are back home. “You coming home for Halloween?” Lip asks. “We were gonna take Liam to the west side to go trick or treating.” “No, I have plans,” Ian says. “Did I not tell you about the Halloween party? Me and Mickey got matching Halloween costumes even.” “Huh,” says Lip, amused. “What? We bought them together.” “Uh huh.” “Whatever Lip, I’ll call you tomorrow.” He hangs up and walks down the hall to Mickey’s room. The door is unlocked because Mickey’s been expecting Ian, as it’s just a regularity now to sleep in the same bed even when they don’t have sex. Mickey is finishing up an assignment at his desk and gives Ian a casual greeting, passing him a bag of chips to eat. Ian sits on Mickey’s bed, leans up against the wall, to watch Mickey work. Every so often, Mickey gets a text and the sound goes off on his phone. Curious, Ian pulls out his phone, opens Grindr and messages ‘Colin’ again. Ian (9:46pm): wanna bang? A few seconds pass, then a whole minute. The Grindr notification never sounds on Mickey’s phone, nor can Ian even see the flash of the lock screen signalling a new notification. “The fuck you lookin’ at, homo?” Mickey says. Ian cuts away his gaze even though his stomach fills with warmth. “Just an ugly bastard,” Ian answers. “Finish your homework.”

  During the week, they chat about all the other details that could have escaped their minds during the talk at the bookshop’s cafe, which gives Felix confidence that it’s okay that he’s standing in front of Chan’s door. The wait for any of them to answer the door is excruciating, Felix’s anxiety flying through the roof. Not because he’s having second thoughts, but due to the fact his skin is buzzing with excitement. They’ve discussed more or less what they’ll be doing, although some of it was left in the air so they could also enjoy the flow of things. All he knows is that he’s in for some good spanking, getting his life fucked out of him, maybe he’ll get his mouth fucked too, and be edged if the mood is right. He pinches himself just to make sure he’s really not dreaming; this is too good to be true. “Hey!” Minho greets him, pulling him inside excitedly and shutting the door behind him. “Channie-hyung is getting some stuff in the convenience store nearby, he’ll be here in a moment.” He sits on the couch, and upon noticing Felix is just kind of standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room, he beckons him with a wiggly finger and pats the spot by his side on the couch. “H-hi, good evening,” Felix greets him shakily as he sits down on the couch beside Minho, keeping a friendly distance between them. Minho scoffs and scoots closer to him, all over his personal space. Felix is looking around, very obviously trying to avoid his eyes, so Minho turns his head with a fingertip to Felix’s chin. Their lips almost touch with how close he’s put himself to the boy, and Felix’s eyes flit to his lips, a tiny gasp slipping through what Minho assumes is supposed to be a calm façade. “Are you nervous, pixie? Or are you having second thoughts?” Minho asks, making sure Felix’s gaze doesn’t leave his. “It’s ok if you don’t want to anymore. And we can change anything we agreed on to make you more comfortable at any point, understood?” Felix nods slowly, talking past the knot in this throat with difficulty, “I’m just nervous, hyung, don’t worry.” Minho hums, gently caresses Felix’s cheek. “There’s no need to be nervous, we’ll take good care of you, hm? Do you trust hyung?” Felix nods again, leaning into Minho’s touch, eyes fluttering closed. “Good pixie…” Minho says, smiling back at Felix when he beams at the praise. “Can I kiss you, Felix?” “Y-yea, please,” is all Minho needs before capturing Felix’s lips, the hand on his cheek quick to find its way to his hair, not pulling, just feeling the soft strands as their mouths move slowly together. Felix is the one to deepen the kiss, seeking to taste more of Minho’s strawberry lip balm. Minho smiles into the kiss when Felix kitten licks at his lips, entertained by his eagerness, and lets him explore all he wants, giving way into his mouth and even allowing Felix to lead them for a little bit. That doesn’t last long, for Minho is only so giving with Chan, and Felix is taken by surprise when Minho takes over, sucking at his tongue and nibbling at his plush lips until they’re a pretty shade of red. The grip on Felix’s hair tightens as he’s pulled to Minho’s lap, his leg being pulled over Minho so he can straddle him. What Minho had intended to be a quick make out session to loosen Felix’s nerves gradually evolves to Minho guiding Felix’s hips to grind against his, the little stalker’s oh so pretty, gravelly moans filling their living room as the boy on his lap gets lost in the feeling. Minho gets lost as well, feeling the gentle slope of Felix’s ass in his hands, his tiny waist under his nails, the wet heat of his mouth on his tongue. They both are so into it they don’t even register Chan freezing by the door at the heavenly scene he’s greeted with. He quietly makes his way to his room without interrupting the two of them, setting the contents of the plastic bag on his small nightstand – flavoured lube, three water bottles, some protein bars and wet wipes in case they get lazy. No condom, as they had agreed beforehand, but if Felix changes his mind he has some in his drawer for emergencies that will do just fine. Walking back to the living room, he thanks the heavens for, one: Jisung won’t be home until tomorrow for sure, because he made sure his boyfriend would keep him busy; second: he must be blessed for getting to see Minho getting it on like that with such a pretty boy and to get to join them. Which reminds him… they should’ve started together. Felix startles as Chan closes in behind him, looming over both of them as he pulls them apart, Felix with a gentle pull to his hair, Minho with a harsh tug. The messy lip-lock Minho had him in creates a string of spit connecting them until Felix follows Chan’s hand and looks up at him, the sticky line breaking on his chin, adding to the wet sheen already there. He can only guess they’ve been at this for some time. Giving Felix a small smile as a form of greeting, he looks at Minho, who’s also looking wrecked already, although much more composed than Felix, whose gaze seems distant, lost in a land of pleasure. “Really? Starting without me, baby? Didn’t we agree to start after I was home?” he asks, tilting his head to the side with eyebrows shot up. “He was just so tempting, can you blame me, hyung?” Minho licks over his teeth, smirking proudly since he got the reaction he wanted from Chan. “You’re so mean, baby, I even got us your favourite flavoured lube,” Chan tsks, tugging harder at his strands although there isn’t really any bite to his words. Felix gulps loudly between them, blushing hard as Minho’s eyes flick to him knowingly when his dick twitches in interest. “Don’t worry, Channie, you didn’t miss the best part, we were just… warming up.” Minho looks at Felix with the cheshire grin that never fails to send shivers down his spine. “We have a long night ahead of us.” Letting go of Minho’s hair, Chan holds Felix’s jaw to make him look at him. “Are you still okay with all we discussed? Anything you want to change?” Felix shakes his head. “And you remember what to do if you want to slow down or stop…?” “Green to continue, yellow to slow down, red to stop. If I can’t speak I tap three times. Safeword is moonlight,” Felix says confidently, and Chan smiles at him. “Good boy, pixie.” All technicalities out of the way, Chan leans down to steal a kiss of his own, pausing just an inch away from Felix’s lips just to make sure it’s okay, loving how Felix closes the gap with a little peck and waits for him to continue, then melts under him, moaning deeply as Chan’s tongue meets his. It’s so different from kissing Minho. Between them it’s always a tug of war, in which he has to pull hard or Minho tries to take over, but with Felix there’s no fight, he just melts under them and allows both of them to lead, to take what they want without question or struggle. And don’t get him wrong, he loves kissing Minho, there’s something invigorating about having to fight for dominance and not getting anywhere with it because neither of them will relent, but just getting to do what he wants is also pretty nice, and he knows Minho shares the feeling. Still on the couch, Minho and Chan start to take things further. Chan lifts Felix from Minho’s lap, manhandling him to sit between his legs, Felix’s back to his chest, and Minho gets up from the couch to kneel on the ground, throwing a pillow under his knees so they won’t hurt. The shift is so smooth Felix thinks the couple probably discussed how they would tear him apart and then put him back together, and the thought that these two spent time thinking about him when they already have each other makes his head spin. “Let’s get these off, yeah?” Chan says softly, pulling at the hem of Felix’s shirt, and the boy lifts his arms to help him get it off. As Chan works on that, Minho takes Felix’s pants off, leaving him in his underwear. Felix feels shy under their heated gazes, but any chance at covering himself is prevented by Chan’s arms around him keeping his arms locked by his sides. “Such a pretty little thing,” Minho marvels as his hands knead at Felix’s thighs, slowly moving upwards from his knees until he reaches where they’re meatier and then where they connect with his crotch. Felix’s hips twitch at the attention, at the prospect of getting touched where he needs most, but Minho keeps his hands away from his dick, just teasing around it, nails trailing featherlight on his hips, up his abs and chest, then back down, raising goosebumps on his skin. Meanwhile Chan kisses his neck, nibbles on spots where he feels Felix is more sensitive, humming his agreement with Minho and murmuring his own praises on his skin. “Such a pretty pixie, all for us to ruin.” Felix tries not to let himself get too riled up so soon, but Minho had already kissed him silly, and now being played like a doll by the couple... he’s losing it fast. Chan’s hands don’t take long to find his nipples, and once they deem he’s squirmy enough, Minho starts mouthing at Felix’s clothed cock, working his tongue on the wet spot Felix’s tip has made until it spreads, his spit soiling it even more as he tastes the salty precome collecting there while one of his hands fondles his balls. He is turned to jelly in their hands, writhing in their hold although he’s trying his best to stay put, to be good for them. His low-pitched moans begin to shift to higher, whinier ones, his eyes start to water from pleasure. Once Minho’s mouth finally wraps around his dick, he’s already fighting the coil in his stomach. And Minho sucks Felix’s dick like he was born to do it, taking him to the back of his throat, making the boy squirm and try to close his legs as his orgasm approaches. It doesn’t help that Chan’s mouth doesn’t stop whispering filth in his ears, telling him how good he is, how pretty he’s going to look when he’s getting spanked over his lap. When he’s not saying something to send Felix’s mind into a comfortable haze, he’s mouthing at his neck, biting and sucking until he leaves dark marks behind. A nice reminder of a night Felix is sure to never forget. His legs can’t stop trying to close on Minho’s head. “Don’t be bad, pixie, keep them open so bunny can choke on your pretty cock just like he likes it, yeah?” Chan tuts him, and with his hands behind Felix’s knees he spreads his legs more, keeping them open by hoisting them over his own knees. Not a minute after, Felix is the one choking, but on his sobs, trying his best not to come. “Hyun– g-gon-na c-um,” he warns as best as he can, and he doesn’t even know if he’s warning Chan or Minho at this point. He whimpers loudly as Minho pulls off with a wet pop, his hips bucking up and trying to chase him. Minho looks up at him smugly, a hand wrapped around his base to stop his orgasm, and through his tears he can see him licking at his lips, as if Felix is the prey he just caught in his claws. Felix certainly feels like he is. “Not yet,” Chan says, placing a kiss on his temple and running his hands up and down his thighs to soothe him. “You still have your punishment to take, don’t you, pixie?” Felix nods weakly, his bottom lip trembling until his teeth latch onto it to stop another embarrassing whimper. “Are you ready for it? What’s your colour?” “Green,” he sighs as his orgasm slowly drifts away and Minho lets go of his dick. “Good pixie, you’re doing so well,” Minho praises. “Over my lap, pixie, ass up,” Chan taps his thigh, and with Minho’s help he gets up from between Chan’s legs. Then he’s pulled over his lap stomach down, his ass on display for Minho and Chan, his painfully hard dick hanging between Chan’s spread legs. Minho pulls the rest of his underwear down and starts stripping himself whilst Chan tells Felix the rules he’s supposed to follow. “We’re doing ten, pixie – five for taking photos of us without our knowledge, five for being a perverted little voyeur.” Chan waits for Felix’s good to go, rubbing his hand over his ass lightly, warningly. “Y-yes, hyung.” “You’re going to count each of them for us.” “Yes, hyung.” Felix looks to his side, watching Minho place the cushion on the floor in front of them, now in his full gloried nakedness, close enough so he can stroke Felix’s back reassuringly and land a few spanks as well. The moment of silence before the first slap has Felix’s insides bubbling in anticipation, but he doesn’t rush Chan, just braces himself for the impact as they keep caressing him gently. It’s good that they’re having a moment of pause, it helps Felix calm down a little, not only from his nerves but also his raging boner. Before he knows, he’s relaxing fully on Chan’s lap, basking in the soft touches and just letting himself drift into a headspace of trust and comfort. Of course, that’s when the first one comes, not as hard as he imagines Chan can go, but hard enough that he jolts forward from more than the startle of the impact, a current of pain spreading through his ass cheek where Chan’s hand landed loudly. He’s so startled he doesn’t even scream, just gasps and grips the couch cushion hard, his eyes going comically wide. Minho and Chan calm him right after with delicate hands, Minho’s trailing up and down his spine, Chan’s over the spot he just hit. “One,” Felix counts steadily. “How was that, little pixie?” Chan asks, smiling fondly as Minho kisses the tip of Felix’s nose. “G-good,” he swallows thickly, “you can go harder, hyung.” Chan curses under his breath and Minho chuckles. “Such a naughty little pixie,” Minho says, “no wonder he’s a pervert that spies on people.” Felix whines, hiding in his hands, squeaking a moan when Chan lands the second hit without warning, harder as Felix guessed he could. Tears spring to Felix’s eyes, and he blinks quickly to keep them from spilling, his toes curl, and even Chan’s soothing hand stings a bit, making him squirm on his lap. By the fifth spanking he’s drooling a bit on the cushion below him, his hips twitch and his cock hangs heavy again between Chan’s spread legs. His ass burns, his counting is a babbled mess, but at least they accept it. There’s a sinister smile that never leaves Minho’s face, and it only turns Felix’s insides more. Minho joins Chan to soothe his abused skin, the last smack was so hard Felix almost fell from Chan’s lap if it were not for Minho holding him in place. Minho can’t get enough of the warmth of Felix’s skin. A fair amount of times he has spanked his partners in the past – although he’s never done it with Chan since he’s into the giving end of the spectrum – yet he’s never seen an ass look so pretty all marked up, never seen anyone take it so well. “Your tiny ass looks so pretty all red like this, pixie, makes me wanna bite it,” he giggles as he does just that, nibbling on the heated skin of Felix’s ass, making him whimper, though his hips chase the bite instead of shying away from it. “You like that?” Chan asks rhetorically, “Is our little pervert a painslut on top of a voyeur?” Felix nods eagerly, looks back at Chan pleadingly, “D-daddy, p-please…” The couple’s eyes go wide, Minho looking at Chan to see his reaction, meeting his dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. Oh. Minho smirks, and Chan gulps. Damn, this might come back to bite him in the ass later, but fuck if he’s gonna pass up this opportunity. Not that his lovingly evil boyfriend would let him anyway. “What did you say, pixie?” Chan asked. Only then does Felix seem to notice what he’s called Chan, and he whines, hiding behind his forearms as he tries to curl himself up on Chan’s lap. “It’s okay, pixie, I liked it. Say it again for me, hm?” Chan reassures him, petting his head. Minho watches with interest as Felix slowly relaxes, letting out a shaky, long-drawn sigh. “M-more daddy,” Felix begs, and Chan moans, his hand squishing one of Felix’s ass cheeks as Minho watches them with a heated gaze. “You want daddy to spank you, pixie?” Minho asks just to be a menace, but Felix is past his shyness, just desperate for more already. “Y-yeah, want daddy and hyung to spank me,” he says, his freckled cheeks burning hot, his toes curling. Minho takes a big breath, not expecting to be thrown into the mix, but he’s not complaining. “Daddy will give it to you, pixie. You’re doing so well for us.” Felix readies himself, arching his back to give Chan the best angle, but at the first hit, the slap doesn’t come like he’s expecting it. Instead he feels Minho’s loose fist around his cock, his hips trying to chase the feeling and get more from the simple touch. Chan keeps him from squirming too much though, lands another blow on his ass, making Felix wail and grip at the couch with all this strength. “Shi–“ Minho flicks his wrist and digs his thumb into his slit, spreading his precome around the head with the lightest of touches. Felix falters, his legs giving out underneath him as he still tries to fuck into his fist. “Hyung– aaah–“ “C’mon, pixie, be good and count for daddy,” Minho taunts him, voice dripping sweetness that really doesn’t match the cruel smile on his face. “H-hyung,” Felix whines, moaning into his fist as he tries to keep his sounds in check, fighting the urge to kick his feet in frustration. “Colour?” Felix groans, “G-green.” “Then count,” Minho’s brows furrow and he digs his thumb harder into Felix’s slit. His cock is so sensitive at this point, the head a deep red and begging for release. Tears flow down Felix’s face as he tries to get his wits together. “S-six.” Chan then switches with Minho, soothing Felix as Minho hits his ass hard three consecutive times, leaving his handprints on top of Chan’s. Up to the final blow, Minho keeps teasing his cock’s head, and when Chan lands the last spank, he holds the base of Felix’s dick again, stopping him from another orgasm. “Were you gonna come without hyung’s or daddy’s permission, little pixie?” Chan asks after they’ve raised him from Chan’s lap. “I- I’m sorry d-daddy.” Felix cries. Minho kisses his tears away and Chan pets his head, gently scratching at Felix’s scalp to calm him down. “Shhh, it’s ok, pixie, just don’t do it again, yeah? You took your punishment so well. Now let us take care of you, yeah?” Minho carries Felix to Chan’s room princess style as Chan strips on the way, then he lays Felix down on the bed carefully, mindful of his sore ass. Felix still hisses at the feeling of the sheets against his raw skin, but soon settles with his back against the fluffy pillows. Chan’s bed is small, made for a single person, but the couple is used to messing around on it so much that an extra person should pose no obstacle. Felix drinks a bit of the bottled water Chan had set beside the bed, Minho helping him by holding the bottle for him. It’s really happening, huh? He still can’t believe it, and seeing two Greek gods in front of him isn’t making the whole ordeal seem any more believable. Chan literally looks like a marble statue in front of Felix, sculpted by the most capable of artists in ancient times, it feels almost criminal getting to put his hands on him, as if he’s desecrating a worship totem. And Minho, although his thighs rival that of statues as well, has softer curves, a lean but not as defined tummy perfect for Felix to dig his nails into, the reaction he gets once he does it just fueling his desire to touch every part of Minho until he maps out each and every single one that will get him to let out the same airy moan into his mouth. Soon he’s manhandled on all fours though, so before even getting to touch much of Chan he’s facing away from him, his reddened ass facing him whilst his head stops just short of Minho’s dick. What he sees has his breath hitching, his tongue sitting heavy in his mouth. Minho smirks once their eyes meet. “Like my toy, pixie?” he says as if he doesn’t have a huge butt plug in his ass on full display for Felix in its black heart-shaped jewelled glory.  Chan giggles behind him, catching his attention. “I’m gonna eat you out, little pixie, so give your hyung some attention, yeah?” Chan says as if it’s a suggestion, but something in his tone tells Felix it is an order, one he’s eager to follow. Minho taps his dick on Felix’s lower lip, so Felix doesn’t even wait for Chan to put his mouth on him, lowering himself on his elbows and mouthing at Minho’s cock, tasting the layer of sweat and Minho’s precome before engulfing him fully into his mouth, punching another breathy moan from him. Not long after he feels Chan’s fingers lubing his entrance, his tongue kitten-licking his rim teasingly. He moans around Minho, causing his hips to buck up and choke him on his cock. “S-shit, you ok there, pixie?” Minho asks concerned, and in response Felix only sucks harder on him, making Minho throw his head back and curse, his hand weaving in Felix’s blond strands and clutching hard at them. In no time Minho plants his feet on the bed and starts fucking up into his mouth. Felix gags and gurgles around him as Minho hits the back of his throat repeatedly, but in no time he adjusts to the intrusion and starts sucking earnestly on Minho’s cock, slurping on it as if it’s the most delicious treat he’s ever had in his mouth. It kinda is. “Fuck, pixie, your mouth feels so fucking good, made to suck dick, so good,” Felix preens under the never-ending praises Minho gives him with his voice strained. “Relax your throat for hyung, pretty,” Minho smirks, cheshire-like, his sweet voice layered with faux sweetness. Felix does as he’s told and closes his eyes as tears flood them again. Minho fills his mouth so nicely, reaching deep into his throat but not deep enough that he can’t take it. He swallows around him, twirls his tongue as much as he can, although he eventually gives up and just slacks his jaw and lets Minho use him, incapable of focusing with Chan licking and fucking his tongue into his hole, circling around his rim only to then dip back in again in a cycle that has him feeling dizzy from pleasure. The sounds echoing through the room are filthy, sinful, a mix of Minho’s moans, his gurgled sounds around Minho’s cock and Chan’s groans and slurps on his asshole, all five sensory stimuli scrambling Felix’s brain much like Chan’s tongue seems to be doing to his insides. Once again he’s climbing to his high quickly, but this time Minho and Chan can already read his signs, and without him saying anything Minho gets up from underneath him so he won’t come just yet, joining Chan opening him up. Both of them start opening Felix up together, Chan fingering him while Minho rims him with teasing licks while giving his still sore and red ass a squeeze or two. Chan is careful, adding more lube at each newly inserted finger, waiting for Felix to fuck back on the first before adding the next one and so on. And once he’s three fingers deep, Felix is flipped around and laid on his back. Minho sits between his spread legs, both of them kissing as Chan takes his plug out and sets it aside, making sure Minho is well stretched to take his cock. Felix can barely hold himself together when Minho slides inside him slowly in one long move, gripping at his thick thighs for dear life. He tries to fuck himself on Minho’s cock, putting his feet on the bed, but he’s stopped by Chan lifting his legs from the mattress and putting them around Minho’s and his waist as he slots himself behind Minho, looking at him from over Minho’s shoulder with a smug smile. “Is this position ok, pixie?” More than ok, it’s perfect. He’ll get a full view of Minho’s body as he fucks him, his own dick slapping on his tummy, and Chan biting at Minho’s neck from behind, marking him up as his right before Felix’s eyes, all as he fucks Felix through Minho, as if he’s his as well. Felix kind of wants to be. “Pixie? Aren’t you gonna answer your daddy?” Minho asks with a quirked eyebrow and he notices he had gotten lost inside his head. “Y-yeah, it’s perfect, daddy.” Felix flushes, still shy about calling Chan that in spite of both liking it so much. Chan slicks himself with more lube just to be sure, and slowly pushes into Minho, groaning at the tightness despite all their efforts at opening him up before Felix had arrived. Minho moans at the stretch, sharing the feeling of finally being filled with Felix, who relaxes underneath the couple as if his strings had been cut. “S-so full, d-daddy,” he stutters out, his small hand on his belly as if he could feel Chan inside him along with Minho. Once Chan bottoms out, his dick twitches inside Minho, making him squirm and circle his hips a little, fucking himself on Chan’s cock but also moving inside Felix. “D-damn, pixie, I could say the same.” he huffs, circling his hips a bit more to feel Chan's cock deeper inside him, humming in pleasure and throwing his head back on Chan’s shoulder. Chan huffs, both in an effort to contain himself and let Felix adjust to all the sensations and at Minho’s words. In a minute Felix is whining, begging for them to move already. His nails scratch at Minho’s abs, trying to get him to fuck him, and Minho pins Felix’s wrists above his head. “Sshh, hyung and daddy will take care of you, pretty pixie, you just lie there and take what we give you, yeah?” How could Felix ever say no to that? So he takes it like the good pixie he is. Minho starts railing him like his life depends on it while Chan slams into him so hard Felix slides up the mattress. Chan aims for Minho’s prostate head-on whereas Minho swivels his hips with expertise, clenching around him just right while teasing Felix’s prostate so the boy doesn’t come too fast. “Y-you t-take me so well, p-pixie,” Minho moans, phrases punctuated by Chan’s thrusts inside him, “F-feel so g-good~” Felix hiccups moans as he calls for daddy and hyung, unable to say anything else as he’s fucked silly, his limbs going limp under the couple’s touch, his mind fogging up with lust and pleasure and the desire to please and to come. Chan fucks Minho hard, hitting his sweet spot with scary precision and almost growling as he praises Felix too. “Such a good pixie for us, taking us so well, the perfect little hole for us.” Minho starts fucking Felix harder, getting Felix and him close to the edge quickly as it also means he fucks back on Chan’s cock faster, so Chan lets go of one of Felix’s thighs and wraps a hand around Minho’s throat, not cutting his air supply but putting enough pressure that Minho’s breathing is labored. Felix feels like he is on the cusp of coming, and he is too lost in the sensation to worry about whether he’s gotten permission yet or not. Chan’s other hand went to Minho’s hip to keep him snug against Felix’s ass, with his dick buried deep inside him and without being able to move, effectively edging Felix again, although it’s safe to say it could be the same for Minho. “What do you think you’re doing, pixie?” he asks Felix, “Were you gonna come without asking daddy or hyung, hm?” “N-no, dad-dy,” Felix lies through his teeth, trembling as his orgasm ebbs away, tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes and making him blink hard to have them flow so he can see Minho’s debauched state above him. Felix whimpers, looking pleadingly at both of them as Minho rolls his hips whilst avoiding his prostate, seeking relief for the ache for his cock without giving Felix much of anything. “Little pixie thought daddy wouldn’t notice?” “P-pixie’s s-sorry, d-daddy,” Felix whimpers, whereas Minho doesn’t stop rolling his hips as best as he can with Chan’s death grip on his waist. “P-please let me cum, dad-dy~ h-hyung~ ple-ase,” he begs mindlessly over and over again with tears running down his face and making his freckles shimmer in the room’s light. Chan and Minho moan, feeling defeated with Felix begging so prettily for them. Yet, Chan doesn’t let go of Minho’s waist or his throat, knowing the bruising touches will help Minho get to his release sooner as he picks his pace back up to ram into Felix as he keeps him in place, the movement jostling him up the bed a bit, nonetheless. “I’m gonna cum like this, pixie, with your daddy’s cock buried deep inside me and your cute cock neglected on your pretty tummy,” Minho growls, hips losing coordination as he gets closer to the edge. “C-can I c-cum too? P-pretty please?” “No, not yet pixie,” Chan’s strained voice says from behind Minho, his face hidden between his boyfriend’s shoulder-blades. Felix sobs, clutching at the sheets underneath him. “Colour?” “F-fuck– aaahh, green g-green,” Felix rushes out. Not a second later Minho pulls out and covers Felix with his come, some of it even hitting the boy’s chin, and before Felix can come as well, Chan holds the base of his cock tight, leaving him aching once again. Felix sobs, writhing in Chan’s and Minho’s hold as another orgasm drifts away from him. “Shhh, be good and wait to cum from daddy’s cock fucking you, pixie,” Minho smooches Felix’s temple, then lies by his side on the bed, spent. He holds one of Felix’s hands for support as Chan fucks Felix to completion, the boy’s vision turning white from the force of it, his whole body convulsing as string after string of come joins Minho’s come on his stomach and chest. Chan moans brokenly as Felix’s walls spasm around his cock, clenching so hard on him that it sends him over the edge as well, and he comes inside Felix with a silent scream. It takes a long while for all of them to recover their breath, the water bottles are emptied, Felix getting some help from Minho to drink his again while Chan wipes down most of the mess they’ve made of his front and his ass. They snuggle together, taking small bites of their protein bars in a comfortable silence, Felix eventually drifting off to sleep. Minho and Chan organise the room a bit, and Chan turns Felix around so they can put some cream on Felix’s ass cheeks. Minho stays with Felix in case he wakes up while Chan runs a bath for them, hoping that they’ll find a way to fit together in the small bathtub somehow. He calls Minho once the bath is done, Felix being woken up by the latter with soft kisses to his face and a promise of a relaxing time cuddled up together. They talk comfortably as they bathe, Minho massages Chan’s arms and Felix’s back, Chan and Felix ganging up on him afterwards to massage his thighs with no second intentions at all. When the bath runs cold they finally get out, and work around each other quickly so they’re quickly all dry and cuddled up in bed with Felix wearing some of Chan’s boxers and one of Minho’s t-shirts. “Was everything ok, Lix?” “Was anything too much?” they ask Felix before he falls asleep again. “Everything was perfect. I’d love to do this again sometime,” Felix admits, putting a smile on the face of his favourite couple and giving them good dreams for the night.     Six months later… Even before Chan enters the flat he can hear a faint buzzing behind the door. The small smile that paints his face is inevitable, even more so once he manages to open the door despite his hands being full of grocery bags and finds Minho and Felix laughing about something in their open kitchen. He closes the door with his butt and walks over to them, smelling vanilla and coffee in the air and the fainter scent of spices on the way. Dropping the bags on the floor since the small kitchen island is occupied by ingredients, ranging from pork and herbs to batter and sugar, he greets Felix and Minho. “Hi babe!” they say in unison, looking up from their tasks. One would think they had planned it, but it has just become so common for Chan to get home after the two of them that it comes naturally. He goes behind each and gives them a quick kiss to their lips as they turn their heads, not risking to disturb them any more than that; it’d earn him a loud nagging from Minho. “The store was so packed today, I guess everyone left to buy their Holiday’s groceries at the last minute.” He huffs, pulling a stool from the island and setting it on the edge of the kitchen to sit down and watch his boyfriends work. It’s good that they decided to get a bigger flat; if they had gotten the one Felix wanted, Chan would probably be kicked in the shins by Minho daily – his man really doesn’t like people in his way when he cooks. Well, perhaps Felix is the exception, seeing as he’s baking right by his side and taking over more than half of the small island. Chan feels like an idiot, smiling at his boyfriends doing something so mundane. Looking at them like this, in their full domestic beauty, he kind of understands Felix’s fixation with photographing Minho and him back when everything began. His eyes sparkle when Felix wipes his hands and pulls his phone from his apron’s pocket, snapping a quick shot of Minho seasoning the pork with stars in his eyes. He would wonder if that’s how he looks at them too if Felix hadn’t already shown it to him through his pictures. Still, he can’t help but feel like what he sees will last much longer than any photo Felix takes. The flash of Felix’s camera startles him, and he pouts at his boyfriend. Felix giggles, “Sorry, hyung, you looked in love.” Chan shakes his head, his smile never leaving his face. “Well, that’s because I am.” “You two are going to ruin my pork with all this sweetness,” Minho says as if he’s complaining, but he’s blushing and smiling like an idiot too. He might not use many words, but both of them can feel Minho’s love in each meal he cooks for them, each smile he pretends isn’t reserved just for them. “With how messy Felix is, there’s probably sugar from his cookies in there anyway.” Chan avoids a ball of parchment paper Felix throws at him. “Sorry, sorry~” “If you’re not going to help then go hang some fairy lights, hyung,” Felix says with furrowed brows, and Chan raises his arms in defeat, leaving his boyfriends to their kitchen adventures as he goes to the living room to do as he was told. One would think he’d be the one giving orders, all things considered, and he usually is, but put a kitchen into the equation and he can’t do or say much. Their flat looks very cute already. The three of them had decorated the Christmas tree the day before, and Minho had added some decorations to his bookshelves already. It’s amazing how far they’ve come in only six months. From a couple and a stalker in a bookshop, to three guys messing around and then in a week they were already dating. Some would say they’re going too fast, but to them it doesn’t feel like it. It just feels right having Felix with them. After a few minutes, Chan hears his phone ping, the sound of Twitter being enough to make him quickly set the fairy lights he started hanging aside to check the notification. Felix pictures just Tweeted He must be done with the cookie batter and is letting it rest. He unlocks his phone and goes straight to Felix’s profile instead of checking the notification, giggling to himself as he recognises both pictures that serve as a cover for Felix’s new pinned thread. The first one is Minho posing for the camera with a ladle on the day he first tried to make parboiled octopus. The second one is Felix and him on the day they woke up hungry in the middle of the night and decided to make bibimbap. He doesn’t remember that picture being taken, and judging by the fact he’s not looking at the camera, he bets Minho took it secretly. Great, now he has two little stalkers at home. But they’re his little stalkers, so it’s ok.  

‘Why is this necessary?’ Atsumu and Sakusa were delegated to the back seats of the van again, one tension-filled space separating them still. They were on their way to a photography studio because an idea had come to Bokuto in a dream that was just too good to pass up on. ‘For the memories, Lord Sakusa!’ Hinata called from the front seat. Since Sakusa had told them both about the successful security breach, Hinata hadn’t stopped treating him like royalty. They hadn’t been able to stop whooping and smiling, either, Atsumu included. ‘You’ve got to make every moment count on heists like these.’ ‘Damn right,’ said Bokuto. ‘Tetsu’s helping me make an album of my best moments. This will be a perfect front page!’ Sakusa made a face. ‘I understand the need for the pictures,’ he said. ‘I just don’t understand why we need to wear these.’ He gestured down to the clothes Atsumu had forced him into. They were all wearing matching sweaters; horrendous mustard yellow turtlenecks tucked into high waisted denim jeans. Atsumu had also spent a whole hour in the office breakroom combing the team’s hair through with gel and styling it into slicked down comb overs. Trying to get Sakusa to comply was like trying to wrestle a hostile cat, but Atsumu had managed it in the end. He had also gotten Sakusa to put on his glasses too, and bagged himself the chance to run his fingers through Sakusa’s curls multiple times in the process. It had been a great Monday morning. ‘It all adds to the drama,’ Atsumu told him. ‘The Adlers think they know provocation, but they don’t know the half of it.’ The photos they’d sent of them playing in front of the painting had been infuriating, to say the least. But that just meant the Jackals had to do one better. A few snaps on their phones simply would not cut it. Sakusa’s scowl looked ten times cuter with his hair slicked back. Atsumu could see both of his eyes clearly and free of shadow. Sakusa asked, ‘Won’t the four-thousand tons of glitter be enough?’ Atsumu laughed, then Hinata joined in, and Bokuto too. ‘When it comes to us, nothin’ is ever enough, Omi-kun. Bigger and stupider is always better. Get used to it.’ When they walked into the photography studio looking like an awkward 80s family, the photographer greeted them with a laugh and said right away that she understood the vibe they were striving for. She pulled some strings and alternated the usual white background for a dark grey that reminded Atsumu of his school pictures, and applied a filter to her lens that she insisted would make the photos look ‘organically vintage’. They started simple: the classic ‘shortest sit on chairs in front, tallest stand at the back’. ‘Channel Kageyama,’ Atsumu told them when the camera started clicking and flashing. They stretched their faces into smiles so uncomfortable it looked more like they were grimacing, Bokuto’s hands clamped down on Hinata’s shoulders, Sakusa’s resting awkwardly on Atsumu’s. After that, Hinata hijacked the chairs and took a whole set of photos posed on Bokuto’s lap like his doting son. Atsumu then pushed the chairs aside and got on to the floor with Bokuto. They laid on their sides and put one leg up and one arm behind their heads like heartthrobs from teen calendars. Bokuto also somehow managed to rope Sakusa into a few; he held himself up on his hands, and Sakusa took his legs like he was steering a wheelbarrow. After that, Atsumu grabbed Sakusa for their turn. For one, he got Sakusa to hold him in a headlock, and for another they posed back-to-back with prop guns that the photographer provided. At one point, Sakusa and Atsumu held Hinata upside down by his ankles like a freshly caught fish while Bokuto stood beside them with his thumbs up. They stood in a height ordered line and posed with one hand on their hips, looking over their shoulders at the camera with the same pained grimaces. They took one where they spelled out MSBY with their bodies, one where they lied on top of each other in an uncomfortable dogpile, and one where they held their hands up like Jackal claws. Then they finished with one of them hugging in a line like a group of happy bridesmaids; Hinata and Atsumu facing each other with connected arms, Bokuto hugging Hinata’s back, Sakusa Atsumu’s. It didn’t escape Atsumu’s notice that Sakusa had been surprisingly OK with touching the rest of the Jackals, maybe it was because Bokuto and Hinata were just as wary of Sakusa’s personal space as Atsumu was. Flirt relentlessly until he gets so flustered, he has no choice but to just push you up against a wall, Suna’s voice reminded him. ‘Ya gotta get a little closer than that, Omi,’ Atsumu whispered over his shoulder. ‘You might not fit in the frame.’ That was a blatant lie, the frame was huge and Sakusa was already pretty close, arms wrapped timidly around Atsumu’s waist. He sensed the deceit and pinched Atsumu’s side through his sweater so hard that Atsumu hissed. ‘Stop fidgeting,’ Sakusa murmured in to Atsumu’s ear. ‘Look at the camera.’ Atsumu’s face warmed, but then he broke into a grin. Now that he had a game plan, his thoughts no longer scattered like pigeons every time Sakusa breathed in his direction. He removed his hands from Hinata’s for a moment and used them to pull Sakusa’s arms so close that their bodies were flush against each other. ‘That’s better,’ Atsumu said as he wrapped Sakusa’s arms tighter around himself and patted them for good measure. ‘Smile big, yeah?’ Hinata looked at him strangely when Atsumu returned his attention to him. His eyes kept darting from Atsumu to Sakusa and back again in a question. Atsumu winked in response and Bokuto burst out laughing. Atsumu beamed. ‘Say “Super Sexy Stealth Jackals!”’ They all shouted it in unison, with huge genuine smiles instead of their Kageyama Grimaces. After much debate, they settled on the picture of them turned over their shoulders for the Gathering Finale, and Atsumu chose several more to frame and hang up in his apartment. Bokuto and Hinata ordered one of each picture, and even Sakusa chose a couple of his favourites; a few for frames, one for a keyring, and one for a mug. To Sakusa’s mortification and abundant complaints, they didn’t have time to change out of their clothes before they went shopping for suits, and as they walked through the shopping centre, they garnered more than a few strange looks. While they were waiting in line to order coffees, a group of young girls approached and asked if they were a famous comedic quartet. Atsumu said they were and happily signed the backs of some receipts and scrap pieces of paper under Osamu’s name, then Bokuto started reeling off some awful jokes he’d definitely picked up from Kuroo and Kenma, and Atsumu watched the girls’ excited smiles die in real time as they tried to fake laughter and find a polite way to leave. ‘We’ve gotta look the best at the gatherin’,’ Atsumu insisted as they perused the collection of woollen suits in an upmarket haberdashery. The tailor was busy in the backroom, so Atsumu told everyone to pick out something that they liked ready for his return. ‘We’re gonna be the main characters, so we—What the fuck are you holdin’ Omi? Put that shit down.’ Sakusa was holding the most dreadful suit Atsumu had ever seen up to his chest. It was red and green plaid, with contrasting gold buttons and accents. It would have been fine if the dress code was Celtic Christmas. Or Fuck Ugly. Atsumu would sooner die before he would let Sakusa put an arm into the sleeve of that atrocity. ‘What’s wrong with this?’ Sakusa asked very seriously. Atsumu’s eyes widened. ‘Please tell me yer jokin’.’ ‘I like green,’ Sakusa said like that was a reasonable explanation. Hinata joined them and said, ‘I think it brings out milord’s eyes, Atsumu-san!’ ‘There’s no saving you,’ he said to Hinata. ‘But I thought you were at least somewhat fashionable. I mean, ya turned up to karaoke lookin’ like that.’ Atsumu still thought about him in that turtleneck quite frequently. The memory was ingrained within his brain; every time he found himself lying on his back to sleep, Sakusa would be there, looming over him. Sakusa’s nose wrinkled. ‘Motoya picked that out.’ Very suddenly, Atsumu was reminded of what Sakusa had said about almost wearing his sports jacket that night and slapped a hand to his forehead. He needed to get a hold of Komori’s number to thank him. Bokuto could be trusted: he refused to wear anything other than black tuxedos to fancy events because they looked the coolest, and he had Kuroo ‘Suit Aficionado’ Tetsurou to guide him into picking suitable ties and cufflinks. But Hinata lived with Kageyama, who thought that graphic t-shirts and blazers were a suitable combination, and now Sakusa ‘Sportswear’ Kiyoomi was apparently a walking fashion disaster. Of all the things. That was fine; Atsumu already had more than a few ideas on how to style Sakusa’s underappreciated proportions. ‘Jesus Christ. OK. Put that back before it blinds me. I’ll find ya somethin’.’ He looked to Hinata who was eyeing up a similar suit of blue and orange plaid and pulled him away from it by the back of his collar. ‘Both of you.’ It was when Bokuto had gone to peruse the hat collection and Hinata was having his new navy suit measured by the tailor that Sakusa finally stepped out of the changing room in the dark green three-piece Atsumu had picked out for him. As Sakusa fiddled with the length of the sleeves, Atsumu couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering. It was a near perfect fit already without adjustments; the low cut of the vest drew the small of his waist in and forced the eye towards the broadness of his shoulders. With his hair slicked back and his glasses on, Atsumu felt the need to reach for his phone and dial 119 as a precaution. Green really was his colour, when it wasn’t the shade of radioactive acid. He got up and approached Sakusa with a wolfish grin. ‘That’s much better,’ he said and held up the gold tie he’d picked out whilst Sakusa was changing. He raised an eyebrow in a question. ‘Can I?’ Sakusa shrugged and let Atsumu reach around the back of his neck to start putting on the tie. He took his sweet time, eyes focussed on what his fingers were doing, taking extra care not to mess up one of the more impressive knots he knew how to fold. The whole time Sakusa’s eyes were on him, Atsumu could feel the stare like it was a tangible pressure, intense and loaded with tension. But Atsumu only dared to look up when he was through tightening the knot and moving it up to the base of Sakusa’s throat. ‘There,’ Atsumu hummed as he smoothed his hands over the tops of Sakusa’s shoulders and experimentally down the length of his arms. ‘Do you like it?’ Sakusa’s eyes were so dark Atsumu thought he could probably see his own reflection in them if he got close enough. They flickered from Atsumu’s hands on his own arms, to Atsumu’s lips like they had done Saturday night. They both stopped breathing. It felt like Sakusa was staring into Atsumu’s soul when he said, low and heavy, ‘Yes.’ Atsumu had a feeling he wasn’t really talking about the suit. Suna was definitely on to something with that advice.         Tuesday was MSBY’s Monthly Sparring Day. Meian liked to make sure that everyone was able to defend themselves should they encounter guards or hostile threats during heists, so once a month, they cleaned out their largest conference room, covered the floor with thick fighting mats, and tested their strength against each other. After warmups, Meian would host a friendly tournament; the winner got their lunches and coffees bought for them for the rest of the month. Every month Atsumu got to the final, and every month, no matter how often he went to the gym or practiced beating the shit out of Osamu, Bokuto was crowned the undefeated champion. In the four years Atsumu had worked at MSBY, Sakusa had never attended it, not even once. He was a tech, after all, and techs usually hid somewhere safe during heists, like a nearby building, or the back of a getaway van. Atsumu had been expecting the same this month - the room could get crowded and sweaty and loud - but ten minutes into the final tournament, Sakusa walked in with a mask on and his hands tucked into his sweatpants pockets. He found Atsumu’s eye immediately and settled into the empty spot next to him to watch Hinata and Adriah’s match. ‘Hm?’ Atsumu leered. ‘What’s this? Omi-sama is gracin’ the rabble with his presence?’ ‘I want to see it,’ Sakusa said cryptically as he followed Hinata’s erratic movements around the mat. Adriah was having a hard time keeping up with him. Hinata could dodge just about anything. ‘See what?’ ‘You. Fighting Meian. I wanted to see for myself if you were lying.’ Atsumu folded his arms over his chest. ‘Sure yer not just here to watch me and Bokkun roll around all hot and sweaty?’ He’d put on his good spandex sparring shorts and shirt - the ones that were tight against his skin and hard to grab, because he was nothing if not extremely serious and dedicated to beating Bokuto this month - and he’d worked up a healthy glow practicing against Inunaki. ‘I don’t blame you,’ he continued. ‘We’re a spectacle. Whole office is bettin’ on us.’ Well, they were betting on how fast Bokuto would win, but that was besides the point. Sakusa averted his eyes back to Hinata’s match. He had Adriah pinned and Bokuto was counting him down, crouched on the floor and smacking the mat like a real wrestling referee. Once he'd been declared the winner, Hinata jumped up and cheered and Bokuto picked him up like he was the future king of Pride Rock. ‘Ooh, would ya look at that, Omi-kun?’ Atsumu nodded towards the whiteboard across the room that detailed the fight brackets. His fight with Meian was up next. ‘Looks like yer wish is about to come true. Lucky boy.’ ‘I’ll be cheering extra hard for Meian-san,’ Sakusa drawled. ‘I can’t wait to see him suplex slam you into finally shutting up.’ Atsumu laughed and made his way towards the mats. He said over his shoulder with a confident smile, ‘You’ll be waitin’ an awful long time Omi. Watch close.’ ‘Miya,’ Meian said as he stepped onto the mat and started circling him. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this rematch. I’m not going to let you get away with your shit this time.’ Atsumu dropped into a low fighting stance. ‘Be careful you don’t throw yer back out, old man.’ Meian fought classically, lots of powerful body shots and sweeping legs, but he didn’t think much when he threw his punches, which was why it was so easy for Atsumu to start predicting his moves. Meian insisted Atsumu fought dirty, but what he really did was focus on exploiting his opponents’ weaknesses to turn the tides in his own favour. Meian’s was that he always expected Atsumu to dodge, never to catch and counter. Atsumu deflected a few punches, dipped out of a few attempts to grab at his spandex shirt, and took a few unavoidable kicks to the thigh and back. He bided his time, waiting for Meian to get pissed and a little desperate to make Atsumu eat the floor. The opportunity came when Meian lunged forward and grabbed at Atsumu’s throat with one strong hand. ‘Caught you,’ he grinned. ‘Oh dear,’ Atsumu replied as well as he could manage with half a windpipe. Meian wound his other fist back to land a guaranteed punch, but then Atsumu slammed his wrists down into the crook of Meian’s elbow, grabbed him by the shoulder to push him forwards and threw a hard knee into his stomach. Meian doubled over and his laugh was breathless. ‘There it is,’ he wheezed. ‘You conniving little bastard.’ ‘Cheer up, boss,’ Atsumu said. He rubbed at his sore throat with one hand and patted Meian on the back with the other. ‘There’s always next month.’ Meian straightened and shook it off. ‘Like hell am I done.’ The next bout was nastier, but Atsumu had been expecting that after provoking him so hard. Meian grew warier of attacking, which meant that Atsumu had time to fight more offensively. He copied some of Meian’s moves; he successfully swept Meian’s legs out from beneath him, threw his kicks a whole lot higher, and landed punches more times than they got blocked. It wasn’t completely one sided, however. Meian did land a solid right hook to Atsumu’s face that shook his brain around in his skull for a solid ten seconds, but it wasn’t enough to beat him. It wasn’t the longest they’d ever sparred, but it was definitely the most intensely they’d ever fought. By the time Atsumu finally managed to pin Meian down with one hand at his throat and one knee to his chest, he was panting and eager to get some ice on his face. After a three count, Bokuto declared him the winner and slapped Atsumu’s ass so hard he swore he saw the eyes of God. ‘Good work, Miya,’ Meian said as he grabbed Atsumu’s hand to shake it. ‘It’s nice to know our Monsters are still Monsters. Sorry about the right hook. You were pissing me off.’ Atsumu beamed despite the pain. Coming from Meian, that was the highest form of compliment Atsumu could ever have wished for. ‘Thanks, boss.’ With a spring to his step, Atsumu made a beeline for the table of drinks and ice and downed a whole bottle of water before grabbing another and a bag of ice. Hinata congratulated him and ran through all of Atsumu’s moves that were his favourites: the arm chop, the thing he did with his elbow, the kick so high that Meian had to block with his forearms. ‘I’m usin’ them on you next, Shouyou-kun, don’t forget that.’ Hinata bristled. ‘Ah! I totally forgot. I’m not going to lose, though, Atsumu-san! I’ve been practising a whole bunch. Bokuto’s taught me a new special move.’ They high fived and Hinata ran off to referee Bokuto’s match against Inunaki. That left Atsumu free to gloat. Over the last few days, Sakusa’s stares had been frequent and intense, and in as much time Atsumu had grown used to them, expected them, craved them, even. But this time, when he slumped back against the wall at Sakusa’s side, Sakusa avoided meeting his eye at all costs. Curious, Atsumu leaned forward, cradling the ice pack against his cheek. ‘Did ya see me, Omi-kun?’ ‘I saw you,’ came Sakusa’s mask-muffled reply. ‘And?’ Sakusa still wouldn’t turn to look at him. Atsumu wished he could see what was going on beneath his mask. He had a vague idea, judging by the red tint to his ears. He cleared his throat and said quietly, ‘You were amazing.’ Ordinarily, Atsumu would have jeered at that, would have jumped up and gotten Sakusa to repeat it for the whole room. Hm? What was that, Omi-kun? Why don’t you say it louder so that everyone can hear? But this time, Atsumu wanted to keep it for himself. That little admission would come so easily and casually from someone else, someone like Meian, or Hinata, or Bokuto. Their flippant praises were abundant. But from Sakusa it meant so much more; he wasn’t the type to mince his words or unnecessarily sugar-coat anything. If he said Atsumu was great, then he truly meant it. It felt like he’d won more than just a fight. Atsumu didn’t know how to respond. Sakusa didn’t miss that. He finally looked over at Atsumu and his brows drew together in concern. ‘What? Why isn’t your head inflating?’ he asked. ‘Did Meian actually break your mouth? That punch looked pretty hard, are you—’ ‘I’m fine.’ Atsumu was the first to look away. He pressed the ice bag hard against his cheek to squash his smile and turned his attention to Bokuto’s match, though he wasn’t really paying attention. He said, ‘You just made me real happy, that’s all.’ In his periphery, Atsumu saw Sakusa turn to watch the match too. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Yeah.’ Atsumu’s fight with Hinata took longer than Meian’s; he was fast and highly offensive, throwing punches and leaping at Atsumu from distances that should have been impossible. Hinata’s weakness was tougher to exploit in the thick of a bout, Atsumu had to pay careful attention to everything Hinata did and wait patiently for his overzealousness to breed mistakes. When his footing was off, or his eye was distracted, Atsumu would strike with low, unavoidable sweeps of his feet to trip Hinata up and knock the wind out of him. Keeping him down was hard too, even beneath Atsumu’s weight he kept finding ways to wriggle free and keep fighting. His stamina ran out eventually though, after ten iterations of his ‘special move’ which was actually just a tackle and duck under that didn’t work because Atsumu’s foundations were far too stable to displace. This time, when he won, he threw a peace sign out at Sakusa that he returned with a hesitant ‘OK’ of his own. ‘Aaagh! I’ll get you next time, Atsumu-san!’ Hinata growled. ‘I promise!’ Atsumu ruffled his hair. ‘Hell no, Shou-kun. I’m prayin’ to god yer in Bokkun’s bracket next month.’ The final against Bokuto went about as well as expected: Atsumu lost. Again. Thinking didn’t work against Bokuto. His attacks had no rhyme or reason, no rhythm or regularity. He did whatever he thought of in that moment, whatever would look the coolest, and Atsumu still had no idea how to combat it. They fought without games or pretences, just pure strength and agility, both of which Bokuto had the slight edge in. At one point, he had Atsumu yelling for mercy when he climbed onto a nearby table and attempted a diving elbow drop. Atsumu narrowly missed it cracking his ribs by rolling out of the way in time, but that only gave Bokuto ample opportunity to sit himself down on Atsumu’s back until Atsumu had to tap out. ‘Yer gonna kill me one of these days, Bokkun!’ he cried as Bokuto helped him to his feet. ‘Yer worse than Samu!’ Bokuto laughed and brought him in for a sweaty hug. ‘Hey, hey! I’m supposed to be the best at fighting, aren’t I? I’m the brawn! The muscle! The beefcake!’ That was true. Didn’t make the loss taste any less sour, though. The only consolation was that out of all the fights that day, only Atsumu’s had made Bokuto reach for the ice table. After the award ceremony – which was just a vow from everyone present that they would honour Bokuto’s victory - Meian let the office off early to go home, shower, and recuperate. Atsumu, however, lost the losers’ coin toss and bagged himself clean up duty. Everyone else went on ahead and he was left milling about the conference room binning empty water bottles and wiping down icy tables while he gathered the strength and mental fortitude to put the mats away. He didn’t even notice Sakusa had stayed behind until he cleared his throat in the silence and made Atsumu yelp in surprise. Atsumu tilted his head. ‘What are you still doin’ here? Everyone else is goin’ home.’ ‘I know,’ said Sakusa. He still had his hands tucked into his pockets and his mask high on his face, expression inscrutable beneath. ‘Aww, you feelin’ sorry for me? You here to help me clean up the—’ ‘No.’ ‘Ah.’ Sakusa’s eyes looked like he wanted to say something else, so Atsumu stayed quiet and waited for him to form the words. For a while, the only sound to fill the room was the rhythmic plonk of plastic bottles hitting the bin. When the words came, they were not what Atsumu had been expecting. ‘I want to fight you.’ ‘Huh?’ ‘You heard me.’ Oh, Atsumu had heard him. Perfectly fine. He broke into a smile. ‘You sure about that, Omi-kun? I don’t play nice.’ Sakusa walked over to the mats and stood slightly off centre. He used one of his pocketed hands to gesture to the space in front of him and said, ‘I’m counting on it.’ Atsumu threw the bin aside and jogged over. Ever since he’d felt the strength of Sakusa’s upper body he’d been itching to know how good he was in a fight. He’d never thought he’d ever actually get the chance to find out. It didn’t matter that he was aching and bruised and worn out, all of his energy returned the moment he saw the challenge in Sakusa’s raised brow. ‘Should we set up some rules, first?’ he asked, hopping from foot-to-foot in a warmup. ‘Like, how are ya with touchin’ and grabbin’? I don’t wanna overstep or make you uncomfor—oof!’ Sakusa’s foot whipped out, hooked around the back of Atsumu’s knee and swept him forwards. He went down hard, back against the mat, cuss lodged in his throat. ‘Just fight,’ said Sakusa. Atsumu scrambled to his feet and dropped into the same low stance he’d used on Meian. He wouldn’t let Sakusa get a shot like that in a second time. Their first bout was cautious – Atsumu was still apprehensive when it came to manhandling Sakusa, so he spent the first few experimental attacks trying to learn how Sakusa fought, how he moved, and what style he leaned on. True to form, Sakusa remained a mystery; he dodged each attack fluidly with a flexibility Atsumu hadn’t expected from him and his hands still tucked into his pockets. ‘You ever gonna get serious, Omi?’ he asked as Sakusa dipped out of the way of another torso jab. ‘Only once you do,’ he said and kicked at the back of Atsumu’s leg again so that it gave out and he was down on one knee. When Atsumu looked up at Sakusa, he could almost see the smirk beneath his mask, like a cat toying with its prey. Atsumu forgot everything other than the overwhelmingly petty need to win. They fought harder after that. Atsumu’s attacks came faster and Sakusa’s breaths came shorter as he tried to keep up. For each punch he threw that Sakusa dodged, he twisted and threw another so that Sakusa had no choice but to pull his hands from his pockets to block it or push it away with his forearms. ‘That’s much better,’ Sakusa crooned as he caught one of Atsumu’s fists with his own. Atsumu’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as he analysed the situation, and then Atsumu learned something very interesting. In the split second that Sakusa’s gaze flickered to the movement of Atsumu’s tongue, his grip on Atsumu’s fist loosened ever so slightly. Just enough for Atsumu to capitalise on and twist his arm around and out of Sakusa’s. Now free, Atsumu jumped back and grinned. Sakusa looked bewildered, like not even he knew how that had happened. Atsumu knew his weakness, all he had to do was exploit it. To test his theory, Atsumu made it his goal to get as close to Sakusa as he could manage with each attack. When Sakusa’s foot flew out in a sharp roundhouse kick he caught his leg and pulled himself into Sakusa’s space instead of away from it. Sakusa tried to wrangle himself free, but Atsumu winked, Sakusa stuttered, and Atsumu was able to kick at his standing leg and bring him to the floor. Atsumu clapped and did a lap of the mat like he was hyping up a wrestling crowd while Sakusa got back to his feet. ‘You sure you don’t wanna tap out, Omi? Seems like I’m startin’ to get the upper hand.’ Sakusa scowled and shook himself off. ‘Shut the fuck up, Miya.' He resumed his stance. 'Again.’ The next time Atsumu came at him, Sakusa tried to grab at his shirt to pull him off, but his fingers slipped across the spandex, and he was forced to wrap a strong hand around Atsumu’s bicep instead. Atsumu glanced down at Sakusa’s hand and said, ‘It’s not just for makin’ my ass look good, huh?’ Sakusa’s grip faltered again and Atsumu used the momentum to shake out of his grip, step around to Sakusa’s back, and force his arms up in a full Nelson hold. ‘Any last words before I make you eat mat?’ Atsumu said into his ear. ‘Yes,’ said Sakusa through gritted teeth. ‘Go ahead,’ Atsumu hummed. Sakusa could probably feel how rapidly Atsumu’s heart was beating against his back. At least he could blame it on the strenuous exercise. ‘I’m always listenin’ to you.’ Sakusa’s head turned slightly, and he said, ‘Let me know what it tastes like.’ 'Huh?' It was Atsumu’s turn to falter. Sakusa twisted his shoulders and dipped out of the hold with ease, then he knocked an elbow into Atsumu’s gut, and another onto his back once he’d doubled over. Atsumu’s face hit the mat and this time it was Sakusa laughing. Atsumu growled, kicked at both of Sakusa’s ankles and brought him down to the ground so he could laugh too. In a blur, Sakusa was on top of him, sat on Atsumu’s groin, leaning forwards with his hands pinning Atsumu’s hands above his head. Atsumu suddenly forgot that they were fighting and melted beneath the touch. It wasn’t quite a wall, but he supposed it would do. ‘Oh,’ Atsumu smiled as his laugh petered out. ‘This feels familiar.’ ‘Meian was right,’ Sakusa breathed. ‘You do fight dirty.’ ‘There’s no such thing,’ Atsumu insisted. ‘Only winners and sore losers.’ Sakusa narrowed his eyes. ‘I am currently pinning you down. If this were real, you’d have lost ten seconds ago.’ ‘Ah, but have I really lost though?’ Sakusa swallowed, released Atsumu’s hands, and leaned back so that he was just sitting ordinarily. ‘Yes?’  Atsumu huffed another breathless laugh and pushed himself up onto his elbows to chase after him, to keep their faces close. ‘You should enter next month. You’d do well.’ ‘I don’t want to fight anyone else.’ ‘Hmm. Why not?’ One of Atsumu’s hands wandered up to the mask still on Sakusa’s face. He waited for Sakusa to bat his hand away as he reached behind his ear for the string, but it never came. ‘You’d probably be a good matchup against Bokkun.’ The mask fell aside, hanging off one ear. Sakusa said without the fabric muting the words, ‘Because you’re the only one I’m interested in.’ Atsumu pushed himself up higher on to his palms. They could only have been a maximum of five inches apart and yet he still wanted to be closer. Sakusa’s shoulders squared, and his half-lidded gaze fell to Atsumu’s mouth again. He seemed to do that often, drop his stare and then pick it up like he’d fumbled it unintentionally. Atsumu watched the way his eyelashes drew shadows upon his cheeks, and the way his jaw tensed like he was clenching words behind his teeth. Do it, Atsumu’s brain encouraged. Do it. Do it. Do it. Sakusa’s hand came up to Atsumu’s face, but he lowered it again before it made contact with skin. Atsumu reached out and took it. ‘That OK?’ he asked. Sakusa only seemed capable of nodding. Atsumu guided Sakusa’s hand back up to his face and placed it on the cheek that Meian had punched. It was warm, they were both sweaty, both nervous and wary of messing whatever this was up. Sakusa moved his thumb over the bruise Atsumu could feel forming on his cheekbone and what Atsumu saw in his eyes almost scared the fucking hell out of him. For a moment, it looked like Sakusa actually felt— ‘Atsumu-saaaaaan! I left my bag!’ They both whirled around to the sound of Hinata’s voice echoing down the hallway. The moment he burst through the doors, Atsumu took advantage of the distraction and used it to clamp his thighs around Sakusa’s middle and flip them around so that he was on top. Sakusa made a surprised noise, something between a yelp and a huff, and glared up at Atsumu with a furious blush. ‘One! Two! Three!’ Atsumu called with a smile that was restraining a monumental amount of disappointment and anger. He’d never wanted to smother Hinata so badly in his entire life. ‘Ah, looks like I’m the winner today. Better luck next time, Omi-kun!’ He got up and held a hand out for Sakusa. Briefly, Atsumu was scared that Sakusa would see this as a rejection and shirk him off, but he took Atsumu’s hand and Atsumu gave it a squeeze he hoped Sakusa understood: I wanted it just as much as you. ‘Are you two sparring? Why didn’t you say? I would have stayed behind to watch!’ Hinata cried. ‘I bet it would have been so cool if everyone saw. Nobody’s ever seen Omi-san fight before. You’ve probably got tons of cool secret moves waiting to be showcased, huh, Sakusa-san?’ Atsumu gave Hinata’s back a heavy pat and resisted the urge to body slam him. ‘Omi-kun doesn’t like crowds, remember?’ ‘Ohh yeah! Forgot about that, sorry!’ ‘It’s fine,’ Sakusa grumbled. He turned to Atsumu and said, voice a little shaky with whatever he was feeling, ‘I got a text from Motoya earlier. The painting’s ready, so I’m going to go and pick it up.’ For the first time in a whole year, Atsumu found himself not giving a damn about the heist. He just wanted to lock Hinata out of the room and pick up where they’d left off, wanted to finally close the distance, wanted to kiss Sakusa senseless until he forgot how to scowl. ‘Cool!’ said Hinata. ‘Can I come, pretty please, Omi-san? I’ve always wanted to meet a real-life art forger!’ Atsumu opened his mouth to decline on Sakusa’s behalf, but Sakusa said, ‘Sure. Grab your bag. We’ll go now.’ ‘Omi—’ Atsumu started. He could go too! He didn’t care if three was a crowd, or if he was wanted, or needed, he just knew that he had to stay close to Sakusa or this whole day would feel like a loss. Sakusa clamped a hand down on his shoulder and smirked. ‘Have fun putting the mats away, Atsumu.’    

~*~ Jaskier had rolled into Geralt’s space in the night, of course he had, because luck was not with him lately. It wasn’t the first time it had happened in the history of bedsharing with Geralt over the years, but it was the first time Jaskier had buried his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, breathing in the clean, sleep-warm scent of him and, and tucked his body in like he belonged there. His hand rested over Geralt’s medallion on his chest. His foot was hooked over Geralt’s muscular calf. Slowly and carefully he rolled away, knowing that Geralt was awake with his eyes closed, hoping they could both just pretend it hadn’t happened. He stretched and looked out the window at a clear dawn, sighing in relief. “I, ah, Geralt. If I dreamed--” he said, remembering half-shrouded wisps of longing, glints of golden eyes, and Geralt gave up the pretense of sleep. “You did,” he murmured, and nothing more was said about it. Their clean clothes had been laid outside Jaskier’s door, and it made his cheeks flush to realize that everyone knew Geralt had slept there. They both dressed in silence, but the atmosphere wasn’t as awkward as he’d expected it to be. Yennefer summoned them for breakfast out on the garden terrace, and her gaze was inscrutable as she looked them over. “I hope you’re well rested,” she said neutrally, elegantly spooning some raspberry compote onto her toast. “Yes, thank you,” Jaskier managed to respond, since it was true, and felt a truly odd urge to explain that nothing had happened between himself and Geralt. He ate a wedge of an orange instead. “I won’t be joining you,” Yennefer explained after she had pushed her plate away. “I refuse to entangle myself in Aretuza’s business again. I’ll portal you to where you last saw her, and it will be up to you to catch her.” “And how are we expected to do that?” Jaskier asked. “She could be anywhere by now. There’s nothing that says she stayed there.” “You’re monster hunters,” Yennefer said, turning to stare unblinking at Geralt. “So hunt.” Geralt nodded, seemingly at ease. Jaskier didn’t feel nearly as confident. “What are we to do when we find her? Geralt’s magic might not be enough to subdue her.” Yennefer indicated a pouch on the table. Geralt opened it and pulled out two slender cuffs linked by a chain. “Those are dimeritium, to use once you catch her. That will constrain her magic completely. And this,” she said as she slid an object across the table to Jaskier, “is what I was searching for last night. It will alert Aretuza’s rectoress that you need her assistance after you’ve cuffed the witch.” Jaskier picked up a small sapphire brooch, delicately wrought of silver, and pinned it to his doublet. It glinted darkly against the light blue silk. “How does it work?” “Simply enough. Just hold it in your hand and say, ‘Tissaia.’ She’ll come to you, though she’ll most likely be expecting to find me on the other end.” “Are you sure you won’t come?” Geralt asked, and his voice was soft but somehow more distant than usual. Jaskier wondered if they had fought the night before, prior to Geralt coming to his room. “I’ve washed my hands of all the politics. I’ll help you because it’s you.” Her violet eyes held a wealth of memories, and an uncharacteristic sadness. Jaskier looked at the sky, expecting lightning, but there was just a swirling breeze. As they left the table Yennefer stopped Jaskier with a touch to his sleeve. “Walk with me,” she said, and it didn’t leave room for refusal. “Geralt, wait for us in the library.” They walked slowly through the garden, where dew still clung to the petals of flowers and the soil was still dark from rain. Yennefer stopped beside a bed of yellow buttercups and leaned over to trail her fingers over their tops. “You should tell him,” she said gently, not looking at Jaskier. She shaded her eyes in the morning light and watched the sky, which was grayer than it had been before. Clouds formed and rolled over the sun, and she dropped her hand. “I should not,” Jaskier replied, a tremble in his voice. “I’d rather keep silent than risk losing him.” “You should tell him.” “He’s my whole life,” he said, spreading his arms in distress. The air crackled, static snapping at their hair. “I’ve given it to him, with no expectation of more in return than what he already gives me. And he won’t give me more, that’s clear to me after all these years. And it’s fine! It’s fine. He doesn’t feel that way. He calls me his friend, and do you know how many years went by before he could do that? That’s a gift. It’s enough.” Lightning flashed jaggedly across the darkening sky. Jaskier looked helplessly at Yennefer, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. Wind tossed the black cloud of her hair. “You should tell him,” she said, and walked away. Jaskier stood in the garden until the sky cleared, and all he could hear was his own thundering heartbeat. ~*~ After gathering their belongings they met Yennefer in the main courtyard. Geralt brought Roach from the stable, tacked up and ready to go, and he spoke softly to her before placing his hand above her forehead and forming a sign. She nudged him calmly with her nose. “What did you do?” Jaskier asked, slightly alarmed. “Just Axii. She doesn’t care for portals. It wears off quickly.” Yennefer stepped forward and placed an oddly hesitant hand on Geralt’s arm. He looked down at her and covered her hand with his. Jaskier felt that he should look away, but was mesmerized by how small she looked at that moment, how very human. When she turned away she looked straight at Jaskier, and there was a flinty sort of determination in her eyes, almost a challenge. He recalled her words in the garden and bit his lip until it hurt. “Find her, subdue her, give her to Aretuza,” Yennefer said to both of them, lifting her arms to form the portal. “And break the curse,” Jaskier reminded her. “I doubt she’ll do it out of the goodness of her heart,” she replied, “but I’m sure you’ll find a solution somehow. You’re frustratingly tenacious that way.” “Thank you?” Yennefer gave him a hint of a smile over her shoulder and opened the portal. There was the castle wall, the town and the lake. Geralt led Roach forward and Jaskier followed them, then the portal spat him out on the other side and he stumbled to his knees on the dirt road, wheezing. Geralt looked down at him with amusement. “Maybe I should have used Axii on you as well.” Jaskier glared up at him. “Now you tell me that was an option?” “Come on,” Geralt said, offering him a hand up. He pulled him to standing and Jaskier found himself chest to chest with Geralt, close enough to kiss. He couldn’t help the way his eyes flickered down to Geralt’s mouth, but he turned away quickly so he didn’t have to see Geralt’s reaction. “Well, let’s get to it,” he said, too brightly, glancing at the sky. “Lovely weather we’re having today, don’t you think?” Geralt smirked and led Roach forward down the road. “Shall we ask at the castle gate if she’s been there?” “It’s too bad she doesn’t have any memorable features,” Jaskier mused as they walked. “This would go so much easier if her eyes were red, or her hair was blue, or some such thing. It’s never hard to locate Yennefer.” The guards at the gatehouse had no memory of a woman in a green dress coming to the castle, and directed them to the town instead. One guard suggested that they might ask at the market about any new magic wielders in the area, though that might give them a longer list than they had bargained for. So Jaskier and Geralt rode down into town and found a stable to leave Roach, then set out to find the market. The town was a bit larger than it had first appeared, vibrant and bustling. Jaskier felt his spirits lift as they passed bakeries and bookshops, clothiers and toymakers. Sometimes he didn’t realize how much he’d missed civilization after weeks on the road, until he found himself surrounded by these little luxuries. The market wasn’t hard to find, located in the main square in the center of town. There was a large tiered fountain in the middle and the market stalls wrapped all around it, colorful and inviting. Jaskier felt sure that a town this charming must also have a charming gossip mill. It was just a matter of finding the pulse of it. By the time they arrived and took their measure of the place Geralt’s face was already looking pinched with tension. With this many people around, Jaskier knew that Geralt would not only be dealing with the sudden riot of sounds and smells, but also the inevitable stares as they passed. “Cheer up, witcher, you’ve received a warmer than usual welcome here so far.” Jaskier nudged Geralt with his elbow. “Hmm.” Geralt replied, nudging him back. “Perhaps they’ve heard your songs.” Jaskier grinned. “Do you think so? Ah, Geralt, I’ve just had the most marvelous idea.” “No.” “Why do you always assume that my ideas will end badly?” Geralt arched an eyebrow at him. “Well, at least I didn’t sleep with anyone questionable this time. And anyway, I just want to make sure that we’re going to get some honest answers from people.” He swung his lute around from back to front with a sunny grin. “Jaskier,” Geralt warned, reaching for his doublet and swiping at air. “Jaskier!” He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Geralt was serious, so he paused in the act of climbing up onto the wide edge of the fountain. “What?” Geralt finally caught him and yanked him back into the shadow of a building. “If we draw attention to ourselves she might see us, and disappear. We’re risking enough just asking around about her. And what happens if your playing brings a storm?” Jaskier hung his head and scrubbed his hand over his face. “I just wanted to charm them into sharing information.” “It...wasn’t a bad idea.” Geralt wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?” He glanced at the sky meaningfully. “I’m fine,” Jaskier declared, and then Geralt’s thumb swept across his collarbone, right where his doublet hung open from his shirt, and Jaskier amended, “Perhaps I should have an ale just to be sure.” He pulled away from Geralt’s touch and turned to look for a tavern. “Question first, drink later. Unless you’re content with carrying around someone else’s chaos.” Jaskier deflated. “I hate it when you’re correct, especially when it deprives me of the pleasure of ale.” “You’re rarely deprived of pleasure, Jaskier.” The tone in Geralt’s voice was at odds with the smirk on his face, but Jaskier shrugged it off. “Well, it will be a pleasure to sing a melancholic ballad again without bringing down an entire lake’s worth of rain, so onward we will push.” They had no luck at the baker’s stall, except to find the most delicious sticky buns Jaskier had ever tasted, and he loudly praised them as they walked. As he sucked the honey from his fingertips Geralt said, “Bard,” in a strangled voice. “Do not tell me you aren’t enjoying that, Geralt, because I won’t believe you.” Geralt was staring resolutely at the bun in his hand. “They’re...very good.” “A fine concession. Come, there’s the jeweler’s stall.” The jeweler wasn’t aware of anyone like Theda coming to town, but he tempted Jaskier into opening his purse to purchase a new silver ring for his collection. He found one etched with tiny flowers and was pleased to see that it fit his pinky finger perfectly. “How many rings do you need, anyway?” asked Geralt curiously when Jaskier showed him. “How many fingers do I have?” Geralt rolled his eyes. “May I buy you one, dear witcher? Your fingers are extremely naked.” “No.” “But, Geralt--” “No.” “Well. I daresay my hands could be considered weapons by this point, with all this silver. I’d send the monsters running from my fists. You could learn from my example.” Geralt let out an actual chuckle, low and rich, and a shiver ran down Jaskier’s back. “Let’s continue, bard, before you spill all your coin on luxuries. We’ll need it for lodgings tonight.” The next stall sold ribbons, and the next shoes, and on and on down the row of stalls with no luck until Jaskier thought he would scream. Most people were as helpful as they could be, but no one remembered a stranger in a tattered green dress, and Jaskier had no better description to give. It was probable that she had changed her dress anyway. His exuberance from earlier had evaporated, leaving helplessness weighing down on his chest. Geralt placed a steadying hand between his shoulder blades and tried to encourage him. “That’s one we haven’t tried,” he said, pointing meaningfully at the stall of a palm reader. Draped in billowing silks that were frayed around the edges with age, the stall contained an older woman with heavy gray braids wrapped in coils at the nape of her neck. Her face was lined and her dark eyes were aloof, and she looked absolutely unfazed to see a witcher at her doorway. “Good madam,” Jaskier began, sweeping her a courteous bow before stepping into the tent. “My friend and I are in search of someone. Perhaps you’ve seen her, or heard of her--” The woman held out her hand at Jaskier, who said, “Oh,” and reached for his purse, prepared to pay for answers. “Your hand, boy,” she said impatiently. “My dear lady, you flatter me. I haven’t been referred to as ‘boy’ for...well, let’s say a few years, anyway. But you are free to do so as much as you like.” He ignored Geralt’s snort and seated himself in the chair opposite her. He laid his hand in hers and waited. Her gaze wasn’t on his hand, however, but his eyes. “It won’t last forever. Nothing ever does.” “What won’t?” “The weather. Your search. Your secret. Take your pick.” She finally looked down at his hand and traced a line on his palm, after the fact. Jaskier cleared his throat. “The woman--” “Ask the apothecary,” she interrupted calmly, and squeezed his hand. “You are stronger than you believe.” Inexplicably, Jaskier felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes, but the old palm reader held his hand until the silks stopped tossing in the sudden wind. Geralt led him away from the stall, guiding him into the mouth of an alley. “What was that about?” “I…” Jaskier said, his mouth dry and his words gone. Geralt waited, and he slid his hand around to cup the back of Jaskier’s neck. Helplessly, Jaskier leaned into the touch, and didn’t feel strong at all. “The apothecary,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s check there.” Geralt’s expression seemed oddly disappointed, maybe a little bit resigned, but his hand fell away and he followed Jaskier out into the sunshine. The apothecary kept a tidy shop tucked back on a side street away from the bustling market, and Jaskier stepped aside to let Geralt take the lead as soon as they went inside. A stooped older gentleman stood behind the counter, shrewdly appraising Geralt while his eyes only skipped dismissively over Jaskier. “Haven’t seen a witcher in ages,” he said, flattening his palms on the countertop. “Have you brought me anything to trade?” Geralt shook his head. “Sorry, not this time. We’re looking for information.” The apothecary gestured at his shop. “I only have tinctures, salves, powders, and oils here, as you see.” “Surely for the right price,” Jaskier began, but halted when Geralt put up his hand. “Do you have asphodel? My supply is low.” He hesitated and glanced at Jaskier, then back at the old man. “And chamomile oil. A bottle of that.” Jaskier was pleased that Geralt remembered his favorite moisturizing oil, though he was a little surprised that he would want to buy it for him. Geralt was being oddly solicitous lately, and for some reason this particular thing brought that into clarity for Jaskier. He supposed that it was because of the curse, that perhaps Geralt pitied him, and that took some of the shine away from the moment. He had been clinging to the little touches that Geralt gave him, the brief, warm glances, the gentle words. He wondered if they would all disappear once Jaskier was free of the curse. They had certainly been few and far between before. The items were produced and an amount agreed upon, but Geralt slid twice that amount across the counter. The man narrowed his eyes at the coins and then tilted his head, just a bit, letting them know he was listening. “A sorceress,” Jaskier said, stepping forward, “possibly wearing a green dress. Faded blonde hair, a little crazy around the eyes. She would have arrived three days ago. We were told you might know her.” “What do you want with her?” “Does it matter to you?” “Mere curiosity.” Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest. “She cursed me, and I’d like her to take it back.” The old man laughed. “I’ve known a few sorceresses in my day, and not a one of them ever took back a curse for saying ‘please.’” “I never said we’d give her the option,” Jaskier said seriously. “I don’t believe in pleading with murderers.” The man sobered and sighed. “She’ll be back tomorrow at noon to pick up some supplies I didn’t have on hand when she visited me.” Jaskier slumped with relief and found that Geralt was close behind him, propping him up. “I’ll make sure you get your payment from her, for your troubles,” Geralt said, then tucked his purchases away into his pockets and they left. For the first time in days Jaskier could take a deep breath, filling his lungs and his heart with hope. “Well, I don’t know about you, Geralt, but I could do with some dinner. Shall we find some fine establishment to feed us?” “I’d settle for some stew in a rented room,” Geralt replied, nodding toward the swinging sign just down the street from the apothecary that advertised ‘The Nesting Hen.’ Jaskier sighed. “Your tastes are so pedestrian.” “You’re just feeling spoiled after a day with Yen.” “I will say this about her, the woman does appreciate the finer things in life. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had a bath like that one.” “Hmm,” Geralt agreed. Jaskier paid for supper and lodgings, then they were shown to a smallish room on the second floor with a smallish bed and a smallish window. “We’ve definitely gotten more for less before,” Jaskier pointed out, “but at least the window overlooks the apothecary so we can keep an eye out for her.” “It’s fine,” Geralt said, shrugging at the state of the room. “Bed looks clean.” “It really says a lot about our standards that we’re excited about that.” “You could always go live at Yenn’s. Plenty of bedrooms there.” Geralt smirked faintly as he opened the door for a nervous maid carrying two steaming bowls of stew. “There’s plenty of Yennefer there,” Jaskier replied. “You’re right, this place is fine.” The maid looked pleased that he’d said so. ~*~ The stew was actually quite good, with big chunks of carrot and potato, and meat that was recognizably beef, and Jaskier felt his spirits brighten a little with a full belly and a real possibility of breaking his curse. “Well,” he said, patting his stomach, “it may not be up to Yennefer’s standards, but in this case your pedestrian choice was a good one.” “You seem better,” Geralt said, eyeing him cautiously. “More relaxed.” “I have hope that we’ll find her, now. Before it seemed hopeless.” Geralt gave him a lopsided smile. “You know I won’t stop until we find her. Whether that’s tomorrow or a year from now.” Jaskier’s eyes widened, both at the emotional declaration and the notion of a long term search. “Gods forbid. Can you imagine me, like this for a year? I’d go mad. I’d have to buy boring clothes so as not to excite myself.” “That would be a tragedy,” Geralt agreed, but his raised eyebrow said otherwise. He leaned back slightly in his chair, rocking on two legs. “Stop it, you love my colors. I’m a brightly feathered songbird. Think how drab your world would be without me.” Jaskier realized too late that he was skirting a topic too intimate for good sense to allow. Geralt tilted his head a little, his gaze warm. “Drab indeed.” Jaskier swallowed hard. “Well. Anyway. It would be a shame if both of us wandered the Continent together garbed in black and gray, with no music to accompany us.” “I’d probably get more done. The monsters wouldn’t hear us coming.” Jaskier grinned, but it fell quickly from his face. “Geralt. I’m nothing without music. If I can’t play, if I can’t…feel, what am I? What good am I?” Geralt’s chair settled with a solid thump on the floor. “Don’t do that.” “What?” “You’re worth more than your music, Jaskier.” Jaskier looked away, his heart in his throat. He was afraid to desire more, having already received more from Geralt in four days than he had in years of knowing him. He shouldn’t be greedy. “Thank you,” he finally said, clearing his throat and glancing quickly at Geralt, who was looking out the window. “We’ll find her tomorrow. All this will be nothing more than a song to be written beside a campfire.” Jaskier took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He watched Geralt’s hand tighten around his tankard of ale, his knuckles whitening, and Jaskier’s own hand felt empty. ~*~

Scott looks like he just ate the last cookie in the jar, and Stiles knows there's nothing good about that look.  Because that's the look he had when they were seven and he broke Stiles' action figure, and when they were twelve and he told the sheriff about them playing with his guns, when he got bitten, and when he and Kira almost missed graduation. "What did you do?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. Scott  winces. "So, um. You know that thing you told me never to tell anyone ever?" "Scott. " "I told Derek." "Oh my god." Scott flinches back, looking guilty. "Scott!" He screeches. Honest to god screeches. He may hurt the ears of Beacon Hills' werewolf population. But Scott deserves it. Because he swore – swore, damn it – that he would never tell a soul. Especially not Derek, who has claws and fangs and hates his guts and could kill him. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! It just sort of...slipped?" There's smoke coming out his nose. Scott gulps. "Okay, so, you see, we were - well. We were talking about you..."         "Don't you think we should talk to Stiles about this?" Scott asks, raising an eyebrow. He knows he sucks at planning and strategy, okay, but Derek really isn't that much better than him. "No." "Why not?" "Because." He snaps, the way he always does. "He could get hurt." Which, what? "What? No. We should tell him. He could help. He's way better at this then we are anyway." He frowns. Stiles getting hurt? Over something like this? Scott's only known what Stiles was for a few years now, only since the summer before they started high school, but he's fairly certain that, if everything in the past hadn't hurt him, then this wouldn't either. He's pretty indestructible. Derek doesn't seem to feel the same. "What part of 'he could get hurt' don't you understand?" "Dude, I think it's pretty hard to hurt a dragon." He scoffs. "And besides, he loves you too much not to -" oh. Oh shit. He did not do what he thinks he just did. He can't have. Stiles'll – "What." Derek says, and he sounds angry. Well, he always sounds a bit angry around Scott, but this is angrier. Like, 'rip your throat out angry'. "Nothing." He tries. "I didn't say anything." "He what?!" Derek looks pretty pissed, and Scott - well, Scott doesn't care too much about that, because Stiles is so much scarier when he's angry, and he's probably gonna be furious when Scott tells him what happened. Though, he really doesn't get why Derek's so angry. He thought there was maybe something going on between him and Stiles already, so the news that Stiles loves him really shouldn't be such a shock. Does he really not like him this much? Oh man, this is gonna crush Stiles. "Um." Scott backs away. "Yeah. I’m gonna go."         Stiles frowns down at his hands. "He was pissed?" He wonders. Scott nods. "Oh. So he doesn't - oh." "I'm sorry bro." "No, it's - it's fine. He's not obligated to like me back. It's okay." He feels pretty far from okay, but he'll get over it. Eventually. "I just don't get why he was so pissed man. Everyone in the pack can tell, I don't -" "Please stop talking about it." He sighs. "Just - please." Scott shuts up. "You should go." "I really am sorry, Stiles." "Yeah, I know you are buddy." He doesn't even have the energy to be mad at Scott right now. Mostly, he just wishes he was old enough to do a full shift, and fly like his mom used to. "Are you gonna a be okay?" "I'll be fine."         Stiles is a dragon? That doesn't make any sense. He would have seemed if there was something different about Stiles. He doesn't spend much time around humans, sure, but he remembers what they smell like. Lydia always smelled a bit different, but that's because she's a banshee. Right? But maybe she smells normal, and Stiles is the one who smells off? He's been basing the scent of a normal human off what Stiles normally smells like. But apparently He's the most dangerous creature in the pack, so he's not exactly human at all. But he smelled so familiar. He - He smells like his mom. Claudia Stilinski, the only other human who ever came to the Hale house. So of course he would smell familiar. His mother was Derek's baby sitter until Laura was old enough to drive. Claudia was a dragon. Scott didn't seem surprised. In fact, he seemed to think it was weird Derek didn't know. So does the whole pack know? Looking back on the past few years, it seems kind of obvious, now. Stiles is never really hurt. If he is, the injuries don't last long. When they were fighting the Alphas, Stiles completely shattered his wooden bat, which now that he thought about it, is impossible for a human to do. And he sleeps in a nest of blankets on his bed (that last one might just be a Stiles thing). Why didn't he say anything?         It's probably strange that Stiles is used to being slammed into hard surfaces by now. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek growls. Oh, so they’re talking about this now? “I thought you knew.” Stiles gets out. God, Derek’s really pissed about this. There’s no doubt in his mind now that he’ll be kicked out of the pack for this. It hurts. He probably could have handled a polite let down, maybe even Derek not talking to him. He could. But this? This, he doesn’t think he can handle. “Don’t you think I would have said something if I did?” Derek snaps. He shoves him harder against the wall before just letting him go. Stiles rubs a hand across his face. “Maybe you were being nice about it.” “Nice about it? There’s nothing to be nice about, Stiles. We’re pack. We tell each other things like this.” “I’m still pack?” After all the growling and snapping? Derek frowns. “Of course you are. Why would you be?” “You’re not gonna feel, uh, weird? Around me?” Stiles asks, fidgeting. He kind of wants Derek to leave, so he can deal with the fact that he’s been rejected in peace. “What? No? I’m just – I’m angry. I wish you’d told me.” “It took me seven years to even hint at Lydia that I like her. What makes you think I’d tell you I’m in love with you if you don’t even love me back?” He huffs, annoyed. “I – wait, what?” Derek blinks. “In love with me?” “Is that not what we’re talking about?” Stiles asks, feeling nauseous all of the sudden. Did Derek really not know? “Scott told me you’re a dragon, not – you’re in love with me?” “You didn’t know I’m a dragon?” Stiles shakes his head. “Jesus. Derek, actual smoke comes out of nose sometimes. I warm my coffee just with my hands. The whole pack knows! How oblivious are you?” “You love me.” Derek says again. “Yeah.” He takes a breath. “Yeah I do.” Derek just blinks at him. “Look, I get it if you don’t want me to –” “I – me too.” Derek blurts. Stiles raises an eyebrow. “I mean. I love you too. I’m in love with you. Jesus, Stiles – I’ve been in love with you for years.” “Oh. I – oh.” His eyes widen. “You –” “Shut up.” Derek breathes, and then he leans forward, puts his hands on either side of his face, and kisses him. Now, he doesn’t have anything to compare it to, but it’s probably the best kiss he’s ever had.         “Derek didn’t know I was a dragon!” Stiles announces at the next meeting. Derek puts his head in his hands, and Isaac makes a face. “Oh my god.”

In the next six months they make an effort to cross as many things off of their list as they can. They finally see Christ the Redeemer when they take off to Brazil after a rainy afternoon spent on the couch when Louis turned to him with mischievous eyes and said, “I wonder what the weather’s like in Rio?” Peru, a new addition to the list, is only a short plane ride away so they fly across South America to climb the Incan Trail and walk amongst the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu. They end up on the Greek island of Santorini after a few restless weeks back at home, and then one day out of the blue Louis decides he wants to try surfing, so they catch the next flight out to Australia. They tour the Sydney Opera House and tan on the best beaches they can find. They both learn to surf even though Louis turns out to be the only one who’s actually good at it, and before they leave they get the opportunity to sail out to a small island along the Great Barrier Reef for a dive. They experience things together that most people only ever dream of and Harry appreciates every memory, but he finds that even with all the bright and colorful distractions around them Louis is never far from his mind or his heart. Harry gets good at reading his different smiles and grows fond of watching him nap against the windows of airplanes. His chest balloons each time Louis proudly takes his hand as they’re weaving through crowded streets and markets, and his heart nearly stops each time Louis chooses to kiss him rather than marvel at the beautiful things surrounding them. At first Harry thinks he’s crazy with how much he feels just from being near the boy; it doesn’t take long before he realizes that he’s in love. It’s not surprising really considering it is something that has always been there, but once Harry can put a name to it, it’s all he can think about. He doesn’t know if he should just say it or wait for Louis to do it first, but he decides that he can’t wait any longer one night when Louis comes over after spending the evening with his family. He lets himself in with the set of keys that he insisted on having made when they first started dating and finds Harry in the kitchen. He immediately buries his nose in the layers of Harry’s hair when he hugs him from behind. “You smell really good.” “Took a shower a little while ago,” Harry tells him. He turns away from the pot he had been stirring to give Louis the attention he’s obviously looking for with the way his hands are traveling along his waist. He takes Louis’ chin to tilt his lips up to his level. Louis makes a pleased sound, rising up on his toes to chase Harry’s tongue. His face crumples when Harry pulls back with a soft, “I missed you.” “Cleary not a whole lot or else you would still be kissing me,” Louis mumbles.  Harry won’t fall for his guilt routine; not again anyway. “I have to finish cooking.” Louis sneaks his devious hands under Harry’s shirt to run his nails along the plane of his stomach. “Fuck dinner,” he smirks. “Come hang out with me instead.” Harry laughs at the tempting offer, knowing that a ‘come hang out with me’ from Louis has a completely different meaning than it would coming from most people. Harry has burned a lot of meals from falling for that line. He politely declines and manages to squirm out of his reach to return to the food. Louis complains about it, but only for a couple of minutes before he takes a seat at the kitchen table to wait him out. Harry sneaks glances at him from over his shoulder, and the urge to shout out what he’s feeling is overwhelming.  He has loved Louis for months, but tonight the feeling is amplified each time Louis glances up from his phone and meets his eyes. He wonders if Louis can tell how fast his heart is beating when he decides that now is as good of a time as any to let him know. “Hey Lou? I was thinking about it earlier and I can’t remember the last thing we added to the list…” Louis frowns, briefly looking up from his phone. “It was The Great Wall,” he says matter-of-factly. “No, I think that was right before the other one you added... Could you please go get it for me so I can check? I would but,” Harry gestures at the pot of sauce he’s stirring and Louis hangs his head back like it’s a death sentence, but complies. He returns a minute later with the journal; their list, a handful of pictures, and a pen sticking out from the pages. He places it down on the island before hopping up to perch himself on it as well. “I’m telling you it’s China. I wrote it myself,” Louis says with absolute certainty. “Could you check really quick to make sure?” Harry gives him his best puppy eyes as he points to the food he’s busy watching over. Louis rolls his eyes at him and mumbles something about him being hopeless as he pulls the list from the journal and unfolds it. “I swear you are like the most forgetful person I’ve ever met. It’s going to say The Great Wall and then you’re going to be mad when I gloat because you know I’m always r-” Harry turns to watch him as his words die on his lips. “…What does it say, Lou?” A stubborn grin breaks out on Louis’ face from having to admit that he’s wrong about the last thing written there, yet his voice is soft and full of emotion when he answers. “It says, ‘to fall in love’.”  When Louis tears his eyes away from the words on the page, the strings of nerves that had wrapped themselves around Harry’s heart fall away. He never really doubted that Louis loves him, but being the first one to voice it is still a bit scary. Harry takes the pen from beside him and draws a thick, black line right through the center of the words he wrote less than an hour ago. He drops everything he’s holding when Louis reaches for him. “I love you too,” gets repeated half a dozen times between their lips, causing Harry to smile with each new declaration. The sauce he’s supposed to be stirring starts bubbling angrily on the stove out of neglect, but Louis is so intent on holding Harry there that he locks him in the triangle of his legs and crosses his ankles so he can’t move. Harry cackles into his mouth when he isn’t able to step away. “Lou, the food! We can’t just-” “Yes we can. I already told you, fuck the food,” he says under his breath. Harry manages to break away and has just enough time to turn off the stove before Louis ropes him back in and slots their mouths together in another heated kiss. Harry wants to point out the fact that they’re not going to have anything to eat later, but he loses his train of thought when Louis deliberately shoves his tongue in his mouth. With him being the most impatient and impulsive person on Earth, Harry had half expected for Louis to strip down right where he is and bend himself over the island or at least the table (it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened), which is why Harry’s surprised when he chooses instead to slide off the countertop and starts walking them in the direction of Harry’s room. It’s a long journey through the house that lands them right in the center of the bed. Louis tugs at his waist until his body is flush against him, pressing him down into the mattress with his weight. Harry could spend all night lying here with Louis beneath him this way. He loves the amount of emotion that Louis brings to their kissing even when it isn’t leading up to something more. Tonight is no exception, especially with the way Louis keeps nipping at his bottom lip to make his heart pound inside of his chest. He savors every bit of it while he can, because he knows from experience that this sweet, tender version of Louis will fade just as soon as arousal hits and his attention span reaches its end. As if on cue he starts tugging at their clothes with hurried hands. Harry chuckles, causing Louis to narrow his eyes at him. “What are you laughing at? Take this off,” he complains while trying to pull Harry’s shirt over his head. He throws it somewhere in the room and then heads straight for the drawstring of his joggers. He unties the bow holding them on Harry’s hips and sits up to shove them down his thighs to pool at his knees. He stops, just short of wrapping an eager fist around him when Harry chokes back another laugh. “You do realize I’m the only one naked here, right?” he asks looking between them. Louis frowns down at himself and the erection visible against his zipper and immediately starts working to pull off his shirt. Harry helps out by unbuttoning his jeans. He grins when he recognizes them as his own, now realizing why he couldn’t find them a few days ago and also why he thought Louis’ ass looked particularly enticing earlier. They push their abandoned clothes to the floor when they’re finally bare, and when Harry kisses him, this time it’s not as rushed. Louis is so hard that he’s already leaking between them as Harry sets their new pace. It has always interested him, how docile Louis becomes once they get to this point. Louis is always the loudest person in the room, no matter what. It’s such a stark contrast to what he’s like when he gets all worked up this way. It’s almost like looking at a different person with the way he lets Harry handle him. A quick dig around the inside of his bedside table produces the lube and a condom, and Louis’ eyes darken, watching as Harry pops the cap and squeezes a few lines onto his longest fingers. He settles down where Louis’ thighs are open for him. He bites a trail down to his opening and licks over it before gently working the tips of his fingers inside. Louis’ eyes are closed where he’s resting against the pillows, his chest heavily rising and falling with each shaky breath that his fingers draw from him. “I love you,” Harry whispers just to see his reaction. It’s a glorious one that causes Louis’ dick to twitch where it’s curved up against his stomach. His eyelids flutter open to reveal a sliver of dark blue that has Harry reaching for his own dick when it twitches on instinct. “I love you too,” he gasps when Harry twists his fingers inside of him and his eyes roll back again. The words are still relatively new. They said them for the first time less than half an hour ago. He’s still getting used to hearing them, but the tingle they leave on Harry’s skin still feels just as wonderful. He dedicates a few more minutes to opening him up before letting his fingers slip out of him. He moves to align their chests again. When he meets Louis’ eyes he finds that his face looks pinched from concentrating so hard to not touch himself. Harry kisses his lips and reaches down to give him a few long strokes to take the edge off. “Ready?” he asks when Louis’ head leaves the pillow from trying to chase his mouth. He flops back down with a soft whine when Harry circles a teasing thumb around the tip of his dick. He bites down on a smirk when Louis is only able to breathe a quiet yes. “You’re sure, Lou?” he asks again, partly to be certain that he won’t hurt him, but mostly because it’s always fun to tease him for a change. When Louis nods, Harry gathers his lips in another long kiss before sitting back to open the condom and slip it on. He sits between Louis’ thighs, inching forward to line himself up. The two of them lock eyes and take a deep breath before Harry slowly pushes himself inside. Louis’ face is the picture of concentration as he breathes through the stretch. Harry admires his focus, feeling his own features tightening with each second that passes that he’s not allowed to move. Harry waits for him though, even when the pressure feels so tight that it’s almost painful to stay so still. “Now?” he grits out when the seconds start to bleed into minutes and he’s honestly hanging on by a thread. He lets go of the breath he was holding when Louis gives him a quick succession of nods, consent that has Harry immediately retracting his hips to push back in. Every soft roll of his hips has Louis clinging to him and panting in his ear, holding on as he’s being rocked into. His ankles are hooked together below Harry’s bum to help him get deeper inside. Harry can tell that it isn’t working a few minutes later when he still hasn’t found his spot. “Turn over,” he instructs as he gently pulls out of him. He strokes himself while Louis hurries to settle down on his stomach. Harry straddles him, his knees bracketing Louis’ thighs as he sits back to admire the line of golden skin that leads from the nape of Louis’ neck down to the roundness of his ass. His hands grip into as much of it as they can. He bites back a moan seeing how wide he’s already stretched. He positions himself so that he’s looming over Louis’ body, his front parallel with the slight dip of Louis’ back as he reaches a hand between them to guide himself inside again. Louis’ fists grip into the sheets where his hands are splayed by his side as Harry experiments with different thrusts. He knows he has finally gotten it right when a ragged moan rips from the back of his throat. Up until now, Louis had been pretty quiet. His silence used to concern Harry, seeing as how any other time he never seems to shut up. He used to spend inordinate amounts of time checking and double checking that he was alright, however the deep sounds he’s making now let Harry know that he’s feeling great without even having to ask. Harry lets out a cry of his own when Louis rises up a bit on his knees to fit his hand between himself and the bed. It’s an unexpected move that pushes him back and has Harry’ stomach clenching to keep from coming too early. His grip tightens around Louis’ shoulder as he tries to regain control when he can feel himself going over the edge. “I’m close,” he warns with bated breath. Louis nods, unable to say anything as his hand works somewhere that Harry can’t see. He gets lost watching the muscles of his shoulders work combined with the bit of sweat running down the slope of his spine and he feels himself slipping.  “Lou,” he warns again when he can feel he orgasm building from within. To his relief, Louis comes just a few seconds before him when every sound he suppressed before comes out in a loud whine into the mattress. The visual, the sounds, and the feeling of Louis tightening around him are all too much. Harry’s stomach tugs downward as he comes, his nails leaving imprints on Louis’ skin when his orgasm tears through him. The room is blurrier than Harry remembers when he cracks his eyes open. He pulls out and ties the condom off, but he can’t make it any further than that before Louis is grabbing for him. He comes down with Louis lightly scratching against his scalp in the quiet. He kisses his lips, and Harry’s heart starts racing all over again when Louis whispers that he loves him. It’s still early, but they lie there for so long and he’s so comfortable where Louis’ cradling him against his chest that he feels as though he could drift off for a nap. Unfortunately, he gets dragged back into consciousness when Louis’ voice rumbles against his ear. “Haz?” “Hmmm?” “Are you asleep?” Well not anymore, he isn’t. “Nope. Wide awake,” he answers sleepily. “Oh…that’s good…” There’s a short pause between his words that makes Harry wonder what he wants. “Why? What’s up?” Harry asks curiously. There’s another long pause before Louis reluctantly answers him. “Haz, I’m really hungry,” he whines, causing Harry to snort a laugh into his chest. He pulls back to see Louis’ face pinched together from the ‘I told you so’ he thinks is coming. Harry takes pity on him though and refrains from saying it even though he really, really wants to. Louis gives him the most pitiful expression that Harry’s ever seen. He caves in an instant with a fond roll of his eyes. “I’ll go finish cooking dinner.” The ‘even though I tried to tell you that you’d be hungry later’ goes unsaid. Louis sighs with relief and rewards him with a sloppy kiss for not gloating. “Thank you so much! I’m literally starving,” he claims, making Harry laugh again and shake his head at the idiot grinning down at him. “Remind me why I keep you around again?” Harry asks. His stomach flip flops when Louis’ fixes him with a look of complete adoration. “Because I’m in love with you, and you love me too,” he says simply, and Harry can’t really argue with him when he knows every word to be true.

“Our visitor has arrived,” announces Urᵭr and her sisters chitter in excitement, the sounds leaving their mouths bouncing off the walls of the cave in an eerie echo once more. The air in the dark cave is so cold that a shiver tears through her body. Moisture hangs in the air, dampening her clothes and hair almost instantly. The atmosphere is oppressive, sucking the air out of her lungs. The Norns themselves are three shapes sitting around a well that is made of cobbled stone and that, covered with moss and grime, looks old and dirty but the surface of the water in the well is as smooth and pristine as polished glass, a distant light shimmering from deep within it. The light from which once sprung all life in the Nine Realms. The shapes that are the Norns are wearing dark, hooded cloaks that seem to be one mass of flowing fabric and their faces are gaunt and of a pale turquoise, their eyes black with a sliver of white in them instead of irises and, when Frigga looks closer, it appears that their cloaks are one with the well too. They are not corporeal either, not fully at least, for their form seems to be pulsating between the corporeal and the translucent with every blink of her eye, their existence meant to baffle even the Gods. One of them, Verᵭandi, if the depictions in the old books are to be trusted, is spinning a thread from the water, white sparks erupting around her hands and rising up into the air. Frigga rises to her feet, silently chanting a healing spell to mend her fractured ankles in the hope that her burned-down glamour will allow her this little mercy, and then bows before them. “Esteemed Norns, I have come to seek—” Skuld, the third of the sisters, raises her hand and brushes a turquoise, seemingly fleshless finger against her dark lips to silence her before she turns her attention to an entanglement of thick root, behind which Frigga glimpses a flash of gold. “You may step out now,” the Norn says. The Queen’s lips part in surprise when an all too familiar shape emerges from the shadows, searching for her gaze, stupefied with amazement. “Odin,” she whispers, her hands clutching her chest as if to take her heart in her hand when a wave of existential dread floods through her. “W-what … Why are you here?” “Heimdall cannot see her,” replies the Allfather in a gruff voice as he crosses the distance between them in three large strides. He takes her hands in his and gives them a squeeze that is meant to be reassuring but does very little to mask the worry flickering in his seeing eye. “Amora has shrouded herself from the gatekeeper’s gaze.” “I have not been fortunate either,” Frigga whispers, the failure of her unsuccessful attempts to determine the origin of dark Seiᵭr and her inability to guard the magic of her son sitting on her chest like a boulder. “And I fear she might have stolen the crystal containing Loki’s magic,” she mumbles, for the animal that attacked her only moments ago was no ordinary hawk, no, she thinks, her mind swiftly piecing the puzzle together, no, that was most certainly Amora, she is quite sure of that, because she has never been quite able to shake off the feeling that she was being followed ever since she left Asgard. “I was unable to defend it.” “The two of us, outwitted by that young thing,” Odin snarls, pounding Gúngnir onto the rock in a sudden flash of hot, white anger, shaking the pebble on the ground and startling the surface of the well. “Tell us,” he demands in an angry growl, turning his attention to the fate weavers, “how this is possible. What bestowed upon the Enchantress such powers?” “And now?” asks Thor, eyes alight with joy. His brother’s facial expression reminds Loki of the Midgardian animal that the mortals call dog and that communicates its excitement through extensive tail wagging. He is quite certain that, had the God of Thunder had a tail, he would be wagging it at this very moment. Not that Loki does not feel a tingle of excitement as well. Ingesting the ice Thor has brought to his chambers from the part of Midgard where the cold never recedes even when the rest of their world blossoms into summer has indeed fueled his strength, finally allowing him to swing his legs out of the bed he has been chained to for the past days. Ingesting the ice is also fueling his mental strength and he is beginning to understand that none of the spells he practiced in the past will be lost to him because wielding magic is learning how to manipulate energetic impulses drawn from other dimensions to disrupt the code programing the current reality. Luckily, everything he learned about sorcery is still in his mental possession. Well, luckily for him. Loki smirks at his brother. “Retribution,” he says and flicks his fingers. “Nooooooo!” Thor yells as brownish-red slime spreads across his skin and he begins to shrink in size. “Don’t,” he begs until his words trail off. “Loki, please, don’t! Stop … N-n-no no …” Loki glances down at his brother, whose slug head barely reaches his hips and erupts into a gleeful, self-satisfied chuckle. “You brought this one upon yourself with your inconsiderate ice jokes.” Thor opens his slug mouth, rubbery slime lips moving soundlessly. “Uh-uh. Slugs can’t speak.” He grabs his chest in mock sympathy. “I’m truly inconsolable. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he says, flitting a nervous glance towards the door leading to his bath, “I need to … refresh myself.” Loki turns away from Thor, who moves with a faint squish-squash sound that is undoubtedly going to leave a slimy trail on the floor tiles but that will be worth it, will it not, oh yes, and softly pushes the door to his bath open. The room has not changed, of course it hasn’t, why would it, but somehow Loki expected the large bathtub and the sink to look different for it can’t be only you who is no longer the same. The door clicks shut behind him and the familiar sight unsettles him because … He doesn’t even know why exactly, except for maybe the spiteful voice that arises from the cesspit beneath his consciousness into which he has banished his self-destructive, self-rejecting thoughts; that spiteful voice telling him that all of this is a lie. That his existence is a lie. That he is a Frost Giant runt that doesn’t deserve the chambers of an Aesir prince. Loki tries to smother the thought but his mind is drawn to its fervor as a moth is drawn to a flame. They are brutish and unruly beasts that know no warmth. They abandoned you. They left you to die. Midget. They didn’t want you. Runt. Mutt. They are beasts. They cast you out. They left you to die. They left you to die. They. Left. You. To. Die. TO DIE. No one wants you, no one. “Stop it,” Loki whispers because he knows that the voice is lying. None of these things are ever going to make me love you any less. You are my brother and you will remain my brother until the day Ragnarök befalls us. Loki steps forth and forces himself to look at his Jötunn face in the mirror. He knows what he is going to see because he saw the blue face with its silver markings and its blood-red eyes before but that knowledge does little to shield him from the shockwave of repulsion exploding in his chest. He sucks in a shaky breath, trying to soothe himself, but the air does not calm him because even though he always suspected that he was not like the other Asgardians, not in a million years would he have expected his otherness to wear such a horrid visage. He steps even closer, raising his hand, stretching it out towards the mirror’s surface, and recoils when his palm touches that of his reflection. This is you, his accursed inner voice tells him in a grotesque snarl. Unworthy runt. This is what you are. This is how you look. This is you. Putrid monster. Loki casts a simulacrum of the Aesir face he has been wearing for centuries over his Frost Giant skin almost on impulse because, while having learned to change the form of others, he has not yet mastered the art of shapeshifting. Unfortunately, the sight does not calm him either because it is a lie, isn’t it, yes, everything is a lie, everything, oh yes, that face is as much of a lie as the love Odin claimed to have for him because there is no way in Hel the Allfather could bring himself to ever truly love a Frost Giant. You are not like them, Loki. I can sense it in you. Do you not see that they are afraid of you? Do you not see that your mother is merely pretending to teach you because she is scared of the power that slumbers within you? Do you not see that, if you were to discover your true potential, they would all tremble before you? The illusion in the mirror vanishes when a single thought clatters into Loki’s mind. How did Amora know? Anger sears through him, almost blinding him. That scheming little quim. Loki turns on the faucet of the sink to splash water into his face out of habit but as soon as his hands touch the spurt, he feels the erratic pulse of raw, untamed magic in his fingertips and, before his mind has the time to grasp the implications behind the sensation, the water crystallizes into solid ice upon his touch. He mutters a string of expletives under his breath and flees the bathroom, enraged by the realization that he now possesses powers he will have to learn to control from scratch. Slug-Thor has made his way to the doors of Loki’s chambers and the sight of his brother in a state of utter helplessness instills in him at least some minimal degree of satisfaction. Yet, he knows deep inside of him how uncalled for the sensation is because this mess is not his gullible, good-hearted twerp of a brother’s fault. Loki blows out a breath and flicks his fingers, dissipating the spell. “I am going to kill you,” Thor grumbles as soon as he has vocal cords again. “Yeah, well, I am going to look for Amora,” Loki retorts, despising himself for the slight tremble in his voice. “Alone?” Thor asks, genuine worry twisting his features when he becomes aware of Loki’s brittle state of mind. “I am coming with you, of course,” he announces forcefully. “You don’t have to,” Loki growls, snatching the pouch from the armchair where the God of Thunder has so mindlessly tossed it upon the accursed book about accursed Jötunn magic. “Don’t be foolish, brother,” Thor replies and Loki hates how the moniker makes him feel undeserving of the Aesir life given to him once more. “Father has been looking for her for five days. If he hasn’t returned by now—” “He clearly isn’t doing an all too marvelous job with tracking her down,” Loki snaps. “I was going to say, ‘Who knows in which hel-mouth she is lurking?’ but …” Thor swallows audibly. “Do you know where she is?” Loki shakes his head. “No,” he whispers in defeat. “But I might have a fairly good idea where to start looking.” “Did you not hear me?” Odin repeats and Frigga is quite certain that the anger dripping from her husband’s every word will not aid their quest for knowledge. The Norns chitter, exchanging glances, their shapes fluttering in and out of translucence once more, their cloaks wafting about them even though there is no breeze. “You rule the destiny of us all! Tell me why you would weave such a thread of fate for my son!” For the fraction of a moment, the Queen is convinced Odin will level Gúngnir at the Norns and she tugs at his arm, holding him back. “Please,” she urges the beings before her in a solemn whisper, “we wish to help him.” “The prince will help himself,” says Urᵭr. “Where dwells the Enchantress?” Odin bellows before Frigga even has a chance to respond. “What gave her the powers she possesses?” “Amora dwells outside the Realms,” says Verᵭandi and the thread she is weaving begins to glow brighter as her words echo through the darkness cold and damp. “As does the Seiᵭr that poisoned the prince.” “What did you mean when you said Loki will help himself?” Frigga asks before Odin has a chance to bark at them once more. “His destiny is no longer in your hands,” says Skuld in a voice that instills a sense of terror and foreboding in the heart of the Queen before the Norn turns to Odin. “You sought our counsel eons past, Allfather, about your firstborn child, and it grieves us to see that you have not yet abandoned your old ways.” A trembling breath slips past the Queen’s lips because she has always feared the consequences of manipulating Asgard’s memory to help her husband conceal a truth that would later make the Aesir think of Thor as the Allfather’s firstborn child. She feared that those consequences would come back to haunt her one day but she complied anyway, perhaps out of love, perhaps out of naivety, and now the Norns are punishing her for her misdeeds past and present. “I have,” replies Odin but the tremor in his voice belies the conviction displayed on his face. “I have tried to protect him from the same destiny. I have tried to help him.” “Your help is not what he needs, Allfather,” says Skuld. “The prince will help himself,” repeats Urᵭr. “He will help himself with the aid of whom he thinks of as his brother.” “They are departing Asgard as we speak,” says Verᵭandi and a sense of urgency slams into Frigga, knocking the breath out of her lungs. “They will travel to the Svartur and they will face grave dangers,” says Skuld and Frigga’s heart stops beating in her chest for a moment because last she saw him, Loki was in no condition to travel anywhere and, even if she has underestimated Thor’s emotional maturity, they are children still, the both of them, they are young and reckless and impulsive and inexperienced and the Svartur … The Svartur. “How can we aid our sons?” pleads Odin, his wrath suddenly extinguished at the mention of that name. “You must not think of aid in the way you thought of it before,” counsels Urᵭr and with that, the Norns lapse into silence.