#because spinning pins are the bane of my existence

[cozylittleartblog]

worst way to start my new year, thanks. i have a lot of things to say about these companies but i'm tired and just keeping it focused to the pin side of things for this one. do not ever buy pins from these companies, literally ALL of them are stolen from small artists like me. if you want to buy enamel pins, check out etsy, and artist's personal websites and shops! (though even Etsy has some bootleg pins that ship straight from china, so tread carefully…)

Every pin I've designed is, thus far, EXCLUSIVE to my etsy. if you find it anywhere else, it's been ripped off! and once these stupid bootlegs pop up, it's basically a never ending game of whack-a-mole trying to get them all taken down...

#psa #art theft #pin theft #aliexpress #shein #wish #temu #deltarune #the bootleg pin is just over an inch tall. do you know how BAD this design looks at that size?? i'd know. i tested it. #they didn't even use the black nickel of the pin for the black parts of the design. and the listing says copper for some reason. what. #some people never even get their designs taken down. its really sad #so i might just have to deal with bootleg queens out there forever :( i hope nobody confuses the ripoffs for the real thing.... #my pin is so much nicer! its almost two inches big and it has two posts on the back so it doesn't spin #because spinning pins are the bane of my existence #im out here working my ass off out of my bedroom in my parents place trying to make a living and here come these pricks #i watermarked all my listing photos exactly so they Couldn't steal my fucking pictures so at least there's that #my new years is just full of bad luck so far i hope this isn't a bad omen #if my registration isn't accepted by the aliexpress copyright department I'm SOL and this will just. stay up i guess #i'm sad #bootleggers kys

[legolasghosty]

writing prompt of Juke as Enemies to Lovers + "you can throw how many darts at it as you want, but you still put her picture on your wall"

Anon, I am so so so sorry for how long this has taken! I swear my brain just hasn't been working for creative stuff and I'm sorry but here it finally is, I hope you find it!

-----

"I hate her," Luke growls as he enters the studio, slamming the door behind him.

"No you don't," Alex sighs from his corner of the couch, hunched over a history book.

Luke just shoots a glare at him. Alex rolls his eyes and grabs a pencil to start filling out the questions on his worksheet. Luke turns to Bobby, who is taking up the rest of the couch with his unfairly long legs.

"Don't look at me, dude," Bobby sighs, giving him a flat stare. "I'm with Alex on this one."

Alex reaches out and offers Bobby a fist bump without looking up. The two bump knuckles and Luke fumes.

"Do you guys even listen to me?" he exclaims. "Julie Molina is literally the bane of my existence."

At that, Reggie just starts laughing from his spot on the coffee table. "Really, Luke?" he teases. "Julie?"

Alex chuckles as well. "Yeah, not like, I don't know, biology or your curfew or the flu or something?"

"She's literally the worst person I have ever worked with!" Luke cries, fed up with the distinct lack of sympathy from his no longer best friends.

"You printed out her picture in the school yearbook to pin up on your wall," Bobby points out.

"For literal target practice!" Luke nearly yells. "And it's working, I've gotten pretty good at nailing that gap between her front teeth. And her eyes. And all the little colored things in her hair." When his bandmates don't say anything, Luke barrels on. "She won't say two words to me that aren't directly connected to this stupid assignment, she won't meet up anywhere other than school to work on it, and she glares at me for 'humming too loud', even though I know she's an amazing musician!"

Luke has hated Julie Molina for the better part of a year now, and it's easy for him to trace it back to its beginning. She'd performed in a spring recital at the school last year. She'd blown Luke's socks off with her incredible voice. It shook him down to his bones and he couldn't wait to find her afterwards and tell her how amazing it had been. He hadn't been able to find her, but hadn't worried much. They went to the same school after all.

But when he'd finally run into her a few weeks later near the bathrooms, she'd practically bitten his head off the second he called her a musician. And from that day on, Luke hated her. Because he can take people being rude to him, but turning on music?! Only a monster would do that. And in their interactions since then, she's only proven his point. She's a jerk.

"You can throw all the darts you want, but you still put her picture on your wall," Alex groans. "Have you tried actually having a civil conversation with her? Without talking about music?"

"What else would there be to talk about?" Luke demanded, kicking at the leg of the coffee table in pure frustration.

"Movies?" Reggie suggests.

"School?" Bobby adds.

"Literally any other interesting thing about life?" Alex finishes.

Luke lets out an angry huff and spins on his heel, heading for the bathroom. As soon as it slams shut behind him, Bobby lets his palm connect with his face.

"This is pointless," Reggie sighs. "Just got a text from Jules too, stating that Luke is a selfish moron."

Alex pulls out his phone. "I'm texting Flynn. If they aren't going to have a conversation themselves, then I swear I'm going to lock them in a closet until they do."

"I mean they're both already out," Bobby jokes, but he nods. "But yeah, I'm very sick of the headaches induced by them not realizing they're in love with each other."

"Ditto," Reggie says.

#legolas tag #julie and the phantoms #legolas ask #jatp #jatp fanfic #juke #julie molina #luke patterson #alex mercer #bobby shaw #reggie peters #enemies to lovers

[jonkentt]

we could move in together

or Bucky suffering but make it crack****

Bucky drops onto the couch with a contented sigh. He stretches out, hands behind his head, smirking like he’s truly done something to be proud of. Sam’s coming over for dinner and finally, finally Bucky’s got a plan. They’ve been alternating these datenights dinners and whenever it’s Sam’s turn he cooks. Big batches of stuff he says he wants to make for Sara and the boys if it’s any good. Course, it’s always good. Bucky loves Sam’s cooking. He loves showing up much too early so he can watch Sam cook. Sam gets in fights with pots and pans, curses under his breath whenever he measures something wrong. You’d think everything he made would be a disaster but somehow, no matter how many times Sam swears that internet recipes are the bane of his existence, the food is delicious. Which makes Bucky feel like an asshole for ordering take-out on his turn every single time.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to cook for Sam. Boy, has he tried. But how can he tell if anything’s edible? Nothing compares to Sam’s cooking. So Bucky’ll make something, taste a spoonful, and decide it’s complete shit just in time for Sam to show up. There’s been a couple of close calls when Sam asked why his apartment smelled like pasta if they were eating deli sandwiches. (“It smells burnt in here, Buck.” “Ha! Yeah, I think my neighbor, uh, had some trouble.”) But tonight, Bucky has a plan. He found a recipe that was supposed to be “fool proof” and practiced making it yesterday. Sure it’s a mac-n-cheese casserole but there were several different cheeses in it so… that should count for something. He had a dish waiting to be put it in the oven when Sam arrived.

“I think we got this all tied up, don’t you Alpine?” Bucky says to the rabbit as she makes her way across the room to settle on his feet. Alpine’s favorite place to sit is on Bucky’s feet, which he thinks is adorable. He considers cuddling Alpine on his lap but Sam will be here any minute and he doesn’t need to be covered in bunny hair. Bucky as some class. The self-satisfied grin is still plastered to his face when Sam let’s himself into his apartment.

“Sam! You gotta explain this show to me! TV doesn’t make sense anymore.” His smile falters when he turns to see Sam crossing the room in long strides, some kind of burning intent clear on his face. “Uh—” Sam lands on the couch turned towards him. Bucky is keenly aware of the lack of personal space Sam has left between them. Sam’s knee is practically in his lap. Bucky sits there with his mouth half open, struck by the intensity of Sam’s stare. He doesn’t look angry, so that’s good at least. But what the fuck?

“Did you tell Sarah we were moving in together?”

Bucky blinks. “Wha—”

“At the cookout. Sarah just asked me if we’d found a place yet. What the hell? You can’t just tell my sister that we’re moving in together and not let me know!”

Bucky lets out a startled laugh. “The cookout? That was weeks ago! I’m sure she was just messing with you—”

“So you were joking?” Again, Bucky’s smile slides off his face. What is happening? Sam is not kidding right now. He might very actually be pissed off. But it was a joke? …wasn’t it?

“I…” Bucky trails off. So he’s been daydreaming about living with Sam. But that’s not what Bucky tells himself. He’s just picturing their dinners together at different times of day. Like in the mornings. Sam in pajamas is a quintessential element of these daydreams.

“Were you serious, Bucky? I’m trying to imagine that you wouldn’t just run your mouth off around my sister as a joke.” Sam is pinning him with this intense expression that Bucky can’t figure out and it’s taking all his self control not to squirm.

“I guess… it wasn’t.”

Sam keeps up the laser eyes till Bucky can practically feel two points boring through his skull. Finally, Sam sighs.

“Man…” Sam says, slowly shaking his head. He takes Bucky’s hand and holds it to his chest, just like they had outside Sarah’s house after Bucky confessed an overdue apology. But now, Bucky’s hand is literally against Sam’s chest and he can feel Sam’s heart beating. The thud, thud makes his stomach flip. Bucky stares at their hands. Sam is so close and that’s making him forget how to breathe. Maybe he should be looking somewhere else. Somewhere other than Sam’s hand gripping his. Listening to something other than Sam’s heartbeat. When Bucky meets Sam’s eyes again he regrets it instantly. This is 100x worse than before. This is tender.

“If you’re going to do this, you gotta be sure.” Sam’s voice is warm. His brown eyes are warm. His hand is warm. His chest is— you get the idea. Bucky’s brain still isn’t processing what the hell Sam is talking about. “Cause I won’t have you fuckin’ around with my heart.” Wait- what? “I don’t have the time or the mental space to deal with that. You understand?” Bucky would literally rather be in cryo right now. “Bucky.” The fuck does Sam expect him to say? If he starts moving his lips then words should form eventually.

“I wouldn’t do…” This is a struggle. Sam raises an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t do what?”

“Fuck around.” It comes out barely a whisper. Sam sighs and Bucky thinks he’s actually going to die.

“What are we talking about, Buck? How you wouldn’t lie to my sister? Or how—”

“Yeah! Sure! I don’t know!” Bucky has class. He swears to god he used to have class. “I wouldn’t lie to Sarah! Yeah, I do want to live with you. It’s kinda the only thing I think about. But I didn’t know how to tell YOU that!” There’s a grin spreading across Sam’s face and it’s making Bucky feel things. “And I wouldn’t fuck around with your heart! That’s literally the last thing I would ever do! Your heart is very important to me and I would…!” Whatever courage he had is disappearing fast. “…take care…” Dear god almighty does Sam have to do that with his face? “…of it.”

Sam is smiling like the actual sun. And Bucky is burning to a crisp under a magnifying glass.

Sam leans back with a satisfied “hrmph.” He drops Bucky’s hand and stands up. Bucky involuntarily leans into the empty space like Sam left some kind of gravitational pull. What the fuck just happened? Bucky looks at Alpine. The rabbit is sitting on her hind legs beside him, looking up at him curiously and twitching her nose.

“So what’s for dinner? Take-out again?” If it could reach, Bucky’s jaw would drop to the floor. Sam looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“That’s it?!!”

“What’s it? You forget to order a pizza or somethin?” Sam takes a few steps toward the kitchen and Bucky jumps off the couch.

“Sam. I hate you.”

“Wow. That hurts, Bucky. I thought my heart was important to you.”

“I—!” Bucky flails his arms around. Sam is grinning in that stupidly adorable irresistible way of his. The situation is hopeless. How is Bucky supposed to think when Sam is being this cute? And now he knows that Bucky wants to live with him? Disastrous. “I made you dinner!”

Sam looks surprised, maybe even a little touched. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” Bucky pushes past him on his way into the kitchen, overly aware of how their shoulders brush. Bucky pulls the casserole out of the fridge and transfers it to the pre-heated oven. Now that he’s not looking at Sam, the thought of meeting his gaze again makes Bucky feel queasy. Instead he decides to lean over the oven and stare at its digital clock. A perfect excuse to avoid those obnoxiously beautiful brown eyes for the next 20 minutes.

“What is it?”

“Casserole.”

Sam laughs. “You realize there’s like a million different kinds of casseroles, right?”

“Macaroni,” Bucky mumbles.

“Sounds promising. You’ve got beer somewhere?” Bucky mumbles some more because how can he admit now that he went searching for Sam’s favorite hard lemonade that’s annoyingly hard to get in New York? He hears Sam open the fridge. Too late. “Oh my god, you found this stuff here?!” The distinct crack of a can opening punctuates Sam’s excitement. “You’re the best, man.”

Bucky could say something snarky. Really, he should at least try. But his ears are burning and so is his face and goddammit why is this happening. Sam’s silent, clearly waiting for a comeback. Bucky starts to sweat. He hears Sam come up behind him. What is breathing? Surely it’s a non-essential function. Then Sam presses himself to Bucky’s back and wraps his perfect hunky arms around his waist. Bucky’s hearts skips at least five beats when he feels Sam’s warm breath on his ear.

“You just gonna stare at the clock then, huh?”

“Ye—“ Bucky clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“Mmm, okay,” Sam hums and rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, obviously with no intention of showing mercy.

“What are you doing?” Bucky’s voice is much higher than he cares to admit.

“Staring with you.” Bucky swallows. He can’t do this for another 18 minutes. “You gonna cook for me when we live together?”

WHAT. Bucky’s brain is hot and spinning like a clothes dryer but it’s his thoughts that are tumbling. Yeah, he’s definitely sweating a lot now. Bucky ducks his head, not realizing that would be a terrible idea. Sam drops a kiss on the exposed back of his neck. So this is it then. This is how it ends. Bucky is going to pass out or die or both.

“How much longer can you hold your breath before it becomes a problem?” God, Sam is such a smug asshole. “I don’t wanna scrape you off the kitchen floor before dinner.”

Bucky tries to inhale slowly, but it’s shaky- of fucking course it is. “I really hate you,” is all he can manage to whisper.

“Ya know, that’s funny,” Sam purrs. Literally purrs because he clearly wants Bucky to suffer. “Cause I could swear that you actually have a huge, embarrassing, all-consuming crush on me.”

Fuck right off, Sam Wilson, you perfect fucking prick, is what Bucky thinks. But somehow, unforgivably, what he says is, “You have really beautiful eyes, Sam.”

That startles a laugh out of Sam. “Why thank you, Bucky! But it’s kinda hard to believe you really mean that from the way you’re so adamantly not looking at me.”

“You know I mean it. Always accusing me of having a staring problem.”

“Still… you could convince me.” Sam’s tone is a challenge. Fuck this.

“Sam, if I look at you, I’ll either die or have to kiss you.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Sam chuckles. “You can kiss me, but dying right now would be inconvenient.”

That’s it! Bucky turns on him. “Inconvenient? In- fucking -convenient?!”

“Well, yeah, you didn’t say how long the casserole should be in the oven for.”

“Get out of my apartment!”

“Make me!”

Bucky grabs Sam’s face in both hands and kisses him hungrily. Fuck mac-n-cheese. He’s having Sam for dinner.

#they’re idiots #and this was super fun to write #sambucky fic #bucky barnes fic #back on my gay shit #onlysambucky

[summonerscenarios]

14 for the prompts with Hogen if you don't mind~!

Real talk thinking up dialogue is the bane of my existence lmao so this probably would’ve been done a lot faster if I was better at it sadfghf but with that being said here he be~! 

------

14. Pinning hands down

Hogen can be pretty damn sneaky when he wants to be, and you’re getting more frustrated by the hour because of his antics.

He’s been at it all day, and it’s getting you worked up. Fleeting touches when you aren’t paying attention, whispering things right into your ear when you get distracted, and that’s not even getting started on the cheeky squeezes to your hips and stomach that have been getting more frequent as the hours pass. And to top it all off, every single time he’s done this it’s taken you off guard, even when you try to anticipate when he’s next going to strike it just leaves you on your toes, waiting for him to swoop in and try something again. 

You have to admit he’s riling you up, and you both know it; whenever you try to bring it up Hogen’s acted completely oblivious, even as the teasing grin on his face grows wider at the sight of your red face and flustered rambling. Honestly, you don’t know at this point whether you want to kick that man or kiss him when you finally manage to catch him, and as he’s getting bolder the longer this little game goes on, you’re pretty sure you’re about to find out which one that is.

You’re trying to keep yourself busy by focusing on your chores, flitting about the house sorting and resorting things while keeping a sharp eye on the tengu whenever you cross paths. The library is your latest task - the shelves were in desperate need of cleaning and you’d been looking for a particular volume Shiro had asked to borrow, so giving it a dust over as you looked killed two birds with one stone, so you got to work. The gap between the two shelves is a tight fit - if you get any more books (which you definitely will) you’ll have to look into making more space - but you work swiftly, shifting books around and cleaning up only stopping when you find something that momentarily pulls your attention away. Soon enough, you’re down to the last shelf, where you’ve got a handful of books neatly perched in a pile as you run a cloth along the wood. 

You want to make sure you get everything cleaned, so you have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach the very back, grunting out a huff as your hand finally brushes against the back of the bookcase. Like this, you’re pressed right up against the shelves, focused intently on getting the last of the cleaning finished; you probably should have expected this made you a prime target for a certain tengu, but you’re still taken off guard when it happens. 

The next moment there’s a hand brushing along your back, a large palm smoothing along your spine and even over your clothes it’s enough to make you pause. You freeze, resting your weight against the bookshelf as you feel Hogen’s hand rub your back in a slow, circular rhythm. Normally you’d swat him away when you weren’t in the mood for his antics, but this time you don’t, instead you completely zone out and focus on the feeling of him rubbing your back. 

He starts at the center of your back, his fingers thumbing the curve of your spine for a few moments before he begins to travel downwards, moving down to your lower back then a little further up. It’s a pattern, down, up, down, up, a little further down, but you don’t budge, attention fixed on following that pattern as it goes lower.

And lower...and then-

In the next instant you’re spinning, taking advantage of the cramped space to swivel on your heel and force him backwards. And then, in the time it takes for you to back him up against the other bookcase, you manage to snag his wrists pushing them back in a fluid motion until you’ve got him pinned hard to the hard surface. 

If the shelf wasn’t bolted to the wall you’re sure it’d shudder from the force of it, but you catch some books shaking on the shelves from the corner of your eye as you stare down the man you’ve got restrained. Hogen matches your stare, grinning back at you even as his hands flex testing your grip and tighten your hold in response. The glare you settle him with is heated, brows knitted and one bad comment away from scowling at him as you growl out. 

“Ha! Finally caught you, you cocky little-”

“My, my, you sure are being feisty today” Hogen cuts you off, wagging a finger in your direction acting as though he’s not caged against the bookshelf at the moment. 

Your expression grows notably more frustrated - even prepared for Hogen’s usually light-hearted remarks, you’re getting more and more tempted to wipe the smirk right off of his face. Hogen, upon noticing your expression, chuckles and twists his wrists, bringing your attention up to where you’ve got them firmly planted beside his head. 

“You’re certainly having fun” he hums, tugging against your hold as he waggles his eyebrows at you and you falter, completely baffled.

“Wh-” caught off guard you fumble with your words “I am not!” At your retort his grin just grows wider, and he leans forward, taking a moment to study your face as he tilts his head.

“And yet your blushing face says otherwise~!” 

Hogen’s right - you can feel your cheeks growing warm and you’re sure they’re turning ruddy as he speaks, but you’d be damned if you were going to admit it. You shake your head, trying to steel your glare but it falls flat when he leans even closer, even as your grip on his wrist tightens to keep him in place.

“Such a cute expression, my darling summoner~” he coos, eyes trained solely on you and you balk under his gaze, turning away and staring holes into the other direction as you try to recompose yourself.

You’re not getting flustered, you’re not getting flustered - he’s not even doing anything, but you’ve been putting up with his touches and words all day so by this point you’re frazzled and grasping at straws, and you both know it.

“I-” you splutter, trying to find the right words as your head snaps back to face him “-Do not-”

You don’t know when he’d gotten so close, you don’t even register him close the distance, but the moment you face Hogen there’s lips pressed against yours and the rest of your comeback dies on your tongue and you gasp into the kiss. It’s firm, practised and over far too soon for your liking, but right before he pulls away he runs his tongue against your lower lip, nipping at the plump skin before retreating back to resting against the bookcase. 

You’re sure your face must be priceless -your jaw drops and your entire face blooms into a bright red hue, trying to find the words but nothing besides a shocked squeak managing to pass your lips. You probably wouldn’t have made out a coherent sentence even if you did talk, too flabbergasted by the sheer audacity of this man. When you do catch yourself you focus back on Hogen, who looks far too pleased with himself as he fixes you with a knowing look, licking his lips as though trying to get another rise out of you.

“You…” you hiss, holding his gaze with one of your own as you straighten up to match his height and appear more composed.

“Yes~?” undeterred he leans forward again, waiting for the incoming reprimand and flustered rant that he’s so sure is going to follow.

But instead of doing that, you do something else. 

Using your grip on his wrists, you yank him forward into another kiss, this one hard and less coordinated as your lips meld against his. This must not be the reaction he was expecting, as for a brief moment his breath hitches, catching in his throat, but just as soon as it happens, Hogen switches tactics, practically purring as he returns the kiss eagerly. You’re still clutching onto him, but allow his hands to come to rest on your hips as your mouths move together, rushed at first but slowing down into something more intimate. This time when you part there’s less than a breath’s space between the two of you, noses touching as Hogen’s eyes flicker down to your parted lips for a moment before rising up to meet with your own gaze.

“I knew you were having fun” he speaks softly, but there’s clear amusement dripping from his voice and you huff.

“Yeah, right” 

Saying this you tug at his wrists again, nothing else needing to be said as he takes the hint and allows you to push him back against the bookshelf, once again claiming the Tengu’s lips.

#Anonymous #tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo imagine #housamo #scenario #housamo scenario #imagines #prompts #writing prompts #prompt game #hogen #housamo hogen #request #ask

[aticklish]

SQUEALING SANTA 2K20

Hi, @ticklishfrog! I’m your Secret Santa! Game of Thrones is the best lol, and I’m a sucker for ticklish!Jon Snow, so I hope you enjoy this! And special thanks to @ticklygiggles for hosting the event!

Summary: After Alliser’s bullying reaches a new low, Jon’s friends at the Wall try to cheer him up.

“A traitor’s bastard,” Jon scoffed, pacing around the room angrily. “Can you believe he said that to me? The worst part is, I just have to sit there and take it because he’s in charge!”

Jon was fuming. He knew better than anyone that his father wasn’t a traitor. Whatever had happened, those bloody Lannisters had caused it. If his father was hurt for any of these clearly false accusations, Jon would have to abandon his position to slay them himself.

“I know,” Sam agreed, giving sideways glances towards the other men. “He’s always trying to...”

“What am I supposed to do, Sam?” Jon snapped, spinning around to face his friend. “He controls everything.”

Sam thought about this for a moment before opening his mouth. “Well, maybe you could...”

“Don’t say it,” Jon interrupted. “Whatever it is, it’s not going to work. I should have never come here.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Pyp chimed in suddenly. “Stop sulking, Jon, or we’ll make you.”

Jon scoffed, partially in anger and partially in surprise. “I have every right to sulk! That man has been the bane of my existence here!”

“You have every right to feel angry, yes,” Grenn agreed. “But you have no right to implement your foul mood on the rest of us. Hold him down, Pyp.”

“Seven hells!” Jon yelped as Pyp tackled him to the ground. “Get off!”

Sam looked a bit uncertain about the whole situation. “You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”

“If they do, they’ll suffer a painful death from my direwolf,” Jon growled, tugging at his arms that were pinned above his head. “Let me go. I’m warning you.”

“And I’m warning you that this might tickle a bit,” Grenn said before clawing at Jon’s tummy. The shorter man squeaked in surprise, trying desperately to squirm away. As much as he tried to glare at Grenn, he couldn’t help giggling a little from the ticklish sensations.

“S-stohohohohop ihihihit!” Jon managed to get out through his surprisingly high-pitched giggles.

Grenn shook his head, moving his hands up to tickle the other man’s ribs. “I’m not stopping, Lord Snow. This is too good.” He grinned mischievously as Jon’s laughter hiked up a notch.

“StohohoHOHOP! I’m wahahaharning youhUHUHU!” Jon cried out for a second time. But Grenn didn’t stop, knowing by Jon’s blush that he was secretly enjoying this.

Sam watched the situation with amusement. “I never knew you were ticklish, Jon.”

“Shuhuhuhut uhuhUHUHUHUHUP!” Jon shrieked as Grenn’s fingers suddenly drilled into his underarms. “GEHEHEHET OHOHOHOHOFF, YOUHUHUHU BAHAHAHASTARD!”

“Bastard? Oh, but Jon, that nickname is yours, not Grenn’s,” Pyp teased as he tightened his grip on Jon’s wrists. And when Grenn hit that sweet spot right where Jon’s armpits met his ribs, he was done for. He even let out a few snorts, making Grenn stop, as he was laughing too much himself.

“Ihihi hahahate youhuhu guhuhuhuys,” Jon giggled, curling up into a ball as soon as Pyp released his arms. “I’m getting revenge on all three of you.”

“Three of us?” Sam’s eyes widened. “But... I didn’t do anything!”

“That’s the problem,” Jon muttered, still having a small smile on his face. He didn’t want to admit it, but he did feel better.

Maybe he didn’t really hate his friends. Maybe he was starting to grow attached to them after all.

#ticklishfrog #squealingsanta2k20 #tickle Fic #game of thrones #game of thrones tickle Fic #ticklish!jon snow #tickle community #tickle blog #tickle story #tickle fanfic

[shaydeoffical]

Bright as a Diamond. Hitoshi Shinsou x Fem Reader: Chapter Two

Summary: When (Y/N)’s co-worker decided to send a picture of her making a diamond to the paper, her life was over. Gemstone based quirks weren’t all that rare, but being able to make a diamond put a target on her back. After years of hiding in the city, it’s time to hide in the countryside with her Uncle Shota Aizawa and his more than ‘roommate’ Hizashi Yamada. With the promise of training her to be self-sufficient, she’s ready to learn.

Edit: Deadass left the “chapter one” in the title for like a week when this is chap two, oops. Also, I had a read more and that didn't work. Sorry Family <3  Also I realized my flashbacks are not in ilatics, but I think you can infer as you read. I’ll try to fix that for next time. 

Chapter One:  https://ambershaydeoffical.tumblr.com/post/190764312269/bright-as-a-diamond-chapter-one-hitoshi-shinsou-x

Chapter Three: 

https://ambershaydeoffical.tumblr.com/post/611141904327983104/bright-as-a-diamond-hitoshi-shinsou-x-fem-reader

Chapter Two

Before You Can Walk

   Uncle Shota had sent off my furniture choices to the store, and now I was to get ready in the outfit he had provided for me. It was in a black case with an intricate white swirl on the top. To most people, I looked like a confident and polished young woman, on her way to the top. In truth, my mother dressed me every morning, and I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror for longer than a few seconds to check my hair.

   My body wasn’t exactly typical, with my weight sitting in the places I hated the most…well, I hated it all. Maybe my thighs were okay, and my ass was great, but my breasts were nearly untamable.

   Inside the case was a camo tracksuit, a white tee, and a pair of tight bike shorts that went under the pants or were interchangeable for summer months. The shoes were red sneakers that went up to my ankle. The red contrasted the camo, but I suppose it was a safety thing, so I didn’t pass out and just blended in.

   Luckily for me, the outfit was made of a poly-cotton blend, and it was stretchy. The shirt clung tighter to my chest then I wanted, but the short sleeve jacket was loose, and the pants fit just right. I pulled the top part of my hair back and made a ponytail. Half up and half down hair was my daily go too, so it didn’t make sense to change that for training.

   When I exited the bathroom, Shota was nowhere to be found. “Hizashi, where is Shota?” I found the blonde pouring over his music player, geeking out.  

   “Oh, he said you had to make it to the road without being caught.” Hizashi paused his music and chuckled. “I know his methods are weird, but he’ll make you’re a master of self-defense.”

   “I’m supposed to run through the forest and get to the road. Without being caught?” I frowned, looking out the door. “How long has he been gone?”

   “Not too long. Look at it like capture the flag, and have some fun.” He handed me a water bottle. “You better get going before he gets bored.”

   “Okay, um, thanks.” I tuck the water into my pocket and start to walk outside.

   I wasn’t really the running type. Even when bad things had come my way, I was more of a hider. Still, Shota knew what he was doing, I had to trust his judgment. Training took two people trusting the other not to go too far.

   Slowly jogging, I made it to the tree line and focused on a steady rhythm of breathing. The natural debris from autumn was causing some issues. I kept curling my ankle on walnuts and kicking limbs up and cutting the opposite ankle. Part of getting stronger was getting hurt. I knew that still, it wasn’t pleasant.

   Keeping my eyes peeled, I knew I could be jumped at any moment. Anxiety chewed through my muscles as I ran faster with longer strides. Of course, I wanted to pass my first test, but I really didn’t want to be at the business end of Shota’s capture weapon.

   A few minutes in, I stumbled forward, landing on my knees. Not taking a moment to rest, I kept going, pushing harder. I just had to get going.

   Parched lips. Unable to keep my head up. The constant hum of the motor.

   Stopping suddenly, I grasped my water and downed half the bottle. Hiding between two trees, I glanced around and took in my surroundings. Something rustled in the distance, and I put the bottle back in my pocket.  I saw Shota running through the trees, and I stayed quiet until he was out of sight.

   Now that he was ahead of me, I took a moment and breathed. Closing my eyes, I contently leaned on the tree and steadied my body. The aches were starting to set in, and I contemplated laying down and just taking a short break.

   Something grasped my love handles. Yelping, I got out of the grip and turned. No one was there. Again I was clutched; this time, I could see the hands holding my midsection and pulling me down. I broke free and swiveled to catch a glimpse of the person responsible.

   “Cut it out!” I demanded, wrapping my hands around my stomach, and spinning around in circles. “Shota, this isn’t cool. I don’t like being-“I screamed again, this time there was a long pull on my jacket, bringing me to the earth. “Stop it.” I shivered.

   Shivering. So cold and sterile. My blood was freezing into ice cubes. I try to pass them off as the real deal.

   Curling into my knees, I grabbed my hair and took even breaths. Someone hovered over top of me, it wasn’t Shota’s shoes. My heart racing, this wasn’t a game. Grabbing my water bottle. I chucked it at the person and ran. Not like I had before but with real purpose this time.

   The chase was on footsteps right behind me. I didn’t have a reason to look back, so I kept going. “Uncle Sho!” I cried for help, reaching a small hill, I skidded down the slope and kept going. “UNCLE SHO HELP!” Even louder then before, I couldn’t breathe and scream at the same time. Pumping my legs faster, I saw the road in the distance. Then a tight rope coiled around my waist. I screamed.

   Airborne in an instant, I was dangling from a tree. Kicking my legs to stop the spinning. It was no use. My hands were bound with my hips, and I was useless. Like always.

   “I thought you’d be better than that.” A boy a little older than me was holding the other end of the scarf. He didn’t look it, but he must have been keen to hoist me into the air so nonchalantly. Obviously, he was arrogant and a prick. Who could do this to someone and not get the ‘screaming for help’ as a sign to stop?  

   “Did Shota put you up to this or do you like to toy with girls in the forest,” I spat, seeing stars the faster I twirled around.

   “I don’t know.” He let go of the scarf and caught it just before I hit the ground.

   “Oh, my God.” I got my feet under me and stood. “That was sadistic. What the hell is wrong with you?” I wobbled but turned to face the ass. “Are you trying to kill me?”

   “I see you met Hitoshi Shinsouu.” Shota appeared from the road, lazily yawing. “Shinsouu is my protegee; I asked him to help with today’s exercise.”    

   “Did you instruct him to kill me?” I barked, only to be lifted off my feet and sent spinning. “Stop! What’s wrong with you?”

   “You look like a pinata,” Shinsouu stated, keeping me from touching the ground. With each spin, I could see his smirk…what a-ugh.

   “That’s enough, Shinsou; she’s learned her lesson.” Shota leaned down to my level, now that I was resting on my knees. “What do you think that was about?”

   “Just because someone’s your protégée doesn’t give them the right to scare me.” I offered meekly, sending a glare at the purple-haired boy, who seemed uncaring at this point.

   “No. He did as I instructed.” Shota sighed, untangling me from the scarf. “Just because you know there is one villain, doesn’t mean there aren’t more. Never let your guard down, and certainly never just sit there as it’s happening.”

   “I thought it was you at first,” I argued, fighting against the ropes.

   “Even me. In these simulations, we need to treat it like the real thing.” He plucked a leaf from my hair and helped me up. “Now, let’s get ready for the run back.”

   “Wait, we’re going again?” I screeched, rubbing my sore sides.

   “You got a three-minute head start. Go.” I didn’t waste a second more, taking off past Shinsouu, sending him a glare.

   It went on like that for hours. It mostly ended with Shinsouu hanging me up by my ankles, waist, or once by my knees. He also pinned me in a tackle a few times, going as far as to snicker. After a while, I knew that Shota had stopped chasing me, and just enjoyed the show. Time after time of me trying to make it back to the road or the house and falling just short. My best attempt was when I hid close to the starting point and walked behind them and hid when they turned around.  It was foiled when I saw a mouse and screamed.

   No longer running, I shuffled my feet towards the house. Dragging my ankles, I reached the small hill that had become the bane of my existence, and I tripped over my own feet. Unable to catch my balance, I fell. My body crashing down the slope, banging with each bump.

   Shinsouu crashed his body with mine, slowing the speed but getting himself into my tumble. Not knowing what to do with his stupid strong arms, he wrapped them around me, probably to cop a feel.

   “You alright?” He asked when we stopped, pressing my head to his chest. He probably got off to being squished being under me like that.

   “Fine, you caught me again. Don’t rub it in.” I sniffled, frustrated with my progress. I couldn’t keep upright, and now everything hurt.

   “That’s enough for today,” Shota jumped down from a limb and helped Shinsouu up than me. I stumbled into his arms and cried tears of relief.

   “Really?” I rubbed my tears into his black shirt.

   “Now, you just need to run back home, we won’t chase you this time.” Shota chuckled, and I pulled away from him in disbelief.

   “You’re sadistic too, no wonder you both get along.” I crossed my arms over my bruised chest. My mother’s image flashed through my mind, and I sighed. “Fine, if I’m going to run home, I should get one more chance to outrun you two.” I squared my shoulders and took off.  

   Instead of heading straight, I zig-zagged through the trees, running at an angle. I had my second and third winds hours earlier, but I managed to keep myself going at a decent speed.  

   After running this drill so many times, I knew what was more successful. Once they caught sight of me, it was over. So I just needed to stay hidden and keep a low profile. The forest was denser the way I was running now, and I could take more small breaks. A few more meters and I would be in the back garden, safe and sound.

   “(y/n),” Hizashi was yelling for me. “You win, come home.” It was off. The voice was in the opposite direction of the house.

   I knew that Present Mic had a booming voice, but why was he using it now. The sun was starting to set, and I had skipped lunch, so my tummy was rumbling…maybe he cooked- “It’s a trick, I know it.” I settled it in my mind and kept running.

   A few minutes passed, and I wasn’t in the back garden. Hizashi had been calling me for a while, but I could no longer hear him. Maybe I was stupid… perhaps I was lost.

   “What to do when lost?” I plopped down and tugged my lower lip. “Sit still. Check. Start a fire?” There wasn’t much sun left, but I gathered a few twigs and focused on my quirk. Making diamonds had got me into trouble, but it was the coals I needed right now.

   Making several fiery coals, I sat them in my fire pit and encouraged the flames to grow by fanning them. Now I had a few diamonds floating my pocket and a warm fire to fend off the autumn chill. I would have killed to still have a little water with me, but I had to toss it at Shinsouu earlier. He deserved it.  

   “There you are,” Shota sighed, pointing a flashing light on my campsite after a few minutes of smoke being in the air. “Great work with the fire. That was smart thinking.” He complimented me, patting my head.

   “Where is Shinsouu and Hizashi?” I asked, putting out the fire.

   “They’re probably headed home now.” He started walking off, and I followed behind him.    

   “Sorry, I did so bad today,” I remembered how lackluster my performance was.

   He stopped before going again. “You did better then I thought you would. I can tell you relay more on your fight response then flight. We can use that to our advantage; today was useful.”

   “Did you have to bring Shinsouu in? He’s so so rude. I hate to be so brash about your friend, but he was also so rough.”

   “I thought you two would hit it off.” He held a thorn-covered branch back so I could pass. “He’ll be useful in your training, and vise versa. Can you manage to get along for me?”

   “I won’t like it, but I can tolerate anything for you, Uncle Sho.” I sounded like a brat but was too tired to care.

   “Let’s get home.”

#shinsou hitoshi #erasermic #shinsou x reader #hitoshi x reader #bright as a diamond #ambershaydeoffical #bnha #mha #my hero #my hero academia #reader #dad aizawa #bnha x reader

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @actuallyredorchid!

Thank you for your great prompts, I tried to combine as many as possible into one fic (and it evidently ran away with me …)

malec | rated: t | extended oneshot | canonverse time travel, first meetings, developing relationship, established relationship, 5+1 things

fic summary:

Magnus Bane meets a man from his future, interwoven throughout moments in his past.

Read on AO3

*****

Your Name for a Capital

“In my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been?’ I say, ‘I’ve been lost but I’m here now. You’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.’”

— Sue Zhao

ONE | MADRID, SPAIN, 1619

Magnus Bane saves people. Somewhere along the line, this became fact. Somewhere along the line, he lost someone he couldn’t get back, and he decided no more. That’s enough . He suspects it was his mother.

Catarina says that other people’s happiness takes priority over his. You need people to need you, Magnus.

Magnus laughed at her the first time she suggested it: you’ve only just met me , he had said. How can you know that?

You rescued me from that stake , she replied matter-of-factly. You didn’t have to, but you did. That’s how I know .

I just wanted to make an impression , Magnus had said. He didn’t want to tell her that she was right.

And Catarina being right is the reason why Magnus is still awake and hasn’t been home since the morning before, wandering the deserted streets of a slowly stirring city as the last of his adrenaline fades: last night, the High Warlock of Madrid had refused a newly-turned Vampire in need of a potion to quell his hunger, and Magnus has never been one to stand idly by. He knows how the High Warlock looks at him and sneers, an ugly wrinkle to his nose as he calls Magnus young and inexperienced and insolent , but Magnus doesn’t like playing by the rules.

He saves the people he’s not meant to save. There’s an opiate thrill in it, swooping in at the last minute and saving the day, and he chases the rush, the way adoration and gratitude burn through him leaving him breathless and ignited. The taste of power in his fingertips, willful and impassioned and destined to do good - he needs it. He needs to know that it’s still possible for him after he left everything in the East Indies behind.  

Madrid is sleepy shortly after sunrise; the sky is a brilliant blue but the streets are steeped in shadow that remains icy cold to the touch. There are alleyways and dark corners aplenty for demons to hide, but Magnus lingers in the intermittent shards of early sunlight that slip through the spaces between the townhouses. The city rarely feels this still, but the cobble beneath his feet and the granite on either side muffle all sound in the narrow, valley-like streets. Magnus feels like he’s walking along the bottom of a steep canyon and his every step might echo.

The clack of wooden shutters against the side of a house echoes too. The opening of balcony doors. The yowl of a stray cat. All the sounds of a home that has been made a home; the city begins its wakening, and Magnus finally feels his sleepless night weighing on his shoulders. His bed calls out to him. He might as well get a few hours of shut-eye before the High Warlock comes looking and chews him out.

And then, Magnus hears the echo of something else. He’s not sure what catches his attention: a shout, a clatter – but it’s his magic that stirs first. He feels it in his fingertips, a twitch, as it scuttles up the back of his neck forcing him to turn his head, like the restless spasm of a nerve.

He strains his ear to listen, but the silence suffocates all noise, and the world holds its breath, deathly still.

Clang !

A resounding clamour behind him; a body shoved against a wall, a low grunt.

Magnus stops in the middle of the street and turns a full circle, listening for another sound. The wind, the rattle of wagon wheels on the cobblestone, the city’s murmur - another muffled shout. The twang of a bowstring. The recognisable hiss of a demon evaporating in a shard of sunlight.

He reaches out with his magic, probing for disturbances in the air; in return, he feels the bitter, swirling energy of Shax demons, a lot of them, biting and snapping at his magic as he reels it back in.

Strange , he thinks. But not unheard of . Shax demons rarely attack in the daylight, but they’re drawn to concentrated power, unusual magic wetting their appetite, and in a city like Madrid, there is plenty of that to go around. The leylines that spread out across the country gather in the Plaza del Arrabel, and it’s not inconceivable to find a spider waiting at the centre of the web.

Or a Shax. Regardless, they both have too many legs for Magnus’ liking.

Cautiously, Magnus extends the shield of his magic again: the demonic energy is familiar in the way it always is, reeking of Edom and the planes below, red and brimstone-coloured in Magnus’ mind like Hellfire. But there’s another layer, another current clashing with it and forming a riptide: it’s faintly white and silver, cutting through the stench of Hell. It tastes Angelic - pure and metallic like Adamas - and Magnus’ magic recoils at the touch, but it doesn’t burn as it usually does.

It’s not a Shadowhunter. Well, it is, because the Nephilim are loud and brash and unmistakable in everything they do, but it’s not Angelic power as Magnus knows it.

It’s different, obscured. Distorted somehow.

Another loud crash rings out through the empty streets.

Magnus gathers his magic into his palm, wisps of blue and purple that coil like a serpent in his waiting hand. He slips down a sidestreet, his magic wavering like a compass needle as it guides him towards the epicentre.

Trust the Nephilim to get in over their heads , he thinks. And expect a Warlock to come save the day.  

He can hear Catarina scolding him: I told you I was right.

The old parts of the city are like a maze: twisting, turning, easy to get lost in for anyone but Magnus - but he’s drawn towards the sound of a fight, his magic crackling in his fingertips, eager and impatient.

The stench of the Shax demons gets stronger as he draws closer and he wrinkles his nose. He can sense five, maybe six, not enough to be a problem, but too many for Magnus to waltz into the middle of a battle and not risk being hurt.

And one Nephilim.  

The Angelic power crackles in the air, scattering across Magnus’ skin and raising the hairs on his arms. It pulses and spasms, unstable in a way Magnus has never felt before, as if suddenly cut free from age-old ties and left to convulse as feeling and freedom rushes back into its metaphysical body all at once.

Shadowhunters are usually so cold and controlled. Their power is regimented and stern, never wandering and never wavering, and yet this - this is rogue.

And there’s something more. Magnus doesn’t notice it at first, but as he plasters his back against a wall to catch his breath and his bearings, he listens to the hum of his answering magic, and he feels it. A presence, heavy and unfamiliar, intangible in a way Magnus’ magic cannot grasp. It has no smell, no taste, no colour at all, a blend of magic existing in a dimension he cannot fully grasp, but he feels its effects so strongly it overwhelms him.

The air seems to shimmer like a mirage. Magnus can feel the leylines thrumming beneath his feet and it makes him uneasy, but it makes his heart pound too.

You’re reckless with yourself , Catarina would say. You’re going to end up hurt.

But Catarina isn’t here.

Magnus straightens out his doublet and smooths his hands down his breeches, flexing his fingers as he moulds the magic from blue to red and the intent becomes him.

Then, he steps out from behind the wall - and it’s exactly as he expected.

Six snarling Shax demons circling a lone Shadowhunter, froth dripping from their open jaws and their shrill cries piercing the air like the dying herald of a wounded animal. The Shadowhunter is pinned against the wall; he has a bow in his hand and an arrow poised, but he holds himself still, waiting for one of the demons to pounce before he looses it.

He doesn’t look hurt. In fact, he looks remarkably unbothered, and the only thing askew about him is his dark hair, ruffled by the wind, and the scuff of dust on his knees. He breathes deeply, and even at a distance, the deep rise and fall of his shoulders is apparent, but his eyes are focused, moving from demon to demon, anticipating their every move with the expertise of a man who has spent years training to hunt monsters.

The Shadowhunter’s gaze flicks to Magnus, over and above the wall of prowling Shax demons. His eyes briefly widen, his eyebrows jumping in a way that highlights the thin scar that runs through his left brow, but his stare is vibrant, honeyed-brown in the early morning, and alive . Magnus’ magic jolts in response.

And maybe he imagines it, but the corner of the Shadowhunter’s mouth tips up into the crooked inkling of a smile. He nods at Magnus.

And then he leaps into action.

The Shadowhunterdraws back his bowstring and releases, his flying arrow piercing straight through the hide of the closest Shax demon. The demon shrieks, clawing at its own chest, but the arrow glows bright white, and in a sudden burst of ether, the demon dissolves into a cloud of black dust.

But before the Shadowhunter can blink, a second demon lunges for him from the side. The Shadowhunter ducks beneath the outstretched claw, spinning onto his knees and stabbing the sharp end of his bow into the demon’s belly. The demon throws its head back with a scream and strikes at the Shadowhunter again - but Magnus thrusts his palm out and blasts it with a torrent of magic, carving its body in two and turning it to dust.

The Shadowhunter glances over his shoulder and Magnus grin, the blue tendrils of magic twisting in between his fingers, but the Shadowhunter doesn’t stop; he’s on his feet again and moving, notching another arrow like he’s done this a hundred times before and trusts Magnus to watch his back. He draws the bowstring back to his lips and the arrow soars, so fast and hard that it pierces through the third demon and out of the other side, as if its flesh has been turned to butter. The bow in the Shadowhunter’s hand quivers.

Magnus has never seen a bow like it, sleek silver and glowing with faint runes embossed on the metal. The Adamas sings and Magnus can feel its residual power meshing with his own magic; it invigorates him like a gasping breath, like a punch of energy he’s never felt before, white-hot and celestial and setting his own magic alight as if drawn, instantly, to the point at which Magnus is most flammable.

An arrow whizzes past Magnus’ ear and the breath of it slice into his cheek as it disappears over his shoulder. His fingers shoot up to his face to feel for the thin line of a cut, but his hand comes away bloodless. Magnus’ mouth falls open on instinct, but the Shadowhunter is grinning at him like he’s God damn pleased with himself, and he fires another arrow over Magnus’ head. Magnus twists around as the Shax demon behind him falters - the shafts of two arrows protruding from its chest - and evaporates, its remnants splattering across the cobblestones.

One demon left. Magnus turns to face it as the Shadowhunter does, reaching back for his quiver.

The Shadowhunter sucks in a breath, grabbing his last arrow and notching it in his bow. The Angelic power shudders, and so does the presence that belies it; it radiates out along the shaft of the arrow, gathering in the point.

His fingers twitch, the arrow flies, but Magnus waves his hand in a sudden arc, launching the last demon into the wall where it explodes in a shower of black dust. The Shadowhunter’s arrow misses, embedding itself in the wall with a silent puff of plaster.

The sound of a clock tower bell striking upon the hour rings out in the immediate silence. Each clanging ring pulsates like a drumbeat, disturbing the dust and demon viscera settled on the road.

Magnus smirks to himself, dusting his palms on his doublet and sweeping his windswept hair back against his head. He can feel his heartbeat racing, his breath panting. Exhilaration makes him grin. His eyes flick towards the Shadowhunter who stoops to collect his spent arrows and slots them back into his quiver.

Magnus’ head is buzzing.

“That was impressive,” he says, eyes raking over the Shadowhunter’s broad back. His clothes are like nothing Magnus has ever seen before, tight-fitting and embossed with metal; and instead of buckles and clasps, his shiny leather jacket fastens with a line of silver teeth. He wears no armour. No waistcoat, no stockings, no simple cravat.

But he’s tall and handsome and well-built, with the gait of a soldier and a dark, inky Deflect rune snaked around his pale throat. Definitely Nephilim .

So why doesn’t he feel like a Nephilim?

Magnus raises his eyebrows, running his teeth over his lower lip as he appraises the long line of the Shadowhunter’s legs as he bends over to yank his last arrow out of the ground. “You dispensed those Shax demons rather proficiently, I must say.”

The Shadowhunter pauses and glances back over his shoulder, looking Magnus up and down, and laughs. Laughs. Not at Magnus, per say, but he laughs as if he’s genuinely delighted by the fact Magnus just saved his life, and yet is completely bemused by it.

His laughter lights up his face, attractive creases forming at the corners of his dark eyes as he straightens and turns to face Magnus. “You’re supposed to say well done ,” he says.  

Magnus raises his eyebrows, unamused. “Well done?”

“Yeah,” the Shadowhunter grins. He slings his bow over his shoulder and walks up to Magnus like they’re old friends who often spend the morning dispatching demons in a back alley - but Magnus refuses to budge. “You say well done , and then I say: more like medium rare .”

Magnus frowns. “If that’s a jest, I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“It’s our thing,” says the Shadowhunter, but then he glances around, his gaze sweeping up the walls of the overlooking townhouses. He seems to realise where he is for the first time and his cheer wavers for a moment. “Or it will be, I guess. Where, uh - where am I?”

“Did you take a bump to the head back there?” Magnus scoffs, but the Shadowhunter’s earnestness makes him pause; the Shadowhunter grips the limb of his bow where it’s looped over his shoulder, thumbing at the metal. He genuinely doesn’t know. “We’re in La Latina.”

The Shadowhunter scowls. “Spain?”

“What do you mean, ‘ Spain ’? Of course we’re in Spain,” Magnus laughs sharply, “We’re in Madrid. I’ve met my fair share of Shadowhunters in my time, but never one quite so directionally challenged. Where did you think you were?”

The Shadowhunter shrugs, his cheeks tinged pink.

“Dunno,” he says, and Magnus struggles to make sense of the curious twang of his accent, but he can’t place it. His English is good, fluent even, and yet Magnus has travelled the world over and never met anyone who sounds like this. “I figured Europe, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know where I’d end up, but - shoulda known it’d be here. With you.”

He smiles at Magnus again, as if that’s enough to answer the myriad of questions Magnus now has. He seems delighted to see Magnus, to see him here despite not knowing where here was, and as his eyes roam over Magnus’ face, pinning every detail to memory, Magnus doesn’t have the faintest idea why.

The Shadowhunter must be concussed. Perhaps that explains why the power leaking from his runes is going haywire. Magnus should really do him a favour and take him back to the Institute, leave him out on the front steps. Not only will the Head of the Institute then owe him a favour, but the High Warlock will also hate the fact Magnus has been out helping amnesiac Shadowhunters in his spare time.

Two birds with one stone, really.

Magnus narrows his eyes. “Evidently, you know who I am and expected me to be here,” he says carefully, but the Shadowhunter doesn’t show any signs of annoyance at being found out. He even has the nerve to take a step closer. “But I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of your company before. And I am not one to forget a face.”

The Shadowhunter rolls his eyes. “It’s fine,” he says, but the fond exasperation in his voice throws Magnus. What on Earth is wrong with this man - “You don’t know me.”

“But clearly, you know me,” Magnus presses. “If the Institute has some business with me that I don’t know about, they can come knocking on my door and pay for my services like everyone else. They don’t need to accost me in the street.”

“I’m not here on any business,” says the Shadowhunter, looking down at himself and drawing Magnus’ eye back to his clothes. He’s too pale to be local, his skin untanned by the Spanish sun, and his gear is shiny and elegant, his leather boots well-polished. His trousers are practically painted onto his long legs, and his collarless shirt clings to the faint outline of muscle on his chest.

It makes Magnus feels uncharacteristically underdressed. Or overdressed. He’s not quite sure. Self-consciously, he straightens out the sleeves of his doublet and adjusts the frill of his cuffs. If he’d known he’d be meeting mysterious Shadowhunters in the depths of the old city this morning, he would’ve worn his best hat, the one with the feather, God damnit.

The Shadowhunter is still watching him. Openly, gently; it’s all wrong. A Shadowhunter has never looked at Magnus like this before: like he wouldn’t rather see Magnus locked up in some dungeon or put to use warding the Institute, as has always been his only value in the eyes of the Nephilim.

Maybe he’s playing you , Magnus thinks. He’s acting friendly to get what he wants, whatever that is. He’s not what he seems.

Or maybe he’s exactly what he seems and you’ve just forgotten how to trust people.

Magnus frowns, and looks down at his ringed hand before he extends it to the Shadowhunter, letting the wisps of his magic curl and then fade around his fingers. The Shadowhunter is unfazed.

“Alec,” says the Shadowhunter, his smile turning playful. He reaches out and grasps Magnus’ hand with a sure grip, and it makes Magnus’ magic stutter again.

“Alec. Short for Alexander?” Magnus guesses, “Alexander whom? I thought you Shadowhunters were excessively proud of your lineages. Do you not have a family name?”

Alec bites his lip and shakes his head, holding in a laugh. He withdraws his hand too soon. “Yeah, I do. But, well - I guess that’s spoilers.”

“Spoilers?” Magnus repeats, rolling the unfamiliar word around in his mouth. “Hm.” He considers cutting his losses - he’d rather not get involved with a troublesome Shadowhunter who speaks in riddles and won’t even tell Magnus his name - but his curiosity has been piqued. Curiosity killed the cat, Magnus , Catarina would tell him. She’s probably right. This might be the weirdest thing that’s happened to him all decade - and that includes a very unfortunate incident involving Ragnor, a bottle of tequila, and the fact he is now barred from purchasing a copy of Don Quixote de la Mancha anywhere in the city.

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, Alec?” Magnus probes, circling Alec slowly. “And if you truly aren’t here on Institute business, how did you end up in my neighbourhood encroached upon by a swarm of Shax demons, might I ask? They don’t rarely attack people in the daylight.”

Magnus’ magic flexes in his fingertips, reacting to the unknown undercurrent that still lingers in the air. It’s not Angelic. He can discern that now, but it’s not Demonic either. He doesn’t know what it is: a shiver of someone else’s magic, but it doesn’t belong to this Shadowhunter. Too powerful for that.

It feels like temporal magic. Vast and unwieldy and unable to be bent and shaped like other forms of energy. Magnus doesn’t know it well, but he’s been working on his portal theorem for a while now, and he’s read every musty old text the Silent Brothers have to offer on the subject of how magic threads itself through time and space. He just hasn’t been able to grasp it yet.

The unfamiliar magic flutters in a realm he can’t comprehend; it’s like reaching for a handful of water, only for it to flood between his fingers. Magnus frowns, but when he glances up at Alec, he finds Alec watching him expectantly, like he’s waiting for Magnus to come to a realisation that must be inevitable.

Oh , Magnus thinks. He knows what it is. He knows exactly what it is and must know that I can feel it.

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Alec says cryptically. His voice is low. Magnus feels it ripple down the back of his neck.

“Do you believe in chance?” Magnus asks.

Alec’s mouth quirks again. “Not really.”

The demonic energy has faded and no more Shadowhunters have come running. Whatever or whoever Alec the Shadowhunter is, Magnus doesn’t want to let him go now. He’s too interested.

This is going to come back and bite him.  

“So, what now?” He doesn’t realise he’s said it until it’s said, and it hangs, suspended, in the space between him and Alec that has contracted without Magnus really noticing. Did I take a step forward, or did he - “Where are you headed?”

Alec says nothing, meeting Magnus’ eyes and holding his gaze. The temporal magic quietens, but doesn’t vanish. Instead, the buzzing in Magnus’ temples simply fades until it becomes a hum of background noise.

Alec looks at him. Alec looks through him, as if all Magnus’ smoke and mirrors are nothing but fantasy and he can see straight into Magnus’ chest, to a part of Magnus that Magnus doesn’t even know exists, let alone how to control, but he’s sure he’s exposing all his secrets.

Magnus clenches his jaw and shifts in his boots, refusing to be unwound. His magic pulls taut, straining at his skin, reaching out for the other magic he just can’t seem to grasp; it dips and dives through his metaphorical fingers, slippery and unwilling to be caught. The silence stretches on a beat too long.

And then Alec shrugs again, breaking the spell, his eyes flicking away like it was nothing. His smile turns gentle. Illuminated. Almost dazed. The slow rising of the sun over the rooftops glances off his cheeks and forehead, highlighting the threads of deep brown in his hair and drawing Magnus’ attention back to the honey colour of his eyes.

“Anywhere,” he says simply.

Magnus blinks. “Anywhere? What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll go anywhere,” Alec clarifies, “I have nowhere to be. Not for a while. Where are you going?”  

Magnus’ mouth falls open. Oh .

What is happening here? Who are you?

Why are you looking at me like that?

His magic reaches out for Alec on its own accord. Alec can’t see it and likely can’t sense it either, but Magnus feels his power reaching, eager to grab fistfuls of Alec’s jacket and pull him closer.

A thought: you can trust this Shadowhunter. He isn’t like the rest. He isn’t like anyone you’ve ever met .

Magnus clears his throat pointedly. “I was on my way to Plaza del Arrabel,” he lies. His bed can wait. He’s going to do something stupid first. “Perhaps you’d like to see it. I could show you the way.”

“I’d like that,” Alec smiles.

&&&

Magnus leads the way through the old city: he loves the narrow Gothic streets, their sun-baked cobblestones, the earthy colours and heavy stone, the ornate windows and doors with heavy cast-iron knobs and a thousand stories to tell. He knows the name of nearly everyone who lives here: the merchant on the corner, the painter in the attic room, the greying musketeer who frequents the tavern in the basement, spinning tales about his days in the regiment that get more and more grandiose with each successive glass of wine.

The street smells like people wilting in the heat, and the pot-holed stone shimmers. A church casts a shadow that blends with the dappled shade of a single olive tree bursting out of the earth. Magnus can hear the strum of a sitar seeping from a high-up window and it coaxes his blood to sing.

He walks beside Alec, but doesn’t noticed the distance between them disappearing until Alec’s shoulder brushes against his. Magnus glances sideways at Alec, but Alec doesn’t notice, enraptured by the sight of a shoe-shiner polishing the boots of a man in armour; of a young woman setting up her stall of apples and cantaloupe melons to sell; of two horses tied to a hitching post and huffing in the slowly rising heat.

Magnus summons two apples from the grocer’s stall and holds one out to Alec: it’s ruby red and glossy in the sunlight, but Alec still squints at him, glancing back at the woman at the stall. Magnus rolls his eyes and snaps two gold coins into her pocket for her trouble, and that makes Alec smile triumphantly as he takes the apple from Magnus’ hand, his fingertips brushing against Magnus’ rings.

The apple crunches as Alec bites into it, the flesh crisp and sweet, and the juice rolls down his chin. Magnus watches, transfixed, until Alec meets his eye and raises his eyebrow as if to say what? Magnus laughs quietly to himself, but it sticks in his throat.

Deliberately, he lets their shoulders brush again. His pinkie strokes against the side of Alec’s and the magic sparks like flint.

Alec doesn’t react, taking another bite of his apple as he looks upwards, his attention now caught by a woman leaning out of her window three floors above their heads, reeling in her washing line; everything is a marvel to him, save Magnus. He’s not surprised by the touch. Not repulsed by it either. It’s almost as if he’s used to the familiarity, as if he’s expecting it, and that -

That makes Magnus nervous.

Madrid lives and breathes in its people. It’s a city adored by the sun and swathed in music at all hours of the day and into the night. Dozens of intersecting lives, and yet Alec doesn’t fit in at all. It’s like he’s stepped out of a different time.

And yet why do you feel so endlessly familiar? I would remember if I’d met you before.  

“You know, I’ve never been to Madrid before,” Alec remarks then, taking the tip of his thumb into his mouth as he licks off the apple juice. “Which is weird when there’s been an Institute here for so long, but I never really travelled before I met - uh. Yeah. I should make the most of it while I’m here, huh?”

Magnus snorts. “You keep saying these cryptic things that make me more and more confused as to how it was that you accidentally ended up in Madrid,” he says. “Which Institute are you from?”

“New York,” Alec says automatically, before he pauses, the apple pressed against his lips. He turns to look at Magnus. “I mean, uh - shit. New York probably doesn’t exist yet, does it?”

Magnus narrows his eyes, and with his free hand, he lets his magic curl. Quietly, probingly, curiously - a question posed ( who are you ?).

And much to his surprise, he feels a ripple of an answer in return, spoken in a language he doesn’t know how to translate. The magic coaxes him back to Alec with a magnetic pull. A shift in the fabric of the universe, unnoticeable and untraceable, but not unlike a faint shimmer in the air above hot cobblestones or the glimpse of a shadow from the corner of the eye. Something that’s not quite right, but which disappears when looked at for too long.

Temporal magic. Of course. It makes sense now.

Alec didn’t know he was in Madrid not because he wasn’t expecting to come to Madrid, but because it doesn’t look like the Madrid he knows.

He’s a long way from home, indeed.

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of New York,” Magnus says slowly, “York in England is a delightful place, of course - I’ve been many times, but - something tells me you’re not from around here.”

Alec shrugs meekly, taking another bite of his apple. “Like, I said -”

“I know what you said,” Magnus insists, “I’m asking how did you get here ? How did you end up in this particular year ?”

“Ah,” says Alec.

“I’m still trying to master cross-time magic, but I know it when I sense it, and you are drenched in it,” Magnus continues. “If someone has beaten me to the creation of the portal -”

“Not a portal,” Alec admits, “Spell. We were trying to bind a demon, I got hit with some residual magic. This is a side effect.”

Magnus’ eyes widen. “So, you are from the future.”

Alec shrugs again, but he’s biting back another smile. He seems infuriatingly unconcerned by this revelation. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Oh, I am a warlock of my word,” Magnus says, marking an X across his heart with his index finger, but he can feel his magic vibrating, and it’s a miracle his hands aren’t shaking too. “What are the Nephilim doing with temporal magic?”

“Not us. We called in an expert. A Warlock.”

“Oh, a Warlock. And what is their name? I might know them.”

“Spoilers, sorry.”

“But the spell was strong enough to send you back in time,” Magnus remarks, “Which suggests the caster was someone particularly powerful, and I can only think of a few who might be able to wield that sort of magic -” He taps his index finger against his mouth in thought. The High Warlock of Rome has long been interested in manipulating time with magic - but only because he’s incredibly vain and fears getting any older. And then there’s Ragnor, who has been helping Magnus collect old tomes for his portal research, and so help him God, if the old bastard’s gone and stolen Magnus’ work in the future - “If I guess correctly, would you tell me?”

Exasperated, Alec rolls his eyes. “Spoilers,” he says again.

Magnus clicks his tongue. “Very well. Keep your secrets, but permit me one last q uestion ... when is it in the future that you come from?”

Alec licks his lips but shakes his head. His smile is coy. “I’m not going to tell you that either,” he says, “Sorry.”

“Good God,” Magnus laments, throwing his hands up in the air, “Ruin my fun, why don’t you. Can you not give me a clue? A hundred years? More?” He gestures at Alec’s clothes. “I want to know when it is that I might look forward to this strange fashion.”

“I’m from ... a while in the future,” says Alec, glancing up at the yellow-stone buildings that tower above them. His brow furrows. “I think.”

“You think?”

Alec nods. He glances around, and while a few people are eyeing Alec strangely, no-one stands within ear shot. Still, Alec drops his voice low. “Yeah. It’s, uh - it’s temporal hopping. Jumping through time. I’ll bounce around a bit until the residual magic wears off, and then - yeah. It’s not permanent. I’ll probably just disappear without warning.”

“I see.”

“You’re … you’re not freaked out by that?”

“If by ‘freaked out’, you mean to ask if I’m alarmed, then of course I -” Magnus stops himself. He’s not alarmed, but he should be. Men don’t just step out of a rip in time and claim to know him; it’s the stuff of fairytales and the theatre and the tall tales that find people accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake.

And yet he finds no space inside him to feel fear or shock or anything but the small flicker of deja vu and the unparalleled sense that he knows - this . The marvel in Alec’s eye as he takes in the city; the way he holds himself completely still and statuesque when Magnus speaks to him; and the soft laughter that underlies his words

Did I call out to you across time? Is that why you’re here?

“Magnus?”

Magnus looks up. It’s the first time Alec has called him by his name.

But Magnus never told him what it was.

It all comes together in a rush: he knows Magnus in the future.

Oh, God, what have you gotten yourself into, Bane?

“I’m not alarmed,” Magnus says, “Perhaps I should be, but I’m not. You live as long as I have, and you see enough that the world stops surprising you. Well -” He looks Alec up and down. “Almost. Here and there, there are a few bright spots.”

Alec beams at him, and it lights up his entire face. And the rest of the world - it fades away. Magnus wonders if he will miss it at all.

&&&

They come upon a large archway and Magnus guides Alec into the deep shadow and out the other side where the street opens up into an enormous plaza, three hundred feet across in each direction. The leylines gather here, and Magnus can feel the humming of energy beneath his feet like a network of blood vessels, pumping magic into the city’s heart: Warlock magic and Angelic power and Seelie spellcraft, and as Alec steps out into the sunlight, something else entirely. Magnus feels the change ripple through the leylines, spreading out and away from them and radiating across the square: not an earthquake, but still a seismic shift, a change in the fabric of the planet for those that might be looking.

But no-one is looking. That’s the beauty of Madrid, a place where Magnus needs not have a name if he doesn’t wish to have one.

In the centre of the plaza, there is a market, a patchwork of coloured tents and twisting pathways, hemmed in by tall red townhouses with slate grey roofs and elegant spires tipped by flags fluttering in the breeze.

The air is lively with chatter and smells of cattle, the merchants driving hard bargains and flashing brilliant smiles, herding the morning crowd towards their stalls lined with trinkets, gold and silver and impressive jewels alongside the vibrant colour of fresh fruit and smoked meat. A wagon rolls by, pulled by an ox that haws and huffs in the heat; in the back, crates of plump, red tomatoes that make Magnus’ mouth water.

But Alec’s focus is elsewhere. The sky is an endless canopy of blue, and he turns his face to the sun, his eyes fluttering closed. His eyelashes cast thin, delicate shadows upon his cheeks, and as the sun warms him, the corner of his mouth tilts up serenely.

Magnus is transfixed. He’s young, reckless, a hedonist; he considers himself a purveyor of beautiful people as much as he has a taste for danger, some soul-felt thrill to be found in complimenting the strength in a handsome man’s jaw or trading coy smiles with a woman in a lively crowd. He knows how to enjoy the sight of a man completely at peace.

But this - he doesn’t know this. Alec is both timeless and other-worldly; and as the rest of the world rotates around him, he doesn’t move.

For someone stepped out of time, he seems so permanent, like a man who has found his fixed point in the universe after a lifetime of searching. He exists differently to the passage of the sun in the sky and the bustle of movement through the market; he exists where Magnus exists.  

His immortality is not the same as Magnus’ - he’s Nephilim and Magnus can see the signs of age beginning to mark the corners of his eyes -  but, like Magnus, he views the world from a distance, through the perspective of someone who has seen different far-off times and places.

Looking at him makes Magnus feel younger than he has felt in centuries.

They meander through the labyrinth of market stalls, and it doesn’t take long for Magnus to notice what catches Alec’s eye.

His fingers trail across the spines of old leather books, and he admires a pair of earrings curled in the shape of two silver snakes while Magnus watches from afar. An artisan’s stall stacked with bright coloured jars of painter’s pigment leaves him looking wistful. A blacksmith displaying an array of ornately carved knives has Alec’s hand drifting to his side, his palm splayed over a rune Magnus cannot see.

None of these things match Alec - and Magnus doesn’t know how he knows that - but Magnus sees the love reflected in Alec’s eyes, a homely and unfettered sort of love, and he wonders who he thinks of.

But it’s the jewelry that draws Alec like a moth to a flame, the barest glint of gold and silver pulling him this way and that as Magnus dips through the crowds behind him. Rings and necklaces, small trinkets for the pocket, even a chain for the ankle adorned with fine jewel-coloured charms - Alec has to look at them all, has to weigh them in his hands and brush his thumb over the metal with a small but fierce scowl.

Magnus wants to ask him what he’s looking for, but perhaps that would disturb the trance - if Alec knows he’s been caught, he might stop, and Magnus is fascinated by his scrutiny. He studies each ring with the diligence Magnus might afford any Shadowhunter - but in the training room or on the battlefield, and not here, in a sunlit market of Madrid at noon.

Magnus allows his eyes to wander over Alec’s body: his long legs, his strong chest, his large alabaster-white hands as he cups the pendant of a necklace and inspects it in the sunlight. He wears no jewelry of his own, no necklaces, no cufflinks on his jacket, no rings save one.

A plain silver band winks at Magnus from Alec’s fourth finger.

“You’re married.”

Magnus doesn’t mean to say it - it’s nothing more than a passing observation, but -

It feels important. A detail meant to be noticed. And now that he’s seen it, it’s like the temporal energy swarms there, gathering on the ring in a cluster of dense magic.

Alec sets down the necklace in his hands and grins at Magnus, but this time, it’s accompanied by the most exquisite pink flush to his cheeks.

Yes, Magnus thinks, yes, I can see how someone would marry that.

“Yep,” Alec admits. The look in his eyes is tender and adoring as he looks down at his wedding ring, rubbing it with his thumb, and then back up at Magnus. “About a month ago.”

“Well, congratulations. What’s her name?”

“ His name.”

Alec holds Magnus’ gaze with diamond-like focus. He says nothing, but Magnus is unable to look away.

Magnus wets his lip and measures his words; it seems as if they might matter.

“How peculiar,” he says slowly, watching Alec’s face - he doesn’t give anything away, but his shoulders fall with the quiet release of a breath that Magnus might call relief. “Although, not as peculiar as a Shadowhunter wearing a ring. I was of the opinion that it was a rune on the hand and a rune on the heart.”

“It is.”

“Oh? So he’s not a Shadowhunter? Now I’m especially intrigued.”

Alec grins, his mouth parenthesised by dimples. He turns back to the stall and picks out another necklace, the fine silver chain and pendant glinting in the light.

Magnus frowns, stepping up to Alec’s side to peer over Alec’s shoulder..

The necklace is pretty. Magnus might wear it himself. He can imagine how it might feel draped against his chest, beneath his collar, the cold kiss of metal.  

“What do you think?” Alec asks, and he’s close enough that he need only whisper. Magus feels the puff of his breath against his jaw. “I like this one.”

Magnus hums, reaching out to take Alec’s hand and rub his thumb over the pendant cradled in Alec’s palm.

“Yes,” he says, “This one’s nice, indeed.”

&&&

The sun sets slowly, staining the sky in shades of orange and pale blue. Lanterns flicker to life, suspended from the awnings of the market stalls and dancing in the open windows that overlook the square. Shadows stretch long and thin and dark, and Magnus finds himself sat on the steps of the bronze statue in the middle of the plaza, still sun-warmed against his back.

He’s sat here a hundred times before, content to watch the day pass him by as people come and go. He has the time to spare; immortality lends itself for lounging and for lingering.

Now, though, Alec’s tall shadow looms over him, illuminated in gold around the edges by the dying of the sun.

Magnus looks up at him. Alec holds out a bag of mazapanes.

“Want one?” he asks.

Magnus takes a handful and pops one into his mouth: the taste of marzipan and almonds melts on his tongue and fills him with quiet fondness for this city he calls home.

Alec folds himself up on the steps beside Magnus, his legs stretched out in front of him and his shoulder pressed up against Magnus’. He’s warm to the touch, and Magnus feels his magic laving at Alec’s skin, wherever it can find space to shimmy beneath his clothes.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Alec lean back against the statue and exhale, his whole body relaxing. He tosses a few candied almonds into his mouth and then licks his fingers absently, all the while staring at the sky. The orange glow catches in his eyes and highlights the different shades of brown.

“Thank you for today,” he says, without looking at Magnus. “I had a good time.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” Magnus says, “This will make for an excellent dinner time anecdote that I’m sure no-one will believe. Heavens, I might not even believe it by this time tomorrow.”

Alec laughs softly. “I mean, thanks for not running away. I know this must -” He gestures with his hands. “- kinda weird.”

“Why would I run away?”

I feel like I know you. How impossible is that?

“I dunno. I just figured -” Alec stops mid-sentence, a frown furrowing his brow.

“What?” Magnus asks, “What’s the matter?”

Alec sets the bag of mazapanes on the steps and inspects his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers into his palm. “The magic’s fading,” he says, “I think.”

“Oh,” Magnus replies, “Are you sure?”

Alec holds out his palm to Magnus and Magnus reaches out with the invisible touch of his own magic, probing at the energy that licks across Alec’s skin: sharp, staticy, but there’s a restlessness to it now that wasn’t there before. The threads of the universe begin to fray and Magnus can feel them tickling, like fingertips skittering up his arm or like an intimate breath ghosting across the back of his neck.

The rest of the world seems to slow. Alec’s presence here distorts space-time just enough for Magnus to notice. The people passing by walk slower. Distant bird calls become longer. The sunset is paused, suspended in a forever yellow.

Alec’s going to disappear.

Magnus doesn’t have much time.

“The magic,” he starts, but he doesn’t know how to continue. He has so many questions still to ask and he’s not going to get answers to all of them. “The magic I feel on you, it’s volatile. It’s moving.”

Alec nods, still staring at his fingertips. “Yeah. I can feel it. It’s what happened just before I jumped the first time. It’ll stabilise for a bit, and then flip out again. Guess I’m about to go somewhere else.”

Magnus swallows thickly, and then, tentatively, he reaches out and touches his fingertips to the centre of Alec’s palm. The magic ripples as if Magnus is a stone in the water. He sinks too fast for his own liking. “The magic’s strong. I don’t think I can influence it, but I might be able to calm it,” he murmurs, gently pushing his own magic into Alec’s skin - his Angelic power hums, but Alec doesn’t resist. Magnus’ magic slips into his blood like sunlight. “It feels familiar, in a way. I don’t know why.”

Alec glances up at him, his mouth opening into a soft round oh . “Familiar?”

“Does that surprise you?” asks Magnus.

Alec shakes his head. He holds up his hand to the sunset, and it’s then that Magnus sees his skin has turned translucent and now, it appears near gold, like a shard of sunlight in which dust particulates dance. Slowly, Alec begins to fade away.

“No,” Alec says, turning his hand this way and that, and the pricks of dusk-coloured gold glint like jewels.

And Magnus - Magnus longs to touch him again, but fears his hand might pass right through, like wisps of fog and smoke that might disperse with even the tiniest shift. He cannot move; he doesn’t want Alec to go. There’s a feeling in his chest too big to comprehend; he hasn’t yet learned the way to grasp it, to hold it within himself. He wishes he knew what it was.

Alec’s shadow disappears, fading sunlight trickling through him. His legs, his arms, his body, now dust. All that remains is a whisper, before he is whisked away through the recesses of time that Magnus has yet to experience.

“No, Magnus,” he says, his voice lingering, “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

Magnus doesn’t move for a while after. He watches the sunset pale into the faintest of yellows, and then lilacs, and finally deep, deep blues as the sky becomes pitted with stars. Madrid dances on. Laughter and music takes over the night, drunken cheers and singing, people spinning in the plaza around and around and around, but Magnus is unwilling to join them. Not yet. Maybe later. Maybe in a moment.  

He looks down at the steps. The bag of mazapanes is still there, solid to the touch, and yet an afterimage lingers upon it, invisible fingerprints that only his magic can sense.

He feels changed somehow. A part of him has shifted out of plane and now exists a step ahead or a step behind everything else.

Oh , Magnus thinks. I should’ve asked when I’d see you again.

TWO | LIMA, PERU, 1791

Nights in Peru smell like the sea: salt and seaweed and high winds that bring the Pacific inland as waves, washing over the taste of roasting bananas and coffee beans drifting up from the streets. The sky is navy blue and the moon, a thin white monolith, is suspended in a field of stars and constellations that Magnus has spent centuries learning.

He sits on the balcony of a townhouse, overlooking a small courtyard and nursing a cup of rich, red wine that reminds him of the dusty hills and towering mountains that surround the city. He doesn’t know how many cups he’s had, but it’s enough to warm his blood and linger like a hum in the back of his throat.

And it’s enough to forget a broken heart. Not enough to be rid of loneliness, but not even Catarina and Ragnor dragging him halfway across the world could do that, despite their best intentions. He can outrun a string of failed affairs, but he cannot escape the fact he’s four hundred years old and wants a little more than some smeared night he can’t remember with someone he’ll never see again.

Magnus sips quietly at his wine. Downstairs, there’s a party in full swing, drunken and exciting and billowing with oaky cigar smoke. Ragnor will be sitting in an armchair in the corner, and Catarina will be making elaborate excuses for Magnus’ absence, he’s quite sure.

But it’s the noise - the constant noise - he needed to escape. I need some air , he’d said to Cat. Just for a moment. I’ll be back . That was almost an hour ago, but she hasn’t come looking for him, not to introduce him to some doe-eyed stranger, nor to check that he hasn’t drunk himself into a self-deprecating stupor in the bathroom once again.

High above, the shadow of a large bird briefly crosses the moon; it soars on updraughts that Magnus cannot reach, borne away with ease, not minding where it ends up. It might be a condor. He envies it. They probably mate for life. How dreadful.  

Magnus tilts back in his chair, taking another sip of his wine, and sighs. The chair creaks and he closes his eyes, letting his breathing slow and the tension drip out of his body. He can hear a flute playing from a downstairs window and the thin, delicate notes drift upwards, longing and melancholy and dreaming of a wide expanse of wilderness, of freedom, of the loss of a great love. Magnus doesn’t really know which, but the song is beautiful and it lulls him into a doze.  

There are worse places to be alone. The night is balmy and he’s always loved the enduring magic of this place, the way the city is steeped in layers and layers of history, where the ancient world meets the new, and travellers from across the continent pass through in search for gold. So many men have spent their lives chasing paradise, but truly, Magnus might have found a slice of it right here.

He could fall asleep and never wake up again, and he doesn’t even think he’d mind. Catarina might find him faded away with the dawn and a soft smile on his face, a spilled cup of wine at his feet.

And yet why does your heart still ache? Why is it that you close your eyes and still dream of all the someones who have left you behind?

This is too much longing for one person. Too much time spent alone with the world; he knows all its corners far too intimately. There’s nowhere else left to see.

Behind him, the curtains rustle as someone steps out onto the balcony: a man, judging by his soft huff of breath as moves towards the balustrade. If he’s handsome, Magnus might take him back inside to bed. A whirlwind love-affair. He could stay in Peru a few decades. He wouldn’t mind that. His sheets have been cold for a while now, and he longs for cooling sweat and breathlessness and the feeling of being wanted. He longs for a flutter to stir his heart.

Magnus meets the man’s eyes and the thought fragments with a quiet, rippling chime, indistinguishable from the soft music in the distance or the sound of Magnus’ nail tapping against his wine glass.

Oh . A dream. A dream of a dream. A summer’s day in Madrid, years and years ago is borne back to him on the breeze.

It’s you.

I thought I dreamt you.

The curve of his back a beautiful parabola as he leans over the railings and gazes out across the rooftops, his profile highlighted by the flickering yellow glow of lantern light and the deep blue of the settled sky. His hair is the same inky black as it was all those years ago; the rune on his neck, just as stark. His clothes are different now, soft worn fabric clinging to his broad shoulders, while his pants hang loose about his hips. He goes barefoot.

And he hasn’t aged a day since Magnus saw him last. Perhaps it’s only been days for him. Not like the centuries for you.

Magnus barks out a laugh, swinging back in his chair and hoisting his feet up onto the balustrade. He swirls his drink around and presses the glass to his lip, but doesn’t take a sip. He must be drunk if he’s conjuring up memories from his past when he’s so desperate for companionship.

“God,” he laughs, shaking his head. He wonders if his longing can be heard through time. “Catarina and Ragnor always insisted that I made you up, but I told them you were real. Either they will kick themselves when I tell them later, or they’ll have me institutionalised. One can’t be sure.”

Alec, his impossible Alec, turns to look at him, his body still bent over the railings. His smile is fond and sleepy, like he’s been stolen out of a moment just before bed. It makes Magnus’ heart skip a beat.

“How long has it been?” Alec asks.

“One-hundred and seventy two years. Give or take a few, I’m sure. I might have lost a decade around the turn of the century through no fault but my own.”

Alec whistles a low note and looks back out across the city. The nighttime toys with the shadows that stretch and pool upon the mismatched rooftops: wells of deep purple and blue and odds with this glow of orange that seems infinite and ephemeral in the same moment, fading into the sky like a halo. Upon Alec’s skin, the colour is exquisite. It makes his eyes simmer with a gentle opal-dark fire.

“That’s a long time,” Alec says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for. You can’t control it, the magic is volatile. You said so yourself.”

“A hundred and seventy years is a long time to go without seeing someone.”

Magnus hums, hiding the quirk of his mouth behind his glass again. He tips it back just enough to taste the wine on his lower lip, his tongue. It draws Alec’s eyes.

“It is,” he murmurs, “But worth the wait, I dare say.”

“You knew I was coming back?”

Magnus rolls his shoulders and slips out of his chair, joining Alec against the balcony. He molds himself into the space beside him, resting his glass on the railing and curving his body towards Alec, an open question. Alec shifts to face him, a timeless answer.

“Temporal hopping,” Magnus explains, “I’ve been reading up on it in the hope that you might come back to me. The magic may not be stable, but it still requires an anchor. Something that stays the same in all the places you’re drawn to. Usually it’s a location, the place where the original spell was cast, but given I’ve found you in both Spain and Peru now, I’m inclined to say that your anchor might, in fact, be a person.”

Alec’s mouth twists up into a smile. “Yeah?”

Magnus scoffs, buffing Alec on the arm with the back of his hand. It’s an excuse to touch him, to know that he’s real, to feel that forgotten ripple again. “Oh, come now, don’t play coy with me. I’ve had almost two centuries to think about it.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You and I know each other in the future, don’t we?”

“You could say that.”

Magnus raises his glass at Alec. “You knew my name that day we met. I never told it to you, but you knew it all the same.”

“I did.”

“And in the future, we’re well-acquainted?”

Alec blushes, colour rounding at his cheeks. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

“And I work with the Shadowhunters? Are we in business together?”

“Sometimes.”

Magnus scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re still just as cryptic and infuriatingly tight-lipped as before, I see.” His attention drifts down to Alec’s hand, curled over the balustrade. His wedding ring looks molten tonight.

“Your husband,” Magnus says, glancing up at Alec, “What did you say his name was again?”

“I didn’t.”

Magnus’ heart skips a beat. He wets his lower lip and is glad he’s got one hand on the railing and the other on his glass, so that Alec can’t see his fingers shake. “Ah,” he says, his voice a murmur, “You called that spoilers , if I remember correctly.”

“You do.”

Magnus hums, swirling the wine around in his glass. He considers the way the purple splashes up against the sides and leaves behind a fading red residue.

“I have a hypothesis,” he says boldly, “About why you wouldn’t tell me your name, last time. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Alec chuckles to himself, looking to the sky. The constellations are reflected, dizzyingly, in his eyes. “You said you’d figure it out straight away. I shouldn’t have second-guessed you. You’ll say ‘I told you so’.”

“Future me sounds terribly astute.”

“Future you is a pain in my ass,” Alec teases, but the look in his eyes is endless. It speaks of a man deeply in love, the sort of love that has transcended a thousand hardships and never wavered, the sort of love both effortless and consuming - all the things that Magnus wants for. His chest aches again, some parts longing, and other parts jealousy. It makes that passing thought of taking a stranger to bed feel lukewarm.

And what’s the point of any of it being lukewarm -

Magnus’ smile becomes wry. He doesn’t want to dwell on that. Instead, he offers, like a baited line, “So, Alexander Bane, is it?”

“Lightwood-Bane,” Alec corrects. He thumbs at his wedding ring again, twisting it around his finger. It must be a habit. “Magnus, uh - my Magnus, he told me I shouldn’t tell you very much.”

“What a spoilsport he is,” says Magnus, but he leans in closer to Alec, drawn to the bob of Alec’s throat as he swallows, the gentle tremor of his nerves attuned to Magnus’ magic. What does he have to be nervous about? He knows Magnus. Incredibly well, it seems.  “So, it was my future self who cast this spell that backfired on you? How inconsiderate of me.”

Alec nods. “The demon was stronger than the binding spell you prepared. You managed to seal it, but - well, yeah. This happened. You said it would wear off pretty soon, but there might be, uh - bad side effects.”

“Side effects,” Magnus muses, “If me getting the pleasure of your company is a bad side effect, then -”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Alec interrupts quietly. “I mean - I won’t stay for long and I can’t control it. I don’t know where I’m going to end up. Or when.” His hand has shifted near to Magnus’ upon the railing, and now, Alec’s staring at them both, wondering where to draw the line before he oversteps. Magnus wants him to overstep.

This is his husband . It doesn’t seem real. Right now, in fact, it feels impossible, and it makes that too-large feeling build inside his chest again, constraining at his ribs and longing to be free; in the almost two hundred years since that day in Madrid, he still hasn’t learned how to contain it.

He has never imagined himself married. He’s never imagined finding a person who’d want to marry him . It makes no sense, and yet he doesn’t question it. It fits , he thinks. It fits with me. I feel whole. Too whole.

Perhaps it is a ruse. A drunken delusion, a joke. A cruelly crafted one for sure, but Magnus cannot bring himself to care. Not when Alec is gazing at him so softly, and the starlight is tangled in his messy, bed-ruffled hair.

He wants this man. He doesn’t understand it, but it hardly matters, because his head is wine-addled and he feels not himself, caught in Alec’s inexplicable pull and dragged, stumbling, off course.

It scares him. It does. There’s some part of him he has no control over and he’s not used to trusting himself to someone else’s hands.

“So what did my future self have to say about me?” he asks, and he wonders if Alec can hear the tremble in his voice. “Did he warn you of how devilishly handsome I am?”

He reaches out and trails his fingers down Alec’s shirt; the fabric is gossamer-soft to the touch, and Alec’s chest is warm and hard beneath it, but what surprises Magnus most is way his magic pulses in his fingers like it’s mimicking a heartbeat. A beat and an answer. An echo that doesn’t seem to fade away.

His hand falters. Alec notices this time.

“He didn’t tell me anything. That’s not how it works,” he says softly, “All time is concurrent. The past and the future - they happen at the same time, so this - us. Us meeting here. This hasn’t happened before.”

“Did I tell you that?”

Alec smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

“Oh,” Magnus murmurs, brushing his near-shaking fingertips over the slip of Alec’s clavicle visible beneath the neckline of his shirt. He marvels at the way Alec’s throat moves as he swallows; as he holds in a breath. He drops his voice to a whisper; any louder, and his magic, and the way it leaps at the touch, might bleed through. “So, your undoubtedly charming husband has no memory of what happens here tonight?”

Alec shakes his head. “Us meeting here - it makes a different future. My future is - it’s not going to be the same as your future. But they both exist. It’s, uh - kinda complicated.”

“Infinite futures. Hm. How extraordinary.” Magnus’ fingers drift along Alec’s collarbone, smearing through the invisible current that trips across Alec’s skin. His magic verberates, resonates, reflects. It’s like he’s ghosting his fingertips along the frayed edges of a nerve that stems from his own body - the frayed edges of a tiny rip in time and space - and every slight quiver threatens to make his breath hitch. He touches Alec and he feels it in himself. A part of him, a part of Alec, inexplicably tied. “I wonder if we meet in every one.”

Alec exhales slowly, steadying himself. He briefly glances away, out into the city, his eyes dancing from rooftop to rooftop. Magnus follows the working of his jaw. “If you did know. If you in the future did remember this, I don’t think you would’ve told me. Not when we first met, at least.”

Magnus’ hand stills against Alec’s sternum. The closer he gets to Alec’s heart, the stronger the pulse, the more he can feel the familiar undercurrent that lingers beneath the temporal energy that surrounds him. He looks up. “Why not?”

Alec screws up his mouth and hunches his shoulders, but it seems far less easy than before. “When we first met, I was scared. If you’d told me that we met before, I would’ve - I would’ve probably run, if I’m honest. I was kinda dealing with a lot back then.”

“But now?” Magnus asks.

“But now I’m happy,” says Alec.

Magnus doesn’t know what to say to that. He hears the sincerity in Alec’s words; it speaks of a terrible vulnerableness, a terrible loneliness left behind but not completely forgotten, one that Magnus knows too well, but it also -

Alec’s eyes meet his, and he smiles his lopsided smile, his eyes creasing up again, and it’s inutterable: this warmth, this tenderness, this growth from a shell of man that Magnus doesn’t even know and has never met, but he feels the entire story resonate as the magic does. The love radiates from Alec like he was fashioned from it, like the Angel gifted him devotion instead of skin and bones.

And to think it’s just a fraction of the love he must feel for his husband , Magnus thinks. That he feels for me, but not me.

Never me.

Magnus lays his palm flush against Alec’s collarbone. The familiar magic answers him, a surge more profound than before: that threads of torn time and space intertwine with something else, another magic so endlessly recognisable that it makes Magnus gasp.

Beneath the quivering Angelic power, and beneath the remnants of the backfired spell, Magnus finds a reflection of himself, every will and wish and want he’s ever known, because that’s what Alec is drenched in. His magic. Magnus’ magic - and how did he not notice it before, because it breathes and moves the same, answering the quirk of his fingers in a way he knows innately.

Magnus’ magic . Evolved to be softer and kinder, stronger and more encompassing, woven through with Angelic power, caressing at Alec’s skin and absorbed into his very being. And the pulse that Magnus feels within it is Alec’s blood, Alec’s heartbeat, Alec’s soul, bared to Magnus as he pushes and prods at this impossible man who stands before him.

Magnus rubs his fingertips against the slip of Alec’s bare skin. The strong tendon of his neck. The base of his Deflect rune, and it summons a trail of goosebumps down Alec’s throat and across his shoulder.

He watches Magnus’ intensely. Magnus can’t meet his eyes; he summons blue smoke into his fingers and marvels at the way it clings to Alec’s skin as it does to his own hand. Like it cannot tell the difference between him and Magnus.

How is that possible?

It feels so intimate. Magnus feels so known.

“I can feel -” he starts, before he realises he’s talking at all. “I can feel myself. I’m all over you.”

“Yeah,” Alec whispers. He reaches up and covers Magnus’ hand with his own, holding Magnus’ hand against his heartbeat. His wedding ring catches the midnight glow of the city and turns gold. “Yeah, I should hope so.”

“It’s my magic, but - it’s so strange. It’s like seeing your reflection in a mirror and noticing something is not quite right, but you can’t put a finger on the difference,” Magnus murmurs. “It knows you. It’s like it’s changed because of you.”

How can I feel so connected to someone I don’t even know?

“It can do that?” Alec asks.

“It appears so,” Magnus says, before frowning. He pulls his hand away from Alec. “It makes sense. If what you say is true, and all time occurs concurrently, then it appeals to reason that the pool from which I draw my magic transcends space-time too. I just haven’t yet learned to wield it the same as I do in the future. With you.”

Magnus snaps his fingers, summoning a blue flame into his palm. The light of it dances across Alec’s face as Magnus holds it between them, watching as it sways and shifts, despite the stillness of the night.

“My magic knows you,” Magnus repeats, “It knew you before we even met. How impossible does that sound?”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Alec whispers, “Not for us.”

Magnus’ chest clenches. Us , Alec says, as if that’s something Magnus understands at all. Us , he says, as if Magnus’ last string of relationships haven’t all ended in heartache.

Us , he says, because when he fades away at the end of this night or in the early morning or whenever, he goes back to that, to them, and Magnus is left - here. Alone.

“Magnus?” Alec asks, stepping closer. His hand brushes Magnus’ sleeve and leaves ripples in its wake.

“Tell me about him,” Magnus whispers, half-breathless and half-hoping. The loneliness solidifies within his chest, filling the chasm of space he’s nursed with endless glasses of wine; now, the longing has mass, has weight. It won’t be ignored or shoved to the side. “About the Magnus Bane you know. Tell me about him. About the both of you.”

Tell me I get to have what you have. Tell me I get there.

“What do you want to know?”

“How did we meet? What was our courtship like? Was it you who asked me to marry you, or was it -”

Was it me?

Alec glances down at the wine glass in Magnus’ hand, and then at the near-empty bottle that sits abandoned next to his empty chair. “If I tell you all that, will it help?”

“What?”

“You’re lonely,” Alec says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and so easy to say. “I know you are, but I - I don’t - if I tell you all those things, it won’t make it easier.”

Magnus frowns. “How could I be lonely when you’re here?”

Alec sighs softly and turns back to the city, leaning his wait once more upon the balcony. He folds his arms upon the railing. The swell of his spine can be seen through his shirt, his back a long, curving arc.

“There’s a man who plays the charango,” he says then, and the soft glow of the city almost swallows his words up. “You’re probably going to meet him soon. Here. He’s good for you. You still think about him often.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Magnus says, sliding his palm across the back of Alec’s neck, thumbing at the skin below his ear - but Alec turns his head away, his jaw working. “Alexander - you feel this, don’t you? It’s inexplicable. The connection. My magic. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

Magnus rubs his fingers against Alec’s neck and feels Alec lean into the touch.

Do I touch you this way often? Are you used to this?

“There’s a party downstairs,” he finds himself murmuring, “Catarina and Ragnor are there. We can go down there together.”

Alec shakes his head softly. “And if I disappear in front of everyone?”

“That’s the beauty of magic,” Magnus says, “It explains the unexplainable. A party of inebriated Warlocks won’t question a thing.”

“Magnus -”

Magnus sweeps him thumb across Alec’s pulsepoint. He takes another step closer, crowding Alec against the balustrade, ducking his head to intercept Alec’s line of sight.

“I have rooms inside. A bed. We could share another bottle. See where the night might take us.”

“Magnus,” Alec says again. His eyes meet Magnus’, and then flick towards his hand, which he holds out over the balcony edge. “Look.”

He’s already fading.

“So soon,” Magnus whispers. “You stayed a whole day last time.”

“I know,” Alec murmurs, twisting his wrist and sifting his fingers through the moonlight. “I’m sorry.”

THREE | BLACKFRIARS, LONDON, UK, 1872

As rain lashes against the concrete, the wind over Blackfriars Bridge wails like an abandoned child at the side of the road. Below, the Thames churns, infinitely black and grotesque in the dark, eager to swallow people up and never spit them out again. Its stink is sewage and its rush of water is a hiss that presses against Magnus’ back, whispering in his ears.

You sure you still don’t want to jump?

It’ll be cold. You’ll feel something. You’ll feel nothing. Both will be good.

The rain soaks Magnus to the bone. His frock coat clings to him like a second skin and his hair hangs limp across his forehead, rainwater streaming down his nose. His hands grip tight to the railing of the bridge, his fingers stark and cold. He doesn’t remember taking his gloves off. Hell, he doesn’t remember putting them on.

He only remembers standing on the edge and looking down.

You’re not actually going to jump , Camille had said. You’re not a coward.

Maybe I am , Magnus had replied, Maybe I always have been. I’ve spent my entire life running.

His skin still stings with the indentations of her nails on his arm, yanking him back from the edge. He can still hear her hiss, her sharp words, her fury. The rare fear in her eyes as she screamed at him to climb down from the railings.

This is ridiculous! she had snapped. Come and find me when you’ve sorted your head out, Magnus. I refuse to deal with this for you.

Magnus leans forward over the railings, staring down at the bubbling river. A stagecoach splashes water up the back of his legs, the horses snorting and the coachman tilting his tri-corner hat down to keep the storm out of his eyes.

Camille left. She always leaves. Unwilling to stand out in the rain and ruin her hair, unwilling to give any part of herself up for others.

She knows Magnus won’t jump now, so her work is done. He’ll live and he’ll drag himself back to her when he’s ready and she’ll say I told you so, Magnus. Why don’t you ever listen to me ?

Magnus feels cold - the sort of unforgiving cold that seeps into the bones and into the blood and drags thoughts to a shuddering halt. The wind is bracing, carrying with it sharp shards of slush-turned-sleet that cut into Magnus’ cheeks. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out here; he doesn’t know how long ago Camille left. Sunrise might be on the horizon, but he’ll never know, not with the smog that rises from London in the distance, thick pillars of soot black that blend into the clouds of rain and smother the stars.

He stares at the spot on the railings where he stood grasping at the lampost, his toes curled over the edge - an hour ago? Or was it two? Three? Time has slipped away from him, as it always does. What is time to someone who’s going to live forever, bound endlessly to watch humankind search for meaning in their fleeting lives -

Search for love -

Numbness tingles in Magnus’ fingertips, and he wishes for it to go away, he wishes for time to stop, he wishes for a feeling other than tenderness bruising in the hollow parts of himself, but -

The rain stops.

His magic flinches.

And Magnus looks up, blinking back the raindrops that cling to his eyelashes and pushing back the hair that lies limp over his forehead. A hand extended over his shoulder, and a large black umbrella hiding him from the clouds above.

It’s like a breath, a breath stolen after being underwater for so long - not enough to quell the painful ache in his chest, but enough to fill his lungs. He’d almost forgotten what it feels like.

He’s lived an entire lifetime since then.

“It’s going to get better,” comes the familiar voice that Magnus has missed eighty-one years now, a rumble he feels deep in his water-logged chest. “I know you probably don’t believe me, but - I promise.”

Magnus looks up at him. At Alec , rain-flecked and stepped out of the storm, holding an umbrella aloft above them like it’s the only thing he was put on Earth to do. He steps between Magnus and another passing carriage, shielding him from the splash of the wheels in the puddle. Alec grimaces, his nose scrunching.

Magnus laughs wetly. “You can’t say that. You have hindsight. That’s cheating.”

A raindrop trickles down Alec’s temple and Magnus follows it, across his cheek, drawn to the pull of his lips, dripping from his jaw and onto his shirt. His mouth is twisted with worry; his eyes flick between Magnus’, searching for some strength Magnus doesn’t know how to give. Not anymore.

Magnus sniffs, scrubbing his palms across his face, but it won’t make a damned bit of difference. He looks disgusting. He looks like a man who was about to jump off a bridge. He knows he does.

Why couldn’t you have shown up when I was on that ledge? Why couldn’t you have been here a day ago, a year ago, a lifetime ago, before it all went wrong?

“It’s not cheating,” Alec murmurs, “Not when it’s the truth and you need to hear it.”

He steps closer, crowding Magnus with his body, protecting him from the wind. He brings the handle of the umbrella down between them, and invites Magnus to hold it too, as if they’re sharing a flickering candle.

Alec’s hands are warm where Magnus’ are ice cold. He almost feels real. Oh, God, I’ve missed you.

“You’re soaked,” Alec says, his eyes wide and his brow furrowing. He rubs his hands over Magnus’ knuckles and huffs on them loudly; Magnus sucks in a splintering, wet breath. “Jesus, Magnus, you’re gonna get a fever -”

“Warlocks don’t get fevers.”

Alec scowls at him. “We both know that’s not true. I know what you’re like when you’re sick, and it’s the worst.”

“Me, insufferable?” Magnus laughs weakly, “I couldn’t imagine such a thing.”

Alec rolls his eyes, looping his arm around Magnus’ shoulders and clutching the umbrella between them.

“C’mon,” he says sternly, “Let’s get outta the rain.”

Alec grips his shoulder, his fingers pressing into Magnus’ skin through his overcoat - but unlike the prick of Camille’s nails, Alec’s hand is firm. He rubs his palm up and down Magnus’ arm.

Magnus feels like crying. Shock, relief - he doesn’t know what it is that clogs his throat and forces him to suck in sharp and shallow breaths. Perhaps it’s the realisation that he was a single step away from a plummet into the cold current of the Thames. Makes sense .

At the end of the bridge, Blackfriars station glints in the dark, its white tin rooftops spit-shiny. Alec pulls Magnus across the road, dodging carriages and offering his hand to Magnus to step across a puddle, and then he ducks into the station awning, and the braying of the wind is suddenly silenced.

Alec steps away from him, battling with the umbrella, and Magnus scrubs his hands down his face and pushes his limp hair back against his head. He flicks his hands and rainwater spits across the floor, accompanied by a pathetic spurt of magic that dies blue at his feet, extinguished like a damp flame.

Beside him, Alec flops back against the brick wall, tilting his head back and cricking his neck. Tonight, he’s in a suit, so deeply blue it might be black in any other light but the flickering of an underground station. It sticks to him, his shirt slick against the curve of his chest and abdomen, the silver buckle of his belt shining with rain. He picks at the cuffs of his jacket, but it’s sodden. He frowns, rolling up his sleeves and revealing his forearms covered in runes.

He’s without a tie, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Magnus wonders if that’s the fashion, or, perhaps, someone has already removed it for him.

Briefly, Magnus wonders if the cold of the rain masks colour in Alec’s cheeks or the redness of kiss-bitten lips. He wonders where Alec was and what he was doing before he was summoned to the banks of the Thames in a rainstorm.

None of the things he imagines makes him feel any better.

“We should probably wait it out. Your place is kinda far,” Alec remarks, peering out into the rain with a frown. “Every time you’ve taken me to England, it’s been like this.”

“Every time?” Magnus asks.

Alec looks back at him and smiles - not his crooked, heart-racing grin of a smile, but something small and quiet and precious that Magnus hasn’t seen before.

“We stayed in your apartment in Soho when we were on our honeymoon. For a bit,” he says, and not even the streaks of rain on his face can hide the delicate blush now. “It rained for three days without stopping.”  

“It always rains,” Magnus murmurs, “That’s why I love that apartment. You can always -”

“You can always hear the rain on the roof,” Alec says, “You say it helps you sleep.”

Magnus swallows thickly, but the lump in his throat makes it difficult to breathe. He shakes his head, but the tightness doesn’t go away; he only succeeds in splattering Alec with more rainwater.

Of course he knows that. He knows everything , and that’s unfathomable, because if he knows everything, he must know this: this wretched, inhospitable, ugly feeling that festers and bubbles inside Magnus’ chest that won’t go away no matter how much alcohol and reckless hedonism Magnus doses it with.

He knows everything.

“Alec -”

“Yeah?”

Deep breath, Magnus. No matter how much it hurts.

“Did you know I’d be on that bridge?”

Alec doesn’t blink; he doesn’t hesitate. He sets the umbrella against the wall and steps in close to Magnus, and Magnus can feel the warmth of him, ever-glowing and always-tended, even now. The longing to place his hands on Alec’s chest, to sink his fingers into Alec’s skin and step inside him and inhabit him - if only to know himself as Alec does - it possess Magnus, an urge.

“Yeah,” says Alec, meeting Magnus’ eyes deliberately, “I did. That’s why I went and found Camille and sent her to you.” He laughs softly. “She didn’t react well to a Shadowhunter telling her what to do, but I guess she listened anyway.”

Magnus’ heart lurches. “You sent Camille?”

“Yeah. But she would’ve come on her own.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You should. She did,” Alec says, before adding, “Her one good deed.”

“Why -” Magnus says, but he feels the slap of Camille’s words again, the sting against his face, and he winces. He knows Alec notices the twitch. “If you were here, why couldn’t you - why didn’t you -”

“Why didn’t I talk you off the ledge myself?”

“Yes,” Magnus whispers, and he squeezes his eyes closed, and this time, water beads along his lashes and falls freely down his face. “Yes, Alexander. Precisely that.”

Alec glances down, fiddling with his wedding ring, twisting it around and around his knuckle. He chews on the inside of his cheek. Whatever he has to say, it hurts him. He doesn’t want to say it.

“It has to be her.”

“I don’t believe you.”

A man ducks into the station from out of the rain, shaking his umbrella and tipping his top hat at Alec and Magnus as he hurries towards the ticket office. The cold follows him like a draught and Magnus wraps his arms around his middle, digging his fingers into his sides. The wet fabric of his frock coat squelches.

He listens to the man’s footsteps as they disappear, and then he glances at Alec again, but Alec’s mouth has settled into a tight, straight line.

“Different futures,” Magnus says, “You said it yourself, nearly a hundred years ago. My life in this timeline might not end up the way it does in yours.”

“It will. I know it will.”

“You can’t know that,” Magnus presses, “You appearing here has changed that, Alexander. You’re a ripple in time. You must know how ripples work.”

“That’s why I had to make sure it was Camille who found you,” says Alec, “I can’t - I can’t change the past that made you who you are, Magnus. I had to make it right. Because if it was me -”

“If it was you, perhaps I wouldn’t have been there to begin with,” Magnus says bitterly, “And if it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t her - if I was alone up there, perhaps I would’ve jumped. You can’t know.”

“I know you ,” Alec says. “You wouldn’t have done it. People need you.”

Magnus shakes his head. It always comes back to that: people need you. You need them to need you.

“And you?” he says, his voice rendered hoarse. “Do you need me?”

Alec closes the space between them, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He shakes it out and drapes it over Magnus’ broader shoulders, and while the sleeves might be wet, the silk lining is warm and smells of Alec.

Then, he pries Magnus’ hands from his arms and covers Magnus’ fingers between his own two palms, gently rubbing at Magnus’ knuckles.

“I need you,” he says simply, “Now, in the future, in a hundred different timelines. Always. I need you to be alive to meet me, the past me, because he’s the one that needs you the most. And I think you need me too, even though I know that’s difficult for you sometimes, because you like to pretend that you can do everything by yourself and you don’t like showing people when you’re hurting, but - trust me. You can trust me. Let me take care of you. Let me return the favour.”

He brings their clenched hands up to his lips and presses his mouth to Magnus’ fingertips. The cold, the numbness in Magnus’ hands, it abates. In its place comes the rush of temporal magic, and a flutter not unlike a cautious heartbeat.

“It gets better than this,” Alec whispers. “I swear.”

&&&

The downpour doesn’t let off, and they find themselves on a bench on the empty platform at Blackfriars station, the smell of wet cobblestones replaced by creosote and stale air. This far below ground, they can’t hear the rain, but each train that rolls into the station is battered by a storm that rages a hundred feet above them.

It would take ten minutes to hop on the tube and ride to the stop closest to Magnus’ apartment in Soho, and another five minutes to run to the front door - but Magnus doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t want to move from here, he doesn’t want to lose the warm, solid press of Alec leant against his shoulder, his eyelids slowly drooping.

He doesn’t want to risk standing and disturbing the magic that keeps Alec tethered here. A little longer , he pleads with the universe. Just give me a little while longer with him.

Alec’s head drops onto Magnus’ shoulder and he lets out a snuffle that makes Magnus’ heart clench, and then a grumble as he cracks open one eye.

“What were you doing?” Magnus asks gently, toying with Alec’s long fingers, still tangled with his. “Before you came here?”

“Dinner,” Alec mumbles, words half-slurred. He gestures vaguely at his ruined suit. “The Clave has you running in circles at the moment, and they sent me to consult at the Institute in L.A. It was my first night back in Alicante.”

“We live in Alicante? In Idris?”

“Mhm,” Alec murmurs, “‘S nice. Not as bad as it sounds.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. What were we having for dinner?”

“I didn’t finish making it yet,” Alec hums, “You were home early. We got distracted.”

Magnus rubs his thumb against Alec’s wedding ring; the metal warms quickly beneath his touch, but he feels the magic shiver, as if rain-cold. He hears Alec yawn, but the weight of him against Magnus’ shoulder is slowly lessening, bit by heartbreaking bit. Magnus lets his eyes fall closed.

This way, he won’t have to see him disappear.

“How very kind of you to make time for me,” Magnus whispers.

“I’ll always make time for you, Magnus.”

Magnus hums. “Hm. ‘ It’s rotten work ’, I believe dear Orestes said.”

“Not to me, it isn’t.”

It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. His devotion, his dedication, how he slips through time and touches Magnus and changes him so quietly and yet so fundamentally, only to disappear again and leave behind only memory to while away the years.

Alec’s will alone makes waves in the magic that surrounds them, the magic that binds them together in all this impossible possibility.  Perhaps his love for Magnus is enough to bend time and space. Certainly, it has been enough to draw him here, to Magnus’ side, over and over again.

You’ve figured it out, haven’t you? Magnus thinks. How to love someone fully and truthfully and with everything that you are. I’m jealous of that. I want it. I want you.

When Magnus opens his eyes, he is alone again.

FOUR | MONTMARTE, PARIS, FRANCE, 1929

Magnus is drunk. And not happily drunk, not the sort of drunk that’s dizzy and forgetful and where all the world seems like a miracle - he’s way past that. His stomach wrings itself in knots and he tastes acidic bile up the back of his throat and his skin feels hot and sweaty to the touch. He slumps over on a bar stool, his shoulders hunched and a glass of cognac between his hands, half-drunk. The ice has melted, the liquor lukewarm. His nails tap relentlessly against the crystal of the glass, but it’s like there’s cotton stuffed in his ears because he can barely hear the chime.

The bartender tries to pour him another, but Magnus waves him away. Whatever words he says are slurred. Magnus can’t remember them anyway.

How many days have you been sat here? he wonders, squinting down at his glass. The colour of the brandy swishes between brown and amber-gold. How much time has passed? How long has it been since you ended it? When was the last time you saw the sun?

The cognac has pooled in the hollow of his stomach; it sloshes around and Magnus has to grip the edge of the bar to stop him doing something stupid, like falling off his stool or upchucking all over his waistcoat. He glances down at himself and finds the buttons misaligned and his pocket watch missing  and the untucked tails of his shirt stained with sticky splashes of his drink. He waves his fingers, banishing some of the mess away, but the blue magic swirling in his palm makes his head spin.

Around and around, it goes. Around and around, Magnus goes, repeating the same mistakes time and time again.

This always happens , he tells himself. You get too attached and they break your heart and you drink the pain away and do it all again. You deserve it. You never learn.

On a stage in the corner of the bar, a jazz ensemble is packing up their instruments: one man with a saxophone, another with a double bass. The singer, a woman with sharp painted nails and a sharper smile, is smoking a cigarette and already turning down drinks from her admirers.

In the low light, she looks like Camille.

Magnus’ head throbs, and he grimaces, pressing his hand to his temple as he slouches lower over the bar.

Why are you still mooning over her? Ragnor had asked him earlier this morning when he had stumbled upon Magnus on his front porch. She never cared for you, Magnus. She only cared for herself. I don’t know how you stayed with her for so long.

I’m too afraid of being alone , Magnus had thought, but did not voice. Ragnor could see it in his eyes, and the slow turning-down of Ragnor’s mouth had been too much, and Magnus had to leave.

He spent the day wandering the streets of Montmatre. It feels appropriate: Paris, the city of lovers, and therefore, the city of scorned lovers. Montmatre has always felt especially unforgiving: a woman who eats you up and spits you out, lost and disoriented in her winding streets, while, in the distance, the Eiffel Tower and the postcard picture of France play pretend.

Magnus doesn’t know how he came across this bar. It doesn’t seem to matter. Ten drinks in, all brandy tastes the same. Perhaps it’s time to switch to whiskey; it’s his heartache drink after all.

Magnus leans forward and lets his forehead rest on the bar, but the room still spins. His skin, sticky, flushed; he wants to be rid of it. Strip it off and start again, someone fresh and new and unknown. He won’t stay here, but London holds more memories he wants to outrun. He could head south where the sun is warm and the afternoons are lazy, or across the sea, and spent the night in a daze in the gardens at Santo Domingo -

Ripples follow him everywhere. He needs to go somewhere new, somewhere far away where the past can’t find him. Magnus tips his head to the side, resting his cheek on the bar. He curls his fingers and summons forth the thought of a portal, shimmering orange-red around his rings, but he doesn’t give it form. The magic weaves in and out and around his fingers, endlessly curious, tiny appendages tracing the lines in his palms from end to end. He could push out his hand and make a doorway to another world. It would only take a second and he could stumble through, and wake up tomorrow in a gutter where at least the sun might be shining.

Look at you , he thinks, curling the portal magic into his palm and extinguishing it. Planning to run away again. You’ll regret this in the morning. You’ll regret this when you’re sober.

Magnus closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, but his stomach churns again and he tastes cognac on the way back up, no longer sweet and purely bitter.

Across the bar, the bartender frowns at him and pushes him a glass of water on a napkin.

Magnus murmurs a reluctant merci , but nudges the glass away again with his fingertip. He doesn’t want to drink it; he doesn’t want kindness. He wants to wallow and remember why he’s alone again.

His temple pulses. Pressure builds in his forehead and behind his eyes and in the bridge of his nose, pinching and pulling at his skin as if vying for his attention.

And then a warm palm presses between his shoulder blades and Magnus’ entire spine lurches; he’s not sure what’s going to come out: all the brandy he’s drunk in the last half hour, or some biting remark about leaving him the Hell alone, he’s not interested . Both are going to cut up the inside of his throat and taste like vomit.

He sits up too quickly and twists in his seat, but comes face to face with a shirt and the smell of expensive cologne - sandalwood . Soft and earthy and delicate against the sweet stench of spilt beer and cigarette smoke.

The hand on his back arches, fingers pressing into the knobs of his spine.

“Hey.”

His voice, Alec’s voice, whiskey-warm. For a moment - and then it’s sour again.

Oh, of course. You’re so drunk that you’re imagining Alexander now? It’s been decades. Alec is not here. You just want so desperately to feel loved.

Magnus looks down at his half-finished cognac. He laughs in disbelief.

“You were right about Camille,” he murmurs, swilling the brandy, wondering if he might find himself in the bottom of the glass. He’s drained far too many bottles in his time, searching for exactly that without much luck. Instead, he finds heartache and hallucinations of men he hasn’t seen in forever.

“‘That night was her one good deed’, that’s what you said. Would’ve been nice if you’d given me a forewarning about her. But instead, here I am, drowning my sorrows -” He gestures suddenly with his hand and knocks his glass; the drink sloshes onto the bar. Magnus pouts.

The room spins, but now the edges are blurred. It could be magic, it might be magic, picking at the threads of time and space and slowly unravelling them, or maybe he’s past the point where he’s going to remember tonight and everything else he does now is moot. He has free reign to be stupid.  

Alec’s hand sweeps up Magnus’ spine, a trail of white-hot heat that sticks to Magnus’ skin beneath his sweat-soaked shirt and waistcoat; Alec curls his fingers over Magnus’ shoulder and pushes Magnus back onto his bar stool.

Pretty strong for a figment of your drunken imagination, Magnus thinks. He didn’t even realise he left his seat.

“Magnus -” Alec starts, slipping onto the bar stool next to him, and now, Magnus gets a good look at this apparition: the fierce set of his mouth, the handsome three days of stubble along his jaw, the bruised, worried look in his eyes that Magnus in no way deserves to receive. He’s no older than that night at Blackfriars. Never older. He’s like Magnus, in that way.

And oh, Magnus hates him. Hates the part of his brain that summoned him.

Don’t talk to me , he thinks. Don’t you dare to talk to me. I can’t hear your voice, not tonight. Not when you’re just like the rest of them, but somehow worse than all. Never staying, always leaving.

Magnus grabs his drink and throws the last dredges of it down the throat. He slams the glass on the bar and turns to Alec - and it really is Alec, and not a stranger with Alec’s face.  Magnus stares at him, searching, but his vision blurs, smeared by invisible fingers. The magic swarms around him, around Alec, drawn towards him like he has a magnet at the centre of his chest that thumps with the same beat as a heart.

“You’re not even here,” Magnus mumbles, but he reaches out to jab Alec in the chest, and Alec is as solid and warm and unmoving as ever. “I’m just pretending that you’re here so that I can shout at you. So that I’m not alone for yet another night -”

Alec wraps his fingers around Magnus’ wrist, stilling the prod of his finger into Alec’s sternum.

“Magnus,” he says quietly, “I’m here, I’m real. Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

Alec’s frown deepens. He stares at Magnus openly, the colour in his dark eyes swirling, but he holds Magnus’ hand fast against his chest, even as Magnus tries to pull away. “No, you don’t. What’s happened?”

Magnus laughs sharply. Drunkenly. “Everyone keeps leaving me. That’s what.”

He grabs his empty glass and leans across the bar, flagging down the bartender (“ un whisky, s'il vous plaît ”), but Alec takes it from his hand and sets it aside, out of reach. He hands Magnus the water instead.

“Magnus, you know that’s not true.”

“Oh? I do, do I?” Magnus retorts. “The man with the charango? Do you remember him? Five years that lasted, and then it was over. I watched him get on a boat in Callao and never come back. Or how about Camille? Or you .”

Alec glances around the bar, dragging his stool closer, but Magnus could not give a damn if anyone is staring. The cognac lights a fire in him; he feels it scorch, he feels it sear. It turns his insides black in sudden, irrational anger.

“Magnus, c’mon -”

“Is it easy? To come and go and not have to say goodbye over and over again and not know when will be the next time I might see you? If you’re coming back at all?”

“Magnus -”

“It’s been fifty-seven years, Alec!” Magnus snaps, surging to his feet. The stool topples over, and Magnus grips the edge of the bar to save himself from the same fate. Blood rushes to his head and black spots pitter across his eyes as he sways. He clenches his teeth and screws tight his eyes until the ache fragments through his jaw and up into his temple. “Fifty-seven years since that night on the bridge, do you know that? I’ve been counting. And every night since, I’ve looked for you, I’ve waited for you, I’ve - I’ve - every single man I’ve walked past, I’ve had to stop and check and see if it’s you. I’ve hoped for you .”

Alec stands too, reaching for Magnus’ shoulder. “Magnus, you’re drunk. Let me take you home.”

Magnus snorts, clumsily batting Alec’s hand away. “‘Let me take you home?’” he parrots, “Did that work on me the first time, hm? Is that the line you used? Is that the line I used?”

Alec suffers every blow, his mouth twitching, but the look in his eyes only grows more determined.

How much does it take to push you away? Magnus wants to beg. What do I have to say to make you leave and not come back?

“No,” Alec says quietly, and he touches Magnus again, his hand on Magnus’ shoulder, his thumb brushing against Magnus’ neck, slipping beneath his cravat to find his pulsepoint. “No. I said, ‘relationships take effort’. And then you said, ‘I’m all for effort’, and you meant it.”

Magnus scoffs, but his heart aches painfully, like Alec has wormed his way past Magnus’ outer walls and taken his heart in a vice and squeezed. It sounds like him. It sounds like the sort of thing he’d say when faced with a beautiful Shadowhunter with infinite patience and a mouth worth kissing.

Magnus’ head swims again, and he staggers off balance. Alec is quick to catch him, looping his arm around Magnus’ back.

He buries his nose in Magnus’ hair, just behind Magnus’ ear. Alec breathes in deeply, and it steadies him. He breathes in deeply, and for a moment, Magnus wonders what it must be like for Alec to see the person he loves most in the world try agonizingly to pull himself apart, while Alec knows he won’t be around long enough to see it through.

“Let me take you home,” Alec whispers, “Please.”

&&&

Montematre is moonlit as they stagger from the bar. Alec is strong, strong enough to support Magnus’ weight, probably strong enough to carry him, but Magnus’ coordination is shot to pieces.

It’s not the only thing that’s shattered. His resolve lies in fragments at his feet.

Red lights gleam in the dark as women hang from windows and call out to the late-night drunks in the street, beckoning them upstairs for the price of a few gold coins. A parade of towncars hurtle past, a young woman hanging out the window and screeching with laughter, waving her hat in Alec’s direction as the roar of the engine rumbles. They fade into the distance. And as far as the eye can see, there are rooftops, and there are men on the rooftops, singing love songs to a city that longs to be serenaded, who will stay up until the sky turns from blue to blush with the twilight.

Magnus dares not look up. He stares at his feet, willing his double-vision to go away so he can walk a straight line long enough to reach his apartment on the banks of the Seine - or at least summon a portal there.

He leans into Alec’s side, unbalanced, pressing his nose against the collar of Alec’s shirt; there’s that sandalwood again and leather and the sweet sugar of magic, comforting, familiar, too much. Far too much.

Magnus needs more. Instead of whiskey, let him drown in this.

He pulls himself close, until every point on his body is flush with Alec, and he feels the surprised gasp leave Alec’s mouth and it almost feels good . Alec’s arm tightens around Magnus’ back, his fingers gripping Magnus’ waistcoat to stop them from toppling over, but there’s a part of Magnus that wants to tumble to the ground. He wants to fall through the puddles that fill the gaps in the pavement, into the upside-down world, the other future where Alec is from, where they’re in love, where this Alec loves all of him as he is now, and not just a figment.

Magnus buries his head in Alec’s shoulder. Words escape him, humid and nauseous against Alec’s throat.

“I can’t wait another hundred years to see you again, Alexander.”

He hates it, he does. He hates the way Alec looks at him with a history they haven’t yet shared.

Alec’s fingers dig into his ribs. A moment of hesitation. “You won’t have to wait that long,” he murmurs, quiet enough to be a secret. “I promise.”

Magnus scoffs bitterly. “You don’t know that.”

Alec stops, forcing Magnus to stop too. Magnus squints at him, seeing double, but Alec shakes his head. “Magnus, I do.”

“How?”

“Because,” says Alec, and once again, Magnus feels the tug of magic kneading at his skin, a string of fate that wraps around his bottom rib and leads beyond his chest and enters Alec’s in exactly the same place. “You and me, we always find our way back to each other. Whatever happens.”

He’s said those words before, Magnus knows he has. Not to him, not yet, but - one day.

How far away is one day, Alec?

It doesn’t matter. Alec believes it with every fibre of his being anyway. Magnus knows that too.

&&&

Sunrise hesitates just below the horizon by the time Magnus’ apartment comes into view, his feet aching terribly, blisters on his blisters. He’d tried to call a portal, but his magic had spat out hisses and sparks, and now, he doesn’t want to know how far they’ve walked across the city in a strange stupored silence.

The sky is pinkening in the distance, spilt with shades of orange as Magnus stumbles into the lobby of his building and Alec nods at the doorman. In the elevator, Magnus mashes the button for the penthouse and then leans back against the handrail, tilting his head against the mirrored wall. He pushes his shirt sleeves up about his elbows and undoes the buttons of his waistcoat, letting it hang loose, and then he catches his own reflection in the mirror on the other side: his cravat is crooked and his hair unkempt; his red-shot eyes; his makeup smudged and day-old.

Alec slides in next to him, his hands folded behind his back, and Magnus watch him in the mirror too. His eyes roam the long length of Alec’s body, his heavy boots and his fitted trousers, up to the holster lashed around his thigh and the buttons of his shirt. Magnus lingers on the lines of his neck disappearing into the open collar of his shirt, and then on his mouth as Alec worries on his lower lip, deep in thought.

Everything blurs in and out of existence. Magnus’ heart beats sluggishly, pulling itself through the cognac settled in his stomach.

The elevator shudders upwards and their eyes meet in the reflection in the mirror.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alec asks.

Magnus shakes his head. “No. Not really,” he murmurs. His temple now aches with the early onset of sobriety. “It’s a terribly sad story that doesn’t bear repeating. I’ll be fine once I’ve slept it off.”

Alec’s frown deepens, and he looks down, fiddling with his wedding ring again. The silence is only disturbed by the ding of the elevator as it rises floor by slowing floor.

“Can I tell you something?” Alec asks, after a moment. He turns to Magnus; the magic confined to the small space of the elevator ripples but has nowhere to go. It bounces back against the mirror, colliding with itself, and Magnus has to pull his eyes away from the mid-distance, from the patterns no-one can see but him, to look at Alec.

“Always.”

The corner of Alec’s mouth twitches upwards, almost a smile, but it fades. “When we meet, I - I never thought I’d get this. I never thought I’d meet someone like you and I’d decided that was okay. Well, not okay, but liveable. I had my job, my family, my parabatai - other things. I thought I could get by without-” He gestures between them. “- this.”

“And then I swept into your life and changed all that?”

Alec’s smile blooms again, distant, sad, somewhat wry. Faint colour creeps up his neck. “No. No, you came along and it - it made it worse. It was like, I could see what I could have and then it was even further out of my reach, y’know? Everything else in my life, it was like black and white, but you - you were colour. And that terrified me. I got one tiny look at it - at us - and it made me realise that that’s all I’d ever get because I wasn’t allowed to want it. You don’t just get to be a Shadowhunter and - well. This.”  

“This,” Magnus repeats. “Married?”

“Not just that. It was everything. And I ran away from it - or I tried. I was going to do something really stupid, but you … Magnus, you never gave up on me, even then.”

A breath catches in Magnus’ throat; the hand of magic encircles its warm fingers around his windpipe and applies just enough pressure for his next words to come out as a whisper or maybe as a croak. “What are you trying to say?”

“I thought I was gonna be alone for my entire life. I’d accepted it, just like you,” Alec says honestly, “I was wrong.”

The golden hand above the elevator doors tips over, and the doors open onto the penthouse. Magnus cannot move. His hands grip the bar behind him, and he stares at Alec, unwilling to blink, unable to take a breath.

He feels both cut adrift and rooted to this moment, held only to the ground by the steadfast look in Alec’s eyes. The universe moves around him, his determined heart at its very centre.

No, not the universe. Just yours.

Magnus sees that now.

“Magnus …” Alec whispers, stepping forward and reaching out. His fingers brush against Magnus’ bare forearm leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Magnus jerks away. He feels the sickness of the alcohol, but not the dizziness.

You talked about being scared. I know that too. I’m scared of this hurting my heart more than everything else that’s happened before.

“Let’s go inside,” he murmurs, “I need to lie down.”

&&&

The haze before the dawn echoes with the rattling sound of tires on Parisian cobblestones, the moonlight barking of neighbourhood dogs, and the ever-present rumble of Paris’ heart slowly stirring into wakefulness, but Magnus’ room is still and silent. His bed is unmade where he left it yesterday morning, sheets rumpled and half-draped across the mattress, pillows strewn against the headboard. Clothes litter the floor, unpaired shoes and untied cravats, a dress of Camille’s or two. On the bedside table, there’s an uncorked and half-emptied bottle of whiskey.

Halfway between dreams and sleep, Magnus is vaguely aware of the throbbing in his forehead, but he’s too delirious to feel real pain, not with Alec floating at his back like a ghost, close enough to feel, not quite close enough to touch.

Good , Magnus thinks distantly, his eyelids heavy as he drops down on his mattress and kicks off his shoes, his whole body suddenly sore. It’s more a hollow, tender feeling, as if his skin has coloured with poppy bruises, and clumsy, invisible hands poke and prod at these tender spots, as if seeking out old wounds. But the feeling doesn’t ebb or flow or fade like it should - it just lingers, a present thought in his foggy head.

The dream is strange: emptiness and longing, the vastness of a lonely city, the sickening of alcohol, the want for pliant skin just for the sake of touch. The overwhelming presence of Alec in his space, standing before him with his hands clasped behind his back, both a dutiful soldier and a perfect husband, drenched in Magnus’ own magic and the nauseating spin of time and space that’s not meant to be.

Magnus feels like he might vomit. God, what is wrong with me .

“Alexander,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. I need you. I need you in a way that I don’t think you can give. Not yet.

Alec kneels down in front of him and lays his left hand on Magnus’ knee, his ring attracting the faint wisps of light that slip through the blinds.

“You’re allowed to want things,” he says, “You taught me that.”

“Even things I have no right wanting?”

“Even those,” Alec murmurs. “I wish I could give them to you.”

Magnus stirs, reaching out blindly for Alec’s jacket - the need to pull him close is overwhelming - but it’s Alec’s hand he finds, Alec’s hand that squeezes Magnus’ fingers tightly. His wedding ring feels cold now. Magnus’ focuses on that against the pounding in his head.

With his other hand, Alec loosens the cravat around Magnus throat and pulls it free of his collar, folding it carefully upon the nightstand. Then, he smooths Magnus’ hair away from his forehead, his fingers lingering against Magnus’ temple, as if drawn to the point where the blood pulses the loudest, knowing his touch will quiet it.

He knows everything about Magnus. All the tiny little things that no-one has ever paid attention to, Alec knows them intimately.

“Magnus,” Alec murmurs, his finger ghosting around the socket of Magnus’ eyes. “You need to sleep. Sober up.”

“I won’t until you’re gone.”

“It could be hours yet. C’mon. I’ll stay here with you.”

Magnus rolls onto his side, his cheek hitting the pillow - and the room swirls in dark colour - and he looks Alec in the eye. Alec’s expression is grave, his mouth drawn in a severe line. A crease appears between his eyebrows, and Magnus wishes it gone; it makes him look far older than he is. It makes him look as old as Magnus feels, like he has lived all these lifetimes between their visits too.

“Stop that,” Magnus whispers. He untangles his hand from Alec’s and presses his thumb between Alec’s eyebrows, smoothing out his frown lines.

“Stop what?”

Magnus shakes his head, and drags his thumb down the length of Alec’s nose, across his cupid’s bow, and onto his lips, pushing down until blood gathers at the touch and Alec’s lower lip blooms in a dark, perfect red.

Alec exhales carefully, cool against Magnus’ skin. His eyes are wide when Magnus finds them again.

“Will I see you again?” Magnus asks. He has to know. Sooner or later, Alec is going to vanish with the morning and not come back. The residual temporal energy will only last so long.  

“The magic’s not gone yet,” Alec replies, but the sorrow lingers. “Maybe - maybe I’ve got one jump left. I don’t know.”

“Am I getting close?”

“Close?”

“Close to you, in your present. My future. Wherever it is that you are and I am not.”

Alec doesn’t speak for a moment, but Magnus can see him thinking. His thumb rubs at the bare knuckle of Magnus’ fourth finger.  

“It’s soon,” he settles on, but he still won’t tell Magnus exactly when. “But I can’t-”

Just give me a year , Magnus thinks. Give me a decade. Something to hold onto.

“But you can’t just wish away your life waiting to catch up, Magnus,” Alec continues, “There’s so much - there’s so much you’re gonna miss, and you’ll regret it if you do. There’s so much ahead of you that makes you who you are -” He takes Magnus’ hand by the wrist and draws his fingers close; he presses a soft, worshipful kiss to the pad of Magnus’ thumb. “It makes you the man I fell in love with.”

Magnus’ heart lurches. “Are you always so frank?”

Alec smiles softly. “You love it.”

I do , Magnus realises. God above, I do.

FIVE | BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, USA, 1989

“That’s the last of them,” says Catarina, as the portal closes behind her, the swirling orange magic dissipating into sparks that extinguish on the rug. “I never thought we’d get the High Warlock of Madrid taking refugees from the Circle - what did you offer him? Diamonds? Jewels? Oh, Magnus, it better not be your apartment in London, I know how long he’s been coveting that.”

“I am most certainly not giving him the apartment,” Magnus says, “The old coot just owed me a favour from a very long time ago and I decided to cash it in. The High Warlock may be a stick in the mud, but very few people hate Shadowhunters as much as him. He won’t let Valentine Morgenstern come within a spell’s throw of the Warlock community in Spain.”

Magnus swans towards his drinks stand and picks up two glasses: one, tall and thin-stemmed with a trio of olives propped against the rim, and the other dark and purple and glittery. He holds it out to Cat, but she raises her palm and shakes her head.

Magnus raises his eyebrows, a silent ‘ suit yourself ’ as he takes a sip of his drink. “Besides,” he continues, licking the taste of the martini from his lips, “There’s nothing he could give me in exchange for that apartment. Where else would I stay when visiting Ragnor, if not there?”

Catarina rolls her eyes. “You haven’t visited Ragnor in fifty years. You and I both know that’s not the reason you want to keep that apartment. I seem to remember you insisting that you needed it for a very special occasion, last time the High Warlock tried to buy it off you.”

Magnus waves his hand noncommittally. “I was drunk. Whatever I said can’t be held against me.”

“So you’re denying it then?” Cat says, but her eyebrow is raised and her mouth curves into a wry, crooked grin. She folds her hands across her chest and cocks her hip. “You don’t remember saying you were going to spend your honeymoon in London and you’ve already planned it all out, despite the fact you and I both know you’ve never been married, not once in eight hundred years, even though I’m pretty sure a number of people have asked you -”

“I said no such thing, and even if I did, I maintain that I was incredibly drunk. You’re putting words in my mouth, Catarina.”

Magnus flicks his fingers and the balcony doors swing open, daylight streaming into the loft from across the East River in shafts of yellow. He squints, raising one hand to shield his eyes. The shapes of skyscrapers coalesce; the Brooklyn Bridge catches the reflection of the water and the brown stone ripples.

Magnus wanders out onto the balcony, setting his glass down on the edge and spreading his hands wide. He surveys the city: the bustle of Brooklyn, the cacophony of car horns and the sound of construction, Manhattan looming in the distance.

The city that never sleeps. Except when Shadowhutners are killing and torturing Downworlders and then, then it’s time to turn a blind eye -

Catarina hesitates in the doorway, watching him from afar. He doesn’t turn back to look at her, but he can feel her eyes on his back.

“Are you worried?” she asks. It’s a loaded question and only has one answer.

“I’m worried about a lot of things,” Magnus replies, “I’m worried that Valentine Morgenstern and his lackeys are going to wipe out the Downworld population of New York. I’m worried that we can’t trust the Shadowhunters to look out for our best interests any more, not if it means going against other Nephilim. We’re on our own.”

“The Shadowhunters have always been that way,” Cat frowns, “Trusting them is stupid, you’ve said so yourself. Nephilim are all the same.”

Not all of them , Magnus thinks, not one. I still have hope that things can change.

But we can’t afford to wait for that. Too many Downworld lives are on the line.

Magnus sighs heavily, turning to face her. He leans back against the edge of the balcony. “No, you’re right,” he says, “I’ll summon the other Downworld leaders and we’ll discuss how best to deal with the New York Institute. I’ll send you a fire message so you can be there.”

“I’ll do my best,” says Cat, “I’m moving a lot of people out of the city this week. I’ve got a clan of Vampires going to Tokyo tonight, and another six Warlocks to send to Madrid. It’s hard enough summoning so many portals, but harder still when we have to hide the magical trace from the Nephilim so that they don’t know what we’re doing. My magic is shot and I’m exhausted.”

Magnus smiles tightly. “You worked for the Underground Railroad in the fifties, Cat. There’s no-one else I would trust with this.”

“Yeah, the eighteen fifties. That was a long time ago, Magnus. I thought we’d seen the last of this. Genocidal maniacs hunting and killing our people.”

So did I , Magnus thinks. So did I .

&&&

He lingers on the balcony a while after she’s gone, long after his drink is empty. He runs his fingers up the stem of the glass and listens to it sing, a sound shrill and sharp against the rumble of the city at large.

He has so much to do - potions to make and clients to call, and there are a stack of fire messages on his desk waiting to be read, all from young Warlocks desperate for his help to get out of the city before the Circle find them - but he finds he cannot move, not for a quiet moment that seems slotted in between the passage of time. His eyes follow a lone seagull coasting on the updraughts, hanging motionless in the bright blue sky. It bobs in the wind, its caws carrying across Brooklyn, and it lulls Magnus into a stupor where the rest of the world is drowned out.

His magic envelops him, a shield between him and New York, between him and the world he has stopped running from and finally turned to face. He taps his fingernail upon the stone edge of the balcony and listens to his magic reverberate - tip, tip, tip - and then he feels a swell, a gentle pushing on his wards at his front door.

Magnus frowns, peering back into the loft. The protective magic shifts again, but rather than someone trying to break in, scratching and plucking at the spell, desperate to unravel it, it feels as if its a curtain parted and someone slips through quietly. Very few people can get past Magnus’ wards - he can count them on one hand. Catarina, Raphael, Ragnor - if the old bat ever left his cottage in England to say hello to a friend who misses him -  

Frozen, he watches as the front door opens, and then, slipping into the loft like he’s lived there all his life - Alec.

His Alexander. Of course the wards already know him. He was woven into their magic before Magnus even cast the spell.

Magnus’ heart beats loudly, a rhythm he hasn’t felt in a long time, a reverberation in his chest that he knows intimately, locked away in his memories.  

He watches Alec’s eyes dart around the loft, lingering on the drinks bar and frowning at the large sofa Magnus has been planning to switch out for something more modern. He sets his bow and quiver down by the door, and then his fingertips trail across the back of an armchair, and he steps around the rugs on the floor without even looking, as if he already knows where they lie.

A smile curves Alec’s beautiful mouth: it’s soft, loose, completely at peace. His gaze flicks up and he sees Magnus standing on the balcony, and that same smile blooms with the sunlight as it passes across his face.

And in that moment, Magnus realises: this is his home .

This loft in Brooklyn is Alec’s home. It’s their home. They live here together, they’ve made a life here together; this space is Alec’s space.

“Hello, stranger,” Magnus says, leaning back against the balcony, basking in the roam of Alec’s eyes up the length of his body as he, too, steps out into the view of Brooklyn. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“What year is it?” Alec asks. He’s wearing his usual jeans and jacket, but his shirt shines with subtle silver thread, and Magnus knows that same shirt sits in his closet right now, still in its garment bag. Magnus bought it only last week.

.

“1989,” Magnus says, curving his body towards Alec as Alec rests his hip against the stone railing. “George Bush is President, the High Warlock of Bangkok skipped my birthday party, and Madonna released an excellent fourth album. It’s hard to guess what might go down in history.”

“Sixty years since Paris,” Alec remarks.

“The blink of an eye,” Magnus says, offering a smile. “You don’t have a single grey hair.”

Alec ducks his head on a blush. The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Got a couple wrinkles though. Perils of the job, I guess.”

Magnus hums. He could say that the faint lines around Alec’s eyes make him handsome, or he could remark on how he wouldn’t mind feeling the bite of Alec’s stubble against his skin - and it all would deepen the colour in Alec’s cheeks - but he’s content enough just to look.

So, he looks. He looks, he marvels, and while the ache in his chest is still there, it’s quietened. It’s softened. It doesn’t bruise him anymore because he’s made peace with it, with the tenderness of his skin and his carefully-concealed heart whenever Alec is nearby.

The magic trickles across his skin, the barest touch. A long time ago on the streets of Madrid, it was a flood, a wave punching against his chest, but now, the same temporal magic fades, hissing across the metaphorical sand as it retreats back into the sea.

The spell is weakening, the tear in space and time slowly stitching itself back together, and soon enough, Alec will no longer be able to step through. But Alec - oh, his eyes have softened and he gazes at Magnus with such an overflowing amount of love, and Magnus wants to know how he ever missed it.

How he ran into that Shadowhunter all those centuries ago and didn’t know what this was at first glance.  

I should’ve known you then as I do now. I should’ve known you then as you’ve known me always.

“What?” Alec asks, his smile slanted.

Magnus shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”  

Disantly, Magnus hears a hiss, the whistle of a fire message cutting through his wards. He snatches it out of mid-air, embers cooling on his fingertips, the edges of the parchment scorched.

“Is it urgent?” Alec asks.

“No,” Magnus replies, but he scrunches up his mouth and frowns anyway. “It’s Catarina. She’s been moving Downworlders out of the city and needs my help with masking the energy signature of a portal.”

“Moving Downworlders - oh . The Circle. Valentine.”

“The fact that you’ve heard of him doesn’t fill me with much hope,” says Magnus, snapping his fingers and turning the fire message to ash. He nods at Alec to follow him inside.

“I don’t know him, I’ve met him,” Alec corrects, “Wish I hadn’t.” His voice drops and he fiddles with his ring. “Wish you hadn’t.”  

“There are a great many things I wish I hadn’t done,” says Magnus, leading the way into the loft and towards his study. “But as someone very wise once told me, you can’t just wish away the things that made you who you are.”

Even with his Shadowhunter reflexes, there’s something endearing in the way Alec almost walks into a bookcase, unaccustomed to it being next to the door. Alec glares at it, and Magnus huffs with laughter, sliding behind his desk. He picks up the stack of unburnt fire messages next to his quill and leafs through them.

“The Circle is torturing Downworlders,” he says as Alec hovers on the other side of the desk. “Catarina and I are ferrying as many as we can out of New York to sanctuary cities. The New York Warlock council is not happy with me, of course, because they think we should stay and fight, but - as High Warlock of Brooklyn, my responsibility is to the safety of my people first, and not to the war that Valentine Morgenstern is so eager to fight. It’s kept me very busy.”

“I’m glad,” says Alec, “I mean - I’m not glad that this is happening, just that you’re - that you’ve found purpose. Back in Paris, I thought - I was - you save people , Magnus. That’s what you do.”

“You flatter me.”

“It’s the truth.”

Magnus hesitates, but Alec doesn’t look away. The way he stares, sometimes, wide-eyed and earnest and unblinking, makes Magnus feel so see-through. And it’s in those moments that Magnus finds he knows himself, the truest version of who he is and what he can do: he sees himself as Alec sees him.

Whole.

Magnus clears his throat pointedly and summons his caldron and pestle and mortar to his desk.

“I need to make a magical restoration potion for Catarina,” he explains, “Can you pass me the cypress? It’s in the jar on the -”

Alec reaches out and grabs a small glass jar from the shelf behind him, handing it to Magnus. He doesn’t read the label, but as Magnus uncorks the jar and turns it upside down, a few green branchlets shake out into his palm. Magnus inhales the sweetness of pine and the dry peppery smell of juniper.

“You knew where that was without even looking,” he murmurs, staring at his hand, “I know what that means.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means I’m getting close.”

Magnus crushes the cypress leaves in his fist and tosses them into his cauldron, and then he steps around the desk, crowding Alec against the pantry. The glass jars clink as Alec’s shoulders knock against the shelf.

“It’s a different me,” Alec murmurs, “I told you, when we first meet, I’m -”

“You’re still you,” Magnus says. “That’s all that matters.”

Magnus cups Alec’s neck, kneading his thumbs into the soft, pliant skin beneath Alec’s jaw. It makes Alec’s lips part on instinct. His heartbeat is traitorously loud.

“I think this is the last time I’m going to see you,” Alec whispers. “The magic left over from that spell is wearing off, so I probably won’t - “ His sentence breaks and he swallows thickly, and Magnus follows the slow, pronounced bob of his throat. Magnus strokes his fingers over the tendons in Alec’s neck, feeling them jump and shift with his touch. “I probably won’t get to …”

“You have your own future,” Magnus replies, “And I have mine. You’ve known from the start that this meeting was an accident.”

Alec chews on his lower lip, his head jerking. His eyes have grown dark, his irises eclipsed by his pupils. One hand comes up to cover Magnus’ against the side of his throat. His wedding ring glints and feels cold against Magnus’ fingers.

“It happens soon,” Alec confesses, and the words tumble out as if he might regret them if he says them any slower. “Less than thirty years. In Manhattan -”

“Spoilers, surely?”

“- and I take one look at you and it terrifies me, because I want it so much and I’d never wanted anyone like that before.”

Magnus sucks in a sharp breath, and then he surges up onto the balls of his feet, threading his fingers through Alec’s hair, and he kisses Alec hard.

Alec stumbles back into the shelves and the jars and pots and trinkets clink and jangle, but none of them break, and Alec grips Magnus by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him close.

Magnus’ magic stutters - and then it leaps. He feels it surge into Alec at every point they touch, and Alec returns it in like: Magnus’ own magic, but more, outpouring with this timeless and irrevocable love that makes no sense, and yet, here Magnus is, cradling it between two palms and feeling the way is disturbs the universe - palpable, tangible thing.

Alec kisses him deeply, his tongue flicking against the seam of Magnus’ mouth, his teeth nipping at Magnus’ lower lip. He kisses Magnus like he’s been kissing him for years - and God, he has, he has - and he knows each and every way to make Magnus’ heart beat faster.

Then, Magnus can feel his smile: tiny, guilty, perfect, and the kiss softens. Alec presses his lips to the corner of Magnus’ mouth, to his jaw, to the soft skin of his cupid’s bow as Magnus, each one more gentle than the last as Magnus threads his fingers through the dark hair above Alec’s ears.

And Alec trembles, the magic they share trembles, shivering through Magnus’ fingers and up his arms and into his chest where it bounces across each rib. It breathes, and Magnus takes each of Alec’s shaky inhales and exhales as his own.

The kiss fades, until it’s just the brush of Alec’s lips across his, and then Alec tilts his forehead against Magnus’, his breathing deep. His fingers are still knotted in the lapels of Magnus’ jacket.

“I never -” Alec whispers, and Magnus feels every word against his mouth. “I never thought that I’d - that felt like our first kiss again. I never thought I’d feel it a second time.”

Magnus brushes his nose against Alec’s. “And which of us did it better?” he asks, “Him or me?”

“You. Always you,” Alec murmurs, “He is you.”

The buzzing in the magic has yet to dissipate, and Magnus can feel the invisible threads of the fading spell wrap their tendrils around Alec’s arms and legs and begin to tug. They don’t have long.

Magnus closes his eyes, holding Alec near to him. “I stand no chance, Alexander,” he confesses, “The moment I meet you, I’m already going to feel so -”

“I’m going to feel the same thing. I promise.”

Magnus shakes his head. Alec doesn’t understand it; he can’t. The feeling has always been too big for Magnus, to unwieldy for him to grasp, and yet Alec lives and breathes it: this thing called love.

“It makes no sense, but I know you,” Magnus says. “I know who you are in the same way I know my magic. It’s intimate. Inherent to who I am, and yet it’s a life I haven’t yet lived.”

“It’ll make sense,” Alec replies, and his lifts his hand to cup Magnus’ jaw, but the touch of his fingertips is incorporeal. His eyes find Magnus’, endlessly. “It makes sense to me.”  

“I look forward to meeting you,” Magnus whispers, as Alec’s skin turns translucent and becomes the same dust particulates always suspended in a beam of silent sunlight.

PLUS ONE | MANHATTAN, NEW YORK, USA, 2016

The lights of Pandemonium pulse with electrochromic intensity: blue, purple, green, white, strobe passing across the crowd like a searchlight, plunging young thrill seekers in and out of shadow. The floor is sticky with spilled beer, the air is sweet and sickly with Seelie magic, but it’s the music that laves across Magnus’ skin and always fills him with that heady rush.

That, and the power flickering in his fingertips as he summons a portal, the thrill of holding a Shadowhunter by the throat with just the lick of his magic, the power pulsing from the red jewel in his hand, returned to him by Clary Fairchild and that insufferable blonde Shadowhunter, and engraved on the back with the single word, amor -

True love can never die .

“Look out!”

The arrow comes out of nowhere, piercing a hidden Circle member through the heart. The man falls with a thud, but electricity skitters up the back of Magnus’ neck.

He turns. The archer comes striding down the stairs and pushes his way through the crowd, brushing Magnus’ shoulder on his way to retrieve the arrow. He’s young - painfully young - and skittish and beautiful and, at last, unfamiliar.

There’s not a single wisp of temporal magic to be felt. The universe, for once, is whole and faultless.

It’s taken almost four hundred years.

“Who are you?” Magnus asks, already breathless. He knows the answer. What was it he’s supposed to say? More like medium rare?

He watches the Shadowhunter toss his Seraph blade in the air and catch it. The roaming yellow-gold lights of the club pass across his bare forearms, the empty space on his left ring finger.

Heat unfurls beneath Magnus’ skin.

The magic sings.

#actuallyredorchid #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

[amucus]

WHO: Amycus Carrow (@ascarrow) + Lily Potter (@lilyevanspctter) + James Potter (@potteringpctter) + Alice Longbottom (@alicethelongbottom) + Frank Longbottom (@frnklongbottom) for @amorfatihq

WHAT: The one with the interrogation.

WHEN: April 12th, 1982, late afternoon.

WHERE: A safe house.

AMYCUS started to come to, only to find that he was still in a dark basement (that reminded him of the dungeons at Hogwarts), and still magically bound to the World's Most Uncomfortable Chair. But all of that was Fine ™️ until he laid his sleepy eyes on the bane of his existance. "Lily," he greeted through gritted teeth. "Ready for another round already?" He winked, but his features were painted in fifty shades of disdain.

LILY braced herself when they arrived to the safehouse, not wanting to show the death eater how utterly broken she felt over the lose of her child, the thought of how he might be with each passing moment never leaving her. Were they feeding him, cleaning him? He was a baby a small baby barely two years old, did any of those monsters even know how to take care of a small child? Still, she'd managed to compose herself when they entered the basement, she sat her kit down on a corner table before turning to him her face twisting when he spoke. Her green eyes blazed with anger, the sight of him growing it tenfold upon remembering he was the reason they took her son. "Your friends, took our son." She said stepping closer. "You're going to tell us everything because I have lost all concern for your wellbeing at this point."

AMYCUS could kind of see it now, what Potter saw in her. She was hot when she was angry. Mean, in a different way than the women he usually interacted with, but still crazy hot. She was every bit as fiery as her red hair. His jaw ticked, but he kept his cool demeanor. The Death Eaters took Harry? Curiouser and curiouser. "You took me first," he pointed out, sounding bored but his interest was piqued. "-and I don't have any friends, so I don't know who you're referring to, but my condolences for your loss."

ALICE lingered in the back; there was a fire and anger in her eyes that she didn’t bother dampening. This man - boy - before her was part of the organization that had stolen away her friends’ little boy, while her own son slept beside him. They destroyed Arabella’s home. She had no sympathy for Amycus as she watched Lily display her own rage. She couldn’t wait to see the redhead enact a mother’s wrath upon him. So she lingered near the door, Frank near, as she watched with cruel satisfaction written on her face.

JAMES quickly stepped forward, although angry and wanting to burn down the world, he knew Amycus, specifically was not to blame for this particularly interaction. After all, he wasn't the reason why their son was kidnapped. No, even James could see that. He gently took Lily's hand, pulling her away from Amycus for a second before whispering low in her ear. "It's not going to get us anywhere if we're cruel to him," he said. "Trust me. I know him... Just, let me try something?"  He met her eyes then, strong, hoping she wouldn't mind the interruption.

LILY ignored the interjection about them taking the death eater first. If only so she wasn't reminded that it was her completely sound and sober decision to do so in the first place. That kind of reminder would only derail her. She reared closer to him her jaw ticking, "Let's not kid ourselves by assuming you have more than two brain cells, but if I were you I'd be making good use of them right about now because god help you if I don't get my son back,-" She was cut off mid tirade when James pulled her back and she whirled on him eyes blazing as brightly as the deep red of her hair. "I don't care much about his comfort right now James! Or are you forgetting he associates with the likes of the scum who have Harry? Who knows how many children he's robbed from their parents himself!" She exclaimed not nearly as quietly as her husband. Though at his affirmation and request she settled somewhat. "Fine. I'll get the serum ready."

ALICE flinches at Lily’s tirade. Although this is exactly what she’d expected, exactly what she hoped her friend would unleash, it was different to hear it. She took a tentative step forward, but didn’t continue. Anger and recklessness might very well ruin this interrogation. The collection of information needed to be done precisely, carefully. She allowed the two parents to take charge until they stepped too far, or not far enough, although she doubted the latter would be an issue.

JAMES knew that the request must've seemed out of the blue. But he also knew Amycus. Knew him from school, from times when the pair, although unlikely, would sit at The Leaky together and talk. It wasn't as if he wasn't angry, or that he particularly even cared about Amycus' comfort at this point. But, not every interrogation needed to be pins and needles. "Lil," he said, trying to calm her, gently meeting her eyes for potentially the first time since they'd learned their son was kidnapped. "Trust me." As she left, James shook his head softly and went and sat down in front of Amycus, spinning the chair around so he could rest his forearms on top of it. "I don't like this as much as you don't like this, Carrow," he said. "My son is missing. In exchange for you, they took my son. Not even two years old. The one you said was going places just a day ago." He let that settle in, and took a deep breath himself, trying to steady himself. Eyes meeting Amycus', he tried not to flinch. "You told me you were a Death Eater for a reason, Amycus. Not just because we were blasted. Why? Why are we sitting here right now? Give me something, mate."

LILY could feel her gut twisting at James' words. Not even two years old. The one you said was going places. She simply clenched her fists at her sides as she stalked across the room to where she'd earlier left her laboratory kit, meeting Alice and Frank's only a minute. She didn't particularly like the person she was right now, she didn't even want to think of what she might truly be capable of if pushed to that point. And they were there to bare witness to just that. She opened up the bag, taking out the small green elixir bottle and then a bottle of water. Along with a few other odds and ends. She had brought the truth serum of course, but also some more nefarious concoctions that might help things along if needed.

AMYCUS' head lulled to one side as she insulted him. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, even from the so-called-friends she not-so-kindly referred to before. That was only part of the reason Amycus didn't like people. "How about you put your two braincells together and find another outlet for your anger. Like, I don't know, whoever took your child." He was being so cavelier, but when had Amycus ever shown any care or concern for anyone other than his sister? She was projecting. So bloody pissed off at herself she was taking it out on him. Cool. This was fucking batshit. He opened his mouth to continue but someone cut in and Amycus' tired eyes cut to James... the reason he was here. "Au contraire, Jimmy Jams. Pretty sure I like this a little less than you do, but the wench has us both beat." He flashed a wolfish grin and settled back further in his chair. Might as well try to get fucking comfortable. "Correct. In exchange for me. An eye for an eye. That, my friend, is Karma." Eyebrows wiggled a little, fishing for some type of reaction. "You said it yourself. I like the kid... Why did I tell you?" he mused aloud. He swiped his tongue over his lips, then bit them together, waiting for the lightbulb to go off in that pretty little head of James'. "Maybe I confided in you because I trusted you, mate," he challenged. Was it true? Probably not, but his new bff Lily was cooking up a truth serum for this very occasion so...

JAMES couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty for what Amycus’ was going through. He expected him to poke at it; to make a hole where there was already a tear. But James hadn’t expected Amycus to say that he had trusted him. “Godric, you trusted me?” he asked, trying to keep his face neutral. “We both bloody know that’s not the best answer.” Taking a deep breath, James tried to reason with Amycus. “An eye for an eye means equality, Carrow. But you’re an adult. My son has barely lived. We both know this unfair. We both know that I’ll help you if you help us.” That much was true. James wouldn’t lie about that. But would Amycus trust him now? He didn’t know.

AMYCUS had spent years mastering his pokerface. It was the only way to survive in the Carrow household. He didn't answer, deciding to let the question hang in the thick air between them. The corner of his lips twisted up into something sinister. "You gonna choose me over her?” he asked, sending a pointed look over James' shoulder. "Didn't think so. She's already written my obituary for the Prophet, mate. Doesn't matter what I say. Kidnapped child or not, killing me was always the endgame here so save me from this friendly little chat she and I are about to have and just kill me now." He lowered his gaze and rolled his neck, curious if James would call his bluff. "For what it's worth though, I had the chance to harm your child and the motive. And I didn't, did I?"

FRANK stood in the back, wand clasped tightly in his hand, taking in everything in the room. He watched James and Lily did the unthinkable as they demanded answers about their son, felt Alice’s sturdy presence in the corner waiting for the time to step in, and listened to the Death Eater say a lot of words that didn’t really mean anything. It was frustrating, watching the young kid with the horrendous mark on his arm, poke and tease the Potters - even if he truly had no idea where their son was. It seemed unlikely, unless the kidnapping had been planned before they got Amycus in their custody. All he could hope for was that the truth serum that Lily was preparing would at least give them some information. He nodded at the redheaded girl - approving and encouraging her move of sorting through her bag. Following protocol, he or Alice should be the ones to give the green elixir to the Death Eater - but things were already out of order here, and it would probably do Lily good to take back some of the power. Talk between two boys who had once known each other would only complicate things. It would be impossible for them to not be personal - and even though the matter itself was, it was clearly hardly productive. He’d wait until it was necessary, step in and ask the questions that would hopefully point them in the right direction to where Harry was being kept.

LILY had stayed quiet letting James try his way like he'd asked though she whirled in place to glare at him from across the room. "Do not assume you know anything about me. Let's not forget I'm not the one associated with a criminal organization that routinely tortures and murders innocent people." The nerve on him to try and paint her out to be the one out for him for no god damn reason. "We wouldn't be here at all if those weren't the kind of people you support. Killing you was never in our plans, but I'm not surprised you would think that considering what your people do."

ALICE stepped toward Lily again, this time reaching her. “Careful. No one wants me to see you take this guy down more than I do, but he is the way to Harry. Let’s figure that out before we do anything...drastic.” She whispered the words so Frank was the only one close enough to hear. “As aurors, there’s protocol we need to follow to make sure we all stay out of trouble. Let me give him the serum.” Her eyes were firm, but pleading. She understood just how much emotions could cloud someone’s judgement during a crucial moment.

AMYCUS rolled his eyes dramatically slow as he turned his head to look in Lily's direction. "Right. You wouldn't know anything about an organization that kidnaps, poisons and tortures someone for crimes they hypothetically committed, would you?" A smirk curled in his lips. "What exactly are you implicating me for anyway? For being a part of a club? For having some sick art on my arm?" He shrugged halfheartedly. "Tell me, Lils - can I call you Lils? - who's the bad guy here? Still me? Whatever helps you sleep at night." He winked again, paying no mind to the other people in the room. "Do not assume you know anything about me," he said, throwing her own words back at her.

FRANK watched as his wife approached the younger witch, agreeing with everything that she warned in a hushed tone. It was no surprise that when she needed to, Alice would step in and help guide Lily. He only hoped that she would trust her fellow Order member and mother - as well as a talented Auror - to run the interrogation. "She's right," he told Lily with a nod, taking a moment to look at his wife before returning his attention to the redheaded girl and trying to get her to focus on him rather than the vile things coming out of Amycus' mouth. It was easy to act as if their cause was the same, when Frank and Alice knew first hand that the Death Eaters interrogations were nothing like this. "We will get the information we need. We just need to act properly. Let Alice do it."

JAMES shook his head at Amycus’ words, eyes meeting his with a deep sadness. Or maybe it wasn’t sadness so much as weariness. First his son, and now Amycus. “Of course I’ll choose Lily,” he said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t care about you, either.” He stood out of his chair, shoulders shrugging. “Let me know if you change your mind.” And with that he looked to Frank and Alice. He’s all yours, he seemed to be saying, shoulders down.

ALICE could only imagine how deep Lily’s emotions ran for this entire situation, but it seemed James was at an even deeper crossroads. Amycus was his friend, it seemed, and this interrogation didn’t look like it was going to end well. With shoulders back, Alice careful took the serum from Lily and approached Amycus. “I can shove this down your throat or you can take it willingly - it’s your call.” She offered the vail to him with raised brows. Switching seamlessly into auror mode was easy given the tension in the situation. And that required an entirely different personality and set of morals than the one people were used to from her.

LILY was so angry speaking was difficult, but she understood where Alice and Frank were coming from, and honestly she was so thankful that they were there. If left to their own devices she and James would like just crumble under the weight of their own guilt and panic. She let Alice take the bottle, and after taking a deep breath she hand Frank the water bottle for him for the bitter elixir. Because despite her anger and willingness to incinerate anything and everything in the path to get getting back her baby she was not an unkind woman. Composing herself she went to stand with James, needing him to lean on.

AMYCUS could handle James and had even gotten used to Lily (though, despite his feigned bravado, she still scared the shit out of him) but his patience was wearing thin with their friends. Three's a crowd. Five's a party. None of his 'friends' were invited. "The flying pitch's a little uneven here, don't you think?" he asked, lazy eyes sweeping the room to look at each of the four interrogators. "No." Like the foul creature he was, he actually spat in Alice's direction. She may have been 'pureblood' but she wasn't sacred, not like her traitorous husband. She didn't deserve his respect. "Let her do it," he sneered, tilting his head in Lily's direction. "I want her to remember who the villain in this story is every time she looks in the mirror."

JAMES had been waiting for a moment like this. The moment where the fire in his veins took hold. And, Amycus' actual threat to Lily did that. Without a second thought, he grabbed the vial from Alice's finger-tips, sending a second paralyzing spell Amycus' way, shutting him up just for a moment. "No," he shook his head, looking at Lily. "You're not the bad guy here, Lils." And so, he did it for her. He wished that the night hadn't come to this moment, but still, holding Amycus' mouth open, he quickly poured the liquid down his throat, then held his nose. It was do or die here, literally, and James couldn't even look Amycus Carrow in the eye.

ALICE wiped the saliva off her shoulder - it missed its intended mark - with extreme distaste. It wasn’t the first time she’d been spit on, and it wouldn’t be the last. His words however, elicited irritation. An unruly detainee was always so much more work. Before she could reply beyond acknowledging his slight, the vial  was gone from her hands and James was shoving the liquid down Carrow’s throat. Panic filled her. “James! That’s enough!” Her voice was firm, demanding. This situation was getting out of hand. Let her conscious be stained, or Frank’s - they’d seen enough already. Conducting torture in this form was something she worried James wouldn’t fully recover from.

LILY watched the interaction carefully, though she nearly lurched away from James when he had the audacity to spit in her friends directions. She'd be all to happy to force the concoction down his throat without a hint of remorse, despite what he had to say about it. Her serum would not harm him in anyway, and him telling the truth would only make this more painless for him. So really it was a mercy. Though James was off before she could even react, she watched him knowing full well that he would think on this far more than she would have. Though she couldn't help but feel the slightest bit comforted knowing that no matter the distance that had filled between them as they both dealt with their grief differently, they would always stand up for one another.

AMYCUS was waiting for it - the moment James Potter snapped. A viscious smirk curled on his lips as he watched it happen. James grabbed the vile in a fit of rage, coming straight for him. And Amycus wasn't even going to fight him. It was four wanded wizards verse one incapacitated, defenseless wizard. His mouth was forced wide, but he would have swallowed it down easily - every last drop. He tried to lean into James' view but his mobility was limited... so he just let out a maniacal laugh. "Do you always fight her battles for her?" he asked, licking a trace of the serum off his lips. "First question's yours hero," he challenged, looking right at James.

JAMES didn't notice he was breathing heavily until Amycus was speaking again. He turned away to wipe the sweat from his brow (when had that happened?) and pulled his glasses off his nose for a moment. Suddenly, he felt ten years older. Taking a deep breath at Amycus' question, he didn't turn around when he asked, "Where would they most likely have taken Harry?" He supposed anything could be justified if he were only looking out for his son, but still, the guilt rode in his stomach, making him want to vomit.

AMYCUS tsked and shook his head back and forth. "Wrong question, Jimmy Jams." His range of movement was very limited and it was very fucking inconvenient. All he could gesture with was his facial features and he relied heavily on body language. "One of the manors. That's an easy one," he answered, voice dripping with boredom, and like the little shit he was, he feigned a yawn. "Next time ask me what you really want to know." Aaand he actually fucking winked before turning towards Lily. "Your turn, little Red. Any questions for the big bad wolf?"

LILY watched them, the frown that had settled unlikely to dissipate for the duration of this unsavory interaction. His flippant answers though did make her feel just a little bit angrier every time he opened his mouth. Without really even looking at him because her attention was fixed on Carrow, Lily took the bottle she'd earlier handed to Frank and walked over to him. Uncapping it she offered it to his face since his hands were immobilized. "Give me the names of the death eaters in Voldemort's inner circle." She said, forgoing any question relating directly to Harry's possible whereabouts, which he had no way of knowing anyway. The smart thing to do would be to extract as much information about the Death Eaters from him as possible enough so that it could sorted through and they could decided what would be useful, where or rather toward whom they could focus their efforts.

AMYCUS eyed the water bottoe warily, not trusting anything she gave him. The damn serum left a bitterness in his mouth he wasn't particularly fond of though so he gave in and opened his mouth. He only swallowed half of it before tilting his head back and spitting it upwards, creating a little fountain with his mouth. Water ran down his face, so when he looked straight ahead again, he shook his head, making the water droplets fly. Ge let out a sigh of relief, making an ahhh sound... like a fucking child. "Amycus Carrow," he stated, just to be facetious but the urge to spill more names was literally causing him physical pain. Fucking serum. He tried to hold it back but finally gave in. "Just kidding. I'm not in the inner circle so I know nothing," he teased, flashing a pained smile. "Jonas Travers," dick. "Rodolphus LeStrange." Asshole. He considered for a moment before adding, "Rabastan LeStrange." Guilty by association. Then, just for shits and giggles, he added, "-and Sebastian Wilkes. The right hand man."

FRANK could see that the young Death Eater was doing everything to rile them up. Either to get under the skin of those he once knew, distract them from the information he had, or the information he didn't - or all of the above. Still, Frank had to make himself stoic. Even though he wanted nothing more to throw a spell in Amycus face to wipe off the grin as he spat in his wife's face and teased the other two, he knew it would do them no good for all three of them to lose their head. Instead he handed the bottle to Lily, keeping his eyes on his wife, silently assessing her current state. The only thing that pulled his attention from Alice were the names that Amycus started to rattle off, burning them into his memory.

ALICE wasn’t the least bit surprised at the names revealed. Well, Sebastian Wilkes was a little bit of a shock. He always seemed...well, not the Death Eater sort. Still, she looked back, eyes meeting her husband, and gave a brief nod. They had become perfectly synchronized partners over the years, the movement as if to say, “we’ll look in to this later.” She turned back to the child in the chair, her eyes narrowed. “If you’re done playing with your own saliva, I’d prefer we moved on.” She wondered if the Death Eaters even missed his presence. They probably only stole Harry to send a message, but weren’t concerned with actually getting this nuisance back. “Care to add to that list?” She paused, meeting Frank’s eyes again for guidance. Their questions had to be specific, precise. She turned back as if she was satisfied with their quiet conversation. “Where do your meetings take place? I want the names of the specific locations and owners of the manors, if those are on the list.”

LILY stepped back when he only spit up the water instead of drinking it all. Dipping her head into her hand she had to massage the pulse at her temple. Drained and enraged all at once. She let Frank and Alice return to the forefront letting them do what they did best though she didn't let up her death glare in his direction.

AMYCUS was tired. Physically. Mentally. "No." The older witch was a snore, but that could work in his favor. Maybe she would bore him to sleep - or better yet, bore him to death! She was catching on though. Getting a little more specific with her question. He bit down on the inside of his cheeks to keep from blurting anything out too fast. "Knockturn Alley. Hogsmeade. Diagon Alley. Right under your nose," he said, but that didn't really answer her question, so he continued. "Carrow. Travers. LeStrange. Wilkes," he answered, pointing a bored look in her direction but there was a challenge in his eyes.

ALICE rolled her eyes. Of course he would twist that question, no matter how specific. His information was hardly that, and wasn’t helpful at all. “Do you think they’re on their way to help you?” She said in mock curiosity. “The Death Eaters, that is. They took Harry, but who’s to say they’ll bother getting you back? We’ve spent enough time with you to understand that you’re not exactly the useful type.” Her cruel words flowed freely, a finger tapping against her chin. She kept a few feet away, though. She liked this outfit enough to not want him to spit on her again.

LILY rolled her eyes as he regurgitated answers. "The serum is strong enough that he won't be able to talk his way in circles if you ask him direct questions. I say we start naming off the wizards we suspect. Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Evan Rosier, their all related aren't they?"

AMYCUS' brows came together to form a crease between his eyes. "Maybe that's what they want. The more time you spend interrogating me, the more quality bonding time your son gets with them." He shot a look James' way before cutting his eyes back to Alice. "You need my help or you wouldn't be here while he's there - wherever there is. I may not know where he is - because you kidnapped me before it happened - but I may be able to find him. Or I could if I was useful," he shrugged one shoulder, just barely, but enough to know he was regaining control of his body. His eyes darted to Lily but the only answer he got was an aggravated, "Yes." They were related, that's all she asked.

FRANK nodded in return to his partner, watching as she continued on to interview Amycus. At the sight of Lily, he finally made his way up to the chair where the Death Eater was tied up, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder as he passed her. He ended his walk just a couple steps behind his wife, listening as the two women discussed their questions, his eyes trained on the boy. "There's no need to dance around the questions - he's dispensable as a Death Eater already, especially now that he's revealed information." Going off of Alice and Lily's lead, he made another step forward to Amycus. "You clearly underestimate us and just how many people are searching for Harry. You're just one stop in the search." He looked down at him, crossing his arms across his chest and gripping tightly onto his wand. "Who do you report to?"

AMYCUS couldn't help but roll his eyes. Useless. Dispensable. They were trying to get a reaction from someone who couldn't feel anything - someone who was already dead inside. He knew his place in the Death Eaters. Knew he was only minimally useful. He liked it that way. "One very long, very useless stop," he baited them with another bored look. He looked from the wand to Frank's face, chuckling under his breath. "Lord Voldemort." Technically, they all reported to the Dark Lord... and Amycus didn't like to deal with anyone else unless he had to.

LILY was growing more impatient by the minute, this was supposed to be easy. He couldn't lie, yet the asshole was craftier than she'd have given him credit for skirting around the truth where ever there was room to. "He can't talk his way out of a yes or no question. So how about I ask a different way. Are Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and Evan Rosier death eaters?"

AMYCUS’ bored look was gone as he fixed her with a hard stare. One of those three names was a person he almost considered a friend. A murderous friend that would kill him for outing him... but what choice did he have? The witch was good, and that serum of hers was a bitch like it's maker. He worked his jaw, starring her right in the eye as he replied with a quick, "Yes." Then, because the stunning spell was wearing off, he made a sudden move. It was a small little jump, but it made a loud noise as the legs of the chair scratched the floor. "Anything else, or are we done here?"

JAMES wished there was more he could think of, but since his first question he'd felt the ache in her stomach beginning. There was a kind-of heartbreak at the thought of this interrogation not getting them anything. And, to James, although they got names, did they really get anything at all? Amycus was right, he realized. They'd risked it all for nothing. With a sigh of his shoulders, James shook his head at the horrible reality of this situation. "An eye for an eye," he said, softly, scanning Lily's face before turning on his heel. A quick look at Amycus and James left the room, but he couldn't stop the fury in his veins and the hot tears in the corners of his eye.

#lilyevanspctter #potteringpctter #alicethelongbottom #frnklongbottom #amorfatihq

[eternityunicorn]

Love Me Apocalyptic: Part Four +18

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Romance/Drama/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Violence, Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: AU of an AU: Elijah Mikaelson and Eternity had been lovers centuries ago. Betrayed, he had thought that he would never see her again. However, in present time, she has returned with a purpose, intertwining their paths once more. Elijah hates Eternity for the past, but finds his addiction to her is still as profound as it had been before and he cannot fight it, leaving him in a complicated relationship with his former lady - in an apocalyptic love.

NOTE: OC and original elements are from my up and coming novel series!

———————————————————————————————————

When Elijah awoke the next day, he found himself alone. 

Eternity had gone.

It was for the best, he told himself, ignoring the nagging sense of disappointment and sadness that tried to well up inside him at her absence from his bed. He snorted at his pathetic and rather frustrating behavior. In fact, he was completely repulsed by his weak will. That he would give into his desire so easily, especially considering he despised Eternity for what she did, was abhorrent, to say the least.

Or...so he tried to convince himself.

Irked, Elijah quickly removed himself from the bed and went for the shower. He needed to rid himself of her sweet scent that coated his skin. He didn’t want the reminder of what had transpired the night before. 

Yet, as he scrubbed his body clean, the memories came flooding back, swirling though his head, making him vividly remember it all. He could feel her lips on his skin, her hands as they trailed over him, the sting of her nails as she violently clawed his back, the wonderful sensation of her wet warmth wrapped around his cock. Her moans, her screams, her chants of his name all echoed in his ears. It was all there, haunting him.

He didn’t want it! He didn’t want her! Yet....

In an act of frustration, Elijah reached impulsively and punched the ceramic tiled wall of the shower stall, cracking it under the force he used. Realizing he had lost control, he reigned himself in quickly, appalled by how easily he had slipped up, acted so much like...Niklaus.

Having decided that he needed something to clear his head, to distract him, he made the choice to go to Marcel’s gym to work his frustrations out of his system with a little...exercise. Getting out of the shower and drying off quickly, he dressed in a pair of sweatpants and tank top with a pair of fingerless gloves. Then he head out at vampire speed.

Arriving at the gym Marcel had set up, he found the younger vampire himself there doing some training with a few of his followers. He was already in the ring, sparring with one of them, when Elijah came strolling in. Upon seeing him enter ready to spar, the former King of New Orleans smiled curiously at him through the wire fence. 

“Well, well, look who it is?” Marcel greeted him, as Elijah opened the door to the ring and entered. “Come to show these newbies what’s up, Elijah?”

“Something like that,” he replied with a slight grin as he stood right inside as the door shut behind him. “Care to dance, Marcellus?”

The other man chuckled, “Sure.” 

Then the underling was dismissed from the ring. The new vampire looked ready to bolt at the sight of an Original and had no qualms in vacating the arena. In fact, he didn’t even bother looking at Elijah as he moved past him and exited. 

Elijah gazed at the young man with smug amusement, before turning back to Marcel. “Whenever you’re ready,” he nodded curtly.

Immediately, the two engaged each other. Marcel lunged at him, executing a series of punches that were tight and quick, but not enough to hit him with. He managed to block all of his strikes and returned with a series of his own. To his mild surprise, the younger man managed to block his as well, except for the last one that landed across his jaw and knocked him back into the fence. 

“Damn, Elijah,” Marcel quipped, holding his jaw. “That was harsh! Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Perhaps,” shrugged Elijah, gesturing for the other man engage him. “Come.”

For a good hour, they sparred, exchanging blows on nearly equal footing; though that might have been because the Original was holding back. Regardless, this exercise had been exactly what he needed. He felt more relaxed, more himself again. For the moment, he didn’t see her face, didn’t feel the ghost of her touch - didn’t feel anything, other than the exchange of punches with Marcel. 

However, his moment of peace was suddenly sabotaged.

While engaging the younger vampire, Elijah saw the flash of white out of the corner of his eye and was immediately distracted by it. He had been doing well in keeping his opponent on his toes, but in that moment, Marcel managed to land a particularly hard blow, sending the Original spinning into the fence. 

There was a collective cringing response from the vampires whom had been watching their fight, but also from the new arrival - the bane of Elijah’s existence.

As he took a moment to recover, he heard the door to the ring squeak open, then close again, and knew she had entered. He turned sharping to see her standing there with a hand on her leather clad hip and an amused smirk upon her pink lips as she gazed at him directly. The fury that oozed off him didn’t seem to bother her, which angered him more.

“E?” Called Marcel upon seeing Eternity.

The ethereal woman turned and smiled warmly at the younger vampire, “Hello, old friend.”

The other man laughed joyously and rushed to embrace the tiny woman, enveloping her in his embrace, while Elijah watched on in hostility. After a moment, Marcel pulled away and held her at arm’s length as he said, “I can’t believe it! It’s been so long! How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been well,” replied Eternity. “In fact -.”

“Forgive my rudeness, but leave us, Marcellus,” Elijah called out authoritatively, causing both of them to turn and look at him; Marcel annoyed by his barking order and Eternity amused by it.

Yet, the younger man didn’t argue or protest. He simply dismissed his people and then excused himself with one last glaring look toward the Original. 

Once the others were gone from the old church, Elijah moved with vampire speed and went to grab Eternity in order to slam her into the fence, to demand why she had come. However, she wasn’t in the mood to be bullied it seemed and she anticipated his movements flawlessly, grabbing one reaching arm with an even greater speed and then roundhouse kicking him in the gut, sending him flying backwards. He skidded to a halt on bare feet, the pain of it nonexistent as he stared in momentary surprise by her.

Eternity only grinned with her arms folded across her silk covered chest. 

Elijah returned her grin with an unamused one of his own. “What the hell are you doing here, Eternity?” He quietly demanded as he took on a defensive stance, feeling like a tiger ready to strike.

“I came with news, but in truth, this seems more interesting,” she replied cryptically. “Shall we?”

With the challenge set and without another word, she attacked. With a speed to match his own, she moved with a fury of punches and kicks, engaging him. He managed to keep up, blocking her blows well enough and hitting back with an equally powerful counter strike that kept her on her toes. They danced like this, on equal footing for a long while, neither of them letting up, neither of them slowing down. They were in perfect harmony - and that pissed him off even more.

Their perfection together, there in the ring, called his body to hers. The beauty of it made him want her. As always, he tried to resist it, the intense desire that consistently plagued him, whenever she was around. But as every time before, he felt his control slipping, sending him into a blind fury.

Elijah moved faster, struck harder, until he managed to get the better of Eternity. He landed a blow across her jaw in a misstep on her part and it sent her back into the fence. Not wasting the opportunity, he was on her before she could fully recover and pinned her to the wire fence with her hands trapped above her head in one of his larger ones. 

Inches from her face, he had to muster all his strength to not kiss her devouringly and instead growled threateningly down at her, “Tell me what you know.”

Elijah could see the lust that swirled in her sapphire eyes and it did nothing to help his determination to resist her. She gazed with her mouth agape. Then, she licked her lower lip as she seductively stared up at him beneath her lashes. 

“Those old friends I spoke of before are in town,” Eternity breathed, speaking quietly. “In fact, the first shall be visiting your Marcellus soon. The new threat is upon you and yours, Elijah. Be cautious moving forward, but know that I will be here this time to aid you all in what is to come. If only to make up for my past failings.”

“You speak in riddles, woman,” he hissed at her. “Speak plainly. Tell me what is coming.”

Eternity laughed lightly and smirked, “I cannot. I probably have spoken too much as it is. Besides, even if I did explain more plainly, where would the fun in that be, hmm?”

Angry and frustrated in his struggle to remain strong against her, as well as in her refusal to give him the answers that he sought, Elijah pushed away from her with a snarl. He turned away with his hands on his hips as he tried to calm himself.

“You know for what it’s worth, I am sorry about what happened and I am not referring to this era,” she called to him. “Though I am sorry for what happened with Gia too. I apologize for my betrayal. I never wanted to hurt you, Elijah. I loved you. Despite your supposed hate of me now, I still do. I never stopped. When I discovered the threat of the Hollow, I knew I had found a way to make up for it. So I came. I am here.”

Her words stirred up old emotions, ones he tried to keep buried, ones he didn’t want to recognize. Instead, he held on to his anger, his hate of her, as he turned back quickly and in a few short strides, was before her again with his hand around her throat firmly.

He stared down at her venomously and calmly raged, “You dare to speak of love to me! You betrayed everything resembling love between us, when you decided to act against my family, after I pleaded with you not to! With that one act, you destroyed everything - our happiness, our future. You broke my heart, gutted me completely. There is nothing but bitterness here now. Do you understand? I. Hate. You.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Elijah,” responded Eternity softly, unperturbed. “You and I both now you’re lying, mostly to yourself. Anyone who hold another so close, so secure, the way you did with me last night, is simply not hate. Far from it, but please, oh please, keep on ‘hating’ me. I find it rather...thrilling.” She laughed then, to provoke him.

He knew that. Yet, he couldn’t help but play right into her hands.

In blazing fury, Elijah lifted the ethereal woman off of her feet as if she weighed nothing and threw her across the ring effortlessly. He watched as she acted quickly and caught herself, skidding to a stop on the mat. She stared at him with an amused fury of her own, a grin upon her lips as she gazed up at him from her crouched position.

“Haven’t had enough?” She said as she slowly rose to her full height. “So be it.”

Once more they engaged each other again, exchanging blows with precision, trying to strike the other down, to gain the upper hand. Eternity remained as amused as she had been since arriving, while he remained ever furious.

Then in a miscalculation of his own, Elijah found himself the one being pressed into the fence with the ethereal beauty holding him there firmly with an arm across his chest. She stared at him with wildly lusty eyes and he did the same to her. 

Nobody moved, nobody spoke. The only sound was the pants of exertion that echoed through the silence.

The dam effortlessly broke within Elijah and his mouth crashed down upon Eternity in a fury of a different kind. His tongue pried open hers forcefully and dove inside, tasting her roughly. The second that she released him from her hold did he have her thrown down onto the mat with him hovering over her. He grabbed her jaw tightly in one hand and his mouth reattached to hers in fiery passion as soon as he was within reach. 

His hands wasted no time in tearing Eternity’s clothes from her body. The flimsy silk of her shirt went first, exposing her soft breasts to him. He took a moment to kneed one in his palm, as his mouth moved lower to her jaw and then her neck where he harshly bit along the column without care, wanting to give her a little pain. 

Eternity gasped his name in pained pleasure, enjoying the rough treatment, and it only drove him on in his madness. His hands swiftly moved down her body to grip the sides of the thick leather leggings she wore and tore them from her form as well. The sound of it was loud and echoing. 

Once they were deposed of, Elijah moved into place between her thighs, the scent of her arousal strong and intoxicating, calling to him. He reached down to touch her intimately, rubbing over her clit and then dipping two digits into her entrance, feeling the slick heat that was all for him - because of him.

He groaned at the feel of it, his eyes closing as he imagined her wrapped around his cock instead of his fingers. The need for that to come to pass was great in his angry passion; blind and animalistic in nature.

Therefore, Elijah didn’t waste time in reaching down to push his sweats and boxers down one handedly to expose his cock. For a brief second, he paused to gaze into Eternity’s flushed face, seeing the intense passion he felt reflected back at him. With a vicious growl, he withdrew his fingers from her depths and flipped her over onto her stomach, lifting her hips until she was on her knees with her backside in the air. 

Without further ado, he lined up with her entrance and thrusted into her violently. He gasped and she moaned loudly, in unison, at their union. With another growl, he moved without mercy, taking her as roughly as his superior strength as a vampire would allow. She was receptive, begging him for more, just as her hand reached back to claw at his hand on her hip. The searing pain of her nails digging in his skin drove him onward, taking her at a pace that would have killed a human, perhaps even a vampire.

It was rough and unforgivingly, animalistic and cruel. Yet, neither stopped. Neither of them wanted to. 

The end came quickly. Neither of them cared about that either. Both screamed with abandon as their orgasms took them - fast and hard...euphorically blinding. 

The second Elijah emptied himself and slumped against Eternity’s back did he realize what had just transpired. A roar escaped him before he could contain it and his fist collided with the mat right by her head. Yet, she did not flinch or move in any way. In fact, she remained perfectly still in that otherworldly way of hers.

“Why?” He growled quietly, just before he grabbed hold of her hair, twisting it painfully around his hand and pulled back on Eternity’s head violently. “What kind of sorcery is this?” He hissed into her ear. “What spell have you cast upon me? Why? Why can I not resist you? Tell me! Why?”

Eternity was as calm as ever. His rage did nothing to make her fear him nor did she wince at the pain he inflicted upon her. “No spell, no sorcery, no magic,” she replied softly. “It is not my doing, this addiction of yours, this weakness for me. I am not to blame for this. Perhaps instead of pointing fingers at others, Elijah, you should be examining yourself, eh? The answer is inside you.”

He refused to listen to her nonsense, chose to be stubborn like his brother Niklaus.

“But enough of this, you should hurry,” the ethereal woman, of whom he was still buried in, said. “Your friends are making their move. You should get going, if you are to discover the truth of this new threat unto you and yours. First, go visit your brother. He will have news in regards to this. Then you shall need to go to young Marcel’s loft. You’ll find more answers there.”

Elijah held onto her a moment more, before he heeded her words and sped away, but not before putting himself back together again of course. He stopped by his own loft to change into his typical suit and then sped away to the Mikaelson compound first.  

As she had said, he found his answer there or at least the first puzzle piece of it.

Just what kind of trouble were they in now?

To Be Continued....

———————————————————————————————————

Tag List: @elejah-wonderland @dendrite-lover @inmylifeilovedthemall @elejahforever @xanderling @hawaiianohana15 @missnmikealson @phoenix-potter-bailey @lolelijahishot @x-memi12 @iamaquarius2 @echosnowflake666 @scarlettsky0998 @zillahvathek @elijahandkollover @mikaelsonwetdreams @elizamonet @freshsuitcasewinnereagle @loulouisa @esclisa @fandom-princess-forevermore

#elijah mikaelson #daniel gillies #original character #elijah x eternity #romance #drama #alternate universe #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction

[stormecloudyy-blog]

Amor Proibido [iv]

“ Show up uninvited, fuckin’ up my vibes with All the shit that you pretend you want “- Aaron Carter

After parties are a stupid waste of my time. But I don’t have much of a choice. Even if it’s a private event, I am still the press. Part of me could write about so many of the nefarious events going on, but how can i when I am the main event right now?  I am supposed to be getting married soon, and I just messed around with a 19 year old popstar. What the fuck is wrong with me? I just made one mistake, and it is not going to happen again. I will just stick around for just a little bit longer and then beg out, claiming I need to keep working on the article. I do have another interview with Shawn tomorrow, and then I will be able to go home and act like none of this ever happened. It is very simple. Just play the role, and then I will be able to return to reality. None of this means anything. I love Landon, and I am happy with my life.

Maybe it will be true if I say it to myself enough.

Here I stand with red solo cup in hand, wishing I was at home.  You would think a nice hotel could do a lot better than shitty plastic cups for a Shawn Mendes party. I take another sip of my drink to alleviate this terrible situation, shocked when I feel a hand on the small of my back.

Spinning around, I find myself face to face with Shawn. He has been the bane of my existence since I was given this assignment and he decided I was going to sleep with him. It may be partly true now, but what happened earlier can never happen again

He smirks at me as though he knows something I don’t and leans in close to me. I can feel his breath against my neck as he says to me, “I don’t know why you are avoiding me when we both know you will be leaving with me tonight.”

My eyes widen at the audacity of his comment, and I want to reach out to smack that smirk off his sexy face. But if I do so, it means he has won. I cannot give him the satisfaction. I refuse to do so. “Go away,” I hiss and turn to bring my attention back to my phone.

Shawn tsks in my ear and grabs my wrist gently, “You are not going to get away that easily.” He makes a gesture to his friend, Geoff, who nods as though he will cover for Shawn. I open my mouth to protest, but he has pulled me through the crowd so we are long out of the sight. There are so many people and the music is really loud, causing me to realize Shawn must pay people really well to keep quiet about what he does in his free time so he can have some semblance of a life. That is more than fine with me. I just don’t want to be alone with Shawn. I know how this going to end and all signs point to not well.

He clasps his fingers with mine and leads me through the crowd, probably to the kitchen where all of the drink supplies are located. This hotel room is so extra, it has its own kitchen. Instead of heading to the kitchen, he pauses near a door. For a second, he glances around and then pulls me inside, making sure the door locks with a click.

Shawn flicks on the light and then pulls me against him, his hands sliding over the curves off my body and resting right above my ass. “I told you that you would be leaving with me,” he tells me in a low voice, his eyes gazing down at me.

I roll my eyes, trying to pull away from him. “We are still where the party is, you idiot. We are just now in another room, which I am now going to leave. Thanks.”

He lets go of holding me, holding his hands up in surrender. I appreciate how he is not going to force me to stay like some assholes would. He may be a giant pain in the ass, but he is respectful at least. The moment I am going to leave though, he presses his lips against mine full force and causes me to forget exactly what I was just going to do. His lips are eager and ready, my own responding in time as my arms move to wrap around his neck to deepen our kissing.

I pull away for a moment, sliding my dress off and dropping it on the floor in a pool at our feet. His eyes appreciatively take in my body as his hands slide to my stomach and down to my panties, his fingers grasping my hips firmly to pull me flush against him once more.

My own hands venture beneath his shirt, revelling in the sensation of his abdomen muscles beneath my own fingertips. I keep my hands steady against him, wanting to explore more.

“You like it,” he teased, moving my back towards the wall and placing his hands on either side so he has me pinned against it.He reaches down and tugs at my panties, slipping them down my legs and tossing them aside as though they do not matter to him. His own black skinny jeans follow, being kicked off quickly and added to the heap of clothing. The whole time his eyes never leave mine and I make no efforts to move away from him.

>Shawn places his hand on the edge of my stomach, his eyes focused on the spot between my legs beginning to quiver with need for him.

I kick them away from me, wondering what exactly he is going to do next.

He kisses me for a long moment, his fingertips brushing over my navel and slowly moving down…down…till he stops at my clit. “May I?” he asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb against my sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Yes, you may,” I consent, my breathing growing heavy and my legs eagerly parting for him.

His fingers eagerly find the wetness he has caused, moisture pooling on his finger as he slips the digit inside of me gently. He slowly moves his finger in and out as the pad of his thumb rubs against my clit, causing me to emit a few low moans in between saying his name.

My own hands grasp his hardness, rubbing against the thin material of his boxers to give him the same kind of teasing he is bestowing upon me. I slowly move my hand against him, matching his pace to see what he is going to do next. He smirks at me, quickening his ministrations and slipping a second finger inside of me. “And you like this too,” he tells me, matter fact as though he knows all about me.

I just stare at him, continuing to gently rub him through his boxers because I like the little sighs he makes to show he likes it. It gives me this strange sense of accomplishment to know I can do such a thing to Shawn who acts like he is the greatest thing that could possibly ever happen to me. He has a really big ego, but I can look past that for the time being.

His fingers move in and out of me in a come hither motion, causing me to feel as though I am going to climax sooner than I expected. Just as I am about to ask him to go faster, he promptly removes his fingers and falls down to his knees. My wet folds are right in front of his face as he tells me, “Fucking scream my name as I do this to you.”

He places his mouth against my opening, his tongue flicking over my clit as he moans against me.

My hands grip his curls as my hips press against his mouth for more, my legs already shaking from just the first probe of his tongue against my aching flesh.He gently nibbles on my clit for a moment, then sliding his tongue along my slick folds to tease inside of me. I bite down on my lip, trying to hold back the noises threatening to escape from my mouth. After all, people outside could hear us and if they walked in…He brings his hand to my core, sliding a finger inside of me once again as he quickens the pace of his tongue against my clit.I am beginning to feel the knot growing tighter in my stomach, showing that I am on the brink of orgasming soon. He seems to sense this and moves his finger faster and sucks hard.

“Shawn,” I moan, pressing my hand against my mouth to suppress the screams. He just nods, continuing on with his motions with no intention of stopping anytime soon.“Oh my fucking god,” I cry. “Shawn, yes, yes, yes!” His tongue has found that very sensitive flesh, bringing me over the precipice and causing me to shudder against him as I cum against his talented mouth.

He softly kisses the throbbing clit between my thighs and stands up to smile at me. He stands in front of me, moving towards me slowly. His hand wraps my right leg around him as he steadies me against the wall and kisses me deeply. Shawn places a kiss on my temple as he positions himself at my entrance, gently pushing himself inside of me and giving me a few moments to adjust.

Shawn pulls out for a moment, assessing to ensure the position will work for both of us. Once he is happy, he places himself back inside of me and starts to move slowly with his hips slowly rising and falling to meet mine.

I bite his shoulder for a moment, still trying to adjust to the thickness of him inside of me. It is the biggest and thickest I’d ever had, causing me to feel more filled than I knew possible. The hurt is good, and I want more. “Harder,” I beseech him.

He begins to thrust harder, his movements pushing me against the wall hard enough to know there are going to be some pretty bruises along my back when tomorrow comes.

I say his name in between swearing, trying to handle all of these ways he is making me feel at one given time. It is almost more than I can handle, if I am going to be honest.

He pulls me away from the wall, wrapping my legs around him as he continues to press his hips against mine. Shawn finds a new pace which works, our bodies pressing together as we grow closer and closer to that pleasure peak we both crave.

My eyes meet his for a long moment as he continues fucking me, daring you with his eyes to scream his name once more. “Prove me to how much you fucking want me,” he demands, slowing down to the point of almost stopping.

I press against him, hoping for more. But I know he will stop if I don’t give him what he wants, “I want you so fucking badly that I am going to cum again so soon,” I coo in his ear, my tone low and full of need for him.

Shawn quickly resumes his pace, moving me so I am sliding up and down on him quickly. I can feel his length against my clit, knowing this is going to be what brings me over the edge.

He is drenched in sweat and his brow is furrowed in concentration as though the only thing which matters is giving me an orgasm.

He closes his eyes, biting his lip to thrust harder and deeper inside of me.

“Almost…fuck…” he whispers against my ear.

“Are you going to cum for me?” I ask, pressing a quick kiss against his lips.

His eyes focus on mine as he says, “You are going to cum for me.” It is a demand, and one I can follow with ease. Shawn Continues pounding into me with no sign of stopping, determination written all over his face

“Fuck..Shawn…” I cry out, feeling my walls release around him. He bites his lip and presses deeper into me, filling me as he finishes inside of me. He keeps his hips move at a lazy pace as though trying to keep my orgasm going before he gently pulls out.

He lowers me to the floor and presses his head against my shoulder, trying to catch his breath. “We still have a whole night ahead of us,” he whispered, sliding a hand to pull me against him.

“So you think this means I am going to leave with you?” I ask him, looking down to find my clothes so I can get dressed and leave. I find my panties, sliding them on quickly after I have pulled away. My dress is close so I just slip it on and turn to look at him. “Because we both know this was just a casual fuck,” I add, hoping my tone sounds rather cool as I also locate my phone.

He rolls his eyes, slipping his own clothes back on. “We both know it was more than that,” he says with a smirk, closing the gap between us once again.

I bite my lip and shake my head. “You wish.”

Those hazel eyes stare daggers at me. “I don’t think you understand.

I roll my eyes, not in the mood to deal with teenage antics. “You said you wanted to fuck me. You did. You win. Congrats.” I even give him slow clap, ready to leave out the door and head back to my own hotel room.

“You make me feel a way I never thought possible. Why is this a fucking joke to you?” he asks, teeth gritted in frustration.

I blink, refusing to let his words sink in. “Listen, kid. I am twenty four, I have heard all of the bullshit and lies before. Don’t think it is more special coming from you just because you are famous.”

He stomps over to me, taking my chin into his hand and looking at me deeply. His curls are messy with sweat and his chest is heaving slightly from our little romp. Instead of speaking, he gently presses his lips against mine in probably the best kiss of my life. When he pulls away, he murmurs, “Tell me that made you feel nothing.

Daring to  not look at him, I pull away and place my hand on the doorknob. “It all means nothing, Shawn,” I lie to him and leave him standing alone, a strange echo of how he left me earlier.

How the lies continue to pile up…

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes smut #smut #shawn peter raul mendes #writing #mine #amor proibido

[stormecloudy-blog]

Amor Proibido iv

“ Show up uninvited, fuckin' up my vibes with All the shit that you pretend you want “- Aaron Carter

After parties are a stupid waste of my time. But I don’t have much of a choice. Even if it’s a private event, I am still the press. Part of me could write about so many of the nefarious events going on, but how can i when I am the main event right now?  I am supposed to be getting married soon, and I just messed around with a 19 year old popstar. What the fuck is wrong with me? I just made one mistake, and it is not going to happen again. I will just stick around for just a little bit longer and then beg out, claiming I need to keep working on the article. I do have another interview with Shawn tomorrow, and then I will be able to go home and act like none of this ever happened. It is very simple. Just play the role, and then I will be able to return to reality. None of this means anything. I love Landon, and I am happy with my life.

Maybe it will be true if I say it to myself enough.

Here I stand with red solo cup in hand, wishing I was at home.  You would think a nice hotel could do a lot better than shitty plastic cups for a Shawn Mendes party. I take another sip of my drink to alleviate this terrible situation, shocked when I feel a hand on the small of my back.

Spinning around, I find myself face to face with Shawn. He has been the bane of my existence since I was given this assignment and he decided I was going to sleep with him. It may be partly true now, but what happened earlier can never happen again

He smirks at me as though he knows something I don’t and leans in close to me. I can feel his breath against my neck as he says to me, “I don’t know why you are avoiding me when we both know you will be leaving with me tonight.”

My eyes widen at the audacity of his comment, and I want to reach out to smack that smirk off his sexy face. But if I do so, it means he has won. I cannot give him the satisfaction. I refuse to do so. “Go away,” I hiss and turn to bring my attention back to my phone.

Shawn tsks in my ear and grabs my wrist gently, “You are not going to get away that easily.” He makes a gesture to his friend, Geoff, who nods as though he will cover for Shawn. I open my mouth to protest, but he has pulled me through the crowd so we are long out of the sight. There are so many people and the music is really loud, causing me to realize Shawn must pay people really well to keep quiet about what he does in his free time so he can have some semblance of a life. That is more than fine with me. I just don’t want to be alone with Shawn. I know how this going to end and all signs point to not well.

He clasps his fingers with mine and leads me through the crowd, probably to the kitchen where all of the drink supplies are located. This hotel room is so extra, it has its own kitchen. Instead of heading to the kitchen, he pauses near a door. For a second, he glances around and then pulls me inside, making sure the door locks with a click.

Shawn flicks on the light and then pulls me against him, his hands sliding over the curves off my body and resting right above my ass. “I told you that you would be leaving with me,” he tells me in a low voice, his eyes gazing down at me.

I roll my eyes, trying to pull away from him. “We are still where the party is, you idiot. We are just now in another room, which I am now going to leave. Thanks.”

He lets go of holding me, holding his hands up in surrender. I appreciate how he is not going to force me to stay like some assholes would. He may be a giant pain in the ass, but he is respectful at least. The moment I am going to leave though, he presses his lips against mine full force and causes me to forget exactly what I was just going to do. His lips are eager and ready, my own responding in time as my arms move to wrap around his neck to deepen our kissing.

I pull away for a moment, sliding my dress off and dropping it on the floor in a pool at our feet. His eyes appreciatively take in my body as his hands slide to my stomach and down to my panties, his fingers grasping my hips firmly to pull me flush against him once more.

My own hands venture beneath his shirt, revelling in the sensation of his abdomen muscles beneath my own fingertips. I keep my hands steady against him, wanting to explore more.

“You like it,” he teased, moving my back towards the wall and placing his hands on either side so he has me pinned against it.He reaches down and tugs at my panties, slipping them down my legs and tossing them aside as though they do not matter to him. His own black skinny jeans follow, being kicked off quickly and added to the heap of clothing. The whole time his eyes never leave mine and I make no efforts to move away from him.

>Shawn places his hand on the edge of my stomach, his eyes focused on the spot between my legs beginning to quiver with need for him.

I kick them away from me, wondering what exactly he is going to do next.

He kisses me for a long moment, his fingertips brushing over my navel and slowly moving down…down…till he stops at my clit. “May I?” he asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb against my sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Yes, you may,” I consent, my breathing growing heavy and my legs eagerly parting for him.

His fingers eagerly find the wetness he has caused, moisture pooling on his finger as he slips the digit inside of me gently. He slowly moves his finger in and out as the pad of his thumb rubs against my clit, causing me to emit a few low moans in between saying his name.

My own hands grasp his hardness, rubbing against the thin material of his boxers to give him the same kind of teasing he is bestowing upon me. I slowly move my hand against him, matching his pace to see what he is going to do next. He smirks at me, quickening his ministrations and slipping a second finger inside of me. “And you like this too,” he tells me, matter fact as though he knows all about me.

I just stare at him, continuing to gently rub him through his boxers because I like the little sighs he makes to show he likes it. It gives me this strange sense of accomplishment to know I can do such a thing to Shawn who acts like he is the greatest thing that could possibly ever happen to me. He has a really big ego, but I can look past that for the time being.

His fingers move in and out of me in a come hither motion, causing me to feel as though I am going to climax sooner than I expected. Just as I am about to ask him to go faster, he promptly removes his fingers and falls down to his knees. My wet folds are right in front of his face as he tells me, “Fucking scream my name as I do this to you.”

He places his mouth against my opening, his tongue flicking over my clit as he moans against me.

My hands grip his curls as my hips press against his mouth for more, my legs already shaking from just the first probe of his tongue against my aching flesh.He gently nibbles on my clit for a moment, then sliding his tongue along my slick folds to tease inside of me. I bite down on my lip, trying to hold back the noises threatening to escape from my mouth. After all, people outside could hear us and if they walked in…He brings his hand to my core, sliding a finger inside of me once again as he quickens the pace of his tongue against my clit.I am beginning to feel the knot growing tighter in my stomach, showing that I am on the brink of orgasming soon. He seems to sense this and moves his finger faster and sucks hard.

“Shawn,” I moan, pressing my hand against my mouth to suppress the screams. He just nods, continuing on with his motions with no intention of stopping anytime soon.“Oh my fucking god,” I cry. “Shawn, yes, yes, yes!” His tongue has found that very sensitive flesh, bringing me over the precipice and causing me to shudder against him as I cum against his talented mouth.

He softly kisses the throbbing clit between my thighs and stands up to smile at me. He stands in front of me, moving towards me slowly. His hand wraps my right leg around him as he steadies me against the wall and kisses me deeply. Shawn places a kiss on my temple as he positions himself at my entrance, gently pushing himself inside of me and giving me a few moments to adjust.

Shawn pulls out for a moment, assessing to ensure the position will work for both of us. Once he is happy, he places himself back inside of me and starts to move slowly with his hips slowly rising and falling to meet mine.

I bite his shoulder for a moment, still trying to adjust to the thickness of him inside of me. It is the biggest and thickest I’d ever had, causing me to feel more filled than I knew possible. The hurt is good, and I want more. “Harder,” I beseech him.

He begins to thrust harder, his movements pushing me against the wall hard enough to know there are going to be some pretty bruises along my back when tomorrow comes.

I say his name in between swearing, trying to handle all of these ways he is making me feel at one given time. It is almost more than I can handle, if I am going to be honest.

He pulls me away from the wall, wrapping my legs around him as he continues to press his hips against mine. Shawn finds a new pace which works, our bodies pressing together as we grow closer and closer to that pleasure peak we both crave.

My eyes meet his for a long moment as he continues fucking me, daring you with his eyes to scream his name once more. “Prove me to how much you fucking want me,” he demands, slowing down to the point of almost stopping.

I press against him, hoping for more. But I know he will stop if I don’t give him what he wants, “I want you so fucking badly that I am going to cum again so soon,” I coo in his ear, my tone low and full of need for him.

Shawn quickly resumes his pace, moving me so I am sliding up and down on him quickly. I can feel his length against my clit, knowing this is going to be what brings me over the edge.

He is drenched in sweat and his brow is furrowed in concentration as though the only thing which matters is giving me an orgasm.

He closes his eyes, biting his lip to thrust harder and deeper inside of me.

“Almost…fuck…” he whispers against my ear.

“Are you going to cum for me?” I ask, pressing a quick kiss against his lips.

His eyes focus on mine as he says, “You are going to cum for me.” It is a demand, and one I can follow with ease. Shawn Continues pounding into me with no sign of stopping, determination written all over his face

“Fuck..Shawn…” I cry out, feeling my walls release around him. He bites his lip and presses deeper into me, filling me as he finishes inside of me. He keeps his hips move at a lazy pace as though trying to keep my orgasm going before he gently pulls out.

He lowers me to the floor and presses his head against my shoulder, trying to catch his breath. “We still have a whole night ahead of us,” he whispered, sliding a hand to pull me against him.

“So you think this means I am going to leave with you?” I ask him, looking down to find my clothes so I can get dressed and leave. I find my panties, sliding them on quickly after I have pulled away. My dress is close so I just slip it on and turn to look at him. “Because we both know this was just a casual fuck,” I add, hoping my tone sounds rather cool as I also locate my phone.

He rolls his eyes, slipping his own clothes back on. “We both know it was more than that,” he says with a smirk, closing the gap between us once again.

I bite my lip and shake my head. “You wish.”

Those hazel eyes stare daggers at me. “I don’t think you understand.

I roll my eyes, not in the mood to deal with teenage antics. “You said you wanted to fuck me. You did. You win. Congrats.” I even give him slow clap, ready to leave out the door and head back to my own hotel room.

“You make me feel a way I never thought possible. Why is this a fucking joke to you?” he asks, teeth gritted in frustration.

I blink, refusing to let his words sink in. “Listen, kid. I am twenty four, I have heard all of the bullshit and lies before. Don’t think it is more special coming from you just because you are famous.”

He stomps over to me, taking my chin into his hand and looking at me deeply. His curls are messy with sweat and his chest is heaving slightly from our little romp. Instead of speaking, he gently presses his lips against mine in probably the best kiss of my life. When he pulls away, he murmurs, “Tell me that made you feel nothing.

Daring to  not look at him, I pull away and place my hand on the doorknob. “It all means nothing, Shawn,” I lie to him and leave him standing alone, a strange echo of how he left me earlier.

How the lies continue to pile up…

#writing #amor proibido #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes writing #shawn peter raul mendes

[cutegirlmayra]

Since you said that Eggman probably ships Sonamy, could you do a prompt where eggman sets up a plan to bring Sonic and Amy together? (Preferably Boom eggman since we know that he actually is interested in Sonic's love life) 😏😏

I’m sorry for the lateness!!! I’ve had a lot of things to do in life and I just never found the time!

But I’m sacrificing time to write this cause I’m excited too and care about you! Thanks for the prompt request and here I go!

Prompt:

“Huh… this is a strange anomaly.” Eggman leaned against his control panel, his robots all swarming Sonic as he had his arms spread out, seeming to have just finished explaining himself.

Casually, Eggman put a hand to his hip and shrugged, “So why do you need my help?”

“Because… according to Tails… you know you’re stuff.” Sonic looked away, rubbing his arm as he hunched over, apparently embarrassed to admit it.

He gestured to Eggman, who slowly lit up at the praise and felt the energy rise in him, giddily smiling and waving his fists around like a shipper in the air.

“Oooh, Okay, I’ll do! But first, we have got to do something about those shoes…” he suddenly strut a pose as he stuck a leg out and looked down at Sonic’s feet, Sonic following the gaze, not sure what he meant.

“I mean really..? Bandages and sneakers? Pah. What? You want to make her think you’re ‘hip’ or ‘cool’ or something? Come on! AH!” he swished a hip out to further his point before it cracked, snapping into place before he cried out for Cubot and Orbot, relaxing when it was pushed back into place and bent over.

“Ah, much better… Anyway, as I was saying. You need to be vulnerable and sensitive. Women are primal like that. They can sense your shaky, short, low self-esteem breathes and sweaty armpits from shame and anxiety from humiliation as fast as you can put a puppy in front of them and have them dote all over it. NOW, you’re the puppy!” he suddenly dramatically pointed to Sonic, as he flinched back.

“All these shows these days keep makin’ it look like a you gotta strut your stuff and show some muscle. BAH! Women want to protect YOU. Care for you~” he suddenly started acting out a woman, before dashing down and gripping Sonic’s bandanna and tugging it up. “DIE FOR YOU.”

“Egh!” Sonic’s frown pulled back, a little spooked.

“It’s all rather simple actually.” Eggman dropped him like a hot potato and walked non-nonchalantly to his computers, putting his hands behind his back.

“Oh sure… I can help you be the sap story Amy will fawn all over and have her little heart melt in excitement as she slowly takes over your life- BUT! On one condition~” Eggman raised a point finger up, smiling mischieviously down to Sonic, looming over him and moving closer.

Sonic, still on the ground, quickly kicked away before finally getting up, pinned by a chair.

“T…Take over my… life!?” his knees started to slightly shake, as he looked down, eyes wide. “AH! What’s that!?”

“Oh, that’s normal.” Eggman shrugged, “Just your body prepping for a life full of empty dreams and nagging criticism over your job, your joys, the way you slurp your cereal in the morning!” he suddenly shook a fist up towards the ceiling. “CURSE YOU TEENAGE YEARS!!!”

“Wait, you were… with someone?” Sonic raised an eyebrow, confused how that could ever happen.

“I’m old Sonic, not deprived.” Eggman grumbled back at him, before walking towards Cubot who was holding a rolled up paper of a plan and agreement, as he swiped it out of his robotic hands fiercely, and then smiled a salesman’s look to Sonic, opening it up.

“Here’s the agreement that I’ll help set up this little ‘hang out’ session with Amy that she totally thinks is a date, and all you have to do is sign below the dotted line here~”

“A contract? H-hold on a second..” Sonic was suddenly pushed forward by Orbot and Cubot, as he tried to kick back before being placed in front of the table with the paper…

“H..How? How on earth did you already have this made!?” Sonic gestured to it, still a little dumbfounded by that small fact…

“Sonic, as your evil genius and prime adversity in life, I must be prepared at all times to thwart- *HACK-COUGH* I mean- ehem, accommodate my mortal enemy in any and all possibilities of a sudden ‘change’ in lifestyle. After all. if I don’t watch out for you, whose gonna destroy your village for you in the morning?”

“Wow… um.. touching… Eggman. But, I don’t sign anything without my lawyer.” Sonic put the pen down, folding his arms.

“Whose your lawyer?” Eggman raised an eyebrow, surprised by his legal notion.

“Tails.”

“HA! You want your BEST friend knowing about your little… enterprise with the enemy?” he waved his hands up, as if showing how awfully embarrassing that would be.

“W-well…” Sonic looked down, second-guessing himself.

Eggman came in for the kill, moving from being over one shoulder, to the other, as he seemed to be the little devil on his shoulder.

“You would be a laughing stock! The famous Sonic The Hedgehog, stumped on how to set up even a simple date~”

“ALRIGHT! I’ll sign the stupid thing! But this is the last time I make bargains with you!” Sonic started signing his name, snatching the pen up from Orbot’s hand as he hurriedly scribbled his name.

Eggman snickered, rubbing his hands together before swiping the paper from Sonic’s hand which was handing it to him, and then hurriedly pushing him out. “And with that! Lots to plan, too many needless things to organize- oh, and do me a favor and actually shower for a change? Oh! Use Comedy’s Chimp’s deodorant! That stuff never messes around!” he slammed the door after waving him goodbye and then left him to look out at nothing and be utterly confused on what just happened.

He then sniffed under his armpit, seeming to freak out that Amy could smell his fear or something like that, and quickly raced away to do what he was told.

“Doctor, I’m afraid I’m a little confused here…” Orbot admitted, following his pacing body as he chuckled by him and tried to speak up toward him where he could hear his concerns.

“I thought you wanted to foil Sonic, not help him in his love life…”

“Fool! That’s exactly what a love-life will do to him!” Eggman shouted for joy, flinging his arms up and then spinning around to his naive little robot.

“If Sonic DOES end up going on sparsed dates with Amy, she’ll have him dragging his feet with all her silly ‘romantic’ demands that I’ll just sweep in and bomb the whole place down, level the ground a bit-” he suddenly had a daydreamed scenario, poorly animated out with chibi-versions of them, and a little tractor leveling out the town as he laughs like an old video game or black and white cartoon, “and finally be able to construct my Eggmanland theme park!” The little Eggman jumps out of the tractor and throws his hands up in victory, having a theme park behind him of scary looking robot animals as his ‘guests’.

He sighs, before Cubot scratched his head.

“I thought you had that contract on the slim possibility of Sonamy ever actually being plausib-!”

Cubot was silenced by Eggman’s mouth slapping right onto his speaker, and glaring down at him.

“That’s still on the agenda! After all, in his miserable state of being a failed hero, he’ll need someone to comfort him and talk his depressed little, oppressed, heart out too~” he beamed, as if this only helped kill two birds with one stone.

“I still don’t quite see how Sonic and Amy having relations beyond friendship solves anything beneficial to your objectives…”

“Oh, shut up, Orbot. You’re ruining all the evil fun.” Eggman got up and started typing computer coordinates in. “While I’m helping getting those to love-hogs together, you and Cubot will take the kids and go play around ‘unfriendly’ towards the village playground! Hahah! While Sonic’s distracted doing the ridiculous things I put in his mind, I’ll have already built the first part of Eggmanland!”

“Gee, I hope this works. Considering true love seems to trump everything these days.” Cubot shook his head. “Man, I hope we’ve really put that behind us and can just let the new generation fend for itself, you know?”

Orbot shook his head at Cubot’s crazy philosophies.

-Time skip-

“Wow, a boat ride? In the middle of the jungle? Huh… I’m impressed Sonic.” Amy took her purse and placed it down on her lap as she sat down, wearing a nicer outfit but nothing too fancy, as Sonic nervously chuckled, having no idea what was happening, but knowing water was not his strong suit..

Eggman, watching from a robot’s camera, clicked on his military walkie-talkie. “The canaries are in the sub, repeat, canaries are now rubber duckies. Initiate ‘drown with serenity’.”

Suddenly, terrifying robotic fish with huge heads and large teeth, sprung their heads out from under the water.

“AH!” the two got spooked, before the robotic fish spun around, their eyes wide, and started squirting out water, doing a little dance before pushing the boat further down the ravine.

“Ah… oh! How lovely!” Amy giggled cutely, “I mean, I hope this didn’t cost you too much. I’d hate to have you pay for the whole day!”

“…Eh…heheh..” Sonic nervously gripped the boat, not liking that her hand had subtly patted his leg before being withdrawn.

He looked away, as if worried what Eggman was up too.

“The Little Mermaid took action! REPEAT, we have physical contact! That woman is a SHARK.” Eggman, pulling his eyes from the tube he was looking through like in a submarine, then used binoculars to look to see Cubot and Orbot getting into position.

Sonic turned on his ear speaker, turning his head so Amy wouldn’t hear as she admired the beautiful scenery of the jungle, and watched the water-work performance.

“Eggman, you there?”

Eggman, without lowering the binoculars, turned on his ‘blue-tooth’ looking ear-piece.

“The Love Doctor’s in. How may I assist you further?”

“Heh, nice try. But this isn’t going anywhere!”

“I assure you, Mr. Hedgehog and Bane of my existence…” he moved his eyes lightly to peek at a map that showed the dangers ahead… rapids, evil and primitive wild-life, and lastly… the grand finale…

The map showed a huge waterfall that scaled off the page unto a little flip-book, which Eggman skillfully turned to show the crashing of a poorly doodled Amy and Sonic, as he smirked with a slight snicker to himself, having drawn a heart by their drowned expressions with their tongues out, eyes drawn as ‘x’s, and floating dead bodies.

“Should be a wonderfully romantic ride.. ever saw Titanic?”

“No..?”

“Good. Great. It’s miserable.” He put his eyes back to the binoculars and then turned to the other camera.

“So, here’s what you do. Be yourself. Just… act…. natural!”

Sonic looked to Amy, nervous.

“…SPEAK DARN YOU! Lighten her up with conversation!”

Sonic’s quills spiked at the noise his ear-piece made, before he adjusted himself and pushed his quills down, pulling at the tie that replaced his usual adventures bandanna.

“Ehem, so..? Do you uhh…” he looked away, holding his hands out. “Like…. water?”

Eggman face-palmed, causing a slap sound effect.

“Umm… well, I kinda do. Yeah. It’s okay.” she shrugged, leaning down and putting her hand in.

When she did, she started talking about how the water feels good when it’s hot outside,… but one of the performing robots saw it, it’s eyes fixating and turning around to it, turning red as he slightly chomped, getting closer and closer…

“BAD DOG! No! You can eat them when they’re falling!”

The fish whimpered away and it’s eyes turned back to blue.

“Ugh,… Imbecile.” he shook his head, before dragging his face down slowly with his hand,… “But still… they’ll be falling alright… hehehe… in more ways then one… HOHOHHOHO!!!”

“…You realize this thing’s still on, right?”

“Opps.” Eggman’s mustache drooped, before he flung to his walkie talkie, “ALL UNITS! ATTACCCKKK!!!”

“Amy, we’ve bee duped!” Sonic got up, as the robotic fishies jumped out fo the water, flying at them.

“JUMP!” Sonic caught Amy as she cried out in shock, and jumped from rock to rock, avoiding the rapids and angry birds and wild-life, before being pushed back by the chomping robotic fishes to the waterfall.

“Shoot!” Sonic looked behind him, seeing the moss making the ground on the rock he was on slippery, as he tried to keep his balance, moving back and forth in his attempts.

“Sssoonic!” Amy cried out, holding him as she used her hammer to knock some of the robotic fishes away. “I change my mind! I HATE the water!”

“You do?” Sonic looked over to her, elated! “So do I!”

He suddenly threw her up, curling down to spin dash and hit two robots in unison, before jumping back and catching her again.

However, the impact of all that movement and Amy’s force made a foot stand up from a slip, and without the extra balance…

“W…Wha… WOOOAHH!!”

“AHHH!!!”

The two started falling for the bottom with the sharp, pointy, dangerous rocks-Oh my!

Sticks, Knuckles, and Tails were trying to defend the village, as Tails knocked a robot out with his wrench.

“Where’s Sonic?”

Sticks dived into a robot, ripping it to shreds before pulling out her boomerang and hitting a straggler. “I thought he was with you!”

“I thought they were on a date!” Knuckles shouted out, as the two shook their heads.

Sticks responded, eyelids lowered, “Yeah right”

Tails pffted, “Like that would ever-…Ah! Sonic! I told him about how I wooed Zooey with Eggman’s help! You don’t think..?”

“PFFT. You asked EGGMAN for love advice?” Sticks mocked, putting her hands on her hips.

“PFFFTTTTT, you asked for love advice..? Wait.” Knuckles looked confused.

Suddenly, Sonic and Amy jumped into the frame! Amy back to her usual attire along with Sonic, as the two started taking out robots left and right.

“Ah, now this is a date!” Amy cheered, smashing a few robots.

“I couldn’t agree more!” Sonic took a few out, before getsuring to Amy, “Besides, this is where you shine the most! And that’s… minusing the glitter-gloss…” he motioned to his lips.

“Ah! Hey! For your information, my lips haven’t been chapped in weeks.” Amy over-dramatically swished her hand out from her wrist, making her point and then going to Orbot and Cubot.

“You two surrender?” the power couple stood side by side, looking pretty epic for a moment as the camera angle gave them a moment of glory.

The two bonked into each other, before flailing around and escaping. “AHH!! Don’t destroy us!”

Eggman was banging his head on the map, having watched as Amy and Sonic saved each other, and then took pictures on his Robotic Fishes’s camera, snap-shoting their cute selfies before running off to save their friends.

“DOCTOR! Are you there!? We were toasted!” Cubot shouted out, still running for his life. “I told you true love never dies!”

Eggman suddenly moved his head up slightly,…

As a cute blush on his cheeks and little chibi tears were in his eyes, he stated, “I know.. isn’t it diabolical?” he sniffed.

He watched the screen where the two high-fived, laughing as he sniffed, wiping the tear.

“He has no idea…” he swooned, melting at the sight of his OTP. “Haaa… how horrible TERRIBLE marriage is gonna be like!” Eggman slammed his fist down, then raised it to the ceiling again.

“CURSE YOU MIDDLE-AGED DELILAHS!!!”

(Bible reference… hope that’s okay..?-sweatdrop- Also, marriage is not terrible. It can be beautiful. Just saying, Eggman’s not a good role model to follow, lol. AU-BOOM)

#sonamy #sonamy boom #boom!sonamy #sonicxamy #sonic and amy #sonic prompt #sonamy prompt #sonic boom #eggman #eggman the shipper #eggman the sonamy shipper #dr. eggman #cutegirlmayra

[usernameundisclosed-blog]

My Kind Of Morning

Fluff slight Angst, Its kinda lame, I might do a part 2 I don’t know yet...

1995 words 

My kind of morning is waking up in a nice and peaceful environment, taking a nice hot relaxing shower and then going into the kitchen to have a hearty breakfast before making my way to class. This type of morning however is the type of morning that I haven’t had the pleasure to experience in the past two years. My mornings quite often begin with me trudging out of bed, due of lack of sleep and being interrupted whilst having a shower by my unruly roommate Alex because i’m apparently “taking too long”. Me and Alex have lived together for two years and during that time he has been the bane of my existence.

 Our unfortunate situation started a little over two years ago, during my last year of high school I was having, what you would call, a little trouble at home. Because of this I decided that I needed to move away, unfortunately during that time -who is a year older than me- was also having trouble at home, we both ended up living in the same apartment. So why don’t one of you just move out if you hate eachother so much? Do I hear you ask? Well it's a simple enough answer, it's the most affordable accommodation that is close enough to the school and far away enough from our parents. You would also think that considering the fact that myself and Alex were in a similar condition that we might be some form of help towards each other, however, mine and Alex’s relationship was never really what you would call stable to begin with...It all started because he hated my ex boyfriend Jake, whenever he came over Alex would always make these passive aggressive comments, one day I came in to find Jake being pinned up against a wall, with Alex screaming in his face about how much of an asshole he was. When I tried to ask Alex about it, he pushed me away and called me an idiot, sloping off into his room. The next week I found out that my boyfriend had been cheating on me, which made me understand why they didn’t get on, but I still didn’t understand why he reacted in the way that he did. After everything with Jake had finished, my relationship with Alex only got worse, we barely spoke, and whenever he did he would be rude to me, the girls that he would bring home every so often would always give me distasteful stares on their way out of our apartment the next morning, it almost seemed as if he did things just to make me unhappy...and i couldn’t understand why.

 This morning was no different than any other morning, I rolled out of bed and hopped into the shower, after 15 minutes I could already hear Alex complaining about how long I was taking. I walked into the kitchen and made some toast before heading off to my first class.

 I was in college now, things were a lot more different, for starters I had a lot more free time than when I was in high school, I usually had Wednesdays and Fridays off which unluckily for me happened to be the same days, Alex was off too, on these days we would either stay in our rooms or one of us would leave the apartment, just as long as we were away from each other all was well. I also had more friends than I did when I was in still in school, nobody really sees me as the weird nerdy kid here. My best friend Oliver, is a tall decent looking, student who is in my Psychology class, he has obviously dyed grey hair and likes it when people pay attention to him, he is a great laugh unfortunately he and Alex get on really well with each other which can sometimes cause some problems…

 My first class of the day was Psychology, I met up with Oliver outside of the class, he was jumping up and down excitedly, grinning widely.

 “Guess what day it is tomorrow,” he said giggling

 “I don’t know, your birthday perhaps?” I smiled, thinking about the neat little present that’s waiting for him under my bed.

 “Yay! You have to come out clubbing with us tomorrow, it's not as if you have to wake up for class on Friday right?” he looked at me pleadingly

 “Of course i’m coming,” I laughed at him, I was never really one for partying but Ollie was my best friend and when he pulled those puppy dog eyes I just couldn’t say no to him.

 “Great so that’s You, Me, Sara, Alex and a few others he said before prancing into the class,” I stopped for a moment, of course Alex would be there he’s great friends with Oliver, I just hoped that everything would go down alright.

 We all arrived at the club at around 10pm on Thursday night, I spent the first half of my evening dancing with Oliver and Sara before going to the bae to get another drink, when I got back to them it was just Sara and Alex dancing,

 “Where’d Ollie go?” I asked raising an eyebrow in confusion,

 “He managed to pull, maybe you should give it a try,” Alex laughed at me

 I was rather insulted, but I didn’t say anything back to him, instead I turned around and made my way back to the bar, Alex’s comment hurt me and the anger must have been clear to see,

 “Rough day?” I turned around to see where the voice had came from, there stood one of the possibly most attractive man I had ever seen, he was like a fairytale prince, all tall dark and handsome. He looked down at me with a warm smile waiting for me to answer,

 “Not really,” I finally replied, “Just an annoying roommate,” I continued under my breath, he looked at me and burst out laughing.

 “Well, i’m just glad that it’s no boyfriend troubles,” he said his voice dropping an octave,

 “Oh? And why would that be?” I replied batting my eyelashes at him

 “Because that would mean you have a boyfriend,” He smirked “come dance wit me?” he offered I nodded and he slowly pulled me into the center of the dance floor. We spent the next hour or so together on the dance floor, we talked and danced, I told him the usual boring things like my name, where I go to college and what courses I do etc. and he told me about his university courses and about his life.

 “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked me, I nodded at him and we left the club, we walked all the way to his apartment, as we got in we sat on the couch and talked more about our lives, we talked for what seemed like hours before we accidently fell asleep on his couch.

I woke up to a woman shouting,

“How could you cheat on me?” I heard her scream. I lifted my head up to see a woman standing at the foot of the couch with tears streaming down her face, the man who I met at the club last night was standing beside comforting her, and trying to reassure her that he hadn’t cheated but had simply just made a friend. My head was spinning and my neck hurt slightly from the awkward position that I had been lying in, I looked into her eyes and with the most sincere voice I assured her that her boyfriend hadn’t cheated on her it didn’t look like she had believed me, but she calmed down a little, I took this as an opportunity to leave grabbing my stuff on the way out, I bid my new friend goodbye and once again tried to reassure her that her boyfriend had stayed fateful.

 My already stressful enough morning was made no better when I finally arrived back into my apartment.

 “And where have you been?” came a voice from behind me, I sighed turning to face Alex who was standing behind me with his arms crossed,

 “I was at a guys house, where else would I be,” I answered truthfully

“Meanwhile I was over here worrying my ass off about you, you never go to guys houses and you never bring them home, how was I supposed to know?” He retorted

 “You were worried about me?” I asked shocked, the anger in his face turned to a smirk,

 “yeah, only because you never actually manage to get some, I thought you might have be murdered or something, it wouldn’t surprise me,” he said sniggering

 I was taken aback by his comment, I was used to him being mean but not this mean, I sniffed and walked towards my room, he must have noticed my sudden attitude change because he grabbed my wrist, pulling me into a hug. I was completely shocked, never in my two years of knowing this man have we ever even said the slightest kind thing to each other and now he was pulling me into an embrace.

 “Look, i’m sorry,” he said quietly “I was just really worried I thought something had happened to you, I know you’re not really the type of girl who goes of with random men so I was just worried” he continued, resting his chin on the top of my head,

 “Why are you always so mean to me?” I asked sniffling into his shirt, I felt his arms tense around me as I asked my question, he sighed clutching me tighter,

 “I’m sorry” he began, “I’m sorry about just now and about everything before, I’m not usually good with things like this, it's just that I really-” he stopped taking a breath, considering whether or not to continue , I looked up at him. For the first time ever I noticed how one of his eyes is slightly bigger than the other and how cute he looks when his hair is messy. I also noticed how close his lips were to mine and how easy it would be to just reach up and kiss him, I wondered how it felt, would he be a good kisser? Would he pull away from me?, he smiled down at me and took another deep breath,

 “I really like you, and I always have,” he said quietly closing his eyes and resting his lips just in between my eyes, I stood there for a moment, unsure of how to feel, he pulled his lips away and looked me longingly in the eyes, I smiled up at him and pressed a small kiss against his lips. As I went to pull away he kissed me deeper holding me gently in his arms but protectively, I suddenly thought of all the things I liked about Alex, he was smart and funny (even if he was mean) and he was also very good looking, I pulled back slowly and rested my head against his chest,

 “Do you really like me?” I asked sheepishly

 “With all my heart,” he murmured kissing the top of my head,

 “I know it may be a lot to ask, but can you give me a chance?” he whispered into my hair,

 “I’m willing to try as long as you’re not mean to me,” I joked

 He pulled back and looked into my eyes once again,

 “I will love you the way you deserve to be loved, I promise that I will never hurt you like you have been hurt before,,” he said before pulling me into another deep and passionate kiss,

 “Let's go to bed,” I murmured into the kiss, he chuckled and picked me up bridal style and carried me to his room, before laying me down gently and crawling in beside me to pull me into his arms...This was my kind of morning.  

#writers on tumblr #story #own work #fluff #angst #my writing #fiction