Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a world where 90 percent of the population have a special ability, are gifted, being one of the few without, being ungifted, is a literal nightmare. By age seven almost everyone gains an ability of some kind. Abilities tend to be genetic, but in some cases they differ branching out and creating a new genealogical line of gifts. 

Abilities can be anything from strength to speed, to flight. Sometimes they are magical in a sense, telekinesis, shape shifting, invisibility, force. There are elementals, those who can manipulate earth, water, fire, and air. Some people can affect gravity, some can read minds, some can summon lightning. 

Healers of all varieties were the most coveted, some can heal minor wounds, only five people world wide have the greater ability to heal almost anything. The rarer the ability, the more sacred. 

There are innumerable Abilities as well as differing factors to each ability. Some fire users may be able to summon and control fire, others may only be able to control it if an existing source is available. Some psychics can see the future, some the past. Some can choose whose future they see, some see it at random. Not all strength is the same, not all speed. Some are more blessed than others in every field, but all Abilities have a limit, even the most powerful.

A small portion of the population are born without Abilities. It's every parents greatest fear that their child will be giftless. Society shuns the ungifted, they are despised. Most ungifted children become unwanted and a good majority of them wind up being abandoned.  

The best case scenario is that the parent signs away their rights and relinquishes their child to the government. They do it opely and honestly, swiftly cutting ties with little shame, this leaves a door open for future contact should the parent decide. Other times, when the parent wants no attachment, they will quite literally take their child and just leave them somewhere, anywhere. Normally parents do this out of embarrassment, wanting no ties. Viewing said child as a stain upon their family. . The worst case scenario is when the parent takes the fate of the unwanted child into their own hands. They think of it as putti g the child out of their misery, just like one would do to a sick pet.

There are laws that protect children, but those laws do not count for the ungifted, no laws protect the ungifted. Being unwanted by everyonez they fall into a very murky area of the law.  

The ungifted can be abandoned, abused, murdered with little to no consequences. If for some reason a parent were caught permanently removing their ungifted child, they would be arrested since murder is inherently illegal, but their sentence is little more than a slap on the wrist. 

Luckily, society as a whole does tend to frown upon harming and/or killing innocent children even the ungifted, so these cases are few and far between. There are few people who want to take in the ungifted, most of the abandoned live in group homes specifically created for ungifted children. Some are bounced around through foster care. There are some kind people who genuinely care for children gifted or not, and are happy to take them into their home. There are also some people who know that the consequences of hurting an ungifted child are very small, so they take them in for nefarious purposes. 

School for the Ungifted is a horrible and degrading experience, they often end up being unwilling training dummies, and tend to suffer bullying. The ungifted are vastly outnumbered. Less than one percent of the ungifted make it to higher education. Only 63 percent of the ungifted even make it to adulthood.

Ungifted adults struggle to find work, they often fill in the unwanted jobs, surviving on minimum wage, and living in literal slums. Not many are willing to rent to them, Banks refuse mortgages and most other loans. If the ungifted don't have familial help of some kind, if they are one of the abandoned, then it is truly a desolate life. Lonely and hard. Less than 15 percent make it past the age of 50. 

Harry Styles is ungifted. When no ability appeared by his seventh birthday, his dad was furious. His mum cried like she had lost her child, she refused to look at him. . His older sister, Gemma, just stared on with a frown. His dad got so angry, he yelled at Harry, asking what he did to deserve such a worthless son. His mum just walked away taking Gemma with her. 

For the first time in Harry's life, his dad hit him. His parents had always been loving and kind, they rarely got angry, he rarely got punished. He was a very loved child, he wasn't used to such anger being aimed his way. 

Desmond hit him, then hit him again, and again. Harry cried out, not understanding why it was happening, he hadn't done anything wrong. He's a good boy, but Desmond just got angrier and angrier as Harry shielded his face from the man's assault.

He kicked Harry hard, making him fall to his hands and knees. He proceeded to kick, and slap and hit, till Harry couldn't hold himself up anymore from the pain. Harry cried and shuddered, gasping for air, he was so sad and so confused. He didn't know why this was happening 

He yanked Harry's aching body off the floor by his wrist and all but dragged him to the car. Harry's little legs scrambled to try to keep up and failed, leaving his knees to drag across the driveway. He kept apologizing, begging and pleading. 

"I'll be good, I'll be good, I promise daddy." 

His pleas fell on deaf ears as Des forced him into the car and drove on. Eventually they make it to a heavily wooded area. Des looked over at him with a severe frown on his face. For a second, he looked almost guilty, almost sorry. "Get out." He said gruffly.

Harry, still sad and confused and wanting to make his dad happy again, wanting to show how much of a good boy he can be, does as told. He scrambles to get out of the car. As he stands on the side of the wooded road, he hears his door slamming shut, des having reached over to pull it closed. He looked at his dad through the window, he saw tears welling up in his dads eyes, before the man turned his eyes back to the road. Not a second later, Desmond peeled off, tires kicking a cloud of dust in Harry's face. As he coughed and spluttered from the dust, he began to run after the car.

 "Wait! Daddy come back!! I'll be good, I promise. I'll be better!! Please don't leave me!" he reached out his hand as if trying to grasp the car, even as it slipped fully from view. He ran and he ran, tears streaming down his face, until he couldn't run anymore and collapsed into the dirt. 

That is the last time Harry ever saw his family. It was a birthday he will never, ever forget. He spent 5 days alone, just wandering the woods, drinking from dirty streams to try to stay hydrated, before the streams froze over. Being midwinter, he found little to satiate his hunger. 

He only wore sweatpants, a shirt, and a matching hoodie along with his trainers. They were warm, but not warm enough for five days in the February chill. By day two it began to snow, and continued until day 5 when Harry was found. 

They say it's a miracle he survived. Most children would have frozen to death, if Hypothermia and dehydration didn't get them first. As ill-equipped and underdressed as Harry was, his survival odds were highly improbable. Harry was severely dehydrated, malnourished, and completely delirious by the time someone found him. 

Harry spent six days in the intensive care unit, 2 weeks total in the hospital. He had to relearn to eat, his body rejecting food. He fought through fevers, suffered illness from drinking unclean water, infections from the injuries his dad left him with. He almost died twice, and almost lost the fight. Miraculously, he suffered no frostbite, and in the end he made it. He survived.

They already suspected him to be ungifted, as was usual in such abandonment cases, but on a few rare occasions regular children suffered. When he was conscious enough to talk, the police came to the hospital to see him. They asked how he came to be in the woods and about his gift. When he couldn't answer, they had the doctors perform a series of tests and determined that he was indeed ungifted. 

The police left shortly after, Harry no longer important. The nurses told him he should count his lucky stars. He should be thanking the heavens that someone decided to help him, being as he was ungifted. Most people would have seen him in the woods, and left him to fate. Some of the nurses even said it would have been kinder if they had left him.

After his ungifted status was revealed, many nurses and doctors refused to treat or care for him. It left nly those mandated by the government to offer him reluctant care, and set back his recovery a lot. When he was finally released, he no longer had a home to go to. He had no family, no one to love him. He became a ward of the government. Another unwanted ungifted. 

Harry's life didn't get any better from there. 

HZHZHZHZ 

The ungifted are few, but even fewer than the ungifted population, are the multi-gifted. Unlike the ungifted, the multi-gifted are coveted and cherished. They are the crown jewels of the world. The multi-gifted have two or more abilities, three being the most anyone has ever had..

Normally in such cases, the multiple abilities are connected. The person may have two complimenting elements or both mind reading and telekinesis, gifts that go hand in hand. The rarest people of all are those who hold multiple contradictory abilities. They are considered to be the most powerful. 

Zayn Malik is multi-gifted. By the time his seventh birthday came around, Zayn had already presented with three contradictory abilities. He was a minor healer, he could heal most non-threatening injuries. He could not cure any illness or anything life threatening. 

He was also a mind-grazer, with physical contact, he could see a brief glimpse of a person's inner thoughts, feelings, and memories. . Unlike mind readers, he couldn't just look at someone and read the surface thoughts of their mind or mind walkers who can deep dive through someone's thoughts, feelings, and memories with no limit. He had to have physical contact and he had to actively try, and was only granted a small glimpse inside their brain. 

His third and final gift was his most powerful and favorite of all. Zayn is a creator. Specifically, a artistic creator. He can bring his art to life for a short time. The amount of time his art lives depends on how much of himself he pours into his art, how inspired he was when he created it. The life of his art can also gain inspiration from other people. 

For example, Zayn gives tattoos as a side job, he can give life to the tattoos. His longest living pieces are his meanigful living tattoos. His tattoos can stay alive and dancing across a persons skin for years if they are inspired enough. The movement and life of the tattoos depends full on the reciever. 

As a artistic creator, he can choose whether or not to bring his art to life. Depending on the size of the art, it can take a lot of energy, so he doesn't always bring his art to life. He can draw a butterfly and give it life for a few hours with little strain, but a life sized robot would take a lot more out of him. Tattoos feed on both himself and the reciever, so they are very low energy for him. 

Zayn is beyond blessed. Blessed by the gods, by his family and his abilities. Despite being so beloved as such a rarity to the world, Zayn remains grounded and down to Earth. Humbled by his families genuine love and care. 

Zayns older sister Doniya was born ungifted, his family didn't love her any less than Zayn or his other gifted sisters. No matter what society deemed of their worth, at home they were all equally loved. Sure there was envy, but they all did what they could to keep Doniya from feeling less.

Their parents homeschooled her so she wouldn't have to put up with prejudice. They guaranteed her a high up position within the family buisness, and gave her the tools and training required to take that position. They ensured she would have a home and a car and everything that the gifted were entitled to, but the ungifted were not. 

His family was rare in more than one way, a mix of gifted, ungifted, and multi-gifted. Fair, Kind, caring, and unbiased. They genuinely cared about all people and they rallied for ungifted rights.

Over the years, they even began fostering ungifted children. As many as they could, which admittedly was not enough, being as they had 4 children of their own. They could only take in two at a time. The ungifted were not eligible for adoption, so the Maliks did all they could to be a sanctuary, a safe space. They tried to give all the love they could for as long as they can. If the children had to leave their home, they always made it clear that their door would remain open if the children should ever need or want to come back. 

They even went so far as to secure funding for each of the children they fostered, no matter how short or long a time the children stayed. They owned a apartment complex and ensured housing for them, offered everyone positions in their company with fair pay. The Maliks would keep them all if they could, but sadly it wasn't up to them. The government can choose to move the children at any time. Luckily, that had only happened three times. They managed to keep two until adulthood, before taking in more. 

Which is how Zayn met his best friend. When Zayn was twelve, he met thirteen year old, ungifted, Louis Tomlinson. Louis hailed from a loving family, but his family grew too big to handle the strain of an ungifted. When he turned 10, his mother very guiltily and apologetically, made the choice to let him go. He spent three years bounceing around overcrowded group homes, before he wound up with the Maliks. 

Louis was jumpy and timid at first, reeling from the trauma from the group homes. He suffered with nightmares and struggled heavily with his mothers abandonment. It took him a lot to trust them, especially Zayn being multi-gifted. Jealousy and uncertainty made the first year a difficult time, but eventually, with the help of Doniya, Louis came to consider them family. 

With time, he and Zayn became best friends. When Zayn was fourteen and Louis was fifteen, Louis took a nasty fall during a game of tag with Zayn's little sisters. He hit his head hard, and got a bad concussion. Zayn healed him, and that is what finally cracked the ice between them. Zayn wasn't nasty, he didn't rub in his abilities, he just helped. By age 16 Zayn gave Louis his first living tattoo, their friendship cemented with eachbtear spent together. 

Zayn's life was amazing, and only got better each day. He had his family, his friends, his beautiful, wonderful, gifts. The only thing that would make it better is equality for the ungifted population, something he worked towards every day. 

Chapter Text

Harry hasn't had a home in a very long time. Not since before his seventh birthday, February 1st, 2001. Since then he's only had places that he's lived in, or more often than not in the last few years, no place to live at all. Not really. Some nights, he has a roof over his head, but nothing is ever permanent. There are just as many, if not more, nights where he has nowhere to sleep. No roof. No bed. Nothing to protect him from the elements. 

It's fine. It is. He is used to it and has been for a very long time. After being classified as ungifted and abandoned by his family, Harry spent several years jumping around group homes and foster homes, never landing in any that would stick. It's very rare that any ungifted find a home to stick with, they are not adoptable, so finding a family is practically impossible. The ungifted are cursed to just float through the system. 

Harry specifically was cursed to land in the worst and most unstable homes. He ran away for the first time at nine years old. He was living in a foster home in London, where he met his best friend at the time. Things were not good in the home, so together they made the choice to run. They learned to steal,  they learned to sneak and to hide, but life on the streets is hard for young children.  They lasted two months before the chill of winter and the bite of hunger finally got to them.

They were caught, but luckily were kept together and moved into a large group home. They lasted awhole year before they attempted to run again. When Harry was ten, the group home fell under new management, harsh management. Food was restricted and  children were forced to do impossible chores. Lists that went on and on, failure to complete them led to increasingly harsh punishments.

It started with no food and hetting locked in a dark cupboard for a day, then it turned to two days noin the cupboard with no food, plus a belting, which later turned to three days in the cupboard, with no food, a belting and a caning. 

When the first child died, they both knew it was time to go. So Harry and his best friend ran yet again. This time they were older, smarter, more resilient. They lasted six months before getting caught. 

They both thought it was the end for them. Neither expected to survive capture a second time. Ungifted were often locked up in juvenile detention centers for a lot less than being a twice Runaway, that's if they even made it there without any ‘accidents’. Ungifted children dying was a mercy, no one blinked when it happened. Harry doesn't know what happened to his bestfriend after they were caught that second time.  He doesn't know what fate fell upon him. The other boy was older than him by two years, so he took the blame, even though it was really Harry who pushed for them to run. Harry never saw his friend again. He was moved out of London, out to a home in Birmingham. It wasn't a good home either. Nor was any that followed.

He ran away for the last time from a group home in Manchester at the age of thirteen. He had experience with the streets by that point, he knew what to expect. So he easily adapted, he found the best alleyways. He learned the whereabouts of  the ungifted encampments. He learned where it was safe to sleep, to loiter, and to not to get caught. Most importantly, he learned how to make money, how to survive completely alone in this world. He also learned how to fight and when not to fight. 

One week into his stay on the streets, he received his first sexual proposition. Harry wished he could say it was the first time he'd been victim to sexual advances. But it wasn't. Foster care for the ungifted isn't pretty, Harry learned about sex far too young. When the proposition happened, he thought about fighting, about running. But fighting had never helped before, and running always led to something worse.

The proposition came with an offer of payment, and with that Harry learned to let it happen. He learned that his body was a tool, a weapon. That if he could wield it properly, it could generate income. The income wasn't always painless, but with time, he learned how to avoid pain. He learned to hone his body and his skills, the happier he made them, the nicer they tended to be. Harry learned the art of pleasure. 

Harry's body was the key to granting his every need. With his body he could earn money to buy food, he could guarantee himself a hot shower, and sometimes a place to sleep. Motels didn't book out to ungifted, but if said ungifted was accompanying a gifted they didn't really care. He learned the best places to go to make the most money, and how to avoid the police.

The gifted may look down upon the ungifted, but they were the ones that always came looking for a willing body. As the years passed, there was no shortage of men who wanted Harry. They conveniently overlooked his status and turned a blind eye to his obvious age. They came back time and time again. 

It wasn't a glamorous life. Harry never finished school, and as a runaway ungifted, he couldn't exactly find a place to live. Even the few slums that rent out to the ungifted require proof of income. There are squatting holes for people like him, but they are dangerous, so he tends to avoid them. They offer running water, electricity, a bed, but they all come with heavy strings. Strings Harry doesn't want to get tangled around his neck.

There are shelters for the ungifted, but they are always full, women and younger children are given first priority. The shelters aren't very nice, but at least they exist. The homeless population is astronomical compared to the total percentage of ungifted citizens. 

Even so, there aren't many like Harry. There are not many who use their bodies in the way Harry does. Pristtutes make up a small minority. Bigger cities have more, but poverty isn't just for the ungifted, there are plenty of gifted who suffer from it as well. The gifted whores are far more popular than the ungifted, which can make it hard for them to find work. The gifted are more desirable in every way.  Female whores tend to be more popular than the few male whores that roam the streets if Manchester.

But Harry doesn't struggle, he never has. He's been picked out over the gifted many times. He's even been picked out over girls by the straightest men, because of what he can offer, which is true unadulterated pleasure. On the streets, Harry learned the most important lesson there is to learn, and that is to never stop learning. To never stop trying to be better, that no skill is completely worthless.

Harry is simply amazing at giving pleasure. He knows the human body like the back of his hand, he knows all of the endogenous zones, and all of the possible ones. He learned how to read body language, how to follow all the cues, and how to be exactly who he needs to be to generate the most pleasure. He is an expert. 

Not just with men, with women, also. There are less females who come out seeking pleasure in the slums, but they exist, and Harry learned them, too. It's his job after all, he wants to be the best of the best. Money equals food, it equals clothes, it equals a shower at a local gym if he doesn't have a roof to live under.

 Because despite the high level of discrimination in the world, there are plenty of businesses willing to overcharge the ungifted. The gym allows him membership at triple the cost of everyone else, but no one blinks an eye at his presence. He works out his body daily, despite malnourishment and hunger, he learned that a well toned body is key to the art of being desirable.

The first proposition led to another and another. It went from once, to twice, to every week, to every day. Now four years later, Harry rarely goes a day without working. Sometimes he meets with multiple people in a day. He loves it, loves the power it gives him. For someone who is ungifted, Harry wields a lot of power in the form of pleasure. Sex is a power in its own right, and Harry is an good at sex.

Harry can be whatever they need him to be. They want a girl? He cannot change his anatomy, but he can play the part. A needy slut? He can beg like his life depends on it. Harry can be 'cunt, bitch, slut, whore, baby, pet', whatever they want him to be. He can beg for it, plead for it to stop, call them daddy, master, mommy, nothing is off limits. He can pretend his cock is a clit and his ass is a cunt. He can take it dry, he can take it wet and sloppy, he can give it anyway they want it. He can cum on command, or not cum at all. He can take a hit, a slap, a fist, a kick. He can eat cum like it's breakfast, lunch and dinner.  He is a master of controlling his own body, a master of being whoever he needs to be. 

Success doesn't mean that Harry is safe. Being desirable doesn't equal safety. In fact, it often means the opposite.  The streets are a hard place, survival is a full time job, and not just anyone can survive. Harry has seen more than his fair share of people fail at survival. It's the harsh reality of living in this world.

Harry has been hurt as many times as not, because being good at his job only gets him so far. He can be good at giving pleasure, but sometimes his pain is what's needed to grant pleasure. Some people get off on causing pain, on making him hurt, on making him bleed.  It's a dangerous business.

He doesn't have the luxury of saying no. Either he accepts the job, performs to the best of his ability and gets paid, or he doesn't.  When he doesn't, he doesn't get paid, but more often than not they take what they want anyway. It's better to accept and get paid for it, than to gain nothing but pain. Sometimes, he'll run into someone who refuses to pay, and Harry just lets it go, beecause part of survival is knowing when to fight and when to not. Luckily, most pay him fairly, even the ones that want to hurt him. 

The ungifted are just as dangerous, they will easily steal from their own kind. There is no loyalty in the slums, it's every man for himself. He is actually in more danger from his own kind than he is from anyone else. Poverty, abandonment,  hopelessness, these things don't breed happy adjusted citizens. They breeds desperation and crime. 

The ungifted are more likely to streal, to harm, to kill, to rape.  Morality means very little to those that society condemns. Why should they care when no one cares about them? Survival is everything. So with very little job prospects, no families, and a heavy shortage in homes leading to many without, care goes out the window.  Survival of the fittest is a lifestyle.

 “Take what you want, because no one will give it to you, and there are no laws to protect you. Take from whoever you want, because we are all just as fucked as one another. No ungifted life matters. Trust no one, love no one, live only for yourself. ” Is the only advice anyone ever gave to Harry, he doesn't even remember who said it, because everyone in the slums says it. It's the motto of them all. 

Harry doesn't agree with the motto, he doesn't take from anyone withoutearning it, no matter who they are.  Rich, poor, gifted, ungifted, it's all the same to him. He just focuses on surviving, on living the best he can without harming others in the process. 

The problem with the streets is that so many ungifted people wind up on them. Young, weak, starving. The streets preach every man for himself, but Harry cannot leave those who can't help themselves behind. So he helps, or at least he tries. The ones who can't adapt, the ones who cannot fight, the ones who are doomed to die. 

Harry makes sure they have money, not enough to make them marks, just enough to survive. He makes sure they have food, he helps them find places to stay.  He tries to do all he can for them, because the alternative is watching them slowly starve to death or get murdered. 

Not everyone can work like Harry does. He's seen his job slowly kill people's spirits and minds, chipping at their will to live untill there is nothing left. He's seen it drive them to the brink, he's watched people take their own lives. Or  make riskier and riskier choices which later led to death. A lot of people are just not cut out for the dark, the brutal,ost people don't know how to give themselves away.

 So Harry works extra hard to help them, even as everyone around him scoffs. Despite everyone following the same motto, they begrudgingly respect him for helping those who cannot help themselves. Most people leave him alone out of respect, they consider him off limits.  Some, however, see him as weak and vulnerable and purposely target him for his kindness. It paints a target on his back to the most ruthless. 

Harry has little chance of escaping the streets, not just because he is ungifted, but because he gives away most of what he makes. He keeps only enough for survival. He sells himself,  he gives every bit of himself away, but at the end of the day, he helps keep others alive. That's worth more than anything to Harry. 

HZHZHZHZ

Harry is down on his knees in a dirty,  grimy alleyway. The concrete is wet from the rain steadily falling from the sky, his jeans are soaked through from it. It doesn't matter though, work doesn't end because of a little rain. A penis is lodged in his throat, hurriedly moving in and out. Harry licks and sucks as it pulls out before pushing back in. He doesn't have a gag reflex, and is particularly talented at deep throating. He knows how to contract his throat and breathe through his nose to make it as pleasurable as possible. He hums lightly to give vibration, and massages the Johns balls for the added stimulation.

The John grasps his hair with both hands, and matches Harry's pace with his thrusting hips. It's like they work in tandem, the perfect push and pull, Harry takes and the man gives seamlessly. To an outsider looking in, they would almost look like a couple by how insync they are. Harry's greatest talent is matching every sexual partner head on,  giving them everything they ask for and  a little bit more.

Five minutes is all it takes for the man to cum into the condom, because Harry always uses protection when he can. He doesn't always have the luxury, some Johns refuse, but Harry always pushes for it. Oftentimes they comply for their own safety. 

“Fuck. Why are you so good at this? It's fucking amazing everytime.” Harry just grins, looking up through his eyelashes seductively, still kneeling even as John tucks himself away. 

“Thank you for letting me suck your cock, daddy.” He says in an innocent, childlike voice. 

 “Fuck!” The John flushes hard. Clearly flustered, he pushes the heel of his hand into his cock through his trousers, trying to keep it from swelling back up.

“Babygirl you have no clue what you do to me, I wish I had more time, I'd take you to a hotel and pound your little pussy all night long.” he runs a shaky hand over his face, Harry remains kneeling, still smiling up. 

”I'd love that daddy. I miss feeling your big hard cock inside of me. I touch my clit thinking about you every single night.” Harry plays the part, this particular John likes for Harry to play his "little girl”. When they have more time, he has Harry put on a dress and do his makeup, but tonight is just a quick alleyway blowie. 

The man looks down at his watch hesitantly, he bites his lips and looks back towards the mouth of the alley, before stepping forward. He pushes his foot in-between Harry's legs, pressing it right up against Harry's clothed cock. “I have ten minutes, rub your clitty off on me baby girl. I want you to cum for me, then I want to watch you eat your cum out of your panties.” 

Harry doesn't even blink, it's nothing in the grand scheme of humiliating things he's done in his line of work. It's just an average Tuesday, but still… “but daddy…” he whines

“I'll pay extra, please baby girl! I want you to feel good too.” That's all Harry needs. He rubs himself on the foot, it doesn't particularly feel good, but he can work with the friction. He moans like a wanton whore, shrill and girl-like, just the way the John likes it. “Oh yes daddy! Please more!!”  The John moves his foot lightly in a rubbing motion, matching Harry's pace once more. 

He wills himself to get hard and after a few minutes of rubbing against the Johns shoe, he wills himself to cum using the friction and the power of his thoughts.  He immediately unbuttons his pants and reaches into his boxer briefs. He begins scooping out the small amout of cum he was able to produce, he licks his fingers sensually, sucking on them like he would a cock.  Normally he would be wearing panties with this particular John, but he does his best to play the role with what he has. he scoops out every drop he can, and puts on his very best show.

Sometime along the way, the John pulled out his cock and began wanking off, hard once again. He doesn't last long. “Can I cum on you? Please babygirl, let me cum on you?” He's desperate, so desperate, he's practically begging. It makes Harry feel powerful,  like he holds alm the cards.

Harry doesn't care if the John cums on him, so long as it'snot in him. He's already wet from the rain and has cum in his boxers. He has his bag and can clean up afterwards, plus the John will pay more if he lets him. 

“Yes daddy, give me you cum, please!” The John cums all over his face. Some gets in his hair and clings to his eyelashes.  He must look a sight. 

“ FUCK.” The John is having an internal battle as he tucks himself away, panicking as he looks at his watch. 

“The motel, 9pm Wednesday, please tell me you can be there?”

“Yes daddy, of course!”

“I'll bring your clothes..” he hurriedly reaches into his pocket. He drops the money to the floor and turns to flee all within a single moment. He's unable to even look at Harry. One hundred pounds. Normally a blowie is only fifty quid, but the John did promise to pay extra. Harry wasn't about to question it. 

He stands up slowly,  groaning at the ache in his knees, and grimacing at the mess in his underwear. He buttons up his jeans, and reaches for his bag. He tucks the money away into a hidden pocket in the backpack, and pulls out the wet wipes he keeps inside. He starts to clean up the best he can just by touch, bagging up the used wipes in a mini bin bag he keeps on hand. 

He uses a wipe to pick up the discarded condom and add it to the rubbish bag, before tucking the bag away to be thrown in the bin later. He refuses to leave his wate around. Then he quickly pulls off his shirt and replaces it with another. There's little he can do for his jeans and underwear right now. So he just leaves it be, hopefully he still looks good enough to catch at least one more John tonight. 

As he heads to the mouth of the alleyway, mentally preparing himself for the next pull, he hears a noise. Just beyond the alley in the dead of night and the pouring rain, there's a car. By the car stand a woman and a girl. The girl can't be any older than eleven, she's staring at the woman, crying loudly, begging.

“Please mummy, I just want to go home. Please, please, I'll try to learn a gift. I'll try to be better. Please don't leave me here!! I just want my daddy, please mummy just take me to daddy!!” The woman throws a rubbish bag on the floor by the girl.

“Look, it will be okay. There's some clothes in the bag, you'll be all right.” The woman sounds uncertain as she talks. “I'm sorry. I am. I just can't do it, not without your dad. I really hope that you will be okay, but I have to go and you have to stay here now. Someone will come for you okay? They will take you to a place full of your kind. Won't that be nice, Emily? To be with your own kind..” the woman actually tries to smile, although it looks more like a grimace. 

The girl is crying, her words are broken by the sobs that wrack her body. She falls down. “P-p-please mummy, please.  You prom-promised dad-dy you wouldn't.  You said- you s-said you would keep me. Please.”

“Look I can't.  Dad passed on. I can't do this alone. If only you were gifted, things could be different,  but they're not. Your daddy could love you, but I just- I can't.” She shakes her head and turns away, before climbing in the car and driving off. Leaving the little girl there on the rain soaked streets with only a rubbish bag full of clothes. 

“Wait! Daddy come back!! I'll be good, I promise. I'll be better!! Please don't leave me!” The memory crashes into Harry just like it does every time he witnesses such a scene. It's horrible. It's so brutally cruel. Harry has only witnessed two abandonments before now, this one being the third. It's way more than any one person should ever have to witness. Three too many. 

Harry feels a chill in his bones as he sees the girl sitting on the ground. He sees fladlshes of his five days in the woods, he feels the hunger and the bitter cold. November isn't quite February,  but it's cold enough. The girl shakes and sobs. She is too young to stay out on the streets, especially around here. It's not safe. It's only a matter of time before the vultures descend. They will steal her things, bleed her dry, and leave her out here to die.

Harry can't allow that, he won't.  Foster care is horrible for the ungifted, but for now it's the best place for the girl. Harry wouldn't allow her to even spend a night on these streets. 

“Hi.” He puts on his kindest smile and his softest expression.  She needs help. She startles and clutches her bag, looking around scared. 

“D-don't come any closer, my- my mummy is right down the street. She will be here any second. You- you’ll be in big trouble if you hurt me.” She's pretty in a classical way. Platinum blonde hair, big sparkling blue eyes, porcelain skin and pinkish lips. Tiny and petite. She wouldn't last an hour out here, they would defile her. Break her.

“You and I both know that's not true.  It's Okay, I'm not going to hurt you, I don't want to. I just want to take you to someone who can help you find a place to sleep tonight.  I know you don't know me, it's smart not to trust me, but these streets aren't safe. I promise I will do everything I can to keep you safe.” 

He pushes every bit of sincerity into it. It's true, he means every single word. He tries to stay as unthreatening as possible.  She is sad and scared, but she must see something in him, because she follows him anyway.

There's a clinic not far away, Harry hasn't visited it before, but he's heard about it. He's been told that they readily accept ungifted patients and help without prejudice. He's also heard it's the best place to take ungifted children found on the streets. So that's where they will go, it is honestly better than the alternative. 

HZHZHZHZ 

The Malik family own a Out-Patient Mental Health and Wellness clinic, they specialize in treating Mental illness as well as drug and alcohol abuse. They also offer a Walk in clinic to treat minor illness and injuries. The clinic has been in the family for three generations. 

In recent years they enacted an outreach program to help the ungifted youth find decent homes. They work with families that genuinely care and want to help with no prejudice. Their goal is to get as many children into loving homes as possible, to give as much of a chance to them that they can.  It's fully sanctioned by the government, it leaves fewer children for them to have to deal with.

They have become a drop off point for the parents who won't keep their ungifted children, yet still want to give them a chance. Sadly, there are far too few who care. 

 At first they worried it would affect their business, with the extreme discrimination in the world, but the Malik family were very well respected. They were among the best in their gift fields, and were well known for producing multi-gifted children. They cater to the gifted and ungifted alike with as little discrimination as possible. They still have to follow the law, and the letter of the law is full of unfairness. 

Drugs are rampant amongst the ungifted, many are homeless and suffer from mental illness.  The clinic caters to them almost as much as it does the gifted. They work on a sliding scale, you pay what you can afford, most of the ungifted pay nothing at all. The clinic was actually specifically formulated with them in mind, the ungifted struggled to find health care. They want to help those they can. 

Yaser Malik is a mind Walker, just like his father was before him. He has a doctorate in both psychology and psychiatry in order to provide the best care to his future patients.  As a mind walker, he is especially equipped to see the inner workings of the mind to help treat all mental afflictions. Both his learnings and his gift work in tandem to help treat his patients. 

Trisha Malik is an empath, she feels and can take on the emotions of those around her. She has a masters in psychology.  She uses her abilities to help calm her patients, she works  mostly with those suffering from addiction, and with those suffering extreme emotional crises. She also has a nursing degree and helps in the clinic as needed. 

Yaser's brother Javadd Malik is both a general doctor and a Mid-Healer. He has slightly more healing range and stamina than Zayn. He can heal most non life threatening injuries, and through his learnings, he is equipped to treat what he cannot out-right heal. He runs the walk-in clinic. He along with his oldest son Anthony Malik, 24, who is also a mid-healer and is attending medical school to become a full doctor. 

Zayn is nineteen years old, he helps out at the clinic where he is needed the most, he also attends university part time. It's a lot to juggle, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He has to do the things he can do for his sister and Louis who are limited in what they are allowed to do. Neither were able to make it to university, so neither have the chance at a degree. Zayn has to use that privilege so as not to let them down.

The counseling portion of the clinic runs from 8 am to 4 pm Monday through Friday. The walk in clinic runs from 8 am to 12 am Monday through Friday and from 10am-8pm on Saturdays and Sundays.  Javadd runs the clinic from 8-5 as the official doctor,  Anthony takes over from 5-12 as a healer and doctor in training.  On Saturday and Sunday Yaser's cousin Khaan comes in. Khaan is a multi-gifted lowhealer like Zayn, as well as a nurse practitioner. They all rotate helping on the weekends.

 The Malik Clinic also employs a large number of ungifted people to fill in any and all positions that do not require special qualifications.  From secretaries like Doniya, to medical assistants like Louis, cooks, cleaners, helpers, they are all very well paid. Some, like Louis and Doniya, are even overpaid for their positions,  but they both deserve it. They both help run the clinic, and do far more than their job descriptions, it's not their fault they cannot get degrees. 

Doniya and Louis also work tirelessly with their outreach program every time a child comes in. They do so much, and receive so little in terms of recognition. They deserve a better life, all of the ungifted do. The world is truly unfair. 

Zayn is currently helping at the clinic, it's beyond  busy for a Tuesday night. The waiting room is full and there is a line out the clinic door. It rains all the time, but the rain tonight is heavier, more dangerous. A thunder storm rumbles just beyond the horizon. Anthony called practically begging for help. It was all hands on deck, Yaser, Trisha, Javadd,  Louis, Doniya. 

Nights like these were not the norm, but they were far from abnormal too. The Malik clinic was under-staffed and over-worked, so they often doubled up on duties. Most of the visitors were ungifted, some were just trying to escape the weather by treating their minor colds, others were looking for a fix. But most were sick, really sick, the flu has hit the homeless camps and shelters hard this November.  

Almost everyone was hacking, coughing, and running at least low-grade fevers. There were a few injuries in the mix, but nothing compared to the sick. None of the healers on staff could heal sickness, Javadd and Anthony could lessen the aches and pains and help alleviate the symptoms, but they hadn't had a cure-all healer since Grandfather Malik. He passed on a few years ago, leaving that particular position of healing empty. They did their best, but it wasn't the same. There were very few cure-all healers left in the world. 

Zayn was helping man the desk, along with Doniya and the night secretary- Leanne. Meanwhile Trisha, Javadd, and Anthony were all treating patients. Yaser was doling out medicine, and Louis was bouncing around wherever needed, along with Luke the night medical assistant. Luke and Leanne were both ungifted employees. 

The line of people just seemed to grow bigger and bigger as the night went on, seemingly Neverendin.  Zayn was pulled away several times to help hear minor injuries.  Things finally calmed down as the time got nearer to midnight. Zayn had been here all day, non stop with only a  15 minute lunch break and 10 minutes for a dinner snack. He was beyond exhausted,  they all were. 

With the sudden quiet, he took a minute to just rest his head on the counter. He had a pounding migraine. ‘What use was it being a healer, when you cannot heal yourself?’ 

“ Excuse me..” a voice, deep and raspy breaks through his thoughts. Zayn startles up, eyes blinking open to fall upon the face of an angel. His jaw drops slightly. Long, curly, chestnut colored hair, a jawline that could cut stone, a set of dimples adorning each cheek and a smile that could melt ice. Fuck. He's gorgeous. The boy smiles at him open and beautiful, unbothered by Zayn's stupor. 

“I was wondering if you could help me…” Fuck his voice is delicious, if sounds had taste, Zayn wouldn't even know what to call it, its simply divine! And those eyes!! They are so, so very green! Like two gem stones glistening in the sun.  

Fuck! Fuck! Zayn needs to snap out of it right now. He shakes his head, straightens out, and offers a friendly smile. “Sorry about that mate, it's been a long day. Guess m’a little delirious.” He chuckles, trying to brush off his initial reaction. By gods this boy is beautiful,  it's hard to not react. “I'll need to get your name, age, Date of Birth, and reason for visit!”

The boy's smile widens. “Status?” He asks. Zayn breathes in sharply. “Yeah, that too, but just for legal purposes, we don't discriminate here.” He nods, head tilting to the side.

Zayn can't help but observe him, he looks him up and down checking for injuries. He doesn't appear hurt, and definitely doesn't seem sick. He looks a little disheveled,  but otherwise doesn't look bad at all. His jeans are muddy and wet, his shirt looks clean, but it's also damp from the rain. He's not wearing a jacket despite the rain and chill outside, but he doesn't seem bothered by the cold. 

He has on a decent pair of boots, slightly aged, but still in good shape. His hair is a little bit frizzy, again, likely from the rain, but it looks silky and clean. Zayn wants to touch it. Other than that he looks put together. Scratch that, he looks absolutely gorgeous, even in his rumpled state. The damp shirt clings to him in a way that shows a defined muscular pattern beneath, from the little Zayn can see, he looks sculpted.  

One thing about the ungifted, once their status becomes known, they are forcibly branded. The government takes small seven year old children and forcibly tattoos interlocking chains around both their left and right wrists. It's the mark of the ungifted. Failure to get the tattoos is a punishable offense.

Zayn remembers the day Doni received hers, they put it off for as long as they could, but not complying would only punish Doniya. Both his mum and baba cried that day. Doni has always hated them, but covering them is a punishable offense.  

He has those tattoos adorning his wrists, it leaves a sour taste in his mouth on behalf of the beautiful boy. He also has several other tattoos randomly scattered on his right arm, as a tattoo artist in his spare time, Zayn enjoys a consensual tattoo, and would love to take a closer look. 

“I am Harry Styles, ungifted, my date of birth is February 2nd, 1994. I am 17 years old. I am here because.-” he pauses and indicates to a chair where a young girl sits clutching a rubbish bag tightly in her lap. She watches them speak with red eyes, and trembling hands. ”She needs somewhere to go. Her mum dropped her off about an hour ago. I've heard this is the best place to bring ungifted children if you want them to be treated right.” 

Zayn can't help the sharp intake of breath. An abandoned child. It never gets easier. “Where was she dropped off?” He asks reluctantly.

“Near an alley over by Strangeways/Cheetham Hill.” And fuck if that doesn't hit even harder. It's one thing to just give up your child, it's another to just dump them like an unwanted pet. To abandon a child in one the worst parts of the city is absolutely abhorrable. He understands the logic, the ungifted population there is astronomical, but it's no place for a child. 

“Fuck. That's just absolutely- fuck.” He can't even begin to censor himself.

Harry nods, his smile finally slipping away, his face taking on a seriousness that doesn't quite fit it. “Can you help her? will you?”

“Of course, of course we will help! “ He calls for his mum and Doniya, they were always the best with these types of cases.. It doesn't take them long to understand the situation. Trisha gets straight to work on the girl, she can feel the anguish, heart break, and pain. The girl is an overflowing well of emotion. Trisha pushes a dose of comfort towards her. 

They learn that her name is Emily Wells. She is eleven years old and ungifted. Her dad didn't care about her status and loved her anyway, but her mum never fully accepted her. Her dad was recently in a car accident, it was touch and go for awhile,  but eventually he succumbed to his injuries.

 Her mum promised her dad that she would keep her, but was unable to keep that promise. She packed all of Emily's clothes in a dustbin bag, and brought her to where the other ungifted live. 

It's absolutely horrible, she lost her dad, the one person in the world that loved and accepted her, only to be so callously disregarded by her mum. Left pretty much for dead. She sits close to Harry the whole time she talks, clenching his hand like it's a lifeline. Like he is the only safety she knows. For having barely known each other an hour, the two seem to have bonded in a way.

Midnight comes and passes, all patients are gone, his uncles and cousins have long since gone home, only they, Louis and his baba remain. Louis and baba are in the back, just waiting. They don't interfere, not wanting to crowd the poor girl too much.  Harry stays, he doesn't speak much, he just sits and holds her hand. He lets her squeeze and cry on him, he smiles kindly, and keeps a relaxed and calm figure. 

“Emily, it's very late, it will be quite some time before we can find you a home. In the meantime, I would love for you to come home with us. We are a certified foster family, and we would be more than happy to have you. I promise you will be safe with us.” Trisha finally cuts in, pouring all of her empathy into it, sharing her gift and letting Emily feel her sincerity.

“I-i okay, okay, but what, what about Harry?” She is exhausted,  completely emotionally spent, but she looks at the curly headed lad with big wide eyes. They all shift their attention to him. Not that Zayn's ever fully left. 

He smiles softly once more, warm, open, contagious.  He breathes out a slight laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “Don't worry about me, I have to get back to work, but I promise I will come and check on you tomorrow.” The girl bites her lip, she seems unsure, but has been won over by Trisha. 

“Okay, so long as you promise?” 

“I do, I do! He stands with a flourish. I'll come before work tomorrow, around 5pm,  so long as you will be here?” He looks to Trisha with a raised brow, she smiles kindly at him, indulgently. The thing is, they know nothing about him, not really. They know his name, his age, his status, but all they know about his personality is that he was willing to go out of his way to help this child.  

They learned about Emily and how she came to be abandoned and later found, but they learned nothing about Harry. They didn't know why he was in that part of town, they didn't know if they could trust him. Whatever emotions and intentions Trisha felt from him,  must be good, because she smiled warmly at him. Her ‘mum’ smile. “I'll be sure to bring her so you can both check on one another.” She grants him a knowing look. He giggles and ruffles his own hair. He turns to Zayn with a huge smile, before spreading it to Doniya and Trisha, too. He steps to the door of the clinic, accepting that Emily is in safe hands. Before leaving he looks back and with a truly beautiful dimpled smile, small, but oh so real, he speaks. 

“Thank you, for helping her. Not many would, not many could. I will forever be grateful for your kindness. ”