#if anyone wants to use this as inspo for a fic i absolutely beg of you to go for it

[stealingyourbones]

[egoludes]

ok. so my concept for ransom is maybe ransom trying to get the reader to know he likes her? like maybe he does small things at first but the reader is a bit oblivious and isn’t catching on until ransom gets frustrated and kisses her or maybe suddenly blurts out he really likes her?? no pressure if you don’t have inspo for it but I haven’t seen a lot of soft! ransom fics! and i really love your writing.

this is so, so late, but i didn’t forget about you and this wonderful concept anon - i hope you like this! i really enjoyed writing it and musing about this side / kind of ransom :) no real warnings beyond rich kid antics! 

wc: 1.2k

honestly? ransom can’t think of many times he hasn’t gotten what he wanted. world at his fingertips from an early age, he’s a spoiled sort. proud of it too. 

then, there’s you. you with that crooked smile and willful personality ---- maybe you’ve been in his life since childhood, one of the few people to know him before he soured from parental indifference. and even as you’ve grown older and gone down different paths (he teases you about it — “law school? what a fucking waste of time.” — but that passion is a good look on you. it always has been.), you’ve never considered cutting him out. there’s a vulnerability in him when he’s with you - an openness that only comes with people who know you well. and you, despite the efforts of every friend you’ve introduced him to, reciprocate in turn. from teenage years on the sprawling campus of andover to adulthood drunk off country club champagne, you’ve been each other’s constant. 

yet you’re the only thing he can’t seem to keep under his thumb; the one thing he can’t have simply because he wills it. it’s a foreign feeling, no doubt; women come to him as easily as everything else, and the fact that nothing has ever quite gone his way with you makes his stomach ache.

it takes him thirty-something years to figure out why.

once he does, ransom doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. as far as he’s concerned, love - that infuriating, spiraling feeling you inspire in the far reaches of his chest - is all about what you give. with his parents, it was one outrageous present after another to make up for the milestones they missed; with his grandfather, it’s a steady stream of funds when he does fuckall to earn it. 

with you, he starts small; anklets and handbags that, admittedly, suit the other women he spends time with more than you. but it’s what he knows, and he showers you in them any chance he can get. 

before long, you’re coming home to something new nearly every other day. the spree is confusing to say the least, even if you accept the presents graciously. smiling that smile he’s come to yearn for. but, to ransom's dismay, it always ends there - niceties and tenderness he’s used to. thank you’s and ransom, you really didn’t need to’s that fit the friendship that you have, not the intimacy he covets. 

not where he wants to be.

if it were anyone else, he’d reach his limit after that - patience has never been his strong suit. but, the more his affections go over your head, the more ransom yearns for you. he tells himself it’s the challenge in it all — but, really, it’s the relief. 

it’s knowing, affirming that you’re not like the starry-eyed girls at the parties, or the preening fuckers on over-groomed golf courses. you don’t bow for dollars, or cave for things —and it’s all he could do not to beg for your hand right then and there.

eventually, though, he just has enough. he’s tired of trying to drop hints and be subtle because it clearly isn’t working. 

i could see it happening with the most extravagant gift yet. boat perhaps? not so large that it’s excessive, but enough presence to make it obnoxious.

and you’re in the middle of saying just that, looking the boat over from its lower deck, when he scoffs, arms folded over his chest as he watches you through tinted shades. “well, you better get over that — this is for you.”

you’re so shocked at first, you snort. a full fledged one at that; so unbecoming you  fight the urge to check over your shoulder for a disapproving glance from your mother. “sure, ransom,” you snicker, stepping past him to peek over the boat’s railing. the water’s surprisingly pristine for such a busy harbor and for a second, you’re actually mesmerized by the way it moves. 

ransom cuts in with a pull on your hand, grounding you in yet another moment of unusual generosity. “i’m serious - it’s in your name already and everything.”

you don’t ask him how he managed that (though it’s a valid question you’re not sure you want the answer to) - your disbelief is too strong for you to do anything but blink at him, searching his face for the inevitable crack of a shit-eating grin to let you know he’s lying.

but it never comes. instead, ransom is watching you with a face that stiffens by the second, and you realize in one fell swoop, heart stuttering  in your chest, that he’s absolutely fucking serious.

your reaction after that is the same it’s always been - you shaking your head and waving your hands in refusal, backing away from him instinctively. “ransom, holy shit — this is too much, are you kidding me?” you look over the boat with a renewed eye and can hardly handle the lavishness he’s trying to bestow on you. you can’t even make sense of it, this generosity that’s become so commonplace. “where is all this even coming from? i mean, the boat, the jewelry, the bags -- you’ve been doing this for months, i don’t get it."

at any given moment, ransom is like a brewing sea - emotions ebbing and flowing like high tide. and right now, he’s at full rage, frustration, exasperation, desperation all taking him at once. but somehow, he doesn’t bow before it the way he usually does; no childish anger, or snide comments. instead, he does something that shocks even him: he laughs.

the sound of it shakes his whole body, shoulders bending back some from the force of it. you’re confused by it to say the least, struggling to find the words to even react — but it turns out you don’t have to. ransom fills the space for you, stepping closer and speaking up. “you’re really going to make me say it, huh?” he scoffs a bit, pink staining his cheeks as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his brown peacoat. 

you can’t tell for sure, but there’s something beyond the glare of his thousand dollar sunglasses that you don’t recognize. at least not on him. it makes you nervous in a way, the sound of your heartbeat growing in your ears; and he seems to pick up on it, reaching to press a thumb into your cheek as if in a taunt. if anything, though, it’s playful; you can tell by that grin he seems to only give to you most days.

“for someone so smart,” he hums, thumb moving from your cheek to the fullness of your bottom lip, “you sure are fucking dense, hon.”

you’re frowning, poised to retort, when he stops you with lips over yours. the kiss lasts a few seconds at most, but it feels like much longer. perhaps it’s the years of waiting giving it such weight - the vivid memories of nights forcing yourself to accept he would never feel for you what you did for him. whatever it is, it does you in; when he pulls away, you stay dazed and processing, even as he swipes his tongue out to taste what you leave behind. “are we getting it now---?"

the way you lunge for him, his voice lost beneath your mouth and the crash of the water below, answers his question. 

[gone-daddy-gone]

Pairing: You x Kuroo

Rating: Mature.

DT: @letmeshouyou, inspo from her fic here @anxiouslywaitingforsomethinggood, art piece here

Word Count: 2,174

                                   Pierced

You had met Kuroo during the long one week of nine hour, every single day, training, prior to camp. You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. The first thing that caught your eye wasn’t his crazy, almost lazy bed head hair. Wasn’t his beautiful brown eyes that were shaped precariously like cats eyes. No, those features were very obvious. Just not nearly as noticeable as the metal in his mouth. And not the metal that most kids his age had, laid like railroad tracks on their crooked teeth. It was the metal on his tongue. The wet muscle that lived in his damp cavern of a mouth. 

 Being in charge of over one hundred horny, irresponsible, and obnoxious teens to adults is just as fun as it sounds. You were the lead counselor of the Tokyo Titans, one of the most prestigious powerhouse camps in the country. You yourself used to be a very good volleyball player, taking the Karasuno girls team straight to nationals. Not only that, but you were the top of your college class and here on an internship. Completing the summer you were going to have three extra credits! You had no interest in the camp beyond that, sure you adored the kids! They were all amazing, funny, creative in their own ways. Still, your mission was to do your job diligently over the next three months. Quick get in, get out. 

 There was just one, six-one giant standing directly in your view of your success. And he goes by the name Kuroo Tetsuro. 

 You had met Kuroo during the long one week of nine hour, every single day, training, prior to camp. You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. The first thing that caught your eye wasn’t his crazy, almost lazy bed head hair. Wasn’t his beautiful brown eyes that were shaped precariously like cats eyes. No, those features were very obvious. Just not nearly as noticeable as the metal in his mouth. And not the metal that most kids his age had, laid like railroad tracks on their crooked teeth. It was the metal on his tongue. The wet muscle that lived in his damp cavern of a mouth. 

 If you were being honest with yourself. You found him almost too enticingly attractive. Which is exactly while you forced yourself to pay as little attention to the giant as you possibly could. He on the other hand took one look at you and decided he would do the exact opposite. Every single time the counselors were told to pair up, he decided you would make the perfect partner.

 “Why you always trying to avoid me?” He said, furrowing his brows making him look a little more playful, a smirk being carefully placed. 

 “I don’t know what you mean Kuroo, I am a camp lead so I am… you know, busy” You said in a voice that established you were an adult and he was a child. Causing him to lick his lips, pushing his wet muscle into his gum and lip. 

 “Whatever you say, lead.” You couldn’t tell why, but the way he said lead just made your body irk with anger. That was just Kuroo Tetsuro for you though. Smug as he was sexy. 

 Kuroo seemed to find great pleasure in making a fool of the camp. Every time you turned your back on the sports camp he was in, he gave you another reason to tighten the leash. His excuse this time? He thought it would benefit the children to start a sword fight with pointed sticks, “like the samurai”. He cried, claiming to try and teach them something. Which, if you couldn’t already tell where this was going, was a bad idea. What grown adult in their right mind thought that was a good idea? The answer? No one. No one in camp thought his little stunt was cute and endearing. So as lead, of course you had to take the heat and apologize to all the parents for Kuroo’s indiscretions.

 “Yes, yes of course… no I understand. Thank you for being so considerate… uh huh of course! Right right.” You even had to call board directors to try and not get this clown fired. 

 Your generosity, as large as the net extends to the likes of Kuroo, some people. Mostly Kuroo. Thought this was your way of keeping a fling alive. A fling you absolutely did not have! He insisted that you looked at him like raw meat, going so far as to call you a pervert. 

 If his childish accusations weren’t enough, he filled the camp kids minds with lies. First he thought it would be best to tell the children that you two were married, every single little girl believed him and asked you for advice on their weddings. Now, this may seem like a miniscule act on his part, but Kuroo was one cunning bastard. He took the power by saying you were married, filling all the kids heads with fairy tales about true love. If you tell them the truth, that makes you the witch that killed love. 

 The only true time you got any distance from the man child was when the twelve hour long camp day was finally over with. When every kid had been signed out and every counselor vacated the building. During those few breaks from kids and misguided adults, you got to turn on music and vibe out. Letting go of all the stress and letting your body roll with the melody, getting lost in the symphony. That of course was how you were going to let your night play out, dancing and cleaning at the same time. You were so focused on your body feeling the music you hadn’t noticed that there was another presence in the room feeling you. 

 You flipped your hair and dropped your body super fast as you set boxes of legos in the lower cabinets. Before getting back up, you gave your booty a few pops before rising back up. Kuroo bit his lip, letting his tongue run over his bottom lip. He rolled his metallic ball around on his tongue, enjoying the show, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He let his eyes wander from your behind all the way up to your chest that was bouncing around with your body. He shook his head before shoving his fist in his mouth, effectively trying to silence his giddness. He sucked in his lip once more before looking down either side of the hallway. When he noticed that there wasn’t anyone on either side. With a cat-like stealth, he took a few steps into the room and shut the door closed. 

 You were far too absorbed in your cleaning and loud music to even conceive that he had entered the room. The current predicament you had gotten yourself in, was a jar that absolutely did not want to open. You were swaying your hips to the music, throwing in a few freestyle grunts trying to free the lid. Your efforts were not going unnoticed. With the same stealth he had when he first entered the room, he danced his way over ever so slowly to you. For a moment you two moved in sync. Unbeknownst to you of course. It made Kuroo want to laugh, you were so laid back when you weren’t being a total bitch. 

 Finally having enough of watching you, he slowly made his way to your neck. You had your eyes closed, letting yourself fully emerge into the groove of the song. As Kuroo let his wet muscle come out of his mouth, slowly making contact with your neck. If it wasn’t for the cool metal you felt that made goosebumps rise on your skin you would never have even noticed it. You jilted slightly before you felt those soft lips begin to massage skin in a suckling motion. And in a small moment of weakness a moan came out of you, your body acting before you could. Followed suit in your abstinent motions was your hips, they instantly pushed themselves back onto the male behind you. Wanting more than just a tongue. He let out his own moan while he gripped your hips with a grip that was gonna litter you in bruises. Your reaction to his movements made a whimper come out of you. You could already feel yourself get hot with need as you felt yourself rub your thighs together. That was when you realized you had no idea who was doing this to you. With abject horror you wiped your head around. To make matters worse you met eyes with him, and before you could protest he quickly moved on from your neck to your mouth. Another unwilling moan came out of you as you could feel him sucking your tongue like it was the last popsicle and only relief from heat in the ninety degree weather outside.

 Snapping out of it you went to push him off of you and compose yourself. But if there is one thing you had to give Kuroo Tetsuro, it was that the bastard was observant. He knew you wanted this, you knew you wanted this. So, not wanting the make out session to end he gripped your wrists in his hands. You whimpered again, a needy whimper that caused him to smirk into your embrace. You struggled a little more, letting him know you thought this was wrong. It was wrong. You couldn’t just be macking on any of the counselor's you were a lead. Seemingly on cue he let your mouth go so you could breath. It was a short lived break. Before you could even say anything he gripped your ass and brought you up. The fear of falling taking over you, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders for support.

 “So you do want it?’ Kuroo teased as he brought you to the unstable ping pong table.

 ‘Shut up and put me-mmH!” It was a lightning fast reaction on his part. He harsly grabbed at your hips, pulling your heat towards his needy crotch. He let himself rub on you, creating friction. Meanwhile he went to your collar bones and sucked, hard. A stark difference from his gentle sucking he did at first. The pleasure was too good, who could blame the guilty moan that escaped you. Without thinking you wrapped your legs around his waist. Begging him, to just get a little closer. And as fast as it started, it stopped. He let go of your now purple collarbone. You were slightly relieved, but now the puddle in your panties made it a little harder to celebrate. 

 “I want you to say it.” 

“What?”

 “I want you to tell me you want me, and I have free reign of your body.” He whispered that last one like it was a promise.

 “Are you kidding me?” Was all your stupefied mind could come up with.

 “Ever hear of consent?” He said, letting an almost bashful smile appear. Well, it certainly wasn’t smug or condescending. Which was a lot for Kuroo. 

 “What a gentleman, ok Kuroo.” You gave him a lustful glance, before licking your lips. “Do what you want.” That was all he needed. 

 He started off shoving you down so your back was all the way on to the table. Next he took his fingers and slowly undid your shorts, getting on his knees as he did so. After he let your shorts hit the ground, he pulled your panties off with his teeth while his eyes bore into yours. Then he pulled your undies off nice and sensual. He got a look at you. A tsunami of pride washing over him, eyeing your dribbling pussy. He ever so softly let his fingers wrap around either of your thighs before prying them nice and wide for him. Licking his lips once more, he went in. Lapping up the juices with his tongue. A small moan and buck of your hips up into his mouth came out of you. Earning you a moan from the man between your legs that erupted through your whole body. 

 After he was done teasing you, he began to run his tongue in and out in darting motions. This caused you to arch your back, but you were met with a harsh grip before being shoved right back down. Your eyes fluttered up to look at him, face in between your legs and lust rising up in those brown eyes. The metal in his mouth was now bumping and rubbing up onto your clit which made you scream out in pleasure as you tried to force yourself on his skillful tongue more. You were greeted with a harsher grip on you. Which just made your lust filled brain even more confused as your cunt pulsated and you whined from the pain. You felt his other hand leave your thighs, feeling them return but inside of you this time. He took two fingers and fucked them into you at an impossibly fast pace. While his long slider fingers hit you every spot it should, his tongue rolled over and over again on your clit. You called out his name as you came into mouth, toes curled and thighs pressed to either side of his head. You were tired now, coming down from the intense euphoria the only thing coming out of your mouth was panting. You opened your eyes to see him pulling off his shorts. 

 “Wha-” 

 “You think you’re just gonna cum and that’s it? Absolutely not. You better prepare yourself cause this is long from over.”

[beerecordings]

Want

Part 18 of My Brother’s Keeper (Part 1 l Previous l Next)

My taglist is a separate post so let me know if you want to be added or removed! This is v long chapter because I love.... so many of these scenes... I hope you will enjoy it. Also happy Henrik appreciation week he deserves better I love him <3333 and also you for reading <3333333

Edit: yo @florenceisfalling made SUCH A LOVELY JAMIE AND CHASE PIECE with a tiny bit of inspo from this chapter and I love it so much!!! you can see it here

tws for self-hatred, panic attacks, and weight mentions/food

also major abuse themes sorry i should have included that right away this whole fic has major abuse so please be careful

He thinks that maybe all that he hoped for has come to be, and yet...

“Well, what do you need now, Jameson?”

“What do I need?”

“What do you want to do, I mean? We can get some food in you, you can lie down, maybe we need some more ointment for that throat of yours – where did Chase put that, he might have something for your ear infection too – well, whatever you feel like. What sounds good?”

“What – you want me to choose?”

“Yes, we have time for anything. We have a lot of time now. What would you like?”

Jameson stares up at Henrik, still sitting in the warmth left on the mattress as they slept.

“You sure you want me to choose?”

Henrik stops bustling around and turns back to him. He tries to smile but he can’t make his mouth move, just tries to look warm. “From now on,” he says. “You get to choose what you do and who you are. How does that sound?”

Sounds like breaking the rules. He bites down hard on his lip, closing his eyes, trying to banish the thought of all that Anti would do to him if he knew he was anything other than a prisoner here.

If he knew that he was beginning to be glad that Anti let him go.

“I want,” he says. “To go back to Anti.”

Henrik closes his eyes, breathes in deep. “Well,” he murmurs. “That is the one thing you cannot do.”

Jameson stares down at his scarred hands.

“Come on, Jamie.” Henrik steps closer, hands outstretched. “What do you want to do?”

What do you want to do? What do you want? What do you want to be?

“I want,” says Jameson.

He has to pause, has to pause to choke, overwhelmed just for an instant, as he realizes he has never once in his life signed the word.

“I want,” he repeats. “I want a shower.”

“A shower,” says Henrik, and smiles. “Well, I think that much can be handled.”

He's staring at his hair.

“What did you think it looked like?” Chase laughs, presenting him with a clean t-shirt.

Jameson ducks his head down, nervous with a stranger beside him, but his eyes flicker up again, and he's staring at his hair.

Staring at his face, clean.

“When was the last time you got to wash it?” asks Chase, frowning now. He reaches out to touch Jameson's hair and then thinks better of it, drawing away politely. Jameson tries his best to smile at him. If he's gentle and harmless, Chase won't hurt him, right?

“Long time,” he manages, his hands stammering as they tremble.

There are three different showers in the house that Marvin made. The one in the bathroom across from the spare room is, in two words, absolutely spiffing. Jameson's not really supposed to use old words – Anti said they made him sound stupid and didn't make sense to sign anyway – but for the remorseless pressure of the steaming hot water, where he stayed for two hours, rubbing shampoo into his hair and scraping his skin clean with soap the scent of oranges, he makes a mental exception.

Besides... Anti's not here.

He tries to smile at his reflection in the mirror. His hair has dried into a warm, earthy brown color. Its stiffness is gone and the streaks of dust and filth that used to make him feel so disgusting have vanished into a warm coconut smell. It even curls, just a little – tumbling gently over his forehead in a fine coil of brown and teal.

He's clean. He's clean and so is the house. Everything's clean. Even his nails are picked into white crescent moons. Finally, finally.

“You look good,” says Chase, and Jameson flinches to be mocked, but then he turns his gaze and sees only sincerity in Chase's face. “Here, want your shirt?”

“My shirt?”

“Yeah, sorry, I haven't had time to go buy you anything new yet. Just went to work and came back today, didn't even visit Jack. Schneep's feeling a little jumpy still, but when he chills out, I'll take you out of the house and we'll go buy you a whole wardrobe. Yeah?”

“Yeah – really, clothes all for me? – wait, can I – can I visit Mr. Jack sometime?”

“I like that sign for him.” Chase laughs and copies him, making the sign for infection over his eye. “You're kind of sassy, aren't you, Jay? I don't see why not.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude! He's, uh. Not great company, but still... I like to think he'd be glad you came to see him. I like to think he's glad when I come to see him, you know?”

Jameson doesn't know. Coma patients do not rejoice for a visit in his understanding. But the thought of finding Mr. Jack, of seeing him, of knowing where he is and how to get to him – that sounds amazing.

He chooses that. Henrik says he can do what he wants. He wants to find Jack. He's been wanting to know him his whole life, so a few days? That's nothing. He can wait.

He grins at his reflection again, easier now, and tugs Chase's shirt – no, no, it's his shirt now, Chase said so – over his head.

“How about some food?” offers Chase. “You want something to eat? Skinny little guy, I gotta tell you. Schneep says you probably need to put some weight on, which is great for me, cause I really like to fucking cook.”

Chase talks a lot, and never with any malice. Jameson kind of likes listening to him.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, a little less nervously.

And when Chase grins and reaches out, Jameson accepts his hand in his own, and lets him tug him towards the kitchen.

He's hungry so he gets something to eat.

That's just how things work here. It's bizarre.

Bizarre and wonderful.

That first meal they share together is pasta, if only just a little, to go easy on his stomach. Chase presents it to him with garlic and chicken and sweet alfredo sauce and basil and tomatoes.

“Does that look good?”

Jameson can't even sign “yes.” He is gripping the fork too tightly. He puts a mouthful of pasta in his mouth and then he reaches up to hold his head in his hands, crying over a fork’s worth of penne.

Chase reaches out and takes his hand and tells him, “Hey, hey, calm down, it's okay! It's okay, bud. It's all okay.”

Jameson says “I'm sorry” and Chase says “don't be, it's just pasta” and Jameson says “not for that, for everything, for trying to kill you, for hurting you – ”

And all Chase says is, “Oh, well.

That's okay too.”

Over the course of the next few days, Chase makes sandwiches with pesto and feta and savory pork with spoonfuls of yellow rice and zucchini fried in bread crumbs, brings home ice cream with big chunks of chocolate, drizzles fruit in sweet sauce, cooks fish and American burgers with barbecue sauce, bakes fresh bread, gives him protein and fats and sugars according to the diet Henrik helped them decide on, and asks him, every day, if there's anything new he'd like to try, anything he didn't get to have before.

“Sorry, I just like spoiling you, cooking is like the only thing I'm good at and I always cook for my family, you know? Is that weird to say, that we're family? Really, I think we should have been brothers a long time ago, like, right away, but then – see, but you're here now, so we're brothers, right? Anyway, here, I'm making a grocery list. What do you want, JJ?”

No one's ever asked him what he wants. No one's ever called him JJ. No one's ever cooked for him. He thinks he might love Chase. Anyway, he nods when he calls him “brother.” He smiles when he calls him brother.

Yes, he thinks they should have been brothers a long time ago. Isn't that what Anti told him? That if Chase hadn't been Mr. Jack's for so long, he would have been a good puppet too, and they could have been brothers a long time ago?

Jameson would have liked that. He tries to be grateful for right now.

Things are good.

Things are unbelievably, impossibly good.

And he doesn't deserve any of it.

“Can I sleep with you?” he asks Henrik on that first night after he has called him his brother.

“Oh,” says Henrik. “Look, Jameson, I had some dependency issues when I came back from – well, I've had some dependency issues too, but I wonder if it wouldn't be healthier for you to sleep on your own.”

“Please,” Jameson begs. “Please, it's too cold in my room and Jackie is across the wall from me. I'm frightened. I want to sleep in here with you.”

Henrik's face is blue and white with bruising and exhaustion. His chest hurts badly. He has just re-stitched one of the cuts on his stomach, not that he told anyone it tore open.

Jameson isn't the only one who could use comfort.

“Okay,” Henrik admits, sighing and flopping down onto his pillows. “Yes, alright, you can sleep in here. Come lay down and let’s get some sleep.”

The bed is warm. There are no bugs or bloodstains. During the night, nothing bites him or attacks him or crawls, unexpectedly, into bed beside him, dragging static-electric hands along his flesh or kissing at the side of his throat, whispering promises of torture for later if he doesn't behave –

The nice thing about his panic attacks – Chase has been trying to teach him about having a positive mentality – is that they are silent and stiffer than a frozen tree, so he doesn't wake Henrik up four times a night like he would otherwise.

He thinks about Anti often, about all the things he should have done so that his big brother wouldn't have had to throw him out. His brain has also begun to play a cruel trick on him where suddenly the warm memories he had with Anti become sinister.

Do you remember the time he gave you your knives? You were so happy. (He also threw you down the stairs once for missing the target twice in a row, and your head split open and you bled and bled and bled.)

Do you remember the time you were so hungry you could not rise from your bed, and then he brought you – oh, they were so tasty – real donuts covered completely in sugar? You wept for joy. (The only reason you were starving in the first place was because he thought it was funny. He could have brought food for you anytime.)

Do you recall Christmas, when he brought you your blanket? You loved that thing. Slept with it every night and dragged it around after you everywhere you went. He called you his baby and you smiled. (That thing was filthy and disgusting and I hate being treated like a child, I just played along because it made him smile, and anyway Chase and Henrik have a dozen blankets a hundred times better than that one, my only fucking comfort in that god-awful – oh, oh, what am I thinking?)

He is scared that he will no longer want Anti if he stays here.

And that is the worst thought of all.

The thought that maybe – just maybe – Anti didn't actually – Anti wasn't actually –

No, no, no, no. He can't admit it. Can't even think it.

Because if Anti never really loved him, what was he doing all these months?

Anti loved him. He knows that. He's sure. It was all worth it. It must have all been worth it. He cannot accept that his suffering was meaningless. Impossible. Unthinkable. Terrible.

He loves Anti. And this place? As wonderful as it is, it is not where he belongs.

He's afraid of what it will turn him into if he stays.

Sometimes he hears Jackie moving around downstairs. This noise alone is enough to make him tremble harder than before, and bury his face against Henrik's chest, wondering if the doctor is powerful enough to protect him from the hero, when the time comes for Jackie to kill him.

He's allowed outside whenever he feels like it.

He and Anti had to hide, so, at the old house, there were only certain times he was allowed outside, and only for so long, and anyway it was winter. But this?

This is spring and he is free in it.

He doesn't know where they are. All he knows is that it's as beautiful as the glimpses of stars he used to catch through his window.

They live in the midst of a grand forest, creaking with age, where trees stretch up to the sky like God has invited them to the best garden party ever and they're trying not to be late. The branches are full of hollering birds and budding leaves and there are these fat little chipmunks scurrying along the forest floor like a kid spilled a whole box of fluffy brown marbles, and the air is clean and good and warm and Jameson – Jameson –

Jameson is in love.

He walks through it often and his brothers don't even ask him where he's going or when he'll be back. They just let him wander. His favorite spot is a river, among the trees, where he likes to come and just stand, rolling up the jeans Chase gifted him and watching the water sighing past his feet, cool and clear. The rocks press against the pads of his feet.

Once, he saw a white cat, there on the bank of the river.

He got so excited he nearly slipped, and, anxious and delighted, he signed a shaky “hello!”

The cat looked at him with big, clever blue eyes.

He reached out to touch it, but it ran away.

He still hopes to find it, one of these days. He thinks Chase feeds it in the morning, but that feels like cheating, so he waits until the sun is high in the sky, and walks every day, watching, wandering, free.

He plans to escape by way of the forest.

He'll be sad to see it go. Maybe someday he can bring Anti back here, and they'll walk through the trees together, and no longer have to hide.

“Okay, like that – yep, turn a little!”

Jameson curves the remote.

“Yeah, yep! There, now you're in the right direction. Okay, hit – yeah, that button there – and you're off! Okay, watch for the ledge!”

He sees the ledge getting closer and closer, but can't turn in time. He watches with a disgruntled twitch of his mustache as Bowser Jr. plummets to his death once again, only to be resurrected by a flying turtle.

Chase is laughing. “It's okay,” he says. “It's okay. Want to try again?”

JJ straightens up, the frown melting away. Chase never gets angry with him for fucking it up. “Yes,” he nods quickly, lifting up his little remote again. He'll keep trying til he gets it right.

“Okay, turn, then button – there you go. Can you get around the hill? Curve it – good job, bud! I'll show you how to drift in a second. Watch out for the – oh!”

Baby Bowser successfully swerves his motorcycle out of the way and continues through Moo Moo Meadows.

“Good job!” cheers Chase.

JJ puts his remote down, laughing. His clock reads eleven o' clock in the morning. “You have to go to work,” he reminds Chase warmly.

“Damn, you're right! Guess I have to say goodbye.”

JJ grins wickedly, scooting forward. Chase watches with raised eyebrows, slowly beginning to get up from the couch.

Jameson tackles him back down, grabbing a pillow to slam it over his head, and Chase yelps out a laugh and grabs him around the waist, heaving him up and off him. “Help, help,” he cries, shoving Jameson halfway off the couch, so his head hangs over the edge. “A dork with a hipster mustache is attacking me again!”

Three days ago Chase had tried to go to work and Jameson had grabbed his hand and refused to let go, grinning mischievously as Chase struggled to get free. It was the most emotion he had shown Chase thus far, and he was so delighted that he tussled with him for a full hour and then stayed home from work.

Fuck videos. He's got a little brother now. And Jameson smiles easier every day.

“I love you,” mumbles Chase, leaning down to press their heads together.

“Asshole,” signs JJ, cheekily.

And then he presses his forehead against Chase and smiles, closing his eyes and pressing the word “love” against his brother's chest.

Chase smiles til his face hurts.

“What are you morons up to now?” asks Henrik, appearing at the top of the stairs with three used mugs hanging off his hands, only now being mercifully returned to the washing machine after days of neglect.

“I was trying to teach Jamie to play Mario Kart.”

“Ah, I hate that fucking game.”

“He only says that cause he's bad at it,” Chase whispers to Jameson.

“Aren't you late for work?” asks Henrik, washing his mugs off in the sink. Jameson rises and steps towards him, soaking in the sunlight wandering in through the glass-windowed door to the patio.

“I set my own schedule!” says Chase. “And by that schedule, yes, I'm late.” He lets out a boisterous laugh, throwing his head back. “I’m distractable lately! Jamie, toss me my shoes? Good throw – got it! – oh, shit – ah, barely caught that one!”

“Stop throwing shoes!” Henrik snaps, turning to glare at his giggling brothers.

“Bye, guys!” calls Chase, clutching the door handle. He leans his head towards it for a second, closing his eyes, and then steps through.

Weird. That door's always locked when JJ tries it. Shrugging it off and tidying his mussed hair carefully, Jamie moves towards Henrik and sets his chin on his brother's shoulder, watching him rinse out the cups, still stained with coffee at the bottom.

“How are you doing today?” asks Henrik. He moves the mug in his hand and the water splashes up towards them, getting water in Jameson's face.

Jamie shoves his shoulder playfully and falls back, shaking his head at Henrik's laughter. He comes closer again and takes a coffee-free mug from his brother, turning to set it in the washing machine.

“Actually,” he admits. “There's something I wanted to ask you.”

“Don't keep me in suspense.” Henrik hands him a second mug and picks the third one up in his hand, turning to look at him as he signs.

Jameson puts the mug in the washer. “When are we going back to Anti?”

Henrik drops the mug.

Flinching hard at the awful shattering of the glass, Jameson backs away.

The whiteness of Henrik's face only makes him flinch harder, cowering, a long-conditioned fear waking up in his stomach, making his heart pound a harsh reprimand against the inside of his ribs. He is terrified, suddenly, of the old stories Anti told him about all the things he would do if the others were his puppets, how he would bring his prisoners to the doctor and make him name each one of their bones as they shattered, keeping them alive for weeks after Anti had made them beg to die, and Jameson sees Henrik before him as he was in that cold basement only two weeks ago, covered in blood and subject, completely, to Anti's will, and terror burns at the back of his throat like whiskey.

“Get the broom,” whispers Henrik.

“What?” signs Jameson, and then he panics, realizing he's questioned an order, he didn't mean to, it just happened, he reaches up a hasty first to circle a “sorry!” around his heart –

Henrik reaches out and grabs his hands. “Just go get the broom,” he rasps, closing his eyes.

Jameson dashes towards the laundry room. He brings the broom back right away, but in the seconds he was gone, Henrik has collapsed in on himself. His hands, stiff on the kitchen counter, are keeping him standing, but his face is so pale Jameson drops the broom and reaches forward to hold his shoulders, anticipating a fall.

Henrik grabs his shoulders in return, looking up at him with exhausted eyes as blue as the ocean where the light hits the water. “Why would you ask that?” he asks.

Tears fill and overflow and come running down his face.

“I thought,” he whispers, trembling, holding onto his little brother as tightly as he can without hurting. “I thought you were happy here. Or becoming, anyway. I thought you wanted to be our brother.”

“I do, I do!” Jameson resists the urge to tear at his hair, panic rising like a bonfire in his stomach. “Don't be upset with me, please! I just thought we would go back to Anti together! You and Chase and I could all be together still. We could all go back!”

“Go back to Anti together,” Henrik repeats.

He is no longer whispering. He shouts.

“Go back to my torturer? Go back to your torturer? And bring Chase Brody? Bring my fucking little brother? Bring my friend?”

“No, no, no.” Jameson shakes his head so fast it hurts. “Not back to a torturer, he wouldn't torture us if we came willingly!”

Henrik shoves him away, gasping on the despair in his throat, and Jameson falls back like he's been struck, covering his face with his hands and collapsing to the floor, huddling back against the patio door, crying so hard he can barely breathe.

“Oh, God, why?” pants Henrik. He wants to turn away, he's scared of what he'll do if he looks at him, but it's not fair to turn away from his signing. “Oh, God. You don't – you don't understand anything.”

“I understand plenty,” Jameson protests, trying frantically to wipe the tears off his place. “I understand that being in this place has already made you forget who we belong to.”

Henrik screams aloud, slamming his fist against the counter.

“How can you say that!” he howls. “After all he put you through! I thought you were happy here! I don't understand! How can you say that!”

“What the fuck is happening?” a voice interrupts them, and Jameson stiffens like a rabbit that just heard a gun go off.

Jackie stands in the entryway, eyes wide.

Eyes angry.

“Henrik, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” fumbles Henrik, barely able to speak. He is stumbling away from Jameson, his eyes flickering desperately from wall to wall. “Nothing, it's not his fault, he doesn't know, it's not my fault, I didn't know, I was just trying to be his, I just didn't want to get hurt, I was just trying to survive and he told me I was his but I don't believe him I don't believe him I don't believe him – ”

Jackie moves forward to grab him as he falters, gripping his hands firmly and leading him back towards the couch as his brother unravels, drowning in his own terror.

He doesn't even look at Jameson.

Stiff and silent, shaking in the corner, alone.

His scarred right hand rests on the handle of the patio door.

Henrik will not come with him. He understands now. His brother has been through too much. The bad blood between him and Anti can't be settled. Jameson will go without him.

And Chase, too, he must leave behind. It was selfish, thinking he could bring him. Anti always talked about slaughtering him like a pig. Chase is too far gone, too loyal to Mr. Jack, his old friend, sleeping sound. Yes, Jameson must go without them.

It will break his heart, but he must go without them.

He’s trying to work up the nerve.

Anti didn't love you, says one part of his brain.

This part of his brain has told him this since he was perhaps two days old. He has ignored it every time. Repressed it. Swallowed it down. Told it to shut the fuck up and wondered if he could cut it out of the side of his head before Anti sensed his disloyalty.

But that night, beside a forgiving, bone-weary Henrik, with Chase across the hallway, both sound asleep, both watching over him –

For the first time in his life, the rest of him answers that part of his brain: I know.

But I must go back anyway.

I don't deserve this.

To be clean and fed and free and happy.

To be loved.

I don't deserve them.

He wants them. Wants all of it. Wants to be theirs and his own, but never again Anti's. He wants it so much it makes his heart hurt and his hands shake and his eyelids have to squeeze tight together to stop tears from falling.

He wants it, but he doesn't deserve it.

He begins to plan his escape.