#the corners of his mouth naturally being curled up like this is the bane of my existence

[albonoooo]

pictures that make me think about charles leclerc's mouth (and the rest of his face tbh) a normal amount, part one. part two.

[knivesareout]

take on the world - chapter one

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, bad jokes, flirting idiots and Tom doesn’t exist.

Summary: A whirlwind romance takes you by surprise when Frankie rescues you.

A/N: Well, here is the beginning of what is going to be a BEAST of a fic. There will probably be around 8-10 chapters in total and I’m already working on the next one (aka where the smut is). I will warn you all that this is going to deal with some heavy subject matter as we go along but I’ll put up proper warnings when they come. I hope you all enjoy and you can read it on AO3 here.

INSPO TAG | CHAPTER TWO

___________

There was a special place in hell for people who set their friends up on blind dates.

This wasn’t your first, or even your fifth, blind date in the last year that you’d agreed to go on to appease a happily married friend. This time it was Jessica’s husband’s co-worker who she’d shown you a picture of and you had wearily agreed, nodding as she told you how great he was.

He was in fact, not great, as he was now 30 minutes late and counting despite the numerous texts you’d sent him.

Thankfully the bar you were currently at was only a quick 10 minute walk from your apartment, a small miracle you were glad for. Surely you could stumble back the couple of blocks to your place if you decided to drown your sorrows in shots of tequila, a couple beers, and maybe a fruity drink or two if you were feeling spendy or particularly sad.

The bar was loud and, of course, overly crowded. It was a Saturday night after all.

Most tvs around the room were playing various baseball games at top volume with the season having only started a couple weeks prior. It wasn’t your favorite sport but you knew enough to keep up, eyes fixated on the Red Sox game just to the left of you.

“Need a refill?”

A cough sounds in your ear and you turn, realizing the question was meant for you. The man who’s taken up residence on the bar stool next to you is waiting for an answer, a distressed ball cap tugged low over his face and you wish you could see him better.

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, glancing down at the empty pint glass and back up again. When did you finish that? “Yeah, I mean. I need one.”

The man just nods, motioning the bartender over and he wordlessly clears your glass and sets a new one in front of you as well as one in front of the man next to you.

Muttering a quiet thanks to the bartender, you turn to the man in the cap and smile. “Thanks. Didn’t even realize I’d gone through it so fast.”

The man nods with a shrug of his shoulders, a slight smile on his face. “No worries. You looked like you were sucked into the game and figured I could help. I’m Frankie, by the way.”

Giving him your name, you reach a hand for him to shake- which he does. Rough, calloused hands envelope yours in a tight squeeze before he drops them with a cough.

You realize he must’ve been watching you before, if he knew you were with an empty cup.

Normally that was something you would find creepy because you were clearly alone, or at the very least weird but for some reason it’s endearing on this guy. Frankie. Out of the corner of your eye, you try to take in his features without being obvious, his attention now turned to the same game you’d been watching only moments before.

Dark hair curls outside of his baseball cap, a dimple embedded into his cheek on the right as he smiles. Patchy facial hair covers his jawline, bits of grey catching the light as he tilts his head back to take a swig of his beer and you wonder how old he is. At first you would’ve pegged him around your age, but now getting a somewhat better look he might have several years on you.

“Were you waiting on someone?” He asks, turning to you with his voice raised. A group of men are shouting in the back of the bar near the pool table and you wince.

You nod, downing half of your beer and swiping at your mouth. “Yeah. Blind date. I should know better but I can’t tell people no and he was cute.”

Frankie just laughs at your honesty, “So he just didn’t show?”

“Yep. Never had one that just didn’t show up. Figured I might as well get drunk to commemorate the occasion. Or commiserate. Either one.” You bring your glass up to his and cheers, shaking your head incredulously.

“His loss.”

You turn to Frankie with a raised brow, lowering your glass to watch him slowly check you out. You feel hot all over and clear your throat, teeth tugging on your bottom lip.

“What about you then? Here alone or did you ditch someone?”

Frankie presses a hand to his heart, fake wounded at your jab. “You already think so little of me? I was here with friends but they bailed on me,” he explains. “Saw you by yourself and thought we could both use the company.”

His answer puts you more at ease and you finish off your second beer of the night.

“So, figure I gotta ask. How old are you?” It really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things but if things are heading in the direction you hope they are, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable if you’re too young.

He seems startled by your question, like it’d never occurred to him to ask and he falters before answering. Did it make him uncomfortable?

“You know,” Frankie starts with a chuckle. “Normally, I’d be offended but I’m not. ‘M 42.”

Nodding, you blow out a breath that you didn’t realize you’d be holding. “Newly 30,” you tell him, bringing your refilled drink up to click against his own.

The age reveal doesn’t seem to bother him, at least from what you can tell. You’d never cursed your age before until now, hoping it hadn’t put him off.

You turn on the barstool to face Frankie, hoping to break the tension.

“So I have just one question for you, Frankie.”

He nods, turning to face you and waiting for you to continue.

You hold up a finger and place it on his jaw near his mouth, the one spot not filled up by wiry grey and black hair. His eyes are wide at your touch and he’s tense.

It was something you’d noticed right away when he sat next to you, your attention drawn to it for whatever reason. His terribly patchy facial hair was endearing.

“Why is this the perfect place for a kiss?”

The way Frankie looks when he laughs makes your heart ache in the best way. He tosses his head back, mouth wide as he tries to contain his laughter. His dark eyes crinkle, nose scrunched up at your blunt question and you retract your hand, satisfied with his response.

“How much have you had to drink?” He manages to get out between wheezing while he catches his breath.

“Couple shots of tequila while I stupidly waited. Two beers now, thanks to you,” you nod at the empty glass. “I might be drunk? It’s hard to tell, honestly. I think I’m fine.”

“So you’re just normally like this?” Frankie laughs, tilting his head. His fingers drum on the side of his almost empty pint glass, something you wonder is a nervous tick.

You push your empty glass away, hoping it’ll get the bartender’s attention and it does. Ordering Frankie another beer and a vodka cranberry for you, you turn back to him. “Guess so. If it’s too much though, I can pretend you never came over here and finish the game by myself.”

“Not what I meant,” he’s quick to tell you. “Just wanted to know what I’m getting myself into is all.”

Silently your lips tick up in a smirk and you start on your drink, turning your attention back to the game.

Over the next hour, you get to know Frankie and vice versa. He’s ex-Army; out for the last couple of years and he’s slowly getting back into the real world. Explains how he doesn’t have any family in North Carolina but all of his buddies live here, so he moved.

Frankie’s a helicopter pilot, giving city flyover tours to people coming in from out of town. He doesn’t love it but he loves flying so it’s enough for him, he tells you. You can see it in his eyes how passionate he is about flying and it makes you grin.

In turn, he asks about you. Normally you wouldn’t give up so much information about yourself to someone you don’t know all that well but Frankie has slowly started to feel like anything but and you feel guilty letting him give you so much only to get nothing in return- so you tell him. Maybe too much. About how your job working at a law firm is the most boring thing, especially when you had no interest in law. Which in turn sparks up his question- what do you want to do? That ends up setting you off on a tangent about your love of photography but how hard the industry is to break into to do it professionally or at the least get paid for it.

“Here, hang on.” You tell him, sliding your phone out of your back pocket and pulling up your Instagram. Social media was, normally, the bane of your existence but you used the app for your photos and nothing else, you tell him. He nods like he understands, telling you he isn’t much better technology wise.

Frankie’s quiet as he scrolls through your feed. He’s slow about it too, clicking on a few to see them bigger, and you bite your lip in anticipation at what he might be thinking. It’s nerve wracking to show anyone your passion and you manage to finish off your drink while he’s still scrolling, waving off the bartender as he asks if you want another.

“You’re fucking talented as shit, you know that?”

His response catches you off guard and you can instantly feel yourself getting warm at his compliment. It feels different, coming from him. A stranger who’s slowly becoming something more.

“You’ll have to let me take your picture some day,” you shoot back, kicking your dangling foot against his.

“You don’t have pictures of people on there though,” he’s quick to point out, handing you back your phone.

“Well no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t. It’s hard convincing people to hike with me is all.” Nature photography was your niche but you could already envision photographing a portrait of Frankie on a mountain with the sun illuminated behind him.

Frankie finishes off his beer and sighs loudly, turning to you with his brows raised. “Well, we’ll have to plan something then won’t we?”

You’d known that was coming and still, your stomach fills with butterflies as he all but asks you out. To see you again beyond this dark, crowded bar that smells like smoke and sweat.

“Definitely.”

Frankie asks if he can walk you home once the bar tab has been paid an hour later- he’s even covered yours too, in apology of your ruined date and unintentionally crashing your plan to wallow in self-pity afterwards.

“I’m just a couple blocks down,” you tell him, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders to combat the cool, spring breeze.

“No worries. Can’t complain about getting to spend a little more time with you,” he says cooly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

The line is smooth and cheesy but it still puts a smile on your face, which you’re sure was its intended effect.

You chuckle, turning to him so he can see the roll of your eyes. “Smooth, Casanova.”

Frankie puts his hands out in front of him in defense, scoffing at your jab.

“Cut me some slack, alright. Haven’t even dated a woman in years, let alone spent hours interrupted and talking with one,” he explains, knocking his shoulder with yours.

The little touch is something weirdly intimate and you cough, looking at him with a skeptical eye.

“I find that hard to believe, Frankie,” you chuckle, “You’re a good looking guy. Can even hold a decent conversation. No dates? Really?”

He shakes his head, shrugging. “Wasn’t in the right headspace for it. And now that I am, I just so happen to meet you and who knows. Was it fate?”

You spot the teasing tone of his voice immediately and you shove him lightly as you start to approach your apartment building. “You’re an ass,” you tell him, giggling as you try and pull your keys from your pocket, fingers fumbling and they drop to the ground with a clang.

You both reach down at the same time, heads knocking together and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. Laughing so much your chest aches with it and you can’t breathe, tears pricking the corner of your eyes and you glance over and Frankie’s no better, clutching his stomach as you both sit on the ground around your fallen keys.

“We’re a fucking mess,” you manage to get out between left over laughter and catching your breath.

Frankie lets out a loud breath, trying to calm himself and he nods in agreement. Picking up the keys, he hands them to you and stands, offering you a hand that you gladly take and try to steady yourself once you’re safely back on your feet.

“You alright?” He asks, running his hands over your hair and brushing at the crown of your head. As if he’s inspecting you for any injuries and you hold your breath.

The best you can manage is a nod, eyes flicking to meet his and you search them for any sign that he’s feeling exactly what you are.

He is. Expressive brown eyes that tell you everything you need to know.

Frankie sighs, pulling his hands back from your face and groans. Kicking at the pavement and mumbling quietly to himself.

Has the moment passed? Did you not react how he was expecting?

Turning back to you, he gives you a self-deprecating smile. “We’re drunk,” he explains. His tone is apologetic and you wonder why he’s saying the words if he feels bad about them in the first place.

“Maybe a little,” you agree. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t had, what I’m sure is, a much better date than I would’ve if that guy had shown up.”

You can tell your words mean something to him. It’s like he’s got this loose energy that he doesn’t know what to do with. Like he wants to shout and scream and run down the street. It makes you want to know more about him- what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Bouncing on his toes, Frankie hurriedly pulls out his phone from his front pocket and hands it to you. “I wanna see you again. Put your number in there?”

The phone is old. Flip-phone old and you laugh as you figure out how to program your number in there, adding your name along with a smiley face at the end before handing it back over to him.

“I had a really great time tonight, Frankie,” you promise him, fiddling with your keys. “Thank you for saving me from what was probably going to be a terrible night.”

“Me too,” he agrees, pursing his lips.

It’s like he’s deciding his next move and it catches you off guard when he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek.

Once there’s a fair amount of distance between you, Frankie heads down the sidewalk and waves. “I’ll call you,” he tells you, calling over his shoulder.

“You better,” you yell back.

Your grin is huge and you’re sure he can see it, even as he continues to walk backwards, watching you, and he disappears into the night.

---

Frankie calls the next day.

Phone numbers that weren’t saved in your address book were usually sent straight to voicemail but there was a nagging feeling deep in your gut to just answer it so you move to the edge of the sidewalk and out of the crowd and pick up.

“Hello?”

You catch a sigh and Frankie’s voice sounds over the speaker, bringing a smile to your face instantly. “Hey, it’s uh. Frankie. From the bar last night?”

Laughing a little, you nod to yourself. “Yeah. I remember you. Almost knocked me out when we bumped heads trying to pick up my keys.”

“Oh good,” he sounds relieved and you glance around as you wait for him to speak again, hoping the conversation was more than just chit-chat. “I know we just saw each other yesterday but I was wondering if I could see you again. Tonight maybe? If you don’t have plans. It’s fine if you do, I just thought I’d ask.”

He’s rushing through his words and you can tell instantly that he’s had to psych himself up to call you from his nervous tone through the receiver.

You don’t have plans and you’re more than eager to see Frankie again. Wondering if last night was a fluke and hoping that it wasn’t. Relationships weren’t your forte but maybe this was the exceptiontion. He was the exception.

“Yeah, I’d really like that Frankie. Just wanna meet me outside of my building around 7?” You chew on your lip nervously.

“Yeah,” he tells you. “That- that would be great. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you chuckle. “Bye Frankie.”

“Bye.”

Suddenly thankful that you were done running your errands for the day, you headed back home with a grin on your face that didn’t seem like it wanted to leave. Cheeks aching, you wondered what and if he had anything planned.

It had been too long since you’d gone on any sort of date. A real date; something planned and thought out unlike the blind dates you were used to. Frankie didn’t seem the type for a typical dinner and a movie, and something about that idea had you even more excited to see him. Everything about the situation with him was unpredictable: the chance meeting at the bar, to the walk home where you laughed harder than you could remember. There was clearly something there between the two of you and it was exhilarating.

The rest of your day was spent cleaning and daydreaming about the night you might have with Frankie. You wondered if this was how it was supposed to feel when you liked someone. The concept was foreign to you, your relationship history basically nonexistent. Was it possible that he was just as nervous as you were?

As 7pm rolled around, a text sounded over your phone and you leaned over on the counter to see Frankie telling you he was outside. Grabbing a light coat on your way out, you took a deep breath and locked the door behind you. No turning back now.

Frankie was dressed similarly to last night. Jeans, a t-shirt and a tan jacket that looked like it’d seen better days. His hat was missing and his hair looked soft, the ends curling around his ears. You greeted him with a smile as you walked out of your building and he nodded, rocking back on his feet.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” He asks, nodding his head as you both started to walk left down the sidewalk. “The fact that we met last night and we’re seeing each other again?”

You chuckled, “It’s weird in the sense that I’ve never done this before. Any of it. But no, to answer your question. I wanted to see you again and I am, so.” Shrugging, you turn to listen to him as you both continue to walk, keeping to the side.

“Yeah, me too. I mean, I’ve met people in bars. Women. But it’s usually a one night kind of thing-,” Frankie stops himself and groans, running a hand down his face in embarrassment. “That sounds bad. Fuck.”

“Ain’t no shame in the game, Frankie. I’m not here to judge you,” you promise, pausing as you wait for the crosswalk sign to turn white so you can cross the street. “Where are we going, by the way?”

Frankie waits to answer until you’re both safely across the street and heading further into downtown, the crowds getting thicker and you push yourself against his side so as not to lose him. His arm finds its way across your shoulders to keep you close and he answers, leaning his head down closer to your ear. “There’s this bar and arcade thing down a couple more blocks that I figured we could spend some time at. Maybe head to the park after that and walk around. See where the night takes us?”

It’s easy to tell he hasn’t quite planned this out and something about that makes your heart race. He really had just wanted to see you, planning this as he goes only so you can spend more time together.

“The park can get a little murder-like late at night,” you point out with a laugh,

“That’s true. Well, we can always just see where the night takes us after we play a couple of games then if that’s alright?”

“That’s the part where you’re supposed to tell me you’ll protect me,” you poke a finger into his side and laugh. “But yeah of course, Frankie. Whatever you wanna do,” you reassure him. “I’m just along for the ride.”

The bar slash arcade was… something. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t what you walked into. The building was packed to the brim; loud noises, slots and different game noises sounding from every corner, and a small bar was tucked in the left corner with a tv playing what looked like The Shining above it.

“Have you been here before?” You raise your voice, balancing yourself on his shoulder to get closer to his ear.

He nods shouting back, “Yeah, once. Came with a couple of buddies of mine. They’ve got some cool retro games in the back that we used to play as a kid. Everyone loves air hockey too, right?”

You can see the air hockey table he’s referring to. The black light makes everything under the table glow and it reminds you of the arcades off of food courts that most malls used to have. The skeptical feeling you had when walking in seems to fade away and suddenly you’re excited, wondering why you hadn’t been here before when it was so close to your apartment to begin with.

“Once the table clears, I wanna play,” you say, tugging Frankie towards the back where you see a racing game that looks familiar.

Frankie exchanges a few bills for tokens while you hold the two racing games and once he’s slid in the appropriate amount, it’s immediately turned into a competition.

As the screen starts to countdown to your race, you turn to him quickly with a proposition. “If I win, you buy me a beer.”

“I was gonna buy you one anyway,” he tells you, shaking his head as if he’d do anything less. “But alright. If I win, you have to give me a kiss right here.”

He annoyingly points to the empty spot on his jaw where his facial hair didn’t seem to grow, that you had drunkenly pointed out the night before, and you can’t help the loud bark of laughter that escapes your lips as you quickly nod. “Deal.”

You’re almost tempted to lose once the race starts, just so you can kiss him there. But deep in your gut you feel like there’ll be plenty of opportunities to kiss him there in the future so you don’t hold back. The routes feel familiar as you and Frankie virtually drive through them and you’re sure you’ve played this game before, years ago.

As you both reach the last lap and the finish line, you just barely win and pump your fists as you cross. The screen declares you the winner in big font, a trophy spinning in circles and you turn to Frankie. “So, about that beer.”

You two end up at the bar for a little over an hour. The barstools surrounding the area are a hot commodity and once you and Frankie are sat down, you’re reluctant to give them up, especially with the bartender keeping your drinks filled without having to ask.

Frankie tells you about his friends. Benny, Will, and Santiago. How they’ve kept him going since returning back to civilian life. He says they’re all one big support group to each other, knowing that even if it feels like there’s no one you could count on, one of them is always around. There’s a tightness to his voice when he talks about them, like he can’t believe his luck that he has such supportive friends. The clear despair on his face has your chest aching, and you squeeze his hand in comfort.

It makes you yearn for a friendship like that. Most of your friends are married and it’s harder to relate to them when you’re single and living in the city while they’re still living in your hometown with a couple of kids. You tell Frankie as much and he sympathizes and points out that you have at least one friend in the city now, shaking off the emotions of such a heavy conversation.

“Looks like the air hockey table is free,” you nod, seeing the table free for the first time that night.

Frankie nods, standing up to grab his wallet. “You grab the table, I’m gonna close out the tab.”

You quickly walk over, grabbing the two handles and knock a few tokens into the machine when the lime green puck pops out. Frankie joins you a few seconds later, grabbing his handle and standing opposite you.

“So, what are we competing for this time?”

You think for a moment, “Well, I don’t think I need another drink. What about if I win, you have to cook me dinner sometime this week? Maybe Wednesday?”

Frankie seems taken aback by your suggestion but readily agrees. “I can do that. And if I win, you have to cook me breakfast Thursday morning.”

His offer isn’t lost on you and you toss the puck onto the table with a smirk as the air starts to push it around. “You’re on.”

The match is filled with trash talk as you two play. You even manage to gather a small crowd of people around you, cheering you both on. It’s close. For every point you get, Frankie’s one step behind you. Your wrist is starting to ache and the countdown starts on the side, signaling the end of your game in the next 30 seconds.

“You’re gonna lose, Frankie,” you taunt, scoring another point and he tosses the puck back on the table and shoots it towards you as you block it, sending it back across the table.

Except you lose. By a point.

There are cheers for Frankie and slaps on the back as another couple takes over the table and you both move to the side to watch.

“I can’t say I’m all that mad that I lost,” you tell him honestly, glancing up and locking your eyes with his own deep, brown ones.

“It was kind of a win-win for both of us either way,” he agrees, nudging his arm with yours. “So, another date Wednesday night?”

You nod quickly, “Sounds perfect.”

--- Frankie walks you home a few hours later.

After the arcade, you both grab slices of pizza from a small place down the block and walk around, grease staining your fingers and tongues burnt from being so hungry.

Most people are tucking themselves back into their beds at the late hour, your watch showing it was coming up on 2am as you both approach your building.

“A successful first date, I think,” you turn to him, arms wrapped around yourself as the wind turns cold around you. You sniff as your nose starts to drip, scrunching it up and Frankie laughs.

“I think you’re right,” he agrees, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against chest in a hug.

You savor the warmth as you press your cheek against him, then turn your head. “I should go inside. And you should head home, it’s so fucking late.”

Untangling yourselves, Frankie shoves his hands into his pockets and knocks his arm against yours. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Nodding quickly, Frankie shoots you a smile and turns, jogging across the street to where his truck is parked.

It’s like seeing him walk away pushes something inside you, itching to see him just once more and you call out to him quickly before he can get in his truck, “Frankie! Wait! I forgot something!”

He turns to watch you run across the street as he stands in front of the driver’s side door, looking at you curiously once you’re stood in front of him.

“What did you forget?”

“This.” And you lean over to press a kiss to the bare spot along his jaw, the sparse hair around it tickling your lips and you pull away with a grin.

Turning to glance both ways before crossing the street you call behind you, “Goodnight Frankie!”

NEXT CHAPTER

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 15

chapter index

..... sorry guys

She’d been having strange, ominous dreams for days now. Dreams that were so vague, Kagome could barely describe them to Inuyasha once she’d come out of it. He’d said she seemed uncomfortable in her sleep, woke her up once or twice to see if she was having a nightmare, but the moment Kagome roused, it was like the pressing vision faded. She recalled bits and pieces, but she couldn’t remember the emotion present, she couldn’t remember what was happening, and she wasn’t even sure if she knew what was going on while in the dream to begin with.

All she could remember was red.

Everything was in red.

Her hands were red.

The sky was red.

The world was red.

And, waking up to see natural colors, to see the light shade of Inuyasha’s tied back hair, to see his golden eyes reflected with the humble flames of their midnight fire was almost like a shock.

She’d blink, she’d take deep breaths that she wasn’t able to while captured by the vivid nightmare, and after just a few moments, Kagome would come down and forget anything that wasn’t red. She was fine. She’d fall back asleep just fine, and unless she was dragged right back into the vision - which had only occurred once - she’d rest well, thereafter.

Kagome had reduced it to nothing more than an odd string of subconscious play. They were dreams without a meaning. Only a couple of times had they really stolen any energy from her, but other than that, Kagome dismissed what she couldn’t remember and apologized for worrying Inuyasha.

The hanyou chose a high tree branch to perch in one night. Something was off, he could physically feel it, but there was nothing in the air that could guide him to what stung at his instincts. He’d covered Kagome in his crimson robe, and she’d been curled up on her bag as a makeshift pillow, undisturbed and about as comfortable as she could get. Not a single line creased her brow, and her lips were relaxed as she slept through the night, the hoot of owls, the chirp of crickets, and the crack of burning logs the only sounds that stood the potential of waking her. But still, Inuyasha couldn’t shake this feeling. Something was wrong.

There was a sharp twinge of dread hitting his chest, so he stood from his seat, trying to get a better eye over the tops of trees to hopefully spot something. Nothing. There was a scent, but he couldn’t place it. There wasn’t noise to back it up. He heard no yelling, no conversation, no roars, or calls, or even the crack of twigs being broken from the weight of bodies stepping over them. In fact, with this sensation of apprehensiveness hanging over him, the silence was only making it worse.

Below him, there was a small shuffle from Kagome and immediately his eyes fell down to her. She’d merely readjusted herself, laying more on her back now than her side. Her cheek hit her shoulder, one arm was at her hip, and the other rested over her stomach - his robe only managing to cover her belly and down now. Taking a moment to observe her carefully, he gathered the steady rise and fall of her chest. Everything seemed to be as it should. She was fine. So, steadily, his attention shifted back out to the horizon of the forest they dwelled in.

That aroma. He knew it. It was coming closer, and the nearer it grew, the more powerful it became. At this point, it was all a matter of patience. With the direction his body faced, the scent was coming from his right. It smelled of the woodlands and an extremely subtle campfire that he could have easily dismissed as his own immediate surroundings. The only thing that tipped him off was the staleness of the fragrance. It was old, it was laced with an abundance of sweat, and just as he caught the startling odor of that monster appear, the metallic smell of blood singed at his nose.

Kagome opened her eyes, feeling her feet on the hard, packed dirt of the forest. There were whispers around her, but she couldn’t tell what direction they were coming from, feeling incoherent, even dizzy where she stood. She stared at the setting, again shrouded in a haze of red, but everything was so blurry. No matter how many times she blinked, nothing would focus. The world was spinning around her, growing deeper in shade, bringing Kagome to feel nauseous and slap the heels of her hands around her temples to silence the blaring headache that slammed into her out of nowhere.

Her feet stumbled backward, unable to keep her footing, not knowing left from right, up from down, and her back hit the rough bark of a large tree, scraping as she inadvertently slid down to a squat. That was where she was safe from falling, safe to keep her eyes squeezed shut.

Where was she? This time, she was in her own body, she could tell. With a little wiggle of her ankle in her boot, Kagome felt the shape of her father’s blade rub against her, she felt the top beneath her shirt that kept her chest secure with each heavy inhale that pressed her ribs outward, she heard her own voice as she grunted shakily from the bile that threatened her esophagus. Why? What had she done? Where was Inuyasha? Where was she?

The whispers were beginning to reach her ears more clearly now. Kagome could feel the nausea gradually passing. Her fingers still trembled, but they were steadying little-by-little with each focused breath she exhaled. Again, she blinked her eyes open, noticing that now her surroundings were more centered. But, why, why was everything red again?

It felt like looking through stained glass. Every direction she turned was hued all the same. No greens, no browns, no blues, or violets, but the shadows of the night still remained black, terrifying, menacing in this particular environment.

The voices were no longer whispers. They were clear. Two women. From somewhere behind her. Kagome pushed herself from the tree, appreciative to have her own mobility this time around. She moved carefully, watching her step, walking as lightly as possible so as not to give her position away.

“Don’t take me back to him.” One said demandingly. The voice was deep, weighted, muttered between alarming breaths. “I don’t want to die in his arms.”

“I only need your blood. While it’s warm.” This voice was stable, somber.

“Don’t come near me!”

“Look, I didn’t want to do this! I had no choice! I’m telling you he didn’t request for your body; he just wants your blood!”

“For what!?”

“Proof!”

“No!” She sobbed. Kagome recognized that waver, that desperation. She’d known it all along, but had been too in denial to accept that this may be a possibility. Kikyo.

It was Kikyo.

Heedless with her movements now, Kagome rushed through the trees to close the distance, physically stopped by a forcefield that felt to grasp her and hold her captive as soon as she turned the corner and caught sight of the actual scene. It felt as if invisible vines had wrapped around her body, gluing her arms to her sides, immobilizing her and wrapping around her mouth so she couldn’t make a sound - forced to watch but not allowed to interact.

Kikyo was on the floor, trying to sit up against the trunk of a tree, bleeding profusely from her shoulder and chest, covered in sweat and crimson and tears. Her large, beige blouse was sullied horribly, drenched, clinging to her thin frame as if to emphasize her life-threatening wounds.

“Kikyo, I have to! He’ll kill me if I don’t!” She was a tall woman. Beautiful. But, her eyes radiated fear. Her skin was peached, complimented by the moonlight, her short, brown hair tied half up, though strands had escaped to fall down by her cheeks in their charade. Her lips had been painted with a dark rouge, faded but stained.

“I’m not going to survive this! Is that not enough!?”

Kagome tried to scream, to fight, to let this woman know she had a new opponent to take on, to let Kikyo know help was here and she’d be okay, but she couldn’t do a thing. This felt like more than restraints now. She felt like she was under a spell. Or, that maybe she wasn’t even actually there, merely watching on through a red-tinted window. Neither of them had acknowledged her loud footsteps approaching before she’d been caught, neither of them had turned to see her as she ran into the narrow clearing. Even if she was being held at bay right now, the enemy should have at least noticed her.

Quickly, she’d deduced that this was Kikyo’s dark magic at play. And, for the first time, she wished she knew at least a little so that she could subdue the opposite conjurer’s and stand a chance at saving her.

“It’s not! I’m sorry! You know him as well as I do, you know it isn’t enough for him!”

“You’re his creation! You’re practically his child! Don’t act like you pity me! That only makes you appear more vile!”

“You think I care how vile I look right now!?” The enemy snapped, screaming brokenly. “I had no choice, Kikyo! He’s got a little girl in captivity! If I die, what chance does she stand!? I am the only thing protecting her right now, so if it’s between you and me, I choose me! Do not mistake my obedience as admiration for that monster! I hate him! I loathe him! Naraku is the bane of my existence, and I wholeheartedly wished for you to kill him! He knew you were weak, though! He made the call! He sent me alone, because he knew with that little girl’s well being on the line, I wouldn’t come back without my objective complete!

“I do pity you, conjurer. You deserved better. And, I’m sorry I had to do this. Now, I’ll ask again: May I take your blood while it is still warm? Or, must I force it?”

“I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him. I hate - I hate him.” Kikyo had shattered. Her strong demeanor crumbled into little pieces on the earth, her blood slowly beginning to pool at her seat. The powerful confession shifted to one of saddened pleads, and she wept. She trembled and she wept. “I - I hate him. I hate… I hate…”

The demon respectfully kneeled down, taking the presumably white feather from the bun in her hair and bowing her head an inch. “I am sorry.”

“You promise not to take my body?”

“I swear to you, I will leave it here.”

“You won’t tell him where you left me?”

“If he asks, I will have no choice but to say. But, knowing Naraku, he won’t have the courage to face you. Dead or alive.”

“This is the end?”

“Unlike me, you are free now, Kikyo. Be free.”

“Take my blood. See this through. Protect the girl.”

The woman dipped her feather in the gaping wound of Kikyo’s shoulder, dousing the ends in the thick liquid that seeped out at an unforgiving rate.

“Go.” Kikyo ordered. “I wish to at least be in peace.”

Without another word, the demon nodded, rising to her feet. She didn’t bother to brush the dirt from her black dress before using her powers to create a large feather to fly off on, a powerful gust of wind taking the woman up into the sky to disappear over the treetops.

Within seconds, the world was back to normal. The stained glass had been smashed, and Kagome was looking at the setting in the normal hues their luna provided. The vines had released her so aggressively that she was nearly dropped to the floor, stumbling on her feet and to her butt as she failed to catch herself. But, she wasn’t thrusted back into the reality she’d expected to be. This wasn’t a dream. Ahead of her sat a crumpled Kikyo, trying to hold herself up as she grew weaker and weaker, more and more pale, pained, melancholic, and destroyed.

Scrambling, Kagome crawled as far as she could before she forced herself to her feet to hurry over to the conjurer. Her emotions were all over the place, like she didn’t know what to feel first, if anything at all. Panicked, horrified, angry, anxious, helpless, and they all got in the way of her nonexistent action plan.

“Wh-what? What?” Was all Kagome could stammer. Was she really here? Was this really happening? “Kikyo, you’re… what happened? I don’t -“

“I’m sorry.” Kikyo cried, breathing erratically in the hopes to swallow her own fear. “I couldn’t fight anymore. I just couldn’t fight anymore.”

“Where are you hurt!? What happened!?” Kagome frantically implored, trying to be gentle at first. It was too difficult to see in the night, and there was an awful amount of blood that made it impossible to avoid. It was terrifying, but with a swallow that Kagome forced down her throat, she grabbed Kikyo’s shirt and ripped the buttons apart, looking for the wounds to see what she could do.

The gashes were massive in comparison to her frame. They stretched from her right shoulder to the center of her chest, wide, like cracks in a carefully sculpted clay pot that could no longer contain the contents inside. It brought Kagome to gasp so horridly she choked, coughed, quaked with trepidation.

“I couldn’t fight anymore.” Kikyo repeatedly sullenly. “I’m so sorry, Kagome.”

“You’d been trying to get my attention.” Kagome said in realization, her voice low, broken, her brown eyes never leaving the large wound on Kikyo’s chest. “You needed my help.”

“No, you were too far. I had to find myself closer.”

“You needed me. You were trying - and - and I - you needed my help.” Kagome began to cry, the tears burning at her eyes as they fell to mix with the blood.

“There was no saving me.”

“I could have done - you needed me.”

“I needed you to heed my warning.”

“What - what warning?”

Kikyo took her stained hand, mustering as much energy as she could to softly brush Kagome’s cheek and pull her attention away from the ghastly wound. “That I’m out of picture now. That the responsibility is yours.”

“No.” Kagome’s bottom lip quivered as the words penetrated her mind. She didn’t want to allow them to ring with validity. This wasn’t reality. “No. No, no, no. That’s not true.” She shook her head, softly pressing on the worst portion of the wound and gradually applying more pressure. Kikyo grunted loudly from the pain it added, but didn’t move to stop Kagome as she tried to halt the bleeding. “I can still save you! Inuyasha - he can - I’ll go get Inuyasha! I’ll have him bring my bag so we can patch you up! We’ll take you to a healer! You’re still here, Kikyo! You can still live!”

“Kagome!” She cried. “It’s over! You know as well as I that there is no closing up this wound! I’ve lost too much blood as it is! Please! Just -“ Her voice died down some, gurgled slightly as she coughed and blood rose out of the corner of her mouth.

Kagome moved to sit her up some so she wouldn’t choke on it, putting all of her muscle into pulling Kikyo into her arms to support her body weight.

“I am not afraid of death.” Kikyo whispered as the blood trickled from her lips. “I’ve been dead for years as it is. I don’t have to run anymore. I don’t have to hide or - or fight. I’m tired, I’m so tired. Naraku cannot haunt me anymore if I die.” She smiled. And, Kagome clung to her tighter, trying to stifle her sobs.

“Yeah,” Kikyo breathed, almost happily. “He can’t haunt me anymore. He didn’t win. He merely released me.”

“I’m sorry.” Kagome wept, losing the battle against herself. “If I had figured it out sooner -“

“No, Kagome. I wasn’t asking for help. I needed you to - I needed you to know. I wasn’t running to you to seek your assistance. I showed you bits and pieces only to test how far I still was. It was like a map that guided me your way. I needed to show you, myself. I’ve done all I can. The rest - the rest is on you. And, I truly believe you are capable.”

“I can - I can go get Inuyasha.” Kagome offered again, fruitlessly. It felt wrong to give up, it felt wrong to accept this fate, but she could feel in her gut, in her heart, in her brain that there was nothing she could actually do to fix this. To save her.

“Please, no.” Kikyo breathed. “I don’t want to die alone. If it’s not too much to ask, stay with me. Stay with me, Kagome. Speak of beautiful things.”

“Okay.” Kagome agreed, hugging the conjurer a little closer. She tried to stabilize her breathing, but her heart was breaking. She shook and she gasped, sobbing over Kikyo, but no matter what, she was going to tell her everything wonderful in this world that she’d seen. Everything that had nothing to do with Naraku. Kikyo wouldn’t end her life with that horrible creature tainting her final thoughts, her final breath, the final beat of her heart. Kikyo was going to leave this realm in serenity. “I-I’ve never seen so many flowers as I have since leaving home. Most of the flowers in my area are weeds, or dandelions. Some roses, maybe. Tulips are so pretty. And, I really, really love night flowers. The ones that bloom under the moon. I - I don’t know what they’re called.”

Kikyo smiled, unbothered by the pause Kagome had to take to breath, to calm herself, to allow tears to fall so they didn’t hinder her sight. She reached up, carefully stroking tears from Kagome’s cheeks, apologetic for the blood she stained her skin with in its place.

“A few days ago, I saw a bear cub for the first time. It was so cute, but I think that’s the most scared I’ve ever seen Inuyasha.” Kagome giggled wetly. “Where there’s a cub, there’s a mama. He backed off the trail so fast, Kikyo.”

Even the dying conjurer laughed. “You and he.” She spoke, her voice raspy and weak. “Your chemistry is strong. You make a good team. I was entirely wrong.”

“I love him. And, I’m really glad I didn’t listen to you.” Kagome cried, her smile wavering.

“If that’s the case, then so am I.” She wept. “Not all love is bad.”

“No.” Kagome shook her head, searching for anything she could speak of to bring Kikyo’s smile back. “Kaede. Kaede, she’s - she’s incredible.”

“My sister?” Kikyo asked, her eyes large and hopeful, brimming with tears that streamed down her face.

With a nod, she continued. “She’s headstrong, and brilliant, and a quick thinker, and I’ve never seen a woman bully so many men and put them in their place before. It’s inspirational.”

Kikyo giggled. “Tell me more about her.”

“You’d be so proud of her. The texts about - about enchantments that she got while you two were still together, she never stopped learning them.”

“She didn’t?” Kikyo inquired with astonishment.

Kagome shook her head in reply. “No, and she helps so many with what she can do. People like us, and like Inuyasha. Those who deserve a chance, who haven’t done wrong to deserve the hands they’ve been dealt. She sets up these - these deterrents around her village and it wards demons away from scents they may be tracking, and she has special rooms designated for those on the run. Kaede’s a savior. The first time I met her, I was sick. I used too much strength and hurt myself, so Inuyasha took me to her. She had some remedies at the ready and took such good care of me. She’s sweet, Kikyo. Kaede’s a good person. She’s such a good person.”

Kikyo was reduced to sobs, but the sadness was of her own regret. Of how she couldn’t have witnessed this for herself. Overpowering that was her happiness. Kaede was healthy. She was fighting for something. She wasn’t this frail girl that hid behind people, but in fact was the person others stood behind instead.

“You’ll also enjoy that she constantly puts Inuyasha in his place.”

“I thought they were friends.”

“They are.” Kagome giggled. “But, she’s a take-no-shit kind of woman, particularly with the opposite gender, I’ve noticed. It doesn’t seem to matter who you are, if you step out of line, she’ll be the first to remind you to back up.”

“She’s always been like that. I’m so happy to see that it hasn’t gotten her into any trouble. I was always worried about that.”

“No, Kaede holds her own just fine.”

“I am. I am proud of her.” Kikyo confirmed quietly.

“I think she’d be proud of you, too.” Kagome whispered.

Kikyo trembled as she cried.

“I think she’d be unbearably proud, Kikyo. And, I think she’ll understand everything better than you think.”

“Does she know yet? About our last discussion?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Please - please tell her I love her. Add that in. Tell her I said I’ll meet her under the willow tree.”

“The willow tree?” Kagome’s voice cracked as she clenched back her sob.

“In our - in our village growing up, there was a willow tree. We always sat beneath it.”

“I’ll tell her.” She promised, gently stroking the matted hair from Kikyo’s sweat-soaked cheeks. “I promise, I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you. Thank you so - thank…”

More blood was seeping from her mouth. Kagome was drenched in it. It was warm and thick, dressing her hands, her arms, stomach, and legs. Kikyo’s skin was ghostly white, and her eyes lost any vibrancy they held before. Every swallow could be seen as it went down harshly, her throat bobbing with the movements, and it was more like she was looking through Kagome now. Not at her.

“Shh, maybe you shouldn’t talk anymore.” Kagome hushed, stroking her hair. She spoke as her own mother would to her when she was emotional, when she was devastated; softly, soothingly, patiently. The world could wait for just one moment. Right now, it was just the two of them. That’s all. That was all they needed. Just for right now. “Everything’s okay now, Kikyo. You fought so well.”

Hot tears streamed from her eyes, and the dying conjurer looked up toward the sky. The moon was so big even though it was completely full just two days prior. It felt like a greeting from mother nature. A kind, forgiving smile from the goddess that held her hand out for her to take, her long, black hair swaying behind her feminine frame with the breeze.

“I’m s- I’m sorry.” Kikyo breathed brokenly.

“Don’t be.” She whispered in reply. “You did your best. We’re all so proud of you. Thank you, Kikyo. Thank you so much.”

Kagome continued her tender brushing, holding the woman closer to her so she could hopefully feel her own warmth. Kikyo was cold, was small, her hands unable to grasp onto Kagome’s shirt any longer.

“Everything’s okay.” Kagome repeated sadly, but sweetly. “You’re going to be okay now. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

Kikyo’s eyes fluttered closed.

Her breathing came evenly.

Slowly.

Not as it should.

“You don’t have to fight anymore. It’s okay now. It’s okay.” Kagome was sobbing, shaking, fading away.

Her grip on the woman was growing weaker, she could feel it slipping. With Kikyo’s life dwindling, so was the power she used to keep Kagome to her. Carefully, she set Kikyo down so she wouldn’t chance dropping her, continuing to pet her cheeks, whispering the same, kind statements over and over until she couldn’t physically feel her cold flesh beneath her fingers any longer.

There was a moment of pitch darkness. As she blinked her eyes opened, coming to consciousness, it seemed as if all sounds followed. The song of the crickets, the fire popping just feet away. Kagome was back in her camp, her head against the bag that served as a pillow where she’d fallen asleep just hours before.

It was a dream. It was just a dream.

A nightmare.

Either way, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. I couldn’t have been.

Slowly, timidly, Kagome moved her arms, instantly feeling the uncomfortable drench of her soddened clothing sticking to her skin. It caused her heart to pound inside her chest, it caused her panic to return, and as she lifted her hands above her face, she saw the blood that stained her skin.

“Inu - Inuyasha.” She couldn’t even call out for him, she was so terrified. Her voice came out small and broken, raspy, as if she’d been screaming for hours and this was the aftereffects. “Inuyasha. Where are you?”

He’d heard her from below, movement, but it wasn’t until he’d caught the desperate whisper of his name that his ears twitched in her direction and he looked down. She was slowly sitting up, looking at her hands, and he smelled blood. A lot of it. Instantly, he jumped down from the branch, landing on his feet so roughly that he stumbled forward but never stopped on his scramble to her side.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m right -“ He froze. He was right. The blood. She was covered in it. How? There wasn’t an inch of clean skin on her hands that he could see, her charcoal shirt sticking to her chest, her abdomen, stained with such a deep red that it had his stomach sinking at a drastic rate. Frantically, Inuyasha yanked his robe off of her lower body, looking to see if there was a source, only to find her legs and boots soaked, as well.

He couldn’t speak. A huge lump had formed in his throat from the fright he felt, and his gaze climbed up her body to find her large, weeping eyes.

It had taken a moment to push passed his initial dread in order to think rationally again, but he knew the smell of Kagome. He knew the smell of her blood. This wasn’t hers. This was the metallic odor he’d caught before. He smelled the familiar scent of a person he couldn’t pin, he smelled a horrible amount of blood, Naraku, and then within a split second, it was all gone. It had him further on edge than he’d been before, but he watched. He waited. All for nothing to rise again. He’d felt like he was in a simulation of sorts and he’d just witnessed a glitch in the system.

So, how the fuck was Kagome now soddened in the very same blood he’d just smelled moments before? She was asleep. She was safe. She was under his watch. Nothing could have gotten her, so how in the hell was she looking at him with finger streaks of blood painted on her cheeks that her tears didn’t even bother to clean?

“Kikyo.” Kagome sobbed, holding her hands out before her as if she was afraid to touch herself, or him, or anything in between. “It’s Kikyo. She’s - she’s dead.”

Kikyo.

That was who it was. He knew he’d caught it. It was only once that he’d met her though, so his olfactory system wasn’t familiar enough to have memorized it.

“What do you mean she’s dead, kid?”

“She’s dead.” Kagome repeated, unable to bite back any emotion. “I saw. I was there.”

“H-how?”

She presented her hands, her arms as if they were statement enough. “Her - her magic! It was one of Naraku’s underlings! They killed her! Inuyasha, they - they -“

He closed the gap, pulling her into his lap, holding her tight. He didn’t care about the blood, or the mess. He couldn’t just watch her shatter like that. Inuyasha didn’t understand the magical aspects that some people were capable of, and he’d come to terms with the fact that not everything could be comprehended by others who didn’t experience it firsthand. He didn’t need to understand. He just needed to listen. Kagome had witnessed Kikyo’s death. There was no possible way she could be lying about that while she sat there bathed in the opposite conjurer’s blood.

Kagome shook inconsolably, sobbed loudly, but she clung to Inuyasha with an unmatched urgency. The heaves that wracked her chest became painful, but it felt like no matter how tight she held onto him, she couldn’t feel her hanyou over the liquid that smeared her body. Kikyo was still out there. Her body was still on the ground. She was cold, and alone, and nobody deserved to be left like that after death. If she was able to pull Kagome next to her in such a physical manner, that meant she was close. Very close.

“Can you - can you find her?” Kagome asked Inuyasha between gasps of air.

“What do you mean?” He asked with a gentleness he rarely presented, using the backs of his knuckles to caress her cheek.

“She’s close. She had to be in order to perform that magic. Do you smell her?”

“I did. Before.” Inuyasha admitted. “You were asleep, and I caught her scent for literally a second before it disappeared. Minutes later, you’re waking up like this.”

“But, do you smell her now? She can’t create a barrier anymore.”

Apprehensively, he spoke. “I - I can’t smell anything over you.” And, as wrong as it felt to slide her from his lap and let her go - horribly, sickeningly wrong - he did so, rising to his feet. “Give me two seconds.”

Inuyasha jumped back up to the tree branch he’d occupied before, taking it a step further to go just a bit higher. The breeze should carry something his way. He really had to focus. His instincts were glued to Kagome, his brain only bringing the noises she made, the aroma off of her his way, and he’d had to mentally shove that aside in order to concentrate on their surroundings. The moment he’d caught the heavy scent of copper, Inuyasha locked on the direction they needed to head in, memorizing what he could. He knew the moment he jumped down to grab Kagome, it’d be hard to smell Kikyo out.

His feet hit the floor, and he quickly grabbed the conjurer’s hand. He hadn’t expected her to be on her feet, he hadn’t expected her to be able to run. She was so unsteady in his arms, he’d fully anticipated carrying her, but the woman had relatively pulled herself together so quickly. They left everything at their camp aside from their weapons, and she followed him as far as he could lead. For a while, she had to stay behind him, downwind from Inuyasha so that he could scout the path, reduced to walking now as they trekked through dark, shadowed trails they could barely see through.

It was vague, but there was a sense of familiarity that Kagome felt twinge in her stomach. She wanted to say she knew where they were, but she’d only seen it in red, so how could she be sure? Noticing some disturbed dirt next to a large tree, she reached for Inuyasha, clutching his shirt to stop him so she could crouch down and look without him going too far.

She’d been here. This was where she’d dropped down. This was where she’d almost puked. The disturbed dirt was where her boots had dug into the earth as she’d sunken and scratched her back on the bark of the tree. She did know where they were.

Kagome took off running, rushing in the direction she recalled from earlier, knowing they weren’t far at all.

And, then she abruptly halted. Her feet stopped worked. Her muscles jolted painfully, and her lungs clenched in her chest. The only thing she could feel was an icy sensation swarm over her and the pounding of her heart as it was being forced to slow.

Kikyo laid motionless in the exact position she’d left her in. The moon shined on her, but it illuminated no color except for the crimson Kagome didn’t want to see. There was no pink in her cheeks or on her lips where there should have been at least a slight hue. She was gone. Kikyo was gone. It was real. This hadn’t been a nightmare at all.

She forced herself to amble forward, her chin quivering as she grew nearer the corpse.

“Baby -“

“No. Don’t protect me right now.” Kagome said with a melancholic shake of her head. She’d already suffered through the worst of it. She’d already witnessed the death of someone she never saw falling. If she’d wanted security, a safety net, she would have never asked Inuyasha to find Kikyo’s whereabouts. She would have stayed in camp, continued clinging to him for dear life, closed her eyes and pretended it had never happened.

Inuyasha respected her wishes. He understood this feeling completely. Right now, Kagome didn’t need someone to stand behind, to shield her, but someone to stand directly beside her in support. He could do that. He would do that. If that was what she needed, it was already hers.

The conjurer stopped just a foot away from Kikyo, noticing the markings she’d left behind before she’d returned to reality. “This was - this was where I… I sat here.” Kagome admitted, feeling the hot tears brimming again as she glanced over her shoulder at Inuyasha. “I held her. While she - while she died. I told her about Kaede.”

“You held her?” The hanyou couldn’t help the sympathetic curve of his brow, or the frown that pushed at his lips.

She nodded, looking back at Kikyo’s body. “She didn’t want to be alone. She was just so happy to not have to be haunted by Naraku anymore.”

“Those dreams you’d been having. They’re connected aren’t they?”

“It was Kikyo. She was using our connection to find me. She wanted me to know what was happening first hand, but she needed to be closer.” Kagome found herself kneeling down at Kikyo’s side, feeling like the right thing to do was pick Kikyo right back up into her arms and continue comforting her, but she resisted. If she’d done that, there was a strong chance she wouldn’t have been able to put her down. “That means, she’d been running, and hiding, and doing everything she could to stay alive for days. What’s it been since the first vision? Four? Five?”

“Kagome, it’s not your fault.”

“She should have told me where she was. We could have helped her.” Though tears streamed from her eyes, she didn’t sound to be sobbing. Her tone was so sunken, so sad it was almost devoid of all emotion.

“But, she didn’t. That’s not on you. What did she tell you? She had to have given some sort of explanation.”

“She said she knew she wasn’t going to survive. That she just wanted me to know that - that she was gone. That she couldn’t fight anymore.” Kagome blinked away the sadness that refused to stop flowing through her eyes. Naraku didn’t win. He wasn’t allowed to even think he’d won. All he’d done was set her free. Much like Kikyo said, he’d released her. “I think it was Kagura. The woman that killed Kikyo. She was apologetic. Remorseful. And, she mentioned having no choice but to do this because she had a child’s safety to ensure. That means Sesshomaru’s family is still alive. They’re okay.”

“Don’t worry about that right now, kid.” Inuyasha sighed, sauntering over to kneel beside her. He didn’t like the way she looked right now, how she wouldn’t even glance at him anymore. Her eyes were dull and listless, drowning in grief. He wished she’d weep again. He wished she’d crumble. At least that way she’d be getting all of it out of her system. But, this? This was the works of the sorrow taking her hostage. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I don’t want to think about me right now.” She confessed. “This isn’t about me. Later. I promise.”

“Okay.” Inuyasha breathed, accepting her compromise. He took a moment, sealing his lips, pushing her hair behind her ear as she stared on at the corpse. With the way her fingers twitched forward, he could tell she was wanting to feel Kikyo again, hold her, console her. Like, she was trying to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t necessary anymore. She was dead.

“We should,” He sighed. “We should bury her. You want to do that?”

Kagome nodded. “Yeah. But, not here.”

“Not here?” He echoed, more for a reach into her mind to understand.

“Kagura told Kikyo that if Naraku asked where her body was located, she’d have to tell him. Kikyo doesn’t want Naraku to have her body. I don’t want him to find her.”

“Okay. Let’s find some place else, then. Come on.” Inuyasha held his hand out for her, waiting patiently until she took it.

He let her guide their way. He didn’t mind the silence, or the loose grip she had on his fingers. He didn’t mind her minor stumbling, or how she was aimlessly wandering. Inuyasha would be able to find their way back, and he would walk however far Kagome deemed appropriate.

They came upon a hillside that overlooked a valley. It was green, dewy from the moisture in the crisp air, and peppered with wildflowers. Instantly, he knew Kagome’s attention was on the single tree just to their right. Before she’d even pulled him in that direction, he knew.

“In the daytime, she’ll be shaded, but at nighttime, she’ll have a clear shot of the stars. What do you think?” She asked. She’d finally stopped crying, her cheeks positively stained with streaks of old blood and salt. Yet, she was still capable of being kind, of being compassionate. Kagome didn’t choose a spot at random, but put some thought into the scenery that felt right.

“I think it’s perfect.” He answered. Pointing to a spot that he felt would be best covered by the branches above, Inuyasha asked, “Here?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t the easiest, but they dug a whole that ran deep, one the average demon's nose wouldn’t be able to catch a whiff of the deceased through. One Inuyasha felt would properly shield Kikyo from Naraku within. They traveled back to grab Kikyo, and Inuyasha was careful with how he carried her, handling the former conjurer with extreme care as Kagome followed immediately behind with her discarded bow to bury her with.

The sun was beginning it’s ascent as they returned to the gravesite, and by the time Kikyo was fully laid to rest, the sky blended with awakening tints of pink and blue. Inuyasha remained quiet, respectful as Kagome continued to pat the dirt to ensure it was packed firmly. It was easy to tell she was hesitant to leave Kikyo. He could physically feel the remorse she waded through, but still, he wished she’d shed tears again. It hurt so bad to watch her suffer in silence, to watch her shut down, to watch her fingers tremble while he could do nothing to ease her heartache.

It was one thing to understand a person you knew had died. It was one thing to learn of it from another, or even to witness it from a safe distance. But, to hold them as it happened? To see the light fade from their eyes, to hear their voice trail away, to feel them grow heavy in your arms, it was an entirely different story. It was traumatizing. He’d been there. He held his mother. He held a few strangers he’d found mauled, on their final breath, and so afraid to die alone. It was hard. He knew firsthand that Kagome was going to continue to feel the weight of Kikyo in her arms throughout the duration that she mourned, as if the woman were still present and there. He knew firsthand that Kagome was going to wash the blood from her body but still see it as if it had seeped through the first layer of her flesh and she’d need to scrape it all off until her skin was angry, raw, and prickling with her own blood. And, there was nothing he could do to save her from that. Those feelings were going to demand her undivided attention, and the only thing Inuyasha was aware he could offer was his unwavering support. No matter how badly he wanted to protect her, even steal the emotions away to be felt as his own so that she wouldn’t have to shoulder them, he knew he couldn’t.

In no way did he plan on allowing her to sink into those dark thoughts he was all too conscious of. The ones that dragged you down while you were weakened by a state of grieving, that made you feel like there was no amount of sunlight that could brighten the darkness. As time had passed and Kagome merely stared at the grave, silent, motionless, the hanyou made the call. It was time to go.

At her side, he held out his hand. “Come on, Kagome.” He’d spoken so softly. Her dull gaze slowly shifted to his extended fingers, and by instinct, she went to place her hand in his, but paused halfway.

It was the guilt. That she got to continue living while Kikyo did not. That Kikyo would be left here alone. All alone. Kagome’s hand faltered back and forth between taking Inuyasha’s and touching the dirt that bedded the former conjurer. All the while, he was patient. He knew she would understand that she couldn’t stay here forever, and he didn’t have to articulate the reminder. Kagome would choose to move forward.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered to Kikyo, and before long, her fingers slid within Inuyasha’s gentle grasp.

The hanyou assisted her to a standing. “She doesn’t have to fight anymore. She’s at peace now.”

“I know.” The surviving conjurer replied quietly. He could tell, at the moment, his statement was in one ear and out the other. She wasn’t in the right state of mind to receive reassurance. Her walls were up. And, he had a feeling he’d know when she was ready.

They made their way back to their campsite to gather the few things they’d left behind. Inuyasha knew she wouldn’t want to stay. He didn’t need to kick out what embers may have still remained because they’d long died off on their own. Instead, he took the bag before she could secure it over her shoulders. He couldn’t do much for her right now, but the least he could do was remove the physical weight from her back.

Kagome wasn’t talkative in the least, didn’t even make a sound when she’d accidentally tripped over a root and stumbled into his arm, the gasp she’d released so light even he had hardly caught it. She needed to rest, he was more than aware, but he knew that if he verbally made the suggestion, Kagome would shake her head to decline. She’d closed herself off so much, he was certain she didn’t even realize they were still covered in dried blood and dirt. As far as he was concerned, it was his executive decision to make. So, he sought out a river, or a lake, or any small body of water they’d be able to wash off in.

He’d thought he’d been following the sounds of a stream, but as the rushing water became more thunderous than expected, he’d realized they were at the bottom of a waterfall. It was secluded, it was peaceful, it was where they were calling it a day. And, he meant that. He didn’t care if she wanted to keep going after they’d cleaned up, and he didn’t care if they got into an argument because of it; Kagome needed to sit down and rest. She hadn’t gotten much sleep as it was, and she couldn’t just walk this feeling off. She, of all people, should know.

To his surprise, as they forced their way through bushes to come out onto the greenery that surrounded the pool, Kagome seemed to have no objections. She knew what they were there for, and as he set the bag down, removing the sheath of his sword from the loop in his belt, she dropped her bow and quiver from her shoulders to the ground beside them. After placing her father’s knife in the pile, she followed the hanyou into the water, neither yet bothering to remove any clothing.

Inuyasha reached for her hands, which this time she didn’t hesitate to take, holding the both of his as he pulled her in deeper. For the first time in hours, Kagome sighed out heavily, a little shakily. The pool was cold, it was a shock to the system, and it served to both cleanse her person while jolting her out of the bleak depths of her depressive state.

The hanyou gently began washing her palms off, taking meticulous care, and finally he heard her voice. It was cracked, it was small, but it was her voice.

“I can do it.” She claimed. And, he gave her a small grin of acknowledgment, releasing his meager grip to give her space.

Kagome dunked her hands in the water, beginning to rub the filth on her fingers away. Some of it washed off easily, but a good portion was stuck to her skin. It would have been easier if she had a rag, or maybe something coarse. Something that could lift the crimson stain so she’d never have to see it again. Utilizing the next best thing that she had, Kagome removed her shirt, balling up the ruined cloth and plunging it into the pool. For some reason, she’d tried to rinse it the best that she could, no matter how much of a lost cause it was from the start.

Grabbing an end that wasn’t stained, Kagome used it to scrub at her hands, finding it helped substantially. She continued up her arms, taking her time, but during which, finding her stability wavering. As she washed the remaining evidence of the last of Kikyo’s life away, she revisited the wounds that marred her flesh, her final words, the way her eyes faded, and hot tears quickly brimmed that had to be blinked away.

“I’m gonna dive.” Kagome mentioned, warning Inuyasha so he wouldn’t worry.

She took a deep breath, and down she went, kicking off of the rocks beneath her feet to swim deeper into the pool. Coming up to the surface, Kagome treaded in the water for a moment, quickly acclimating to the temperature now that she’d fully submerged. She backed up until her feet could reach some of the loose, mossy floor beneath, and then continued until she was only engulfed from the chest down. Even the cold didn’t help anymore. Kagome couldn’t silence her grief, tears streaming from her eyes as her breathing became heavy and sputtered once more.

Kikyo was gone. She was gone. She could still feel her in her arms, she could still hear her cries. She was told it wasn’t her fault, but if that were true, why did Kagome feel such a horrible sense of remorse in the pit of her chest? Why did she feel so guilty? Just because Kikyo felt she couldn’t be saved didn’t mean Kagome shouldn’t have tried. Why hadn’t she figured out the visions were coming from Kikyo? How could she not have pieced that together sooner? It didn’t matter that she had never experienced the detrimental tint of red before, it didn’t matter that she was apparently seeing things through Kikyo’s eyes for just small glimpses at a time. They were reoccurring and precise. How could she have dismissed them as nothing more than dreams without a meaning? She was smarter than that. It felt insensitive to have belittled them as such, it felt cruel of her to shrug them off and carry on with her day while Kikyo had been fighting for her life. Kagome had failed. She’d failed herself, and she’d failed her friend.

Her sobs were beginning to wrack her body, like hyperventilated breaths that made it hard to actually attain oxygen. This sadness, this thick sludge of loss was impossible to ignore, and instead of trying to regain control over herself while it wasn’t necessary, instead of reaching for composure that was miles away, Kagome turned around to face Inuyasha.

He’d been watching her. Carefully. Closely. All while minding her space. He, himself, had removed his shirt using it to scrub clean, but he never had his eyes off of her for more than a second at a time. Each gasp he heard her breathe as she began to cry was like a thorn to his heart. It was difficult to respect the distance she’d created, but as the water rippled, and she turned his way, looking at him with such a sorrowful expression, that was all he needed in order to know that he no longer had to. She was ready for him.

Taking his cue, Inuyasha waded over, his arms catching her as she closed the distance herself by bounding into his chest.

“I’ve got you, baby.” He whispered soothingly into her hair, tightening his hold around her as she cried against him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Inuyasha kissed her head, stroked his fingers over the soaked backside of the top that supported her breasts, gently pet her hair, and waited patiently. He would have stood there holding her all fucking day and night if that was what it took. He didn’t care. If this was what Kagome needed, then nothing stood the chance of pulling him away from her.

As her weeping gradually died down, and the aftershocks of hiccups shook her core, his hands began to massage at her upper back, creating tiny ripples of water with his skillful movements. Her arms had slackened some around his waist, but Kagome still nuzzled into his chest.

“I can’t get all of the blood off of me.” She mentioned, her words raspy. Broken.

“You got most of it. I saw. You want my help?” Inuyasha spoke sweetly.

“Please.” Kagome nodded against him, leaning back the tiniest bit. “Is it - is it still on my face?”

Inuyasha didn’t answer just yet, dipping his hands in the water before bringing his thumbs up and gently rubbing against her cheeks. “Not anymore.”

He didn’t say anything else before his hands traveled downward, washing her chest, applying a little more friction to the mess on her stomach, all the while placing a tender kiss to the center of her forehead.

“I’m sorry. I have to ask this.” Inuyasha whispered into her ear. “But, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know the situation. Were you hurt, kid?”

In response, Kagome shook her head. “Kikyo protected me with her magic. Kagura didn’t even know I was there.”

“Then, what’s this on your back?” He asked, gently rubbing over the scraped area as he had numerous times already.

“That was me.” She said, tucking herself back into his arms so he’d rest his chin on top of her head. “I stumbled into a tree.”

It wasn’t until her nerves had died down and she began to shiver that Inuyasha made the decision to guide her out of the water. Their soaked clothes were set out to dry, and the both of them were soon donned in fresh apparel, sitting around a fire she’d insisted on being the one to build.

Kagome hadn’t wanted to deal with her hair, finding herself growing impatient just by brushing the damp tangles away. As soon as the last of it was smoothed out, she grabbed her hair tie and set to braiding it, uncaring of the uneven chunks of hair that she grabbed while she started at the crown of her head and worked her way down.

“That’s cute.” Inuyasha smiled, crouching before her and taking it upon himself to fix her loose bangs. The only reply she could muster was a lazy crinkle of her nose, bringing a chuckle from his lips as he got some fish cooking over the fire.

At first, he’d figured she didn’t want to talk about anything, but before long, Inuyasha realized it was more that she couldn’t. Kagome looked exhausted. Her emotions were justifiably all over the place, and in her state, how could she be expected to be able to put them into words? He wasn’t the least bit bothered by her silence or how far she seemed to sit from him. Truthfully, he figured it was all absentminded action. At least now she didn’t seem so sunken inward. Her irises were still dull, but there was the glimmer of Kagome in them again. He suspected that slowly, steadily, she would return at her own rate. And, Inuyasha would be right there when she did.

Kagome managed to eat more than he’d expected of her, and though he’d left her alone to rest, he knew she was fighting it. Couldn’t say he blamed her for that. It was twilight, but a monotonous one. No gorgeous colors glowed in the sky to end their day, and from their position behind the mountain, they couldn’t even see the sun as it fell. Before they knew it, the two of them were shadowed completely, the air quickly growing crisp as it lost the warmth that the sun provided.

It was chilly. She sat near the fire, but being so close to the waterfall had a draft hitting them that was hard to ignore. Kagome was trying not to make it obvious. She knew Inuyasha was already worried about her, and he had been so kind, and sweet, and diligent all day, so she was scared that merely shivering would exacerbate his concern. She’d considered laying down, trying to sleep, but it was hard to close her eyes for more than a second without seeing Kikyo’s body. Even now, there was still a hard lump caught in her throat that made it difficult to swallow. She was just all cried out for the moment. Her eyes burned with fatigue, her chest ached from the hiccups that had taken forever to go away, her muscles felt sluggish and heavy, and her head throbbed horrendously.

For some reason, her attention kept shifting to Inuyasha. He was leaning back against a tree, sitting nonchalantly as he gazed up at the sky. Why were they so far apart? Why had she sat alone? Maybe because she was worried about bothering him further or seeming clingy. Would Inuyasha actually mind if she was clingy for a little while? She honestly couldn’t see him being bothered by it. At all. She didn’t want him to just allow it because she was in a bad state of mind at the moment, though. Like he pitied her. She didn’t want pity. She wanted compassion. But, this was Inuyasha. This was her Inuyasha. If she wanted to be near him and didn’t act on it, and he found out later, he’d probably call her an idiot. No, he’d call her worse. If she wanted to touch him but kept to herself out of fear of bothering him, Inuyasha would give her the look. The look that said more than his mouth ever could, and that was saying something given Inuyasha was probably the most outspoken person she’d ever met. It was a glare that scolded, a slant of his eyes that condemned her, but there was no frown. His lips were set straight, pulled in no direction, and it was probably what made the expression worse since she couldn’t read what level of upset he was actually conveying. It was rare that he ever looked at her that way, but she’d seen it twice, maybe three times, before. And, it was the one thing he could do to make her truly pout in shame.

Resolved and hopeful for an inkling of peace she knew his arms would provide, Kagome picked herself up from her spot, sauntering over to the hanyou. His eyes shifted her way, and as she grew closer, a small, welcoming smile appeared. The empty spot beside him didn’t suit her liking, though. As odd as it seemed, it just wasn’t close enough. Feeling a rush of shyness mix into her already-swarming emotions, all Kagome could bring herself to do in order to communicate was glance down at his legs while she stood in front of him. Verbal communication was far out of reach, but she knew Inuyasha was the only person who’d learned to understand her with or without.

Inuyasha’s grin only inched wider when she gave such a subtle signal for him to take. She wanted his lap. Honestly, he was just happy she wanted to be near him right now. He’d fully accepted that she needed her space and was going to respect it, but he’d be a lying sack of shit if he didn’t admit that he wanted to at least be within arms reach for his own sense of comfort. Having her sit across their camp was hard while he knew she was struggling and all he wanted to do was help, but he was more than willing if it was what she’d wanted. But, now she wanted him.

He outstretched his bent legs, patting on his thighs for her to lay on as she had several times before, but this time Kagome gave a small shake of her head. At first, Inuyasha was a little confused. He’d read her correctly, right? She does want his lap, right?

“Not like this?” He asked. And, Kagome replied with a shake of her head in confirmation. “Did you want to sit?”

She gave a small nod, pointing in between his legs. In another attempt to get it right, Inuyasha bent his legs as they’d just been, spreading them wider so she had room to sit between his thighs. Again, she shook her head, a bashful flush heating her face as she bit her bottom lip.

“Oh,” He chuckled. “I know what you want.”

Of course. It was foolish of him not to think of it first. Kagome didn’t want to just sit with him, or lean against him. She wanted to be held by him. She wanted to be tucked so securely against him that nothing stood the chance of harming her. She wanted, just for a moment, to not have to put up a strong demeanor. She wanted to shrink into his chest, his arms, she wanted to close her eyes, and she wanted the sound of his heartbeat to mute all other thoughts her mind could threaten her with.

Inuyasha folded his legs, watching the tiniest smile pull at the corners of her lips when he opened his arms to invite her in. She carefully crawled into his lap, her own legs folding over one of his thighs as she curled into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling against him.

“Better?” He asked just before kissing her temple. Kagome granted him a hum of approval, sighing out deeply as he hugged her close, tight, safe.

Inuyasha relaxed back against the tree, enjoying the feel of how her breath hadn’t yet synced to his. The push of her lungs met his abdomen in disagreement with his own pattern, matching their own rhythm, and it brought him a sensation of tranquility. When their breathing matched, it wasn’t that he didn’t love it. It was more that it just became too second nature and he had to focus to make sure her lungs were really doing their job. But, when she opposed his own, he didn’t need a reminder. He could feel it.

Quicker than he’d expected, Kagome’s weight began to increase against him. She was falling asleep. His arms were snug around her, his chin was resting on top of her head, and if he didn’t risk pulling her from that in between state, he’d be kissing her goodnight right now. It was that in between state that he knew was the most worrisome, though. Where you weren’t quite unconscious so the thoughts that you barely kept at bay during the day could sneak up on you at any given moment without so much as a barrier to hold them back. All Inuyasha could hope for was her serenity. Kagome deserved that much. She deserved to rest right now. And, as he felt her breathing deepen, a small twitch from her fingers on his backside, he knew she’d gotten past it without harm, sleeping soundly in the refuge of his protection.

—

It would be an understatement to say Kagura was shaken. The choice of vocabulary was laughable in comparison to what she’d actually felt. She was no saint. She’d done horrible things in her lifetime. Before she thought to escape her “father,” Kagura had done his bidding without so much as blinking an eye. She’d murdered, she’d robbed, she’d come home covered in blood belonging to numerous people at a time, took a bath, then moved on with her life without feeling an ounce of compunction. It wasn’t that she could claim she had a conscience. In fact, she was sure she was deliberately created without one. If Naraku surely didn’t own one, how could she? That didn’t mean she wasn’t smart enough to know right from wrong. That didn’t mean she wanted to be the same sort of beast Naraku was. That was where he’d made his mistake in creating her. He’d given her a mind of her own.

Naraku was more than vile. His twisted laughter at another’s expense caused her stomach to churn and ache, his malicious smile made her welcome the dark so she’d never have to see it, his unforgiving brutality had her wishing for her own death at times, and it wasn’t all that long after her rise that a switch flipped in her brain and she realized she wanted to be as far removed from him as she could possibly get.

Maybe that meant she did have a conscience. Maybe she’d developed one after so many pleading screams had echoed in her ears. Maybe running away and experiencing love was both the best and worst thing for her, because killing Kikyo was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

It was too easy. It was entirely too easy. Why was she ordered to kill Kikyo when she was on her deathbed as it was? The conjurer had run herself dry, depleted her energy, and was so far gone that no matter how well she’d tried to take care of herself thereafter, there was no coming back from it. Kikyo would have died on her own in just a matter of weeks if things continued as they were. So, why the hell did Kagura have no other choice but to savagely murder her?

She knew the story. She knew how Naraku attempted to corrupt Kikyo, how they’d met when she could still be considered a child, how that monster upheaved her life, flipped it upside down, and burned any future she may have been able to create for herself. Naraku had singlehandedly made that woman’s world hell, and Kagura was furious that she had to personally see to the end of it. Naraku killed her spirit, and Kagura killed her heart.

And, she knew what was about to happen. She knew Naraku too well not to know what sort of reaction waited for her on the other side of the manor. As disgusting as it was, while he was still human, he truly did harbor some sort of affection for Kikyo. And, Kagura had her blood dripping down her fingers.

She took a deep breath, easily shoving aside her conflicting emotions so that she could get this over with. She’d been gone for too long as it was, so any feelings that slowed her down were useless right now. Kagura’s heels clicked along the hard floor, a frown curving at her stained lips as she approached the study and entered through the cracked door.

He’d smelled it. He’d smelled her coming, and he smelled the liquid oozing from the feather she held and down her hand. That was why Naraku was already staring at the door, that was why his jaw was hard and set, that was why his red eyes were more piercing than she’d ever seen in her entire life. Kagura instantly understood that she had underestimated the situation. From the way the half demon bristled at the other end of the room, from the way his tentacles curled malignantly, and the spider legs that grew out of the free space of his back appeared and stiffened, from the way his demonic energy began to swirl like she’d only felt a handful of times, things were already appearing to be worse than she’d imagined. It’d caught her off guard. She froze in the entryway, apprehensive, her breathy gasp caught in her throat to emphasize the hollow.

“That - that’s -“ It seemed like her master was in a state of shock. Kagura had never seen his lips twitch this way, or his chin quiver in the manner it did now. “Did you…”

“Miss Kagura, you’re -“ Rin’s small smile of greeting faded as quickly as it had appeared as the man standing just a few feet away from where she sat on the floor playing with dolls screamed at her so loud, his voice cracked.

“SHUT UP!” Naraku had curled his spine some, his thick fingers positively quaking. “Did you do it, Kagura!? Is she dead!?”

“She’s - yes.” Kagura answered unsteadily, eyes wide and breath trembling. “Yes, I did it. Kikyo’s dead.”

“And, that’s her blood?” He didn’t need to ask that question. She knew his sense of smell was somehow stronger than her own.

“It is.”

“You’re unscathed. How? Kikyo is strong, you should have come back half mangled! You’re lying! You betrayed me again, didn’t you!? You made a deal with that cunt and took some of her blood to try and fool me! She’s still alive out there, isn’t she!?” He raced over to her, grabbing Kagura by the throat and pinning her against the wall before she could so much as think to react. She’d had to ignore the little girl’s scream, her broken cry, praying she’d keep the promise they’d made when she’d first arrived. If Naraku were to ever do anything to Kagura, Rin swore to keep her distance. Rin swore never to run up and try and do something her father would, because Naraku wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her. “Isn’t she!?”

“N-Naraku.” Kagura gurgled, trying to push him off, to pry her neck from his grip with her free hand while preserving the evidence she held in the other. “Kikyo’s - Kikyo’s dead.”

It was another moment before Naraku’s eyes went blank, his fingers gradually releasing Kagura, and a thick swallow had his Adam’s apple bobbing.

She gasped in some air, recovering as quickly as she could to give the explanation he was looking for before he could grow angry again. “Kikyo did strike me.” She said, pointing to a tear in her gown on her arm that she’d received days before. “It’s just healed already.”

“She’s a conjurer. You should have been dead from her strike.”

“She was dying, Naraku. She hardly had any power left in her.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know the logistics of their kind. She looked passed the point of fatigue. When I had appeared, she had this look in her eyes. Like, her final chance had just been stolen away. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try.” He said through gritted teeth.

“I saw hope, but I saw it gradually fizzle the nearer I got.” Kagura said. “You were the one who’d told me she was weak and sick. Why is this coming as such a shock to you?”

“Such impudence to question me!” Naraku yelled, slapping the back of his hand across Kagura’s face. Forcefully, he jerked the feather from between her fingers. “This will tell me if you’re lying.”

The monster hovered the stained, white object close to his face, observing it intensely, intimately. His red irises traveled over each minor detail of the feather, gazing at the blood with a sense of dedication that steadily shifted into desire. It was grotesque. It was disturbing. It had Kagura pressing herself flush against the wall in an attempt to further separate from the madman.

Dreamily, Naraku dragged the feather over his tongue, the conserved blood coloring the surface of which before he closed his mouth and took his time studying the taste. His eyes blinked hazily, sort of rolling into the back of his head as a vicious grin turned at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t wide, it wasn’t tooth-baring. It was minute, subtle, but speaking volumes of the pleasure he felt. Kagura had to swallow her shudder, tensing her entire body so she risked no involuntary, negative reactions from her muscles.

“I can taste you.” Naraku breathed.

“You sliced her.” He chuckled.

“Your demonic energy is mixed with her mortal essence.” He moaned.

“She still tastes as good as she did before.” He licked the feather again.

“Fuck,” He groaned pleasantly. “I can practically taste her final breaths.”

“She was so pathetically weak when she died.” Naraku laughed, stumbling backward as he grew intoxicated by the blood. “She’s dead. The bitch is dead! She’s dead!” But, then his glee began to dwindle, his crazed eyes glued to the feather as he began to furl his spine forward. The extra appendages on his back began slithering, growing, twitching erratically. His mental state had slipped, his footing was unstable as he continued to stumble backward, to the side, forward, stopping in the center of the floor when his spider legs planted roughly and supported him. He neither blinked nor swallowed, drool with the slightest tint of red dripping from his opened lips to dribble down his chin while his smile fell into a horrible, enraged frown. It was processing. His ex-lover was deceased. She was no more. Kikyo’s existence was gone, and even he, with the decrepit heart that beat within his chest, felt the pain of loss. “She’s dead? She’s dead? She’s dead. She’s - she’s - no.”

With a quick a demanding snap of her fingers, Kagura looked to the terrified and crying girl on the carpet, directing Rin to run to her side immediately with a point. The patter of her feet was rushed as she scrambled up and away from her spot, opening her arms wide for Kagura to grab her and pick her up, securing her against her body.

Naraku’s energy was soaring. It was so irate that a literal strength circled around him, building, growing, sending objects flying, the jar on Naraku’s desk holding Moryomaru’s still and rotting heart shattering against the far wall.

“Kikyo! Kikyo, my beloved!”

As quickly as she could, Kagura tucked rin’s head down against her shoulder and raced out of the room to safety. She’d never seen him like that. She’d never witnessed just how insane Naraku could be. She’d thought she’d seen it all, she’d thought she’d lived through the worst, but the entire place was shaking with his rage, and she wondered if killing the conjurer was truly worth it now.

—

Inuyasha turned to check how far behind him Kagome was trailing. Seeing she was within arm’s reach, regarding him with a small smile had his chest feeling a little lighter. It hadn’t yet been a full week since Kikyo’s passing, just a day shy, and he couldn’t quite claim she was back to normal, but she was handling herself well. He knew the further they got from the place it all happened, and the further they got from the date, the more Kagome’s state improved.

Just recalling how she was a few days ago had a heavy throb making home in his heart. She’d wake up and her irises would seem dull and spiritless, she’d either lay or sit there for a long moment before really coming to, and then she’d check her hands. Every day, she had to make sure they were clean. Kagome said her peripheral vision was playing tricks on her. In the corner of her eyes, she still saw red staining her skin, and first thing in the morning her not-yet-functioning brain would convince her she hadn’t succeeded in cleaning it all off. He’d quickly made it a habit of checking behind him to see where she was. He was so used to her by his side that when she was missing it was unsettling, but he also comprehended that keeping up was a little more difficult at the moment than when she was mentally sound. Inuyasha didn’t want to make her feel like she needed to hurry along, though. Right now, he didn’t mind taking it easy. Their next destination, one he hadn’t brought up to her for the sake of her momentary sanity, wasn’t necessarily one he was eager to get to anytime soon, anyway. As important as it was to get there soon, it wasn’t pressing to get there now. They had a few days to spare; it could wait that long.

Kagome still broke down. She wasn’t an empty shell of herself, and sometimes the pain in her chest became too much to bear and she’d crumble where she stood. It wasn’t difficult at all to be patient, and he hushed her whenever she apologized between shuddering sobs. If she’d stop while walking and crouch down to cry, Inuyasha would stop too. He’d kneel right next to her and either stroke her hair or rub her back. He wouldn’t say a thing unless prompted, because he knew very well that this was just a form of release. If she allowed it to build up, if she swallowed it and pushed the feelings away like she used to, it would eventually become too much to bear and potentially grow worse. It would ultimately effect her mentality, and her spiritual power would be difficult to control. Kagome couldn’t allow her emotions to pave the way, so she had to let them out.

Inuyasha knew that sensation. He knew that stuffiness in the center of your chest where it felt like a literal weight was making your entire body seem heavy. He knew how quickly it expanded, how bleak it made everything seem, how it made you feel like you would never recover and you were bound to be stuck with this burden forever. So, he was glad Kagome was taking care of herself. He was glad Kagome was crying. He was glad when she looked at him with those reddened, puffy eyes and that pouting, bottom lip that jutted out just a tiny bit, and she allowed him to clean the tears from her face and express just how tender he was capable of being.

Gradually, as the days passed, she cried a little less, she fell behind a little less, she replied a little more, she smiled a little wider, and her laughter was beginning to return. Inuyasha reached behind him now, accepting her modest grin by grabbing for her hand.

“Need a break?” He asked.

“I need a snack, is what I need.” Kagome said with a little grumble

“You’re hungry?”

“I mean, I could eat.”

Inuyasha chuckled, squeezing his grip on her hand. “Okay, we can climb down the mountain for some fish and actually sit down to eat a lunch, or we can eat some berries and hope that tides us off for a while. Option A will take at least an hour given we’re pretty high up from the river, option B will take about ten minutes because I’m pretty sure I saw some bushes with berries not too far back. I’m just not sure if they were the poisonous sort or not.”

“Berries!” Kagome chose with a small bounce.

“Okay,” The hanyou had to look away then, standing no chance of subduing his flush. In such a short time, her happiness appeared so far away from him that now that she was beginning to show it again, to be herself again, it made him stupidly flustered. She was cute. Too fucking cute. Irritatingly cute. “How about I go grab the berries and you find a spot to relax?”

“You don’t want me to go with you?” She questioned.

“Nah, you don’t need to. Don’t wander off too far, though.” He replied, slipping his hand out of hers and turning around to backtrack the trail they’d traveled.

Kagome felt a tug on her heart as he grew further. She’d felt so absent this past week that she actually missed Inuyasha, and he’d been right next to her the entire time. He’d kissed her head numerous times, her cheek, her temple, and once even on her hand, but right now she wanted that little bit of affection she’d been too far gone to receive and reciprocate. So, Kagome spun around on her heel, albeit bashfully, as she played with the sleeves of her shirt.

“Hey.” She called out, stopping her hanyou in his tracks.

Inuyasha looked over his shoulder at her, cocking a brow as he waited for her to say something. But, no words came forward. Instead, she pursed her lips, starting small until she lifted her chin, making it evident she wanted a kiss. His heart gave a delightful thud, but his entire body grew uncomfortably warm.

“Use your words.” He teased, trying to swallow his own rush of shyness. She had too much power over him and he was pretty sure she knew it. She knew he was wrapped around her finger just like the red string that knotted around their pinkies, tying them to each other. That didn’t mean he was always going to present himself as the goo his brain turned into. He was still a hard ass through and through, and he’d been nice enough where necessary. Right now, he felt well within his rights to play around with her a little.

Kagome’s mouth fell into a minor pout, finding herself just a bit too timid under his stare to say anything now. He was just taunting her to be a jerk, she was well aware of the games he played. But, she wanted a kiss, dammit. If she gave in and asked, he would only tease her more by saying something like, “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” There was no way Kagome could give him that sort of satisfaction, so again, she tried to communicate her wishes by pursing her lips, this time letting out the smallest whine.

“Is that any way to get what you want?” Inuyasha laughed.

With a skeptic arch of Kagome’s brow, her lips falling into an expression that easily said, obviously, she nodded.

He couldn’t help his sputtering laugh. Yeah, she definitely knew the effects she had on him. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Inuyasha walked right back over, rushing her at the tail end so she’d squeal and jump back just as he grabbed her, pulling her into a kiss.

“There,” Inuyasha spoke between a peck, his word murmured against her lips. “Happy?”

“Wait, one more.” Kagome replied, just as muted by his affection. “Okay, now I’m happy.” She giggled.

“I’ll be right back.” He lightly stated, giving her rear a small tap before he went to walk away again.

Kagome smiled, turning around to find a good spot to sit down for a moment. They could always just park it on the floor, which they may very well have to do given the trail they were currently on, but it was at least worth looking for a better spot.

They’d been heading uphill for a while already, and she was glad Inuyasha offered a break. She knew she’d been slowing the two of them down for days now, but it honestly couldn’t be helped. And, while she was aware he more than understood her current state, that didn’t mean she wanted to request more stops just because her legs and ass were on fire from the steep mountain they traveled on. If he hadn’t have brought it up, Kagome would have pushed through it all without complaint.

Down below, she could just barely hear the river. It was still so full from all the rain it had recently received, moving wildly along its course. As she traveled just a bit further, Kagome noticed a slim peek of rock through a break in the bushes and trees. It looked like a cliff that extended outward, overlooking the scenery - a wide one that had no previous accessibility until this point, and even now that accessibility was narrow. Still, if she were right, it would be the perfect spot to sit down and rest for a moment.

It wasn’t until she grew closer that she began to feel like something was off. It felt like an object was very subtly radiating demonic properties, yet it wasn’t a demon, itself, she was sensing. In essence, it was similar to Inuyasha’s blade, but for some reason, it also felt very different. Curious, Kagome pushed through the thick shrubbery to come out most of the way onto the cliff - extending longer than she’d anticipated. Immediately, her brown eyes landed on a man at the edge, facing away from her, his hair long, waving, darker than her own, and ruffling in the breeze. Despite the large amount of noise she’d made pushing through the bushes, the man hadn’t seemed to notice her, and if he had, he didn’t bother to turn around. Not straightaway. He was leisured as he slowly glanced over his shoulder, and it was only after the noise had completely died.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Kagome said, trying not to stare into his red irises as he gradually turned around to fully face her. She’d never seen any quite like that. Not where the pupils were white. It was piercing. Intimidating. But, the gentle smile he wore contradicted that, and that was what she chose to focus on. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here.”

The man still didn’t speak. His thin lips didn’t even part as if he wanted to say something. He merely gazed on at her, his head leaning ever so slightly to the side.

His silence was unsettling. Worse, his never-dying grin was becoming so, as well. What once was gentle was now disturbing. With the way he stared at her, it would be normal to perceive it as him looking straight through her, but he wasn’t. Kagome could feel it. This man’s eyes were right on her, studying her, eating her up.

“Are you - are you okay?” She asked nervously, unable to help the way her fingers fidgeted. What she truly wanted to know was if this man was mentally present. He was standing unnervingly close to the ledge. One misstep, and he was gone.

To her surprise, he chuckled. His voice was deep, silky. “I can’t even remember the last time anyone’s bothered to ask me that.”

That, alone, had Kagome feeling substantially more uncomfortable. What had he been looking at before she came? What had been running through his mind? What was this man contemplating just before she disturbed his silence and came trudging through the thickets? Her eyes, yet again, fell down to the edge of the cliff just behind his heels, then shifted back up to his face, his mouth.

“If you’re worried I’m going to jump, don’t be.” He said kindly, showing a little more personality with the way he smirked and looked away in amusement. “That’s quite the opposite of what I want. Really, it’d be counterproductive.”

“Oh,” Kagome breathed. While she wanted to feel relieved, there was something off-putting about the man. Severely off-putting. What was the object that drew her attention? She saw nothing on his person. No weapon was belted to his hip, nor his thigh, nor his shoulder. He held nothing in his hands, nor was there a bag strapped to his back. Maybe, it was something else she sensed. Or, maybe she should heed the warning her gut was receiving and leave it alone, back away, find Inuyasha, and rest on the very far side of the mountain. “Well, I apologize for bothering you.”

“You don’t have to leave.” He said before she could even move.

“I have to go find my boyfriend. I promised him I wouldn’t walk off too far.” She quickly stated.

“Then, why did you come out here?”

Kagome tensed. “I - Well, it looked like a nice spot to rest, and the scenery would be pretty. I wasn’t aware you were here, though. The last thing we’d want to do is disturb you. Besides -”

“You want to look at the scenery?” The man offered, his smile widening an inch as he turned to look over the cliff, at the mountains opposite, the green, the trees, the blue sky. “Come. Look. No need to be shy, Kagome. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, but I -“ Kagome froze mid-step, turning around to exit through the bushes when it hit her. As a chill ran down her spine, she pushed herself to look back at the man, her lips still parted, her brows furrowed in question.

He chuckled. “You’re not as easy to find as I’d thought you’d be.”

“How do you know my name?” She asked apprehensively.

“Isn’t it funny, maybe even a little ironic, that I would figure out who you were before you would me?” He carelessly ran his fingers through his hair. “Did you even bother to ask what I looked like? Given you’re a conjurer, I’m assuming your vendetta is with me. Of course, that could very well be my arrogance talking.”

No. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be…

“Oh, there it is.” He laughed, chest and shoulders bouncing with the amusement. “The face of someone realizing just who they’re talking to. So, am I right? Was it me you were looking for?”

Kagome didn’t answer, an alarming sensation igniting in her core. Was this really Naraku? How did he know they were looking for him? Was it because she and Inuyasha had killed Moryomaru and it had gotten back to him? Or, had she been betrayed?

“You look to be in a state of shock. Disbelief? Kagome, it’s really me. Baby, honey, sweetums, pookie, I’m the man you’ve been searching for. In the flesh. Why don’t you seem happier?” He taunted jeeringly.

“Naraku?” She asked. She couldn’t help her skepticism. If she was in the presence of Naraku, why hadn’t she felt his demonic energy? Why hadn’t Inuyasha? It wasn’t a being she was sensing, but an object, and Inuyasha should have picked up his scent given she wasn’t all that far from where they’d parted. But, he hadn’t smelled anyone. Otherwise, the hanyou either would have warned her to be careful, or just purely wouldn’t have left her alone. This couldn’t be right. Naraku was supposed to be insanely powerful, so why wasn’t she feeling him. Was he able to conceal his powers? Was that possible?

“Good job, boo boo.” He said mockingly, smiling.

“But, how?”

“You killed Moryomaru. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Naraku shrugged his brows. “If you wanted my attention so bad, there were other ways to go about it. So, what’s up? What did you want to talk about?”

Kagome didn’t know how to read him. She was so thrown off, her perception of this reality was distorted. She needed to get a grip fast, she needed to draw her weapon, but she felt so solid, so confused, so afraid by not only his presence but his carefree demeanor.

“Come on, spit it out.” He wagged his hand in a rushing gesture. “God, for someone with a target on me, you sure seem scared. You sure you can do this?”

“Stop.” She finally spoke. “What are you doing? How are you talking so lightly right now?”

“What do you -“

“You know what I mean!” Kagome intentionally shouted, hoping to catch Inuyasha’s sensitive hearing. “You’re a mass murderer! You’re evil! You’ve been committing genocide, and you want to stand there spewing jokes at me as if nothing’s happened!”

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes.” Naraku nodded, agreeing to everything she’d just listed. “But, see the thing about being evil is, you don’t really care. I know that’s a difficult concept to grasp, what with the whole conscience and all.” He sneered with a light roll of his eyes.

“And, what for? What’s the purpose of all of this? World domination or something?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He curled his upper lip in slight disdain. “Sounds like a lot of responsibility. I would probably have to say power. And, recognition. Like, imagine another region saying, ‘Hey, you’ve heard of Naraku, right? Yeah, I wouldn’t want to fuck with him either.’ To see everyone fear me, to be unbeatable, to know that if I did someday want world domination, I could attain it with the flick of my wrist. Yeah, that’s probably what I’m shooting for.”

“Oh, screw you. You said that all as if you didn’t already know. As if you started all of this because you could.”

“That’s the thing, Kagome. I did. I had the power, so why shouldn’t I be the one to rise to the top? In doing that, I’d have to dispose of the waste, silence the challengers, make a few demonstrations to get the word out, so on and so forth. See, you conjurers are weird folk.” He pointed. “Acting like you’re better than anyone else. It doesn’t make sense to me. What’s that about?”

“We don’t kill for fun.” Kagome replied, a deep scowl forming on her face.

“Oh, no, see that’s not what I’m getting at. Sure, you gotta kill to survive sometimes, self defense, I get that. But, like, you guys act like you’re the peace keepers of the world just because you have the power to purify demonic entities. If you think about it, it’s kind of like you guys are acting like you’re the superior species. It’s the same shit.”

“It’s not the same.” She fired in defense.

“It kind of is.” He chuckled.

“You’re just trying to get me to react.” Kagome said, sighing out a deep breath to regain her bearings. “You really can’t put us on the same level as you. The only thing I heard you admit was that we’re competition. Our existence is a threat to yours.”

“Your existence,” He began, his tone taking a slightly darker note. “Is unnatural.”

She didn’t say anything, utilizing the silence to allow her bow to slide down her arm and into her hand. It would have been impossible not to notice, she was sure, but Naraku mentioned nothing about it, not even bothering to glance down at it in her grip.

“Humans aren’t purposed for supernatural abilities. You guys are the bottom feeders. In the game of the wild, you’re the boars intended for demons to hunt and cook over fires. And, yet here some of you are, popping out of the womb with spiritual powers as if you’re archangels placed on Earth to fight, good versus evil. Allow me to set you straight, Kagome, there is no competition between you and I. Whomever told you that was spitting a pathetic attempt at a lie that you idiotically fell for. If no one told you that and you truly feel I think highly of your kind, you’re delusional.”

“Then, what’s your reason for killing us all?”

“Simply because you’re no archangel. I am as close to a god as you’ll ever get, but you’re meant to join the fallen. So burn, Kagome. Burn.”

“You say it, but you don’t look like you mean that.”

“And, you want to pretend you know me well enough to make that determination? You didn’t even know what I looked like just minutes ago.”

“You’re putting up a front. I know how to read emotions, and you’ve got plenty. What you’re trying to do is conceal them all behind a wall of big talk. Yes, you think my kind is unnatural, but you honestly do think highly of us. I can say that with confidence, because if I recall correctly, you asked a certain conjurer to join your fight toward the very beginning. You thought combining your power with theirs would make you significantly stronger. If you really considered us bottom feeders, you’d have never contemplated such a suggestion. You’ve experienced years of struggle fighting against that conjurer, and have since deemed us all a threat. You’re afraid of us.”

Naraku laughed malevolently, almost appearing taken aback by her insinuation. “Fear. That’s bold to suggest since you’re currently too nervous to even pull an arrow from your quiver.”

“I am afraid.” Kagome admitted without apprehension. “My pride’s not the thing up for question right now.”

His smile was one of incredulity as his red eyes gave a small shift to the side. “Are you sure you want to do this? Fight me?”

“Like I have a choice.” She said through clenched teeth.

Naraku gestured to the ledge. “You do. Jump.”

“Never. I was sure I wanted to do this the moment I recognized the war you were waging. Now that you’ve killed Kikyo, there’s no way I’ll ever back down. You’re cruel, and -”

“Hey, woah, hey, hold on a second there, lady.” The demon braced his hands before him to silence her, pursing his lips for a brief second. “Look, I’m gonna be real with you, you don’t want to mention her. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that you can’t detect my presence. Where’s you’re half breed boy toy? Who knows, because he has no idea I’m here, right? It’s because I’m not. I’m not real. Naraku, he’s kind of - he’s having an -“ He delayed for a second, bobbing his head as he pondered the proper wording for the predicament. “- an episode at the moment. I’m a puppet. A puppet without any strings, if you will, created to complete this task and then - poof - I’m gone. There’s sort of a tether between my mind and his, and god forbid he’s actually paying attention right now. For your sake, you’d better hope he’s still underground. I mean, I’m not trying to play any sort of good guy - it’s nothing like that. You’re still gonna die today, I’m just trying to show a little mercy. Naraku hears her name, he’ll show up because he’ll be able to locate me real fucking fast, and in the mental state he’s currently in, he’ll literally rip you to pieces. Come on now, that’s no way for a girl with a pretty face to go.”

Kagome was grimacing, a deep frown of disgust pulling at her lips. “He kills her and then has the audacity to cry about it!?”

“Drop the subject.” He warned.

“So, you came to kill me in his stead? Just like he had another underling kill her? And, you want to tell me he isn’t afraid!?”

“He doesn’t like to waste his time squishing bugs.”

“Pathetic.” Kagome said, her voice low, demeaning. “How can anyone be expected to take him seriously as a powerful anything if he can’t even do his own bidding? Naraku is a joke. I’ll bet he’s broken inside. I’ll bet he’s fragile.”

“Stop while you’re still ahead.” The puppet had taken on a serious expression, dark lashes fluttering as he blinked his eyes.

“And, I’m supposed to be intimidated by you? You’re not even him.”

“Oh, no, I’m Naraku.” He corrected. “I’m just not him. Count your blessings. I look exactly like the guy, I can do everything he can do aside from multiply, and you really should learn to watch your mouth.” The puppet began to sprout additional limbs from his back, slithering, green tentacles appearing first, soon joined by long, thin legs looking to belong to a spider, planting themselves on the floor to elevate his body from the earth.

Spider-legged-tentacled creep. Koga had said it, but at the time, Kagome hadn’t known how to comprehend the snide remark at Naraku’s appearance. It was shocking, terrifying, but she knew she didn’t have time to stand there and gawk, to take him in, to actually acknowledge her fear.

As swiftly as she could, Kagome drew an arrow from her quiver, about to aim at the monster before she sensed a powerful energy budding from behind.

“Kagome, down!” Inuyasha ordered, and without a moment’s hesitation, knowing exactly what she was feeling, Kagome dropped her body to the hard surface of the rocky cliff. Air was pushed from her diaphragm from how heavy and quickly she’d dodged, but she remained low, feeling that swarm of demonic power blow directly over her, kick against the surface of the ground, and hit Naraku’s puppet.

With a hasty maneuver, Kagome rolled onto her back, lining the knock of her arrow up with the string of her bow to aim at the demon. It was an odd position, one she wasn’t used to, but she powered through it, pulling back her weapon and releasing to hit just as Inuyasha’s wind scar died away. It seemed as though a barrier had protected Naraku from Inuyasha’s attack, and she’d just caught the way the storm of wind rolled right over him, but her arrowhead stuck in the surface of the invisible barricade, penetrating just passed the tip.

She’d noticed the flinch of his brow, how it pinched inward an inch in observation before relaxing. Was he not expecting such quick reflexes from her? Or, was he not expecting her to make a dent at all?

“So, the half breed finally joins. How long were you listening from the sidelines?” Naraku’s puppet inquired, pretending his expression hadn’t accidentally betrayed him.

Inuyasha didn’t answer. His amber eyes were glowing with anger, his skin was blisteringly hot, and his lips twitched as his glower only managed to deepen. This bastard thought he’d catch Kagome while she was vulnerable and alone? This cheap, knock off, son of a bitch really thought he could kill her so easily? The hanyou was furious.

He’d picked up on Kagome’s voice the moment she’d started talking, and he was sure there was no one on the mountain with them. They were alone, and unless she was talking to a ghost, conversations shouldn’t have been had. Instantly, a bad feeling began to curdle in his stomach, so he headed back. He’d rather be safe than sorry. He’d decided to stay off to the side, listening, peeking through the cracks in the trees to get a glimpse at the man she was speaking to. It was easy to tell something was incredibly wrong. Inuyasha couldn’t smell him. He smelled wood, and just a small piece at that. It was very lightly - very lightly - tainted with Naraku’s scent, though. Something that smelled so far off, it was no wonder he didn’t catch it from down the trail. Then, he admitted to being Naraku, but he knew that couldn’t be the entire truth. He didn’t sense a person. He knew this was an illusion of some sort, but the minute Kagome’s life was so readily threatened was the minute Inuyasha’s anger rapidly bubbled. He was not only underestimating her so disrespectfully, but claiming he was going to put his hands on her. He’d told her to jump off the cliff. He’d claimed to offer her mercy. Inuyasha was going to personally see to this thing’s demise.

This was simply a new message that could be sent the real Naraku’s way. They killed Moryomaru. Now, they would be sending his puppet back in pieces. He was next.

“Tell me you’re okay.” Inuyasha said lowly, stepping through the thickets he’d torn apart with his attack. He didn’t bother taking his eyes off of the underling as he supported his sword in one hand, holding his free one out to help Kagome up.

“I’m fine.” She replied, pulling a new arrow from her quiver.

“Don’t want to bother with small talk? Fine.” Naraku smiled, his tentacles somehow growing. A thick one hastily flew upward to slam down between Inuyasha and Kagome, the two of them dodging but ending up separated.

“Inuyasha, aim at the arrow in his barrier!” Kagome instructed.

“Got it!” The hanyou shouted, dodging another mad tentacle before swinging his sword in another wind scar. Naraku laughed, watching the attack yet again slide over his blockade, missing the arrow entirely.

“What the hell was that!?” He guffawed, his laugh almost choked on as he sputtered to a halt, feeling the disruption of a sharp tear in his wall poking his arm. Another arrow had gotten ninety-percent through, stopping just at the feathers and piercing the surface layer of his flesh through his long-sleeved shirt.

“A distraction.” Kagome stated, pulling another arrow.

The puppet smiled again, but it was daring. Challenging. Kagome could quickly tell he was becoming irate, the way his jaw flexed conveying a lethal threat. She sensed the danger about to come her way, but she fell for his ploy. Naraku sent an appendage shooting at her right, but when she went to swerve left, she was struck by a tendril she hadn’t thought to expect. It sent her flying back onto the ground, a cough sputtering from her mouth from the force, but the puppet failed to pin her. He had lost his grip in the moment, and Kagome rolled away. Still, it would have been impossible of her to get to her feet in time, and again, his tentacle dropped on her, trying to wrap around her waist.

His grip was feeble, sliding away altogether as Inuyasha provided a destructive attack right against the barrier. Kagome looked across the way to see his Tessaiga glowing red, the skin of his face reflecting the bright color, worsening the shade of the fury he radiated. His blade sliced through the barricade, decimating it with the blow, and Naraku’s puppet stood there, stunned.

“Fancy trick you got there.” He growled. “A sword that can break through just about anything, huh?”

“Just about.” Inuyasha said in return, his tone gruff.

Naraku didn’t bother to construct another barrier. If they really wanted to think it would be that simple to take him down, he’d be glad to show them the contrary. To his right, Inuyasha stood with his sword at the ready, the red aura dwindling away to reveal its original appearance. To his left, Kagome stood with an arrow aimed directly at him. She’d shrugged off her backpack in the slim moment his attention was off of her, most likely for better movement control, but the puppet couldn’t help but cock a grin.

He moved swiftly, throwing tendrils of his body outward to distract his opponents. He accepted the hits, laughing tauntingly as he raised his hand and extended it in the direction of the half breed. His demonic powers soared outward, clutching the unsuspecting man in a telekinetic and vise grip, throwing Inuyasha to the ground with a loud thud.

Kagome was trapped, caged, and she didn’t know which appendage to aim at first. It was like they were trying to grab her, closing in to make it harder for her to fight back. It was causing her to panic, to second guess her actions, to back step, and his villainous laughter helped none. She’d heard the loud gasp of Inuyasha colliding with the rocky floor, her panic growing when she called out to him and didn’t receive a response.

Spotting an opening, Kagome aimed between the tentacles, straight at Naraku’s body. One of the slithering things was beginning to snake around her, but despite her trepidation and how badly she wanted to jump away, she stayed perfectly still, waiting for a smidgen of a clearer shot. On an exhale, Kagome released her arrow, her spiritual power demolishing a portion of Naraku’s ribcage, his arm, the tentacles around her dying off, and she quickly jumped out of those that hadn’t yet eroded, shaking them off and scampering toward Inuyasha only to halt halfway.

The hanyou was sitting on his knees, pushing himself back to a standing when his attention flew from Kagome to the monster’s incarnation. Kagome had shot him, had used her powers and blown off a part of his side, but at an alarming rate, Naraku was regenerating.

“I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t impressive.” The puppet spoke, and he almost seemed humored. “I’ll admit, you’re putting up more of a fight than I’d expected of a little girl and a mutt. Bet you didn’t see this coming, though. I’m not real, remember? Your conjurer strength can’t just deteriorate my arm and think it’ll hurt, I’ll scream a little, fall to my knees, and then you’ll be good to serve the finishing attack. It’s gonna take a little more than that, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby!” Kagome demanded, quickly pulling an arrow and shooting it at his body. It nailed the same arm, bringing an annoyed groan from his throat as his skin crumbled, but so rapidly did it heal.

“That make you feel powerful?” He mocked. “Get your point across? ‘Don’t call me baby!’” Naraku echoed in a high-pitched voice. “Stupid ass bitch. You’re not fucking listening, are you?”

Before her very eyes, the puppet’s body seemed to be transforming. More tentacles, vines, slithering demon tails grew from his flesh, entangling around his lower body and plunging into the earth. He was surrounded by a mountain of crawling parts that threatened them and protected his core. Roots began sprouting all around them, loosening the ground that supported the cliff, causing their footing to quake as they stumbled and dodged what grew.

“Kagome, come here!” Inuyasha called, wanting her next to him. He couldn’t protect her this way, he couldn’t adhere to her safety when they were divided, and he couldn’t predict what sort of move this monster was going to make next. In his peripheral vision, he could see the conjurer trying to follow his command, but the puppet was teasing her with his roots, pushing her back. When she finally got over them, Naraku slammed a tendril down in between to keep the two lovers separated.

Ferociously, Inuyasha raised his sword to attack, slashing it down in a formidable wind scar that hit the creature dead on, damaging its faux body. It was insane, the speed at which it regenerated, but the hanyou noticed a small part of his abdomen piecing together just a little slower. That must have been his weak point. That must have been why the demonic parts were protecting his stomach.

“Alright, you’re getting a little annoying.” Naraku commented, swiftly snaking multiple vines around him.

Inuyasha knew it was a distraction, the one that stabbed through his left arm, so he growled and clenched his jaw, but that was the only reaction he allowed himself to give, never taking his eyes off of the damned puppet. Kagome shot another arrow, piercing Naraku’s chest, and as quickly as he could to add his own power to the mix, to end this, Inuyasha swung his sword. His attack rumbled dangerously, shooting over the puppet’s body, but his core was protected in the nick of time.

He hadn’t noticed the tendril around his ankle. He hadn’t noticed the knot it had created. And, it was too late to try and cut himself free before the tentacle yanked his foot back and sent his body crashing forward to the ground. Inuyasha had lost his grip on his sword then, the metal clanking against the rock as he was lifted upward by another root that circled around his waist. He was trying to fight, to free himself, but the root was difficult to slice through with his nails. The ground came flying at his face before he could process as he was wasn’t just dropped, but thrown down heavily, the world going silent and black.

“Inuyasha!” Kagome cried, noticing how he hadn’t attempted to get up or reassure her. The hanyou laid still on the ground, a hand beside his face that neither twitched nor reached for his sword.

It was difficult to focus on what was happening with all the movement around her. So desperately did she want to sprint to her hanyou, but at the moment, she absolutely couldn’t. The second she let her guard down would be the second Naraku would win. It all happened too quickly, though. She’d decided to aim at his body, trying not to be distracted by the wriggling roots and appendages, but just before she could release her shot, something large grabbed around her waist, yanking her back so she’d lose her handling on her weapons, and then thrusting her forward and off of her feet. Kagome was ensnared, the tentacle progressively growing tighter as it wrung around her, pulling her closer to the puppet’s side.

Her groan was pleading, and she pushed fruitlessly at the green flesh around her stomach with her empty hands. It hurt. The closer she got to his burning, red eyes and sadistic smile, the more terrified and panicked Kagome grew.

“So, what now, conjurer?” Naraku asked, hovering her near him. He liked the tiny whimpers that escaped her throat. He liked the way her brown eyes were glimmering with urgency. “Come on, I’m within reach. Now’s your chance. Kill me. Save yourself and your precious mutt.”

She was trying. Kagome was damn near outwardly begging for her powers to work with her. Just once - just fucking once - come through her hands, her skin, anything. Follow the wave through the surface of her flesh. But, nothing was coming. The puppet squeezed her waist tighter and Kagome cried out, but still she tried to utilize that point in her body. She could feel something there. She could feel her powers bubbling where she was being strained, and she pushed, and pushed.

Let it out! Let it out, little bird!

“What a shame.” Naraku lamented. “Who’s pathetic?”

Kagome didn’t have time for this. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, let him win. Reaching behind her, she grabbed an arrow, swiveling the head forward in her fingers and jabbing it into Naraku’s neck.

The demon smiled. The girl was too flustered to apply enough force into her attack. Her powers ran deep, but just an inch further and she would have actually struck his “heart,” protected within his abdomen. It was too bad she’d fallen short. He waited as his body regenerated, plucking the arrowhead from his throat with a disturbed grunt.

“I don’t bleed.” He said, jerking her forward to hover just a couple of inches from his face. His tone died down to a gruff whisper, red eyes staring directly into her stricken irises. “But, you do. Don’t you? How should I do it? Should I make you cry first? Or, would you prefer something quick? Either works for me.”

“You won’t win this.” Kagome whispered, trembling. She was petrified, her heart was pounding, and a thick lump formed in her throat as she felt like the worst was about to happen. It was weird, the way fear would sit in your chest. It made you feel light but jittery, like you should scream to release some of that sensation but you physically couldn’t.

“Famous last words.” Naraku said, stroking the back of his finger over Kagome’s cheek. “How could you possibly take on the real thing if you couldn’t even defeat a puppet, though?”

No. He wasn’t right. They were going to win this.

Weren’t they?

Naraku was moving her over the edge of the cliff, and she fidgeted, gasped, shuddered.

Kagome wasn’t done fighting. She hadn’t seen this through yet. This was just a threat, and she was going to pull out of it. But, why did she get the leadened feeling that she wasn’t?

Why did Kagome suddenly feel so afraid that she couldn’t even breathe anymore?

She heard a sigh, a groan, and Kagome’s attention shifted to Inuyasha as he was coming to, blinking his golden eyes open as he pushed himself up onto his forearms.

Inuyasha was trying to reattain his bearings. His head was throbbing, and blood had gotten into his eye as he opened it, burning. He was still being restrained, his lower body pinned to the ground from the hips down. The battle wasn’t over. How long was he out? Why didn’t he hear Kagome? Where was Kagome?

He blinked some more, stabilizing his lungs as he pushed past the bleary state he was in. At the ledge, held over in a twisted grasp of tendrils, he found her. She wasn’t entirely clear, but he could make out the setting.

And, his stomach dropped.

His vision settled then, and Inuyasha stared on as Naraku grinned, holding Kagome’s life over the edge of the cliff.

| previous chapter | <- -> | next chapter |

[apocalypseornaw]

Walk Away-3

After so long apart you finally agree to see Sam and tell him the truth

You groaned as you sat back against the wall hoping this newest wave of nausea would pass.. It was normal according to the obgyn Tasha had helped you get into. You had just entered into your second trimester and found out the gender of the baby at your last appointment. She was growing perfectly and doing a number on your insides in the process. You heard someone clear their throat and looked up to see Max leaned against the doorway leading into the bathroom with a cup of tea in his hand. He held it out to you with a smile “Ginger tea with honey and lemon” You thanked him as you took the cup and allowed yourself a small sip of the warm liquid. 

He walked a little further into the room before sitting down next to you his long legs stretched out in front of him “Donna Hanscum called again” you nodded before saying “That doesn’t really surprise me..has Jody and the girls started their rounds again?” he let out a sharp laugh “Not yet, it holds them off when they can talk with you but I had to tell Donna you weren’t here considering you don’t want Sam to know you’re currently starting to move past smuggling a basketball into smuggling a beach ball” “He doesn’t need to know” you mumbled but Max shook his head “He loves you Y/N. I don’t know what happened but he wouldn’t be trying this hard to get you to talk to him if he didn’t”

You leaned your head back against the wall then rolled your head over to look at Max “If and it’s a big if but if I was to agree to see him and Dean could you put a glamour on me?” his eyes went to your ever growing stomach “Oh you mean to hide the bump?” you nodded and he scratched his chin in thought then nodded “I think I can manage that with Alicia’s help. I’ll call Erik too, he's better at stuff along those lines” “Thanks Max and thank Erik for me too” he stood to go call Erik who was his boyfriend of a little over three years. You’d known him for a while but had gotten to know him better over the last few weeks considering his mom was your doctor. “When are you going to call Sam?” he asked from the door so you shrugged “When Jody calls I’ll tell her it’s fine to give Dean my new number then go from there” he nodded then walked out the room.

------

Sam was sitting at the table in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee and trying to ignore just how much the bunker itself seemed to miss your presence. How had he messed everything up this bad? How had Dean been able to see just how much pain you were in but he couldn’t? Christ he was an idiot. If he could do it over he would have never gone on that very first hunt where all of you met Lila.

She didn’t hold a candle to you. You were...hell you were a force of nature. Everyone who knew you was drawn to you. You were caring but strong, courageous but smart. You would dive in feet first to help someone you cared about and even strangers. He’d seen you go toe to toe with more than one demon just to save a life. You were a soft touch when needed but also was the first to make someone shake off any self doubt and get their fire back.

When Alex had needed help paying for college you’d found grants seemingly out of thin air. When Patience would get upset about her broken relationship with her father she’d call you. You were one of the few people Claire would take advice from without rolling her eyes.

As for the way you’d changed not only his life but Dean and Cas’ as well he didn’t have the words for. Dean never got a chance to withdraw into himself with you around because you’d be at his door slipping new cds under it or bribing him out with food and western movie marathons. Cas always seemed to brighten up when you walked into a room because you never let a day pass without reminding him just how important he was to what you called your family group.

When you’d come into Sam’s life you’d knocked him flat on his ass metaphorically speaking and literally speaking. He’d ended up catching a punch from you on accident. Dean had teased him that your right hook was what made him fall in love with you. Looking up to see a woman as beautiful as you were apologizing but calling him an idiot for getting in your way at the same time did help matters. From that day forward you were all he could think about. The day you finally moved into the bunker was the happiest day of his life. 

The dreams of a so-called normal life was behind him but with you a new normal started to form in his mind. He never felt more whole than when you were in his arms. Waking up to you curled against his chest or with his arm around your waist was the most peace he’d ever felt. He loved you more than he ever dreamed possible to love someone after losing Jess. He felt like such a failure because he had apparently not shown you that. When you started to talk with Donna, Jody and the girls at least he knew you were alive,healthy and indeed staying with the Banes twins. 

He knew they lived near a small town on the upper west coast but that was all he did know. He wanted nothing more than to track them down and beg for the chance to see you but for now at least knowing you were ok was the best compromise he was going to get. He sighed and looked down at his laptop. He had a few news websites up but his heart wasn’t in trying to find a case, his heart was wherever you were. He could hear Dean talking to someone in the library and thought maybe he had a case until he heard Dean say your name. 

He quickly moved around the corner to see Dean pacing across the floor as he spoke on the phone. He caught a few words of what Dean was saying “Are you sure?...Yeah I promise...look you have my word...I will...ok...and sweetheart it’s good to hear from you” Was Dean talking to you? Why had you called Dean? Was something wrong? Were you hurt? He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he hadn’t realized Dean had not only hung up but had called his name three times.

“SAM!” Dean spoke harshly and he blinked a few times glancing at the phone still in his brother’s hand “Was that Y/N?” Dean nodded “Yeah she told Jody it was ok to pass her new number on to me..She’s willing to see you but she has a few conditions” “Anything, I’ll agree to anything” Sam answered quickly his mind going into overdrive at the thought of seeing you. 

Dean nodded again then said “Grab your stuff. I’ll text her and let her know we’re hitting the road. I’ve got to call Max when we get close enough and he’ll come meet us to lead us up to their place”

------

“Are you sure you can’t tell?” you asked Erik for the sixth time since he’d finished the glamour. He sighed and shook his head “I’m sure. I’ve hid entire buildings, your little baby bump isn’t even a challenge” you smiled then smoothed the shirt you were wearing self consciously. 

“Alicia why did I agree to talk to Sam again?” She walked in behind you and held out a bottle of water “Because you’re still in love with him, it’s blaringly obvious no matter what happened he’s still in love with you because they’ve made the trip from Lebanon in record time. Even if today doesn’t go well at least you know you tried” you took a deep breath and nodded. She was right of course. When Erik’s phone went off you nearly jumped out of your skin but his hand on your arm kept you in place “Calm down Y/N, that was just Max. They’re coming up the driveway”

No sooner than the words came out of Erik’s mouth you heard the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine. Any other time that was music to your ears but now it made you a little queasy. Erik shot you a smile before grabbing his jacket “Me and Max are headed into town but when you want to lower the glamour I showed Alicia how ok?” you nodded “Thanks again Erik” “Anytime”

------

You took a deep breath when you heard the boots on the porch so Alicia moved to answer the door. You weren’t in direct eyesight so you heard Dean first say “Alicia, good to see you” she greeted him then said “Hi Sam” you felt your heart flip when he said “Hey Alicia, I um thank you for being a place she could come to” “She’s always welcome wherever me and Max are and we make sure she knows it” that was one of the many things you loved about Alicia. Her words and tone of voice was friendly but the underlying venom of having comforted a hurt friend was still very much there.

“Y/N?” Alicia called out as she shut the door behind the boys as if she didn’t know for a fact you were hiding in the small hallway between the front door and kitchen. “Right here” you replied stepping around the corner. Dean smiled when he saw you “Well you’re a sight for sore eyes” you were glad when he just hugged you with one arm around your shoulders on the off chance of him brushing against your stomach.

“I see you’ve actually managed to stay alive without me which is a miracle in itself” you teased with a tense smile trying to calm your nerves before meeting Sam’s eyes. God those fucking eyes of his. You stood there for a second staring at each other before Dean turned to Alicia “You got something to drink? Alcoholic or otherwise. I’d settle for tea or coffee” she gave him a small smile before winking at you and herding him towards the kitchen.

Once the two of you were alone you both started to speak at the same time. You laughed nervously “You want to go first?” he nodded then let out a harsh breath “I’m sorry. I know that probably falls flat but I am. You are the most important person in my life. I love you with everything in me and I failed to show you that. I failed to realize how much my actions were hurting you. I made you think I wanted someone else and I pushed you away. I don’t expect you to forgive me and I don’t expect you to come back with me but I’m grateful you chose to let me come here and tell you that face to face”  You should’ve known with pregnancy hormones on top of everything else that you’d end up in tears. You wiped them away before they could fall before saying “Sam..god just tell me why? Why did you act like that towards her? Was the attachment to me the only thing stopping you? The fear of all our friends taking my side? Of your brother siding with me?” 

“Baby no” he breathed and took a step towards you but when you quickly crossed your arms over your chest and stepped back he froze in his tracks. “I guess it was the feeling of losing someone you love to a demon. I’ve been there before then with what happened to her husband. It got me thinking about what happened to Jess happening to you. That’s not an excuse because you told me that you wanted other hunters backing her and I didn’t listen but please baby please know I have never wanted anyone else since the day I met you” 

“But you didn’t listen to me Sam. That’s why I left! That’s why I came here and got them to ward me so you couldn’t find me. I couldn’t sit around waiting for you to break my heart and I’m not coming back with you no matter how much I want nothing more than to jump into your arms right now. If you want us...If you want a second chance before I tell you something I need a promise that you’ll be ok with it taking time, with me being here and you in Lebanon. I need you to actually think about it before you answer me Sam” you were trying so hard not to cry because you knew for a fact Dean and Alicia were standing just on the other side of that kitchen door waiting to intervene if you needed them to.

“I’d do anything for a second chance for us, to prove to you just how much you mean to me” you nodded slowly then called out “Alicia can you and Dean come here?” the door swung open quickly to both of them nearly stumbling over each other. “Yeah sweetie?” she asked so you braced yourself then said “They need to know” “And you’re sure?” she questioned so you nodded “Yeah I’m sure” 

“Need to know what?” Dean asked but Alicia was already repeating the words Erik had told her would drop the glamour. The moment it faded and your stomach was back visibly rounded Dean’s eyes widened and poor Sam looked like he may faint or puke. “Is that why you left?” Sam asked quietly and you shook your head “I didn’t find out until about a month after I left. That’s why I came here”

Dean recovered quicker and held a hand out “Can I?” you nodded “She is your niece after all” “Niece, so it’s a girl?” he asked with a grin. Your hand came to cover Dean’s so you could place it on the light movements but your eyes never left Sam’s as you said “Yeah I just found out last week” a light kick made Dean’s grin get bigger “Look at that. She’s strong already” “Just like her mom” Alicia replied then reached for Dean’s arm “Let’s give them another minute” Dean nodded and kissed your cheek before saying “I love you kid and I’m gonna love her too” then followed her back into the kitchen.

Sam had remained silent so you finally looked up at him “Are you going to say anything?” a slight smile slipped onto his face before he quietly said “Can I touch you now? Because I really want to hug you and feel our daughter move” you moved towards him and he pulled you against his chest without hesitation. One large hand held your back while the other rested on your stomach “I love you Y/N. I’ll prove to you that things will be different. Nothing means more to me than you and her” you smiled up at him through the tears in your eyes “I love you too Sam” 

Tags: @delightfullykrispypeach @fofisstilinski @chengukargbo @rosalynshields @hunting-the-grievers @spngirl05

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, incorrect-malec!

For @incorrect-malec. This is the first part to a larger fic which will be updated sometime after the reveal, as the plot ran away from me! I tried to incorporate as many of the proposed likes as I could to make this an interesting and fun gift! Happy holidays, dear giftee, I hope you sincerely enjoy your present ❤️

Minor content warning for some cursing and small mentions of blood.

*****

find me here (amidst the chaos)

“Mr. Lightwood-Bane? You have a special visitor.” 

Alec glances up from the spread of ridiculous red tape sprawled across his desk. An antique grandfather clock nestled in the corner behind him ticks away the idle seconds. 

“Ah.” Alec leans into the high-backed support of his office chair. “Mr. Lightwood-Bane, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Magnus glides into the room, shutting the ornate door behind him with a heavy thud. “You forgot your lunch. I assumed it was all a simple ploy to trick me into bringing some for you.”

“A reasonable assumption.” 

“I probably shouldn’t be indulging in such skulduggery,” Magnus skirts around the desk, his magic tidying the paperwork into neat piles off to the side. “Alas, it has been some long six hours since I last saw my husband, and I’m little other than a fool for love.”

Alec stands and sways into Magnus’ space. “It is known to be a great weakness of yours.”

“Love?” Magnus wraps his arms around Alec’s neck, soothing his fingers against the nape. “Hardly. Love is too often fleeting. You, however?” He brushes the ghost of a kiss against the corner of Alec’s mouth. “You have always been my greatest weakness.”

Alec kisses Magnus, because it says more than words ever could, because there are no words in any language that he knows which could be enough to express how he feels, how his core is alight and burning hot, how he can’t get close enough without knocking them both over, and even that wouldn’t soothe the ache.

“You didn’t even bring any food with you,” Alec points out, pressing a fleeting kiss to Magnus’ temple, lest he kiss any lower and come away with a shimmer upon his lips. His hands are broad and firm against Magnus’ hips, drawing him close until the ornate buckle of his belt is nestled against Alec’s belly button. He’s slouched, relaxed and calm. 

“An easy fix.” Magnus pecks the very tip of Alec’s nose, grinning easy at the way it scrunches. “What are you in the mood for?” 

“I really want to visit Sky,” Alec sighs, his shoulders drawing up. “I miss their chebureki. I’m craving their chebureki. But I have to file through this paperwork, or the Clave are going to be breathing down my neck.” 

Magnus traces the love rune against the nape of Alec’s neck. “I mean this with every breadth of my soul.” He pulls back, drawn to the mirth that draws Alec’s brow together before staring into hazel eyes which have always held his own gaze with such resolve it’s a wonder he ever questioned them. “Fuck the Clave.”

Alec laughs, hearty and full. Magnus kisses the lines of his eyes, warmth cloaking him like a homemade blanket. This, right here. This is all he needs. 

“Is that a proposition? I think I have a form somewhere for interdepartmental relationships, I’d be happy to sign it for you.”

Alec feigns to pull away, his hands falling to his sides. Before he can even turn his body, Magnus takes both of Alec’s hands in his own, kissing the space on his ring finger above his wedding band and the ridges of his knuckles while the other intertwines their fingers, squeezing tight and holding their joined hands against his heart - or, rather, a rough estimation of where his heart is, hidden beneath his unbuttoned silk shirt and floral blazer. 

“Burn it.” Magnus insists, resting his chin on the back of Alec’s hand, still held tight within his own. “Or shred it. Do you have a paper shredder? We can start a recycling plan! Saving the planet is really something the Clave should care about. Maybe they can investigate that, and then while they’re busy saving the world - I know that you Shadowhunters love that - we can steal away and pretend you never insinuated that I would ever break our sacred marriage vows for the Clave.”

Alec leans back, tapping the side of Magnus’ sleek ankle boots. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even joked about it.” 

“I wouldn’t break our vows for anything.” Magnus pulls a face. “Suggesting I would do it for the Clave is just insulting, Alexander. I have far better taste than that.”

“Is that so?”

Magnus hums, turning Alec’s hand to kiss down his wrist. “I’m pretty sure I have a certificate somewhere that proves it.” He murmurs, tilting his head into the cup of Alec’s palm against his cheek. “Unless that’s how you tested out your paper shredder? We haven’t cleared up whether it exists yet.” 

“Your environmental concerns are heard and are being considered by the Inquisitor at present” Alec teases, before adding. “I’m pretty sure that Aline has a paper shredder in her office. It’s definitely the kind of thing that Helen would have gifted. Probably wrapped in a bow, too.”

“That does sound like our Helen.” Magnus steps forward into the gap of Alec’s thighs. “I’m afraid that all I am hearing is that there is in fact no reason why you can’t take an extended lunch break.” He leans forward, teasing a kiss along the cut of Alec’s jaw. “Perhaps we can even enjoy it in the comfort of our own home.” 

They would have, Alec prepared with a half-hearted protest that Magnus would just as quickly swallow, bending the pretence of Alec’s revolve before whisking them away in a portal that would have to be created on the balcony to protect the furniture. They would have enjoyed a lovely meal, and each other’s company, and Magnus would have sent Alec back with a sweet kiss and a promise of reservations for some late night ponchiki, conveniently forgetting to mention that he’s missed a button of his shirt. 

Unfortunately, none of that happened. 

“Inquisitor Lightwood-Bane? High Warlock Lightwood-Bane?” 

Magnus rolls his eyes and steps away from Alec, although his hand skims Alec’s hip. The shadowhunter at the door seems familiar … Montclair something, maybe … yes, Eva Montclair. A sort of glorified P.A for various members of the Clave. Her sudden appearance in Alec’s doorway is not a terrible thing by nature, but Magnus has a feeling given the tightness of her knuckles around the hilt of her seraph blade that it is not good news that she couriers this time. 

Eva inhales deeply, her shoulders curled in defensively. “I was told to come and tell you both immediately, I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted anything.” 

“What’s wrong, Eva?” Alec asks, kind but firm.

“There’s been an instance near Piccadilly. A warlock appears to have recently come into their powers and is struggling with gaining control over them. The Head of the London Institute called them ‘rogue’, but I personally don’t think that’s fair. From the descriptions received all the magic seems to be defensive rather than offensive. The High Warlock there is currently unavailable but suggested that you, Mr. Lightwood-Bane, would be a … ‘fitting substitute’ in his absence?”

Magnus fixes a pleasant smile even as a laugh hiccups in the back of his throat. Ragnor truly says the kindest things. “If this is as you describe, Eva, I’m sure there won’t be any further problems.”

“Please alert the London Institute that we are on our way.” Alec requests. “And please make it clear to them that they are under no circumstances to harm the young warlock. This is no longer any of their concern.”

The hint of a smile toys at the corner of Eva’s mouth, and it’s then that Magnus remembers that she’s married to a warlock herself, and in fact he has met Mars on a few occasions as part of the Downworlder council. Small world. 

“Absolutely.” Eva nods, curtly, and ducks out of the room. 

Magnus nods towards the balcony doors. “Portal?”

Alec sighs, reaching for Magnus’ hand. “This has to be the fifth call this year alone. I’m starting to think those pamphlets aren't working.”

The balcony doors swing open with a flick of Magnus’ hand. 

“Maybe the Institute Heads are just environmentally conscious.”

---

“Angels,” Alec whispers, when they come through the other side of the portal onto a wet cobblestone side-street, the air heavy with unshed rain. “They’re so young.”

The warlock couldn’t possibly be older than eighteen. Their torn jeans are stuffed into worn and muddy old boots, their denim vest is missing sleeves, torn at the shoulder, and the faded band tank underneath looks far too thin for a London evening. Thin, white lines stand out against brown skin, forming stars on their arms like tattoos of varying size, a mark unlike any that Alec has ever seen before and given the slight furrow to Magnus’ brow, it’s not a common one. Their hair is cropped short and pink, which could be a warlock mark, although Alec has his doubts. 

“Their mark is glowing.” Magnus comments. “It pulses, see. It’s directly connected to their magic.”

“Is that unusual?” Alec asks, casting an eye around for anything to gain the warlock’s attention without spooking them. “Your eyes glow.”

Magnus drops his glamour. A point is being made, but it isn’t Alec’s. “The pulse is frantic, like their magic, their emotions. Their powers are so new that they haven’t figured out how to control any of it yet. Warlock marks, although rare, do sometimes come with the magic itself. That’s a lot to discover about yourself at once. No wonder they look so frightened, poor dear.”

Alec’s throat tightens when the warlock grips their head and folds over. “We have to help them. I don’t even know how but … we have to help them.”

Magnus grips the back of Alec’s neck, turning him until they’re facing each other. “We will.” Magnus says, firm but kind. “We are their best hope right now, Alexander, and we will help them.” He grazes his thumb along the column of Alec’s nape. “We’re good at this.”

Alec nods, rolling his shoulders back as Magnus’ hand falls away. Magnus gestures and Alec follows his gaze, towards a portable store sign advertising 25% off coats and knitwear - it’s not terribly wide or tall, but if he’s careful he should be able to hide behind it, if temporarily. The last thing they need is for the warlock to feel as though they’ve been trapped, so letting Magnus talk first and providing support without being obvious about it is their best chance at this point in time. 

The first time they talked a warlock down Alec had gotten his eyebrows singed off for getting too close, too fast. 

“Excuse me?” Magnus has procured a coat, probably from the store behind Alec, his hands shoved into the pockets. 

To the unassuming eye, he probably appears to be a concerned citizen, his eyes glamoured once more, although there is an undeniable electricity to him that couldn’t be mistaken by those who know for a thunderstorm. There is a chance that the warlock, although presumably new to their powers, will be able to sense it as well. If that’s the case, their reaction is anyone’s guess. Alec tightens his grip on his bow.

“I’m Magnus Bane.” The warlock glances up with lightning speed, their arms wound tightly around their chest, as though doing so would keep everything in place. Alec is familiar with the feeling. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I’m like you, see?”

Magnus must have dropped his glamour, for the warlock takes a step back, but they lose some of the tension around their shoulders. “May I ask for your name?” He asks, rocking back on his heels.

The warlock hesitates, the stars on their arms pulsing even faster. “Nova.” They say, after what feels to be an hour. Alec lets out a heavy breath and relaxes onto his haunches. This is good. 

“Hello, Nova.” Magnus flattens his palm against his chest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? You don’t have to answer any that make you uncomfortable. My only motivation is helping you if I can.”

“What makes you think that you can help me?” Nova spits out. They’re shaking. “I don’t even know what’s happening to me. The other day I was fine, I was normal and then I woke up yesterday and I have these weird tattoos on my arm and today I’m sending things into different rooms with just my thoughts - and none of it makes any sense! None of it!” 

Magnus takes a lone step forward, but Nova doesn’t appear to notice. Alec feels a chill crawl down his spine. “You don’t know me, so what I’m about to ask of you probably goes against every instinct you have. Nova, I need you to trust me.”

“Why?”

Magnus takes another step. The hairs on the back of Alec’s neck stand to attention. “Because I’ve been where you are.” Magnus explains. “Lost. Confused. Angry. I was a child when I discovered my magic, what I could do with it. I didn’t have anybody to help me, and I always vowed that I wouldn’t let that happen to others, if I could help it. I want to help you.”

“What am I?” Nova furiously shakes their head, gripping at their elbows so tight little pinpricks of blood skate down their arms. “Why is this happening to me?”

“I prefer to call myself a warlock. Many of us do.” Magnus explains. He holds out his palm, letting a blue flame collect in the centre. “You can refer to yourself however you like. You can just be Nova, and nothing more, if you want.”

“But the magic … that won’t go away?”

Magnus shakes his head. “No. Take my word for it, you will only cause yourself more harm if you try. It’s not all bad.” The flame in Magnus’ hand turns into a cupcake, with a small sugary rainbow on top of the cream white frosting. “Once you learn how to control it, the things you’ll be able to do are incredible.”

“I lost a mug.” Nova laughs, a fragile thing. “It’s so stupid. I just threw it at the wall, but it didn’t smash or anything it just … disappeared. I looked for hours. It’s not even important, it was a quid or something but it … it’s gone. I did that. I don’t know how but wherever it’s ended up is because of me. What if - what if I do that to somebody? Make them … disappear.” 

“I don’t think so.” Magnus is a few feet away now if that. “The kind of power that takes is … astronomical, not to mention the technical restraint. The worst you might do is cause some minor injuries, but even that is rare.”

Nova’s stars are glowing steadily. “Have you ever made someone disappear?”

“Not without the intent to do so.”

The answer seems to appease Nova. Alec stays hunched down, it doesn’t look like Magnus needs his support, although it would be nice to stretch his back soon, although he still trains from time to time, he isn’t exactly as young as he used to be. 

“Magnus Bane. Step away from the rogue warlock at once. This is no longer an issue for the Downworlder Council to handle, this has become an Institute matter and will thus be handled by Shadowhunters. Your services have not proven useful, and this warlock must be subdued before any harm is caused.” 

The electricity in the air gets sharper. Alec hesitates but eventually rises slowly from his crouched position. He catches the minute the Institute Head, Stephen Highsmith, sees him and the flood of blood to his cheeks and forehead. A second later, his head whips towards Nova, who is clutching at their head, their wide eyes caught between the three of them. Alec doesn’t have the time to search for the Shadowhunters positioned around them, knows on instinct that they’re surrounded, that the only way out is through talking and, if that fails, a little violent liberty. 

“The warlock is a child.” He states, stalking out from behind the sign. He grips his bow tight and positions himself diagonally from Magnus, firm in his defence. “Surely you have higher morals than that, Stephen.”

Highsmith, a weasely man riding the coattails of his family name, sneers and draws his seraph blade. He’d never been too good as a Shadowhunter, from all accounts, but power is a currency and money talks. “It was very honourable of you to leave your post and flock to my streets, Inquisitor Lightwood, but I’m afraid your presence is simply not necessary. My men and I have it handled.”

“I’m sure you’re very capable of handling precarious situations, Mr. Highsmith.” Butter wouldn’t melt in Magnus’ mouth. “However, as High Warlock Fell is currently out of the country and has given permission for Alexander and myself to fulfil his duties in his place, I do believe it is a case best left to us. We don’t intend to intrude upon your delicate sensibilities, I’m sure you’re a very busy man who has much better things to do than to waste your time on such a small affair.”

“For the record.” Alec smiles with no heart. “It’s Lightwood-Bane. A simple mistake, I’m sure, but an important thing to rectify. Names carry a lot of importance and weight, you know.”

Highsmith splutters. “I do not have time for this!”

“Neither do we.” Magnus stalks closer, until he’s within arms distance from Highsmith. Alec inches closer to Nova, now bent over with their palms pressed against their eyelids. “This is a matter for the Downworlder council, and as it’s representatives, we will take care of it. The longer you argue and fight with us over this, however, the longer it will take until we are out of your hair.”

The back of Alec’s neck prickles with heat. Magnus continues to admonish Highsmith. “Neither Alexander nor I will budge until Nova is safe. Believe me when I tell you that there is nobody more equipped to handle this than us, and if you don’t take your leave quietly and with what little grace you can summon, you will be responsible for whatever harm or damage is caused.”

“How dare you speak to me like that!” Highsmith’s face is blotchy and red. 

“Quite easily.” Magnus twists his fingers, a white-hot blast landing at Highsmith’s feet. His shoes turn into fluffy bunny slippers. The ears flop when he pounds his feet. “Respect is earnt, Mr. Highsmith, and quite frankly you have done nothing worth receiving mine.”

A low muttering draws Alec’s attention. Nova has sunk onto their knees, the heel of their palms digging into their eyes. Alec quietly side-steps closer, holding his bow behind his back so as not to terrify Nova even more. 

“I just want to go home. I just want this all to end. I want to go home.”

Alec sneaks a glance towards Magnus, still holding defence against Highsmith, who has acquired shocking green hair and a yellow high-visibility vest alongside the bunny slippers. Perhaps it won’t go as smoothly as if Magnus were the one talking Nova down, he can connect with them in a way Alec never would, but he can offer support - just as long as he can calm Nova down, draw them away from the conflict, that’s all … then they can dismiss Highsmith because there would be no ‘warlock problem’ and Nova’s safety and comfort could once again take priority. 

“Nova?” Alec crouches down, rocking back on his heels. “My name is Alec. I’m a friend of Magnus’. We’re going to do our best to get you home, okay?” 

Nova starts rocking back and forth. Their tattoos glow brighter than before, a luminescent blue that pricks at the back of Alec’s eyes. “I want to go home.” They continue to murmur, in a voice that takes on a warbled effect, as though they were speaking underwater. “I just want to go home.”

“Where do you live?” Alec asks. “Do you live in London?”

Nova falls to their knees. In the distance, Alec hears Magnus’ tone getting sharper, although he can’t make out exactly what is being said, it doesn’t fill him with much confidence that a productive conversation is being had. Nova keeps rocking, folded over into themselves. Blood streaks down their forearms, small droplets collecting behind their ears from where their fingers had dug into their scalp. 

“Enough is enough!” Highsmith shouts. Shadowhunters spill out from the dark, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons, seraph blades and a few staves, the odd throwing star attached at the hip. Archers are scattered across the rooftops around them, arrows notched and aimed. 

“Highsmith.” Magnus’ hands crackle as blue flame licks at his fingertips, wrapping around his arms. “I’ve made an attempt at civility, but you are clearly not interested in politics. Fine. Take this as a warning. Recall your soldiers. Stand down. I cannot guarantee everyone’s safety if you do not heed this warning, and the dangerous consequences your refusal could inflict are limitless. This young warlock is frightened. Let us look after them, and I assure you, nobody will get hurt.”

“I have had enough of your whining.” Highsmith spits. “This is now Shadowhunter business. Perhaps a few days in a cold cell will teach this young warlock how to control their powers.”

It all happens in a flash. Literally, an actual flash. 

Alec rushes forward to protect Nova, futile as it might be, his bow poised towards the nearest threat - a Shadowhunter only a few feet away with a seraph blade drawn and pointed at the back of Nova’s head. A static roaring fills his ears, but he pushes through, hardly aware of his own body as an arrow is sent flying into the Shadowhunter’s shoulder. His skin starts to prick and burn, from his hands up to his neck and rushing down to his ankles like a wildfire coursing through a forest. His heart beats in tune with Nova’s words, I want to go home, thud thud thud thud thud. 

Alec shuts his eyes against a luminescent white light, stumbling as the ground falls out from beneath him and an echo calls out for him, a desperate plea of his name shouted underwater.

Magnus? 

I just want to go home. 

---

Alexander? Alexander!

---

The air smells like metal and thunderstorms. Magnus whirls on his heel, angry tears racing down his cheeks. Hell, hath no fury like a warlock scorned. 

“Listen to me you weasely git.” Magnus spits. “I’m done playing civil. My husband is missing because you wanted to play hero for the first time in your poor, forsaken life. Sad you never got to play soldiers with the big boys? Well, guess it’s your lucky day. I am going to take Nova with me back to Alicante, and while I’m there, I’m going to ensure that my lovely friend Consul Penhallow is updated with everything that occurred here today. Unfortunately for you, her wife has family in the area, some of whom I am sure wouldn’t mind stepping up to keep an eye on you. I’ve seen how you conduct yourself, and if it is any indication of how your Institute is run, I guarantee it is not a position that you will retain for much longer.”

Magnus raises a hand. The Shadowhunters flanking Highsmith sheath their weapons. “Withdraw your forces and go slinking back. This is not a request. You did not heed my warning, but you will weather the consequences.” 

He turns, uninterested in sparring Highsmith another second of his time. Magnus didn’t see the flash, but he recognised the sign of a portal, although … there’s something about this one that is bugging him. 

Today I’m sending things into different rooms with just my thoughts … I don’t know how but wherever it’s ended up is because of me … what if I do that to somebody? Make them disappear? 

“Fuck.” 

Nova is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at their hands as though they’re something alien. Magnus collapses in front of them, a mirror-reflection. They’re shaking, tremors like the ground before an earthquake. 

The earthquake has come. This is the aftershock. 

“I don’t know what happened.” Nova whispers, harshly. “I just wanted everything to stop. I kept wishing that I could go home, and everything got really muffled, like I was wrapped in cotton or something, but I was still here and there was so much noise, so much shouting and I was so scared-”

“Might I reach for your hand?” Magnus asks. Nova glances up, their cheeks stained with dried tears. They nod, wordlessly. Magnus turns their palms over, tracing the lines with his fingers where they glow intermittently, as though a light was shining from beneath their skin. 

“You’re not mad?”

“No.” Magnus’ smile is a little thin, a little bittersweet. “Not at you. I know that Alexander is okay, wherever he is, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Nova shakes their head. “He could be dead, I could have-”

“You didn’t.” Magnus assures them. “I would know if he was, as sure as you knew when your magic appeared. Which, if I recall correctly, you said was behaving volatile today?”

Nova’s fingers curl against Magnus’. “That flash. I felt like an exposed wire. I felt…” Nova frowns. “Right as it happened, I felt really calm all of a sudden, but also … like my magic? I guess? Was being pulled out of me. I wasn’t scared anymore, though, I felt … comforted. Safe? But then I opened my eyes, and everything was the same, and all that fear came flooding back.”

Jagged pieces are coming together in Magnus’ mind. It’s a working theory, and a weak one at that, but it’s something and that’s enough for him to cling onto, to keep his sanity. 

“Nova. I don’t mean to pressure you, so please do not take it that way, you are of course free to go wherever you please - I promise the Shadowhunters, the lot dressed in all black with their pointy egos, won’t cause you any harm, but … if you’re willing, I could use your help.”

“My help?”

Magnus wicks a portal into existence. The wind around them picks up leaves and twigs but in the little bubble he creates for them, they are safe. “This is a portal. I sort of invented them. I have a feeling that what you did is not all that dissimilar, but I need your help to figure that out. I hope that I’ll be able to help you better understand your own powers, and get my husband back, but only if it is something you are comfortable with.”

Nova stares at the portal in wonder. They nod, hesitant at first and then firmer with every movement. “Whatever happened … it was my fault. I know you don’t blame me, somehow, but if I can help … I have to. You and your husband were willing to do anything to help me, it’s the least I can do.”

“It only takes a word, if at any point you want to bow out, or you don’t feel comfortable or safe, your commitment ends. There’s no obligation here, okay?”

Nova nods. Magnus stands gingerly, wiping the dirt of the back of his pants and extending a hand to help pull them up. “You’ll need to keep tight hold of my hand.” He instructs. “Don’t let go until I say it’s safe, otherwise I could lose you too.”

Nova squeezes Magnus’ hand. “We’ll find him.” They promise.

“Of course, we will.” Magnus smiles, wishing he could even half-convince himself. 

---

Alec focuses his landing on the balls of his feet, leaning back to distribute his weight to his heels to cushion the impact. It’s fortunate that, despite the length of time he’s spent behind a desk instead of in the field, he’s managed to keep up with his training. That fall could have wiped him out. 

He takes a few seconds to focus on what he can hear, smell, see; the floor beneath him is a dark mahogany, freshly polished, the sunlight leaking in from the north facing window between drawn burgundy curtains. Outside the window echoes a busy street, tolling bells and warm chatter and … horses? 

“Quite a grand entrance. Most people just use the doorbell.”  

The voice, familiar in the wrong ways, sweeps under his feet and knocks him backwards, scattered along the floor. It’s only magic, which he recognises beneath its coldness, that saves him from knocking over a beautiful porcelain vase sat precariously atop an equally beautiful, engraved end table. 

“Then again, I’m not sure I would have invited a Shadowhunter into my home.” 

The voice belongs to Magnus, but he is … not himself. At least not the one that Alec knows. It’s rather like seeing a distorted mirror image for all that stands out to him as wrong. 

The hardened glaze of Magnus’ glamoured eyes. The sneer of his mouth. The white of his knuckles curled around the top of a hardback novel. The muted colours, from his hair to his makeup-free face, to the dark pants with thin silver lines and matching suspenders over a plain black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The line of his body along the gilded lounge is carefully constructed to suggest a nonchalance which is betrayed by the tension Alec can see in the rigidity of his limbs; he’s poised to attack. 

This is not the Magnus that Alec recognises, this is a stranger with his husband’s face, his history, and his memories but not his present - or, rather, as Alec is quickly coming to suspect, his future. 

“I’m sorry.” Alec tries to stand up, but as soon as his hands touch the floor, they become stuck, as though someone has glued them to the wood. His feet too are rooted in place. 

“Oh, no. Please don’t apologise. It’s not as though you barged into my home, my private sanctuary, with no warning.” Magnus purses his lips. “You did not pull a weapon on me. I will admit that is a nice change.”

Alec can’t feel along his back for his quiver, but he’s fairly certain his weapons hadn’t travelled with him. Magnus had cloaked them to appear when he needed them, but it’s unlikely they were spelled in preparation for a situation such as this. Not that he is 100% clear on what this even is. 

“Who are you?” Magnus waves a hand dismissively. “Please don’t say ‘Shadowhunter’, I am quite aware of that much, even if your runes weren’t visible only child soldiers hold themselves with such rigid arrogance. I will concede the outfit is quite out of the ordinary, however.”

Alec clears his throat. He has to be delicate about this. “My name is Alexander.” He shifts his weight and draws his shoulders in as best he can. “Alexander L-uh, Wayland. Alexander Wayland.”

Smooth.

Magnus hums, folding his book and letting it fall onto the glass table in front of him. “I had suspected for a fleeting moment that you might have been a Lightwood. No matter.” He elegantly sweeps his legs over until both are flat on the ground, his hands clasped between his knees as he leans forward with a seamless, lethal grace. “The real question I need an answer to would be how a lanky Nephilim such as yourself made it past my wards to crash into the very room in which I had been trying to enjoy some peace and quiet. London isn’t exactly known for such these days.”

“London?” Alec echoes, without quite thinking much of it. 

Despite his foolish hope that he might have been wrong, the evidence was insurmountable and quite literally staring him in the face - however it might have happened, when he’d moved towards Nova he’d been sent falling and inevitably crashing into 1884. Magnus had only stayed in London for a year, hadn’t been back since, and Alec has seen the photos of him, Ragnor and Camille, recognises the darkness in Magnus’ gaze as when he first talked about Camille, and how she had torn him to pieces, discarding him without a thought after she was no longer satisfied with him. 

“Magnus, Archibald has two extra tickets for tonight’s - oh. I do not recall you informing me that you were intending on having company for the night.” 

A tall, slender blonde man hovers in the doorway, staring at Alec with equal parts vague intrigue and thinly veiled distaste. Everything about him exudes taste and elegance, but there is a familiarity to his features that itches at the back of Alec’s mind. He knows the man’s face, has never met him, he doesn’t think, but knows him in the distant way that one knows legends and heroes.  

“The tickets are all yours, Woolsey.” Magnus doesn’t take his eyes off Alec. “I am afraid it appears I will be a little preoccupied, I have some unexpected business to take care off. Enjoy the play on my behalf.”  

Woolsey Scott. The founder of the Praetor Lupus. 

This isn’t funny anymore. 

“Of course.” The corner of Woolsey’s mouth ticks up. None of the documentation around him could have ever come close to capturing the real thing. Magnus had mentioned him a few times, off handed, but Alec can see how they would have gotten along. “Don’t wait up, my dear. I certainly won’t be.”

Just as quickly as he had come sweeping in, Woolsey is gone, and Alec is left to sit glued to the floor while Magnus picks him apart by gaze alone. After a few uncomfortable minutes where the distant ticking of a grandfather stirs Alec a little mad, a chair slides across the polished floor, coming to a stop seamlessly next to Alec. The magic around his hands and feet disappear. He can wiggle his toes again. 

“I kindly suggest that you take a seat.” Magnus states in a tone that leaves no room for a refusal. “I have a few questions that need answering.”

TBC on AO3

[losingmymindtonight]

number 90 for the drabble thingy (but if may i be so bold i'd love to read something from you that shows peter and morgan as adults in a AU where tony lives for real it'd be THE SHIT

“Remember when you were little?”

Neither Peter nor Morgan look up from their respective phones. In Peter’s defense, Tony can see the familiar Gmail logo in the corner of his screen, which means he’s probably working, but at seventeen, he knows that Morgan’s just ignoring him for the sake of it.

It’s fine, really. All of that aside, he knows his kids, and he knows that they’re always listening. Even if they act like they aren’t.

Sure enough, the corner of Peter’s mouth quirks up. “You didn’t know me when I was little.”

“You seemed pretty little when I met you.”

“I was fourteen.”

“That’s little.”

“No,” Morgan says, finally looking up, laughter in the corners of her smile, “it’s really not.”

“It’s little when you’re my age.”

Peter sets his phone aside, too, and Tony feels a thrill of gratitude run through him. The Christmas tree is shining brightly in the corner of his living room, both his children are curled up on the same couch, and the world is aligned. Everything is perfectly, wonderfully aligned.

Peter’s eyes are twinkling, and Tony can tell that he’s only really arguing with him for the thrill of it all. It’s simple: a solid reminder that even as the years wear past them, some things will never, ever change.

“And how old is that, again?”

“Ancient,” Morgan offers, grinning.

“You two are the bane of my existence,” he shoots back, kicking their feet aside and lowering himself into the space between them. Both of the kids make a show of repositioning themselves, but Morgan does a terrible job of hiding her smile. “Y’know, if you keep bullying your loving father, then Santa won’t come.”

“Santa’s not real,” Morgan deadpans.

“Shh!” He slaps a hand over her mouth. “We never told your brother.”

“Wait,” Peter says, mouth twitching even as he tries to hold a straight face, “Santa’s not real?”

“See, Morgan? Look what you’ve done.”

“Oh no,” she drawls. “Well, I’m just the worst. Better excuse me from all family functions until the end of time. That seems like the most solid punishment you could offer.”

Oh, yeah. Because Morgan just hates being the light of everyone’s lives. Her suffering was clear.

“Or,” he says, winking at her, “I could confiscate your phone and put you on Gerald’s feeding duty for the winter. Peter, thoughts?”

Morgan glares, and Tony swears that for a brief second, she genuinely forgets that they’re joking. “Why does Peter get to decide?”

“He’s a dad in training. He needs to learn.”

“On me?”

“Who else?”

“Go for the Gerald option,” Peter interjects, deadpan. “There’s nothing worse than feeding Gerald.”

Tony nods. “That’s true.”

“You guys are the worst,” Morgan whines, but she laughing now, too. “I want Mom and MJ.”

Tony turns to look at Peter. “She used to love us, Pete. What happened?”

“She’s a teenager. It’s the circle of life.”

“How tragic.”

Morgan grabs her phone, purposefully turning so that neither of them could see the screen. “I’m only still talking to Peter because I want to play with his baby. I hope you know that.”

“Oh, no hard feelings,” Peter shoots back. “I only talk to you because Tony makes me.”

He pokes both children’s arms. “Play nicely.”

Morgan rolls her eyes and Peter grins, unashamed. Both of their attentions are quickly reattached to their phones. Tony spends a while absentmindedly watching Peter answer emails, not really reading the contents but merely enjoying the fact that the kid seems to take to it so naturally. As if sensing his attention, Peter shifts closer, shoulder warm and solid against his own.

“What’re you even doing?” Morgan asks suddenly. “You’re just sitting there.”

“I’m thinking about how much I love you.”

For a second, their eyes meet, and he sees her expression gentle at the comment. Then, she shakes her head, grinning.

“You’re gross.”

They all go quiet again. After a minute or two, Morgan tosses her feet up onto his lap. It’s quiet enough in the room that he can hear Peter breathing, the winter wind battering against the windowpanes.

“What were we supposed to remember?” Peter murmurs after a while, and Tony jolts. He’d be so wrapped up in the ambiance of the moment that he’d forgotten they weren’t suspended in time.

“Huh?”

Peter’s head is tilted, just slightly, eyes soft and bright. Completely attentive, like they always are when he’s looking at Tony. For a long time, he’d thought it was the hero worship. It hadn’t been until Morgan was born that he’d realized that most children looked at their parents like that.

“You asked us if we remembered when we were little.”

Oh. Right. He had. The kid sure knew how to hold onto a moment, didn’t he?

“Hm. I did.”

“Why?”

He pauses. “I was thinking about the first Christmas we all spent together.”

“Oh, well,” Morgan drawls, “I clearly remember that, since I was five.”

“I remember,” Peter says, and his voice is quiet, reflective. “It was nice. Why were you thinking about it?”

He shrugs. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how to explain it. It had just… occurred to him.

It was our first Christmas as a whole family, and now you have a baby of your own on the way, and there are times where I miss that simplicity.

“I was just wondering if you remembered,” is all he says.

“Of course I do,” the kid whispers, and Tony can see his own thoughts reflected right back at him. Peter feels young, too. He feels the weight of the shift. He misses the normalcy of his childhood just as much as Tony does.

“God,” Morgan groans from off to the side. “You two are doing that thing again. You know, the thing where you say something without talking. It’s rude and weird.”

He pulls Peter in and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. It’s a gesture that he does rarely, nowadays. But sometimes, in these moments, the quiet ones, he falls back into it.

Peter’s smiling when he pulls away.

[wolveria]

The Jedi’s Gambit - Ch. 1

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Cad Bane

Summary: The day Cad Bane turned himself in caused quite a stir at the Jedi Temple.

The way Luminara told it, he simply walked up the steps, approached the nearest Temple Guard, and said, “I surrender.” Toothy smirk and all.

Yes, Obi-Wan definitely had a bad feeling about this.

Prompt: Enemies to Lovers (for my writing challenge at @trashmenofmarvel​)

Word Count: 2.5k

AO3

The day Cad Bane turned himself in caused quite a stir at the Jedi Temple.

The way Luminara told it, he simply walked up the steps, approached the nearest Temple Guard, and said, “I surrender.” Toothy smirk and all.

Obi-Wan could hardly believe it. Masters Yoda and Windu assured him this was so, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of the notorious bounty hunter walking into the Jedi’s sanctuary to be willingly captured.

“Why?” he asked, already trying to figure out Bane’s angle. Because there was one. There was always an agenda with the bounty hunter, and Obi-Wan had learned that lesson the hard way.

“We’re not sure,” Mace answered, seemingly just as perplexed as Obi-Wan. He gazed out of the council chambers window, brow creased in thought. A session had just concluded when they had received word of Bane’s surrender. “He said he would only speak to Master Skywalker.”

“Anakin?”

Now Obi-Wan knew for certain something was amiss. What game was Bane playing this time? After he had stolen the Sith artifact smuggled on the Delano, Obi-Wan was sure he wouldn’t see the bounty hunter again for a long time. But it had only been a few weeks since that last fateful encounter. It seemed the Duros couldn’t help himself when it came to trouble, specifically making trouble for the Order and Obi-Wan in particular.

“Why would he wish to speak to Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked with a heavy sigh, his fingers itching to rub the spot on his temple where pressure was growing.

“Know that, we do not,” Master Yoda answered gravely, leaning on his gimer stick as he frowned. “Strange, it is. Darkness I sense, around the bounty hunter.”

“Darkness?” he asked, bemused. Obi-Wan didn’t sense any darkness, but he did sense something else. A pit appeared in his stomach. This was his fault. If he hadn’t allowed himself to be compromised on the Delano, Bane wouldn’t have had the opportunity to become entangled with an undoubtedly dangerous Sith artifact.

“I must speak with him,” he said. There was no point in putting off the inevitable, as tempting as that might be. “Where is he now?”

“The Republic military base,” Mace answered thoughtfully, turning to give Obi-Wan a significant look.

“But… this is an internal Jedi matter,” Obi-Wan objected as Mace expected him to from the look on his face. “If Bane handed himself over to Jedi authority, then why is he imprisoned in the military complex?”

“Questions in need of answering these are, yes,” Yoda answered mysteriously. Obi-Wan felt the throbbing pulse at his temple increase at the ancient Jedi’s vague musings.

“If they’re keeping him at the base, then that is where I shall go,” Obi-Wan told them, his tone resolute as he turned away from the window.

“He said he would only talk to Skywalker,” Mace reminded him evenly, causing Obi-Wan to pause.

“Then I’ll accompany Anakin and see what he can get out of Bane.” He certainly wasn’t going to allow his old Padawan to speak to Bane alone. Obi-Wan trusted Anakin explicitly, but Obi-Wan didn’t trust Bane whether he was free or in prison. Perhaps even less so now that he was in a cell.

“That… might be an issue.” Mace sounded tired, which Obi-Wan took as a bad sign.

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked carefully.

“Master Skywalker, gone he is. Summoned he was, but answer he does not,” Yoda offered with a slight tilt of his head.

Obi-Wan puzzled over this statement. That couldn’t be right. Anakin was on meditative retreat, but Obi-Wan knew for a fact he was still planet-side. So why wouldn’t he be answering his comm? He should always have it present in case of an emergency, and Obi-Wan constituted this situation as such.

“If Anakin isn’t available, then I’ll go alone. I have history with Bane,” he added before the Masters could object. Oh, he had history with the bounty hunter, all right, but the two Masters in front of him didn’t need to know the sordid nature of that particular piece of Obi-Wan’s past. “Maybe he won’t speak to me, but perhaps he will. At the very least, I can get a gauge on his intentions and what he hopes to gain from this surrender.”

Yoda slightly bowed his head. “Hope I have, that you will discover the reason behind this event. Act without reason, this bounty hunter does not.”

“Let us know what you find, if anything,” Mace added with a grave look.

“I will,” Obi-Wan responded grimly. He knew he would have to pick and choose which information he relayed to them, carefully sorting out what was relevant and what was incriminating.

After all, because of Obi-Wan’s last encounter with Bane, he had a few secrets of his own now.

***

As Obi-Wan was led down the prison corridors by the Coruscant Guards, he steeled himself for the coming confrontation. Facing the bounty hunter was going to test every facet of his composure, and it did not help that he felt as if he were going in blindfolded and underequipped. Knowing Bane’s intentions would have helped greatly in knowing what he could expect.

But even if he didn’t know Bane’s reasoning, Obi-Wan could anticipate the twisted delight he would take from seeing the Jedi Master again.

He could just see it now: Bane’s face alighting with wry humor, exposing his fangs beyond the curl of his lips as he appraised Obi-Wan with bright red eyes. Already Obi-Wan could feel his stomach twisting in some strange space between anxiety and anticipation. He had tried to meditate beforehand, knowing the conflict ahead of him, but the only thoughts that couldn’t be dispelled were the exact ones he didn’t want to have. Memories of cool touches and long fingers.

Obi-Wan drew in a steadying breath as they came to a stop before the cell door, and he gave a nod to the guard nearest the keypad. The clone trooper tapped the button to open the door, and it slid open to reveal a sight Obi-wan wasn’t expecting.

Cad Bane slouched across the raised ledge against the wall, his long limbs draped casually. He wore binders on his wrists, but his body language could have easily been at home in a cantina.

Except for one thing: the obvious bruises covering his face and hands. The corner of his lip was stained green, and one of his eyes was almost swollen shut. Despite his wounds, Bane looked up at Obi-Wan and smiled. Contrasted with his bruises, the smile seemed wrong. So very, very wrong.

“Bane?” Obi-Wan blurted in confusion before he could stop himself. “What’s happened to you?”

The bounty hunter’s pained grin spread, and he responded, “You know me, Kenobi. I ain’t one to come quietly.”

The double-entendre would have normally caused Obi-Wan to scowl, his cheeks flushing with angered embarrassment, but he could only stare at Bane’s abused visage. Who had done this to him? Not the Jedi, certainly. The troopers? Someone else? He didn’t recall Luminara remarking on Bane’s condition being anything other than typical, and surely she would have mentioned him looking so abused.

Which left only one conclusion: Bane had received his wounds after surrendering.

A new emotion twisted Obi-Wan’s stomach, something bordering between worry and anger. He tried to suppress the emotion, but it clung to him like a mynock on the hull of a ship.

“Bane. Tell me who’s done this,” he demanded in a low voice, moving closer. Obi-Wan heard the whoosh of the cell door shutting behind him, and he was curious to see one of the clone troopers had followed him inside.

Bane’s smile began to fade, replaced by something more along the line of a scowl. “I’m talkin’ to Skywalker or I’m talkin’ to no one,” he informed the Jedi.

“And why do you wish to see Anakin?”

Obi-Wan figured since Bane had changed topics, he wasn’t going to reveal who had harmed him. Obi-Wan would play along for now, but he fully intended to find out the truth sooner or later. Criminal or not, Bane was their prisoner, which meant he was afforded the right to not be tortured or abused while in their custody.

“Maybe I like him better dhan you,” Bane answered coolly, a languid smirk appearing on his face. “Dhat Padawan of yours is a hot piece o’ ass, I ain’t gonna lie.”

“Would you like me to take care of the prisoner’s smart mouth, sir?” the guard asked from behind. Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder, not liking the trooper’s dark tone or darker words.

Before he could respond, Bane sneered and said, “You’d like dhat, wouldn’t you, clone?” He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Bet I could do tings with my mouth dhat’ll leave you hot and sweaty in your cold bunk tonight—“

The trooper rushed at Bane. Obi-Wan interceded, placing his hands on the trooper’s chestplate, and stopped him right before he could strike Bane with the butt of his raised rifle.

“Stand down, trooper!” Obi-Wan commanded in an authoritative tone that didn’t reveal any of his internal confusion. The guard obeyed, but he didn’t have to see the man’s face to know he was glaring at the bounty hunter over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

What was going on? He knew Bane could be irritating, even infuriating at times, but it took a lot more than this to rile up a battle-tested soldier.

“My apologies, General,” the clone trooper finally answered, his tone just below hateful and somewhere around loathing.

“I need time with the prisoner. Alone,” Obi-Wan emphasized. He wasn’t going to get any answers out of Bane if the soldier was ready and willing to attack their prisoner at a moment’s notice.

The trooper gave a terse, “Yes, sir,” turned, and left the cell without another word. Obi-Wan didn’t have time to worry what that was about, so he turned back to stare at the bound Duros. Bane’s leering grin was gone, and he now stared at Obi-Wan with an unreadable expression on his face.

The Jedi turned, waved his hand toward the camera, and shut off the recording device. If Obi-Wan couldn’t trust the guards to act appropriately, he wasn’t sure who to trust, and that was not a feeling he had ever had to deal with before.

“Wantin’ to be alone with me, Kenobi?” Bane asked as Obi-Wan turned back to him. The suggestive tone seemed half-hearted at best. No, if anything, Bane looked at him with caution rather than lecherous thoughts.

“Where is the Sith artifact you stole?”

Bane twisted the corner of his lip into something sharp and unpleasant.

“Don’t know whatchu mean, Kenobi,” he remarked, casually observing his smooth, blue fingertips, as if he found something interesting there. “No artifacts here. No Skywalkers, neither. So scurry back to yer masters and leave me be.”

Obi-Wan strode forward, crowding in Bane’s personal space. He felt a small tinge of guilt as the Duros sat up very quickly, his back rigid against the hard wall. All humor evaporated from his face as he glared up at the Jedi Master. Obi-Wan stepped back a foot, watching as the bounty hunter eased up a little.

Now this was definitely unlike him. Bane’s façade of casual composure had dropped in an instant, and now he looked cagey and nervous. It only further proved to Obi-Wan that his initial assessment had been the correct one: Bane had sustained these injuries after his capture. Not before.

“Bane. Anakin isn’t coming.”

The bounty hunter didn’t react. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if that was due to a well-honed Sabacc face, or if he had known his demands wouldn’t be met to begin with.

“If you want something from the Order,” Obi-Wan continued in an even tone, “then tell me what it is. You know I will listen, at the very least.”

Bane stared up at him for a long moment, his arms crossed over his chest as his large eyes narrowed with an all-too familiar look of suspicion.

Obi-Wan was about to give up, when Bane leaned forward and spoke quickly but with unsettling desperation.

“Protection. And I want to be pardoned for my crimes. All of them.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot upwards in amazement.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Full immunity. And protection. Dhose are my terms.”

“In exchange for the artifact?” Obi-Wan asked, still reeling from the fact Bane had just asked for the Republic to protect him.

“The artifact… and information. About my past employers. Specifically… deh one who hired me for the Holocron job.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t believe it. Bane wasn’t just willing to hand over what he’d stolen, but he was going to be an informant as well? It sounded too good to be true, which meant it probably was.

“I don’t mean to sound as if I doubt your integrity, Bane, but… why? You’ve never been willing to cooperate before.”

The bounty hunter studied his face, and Obi-Wan knew he was weighing the pros and cons of saying more. In the end, Bane went for a more cautious approach.

“Does it matter? You get what you want, and I get what I want. Dhis is a straightforward negotiation, Kenobi.”

Bane didn’t even smirk at the word negotiation. The lack of any improper teasing was probably one of the most alarming aspects of this whole conversation. If Bane wasn’t doing everything he could to verbally prod at Obi-Wan’s sense of pride and honor, then something was deeply wrong.

Obi-Wan found himself stroking his beard as he contemplated the bounty hunter’s words. Bane watched his every move, but the bounty hunter remained silent and expressionless. The Jedi sighed.

“I’ll need to discuss this with the Council, but I’m confident they will agree to your terms. They are… reasonable.”

Alarmingly so, Obi-Wan thought. The Republic was coming out of this deal the winner, and that just bespoke of how desperate Bane must be. If his offer was sincere, then that probably meant his last employer spooked the bounty hunter enough to send him running into the figurative arms of the Order.

Obi-Wan didn’t know anything that could scare Bane that much. There was only one other time he’d seen the Duros shaken: when he’d refused to give his employer’s name under duress as Anakin, Mace, and Obi-Wan had tried to break into his mind. He had endured the torture for longer than most, because apparently the alternative had been worse.

“Well, what’re you waitin’ for?” Bane asked harshly, interrupting Obi-Wan from his thoughts. “Run along back to your masters. Time’s wastin’.”

He leaned back against his ledge-seat, crossing his arms in front of his lean chest. It was clear that Bane was done talking. Obi-Wan gave him one last lingering look before he left the cell, but Bane stared pointedly at the floor, refusing to meet the Jedi’s eye.

Yes, Obi-Wan definitely had a bad feeling about this.

Next Chapter

[symphonic--chaos]

Okay, so as a forewarning @crispyoperawolfdean​ , it’s not exactly like you requested. In order to stay true to their character, I had to make some sacrifices to the request and fill it in with what would be more likely to happen. I hope you’ll still like it!

It was Max's fifth birthday and Magnus was busy holding the chair for Alec as he put up the streamers along the wall. It was totally feasible for Magnus to do it with a simple wave of his hand and a little magic to set the streamers in place, but this way came with a nice view. "Magnus!" The warlocks mind snapped to as he hummed in question, his eyes focusing on Alec's face instead, the one looking down at him in both amusement and disbelief. They trailed down as the Shadowhunter wiggled his hand a bit, the empty tape roll rattling in the container. "We need more tape. Were you staring at my ass?" "No, not at all, Alexander. Why would I? It's not like it looks like it was sculpted by the skillful hands of Michaelangelo, a grace of the Gods to me, a lowly plebian. You haven't been doing weighted squats at the gym, no, absolutely not. You know, the pants you wear don't only accentuate your front, but the ba-" "Tape, Magnus." Alec interjected, rolling his eyes as he offered the empty container again. A grin broke the neutral line of his mouth, 'bitch face' as Izzy called it, as Magnus grumbled over his poetic 'Ode to Alec's ass', stopped in its tracks. It was his turn next though, as Magnus walked away. Alec's eyes swept over the tall, lithe figure of his husband as a wistful sigh passed parted lips, shifting right as a movement caught his attention, Max giggling in delight as Rafe chased him through the hallway. Alec had made it Rafe's job to distract the small blue one, to keep him out of the living room until the party started, and he knew it was a job the boy would take seriously and do well. "Tape, good sir." Magnus announced, giving a bow as his hand offered up the now full container with a flourish. His smile was bright when he straightened, Alec's laugh amused at his playful antics. A knock at the front caught their attention and Magnus gave a soft pat to Alec's rear with a playful wink to accompany it as he stepped away to answer the door. The bright smile remained on Magnus's face as he opened the door, only faltering the slightest bit when he saw a nervous woman on the other side. Her dark hair was frizzed and curled at the end, her eyes equally as dark and shifting from the door to the hallway where she'd come off the elevator and soon to Magnus. Seeing her go pale when she looked at him had Magnus's smile become forced. The hand hidden behind the door curled immediately as he did the quietest snap he could, a wall and ward forming and blocking off the hallway to the kids' rooms where they were currently playing. "Can I help you, miss?" Magnus asked as pleasantly as he could, though the tiny hairs on his body were standing on end, getting the worst energy off of the nervous woman in front of him. "I... I'm...Um... Are you Magnus Bane?" She finally managed, her fingers curling and tugging at the hem of her rumpled shirt, which looked like it had seen better days. She didn't look dirty or unkempt per se, like the poor homeless that Magnus tried to help every now and then, but like she'd been traveling a long while. Magnus inhaled quietly, his fingers curling around the edge of the door as he kept his ground in the doorway. She smelled of jasmine and something else that he couldn't put his finger on. "...Yes, and you are?" "N-Natalie. I... I was told to come here because you, um... You have my baby."

Magnus couldn't help the blatant look of shock that came across his face before his brows furrowed and he looked back into the apartment, searching for Alec, who must have heard the words because he was headed over to the doorway as well. "I'm sorry, but we don't have any babies here. You must be mistaken," Alec said as he came to stop beside Magnus. Magnus inhaled again and he swore he knew that smell, something on her was so familiar and he knew it so well, but his brain wouldn't process what it was. His magic tugged from within, trying to pull what it was and suddenly he felt like a vampire, trying to sniff out what made someone smell the way they did. It would have been humorous to him were his heart not pounding in his chest. "He isn't a baby, he'd be... Four, almost five. I left him on the church stairs because I didn't know what else to do, and I was told that was a safe place. I've been looking for it for the past month, but I haven't been able to find it again..." She started, looking between the two men as she seemed to curl in on herself, almost as if she was hesitant to finish. "He's... Blue." Alec felt his heart drop into his stomach as his head whipped to the side to look at Magnus, who looked equally as paled as the woman was. He watched Magnus's Adams apple bob as he swallowed hard, watched his fingers tighten around the door frame. "How... Did you find this place, may I ask? And hear about me?" Magnus soon asked, his voice quiet and almost steely. "I...know people. Like you. They told me that his father was a..." "Demon." Alec finished when her voice tapered off, his arms coming to cross over his chest. "What do you want with him?" Magnus noticed that Alex purposefully neglected to say Max's name, relief flooding him that they were on the same page- neither wanted to give her that power over knowing their son more than she should have. "I...I want him back. I know what I did was wrong, but you have to understand that I wasn't expecting a blue baby and I didn't know what to do because I was just 19 and--" "No." Magnus said firmly, his voice cold. "I'm... I'm sorry?" "I said no. You can't have him. Legally he's our son, we have the papers signed and declaring so. You don't get the right to just come back after four or five years and say you want him back." Alec was shocked at the deeper, colder tone Magnus's voice had taken on, shocked at how his mindset had changed in just a few years when he'd been so uncertain on finding Max, in being a father. "But I'm his mother." Natalie said as her eyes narrowed, her tone losing that nervousness and gaining a tinge of anger. "You were his mother. You lost that right when you abandoned him with a note saying, 'Who could ever love it?'. It. You called that beautiful baby an 'It'. What, because he was blue?" "Because I PANICK--" "I don't care. You didn't come to ask for help, you came to abandon him like trash. Most people look for help with they panic and you didn't even bother trying. You left him, called him an 'It', and you aren't his mother anymore." "I--" Natalie started, looking to the silent Alec as if he would help her case, make Magnus reconsider or think about it. Unfortunately for her, Alec was stone faced and looked as thrilled as Magnus was, which, frankly, was not at all. "It's not possible. We've adopted him, legally, and that's not going to change." Alec words were quiet but firm, though Magnus knew there was a fire raging as equally within him. "I can go to the police and-" "And what? You do realize that once a child has been adopted, the biological parent has the hardest time getting them back, right? And you'll plead your case by telling the judge your story about how you left your naturally blue baby on the stairs of an invisible Church to be taken care of people that crowd control demons and people that have magic that come out of their fingertips." Another woman's voice floated from the shadows down the hall. Magnus shifted enough to look out, seeing Lily emerge from the corner beside the elevator, a small birthday bag in her hand. She would never admit that she liked the kids, but Magnus and Alec both knew that after the Rafe ordeal, all her visits 'just because' was to check up on Rafe and in turn, she loved Max as much. "You'll sound absolutely insane and the judge will probably just lock you away in a looney-bin." Lily finished as she approached the doorway, offering a smile to Alec and Magnus. The words had been harsh, but both parents knew it was true and judging by the look on Natalie's face, she knew it as well. With a quick inhale and a forced huff, she turned on her heels and rushed down the hallway to the elevator, leaving the trio to watch her go until they disappeared back into the apartment, the door closing with a firm click of the lock. -- ".....duérmase pedazo, de mi corazón." Magnus finished the quiet lullaby as his fingers stroked through Rafe's hair, the boys body beside his own as they rested in his bed. Where normally Rafe's eyes would be heavy and the boy soon fast asleep, Magnus noticed that tonight he was still awake and with a worried look on his face. "Rafe, what's wrong?" Magnus asked as his hand stopped in the boys hair, instead moving to stroke his cheek with his thumb, giving a gentle and soft squeeze to the soft pink mound that was still plump with baby fat, though diminishing. Rafe was silent as he looked at Magnus before he turned his face away, little white teeth catching his bottom lip in a nervous habit Magnus knew Rafe picked up from him. Magnus frowned at the silence and while he never pushed the kids to tell them things, rather teaching them that they could come to their parents when ready to talk, he'd never seen Rafe look as nervous as this. "Baby..." Magnus's tone carried the worry despite his attempts to mask it. Rafe's words were soft and in Spanish, something Magnus knew he only did when he was upset or scared. "If ... If someone was trying to take Max away from the family, you wouldn't let him, right? He's my brother. He's our family. No one can take him away, right?" Red flags went off in Magnus's mind at those questions and he swallowed as he forced his body to not tense. Why was this suddenly a question? He'd blocked off the hallway a week back on Max's party, there would have been no way the kids would have heard the conversation. "Of course not, mi corazón. No one will ever take Max. Not from you, not from me, not from your dad. You know we'd fight for him and protect him, the same way we would fight for and protect you, no matter what." It was hard to muster up the words when his thoughts were going a thousand miles a minute and every single inch of him wanted to be up and in Max's room, as if Rafe's words meant there was someone in there about to snatch up his little blueberry. Rafe still had a hint of worry on his face, but Magnus could see the relief in the dark eyes that watched him, trusted him. "Get some sleep and if you need to, we'll talk more about it tomorrow morning over pancakes, alright?" Painted nails were brushing through Rafe's hair once more, a soft and lingering kiss pressed to the boys forehead as Magnus tried to collect himself, using the contact to ground himself. "Magnus, what's wrong?" Alec asked from the couch as Magnus walked briskly to Max's door after shutting Rafe's. When Magnus didn't answer, too set in his way, Alec placed the book on the couch and stood to follow him into Max's room. "Babe?" "Max, baby, wake up, bapa needs to talk to you." Magnus whispered as his fingers curled around Max, gently squeezing the boys arms and sending a small pulse of magic into the blue skin as if trying to assure himself that Max was there and alright. The gentle spark of energy pulsed back to his fingertips, a comfort system they'd established between them to remind each other that everything was okay. "Nnngh?" The boy groaned as his fists rose to rub at his eyes, his body limp and lazy as he was hefted up into Magnus's arms and cradled to him. Alec sat in the now empty space, watching the two as a feeling of dread spread through him, Magnus's vibes and energy off-putting and unlike the ones he'd had when they split to put the boys to sleep. "Max, are you afraid someone is going to take you away from our family?" Magnus asked, looking down into the blue eyes that were on Alec first, then up to Magnus, clearly startled at the question. "What?" Alec tensed, his gaze shifting from Max to Magnus as the smile he'd had for the boy dropped from his face. "What are you talking about?" "Rafe asked me if we would ever let someone take Max away from us, and I..." Magnus paused as his magic tugged and a familiar scent hit his nose. "Magnus--" Alec started, but stopped when Magnus nuzzled into the boys neck like a dog looking for a buried treat. Despite his alarm, Max couldn't stop the giggle from being tickled by both the nuzzling and Magnus's hair. "Max, I need you to be honest with me, baby. Have you been talking to a stranger?" "How is he going to talk to a stranger if he's always with us?" Alec asked, though his gaze soon followed Magnus's to the mirror in the room. Max was quickly handed over as Magnus moved off the bed and to the mirror, noticing the smell only got stronger as he did. The same smell that had been on Natalie, and the same smell he could suddenly find on Max. Magic leaked from his fingertips as they swiped along the edge, his teeth gritting together as he felt a wave of dark magic pulsing off of the center. "Max, I need to know right now. Has there been someone here?" Magnus's finger pointed to the middle of the glass, which shattered, confined in a blue cocoon as his magic spread across the surface once Max nodded in confirmation, tears trailing down his face. Magnus muttered something under his breath and soon the frame of the mirror creaked and groaned, curling in and folding on itself until it finally made a pop noise and disappeared into thin air. The magic dispersed through the room, scattering across the walls and along the floor and ceiling as a ward weaved itself in the air, bringing a new level of protection to their apartment. Alec soothed Max, rocking him and holding him close as the little boy cried, burying his face into Alec's shirt as his fists clenched his father's shirt. "Bapa's not mad at you, we're just worried," Alec assured, his hand cradling Max's head as he pressed a kiss to the top of the boys head. Magnus took in a deep breath, feeling every bit on edge as he finally moved to sit on the bed with them. "Can you tell us who you were talking to?" "A-a... blue... man..." Max said between sniffles, rubbing his nose against the soaked area of Alec's shirt, of whom didn't seem to mind at this point. "H-he camed on my buh-buh-birthday an' h-he said that he-heeee's m-my real d-daddy." Magnus could feel his heart breaking with each struggled word as the boy sobbed them out and he could see Alec's eyes prickling with tears as he tried swallowing and forcing them back. "What did you tell this man?" Magnus asked slowly, his fingers reaching out to wrap around Max's own little ones, which gripped the longer digits tightly. "I-I told-ed him that he was l-lying." Max said softly, a hiccup interrupting his words. "I said t-that my daddies w-were you. And he s-said that I had to come with him or he'll... H-he'll hurt daddies and Rafe." "Max, what is Elyaas?" Magnus was quiet, his fingers clutching the edge of the bed, only continuing once Max responded with 'a demon'. "And do we listen to them when they tell us lies and try to tempt us?" "N-n-no." "We both have demon blood in us, Max, you and Bapa. But the demon in the mirror is bad, very very bad. He... He might be your real daddy--" "Magnus-" Alec sounded alarmed as he looked up at Magnus, thinking they both should discuss explaining Max's parentage to him first, rather than at a time when Max was so upset. Magnus only shot him a look saying 'Trust me' in return and while Alec did trust him, his body language remained on edge. "He might be your real daddy, since your daddy is a demon. We will never know because we won't let him come scare you anymore. But he's dangerous, Max, all of our daddies are. Your real daddy, my daddy. Especially if we're powerful, like you and I. All they want is our power to make them stronger. That's why I have you talk to Elyaas. This man is the reason why I need to help you grow strong and smart. You're already so, so very smart, but I need to help you learn to be smart against them. Do you understand?" Max had finally stopped crying, his breathing simply just small hicks of breath as he listened to Magnus, watching him from where he had tried burying himself into Alec's chest. "Uh huh," he said with a small nod and a pout of his lips. Magnus offered out his arms and Alec helped Max scramble over, the boy burying his face in Magnus's neck as his arms wound tight around him. Magnus looked to Alec, they both knew they would have to ward the room better than it already was and now both knew they would be more wary around mirrors. "Max, don't forget, we'll never be mad at you for talking to us," Alec said quietly, rubbing Max's back as his free hand met Magnus's seeking one, their fingers lacing. "We'll always protect you, and if a stranger or anyone ever makes you feel uncomfortable or makes you scared, that's what we're here to protect you from. Ideally we don't want you talking to them in the first place, but..." A shift at the door had Alec ready to spring up and protect the two, but seeing Rafe peeking in brought him down. His hand reached out in offering to the curly-haired boy, who soon entered the room to take the hand and clamber up onto Alec's lap. "And Rafe, if you ever are scared for you, or for your brother, please don't be afraid to tell us. We're your daddies and it's our job to make sure you always feel safe." Alec's arms wound around Rafe, holding him close and, for once, the boy didn't seem to protest. "So...Max isn't going anywhere?" Rafe said hopefully, looking at his little brother, who soon turned his head to look over at Rafe. "No, Max is staying with us, always, no matter what anyone says, no matter who comes around trying to tear us apart. We're family. Lightwood-Bane's, all of us. Right, Magnus?" Magnus nodded in agreement, his rings flashing in the light from the small tableside light beside them. "Always, and nothing will change that. Are you... are you happy we're your daddies?" He wasn't sure why he was so hesitant to ask, he would have hoped so after five and three years respectively that they were happy in the home and not hiding anything. Rafe was immediate to nod, looking quite eager as he said 'Yes'. Max was silent, but his little slim fingers reached up and out, one hand touching Magnus's jaw and the other touching Alec's hand. Both could feel the soft warm pulse that came from his palms and the bright smile to follow eased every worry that Magnus may have had on the issue. "Happy. I won't talk to strangers. Our daddies, no demons." He said, watching the smile spread across Alec's face, seeing the pride there at his words. "What do you say we all have a sleepover?" Magnus offered, seeing Max and Rafe perk up. That night they would all share Alec and Magnus's bed, safe and protected, just as promised.

[ilikeyouxactually]

My first Madderton fic!!

Title: Here With Me

Summary: Taron and Richard hanging out and smoking after a day of filming. Taron can’t help himself make a move on Richard when the opportunity presents itself.

Read it on AO3 here -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393056

“T would ye quit hogging the fucking joint already?” Richard had agreed to come back to Taron’s flat for a smoke, and so far it was all Taron puffing away at it greedily.. Embarrassed, Taron offered the joint to Richard, exhaling slowly, making sure to blow the smoke away from Richard’s face.

“Sorry Dickie, couldn’t help myself,” Taron shrugged sheepishly, offering Richard a playful smile. Richard took the joint between his fingers, inhaling deeply. He let the smoke linger in his throat for a few seconds before releasing. The buzz was working quickly. He couldn’t remember what strain Taron said this was, but it was earthy with soft fruity undertones that was absolutely delicious.

Taron quickly threw his legs over Richard’s lap, struggling to find a comfortable way to sit on this loveseat that was without question too small for the two of them, but neither were making any attempt to relocate to a more comfortable seating area. Richard’s hand instinctively went to rest on Taron’s calf.

The act was perfectly natural.

It seemed Taron and Richard were always touching. Just in subtle ways. Whether it be Richard caressing the small of Taron’s back while they were doing some press, or Taron reaching out to squeeze Richard’s arm, they were just always touching. Even when it was just the two of them with no reporters and flashing cameras. They could be at Richard’s flat, watching some new show Rich had been raving about, and their knees and thighs would be flush together.

It never felt uncomfortable.

Sure there had been a few times where Taron could swear he felt something sparking between them. A brush of Richard’s hand against his own. Richard fixing his hair. Richard smoothing his thumb over Taron’s knee. It was so gentle and innocent, yet Taron could feel something inside him igniting.

He had tried to convince himself that he didn’t actually have feelings for Richard fucking Madden, but it was becoming more and more difficult to disprove it. Right from the moment he first met Richard, Taron was absolutely smitten with him. The man was bloody gorgeous with his dark wavy hair with that grey streak that Taron swore was going to send him into cardiac arrest. And not to mention those piercing blue eyes? Anyone who didn’t fall for this man was simply mad.

As they worked together, and began hanging out after filming, Taron only developed a deeper appreciation and admiration for Richard. The way the man held himself so high with such confidence. Taron was actually a bit jealous. He never felt he would ever measure up to that, and would forever be the awkward clutz he was as a teen. But Richard never looked down on him. And he was always so bloody humble. Richard would soothe Taron, filling him with affirmations that made his heart swell. But surely, Richard was just being a good friend. That’s what any mate would do, right?

Taron was definitely reading way too much into this. All he knew was that he couldn’t risk ruining his friendship with Richard over some silly crush—or whatever it was.

“Aye—earth to Taron?” Richard’s words pulled Taron back to reality. Taron jumped, immediately tugging his legs off Richard’s lap. Richard raised a questioning eyebrow at the younger man, offering Taron the last few hits of the joint. “You alright, mate?” Taron eagerly snatched the joint from Richard, sucking on the last of it in one single hit. The coughing fit it sent him into was completely worth it. He was definitely feeling the buzz now, and just offered Richard a weak smile, his eyes already beginning to get heavy.

“Yeah, ‘spose I’m just worried about some filming coming up,” he trailed off, tucking his knees up to his chest as he scooched into the far corner of the loveseat. It was a pathetic excuse that Taron hoped Richard wouldn’t press.

Richard’s eyebrow cocked up once again, making note of the distance Taron was putting between them. That was weird.

“Any specific scenes pressing on your mind?” Richard scoot closer to Taron, tossing his arm across Taron’s knees. Taron couldn’t help but tense, but then immediately relaxing under the touch. It was maddening that someone had the power to melt his anxiety so effortlessly.

Taron shrugged. They were still early enough into filming that there were many different kinds of scenes that hadn’t been filmed yet, let alone discussed. Specifically any scenes that involved him being intimate with Richard.

“Y’know you can talk to me T, right?” Richard moved in closer, only verifying to Taron that the loveseat was notideal for the two of them. Richard was mere inches from Taron, and the lack of space was making it difficult to ignore any feelings Taron had been attempting shoving out of his mind.

Richard smoothed a hand over Taron’s cheek. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. And if Taron hadn’t been high as a kite, he wouldn’t have even flinched at the motion. He probably would’ve laughed and went along with it because that’s just what they did. It was normal.

But now with Richard so fucking close to him, and those sky blue eyes, now turning a soft glazed-over pink, searching Taron’s face so desperately, all Taron could think about is just reaching out and kissing him.

A small giggle escaped Taron’s lips.

“Something funny?” Richard mused, an eyebrow cocking up slightly. One of Taron’s hands shot over his mouth, trying to contain his laughter. But the longer Richard kept staring at him, the harder it became.

“Nothin’,” Taron started, leaning in closer to Richard, “just—your face.” He reached out a hand, stroking his thumb carefully over Richard’s stubbly cheek. The sand-paper like friction sending a chill over Taron.

“My face?!” Richard exclaimed in absolute awe, grabbing Taron’s hand. Bursts of laughter fell from Taron, the younger man clutching his stomach. He quickly wiped a few tears that had managed to roll down his cheeks. “And why on earth is my face so bloody funny?” Although Richard tried to sound threatening, the smile that splayed over his lips softened him.

Taron shrugged, fixated only on Richard’s hand as it grasped around his own.

“Dunno—just looks cute and I wanna kiss it,” Taron replied sheepishly, bringing his other hand to Richard’s and swirling his fingers lazily over the older man’s.

“Maybe you should do it then,” Richard replied, breath heavy. Taron’s eyes shot up to meet Richard’s, unable to comprehend the words that just came from him. Was Richard really telling Taron to kiss him?

Before Taron could ponder the thought for too long and inevitably become too nervous to actually do something about it, he pulled Richard towards him, making Richard nearly fall on top of him. Taron crashed his lips against Richard’s, need suddenly flooding through him. Richard seemed to hesitate for only for a moment before his lips matched Taron’s own urgency.

Taron stroked a hand through Richard’s hair, gripping at it as their lips moved together, Taron playfully nipping at Richard’s bottom lip. Richard growled into Taron’s mouth, nestling a thigh between Taron’s legs. A soft moan rolled of Taron’s lips as he pushed his hips up lazily into Richard, the former matchup ground Taron with a low moan of his own.

Richard slowly pulled away, hovering above Taron, grinning like mad as Taron visibly pouted at the lack of lips on his own. Taron looked up at Richard with pleading eyes.

“Think there’s some things we should discuss before continuing, yeah?” Richard offered, forever being the voice of reason, and currently the bane of Taron’s existence. Despite what they both wanted, Taron knew Richard was right, he nodded in reply. Taron tugged Richard back down onto the couch, curling into his chest. He knew Richard wouldn’t protest to this. The arm that Richard was already slinking around Taron’s middle was testament to it.

Taron grabbed the blanket by their feet and draped it over the two of them. They could talk later. And hopefully that conversation would follow with a continuation of whatever just happened a moment ago. But for now, they could rest their minds, and just enjoy each other’s presence. Warm and comfortable, here together.

[ninwrites]

find your strength

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

Words: 2523

Summary:

a quick study on magnus' perspective towards his birthday, with respect to his newfound mortality

-

Read on AO3 or below the cut xx

Birthdays have never held much weight for Magnus - it’s difficult, to consider it anything special, with the life he's led.

Every year he marks the date that Ragnor had chosen for him, December eight (because Ragnor always insisted that it was important to mark it, as an event, for the barest hope that he won’t get swept away by the ceaseless passing of time, that he’ll have some sort of anchor to hold onto), but he doesn’t go out of his way to celebrate it. He’s not like Ragnor, he can’t celebrate time as though it’s a gift, and he most certainly doesn’t need the reminder, of all the tragedy his existence has brought others, of all that time has taken away from him.

It’s more than a little jarring, for his birthday to come around with so much meaning, now that his immortality is gone, and the friend who’d brought him the day along with it.

Magnus wakes up to an empty bed, which seems pretty on-par for how he already feels about the day. There’s a small, foolish part of him that hopes it won’t set the tone, but he doesn’t have a lot of faith in it - he can’t.

A lot of his decisions are made in that vein of thought, these days. He can’t afford to be careless, can’t take risks the same way that he used to, because there’s no safety net to catch him if he falls, no quick-fix for his mistakes.

It’s made him a lot more cynical - he’d thought he had already hit his peak, but it appears as though there’s another mountain after it, with nothing but clouds of pessimism before him.

There haven’t been many respective upsides to his new, mundane way of life; Alec, bless his beautiful heart is trying as best he can to help Magnus feel better, but there are some cold patches that not even his warmth can reach.

(Still. They say it is the thought that counts, and Alec’s dedication is almost as strong as his follow-through.)

There’s a slight rap on the door, a two-knuckled knock that allows Magnus a few seconds to pull himself up into a sitting position before Alec is poking his head around the corner, tousled hair in disarray, a hesitance to his gaze.

“Good morning,” Alec smiles, and it’s like the break of the sun’s rays through stormy dark clouds, splitting and warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake.”

Magnus shrugs his left shoulder, running a hand through his tangled bed-hair. He misses the ease of the most simplest tasks the most, he’s discovered. The ability to fix even the slightest inconvenience with just a quick snap of his fingers-

“Surprise.” Magnus doesn’t force a smile, just lets it sit, distant but there .

He knows that he couldn’t get through this without Alec, and it’s that knowledge that makes the sacrifice worth it; he’d do it all over again, without question.

(He’d go to unthinkable lengths for Alec.)

“I thought the surprises were supposed to be up my sleeve.” Alec comments, crossing the room. “This is your day.”

“Can’t we share it?”

Alec shakes his head, fondness lighting him up like his atoms are made of affection. “Afraid not.”

He leans in, cupping Magnus’ cheek and kissing him, patient and soft, from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Happy birthday,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to Magnus’ cheek. “Thank you for being born.”

Magnus curls his hand around Alec’s wrist. “You say that as though I had a choice in the matter.”

“It doesn’t matter to me - just that it happened.” Alec drops another kiss, this time to Magnus’ temple, an aching tenderness to the touch. “I love you.”

Magnus rests his forehead against Alec’s. “If you really loved me, you’d get back into bed - that position can’t be too comfortable for a giant such as yourself.”

“I’m supposed to be cooking you breakfast.” Alec murmurs, his gaze hooded - he skips over the giant comment, and Magnus isn’t sure if he should feel grateful; it’s meant to poke fun, for Alec is quite clearly not a giant, nor even that much taller than Magnus, but it wasn’t carried by all that much humour.

“Then again, it was also supposed to be a surprise.” Alec admits, after a moment, his voice just above a whisper.

“Burning down my kitchen is a peculiar gift, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Alec hums, a slip of laughter escaping between his parted lips. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Breakfast is actually something I can cook pretty well, I used to do it for Izzy and Jace all the time. Training with an empty stomach never ends well.”

Magnus tips his head back, looping his arms around Alec’s neck. “Now you’ve spiked my curiosity. What did you have in mind?”

Alec grins, opening his eyes slowly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ah, now that I can still keep a surprise.” He kisses Magnus again, relaxed and measured, before pulling back. There’s something, more than just kindness in his gaze, more than just consideration to the tugged-up corner of his smile. “I know that birthdays have never been a highlight for you - they’re not my favourite events, either. But this is the first time I get to celebrate with you, and I … I want to make this a good day, if you’ll let me. But only if you’ll let me.”

Magnus’ heart aches for how much he loves this wonderful man before him; it’s impossible and undeniable, all the same. “Breakfast sounds lovely.”

Alec nods, and Magnus thinks that he would have agreed even if he wasn’t hungry - Alec needs something to do, a task to focus on, to pour all of his energy into, and even something as everyday as making breakfast appears to put more iron in his veins, strength and determination taking over from his worry.

He does that, a lot. Worry. About Magnus, especially, now that he’s magic-less. Mundane. Empty.

It’s sweet, if a little overbearing at times, but Magnus knows that is just Alec’s nature - he needs to feel useful, to help wherever he can. If making breakfast makes him feel like he’s doing something, then it’s hardly a chore for Magnus to indulge him; after all, ensuring that Alec is okay is pretty much all that Magnus has the energy to care about, these days.

There’s a stranger in the mirror.

His skin is pale, his cheeks sunken, his mouth a tight, thin line, a shadow in the background of his gaze, flickering and dark. There’s no cat-eye slit, no gold, no spark. Just a plain, normal brown. Nothing extraordinary, nothing special, nothing magic .

Magnus doesn’t recognise the man in the mirror, though they wear the same face, and move the same way. It’s been a month - or, maybe two, time is slippery these days - but he can’t seem to reconcile his new life with who he’s always been.

Alec seems certain that he’ll get his magic back, one day. Catarina insists that he’s mourning what he’s lost; both agree that he’s going through a period of inevitable grief. Yet, neither of them, in their infinite wisdom, have ever been as critical towards Magnus as he is.

Pity is easy. It’s maintaining faith, in himself, most of all, that’s the hardest - being a warlock is all he has ever known, and even with all of the trouble it’s brought him, all of the near-death experiences, the passing of his mother, the countless losses he’s endured … his magic is everything. Or, it was .

It is, he believes, the worst loss he’s ever experienced; in a way, a part of him has died, and he has to learn how to begin again, how to exist without this vital part of himself. It’s exhausting, in more ways than one, and Magnus is losing out on hope that he’ll ever return to any semblance of who he used to be.

He wants to, because living as a ghost is no life to live - he just, doesn’t have the same fire anymore. Not even his many years of experience have taught him how to deal with this new life he’s found himself in.

Celebrating his birthday feels like going through the motions of somebody else, somebody he’s expected to be, not who he truly is - but, then, Alec is putting so much energy and love into this that Magnus can’t find the strength to admit it.

If nothing else, this will at least be a good day, because Alec is here, and he’s smiling, and those are two of Magnus’ favourite things in the world.

“See? No smoke.”

Alec looks so immensely proud of himself, with his whisk-taker apron, an old gift from Isabelle he’d recently dug up, tied around his waist. It’s hard not to smile.

“I’m very impressed.” Magnus tugs his robe closer, part of him wishing it would serve as a binding to keep himself together as well. “So, what is on the menu?”

Alec nods towards the table, which is laden with immeasurable goods. “Croissants, both almond and chocolate, from Elsie’s; raspberry and white chocolate mini-muffins that I made yesterday; and blueberry pancakes with maple syrup. And coffee, of course.”

“Best not to forget the most important part,” Magnus acknowledges, in a distant voice, too swept up in pure awe.

Alec did all of this … for Magnus.

“Alexander, this is - too much.” Magnus’ hands tremble against his abdomen. “You didn’t have to go to all of this effort just for me.”

“I was in the mood for pancakes.” Alec winks, but his carefree attitude doesn’t last long, his grin fading into something more melancholy, but no less sincere. “I wanted to do this for you, Magnus. You deserve this - you deserve everything. I’m just trying to give you what I can.”

Magnus shakes his head, an undeniable lightness soaring within him. “You, my love, are all I need.”

Alec’s cheeks burn a fervent pink, but he doesn’t back down, either. “So, I went to all of this effort for nothing?”

Magnus glances at the spread of breakfast foods, ignoring the tiny pang in his chest. Relationships take effort, a tiny voice whispers in the echoes of his dark mind.

“Not at all.” Magnus summons a smile, and by some grace of the universe, it doesn’t fail him. “Alexander, this is wonderful, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

Alec shrugs, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s your birthday. This was the least that I could do.”

“You say that as though it isn’t a respectable feat,” Magnus nods towards the table. “For the organisation required, if nothing else. It means a lot to me, Alexander. Thank you.”

“Well,” Alec busies himself at the coffee machine, the low whir serving as background noise for his floundering. “I’m glad you - appreciate, it.”

Magnus walks towards Alec slowly, not wanting him to be spooked, yet also not being able to withstand the distance for much longer. He loops his arms around Alec’s waist, tucking his head against Alec’s neck, drawing what little strength he can from the surety of Alec’s shoulders and the warmth that radiates off him.

Alec gives Magnus the sense that he can take on the world, when he barely has the energy to even get out of bed. And then he makes breakfast .

“Hi,” Alec whispers, slipping Magnus’ ‘M’ mug onto the metal tray. “You’re very affectionate this morning, you haven’t even had any breakfast, yet.”

Magnus drops a kiss to the hinge of Alec’s jaw. “Did you lace it with a love potion or something?”

“As if I know anybody that would give me one of those,” Alec quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a tiny smirk. “I’m just trying to figure out what has gotten you so - cuddly.”

He doesn’t mention that Magnus used to be touchy, before, much more than this, that he’s always been the more tactile partner in this relationship - he doesn’t mention any of it, but he doesn’t have to.

Magnus is re-learning how to touch, without the buzz of energy under his skin, the zap on contact, the warmth that sparks when his magic recognises the person he’s touching - he’s learning how to push past the emptiness, how to keep it from dragging him under the weight of his own sadness.

This is a big step, and he hates that it’s such an accomplishment for him to hug his own boyfriend, but he’s also not going to ignore the fact that it is, for him, quite the milestone.

“I’ve missed you,” Magnus explains. “ This. Us, in this way. I know that I haven’t-“

Alec’s hand curls over Magnus where it rests against Alec’s hip. “You haven’t been through just an ordinary bad day, you’ve had your entire sense of being stripped away. You don’t owe me, or yourself, or anybody else anything , okay? You set the pace, and I’ll follow as closely as you want.”

“I always want you right beside me,” Magnus murmurs, burrowing his face against Alec’s cheek. “I'm just worried that I might be … holding you back. Holding us, back.”

Alec gently nudges Magnus’ shoulder, turning in his arms until they’re facing each other, his hands coming up to wrap around Magnus’ neck. Magnus, after a few hesitant and heavy seconds, rests his hands on Alec’s waist, his fingers bunched up in the fabric of his black t-shirt.

“Magnus.” Alec’s gaze skitters across Magnus’ face, his sincerity strong enough to drown in. “I love you, and nothing is ever going to change that - what you’re going through is awful, and I won’t pretend that I know what it’s like because I don’t , but I can promise that I’ll be here to help you in whatever way you need. This is an obstacle, probably the biggest one you’ve ever had to overcome, but still an obstacle - you’ll get through this, because you’re the strongest person I know, and far bigger than anything that wants to keep you down.”

Alec strokes his thumb against the curve of Magnus’ ear, his cuffs long since locked away with the rest of his jewelry. “All the same, it’s okay if it’s not easy. It’s okay if you don’t want to get out of bed, if you hate the world, if you want to invent a time machine just to go back before everything went wrong - that’s okay. It doesn’t mean that you’re going backwards, or going stale or anything like that.”

Alec’s smile turns wry, and a little deprecating. “It just makes you human. Sorry, it kinda sucks, sometimes.”

Magnus shrugs, his hands tightening their grasp. “It’s not all that bad, I suppose. I’ve got you by my side, after all. Things could be a lot worse.”

Admitting it aloud lets a slow realisation sink in; being human, as Alec put it, is his new normal, and things could really be a hell of a lot worse.

He still has Alec by his side, and with that support behind him, he can do anything.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Five Times Maryse Lightwood Realized She Was Wrong (And the One Time She Admitted It)

Read on AO3

3- In the Doorway

Maryse Lightwood and 'The Time She Went to Tell Alec to Get Some Sleep But Found Magnus There Already Doing It For Her'

or 'The 100000000000000000000000000th time that Malec was cute'

______

Alec had thrown himself into everything he did with as much energy and enthusiasm as he possibly could. It was what he had been trained to do, since he was a child. And becoming Head of the Institute was no different.

He had taken over at the worst possible time, Maryse Lightwood knew this, and she hated Imogen Herondale for it. For making every effort she could to throw her son under the bus, to let him taste his future, before she ripped it from his hands.

But Alec was not one to let himself fail, and she was proud, knowing that he was doing everything in his power to prevent Imogen from having any excuse to replace him. Alec was smart; Alec knew that he above all others had to be the perfect leader.

It was why Maryse Lightwood was on her way to Alec’s office at this very moment. Because Valentine had been recently imprisoned in the Institute’s basement. And she knew there was much still that Alec had to do to make sure that he stayed there. To make sure he could settle the stirrings of a Downworlder uprising that Imogen and the Clave had created, but had somehow become Alec’s responsibility to stop. Maryse Lightwood knew her son well, and she knew that it had probably been two days since he had slept.

She was going to make sure he learned how to take a break before he worked himself to an early grave.

Decades of Shadowhunting had taught Maryse how to stay silent in stilettos, and the training kicked in the minute she heard voices coming from Alec’s office.

“Darling, I’m serious,”

“So am I. I’m fine, I don’t need to sleep.”

What was Magnus Bane doing at the Institute at two o’clock in the morning? Maryse asked herself as she peeked around the corner of the doorframe.

Alec was sitting at his desk, his chair spun around to face Magnus, hand still hovering over the tablet in which he stored his documents. His elbow resting on the stack of files he still had to finish signing.

“You haven’t slept in two days, and stamina runes can only keep you going for so long.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Because you’re running on pure adrenaline.”

“I am not.”

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood, do not give me that bullshit,” Magnus chastised, pointing a single ringed finger at Alec, who frowned in shock. Maryse bit back a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand at the thought that Magnus Bane was feeding Alec the same spiel she would have given him. That there could be so much love and care in his voice, and so little room for argument. And maybe it was the fact that she had seen Magnus with Alec a few times before, that she no longer found herself surprised that Magnus could find exactly the right tone to make sure Alec was paying attention.

Magnus dropped his hand, he softened his posture, he ran a hand through Alec’s hair. “I know that you are under a lot of pressure to do everything perfectly. I know how scared you are of losing the only thing you’ve dreamed about your entire life because you’re dating me.”

“This isn’t your fault, Magnus,” Alec replied automatically, as if it were something he had learned how to say on autopilot.

“Well, regardless, I know how important this is to you, being Head of the Institute, and you know as well as I do that you are a phenomenal leader. You deserve this, Alec, you deserve every minute of leadership. You will do great things for the Shadow World. You’re doing everything you can to make a positive change, and I am so unbelievably proud of everything you’ve done to try to bridge the divide between Shadowhunters and Downworlders. But, angel,” Magnus tucked a strand of hair behind Alec’s ear, and kept his hand resting on Alec’s cheek. Alec pressed a brief kiss to Magnus’ palm. “Good leaders make smart decisions, and you can’t make smart decisions if you are exhausted.”

Alec sunk back in his chair, and Maryse could tell this was hitting too close for comfort with Alec.

“I know you know this,” Magnus pressed. “You aren’t going to be very helpful to anyone if you are too tired to focus, or if you drop in the middle of combat because you don’t have the energy to stand up. Alexander,” Magnus paused for a second, taking the opportunity to sit in Alec’s lap. Alec’s arms automatically going from where they sat on his paperwork to wrap themselves around Magnus’ body. And Maryse thought for a moment that for some reason it looked like the most natural thing in the world. Alec and Magnus, together. How had she not believed it before?

“The first step to being a good leader, is taking good care of yourself,” Magnus continued. “Valentine is in a cell downstairs, I am back in my own body.” Alec pressed their foreheads together at that. “The world is not going to end just because you let yourself take a break for a few hours and let your body rest,” Magnus said as he kissed Alec quickly before jumping off his lap and holding out a hand in offering. “Besides you don’t even have to leave the office. You can just sleep on the couch. God knows it’s more comfortable than your actual bed, and anyone who sees you will think you are the hardest worker they’ve ever come across…which is true anyway.”

“I don’t have a pillow,” Alec crossed his arms over his chest, a challenging smirk on his face.

“Alexander, do you so easily forget that you have a magical boyfriend who can summon you a pillow? Or, an incredibly handsome boyfriend with a lap that is perfect for laying your head in?”

“Well if I had known that offer was on the table I would have gone to bed much earlier,” Alec smiled, grabbing Magnus’ hand and allowing himself to be pulled out of his chair.

Magnus embraced Alec for a moment, kissing his forehead. “Let’s give that beautiful brain of yours a chance to rest.” They walked hand in hand to the black leather couch, Magnus taking time to sit before guiding Alec down after him. Alec curled on his side almost immediately upon laying down. A yawn contorting his face. Magnus smiled to himself, a small smile, a private one, one of uncontainable bliss. Something meant for no one but himself. A smile that Alec was completely oblivious to. Magnus twisted around to grab the blanket that was hanging off the edge of the couch. He splayed it carefully over Alec’s body. One hand entangling itself in the dark black strands of Alec’s hair, playing with it absentmindedly.

Alec hummed happily, reaching out with one hand to take Magnus’ free one. Magnus took it readily, drawing circles on Alec’s skin.

“I love you,” Alec murmured, sighing contentedly, as he snuggled deeper into Magnus’ lap, as if he had found safety in it.

“I love you, too,” Magnus replied.

And it was something Maryse believed whole-heartedly. She could see it now, she could see how good they were for each other, could see the way Alec’s confidence had grown under Magnus’ careful care. How Magnus had seemed happier too, in the brief moments she had seen him. How there was a new light in his eyes, how he was much more tolerable when it came to matters of business. How much he cared about Alec, about a Shadowhunter, a Lightwood no less. And what had she been doing trying to convince herself of anything else? Magnus would not break Alec’s heart. Magnus and Alec loved each other. And maybe, maybe Alec had started to show her that it was okay to find love in the arms of a Downworlder. That maybe it wasn’t so wrong, that maybe it was time to get over her bias, and her prejudice. To admit when she wrong.

She looked back at them once more, at the sound of Alec’s gentle snores, and nearly jumped in shock when her eyes met Magnus’ brown ones. He sent her a small smile; how long had he known she was here? How long did he know she had been spying on them? She could feel the slow pooling of heat in her cheeks, blush a too obvious sign of her embarrassment at being caught. She forced a small nod, the best approval she could think of in the moment, before turning on her heel and fleeing into the comfortable darkness of her own room.

[straightoutabusan]

A Chronic Love

A Chronic Love

Reader x Yoongi

Fluff-ish, Implications of Smut, Maybe a Second of Angst

Words: 6,544

Request: Could I request a scenario where Yoongi and the reader hate eachother, but one day in college they're paired up for a group project, and then when they go to Yoongi's house something happens? I'd prefer a lot of fluff and if you want you can do smut at the end or something. Thank you !! I never get over cliche fanfictions <3

High school was hell. Everywhere you went, you couldn’t escape your nuisance of a neighbor Min Yoongi. It was bad enough that every night, that should have been silent, was filled with the rap music that floated from his open window into your tightly shut window, but your time at school was also disturbed by his treacherous presence.

Everyday was the same. You woke up to some classical music coming from Yoongi’s house, which was arguably the best part of your day, and began to make your way to school. At school, without fail, you would be in the middle of second period when Yoongi would laze his way through the unlocked classroom door and take a seat right behind you, reminding you of the day when you were in third grade when Yoongi cut a chunk of your hair off. It was safe to say every time he sat behind you, you felt a shiver go down your back.

Somehow, probably by the counselor, she never liked you, you had nearly every class with Mr. I Don’t Care himself. The majority of your life was spent with the bane of your existence, so naturally when you were accepted into your dream college, very far from home, you were excited to finally leave this part of your life behind you. Unfortunately, dreams rarely come true.

The fall semester of your senior year at your self-proclaimed University of Paradise was about to begin. Your life was finally turning out like you had always wanted it to. It was peaceful, you had actual friends and you could truly focus on your studies, something that would have been far-fetched back home.

Today was especially  beautiful, the crisp air blowing through your hair and your favorite sweater adorning your figure. All that was on your mind was how amazing you had to make your last year of college. Everyone who passed you was sure to feel the joy that was being emitted by your entire body as you made your way to class with a slight skip in your step. You rounded corners and took secret, vacant hallways and other shortcuts you had discovered during you time at the university until you came to the room you were looking for.

You gripped the straps of your bag while taking in a deep breath, the weight of the importance of the year finally settling down on you, and as you found yourself walking through the open door of the lecture hall, you were surprised to see just how many students had found their way out of their beds and into one of the many chairs of the room. So many students in fact that it was hard to find a seat at all and as you shuffled around the aisles looking for an empty spot that wasn’t being saved, your eyes went wide at the sight of one completely open chair. It was as if God had answered your prayers, but moments after you sat down you remembered that God did in fact not favor you, at all. It took but mere seconds for the best day of your life to come crashing down.

It had been years since you’d seen that face, but you hadn’t forgotten it. The dark eyes and sharp jaw were all your mind focused on as you stared horrified at his profile. Min Yoongi. The name repeated itself over and over in your mind, taunting you. He glanced over at you briefly causing you to whip your head down not wanting to make eye contact, but you soon discovered he had looked away just as quickly as though he didn’t remember you. You were slightly hurt to think so, but you also knew it wasn’t far-fetched. You had lost weight, and you dyed your hair, and you had started wearing more makeup, in fact maybe you looked nothing like you had in high school., nevertheless it still stung a little.

Soon, your professor was walking through the door and dropping his bag on the table, snapping you out of your Yoongi-filled thoughts, and soon after that he was talking, a welcome distraction from your not-so-friendly seat neighbor. His words came out blindingly fast and you would be lying if you said you could recite what the teacher had just said, but before you could ask someone what was going on, your heard names being called out, grouped together in fours or fives. “-Jessy Kim, Lee Jaehyun, Y/F/N, Kang Jinho, and Min Yoongi.”

You all but choked when the names that rolled of the professor’s tongue made their way to your ears. Your face was probably a few shades paler, and you could already feel his eyes burning into your skull and it was then that you realized that your professor hated you as well.

After all the groups had been announced, everyone in the room moved to sit next to their fellow group mates… for the remainder of the year. There would be absolutely no switching as made clear by the professor multiple times.

When you made a motion to move, Yoongi grabbed your arm and pulled you back into your seat before motioning for the other three who had already sat down to come to him. Unsurprisingly, they did.

Silence settled around the five of you and you had the brief thought that you were definitely going to fail, but surprisingly the man next to you opened his mouth to say something that was only half horrible. “Look I’m not going to lie to you all, I’m not going to do much, but I will sacrifice my apartment for this damned project because I will not enter any of your disgraceful dorms and there’s no way in hell that we are going to do it in public. Also, I would like to volunteer Y/N, as the person with the final say  because I have no doubt that she is the smartest person in this room and I fully trust her to use the bossiness that she has cultivated over the many years I’ve known her to keep you all in line.”

When Yoongi was done speaking you didn’t even have time to feel flattered, which you were. Yoongi had said you were smart after all and everyone’s jaws were slack, their eyes boring into you, but their attention was taken when a piece of paper fluttered onto your desk. Written on the torn notebook paper was Yoongi’s phone number and address which you promptly added to your phone before passing it to others. When you glanced over at Yoongi he had earphones in and his eyes were shut as if he were asleep, but you knew him well enough that you knew he could hear what was going on and was in fact awake because Yoongi’s music was always audible and every time someone opened their mouth you could see his eyes roll beneath his thin lids. You chuckled slightly and smiled before bringing your attention back to the project and the others who were currently drawing up plans as per your request.

Class ended before you were ready to leave. Honestly, you had enjoyed working with your group members, they were intelligent and determined and restored your faith in the year, but right now there was a mess all over the floor and you could see how frantic they were to get to their next class. You didn’t have another class for a few hours, so you let them go, telling them you would handle it. You waved at them as they left before bending down to organize the scattered papers littering the ground all the while fully aware of Yoongi’s eyes staring at your back, and though you would never admit to it, you kind of liked having his attention.

You stood up slowly, making sure you had everything securely before turning around to grab your bag, but instead you ran straight into a chest, knocking the top of your head into his chin. He let out a groan at the same time you let out an “Oh!” and took a step back while rubbing his stubbly jaw before refocusing on you. You stared down at your fingers as they picked at the nail polish on your nails, a nervous habit. You regained a more confident stance and looked Yoongi in the eyes, but they still held the same cold intensity that still sent a shiver down your spine.

You had thought that the black-haired man had wanted to say something, but he only stared at you, like he was memorizing your features. If anyone had seen the two of you, it would have looked like a pair of reunited lovers, but you were far from that. As more time passed, it started to get awkward and just as you were moving to pick up your bag again, he stopped you. You stood up straight and opened your mouth to scold him for wasting your time when you felt his fingers brush your cheek and then curl behind your ear as he pushed your fallen hair out of you face effectively shutting you up.

“So this is where you’ve been as this time…” His voice was so soft and low that you weren’t sure he actually said it. However, when the next words slipped past his lips you were left even more confused than before.

“I missed you.”

Yoongi had left first. He had told you he missed you with that voice, and he looked at you with those eyes, and then he left you to stand there, your brain going to mush with the sheer confusion leaking from every crevice of your mind. You physically shook your head in an effort to remove the thoughts from your head, but it had little success. Somehow you managed to collect enough sanity to grab your bag and shuffle out of the classroom and into the barren  hall. You felt as if you were being suffocated. Everything around you, the patterned tiles, the doors with their small windows, they all brought you back to high school.

When you had first moved, nothing felt the same. It was so unfamiliar, and it felt nothing like home, but you had grown accustomed to the differences. Min Yoongi’s  presence however, had ruined that. He had single-handedly shaken up everything you had thought you felt about this new city and handed it to you rearranged in a way that looked just like the street where your houses sat side-by-side, your window so close to his that you could reach out and brush your fingertips against the cool glass.

Many thoughts from the past flooded in with your memories. It was all too much at once, so many suppressed feelings making their way to the surface, fighting for the spotlight. You could feel the way your feet were moving, one foot in front of the other, tripping yourself in your memory-drunk state. You saw the stares, the stares that screamed at you to get a grip, as it was barely  noon and you knew you looked like a wasted day drinker. You however, continued walking, all the way until blinding rays of sun attacked your eyes instead of the artificial lights of the building.

The air outside was sobering. It was cool and crisp, and you filled your lungs with the sweet oxygen until you couldn't hold anymore, then released it in a deep sigh. Finally, you gained control of your body.

You found a spot and lounged yourself in the grass shaded by the large oak tree, and permitted your body and mind to relax. You allowed yourself to succumb to the peaceful atmosphere and rid your mind of its stresses, but before you could close your eyes, someone had plopped their belongings down next to yours. A soft “Ah,” escaping their lips as they sunk their head into their bag, their hands rested on their stomach. You didn’t know why, but for some reason, you felt the urge to punch them… so you did.

She shot up with a loud shout, shaking some of the dead leaves off of the tree above you before turning to face you with the series of huffs and puffs, her exasperation evident in her features. “Why’d you do that?!” Her voice came out with a slight whine, bouncing faintly like a child about to throw a tantrum. You rolled your eyes at her antics.   

“I don't know. I just felt like it.” You said with a shrug, eyeing your best friend, Jisoo, for a reaction. She just shrugged as well, laying back down on her bag and tapping the spot next to her. Understanding her message, you settled in beside her.

“So Y/N, anything new and exciting happen today?” She asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows. You didn't even have to think of response to her question, but you hesitated before speaking anyways.

“Actually… yes. I think something did happen today.” You started, not really knowing how to describe your experience perfectly, your mind struggling to stay focused. You tried to find the right words, but nothing came to mind. There was a dull pain radiating from your abdomen, but it didn’t take long to discover the culprit. Jisoo had elbowed you right below your ribs, not only to get you to continue, but as payback for earlier, it was all the same, you still got the hint. Your mouth fell open and words immediately started rolling off your tongue. It was surprisingly easy to talk about, seeing as nothing big had actually happened, but it had shaken your whole world.

Somewhere between explaining how your mind was betrayed by your memories, and sixth grade Min horrors, you realized you had started to ramble, yet when you looked over at Jisoo, she was patiently waiting. She’d always been the best listener. Unsuppressable giggles bubbled past your lips as your eyes followed a leaf as it floated to the ground. Jisoo’s eyes shot to yours, looking at you as if you were crazy, and right now you probably were. However, she couldn’t stay serious for long and soon joined in with your loud, body-shaking laughs.

Her voice cut through the spaced out, airy chuckles as you both came down from the high. “Y/N, seriously, finish explaining when you kissed Min Yoongi, because even though I can’t forgive you for never telling me in the six years I’ve known you, it was actually entertaining.” When her words hit your ears you went crazy, quickly sitting up and pounding your fist into the ground.

“IT WAS SIXTH GRADE! IT DOESN’T EVEN COUNT!” Your screamed words surely startled the other students in the courtyard, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your friend looked at you judgingly before screaming as well and throwing you both into another laughing fit.

The little sit down you had with Jisoo had really given you time to contemplate how you were going to handle your situation, and you came to the conclusion that if Yoongi could let it go then you could at least try as well.

You thought that you were going to struggle through your remaining classes, but you were able to concentrate quite well. Surprising really, seeing as just an hour ago you were sure you were going to pass out from the sudden onslaught from the past. Maybe, just maybe that was due to the fact that your new mindset was functioning correctly.

It wasn’t.

Just as you were packing up to go home, you felt your phone buzz in your back pocket, effectively startling you. You pulled it from your pocket and read the tiny words printed on the screen, and suddenly the feelings you'd shoved down were back, raging, gnawing at your brain.

Yoongi: I want to see you.

Yoongi: Tonight.

The beating of your heart ceased. You were dead, and nothing was going to be able to revive you. That was until the next message came through some two minutes later.

Yoongi: For the project.

Even though you could feel your heart start its thump, thump, thump, pattern again, it was still at a much accelerated rate. Despite that, you managed to pull yourself together well enough to send back a reply.

To Yoongi:

Sure. When?

It seemed almost immediately that the next text came in, as if he was waiting, staring at his screen just as you were at yours, anticipating the words that would follow, already forming a reply.

Yoongi: “Whenever. I be home all night.”

You read the message, but didn’t bother sending a reply. With a heavy sigh you tucked your phone back in your pocket and decided to head to Yoongi’s apartment, hoping it would be easier to just get it over with.

When you arrived at Yoongi’s apartment complex you were annoyed by the presence of a locked door, and though you clicked the buzzer with the faint M.Y. scrawled on it, no answer came. You resorted to clicking all of the buzzers, but they only returned the same resolute silence. This led you to the conclusion that the whole system was broken, and though you had called Yoongi, there was no answer at the phone either. You tossed around the thought of just returning home and explaining the situation to him later when someone rattled the door handle and walked out of the building, glancing at you before sending you a slight smile and holding the door open for you. You quickly slipped through the door nodding at the polite stranger before scurrying up the stairs to the door with the numbers 202 nailed into its wooden surface.

You reached out towards the door, hesitating before rapping five times, an awkward number, but the same number of times you used to knock on his window what felt like so many years ago. There was a moment of silence before a series of curses slipped under the door. The door was thrown open to reveal a very wet Min Yoongi, a sight you were quite embarrassed to admit that you’d see on a small number of occasions before this particular one.

You just couldn’t stop yourself, as you tried to divert your eyes from his pale chest you couldn’t help but allow yourself to watch a drop of water drip from the strands of his freshly washed hair and glide down the side of his neck until it pooled in the dip of his clavicle. You honestly didn’t know how long you would have stood there staring if he hadn’t made a noise while clearing his throat. In a beyond flustered state, you quickly whipped your eyes away. It was so far in fact, that you ended up turned 180 degrees around, face to face with the wall, the only witness to the grimace that graced your face before you were composed enough to turn around and face the instigator of this mess. However, there was only an open door to greet you when you turned back around.

You stuck your head past the threshold, just enough to cautiously eye the inside of the room before you stepped a single foot into the apartment. You threw a glance to your right, jumping back when your nose brushed Yoongi’s.

“What the hell, Yoongi!?” You shouted, thoroughly startled. He simply shrugged then crossed the room to sit on the couch, and from somewhere he had procured a shirt, from where, you had no idea, but it was something you were grateful for.

You roughly slammed the door shut before stomping to the seat as far away from Yoongi and throwing yourself into the surprisingly soft plushness of his beige couch.

You reached towards your bag, bringing out your notes and the sketches from class earlier, arranging them on the table so that Yoongi could easily reach them if he so wished to.

“Wow…” You glared at Yoongi, ready to be offended by whatever was about to leave his lips, but surprisingly his face was painted with a genuinely impressed expression. His eyes spoke out to you while he stared at you through an ear-shattering silence, spiking your heart rate. It seems like I feel this way around him constantly now. You thought, your hand coming up subconsciously to rub at your chest, He stared at you before speaking, diminishing only a fraction of the tension surrounding the pair of you. “I’m sorry Y/N, I just think your notes are beautiful.”

You knew what he was saying was not what he meant by his words when he looked into your eyes, looked deeper into you than anyone had ever before.

I think you look beautiful.

Somehow you hadn't noticed how close the two of you had become because you hadn't moved. You were still planted on the far cushion of the couch, but Yoongi must had taken the time you were distracted to inch closer to you, little by little so you wouldn't realize. It was startling, the feeling of his hands winding behind your back and pulling your body closer to his. The warm feeling budding inside of you became even more present when you felt his hot breath shudder out onto your neck, your name escaping from his lips in a airy whisper before you felt the slickness of his wet lips connect with the skin of your neck and move towards your throat.

“Yoongi…” his name left your mouth involuntarily and you sensed him hesitate, waiting for the end of your words to flow out. He didn't move his head, and you felt relieved because you were sure the battle your brain was having with your heart and body was evident on your face. You brain pleaded with you to tell him to stop, to end this right here before you got hurt, but your body betrayed you. You knew you were enjoying this, and so you let your heart speak for you. “Yoongi, it’s okay.”

At your words he pulled away, gazing into your eyes, probably wondering if you were being honest. He stayed that way for a while, cultivating the silence you’d grown accustomed to in his presence. You watched as his eyes fluttered shut, his deep, relieved sigh reverberating in your ears. His body relaxed, a small smile tugged on his lips, all the while his warm irises stayed hidden behind his pale lids.

“Y/N, I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done to you.” His chocolaty orbs made an appearance again as he began speaking words that seemed to have been on his mind for a while.

“All those years, I made you hate me, and I annoyed you to no end. I was snarky and insincere and a pain in the ass, and I’m sorry.” You felt all the feeling you’ve ever felt in regards to Yoongi resurface, felt tears gather, blurring your vision, but you listened with no intentions of interrupting.

“I couldn’t ever bring myself to tell you the truth, to ruin any relationship I had with you, even if it was one based on lies.” His voice wavered with every word that left his lips, his resolve crumbling. “Y/N, I love you and I always have. All these years, I’ve looked at you, torturing myself because everything I did caused you to openly stare at me with distaste, and everything I did that pushed your buttons and drove you crazy was a product of my own selfishness. I couldn’t approach you genuinely because you’re too damn good for me, but I can’t stop myself from wanting your attention, so I used sarcasm to protect my heart because I felt that having you hate me was better than being invisible to you.”

His cheeks were wet by the time he finished bearing his heart to you, allowing you to pick him apart piece by piece as he sat before you, his eyes downcast in shame. Again silence pervaded the air that surrounded you, but this time you welcomed it, took it as an opportunity to surprise Yoongi the same way he had to you so many times.

You brought your hands up, your palms coming to sit atop the cool wetness left from his tears as your thumbs brushed under his eyes, stopping the salty drops from rolling over the swell of his cheeks. He flinched back when you touched him, and you don’t know if it was because he was startled by the action, or the sheer coolness of your nervous hands.

Gently, you angled his head upwards so that you could see his face, and more importantly, so he could see yours. You wanted him to see you accept him, for everything he was because somewhere in between the string of words Yoongi used to confess to you, you’d remembered every instance in which he’d looked at you with what you had thought was sheer contempt, and realized that you had seen it, the hesitation, the want, the love. This revelation made you see yourself as well… forced you to notice that the only reason you allowed Yoongi to get so deeply under your skin was because more than anything else you wanted him to be nice to you, not just nice, you wanted him to want you the same way you had wanted him since that kiss in sixth grade.

Never in your life had you been so intrigued by another person, so unable to keep your eyes off another. By now, all of Yoongi’s attention was invested in you and you took the opportunity to restate your earlier sentiment, “Yoongi, really, it’s okay.”

This time there was no hesitation. Yoongi spared no time in pressing his lips to yours. Every ounce of lust he bottled up came out at once, evident in the way he devoured your mouth. You let his hands roam, the tips of his fingers eliciting goosebumps wherever they touched. Your hands were in his hair, tugging gently on the strands. He groaned, pulling you towards him, tugging your legs around his waist. He buried his head in your neck, whispering praise as he stripped you and himself of your shirt and pants. He was gentle and caring, two words you'd never thought you would associate with the male, but here you were doing just that.

He kissed your swollen lips, nibbling at them before soothing the sting with his tongue. You were in complete bliss, too far gone in his sweet touches to comprehend anything but the sudden need you had to be inexplicably one with the man it seemed you’d always loved. You broke the connection of your lips in order to take in his current state, his skin dewy, pupils blown, lips swollen and red. You could see the worry wash over his face. He pulled his hands away from you, “Y/N, did I do something wrong? Do you want to stop?”

“No, no, I just… Yoongi…  I think I love you.” His jaw went slack at your words and his eyes were shining, but the smile that slid its way across his face made your heart swell. He pushed you onto your back. Hovering over you, he ran his hands up and down the sides of your body until you got too impatient and tugged his hands to the clasp of your bra. He laughed, but pulled the constricting thing off of you anyway.

You felt his lips press against yours again before they began to wander downwards, and for a brief moment a thought crossed your mind, this was it, there wasn’t going to be anything to go back to, and you were shocked by just how excited the prospect made you.

It had been two weeks since you and Yoongi had confessed to each other and did some other things, but the only time you really got to see Yoongi was when you were working on the project, aka, when you were surrounded by other people. However, the project has since been turned in and returned with a dazzling A scrawled across the cover, and you were hoping to finally spend some time with him.

You were debating whether it would be better to send him a text, something short and to the point, or to call and be forced to talk to him.. You chose the latter believing that Yoongi would rather talk to you then have to stop what he was doing to type out a reply if he was busy.

Just as you finished hyping yourself up to call Yoongi, your phone buzzed in your hand. Glancing down to read the notification, you noticed it was just who you had been thinking of.

Yoongi: So… do you think you're going to be hungry at like 7??

A smile stretched across your face as your eyes ran over the words repeatedly.

To Yoongi:

I think that can be arranged.

So should I expect to see you at 7?

Yoongi: I’ll have someone pick you up. Dress nicer than usual please!! ;)

It seemed that Yoongi had been having the same thoughts as you. Somehow, everything was coming together just how you wanted it to.

You started getting ready at around 5, a time you thought was reasonable, but apparently you were mistaken because staring straight at you was your bedside clock blinking a very hostile 6:15. You had very meticulously planned your evening up until  when you would probably be  picked up in order to have dinner at 7. You assumed that time would be around 6:30, which meant you only had 15 minutes, and as you caught a glimpse of you appearance in the full length mirror hanging on the bathroom door you wanted to pull your hair out. The fluffy socks, the cotton shorts and ratty tee that you currently adorned was second only to the bird’s nest that was presently resting atop your head.

Where had all the time gone, you ask? Well your room spoke for that very clearly. Every item of clothing you own had been ripped from its hanger in search of the nicest dress you owned, the dress you’d bought especially for a moment like this. It was head and shoulder above the rest of your clothing, but it was nowhere, and so as time dwindled down, you picked a subpar dress and threw it on. You swiftly moved into the bathroom, muttering an impatient “Come on, come on!” as you waited for the hair straightener to heat up before quickly running it through your tangled mane. It actually came out pretty well. Your makeup wasn’t completely ruined, so you only touched it up, throwing on some blush that you didn’t usually wear to make it seem like a little more effort had been put into it. Just as you finished grabbing your bag and tugging your black pumps on, your phone rang signaling you to the arrival of the driver.

You gracefully stumbled down the stairs and into the open door of the sleek black town car that sat outside of the building. After you caught your breath, you were struck with an odd feeling that had your stomach doing flips. You checked the time on your phone before flipping it over in your lap then not even 10 seconds later checked the time again, continuously. You forced yourself to get a grip and so you closed your eyes, focusing on nothing but your own breathing until you felt the car come to a stop and wind gush across your face as the door was swung open.

You stepped out into the hazy glow of the city, the sun already setting behind the tall buildings that surrounded you. You hadn’t looked at the name of the building in front of you, but you walked in anyway. For a moment you thought you had the wrong place, because it seemed to you that you were in some sort of reception hall. However, your sights soon fell on one Min Yoongi, who far out-dressed you, and for one last time that night you cursed yourself for somehow misplacing that dress, but the smile never left you face as you walked up to him.

His eyes scanned over your figure before he pursed his lips and shook his head, “Y/N, I told you to dress up and this is what you decide to come in? Your face falls. It was just so hard to tell if he was being serious or not, and just as you were about to spill the evening’s occurrences as an excuse, he pulled something from behind his back. “You should have came in a dress like this.” He said with a smirk gracing his face.

You jaw was on the floor, “Yoongi, how did you get that?! I was looking for that for like an hour!”

“A little birdy named Jisoo brought it to me after I ran into her at the library and spilled the beans about my plans for the night.” His eyes were glowing, he was so happy. You couldn’t be mad looking at that, however you’d made a mental note to murder Jisoo for making you believe you’d lost the most expensive article of clothing you owned.

“What are the plans for tonight anyway?” You asked, hoping he would give you an answer.

“You’ll just have to find out as we go, won’t you? Now go change.” That smirk on his lips seemed to grow the longer you talked to him. You pursed your lips, but took the dress anyway, sure to let out a series of huffs and puffs on your way to the bathroom.

When you returned, Yoongi stood up from the table, smiling down at you. “Now this is what I’m talking about. You look beautiful.” All of a sudden you felt shy, a slight heat building in your cheeks, but you didn’t have to endure it for long because Yoongi was soon ushering you into the chair, lightly pushing you down into the wooden seat.

You picked up the menu in front of you and read through the options, settling on some chicken dish quickly, however, you kept the menu up and pretended like you were still reading it so you could steal glances at Yoongi, from behind the safety it provided.

When the waitress came to your table, Yoongi let you order first, his eyes burning your skin as he looked you, more specifically , your lips. The way they moved as you spoke to the young blonde server in front of you. When it was his turn, he cleared his throat and straightened his back, seeming far more composed than he was actually feeling..

Without the safety of you menu, you were left to awkwardly stare around the room, and it wasn’t until Yoongi cleared his throat that you made eye contact with him again. He took a moment before he spoke, and when he did it was quietly, low and soft, “Do you want to know why I brought you here?” You silently shook your head, honestly curious as there was no one else there dining with the exception of the two of you.

“Well, back in our last year of highschool, I spent about a week building up the courage to ask you to the dance, but when I got to school you weren’t there, and then the day after that you still weren’t and it was three days until I heard you were sick, I think Jisoo said, and I quote, “She’s dying! She really is. My best friend is dying and my mom made me come to school today as if this weren't her last hours. I should be at her deathbed!” And then she rambled on some more, but I walked away, but I did find out that you couldn’t have gone to the dance with me even if you had wanted to… I brought you here because it looks like how I imagined the place where the dance took place looked like so, yeah.”

It was your turn to smirk now, “Yoongi, did you do all of this just so you could live out a high school dream?” And as if on cue, the lights dimmed and a disco ball descended from the ceiling as music began to float and echo throughout the vast room.

Yoongi stood up and made his way to you, stretching out his hand. “Y/N, may I have this dance?” You placed your hand in his. He wasted no time in dragging you out into the middle of the room directly under the spinning, mirrored ball, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how wonderfully sweet and innocent the boy in front of you was.

Your head rested on Yoongi’s shoulder as you swayed back and forth to the music, and when he began to slow down you pulled back to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked as he stared at you from above. He seemed suddenly quiet and it made you nervous.

“It’s nothing, I was just thinking about everything that’s happened up until now. It’s just so surreal, everything I’ve ever wanted is finally coming true… I’m here dancing with you, and I get to call you mine… What more could I ask for?” His voice was dripping with nostalgia, not at what was, but what could have been. “I just can’t explain how I feel, you know? Everything is just-”

“- perfect.” You said together. The words flowing from his mouth explained exactly what you were thinking too. You both let out a slight giggle before you eyes met again and everything went silent. You closed your eyes as Yoongi leaned towards you, and as your lips met in a slow kiss, you felt like you were eighteen again, a less guarded version of yourself, slightly more innocent. You felt the fireworks and the warmth, and in that moment nothing else mattered but you and Yoongi. When he pulled away, and the lights from the disco ball struck his wet lips, you were rendered speechless by his beauty.

You danced until dinner was served. Sitting across from each other, you shared laughs and joyful tears as you reminisced on your intertwined pasts.

The dark-haired man in front of you was utterly different from the boy you had grew up with, but at the same time so completely the same. He was now a flower in full bloom, showcasing his bright petals for the world to wonder at. No longer was he a tight bud hiding its beauty from the world. His smile out shined the sun and made your heart swell. He looked different, and he made you feel different, but in everything he did from the way he walked and talked, to the way he would jut his bottom lip out when he thought too much was the same, and it opened your eyes once again to what you’d always known: Min Yoongi had wiggled his way into your heart long before you entered his home mere weeks ago. You were, and for years had been, chronically in love with your greatest foe… and that was okay.

[mira-gilastorm]

Fear Cuts Deeper Than Swords Chapter 2: Swearing Oaths and Vows

Summary: Quaithe is seeking out Daenerys - the new dragon. And is willing to trade a secret for a secret: that she has Helen Blackthorn. Aline and Dany are preparing to meet Khal Drogo, while the Lightwoods, Clary, and Magnus meet the King Beyond the Wall. But Arya has noticed Clary is missing and has roped Jon into helping her search for her friend and lady-in-waiting.[tldr: a lot of plot, sorry not sorry]

The obsidian candle in the window flickered to life, drawing the woman's silver eyes. Quaithe stared at the sputtering green flame, entranced. It wasn't quite lit, but it was the start of something. Another dragon was waking. The fire beneath her skin rushed at the very thought, remembering what it was like to live among her own kind, to walk in flame and blood. This time, she would intervene. This time there would be no Doom. Valyria had been her kind's greatest mistake and now she was the last. If another was born of fire, she would not let them burn like all the others - like the last of the dragons and the Targaryens.

She stood from her cot, donning her thick leather dress - more armor than clothing - and the traditional mask of Asshai'i, an intricate veil of wooden links, lacquered a blood red. Her glamoured hair tumbled loose down her back, appearing an unremarkable black, rather than its natural shifting color, the black glimmering green, purple, or blue, as it caught the light. She wouldn't bother with her eyes. She needed to get to the Volantis Institute. If anyone would have information on a stirring of new magic, it would be the Clave. And she always had a bargaining chip when it came to the Shadowhunters.

"Helen!" She shouted for her apprentice, a fae girl who she'd found wandering Quarth as a toddler and raised to use her own magic. The blonde curls and blue-green eyes appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a brow raised in question. "Pack up. We're closing shop and heading to Volantis. The candle is lighting and I intend to find out why."

Helen's lips twitched mischievously. "Ooh so we get to play with the Shadowhunters? It's about time." Her sing-song voice echoed as she already disappeared around the corner to follow the Asshai'i's orders.

Jace was painfully aware of the unmatched environment the warlock was leading them into. He was hoping his adopted siblings and this mysterious Clary would be enough if it came down to needing to fight their way out. There was no way he would count on the downworlder, no matter how he was glancing over at Alec. They followed the overdressed warlock through the encampment to a central tent. At least he was right about one thing - this was not a military camp. There were families, women and children, running about, tents pitched with stews over fires or laundry drying in the heat, protected from the snows. The wildlings were armed, but not like the soldiers the Lightwoods had traveled north with. They were armed for survival, not for show of strength.

Magnus walked ahead of Jace and Isabelle, with Clary still tucked close to him, away from where Alec stood, keeping stride. Whoever she was, she had the loyalty of a powerful warlock - or at least her parents had paid him exceptionally well - but there seemed to be a genuine affection between the two. He stopped short of entering the large tent that had to be some kind of meeting place - or else for someone very important.

The warlock fixed them with his unglamoured eyes, the golden cats eyes settling on each shadowhunter in turn before resting on Clary last. "Stay behind me. Do not speak until addressed. You especially run the risk of being recognized here." Who was this girl? He barely had time to register the layers of shock on her pale face before they were trailing Bane into a warm tent made of stitched skins, with a smouldering fire in the center, where some kind of council appeared to be expecting them. Jace's instincts were screaming that it was a trap.

Alec must have sensed his tension. He fell in step with his parabatai and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, lifting his head and putting on what Izzy always called his "Idris face" - the mask he used to play the diplomat. Several large men, all clothed in heavy furs, and two women who looked even more deadly than Izzy, turned to face the visitors.

Magnus threw out his arms in a grand gesture. "Mance! Always a pleasure to see you among anyone that isn't dressed in black."

A well-built man, with dark hair that fell in his eyes, stood to greet the warlock. They gripped forearms like comrades before the man broke into a grin, turning his eyes on the group of shadowhunters.

"I see not much has changed. The North warns of danger and the South sends children," his eyes flicked toward Clary, "and outcasts." Jace felt a surge of protective instinct toward the fresh shadowhunter as he stepped in front of her, moving to stand next to his brother.

"Believe it or not, they actually sent us valuable representatives of the Clave." A voice from around the fire spoke and Jace recognized it instantly, memories of his time training in the towers in Kings Landing flashing through his mind as his instructor shouted encouragements to the three Lightwood children from the floor below.

Isabelle practically radiated her resentment. "Starkweather."

Their former master at arms, nodded. "Well met, Iz."

Izzy made a move to leap at him, fury etched in her face, but her brothers grabbed her simultaneously, Jace's hand on her wrist so her weapon would remain hidden.

Magnus watched with what appeared to be only moderate interest. "Oh good. So introductions are hardly necessary. Mance Rayder, may I present Jace Wayland, and Alec and Isabelle Lightwood, of the Blackwater Institute, children to the head of the Institute herself, Maryse Lightwood. Shadowhunters, this is Mance Rayder, former brother of the Night's Watch, leader of the FreeFolk, and now a so-called King Beyond the Wall."

Mance snorted at that. "The FreeFolk need no king, Bane. We're not kneelers like those Southerners. I am simply the one who brought all the clans together." Jace nodded in respect, it wasn't like shadowhunters kneeled either. It was only when they were forced to interact with the obnoxious mundane courtesies.

Alec stepped forward, deliberately in front of Izzy. "I believe you asked us here for a purpose. The letter we received described ice demons and alliances with wolves."

At that, a large man, taller than even Mance, with unruly flaming red hair, stood as his eyes lit with the green of a werewolf. "You're damn right he made an alliance with the wolves. Our packs need south just as much as the humans do. We've lost too many to these fuckers." He glared down at the shadowhunters. "And they don't stay down. They get up - wolf, mundie, fae, giant - they all get up and do whatever those gods-damned demons command them to." The wolf encroached on Alec, looming over him, as if daring him to challenge the story.

Jace pulled up his sleeve, revealing many of his runes. "Does anyone who's seen them have runes? Do you have any shadowhunters up here, even with dormant angelic blood, we could still share the memory."

Mance and his men laughed. "None of us would trust you enough." The red-headed wolf backed down from Alec, chuckling. Even if the idea was a bust, at least his parabatai wasn't being threatened. "We might trust Magnus though."

Magnus snapped his attention from his colored fingernails he had been inspecting and stared at Mance as if he'd suddenly devolved into a puddle of ichor. "You want me to share Tormund Giantsbane's memories? This same man who's favorite story to tell is accidentally fucking a bear, thinking it was a hairy woman? That Tormund?"

A small snicker from behind them drew all attention to Clary. Jace cursed himself again for letting her through that stupid door. She'd just looked so damned determined. She watched them all as they evaluated her, as if unaffected.

She stared up at Magnus. "You judge his stories when I happen to know for a fact that your favorite to tell is how you fought off a fire-breathing cobra in Dorne. Or was it that you caught it?" She tilted her head, not even trying to play dumb. "I can never remember, it's changed so many times."

The warlock's mouth opened to defend himself, and he may have stuttered out words, but they were drowned out by the laughter of all the wildlings in the tent. Clary gave Magnus a self-satisfied smirk, brow raised, knowing she had diffused the situation and Jace felt like he was seeing the real Clary for the first time that day.

"Fine! Fine. Just shut up, the lot of you!" Magnus shouted above the obnoxious guffaws and overall laughter.

Tormund stomped his way over to the warlock, eyeing Clary as he did. "Kissed by fire, this one. Like me!" He tugged at his own hair before settling in front of Magnus, arm outstretched. "Let's do this, Sparky. I've got she-bears to fuck."

Aline was silent. And she refused to take any of the dresses Illyrio had offered, which only frustrated Dany's brother all the more. He knew the shadowhunter wasn't afraid of him and it bothered him - it kind of thrilled Daenerys. She'd never so much as spoken out against her brother, but this Volantian woman, clothed in runes and black leathers, defied him with silence.

"I know you're a shadowhunter. You being here has nothing to do with an alliance with my brother. From what I understand, your Clave would never make such an alliance anyway."

Aline froze, surprised by Dany's declaration. "I wasn't aware you had experience with the Clave."

"I don't. I listened to your mother's conversation with the magister. I learned much from just a single conversation. But I want to learn more." She held Aline's dark eyes with her own violet ones. "I scoured every book Illyrio has to offer, there's no mention of any of it." Dany leaned forward from her bed, where she was disrobing for a bath.

"No, I imagine there wouldn't be." Aline took her intricate blue dress and handed her a satin robe to wear to the bath. She glanced at Dany, and the princess felt like blushing. The shadowhunter stepped forward, blocking the hall to the bath. "Here. I would like to test something. I'm going to activate my glamour. Tell me if you can still see me, I won't have moved."

Daenerys nodded and watched as Aline took a silver knife - no, it wasn't quite a blade - almost a pen - and used it to trace over one of the runes on her skin, Something about her shimmered, but she was still there. "Did it not work? What is that thing?"

Aline flipped the instrument back into wherever it was hidden in her leathers before Dany could even reach for it, a small smile on her face. "It's called a stele, it activates the runes that give us shadowhunters our power. And yes, it did work. But apparently they were right about you. I'm glamoured and you can still see me. But to the average mundane, or average human, you would appear to be asking eager questions of the wind."

"Mundane. That's what my brother is."

"Yes. And cruel, from what I hear from the other girls. My assignment is to protect you, your Grace. Even if that means from your own kin." There was a hardness in Aline's eyes that told Dany she was serious. Daenerys suddenly had other questions to ask - like if she'd ever killed anyone, or been into battle, or won the princess' heart, like in the songs and books. But she had to bathe and dress to meet her husband-to-be. Grooming the broodmare, ready for sale - a wife for a crown. That was the deal Viserys had struck. The bathwater was steaming hot - the way she loved it.

She could feel the shadowhunter watching her. "I've always assumed I was going to marry him, you know. My brother." she tilted her head with each syllable. "It's the way of our family, if not of our home."

"I can't imagine that's something you would have wanted." The Volantian girl's eyes were far away. She must have had her own story, and Dany hadn't even thought to ask. Aline simply began to assist in washing her long platinum hair.

"Want? I don't recall anyone last asking what I want. I'm a princess, I'm fairly certain no one cares what I want." Dany felt an unfamiliar anger well up in her. She'd just been the prize on her brother's arm for so long - now she was to be some prize for a powerful Khal. "I want to go home."

The shadowhunter stopped lathering the soaps through the ends of Daenerys' hair. "Why don't you? The magister would help you. Now the Clave would too."

Dany shook her head slightly. "I would need a home to go to. I've been on the run my whole life, always dragged along behind my brother. Maybe the Khalasaar will be my home."

Aline rinsed the soaps out of her hair, the distinct smell of spices filling the air. "All Nephilim - shadowhunters - have a home, no matter where we are or where we're born, we all know Idris is home. It's in our blood."

"Idris? Yet another thing I've never found in my thorough and fruitless research." Dany stepped out of the water. It had cooled to barely warm enough to be comfortable anyway. She noticed the way Aline averted her eyes as she helped her into the lavender dress she was to wear, as though she was trying to maintain Dany's privacy.

Once the gown was laced and her hair was starting to wave from the humidity of Pentos, Aline answered the question she hadn't quite asked. "It's glamoured and there are wards that keep mundanes and other downworlders out without express permission. One minute you would be crossing the Western Waste, making your way into the Painted Mountains, and the next you would be in Idris. Or not, and you'd be right where you thought you were, having been transported from one side to the other."

"Sounds like something out of the songs."

Aline finished clasping bracelets and other jewelry on her, before fixing her with a sad smile. "All the legends are true. Where do you think the songs come from?"

Steps drew both of their attention to the hallway as Viserys barged in, his arrogant stride belying everything he thought the world owed him. Daenerys curtsied and presented herself to her brother. He stalked around her, almost threateningly, and Dany wondered what had angered him. Her eyes flicked over to Aline, who was standing silently to the side. He had ignored her entirely.

She's still glamoured, she realized with a start. Her brother lifted a strand of her hair, running his finger down her shoulder that the light gown left bare.

He circled her one more time, before deciding she was suitable. He rocked back on his heels, arms crossed. "It's a pity your breasts aren't bigger, to be more of a temptation. Oh well. We'll just have to see if the Khal will take you as you are." He offered her his arm for escort, which she took.

Aline crossed the room soundlessly and was waiting for them on the other side of the door, unglamoured. "Your Grace." She bowed, as she had the first time meeting Viserys. Daenerys knew it was to infuriate him. He simply nodded and pulled Dany down the steps toward the gardens.

Illyrio was waiting for them out in the courtyard, dressed finely in his magister's robes. He nodded to Aline and bowed lowly to Viserys and Dany. The sound of hooves flooded into the space, accented with yelps and warcrys as the Khal and his bloodriders filed down the path to the front of the magister's manse. They fanned out, horses and riders wild, and Daenerys understood why her brother saw them as barbarians.

Khal Drogo rode in front of them. He seemed to communicate with the other riders wordlessly. Viserys leaned over to whisper in Dany's ear. "See how long his braid is? When Dothraki warriors are defeated in battle, they cut their hair to show their shame. Drogo has never been defeated."

If she had been braver, Daenerys would have told him she knew that. That, and so much more. She'd been studying their language, their culture - anything to prepare her for what she now knew was coming. But she wasn't brave, not when it came to her brother. She glanced back at Aline, who was only steps away, her hands settled in a soldier's stance in front of her. The shadowhunter nodded ever so slightly to her, the motion likely imperceptible to the men around them.

Illyrio was introducing them to Drogo in the horde's native tongue. At Viserys' and her own name, the Khal's eyes swept over the siblings, taking extra time to look her over. His copper skin and dark eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts, but she could feel him evaluating her, determining if this trade was worth waging war against her family's enemies. The dark markings on his face and body were faded with sun and time and she wondered how old he'd been when he'd received the ink. He wore no shirt, choosing instead to wear his scars and tattoos with pride, needing no barrier between him and his enemies. Dany found herself admiring him, meeting his gaze.

The Khal clicked to his horse, turning without another sound and leading his riders out of magister's courtyard. Viserys released her arm, stepping forward, again offended at not having been acknowledged. Daenerys could hear Aline hide a small snicker behind a cough behind her.

Her brother floundered for words. "What was that? What happened? Was he pleased with her?"

Illyrio raised a brow at Viserys' obvious panic. "Believe me, your Grace, if he had not been pleased, we would have known."

The magister's words calmed the Targaryen prince's panic, but not his pride. He stormed inside, muttering about barbarians and their lack of proper respect in the face of true power and dragons. Illyrio followed, always prepared to talk him down if need be.

Aline guided Dany back up to her rooms. "What did you think of my future husband, shadowhunter?"

The Volantian gave her a strange look. "I think he looks like a formidable opponent. I would not want to cross blades with him, even with my runes and the advantage they give me."

Daenerys rolled her eyes. Perhaps it would take a while before Aline was willing to talk of more than just duty.

Arya wandered the godswood with Nymeria. It wasn't like Clary to not be around like this. Rickon and Shaggydog were there, with Lucian, training the pup to be less wild. All the pups loved Clary's stepfather. Bran was sitting beneath the weirwood with Summer, resting.

"Ser Garroway, have you seen Clary? I'm so sorry to disturb the pups' training, but I haven't seen her at all this morning." Arya watched the Dornishman's eyes darken with anger.

"I'm afraid she was sent off on an errand with Lord Bane and some of the king's party. She should be back soon, my lady, or else I'll go looking for her myself, you have my word."

Arya nodded, her hand buried in Nym's thick coat. She turned, her footsteps silenced by the moss and leaves coating the ground. Jon, she thought. Jon will know what to do. She was going to find her friend. There was all this talk of leaving and going to Kings Landing and she was not going without Clary Rivers.

Jon was standing off to the side of the training yard, watching Robb and Joffrey spar with training swords. He was brooding, like he always did. Ghost turned at their approach, not making a sound, just observing as his littermate and Arya joined Jon in watching what was clearly an ill-matched session.

"The prince attacks with nothing but rage and spite, no thought for strategy or his opponent's potential strength or weakness." Jon was still watching the yard closely. "Robb sees it. He's wearing him down without having to hit him. It's clever, patient. More gracious than I would have been. I'd have given the twat a sound beating and let him learn his lesson."

Both she-wolves turned to watch the young men dance around each other with their pretend swords. Arya saw the truth of Jon's words. Robb was parrying every enraged blow, dodging every hurried thrust, until the blonde boy was panting and wild-eyed with fury.

Her big brother looked like it was taking every bit of his self-control not to grin. "It would appear I cannot even hit you, Your Grace. Shall we call it a draw?"

Joffrey's face reddened but Sansa was already there, swooning, telling him how astonishing his skill was, despite her brother being both older and larger than him. Arya fought the urge to gag.

Robb sauntered over to Jon and Arya, ruffling Nymeria's fur. None of them ever pet Ghost. The silent direwolf somehow made it clear he was Jon's and Jon's only. Jon spoke before Robb got the chance. "That was rather diplomatic of you."

Robb snickered. "Father told me quite firmly that I was not to beat the shit out of him, no matter how desperately I wanted to." He held himself upright, deepening his voice into a perfect imitation of their father. "'You'll just have to settle for outwitting him and proving you're a better man with more than just your sword.'"

Arya giggled and Jon nodded. "That sure sounds like Father."

Their older brother grinned at them both before slapping his thigh with sparring sword he was still holding. "I suppose I should go get dressed. See you both later."

They watched him leave as the younger prince, Tommen was bundled up and matched with Bran for sparring. She wondered vaguely when he had left the godswood.

"So what did you want, little sister?"

She peered up at Jon, who was finally looking at her, now that the sparring no longer interested him. "Clary's missing."

He made the pained expression that meant he was confused. "How is that possible? Her father is Captain of Father's forces. We have all these additional guards around..." his voice trailed off.

"What? What is it?" Arya knew that look. Jon knew something.

"The night of the feast, Clary went upstairs with Lord Bane. When Lucian asked me where she'd gone, I told him and he asked if she was alone."

"Well? Was she?"

Jon paused. Whatever it was, Arya could handle it. He should know she was old enough to handle it. "She looked alone to me, other than Magnus, but Tyrion Lannister said she was with three of the king's party. He said he wasn't sure their name, but that their mother had made sure they joined the caravan. Lucian seemed angry and stormed off toward his and Jocelyn's quarters. I assumed he knew something I didn't. I was also really rather drunk, Arya." He gave her a sad grimace. "Have you asked Lucian?"

She nodded fiercely. "He said she was on an errand with Lord Bane and if she didn't return soon, he would go looking for her himself."

Jon sighed. "Which means she's not here and he doesn't know where she is."

"Exactly." Arya's tone disturbed Nymeria, making the direwolf restless beside her. "I need to find her. She's been gone for over a day now and I'm not heading south without her."

Her brother ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated rush of breath. "Fine. I'll help you try and find her. But only because I know you would do it without me. Go find Simon, if she told anyone where she was going, it would be him. I'm going to ask Lord Tyrion about who he saw her head off with. We'll meet in Magnus' library, deal?" He held out his hand, in the way he always had when they were betting or swearing secrets.

Arya took his hand, gripping it fiercely. "Deal."

Wards went off all around the Volantis Institute. The portal room locked down right as the warlock, an old family friend, was about to open the portal back to their home in Dorne - the Water Gardens Institute. Andrew Blackthorn pressed his fingers to his eyes. It had been a long meeting with Jia and he just wanted to get back to his duties running his Institute, relieve his son Mark. Tessa, still trying to open the portal, let out a frustrated groan.

She turned to Andrew, seeing his state, and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Let's go ask Penhallow what's happening." He nodded, following her lead.

They stepped into the main entry of the Institute, only to see Jia rushing to them, confusion on her face. "So it wasn't you then."

Tessa was clearly offended. "I've been portaling in and out of Institutes longer than either of you have been alive. Of course it wasn't me. Whatever it is has warded off warlock magic. I couldn't open a portal now if I wanted to."

Jia's face stiffened. "So we're under attack." She began shouting commands at the shadowhunters of her Institute. She turned back to Tessa and Andrew and was saying something but Andrew was too exhausted to hear it.

Tessa nudged him and he snapped out of his stupor. "What?"

"I asked if you've heard from Mark. Is the Dornish Institute in danger as well?"

Tessa shook her head. "We've had no fire messages. I doubt any could get through this. This is not like any magic I've felt before. This is older than myself, or even Magnus or Ragnor. It isn't fae or demonic either."

Andrew noticed Jia pale at the warlock's words. "You know who it is."

She shook her head. "No, but I have an idea of what they might be."

The sound of shattering glass drew their attention toward the portal room entrance. Black flames, like obsidian, shimmering with greens and blues and purples, swirled into a portal until two figures stepped through, wreathed in the fire. One was a tall Asshai'i shadowbinder, clothed in leathers and her lacquered veil, with silver eyes and raven black hair. The other, though, was a fae girl with brilliant golden hair, with blue flowers woven into a braid, accenting her blue-green eyes.

Blackthorn eyes, Andrew couldn't help but thinking. He stepped forward, drawn to the girl. She looked so much like his baby girl he had lost, the girl he had looked for before duty called him back to Westeros. "What business do you have with the Volantis Institute?" His eyes were fixed on the fae girl, but he address the Asshai'i woman.

She chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "I want to know why the obsidian candle is now lit. A new dragon is born and I intend to defend them, as you and my ancestors failed before."

Jia stepped up behind Andrew. "We cannot divulge the location of the one you seek. We have already sworn to defend them. You attack our Institute, infiltrate and make demands. Tell me, why would the Clave ever agree to trust you with such a priceless secret?"

He could feel Tessa tense next to him. Jia was withholding things - again. A new magic. The other heads of Institute had a right to know about things like that. He had to wonder, though, if she had gone through the Clave or if this was just Jia. Penhallow had a habit of making her own deals.

That dangerous sound that was the woman's laughter rumbled again, filling the room with a heated energy. She removed her veil, revealing olive skin that made her quicksilver eyes shimmer even brighter in contrast. A glamour wavered in front of their eyes, like waves of heat, and her raven black hair was suddenly as alive as the black flames of her portal.

"I am Quaithe, of the Shadowlands. The last true Valyrian. Now you see me as I am, fire made flesh. I am trusting you, not only with one great secret I have kept, but two." She gestured to the fae girl next to her, who grinned like a true faerie. "I bring back one of your own, whom I have raised since she was a child. She is like my own daughter and free to choose her own path, but I reveal her to you now in good faith."

Andrew stumbled forward and fell to his knees in front of the two women. "Helen?"

The blonde blinked in surprise at hearing the name, turning her blue-green gaze on him. Blackthorn eyes. Recognition flickered in her stare as she turned to the Valyrian and said something in a language he couldn't understand. She reached out gingerly to touch his cheek, as if to see if he was real, before drawing her hand back. Andrew watched the confidence flow back into his daughter, the same confidence that filled the Asshai'i woman.

His half-faerie daughter directed her announcement at the shadowhunters in the Institute, most of whom had gathered at the entry to view the spectacle that had become a reunion. "It's true. My name is Helen Blackthorn and I am daughter of Andrew Blackthorn, as well as of a lady of the Seelie Court. I am fae, yes. But I am also one of you. I am nephilim." She turned to Jia. "Do you trust us now, Mistress Penhallow?"

Chapter 1

[symphonic--chaos]

Empires of Brick and Blood Chapter 1 - The Prologue Rating: G

"Magnus Bane."

The words echoed through every unoccupied space in the city, through each junkie filled alley, through windows that were open in hopes for cool air to combat the sweltering heat, into the sewer where rats that were once cat size were now dinner plates. So booming that it could have been a victorious combatant against the thunder that threatened to rumble in the sky. It had been just twenty minutes before it had filled with brownish green cumulonimbus clouds, ready to spill their clean drops into their filth filled city.

The sudden clink of metal against faux porcelain came to follow as the owner of that name paused his antics of shoveling the stew into his mouth, already late to several 'appointments'. A single dark eye darted up to the chef in front of him, paused behind the large metal counter, before he spun in the chair to look at the open space behind him. Druggies waiting for him, a limousine headed into the town center just a few minutes away, a few merchants lurking for easy prey to fall to their inner-coat 'rare' deals.

"...Did you--" The confused man started to call back to the chef, only silenced as the deep voice began its echoing speech.

"You're a dealer. An urchin among the others on the street, but the most poisonous one of them all. You've slipped through lazy fingers for too long and, now that my family is here, this reign on the Downworlders is going to end."

Interesting. 

Credits clinked on the counter as Bane's pierced tongue swept over the slit between his canine and premolar, a tsk following as he felt a bit of the fake meat trapped there. Gloved hands reached behind the counter and felt around until his fingers curled around the toothpicks there, one tugged out and used before the piece was spit aside and the toothpick rested between his lips. The loud voice was going on and on, something about him being a killer (wrong), reckless (closer to the truth), and how he lived up to his name, being a Bane to their city. That part had him chuckling as he stepped out from under the protective metal roof, trying to find which speaker this man's voice was coming out of. 

A familiar blue haired junkie that was ever devoted to him pointed upwards towards the large, hovering, blimp-like contraption flying through the air, the large screen on the side revealing the most striking natural blue eyes Bane had ever seen. They rivaled Zydrate in every way, serious and deadly, but a hint of something that promised so much more. A rarity these days, most people after all their surgeries and genetics had either crazy impossible colors, or dark eyes like his own eye. That one eye narrowed as he focused again on the male, who had shifted from leaning back against the high-backed chair to instead fold his arms on the desk, his head leaning towards them as he came closer to the camera that had been placed unflattering angle. Until now.

Goosebumps littered the tan skin hidden by layers of shirts and jackets as a grin spread across the man's lips, perfect white teeth that screamed of money and power. Like a mouse cornered by a large cat, Bane didn't move from the spot. Though his dark hair, buzzed at the sides and a long mane down its center, was neatly pulled up into a mixture of a mohawk that trailed into a braid, his sidebangs betrayed the cat eye hidden beneath them with the slightest gust of the breeze going by. 

"My name is Alec Lightwood, Bane, and I will find you, personally. I will hunt you down. I will have eyes everywhere, and I will be one step behind you until I'm one step ahead. You can't get away from me."

Bane swallowed thickly at this threat, he knew that every single inch of him should be terrified by the threat of a new person who seemed to be putting his all into catching him, unlike the last guards he paid off. Being the last living Largo had its perks when it came to the old surviving repo men and guards that once loyally served his family, but the two faces this 'Alec' had behind him drew a blank.

The terror that should have been there was... excitement. Slight arousal, perhaps, but mostly it sent adrenaline rushing through him. A laugh began rumbling in Bane's chest before filling the air as he let himself go, let that rush go straight through him with a shake of his hair to return the bangs to their place, hidden from the guards lurking the streets. 

"Alec Lightwood. Pretty boy. Magnus Bane, an immense pleasure to meet you. I look forward to this chase and I wish you the best of luck." Bane called out to the blimp as the screen went dark, his body bending as he bowed in a mocking adieu. 

The blue haired junkie sidled up to him, slipping under one of his arms as her quiet, nervous voice rang like sweet honey in his ears.

"Do you think he'll get ya, Bane?" 

"Maybe," Bane hummed, his arm slipping around her shoulders as he pulled her into a side hug, his lips pressing against her forehead. "But not without some good chases and fights, hm?" 

The worry was clear on her face, but it seemed a good enough answer for her as a smile crossed her face, her small hand curling around his larger as she tugged him towards the nearby alley.

"Come on, come on, we're all waiting for you. Some of 'em are getting really bad and need your fix. They're here from Striker."

Striker. Now if there was anyone that Alec should have wasted his time on, it was that lousy sack of shit, the one who didn't care if he was poisoning or killing his clients with his tainted Zydrate. Not as long as the credits were tucked firmly into his greedy pocket, first.

"Alright, chickpea. Lead the way."

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @inmalecscarvesmeanlove!

Merry Christmas, dear giftee! The time has finally come to receive your present and I hope it is a gift that will make you smile during the holiday season! Hope you have a wonderful time, however you’ll be celebrating! Love & Hugs!, ;-)) X

Read on AO3

*****

'Twas The Morning After Christmas

Cocooned in a warmth that made it hard to leave the bed, Alec squeezed his eyes shut and tried once more to will himself back to sleep. Pulling the covers over his shoulder with his free hand, he burrowed even deeper into the pillows and Magnus, their curled up bodies in contact from head to toe, with a tight clasp of hands anchored to Alec’s chest for good measure. Attempting to regulate his breathing and convince himself that his eyelids felt like lead, he concentrated on trying to match the puffs of air that tickled the back of his neck at regular, slumber-filled intervals but Magnus’ contented breath only served to highlight his own restlessness.  With a resigned huff, Alec placed a gentle kiss to the back of his husband’s elegant hand before extricating himself oh-so carefully from his embrace. Madness, right? But his mind was already half-awake and planning the day ahead, even if his body would take a while longer.

Throwing on the furry Dalmatian onesie (complete with leather paws) that Izzy and Simon had given him yesterday for Christmas, he was grateful for it’s insulating properties against the early morning chill as he trotted off to the kitchen, drawing a line at using the hood because, after all, he didn’t want to look stupid.  Casting an accusatory look at the unsightly amount of after-party debris that littered, what seemed to be, the entire loft, Alec decided that no restoration work could possibly take place without first restoring himself to full consciousness. And that required strong coffee.

Stopping momentarily in his tracks at the bombsight that greeted him, in what years of living here told him should be the kitchen,  Alec was almost tempted to crawl back into bed.  Luckily though, his body’s more-important-than-blood craving for caffeine stopped him and he dragged his paws across the floor to the coffee-maker, scraping the silly string from the top of the machine so he could prepare his self-medication.  Visually filtering out the worst of the carnage as he fished around for the necessities, Alec hastily spooned in the elixir of life and poured the water, setting the timer to ‘Herculean’ as he tripped his way over to the balcony doors, intent on reaching the only floorspace not covered in party poppers and burst balloons.

Grateful for the fairy lights that still lit up the cosy corner of his retreat, Alec tentatively stepped out, bracing himself against the cool breeze that set his fake fur on end as he threw dignity to the wind and yanked up his hood, droopy ears and all.  Leaning his elbows on the balcony wall, the crisp air hit the back of his throat as he inhaled and helped clear the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes as he took in the early morning bustle of the Brooklyn streets below.  Still blanketed in a thin cover of grey, the view was quieter than usual but breathtaking nonetheless.  Alec assumed he wasn’t the only poor soul in need of recovery from the previous day’s family festivities and he spared a thought of commiseration for all his fellow cleaner-uppers who faced the daunting prospect of a job not even Harvey Keitel would agree to take on.  Unless, of course, his darling hubby was sufficiently recovered from his holiday hangover and had the energy to help him out. Remembering the amount of toasts and tipples that had been celebrated last night, he somehow doubted it, but if anyone could withstand the negative effects of too much alcohol, it was Magnus.  His beloved imbibed cocktails as naturally as Alec breathed in air, and never looked anything less than fabulous for having done so, he thought with an enviously proud smile. The smug shit.

As if conjured by thought alone, he heard the doors behind him open briefly before two over-sized white paws snuck around his waist and an intimately familiar body moulded itself to his back, providing a much needed layer of warmth.

‘Don’t say it,’ he warned with a shake of his head, long black ears flapping in the cutest way..

‘I thought I spotted you out here, darling,’ Magnus chuckled regardless, ignoring the groan and snuggling in even closer, exaggerating a shiver. ‘It’s freezing out here, Alexander.  Why don’t we go back to our cosy bed and lick each other….clean,’ he practically purred, ‘before our little angels rise and shine….hmmm? Six in the morning is an ungodly hour, even for you.’

Alec turned around to apologise but faltered, mouth agape, as he took in the oddly arousing vision of his bare-faced, floppy-haired lover dressed in a black cat onesie with white paws and whiskers that barely pulled focus when compared to the golden eyes that glowed from beneath the silky hood.  

That was until said lover started laughing.

‘OK, get it over with,’ Alec muttered with a reluctant grin, as Magnus’ amusement could no longer be contained and he buried his face in Alec’s chest in an attempt to stifle his laughter.  Patting his back in sarcastic comfort, Alec rolled his eyes as Magnus emerged, eyes wet, to take a second look, choosing to suffer the humiliation in order to hold him tight.

‘Oh my darling, you even manage to look sexy-cute as a pooch!  It must the scruff!’ With that, Magnus launched himself at Alec who kissed him back hungrily, ensuring the weather and coffee were both soon forgotten as they pawed each other clumsily between giggles and gasps, only slowing down when the distant timer let them know the beverage was ready.

With a reluctant groan, Magnus planted a final smacker on his favourite pair of lips before stepping back, tugging Alec with him as they headed back inside, paw-in-paw.  Tacitly agreeing to ignore the mess they were walking through, both removed their hoods and hands in order to make their drinks, sipping them as they sprawled on opposite ends of the sofa, legs entwined.  

Eyeing each other over the rim of their mugs while enjoying the comfortable silence, Alec found himself declaring, ‘I love you,’ with the dopiest expression on his face, a habit he found impossible to kick when faced with his incredibly handsome husband, and one, for some strange reason, that had rubbed off on Magnus, who returned the sentiment with a look of sappy contentment that never failed to make his pulse jump.

A sudden high pitched squeal from behind the sofa startled them both but Magnus recovered quickly, holding a silencing finger to his lips as they realised its source.  Leaning over to quietly place their drinks on the table, both pulled on their hoods and hands before getting to their knees, ready to catch them by surprise.

Mouthing the countdown together, they prepared to go over the top…..3, 2, 1, ‘GOTCHA!’ they yelled…… but their little devils had disappeared. Well, almost.  Five chubby blue toes poked out from the gap beneath the sofa until another’s hand quickly pulled them under, leaving Magnus to clamp a hand over his mouth to prevent a give-away laugh.  Sharing a look of loving indulgence that every parent would recognise, Alec winked before using a stage whisper to ask, ‘Have you seen Chairman this morning, babe?  Because I think we might have one or two mice in the loft.’

Rolling his eyes as he grinned, Magnus played along.  ‘Now you mention it, I haven’t, but I bet he’s hiding around here somewhere just waiting to spring into action.  Let me look..’

As Chairman’s favourite bell-in-a-ball rolled out, rather conveniently Magnus thought, from their sons’ hiding place, it was Alec’s turn to cover his mouth as a rather large, albeit woolly, hedgehog was forcefully ejected from the same place.  The only telltale sign it was really their cat in disguise (thanks to a compromise on Max’s part when Santa had failed to deliver the real hedgehog he’d asked him for) being the disgruntled look he shot them before flouncing off in a manner not unlike that of his owner.

Motioning for Alec to climb over the back as he prepared to cover the front, he speculated aloud, ‘Well if Chairman doesn’t seem willing to catch them then that leaves US!’  With perfect synchronicity they both jumped down to find their mischievous sons huddled together, looks of childish excitement on their adorable faces as they crawled out from their hideout to clamber into their daddies’ laps before collapsing all together on the sofa.

‘Papa, you scared us!’ chortled Max, their four year old baby warlock whose big blue eyes shone with happiness as Magnus tickled his sides.

‘Good because you scared us too! You pair of scallywags were supposed to be asleep in your beds,’ he replied, lifting the wriggling bundle onto his lap as Alec allowed their older son, Rafe, to tickle him instead.

‘Dad’s in love with Papa!’ the dark haired mini shadowhunter teased, bearing an uncanny resemblance to his father as he mimicked him, ‘I love you, kiss, kiss, kissy-face.’  Alec cracked up, unable to help himself as all three members of his family descended on him, covering his face in noisy wet kisses that left him begging for air.

Taking pity on him, Magnus called off their affectionate assault and insisted on them returning to bed for a little while longer, despite the weak sunlight that threatened to spill in through the loft’s windows.  ‘Don’t forget we’re meeting friends and family at the dome later for the Boxing Day Bowl ‘n Roll.  You’ll need your energy for that,’ he reminded the boys, as an unexpected yawn escaped him.

‘Looks like they’re not the only ones who need more rest before Team Lightwood-Bane show the others who’s boss,’ Alec pointed out, realising the prospect of more sleep suddenly seemed a good idea as he remembered how much energy would be required to keep up with his siblings and their partners, Simon and Maia, neither of which were short of the competitive spirit.  

‘Will Madzie be there too?’ Max asked tiredly, as he tucked himself into his papa’s neck.

‘She will, blueberry,’ Magnus replied softly, nodding for Alec to follow him as he carried their youngest to their bedroom instead.

‘Cat too, Dad?’ Rafe mumbled, as he traced a finger down along his father’s neck rune.

‘Cat too, angel,’ Alec confirmed, placing the gentlest of kisses on the mop of dark hair.

Not bothering to change clothes, Magnus snapped his fingers to turn back the covers before he and Alec placed the boys in the centre of the bed and climbed in to bracket them, sharing a sleepy smile over their heads as they all settled in.

‘I love you all,’ Magnus whispered, a wave of blue spark drawing the blinds to keep out the sun and hasten their rest.

‘Me too,’ Rafe agreed as his eyes drifted shut.

‘Uh huh,’ managed Max.

Grasping Magnus’ outstretched hand which lay across their cherished children, Alec blew his husband a kiss before closing his eyes too.

‘I love you all too. Merry Christmas, my boys.’

Even Chairman thought their smiles looked cute as he settled along the pillows a short while later.