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wendimydarling · 5 years ago

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Hello! I’m so very grateful that you’ve stumbled upon my blog and have chosen to read my stories. In this list you’ll discover all of my works, both big and small, and my hope is that you’ll find some healthy escape for awhile within these digital pages, and perhaps some sound advice along the way.

I do not lay claim to any of the characters or Henry himself (as much as a girl can dream, right?), however all ideas, plot lines, original characters and writing is my own. I EXPRESSLY DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR ANY OF MY WORK TO BE COPIED OR REPOSTED. That shouldn’t have to be said and I hate doing it, but unfortunately, that is the world we live in.

Small key:

* means fluff ** means smut *** means dark smut, please heed warnings and tread lightly - All of my readers are female; being female, that is what I write best. So sorry to anyone looking for male/male! - All Henry photos are screencaps that the lovely @demivampirew took for me, and any other photos are stock photos found on the internet. I claim no ownership to any GIFs I’ve used either, all credit goes to the OG poster.

And now, onto the goodies!

~ No Mercy** - Henry’s girlfriend has a silent surprise in store for him at home. (Henry’s POV, fem!dom hinted switch)

~ Don’t Touch** - Henry receives a lesson on how his girl likes to be touched. (Henry’s POV, fem!dom)

~ Sucker** - Henry gives the reader an extra special birthday present. (First Person Reader, fem!dom switch, birthday gift for @luclittlepond)

~ Brat Tamer** - Henry teaches the reader a lesson in patience. (First Person Reader, male!dom) | Part Two |

~ I Miss You** - Henry and the reader have phone sex. (First Person Reader, Long-Distance Relationship, Angst)

~ The First Time*&** - A collection of Henry’s firsts with the reader. (First Person Reader, fluff)

~ I’m Glad You’re Here** - The reader takes care of Henry while he’s sick. (First Person Reader, a smidge of innuendo)

~ Day One*&** - A catalog of events on the day Henry’s kids are born. (First Person Reader, mostly fluff, some smut)

~ The Thirst is Real** - What happens when our own @littlefreya and Henry meet to discuss the happenings of Tumblr? (Third Person, smutty fluff, birthday present)

~ Please Don’t Leave Me* - The reader finally opens up about her past trauma with Henry. (First Person Reader, angst, fluff, birthday present)

Appreciation:

~ His Laugh* ~ Fire* ~ Have You Noticed?* ~ Elmo’s Got a Crush* ~ He Can Wear Anything* ~ Kissing* ~ Favorite Look* ~ Dear Henry*

Imagines/Drabbles:

~ Kal and His Pup* - Kal looks after Baby Cavill. ~ Piano Lesson* - You teach Henry a simple song on the piano. ~ Reassurance* - Henry comforts you. ~ Dancing* - Henry entertains you while you make dinner. ~ Jealous Justice** - Henry reminds you who you belong to. ~ Gym Pampering* - You give Henry a massage after leg day. ~ Horses* - Henry take your mind off things with a ride. ~ Quaran-tash* - You try to get Henry to get rid of his mustache. ~ Surfaces** - You and Henry test every spot in the house. ~ Prisoner** - Henry gives you oral. SONG DRABBLES: ~ Rock You Like a Hurricane - Two-sentence drabble based on the second stanza of the song. ~ Ride All Night - Henry takes the reader on a beach picnic for her birthday. ~ Sucker - Henry gives the reader an extra special birthday present. ~ Tenerife Sea - Henry answers an interviewer’s question about his fiance. ~ Rewrite the Stars - Henry and the reader have a tense moment. ~ Peer Pressure - Henry is edged by his girlfriend via a long distance phone call. ~ Hold My Girl - Henry consoles his pre-teen daughter. ~ The Sound of Silence - Henry takes a walk with Kal and thinks about his life. ~ All About That Bass - Henry and his girl have a bet at the gym.

~ Ground Sparring** - Syverson finds a worthy opponent in a wrestling match. (First Person Reader, OFC, Shower Sex) | Part 1 | Part 2 |

~ Sweater Weather** - Syverson and the Reader spend a weekend away in a cabin after he gets back from tour. (First Person Reader, Oral Sex, birthday gift for @cavillryarchive)

~ Weakness - After a fight, Syverson teaches his wife to mind. (First Person Reader, Tickle Fic)

Imagines/Drabbles:

~ Oral** ~ Lactation** ~ I Want to Watch You*&** SONG DRABBLES: ~ Trumpets - Syverson watches his wife get ready for bed. ~ Motivation - The reader helps Syverson cope with PTSD. ~ Toxic (Sir, Yes Sir) & Love is A Battlefield (That’s An Order) - The reader and Syverson have private thoughts about the other.

~ Revenge*&** - Walter gets revenge on his wife. (POV switch, First Person Reader, Tickle Fic)

~ Tomorrow (Walk Me Home)* - Walter gets home late from work and comforts his Little after she has a nightmare. (Walter Third Person POV, OFC, dd/lg)

SONG DRABBLES: ~ Closer (Miranda) - Walter frisks the reader. ~ Say Something - Walter has a difficult choice to make. ~ Walk Me Home (Tomorrow) - Walter gets home late from work and comforts his Little after she has a nightmare.

~ Who Do You Work For?*** - August is captured and tortured for information. (August’s POV, ffff/m fem!dom)

~ The Chair*** - An additional scene from Trapped, takes place after Part Seven. (First Person Reader)

~ The Hammer and The Widow** - August and Alanna spend the eve of the big heist battling for dominance. (Third Person Reader, fem!dom/male!dom switch)

~ Cover the Mirrors*** - Vampire!August has his sights set on new prey. (First Person Reader, OFC, DARK)

SONG DRABBLES: ~ A Man Alone - August watches his lover sleep. ~ Sexy and I Know It & Hungry Like the Wolf - August stalks a night club to find a snack. ~ Like A Virgin - August plays with his lover during aftercare. ~ Smooth Criminal (Mine) - August watches as his wife tortures and kills someone for sport. ~ Earned It (The Hammer and The Widow) - August and Alanna spend the eve of the big heist battling for dominance. ~ Summertime - August watches his lover and their newborn. ~ Chasing Cars - The reader muses about solar mythology and August. ~ Work From Home - The reader’s thoughts about August when he’s away.

~ Who’s in Charge?** - Napoleon discovers who is the alpha in his relationship. (Illya Kuryakin x Gabby Teller x Napoleon Solo, fem!dom, Third Person Reader)

~ Convenience** - Clark finds a place to sleep for the night. (POV switch, Third Person Reader, OFC, Angst)

SONG DRABBLES: ~ Blue Jeans (Convenience) - Clark finds a place to sleep for the night. ~ Wrecking Ball - Lana talks about her first boyfriend.

SONG DRABBLES:

~ When Doves Cry - Temperature play with Geralt. (First Person Reader drabble; smut)

~ Highway to Hell - Geralt watches a family have a picnic. (Third person drabble; Geralt’s POV; fluffy angst)

~ Toss a Coin to Your Witcher - Geralt allows Yen to have her way with him. (Third Person drabble; Geralt’s POV; fem!dom; smut)

~ Sexual Prowess** ~ Hogwarts House* ~ Ticklishness* ~ How They Tickle*&** ~ Kissing** ~ Handling a Breakup* ~ First Date* ~ Love Languages* ~ Greek Gods* ~ Necking**

~ 500 Event - Song Drabbles*&** ~ Sex Tips**

~ How I Got Started ~ Why Do I Write? ~ Ultimate Fantasy

~ Advice on Writing Smut ~ Where Do I get Inspiration? ~ Tips for Finding a Beta Writer ~ Building Relatable Characters Off Personal Experience ~ First, Second, and Third Person Usage ~ Different Types of Story Length

~ Raspberries* - @littlefreya - Henry Cavill takes his sweet time with you. (Second Person Reader, tickle fic)

~ Say It*&** - @thelastsock - Henry Cavill makes you beg, and you get revenge. (Second Person Reader, male!dom/fem!dom switch, tickle fic)

~ Be Still For Daddy*** - @brexrif - Geralt of Rivia throat-fucking filth. (Second Person Reader, male!dom, heavy smut)

~ Talented Tongue** & Heaven in Your Mouth** - @ladyreapermc - You and Henry take turns pleasuring each other. (Second Person Reader, oral sex)

#masterlist #fics

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jonspurpleskirt · 4 years ago

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Down the Spiral

Tim Stoker & Jonathan Sims, hurt/comfort

Summary: Michael loves playing with the Archivist and so after Not-Sasha is taken care of and Jon is back at the Institute murder charge free it reveals that he has Sasha stashed "savely" in its halls. All Jon has to do to get her out is go through the yellow door. ____

Everything just kept getting worse. That thought hadn't left his mind since the confrontation with Elias. It kept him from his work, making him stare at the statement he had wanted to record hours ago. Something impatient within him tugged to finally get on with it, but his eyes just didn't see the words in front of him and the insides of his head kept resembling a barren wasteland.

There was nothing good in his life anymore. There was nothing good in any of their lives anymore. He had ruined everything. Dragged everyone into the cage with him and locked the door because he hadn't known any better.

If he had just known...

But he hadn't and now they were all trapped here. Nothing waiting for them outside and nothing but hostility meeting them inside. At least that was the case for Jon. He didn't know if Tim and Martin still spoke, still sometimes joked with each other. If Melanie had made friends with Basira perhaps, or god forbid even Daisy. The two of them shared a frightening amount of bloodlust.

He doubted it, though. Whenever he dared to emerge from his office these days the atmosphere in the shared space of the Archives was tense. One or more of them were always gone, Basira more often than not sitting somewhere reading.

Neither of them did much work these days, Jon mused. It was funny that once upon a time that thought would have made him angry.

Jon sighed, glancing over the statement for the upteenth time, saying to himself that now he would finally start and do some work, when loud cursing and several crashes made him jump out of his chair and run towards the door.

He ripped it open with the wrong hand, the burn left by Jude Perry sending a stab of pain through his arm.

Basira, Tim and Melanie were for once all there, and had taken on various defensive poses. They didn't grace Jons dramatic entrance with even the slightest of glances, but the being that called itself Michael grinned and cooed as though it didn't have a knife, an axe and a gun pointed at it.

"Archivist! Just whom I wanted to see~ It is quite hard to get a grip on you, you know. I've been meaning to have a little chat with you for a while now."

Jon squeezed his eyes together to ward of the headache Michaels multiple voices and impossible features always gave him. He breathed through the pain, before looking at the Distortion again, squinting to be able to make out something that resembled a coherent form.

The image still swam in front of him, Michaels smile literally blinding, teeth flashing with too many deeply saturated colours.

"Hello Michael. What do you want?"

"Awww you don't sound excited to see me at all! I've got more of a reaction from your assistants."

The thing pouted, but the grin reappeared fast when it heard the click of the safety of Basiras gun coming off.

"Aha I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice it used screeched like nails on a chalkboard and a microphone with its volume set too high. Weapons clattered to the floor as everyone scrambled to shield their ears from the sound. Jon felt a trickle of blood running down the side of his neck and winced.

"There. Better. You people are so rude." The laughter that followed was worse than the voices before, high pitched and low, aggressively amused.

"Michael." Jon hissed and it stopped.

"Yes dear Archivist?"

"Why are you here?"

"Ah." A misplaced chuckle, alltogether fake and a hungry grin. "I've heard you've dealt with Not-Sasha! Congratulations! Do you want the real one back now?"

"What?"

Tim had recovered fast and somehow had already taken up the axe again. He looked more than prepared to chop Michaels head off with it.

"Oh hello! I forgot you were here, too. How did you like my hallways?"

"Fuck you! What are you talking about?!"

Michael shrugged, or what could be perceived as a shrug. It was hard to tell when there seemed to be three sets of shoulders all in various places they shouldn't be.

"It is as I said. I took Sasha into my hallways so she could flee from the thing in the table. And now that Not-Sasha is gone I'm willing to trade her."

"Trade her for what?"

Jon had a bad feeling about this, but he let Tim lead the conversation. Better he ask the questions. Jon didn't want to accidently use compulsion and make Michael angry.

"Why for the Archivist of course! I'm terribly bored at the moment. No good prey out there. And I'd love to see how my hallways work against someone from the Eyes ilk."

"So it would be a game to you." Jon was careful to not word it as a question.

Michaels blinding smirk hit him square in the chest and left him heaving. "Yes, you could see it that way."

"Jon." Basira warned, inching toward him.

Melanies lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes never strayed from the Distortion, even when tears started to run down her face from the strain. She kept quiet, but it was clear that she would attack if she felt it to be necessary.

"And that exchange."

"Yes." Michael dared him to ask.

"What would it look like."

"No static! My you are truly making an effort! It goes like this. You come here and step into my door and I let Sasha out."

"Jon we can't trust him." Basira hissed.

"I'm an it, actually." Michael purred.

"Whatever."

"I know. I want to see her. Melanie, you know what Sasha looks like. We'll both verify."

"Hmmm, sounds like a deal. Come here."

Jon scowled at the crooked finger beckoning him to come closer. Michaels horrible 8 bit laugh echoed through the Archive again.

"Don't be shy. I won't stab you this time, I promise!"

"What." Tim sounded about as done as Jon felt.

He'd rather not have to explain himself though. He was glad Tim wasn't directing his ire at him at the moment. So he quickly crossed the distance and came to stand stiffly beside Michael, tensing when the entity curled three of its impossible long fingers around his elbow.

"Marvelous!"

Another door that had appeared in on of the shelves banged open and out of it stumbled a woman with clammy tanned skin, big round trendy glasses and warm brown wavy hair, her grey eyes open wide.

Tim stumbled forward to catch her, trembling about as much as her. "Sasha?"

He looked to Jon for confirmation, who had to fight back his own tears. "Yes. Yes."

"That's her." Melanie whispered her own affirmation.

Before the smile on Jons lips had time to fully form he was yanked back, the yellow door slamming shut behind him. It felt like being dragged into a whirlpool while high on LSD and if Michaels realm would have permitted it Jon would have lost what little food he had eaten that day right then and there.

As it was he had to endure the minutes or hours he had to get used to the shift in reality, unsure if he was standing, laying down or sitting. When his head eventually stopped spinning and his eyes and other sensory input systems agreed to work again he found himself standing at a deadend. The door and Michael were gone, but the air was still filled with joyous laughter.

"Welcome to my humble abode little Archivist! I hope you like getting lost~"

Jon frowned at his surroundings that seemed to tilt and wobble under his every step. He was sure Michael was being extra distorting with the surroundings it had thrown Jon into. Jon didn't want to give it the satisfaction of knowing how much that bothered him. Although he doubted he could hide his terror from it.

Time didn't matter in the Distortions halls. It all melted together, turning and twisting into a bizarre fever dream. Jon relaxed as much as was possible with the horrible migraine that had formed behind his eyes. This actually wasn't so bad. He would probably just wander around aimlessly until he would either die from hunger or thirst, Michael would grow bored and kill him or he actually found the exit.

Jon very much doubted the latter. He had no real grasp of his supposed powers and the Beholding only opted to drop in a fact or two about the colours that normal humans shouldn't be able to see.

When he didn't grow tired nor hungry or thirsty in what he presumed was quite a while a new fear formed beside the pounding in his head. What if he was stuck in here forever?

But even that terror dulled over what didn't quite account for time. The hallways got tamer. They were still decorated with garish colours and wallpaper, bits of furniture strewn about here and there. But they had stopped being all wobbly and impossible.

Well they were less impossible. Jon thought as he walked through a wardrobe only to emerge from a mirror into a room with six walls, three doors, a window and a painting.

On and on it went until he felt deep in his bones a rhythm to it all. There was a spiral pattern to the twisting turns of the rooms and hallways. Inverted and containing a lot of deadends, but it was there and all Jon needed to do was follow it.

Down and down he went, even when the path lead him upward or turned him upside down. His head started to feel blissfully empty for once. No worry, no greater goal. He could just exist here in this weird home and wander. He might be as lost as he had been in the real world, but at least here he wasn't hurting anyone.

Electrical lights flickered on and off before turning to torches casting pink shadows across the chessboard walls. He startled out of his haze when he heard the clacking of heels somewhere to his right, a thought thundering into his mind, shattering all other not thoughts that hadn't resided in there.

"Helen!"

"Jon?"

"Helen! I'm here. Stay where you are!"

Jon skidded around the corner and there she was, still wearing her business dress and jacket, chin length brown hair curling around her ears. She was sobbing before he could even get to her and soon he had an armful of crying real estate agent in his arms.

They held each other tight and just weeped for what felt like an eternity, but was still too short.

"I was so scared." Helen sobbed as she drew back just enough to fix her gaze on Jon. "I thought I walked out of the Institute, but instead I found myself back in these horrible hallways and I couldn't find a way out this time, but I just couldn't stop walking, you know? I needed to find some way out. And Jon, Jon! There's an end here. It's close I just know it! You believe me right? That's why you're here? You're also looking for the end?"

Jon rubbed up and down her arms to calm her. "Yes. Yes Helen. I'm so sorry. Had I known-"

"It's alright." She gave him a watery impression of a smile. "It'll be all alright soon. I hear it whispering. Come."

"Now that was quite the show." Michael suddenly stood between them and they sprung apart. It had its arms crossed and a deep frown carved into what could have been its face.

Jon couldn't exactly make out its eyes. And yet he was sure there was a spark of fear there.

"It was nice to play with you." Michael adressed Helen. "But I feel you overstayed your welcome."

A door appeared behind her, standing in the middle of the hallway, no walls around it.

"There is the exit. Shoo."

She looked at Michael with wide, glassy eyes. "No. No I can't. I need-"

And with a sudden, horrible clarity Jon knew what would happen if she didn't leave now. A door locked from the outside. The body of Michael Shelley destroyed. Helen lost.

"Helen. Please believe me when I say that this is better. Don't heed the call. It will only cost you."

Her flitted between Jon and Michael, hesitating. "Why?"

"Michael was human once, too." Jon whispered and understanding bloomed behind her eyes.

"Oh. But can I be sure?"

"I can." Jon assured her. "You can open that door. It's save."

She swallowed. "Okay. Okay. Are you coming with?"

She reached for him, but Jon shook his head. "No. I don't believe my game is quite finished yet."

He looked over to Michael to make sure. The Distortion looked back at him, frown lightened by a pensive look. It didn't feel the need to correct him.

"Okay." Helen said again, sounding like it was everything but. "You'll be fine, though?"

Jon gave her the best smile he could manage at the moment, which wasn't much. "I think so, yes."

"Good then. I'll... see you around. Just. Not here, I guess."

"Yes. Take care Helen."

"You too."

The door clicked softly shut behind her, taking with it the swift breeze of fresh air and gentle midday sunlight.

Jon sighed. "That was... something. Thank you for letting her go."

"Hmmm."

Jon felt a deep satisfaction at how uncomfortable Michael seemed to be at the moment.

"I guess I shouldn't continue to walk down, then?"

"You were walking straight."

"It's all the same here, though, isn't it?"

"Stop that." Michael frowned harder, drawing itself up, terror apparent in the way it shook, after images pulsing off it in waves.

"What?"

"Knowing me."

"Sorry."

"You could just walk back up again, you know." Michael muttered, friendly facade all but forgotten. A near death experience would do that to you. Jon could sympathize.

He nodded, indulgent. "I guess I could."

Michael heaved a sigh that sounded more like the blare of an airhorn. "I'll show you out."

Jon didn't deem it necessary to tell it that it could just manifest a door like it had done with Helen. He got that Michael probably needed a hot minute to digest what had just happened. And for once Jon was more than content with providing some company.

It was Michael who talked first, essentially giving Jon its statement. Jon saw the fierce anger burn behind those multicoloured eyes and was reminded of Tim and his fury at Jons betrayal.

"How much of Michael is there in you, then?" Jon carefully asked, voice so soft it was barely there in order to keep any sort of compulsion out of it.

"That's not the right question to ask Archivist. Because there is no answer to that, that would stay definite. How much of you is in those tapes you record? It's your voice in there. How much of you is actually you? There's no meaningful distinction."

"That doesn't sound right."

"That's because you're too deep inside your head." Michael laughed. It wasn't as grating as usual.

"Thank you for keeping Sasha safe, by the way." Jon whispered into the screaming silence that had enveloped the two as they meandered through the endless expanse of hallway stretching out in front of them.

"You are no fun."

"Pardon?"

Slim fingers crawled like worms across his shoulder. His head spun with a sudden dizzying motion, feeling oddly light. His skin tingled with confused nerves at the points of contact. Unconsciously he leaned into the touch loosing himself in the sensations. The Distortion was less scary now that he knew it. It was actually kind of sad and he might have formed a small grudge against Gertrude for it.

Michael huffed beside him, caught between grinning and frowning. Jon wondered which emotion the Spiral wanted to portray and which one actually belonged to what was left of Michael Shelley.

"That's what I mean. You're not afraid at all! You're enjoying yourself. That just won't do."

It nudged him forward and oh, there was a yellow door there. Jon stepped up to hit and hesitated, hand hovering over the handle.

"What is it now?" Michael grumbled behind him, pout evident in its voice.

"I... I'm not sure if... I'm not sure if it's alright for me to get out."

Michael blinked at him in surprise. Jon shouldn't have been able to see it, but the motion was reflected in front of him.

"I just don't know if it's a good thing that I'm out there. Something is going on with me and at least in here I'm not hurting anyone."

"You... don't want to get out? You like it here?" Shrill, disbelieving laughter filled every nook and cranny of their space, drilling into Jons head and hollowing out his skull. Michael was bent over in a spine breaking way, arms wrapped twice around it and shaking with manic chuckles when Jon turned to frown at it.

"Two people in a row wanting to stay." It giggled, rightning itself. "I really need to redecorate this place." It shook its head, smile sharp yet soft. "No Archivist I will not drag you around as deadweight. Not when you aren't even making an effort of being afraid."

Jon squeaked as he was lifted, knife hands nicking the skin on his cheek and temple. With a heavy thump Michael kicked the door to the Archives open, startling Tim awake, who had been slumped over the desk, facing the door.

"We're baaack!" Michael crooned. "I'll leave you to decide if the Archivist should stay." He dumped Jon into Tims lap, who was barely awake enough to grab at Jon before he slid off.

"But Jon, when you next step into my door I will not let you back out again. See you around~"

Jon tried to identify the exact moment Michael had left the room. It was a futile attempt and not at all enough to distract from the fact that he was currently still inhabiting Tims lap.

"I'm sorry I'll-" Jon tried to stand up, but the arms around him tightened and he was squashed unceremonously against Tims body.

"Jon"

Oh no. What had he done now? He just got here why was Tim already so mad? Was he mad? Oh good lord he was crying. Jon awkwardly turned so he could sling unsteady arms around Tims neck, letting the man bury his head into his shoulder.

"Uhm hi?" He'd really rather go back to Michaels hallways now, please. This was already starting out to be a situation much more terrifying than wandering forever in a fever dream.

"You absolute bastard!"

"Sorry?"

Tim laughed and it was a strange sound. Too normal after who knew how long in Michaels domain.

"No you don't get to apologize. Not when you don't even know what you've done." Tim stood, Jon scrambling to get his feet under him so he wouldn't crash.

Standing on even, unmoving ground was like coming back on land after a year at sea. Tim shaking him did not help his coordination.

"You've been gone for over three months. Over three months, Jon! We had to blow up the circus without you. Elias was pissed! But Sasha managed to McGyver together a remote control for the C4 and it was amazing! Pressing that button was probably the best thing to happen in my life!"

"Wait slow down." Jon mumbled, trying to keep up with Tims flood of exposition while simultanously trying to get Tim to stop shaking him. He was going to be sick at this rate.

Tim didn't seem to hear him. "And then everything was over and Sasha was there, but you still weren't. And that bloody door stayed here all the while, mocking us. It wouldn't open. We tried everything minus blowing it up, figured you wouldn't have liked that. Tried to hunt down other Spiral locations, but no odd door would open to us."

Tim took a huge breath and stopped shaking Jon, his grip tightening when Jon tried to put some space between them.

"We didn't know what to do. And then about a week ago Helen came in to tell us about what happened in the hallways. She's fine by the way. Apologized for waiting so long before coming by. She was sad to see you still missing, left her contact details and wants you to call her when your feeling like the world makes sense again, whatever that means."

Jon knew exactly what it meant. He was sure it would take him a while to make sense of anything that wasn't strobe light effects, after images and nausea. He would have liked to elaborate on that and point out that he really should sit down oh my god everything was spinning.

"We figured if she was out you'd come back, too. And we didn't want you to stumble into an empty Archive so we took turns watching the door. Do you know how hard it was to keep Martin from hogging all the night shifts? The man hasn't slept more than a wink in months I tell you. He looks about as bad as you so if you don't let him hug you and fuss I will play the most embarrassing prank I can think of on you next April Fools day, you hear me?"

Tim shook him once and Jon had to cough and force the bile back down his throat before he could answer.

"Quite."

"Good."

There was another shaky exhale and a much more tentative hug. "You look like shit, come on you can crash at my place."

"I too have a flat, Tim." Jon felt the need to remind him, but let himself be led to the front doors and to Tims car, grateful to finally be allowed to sit again.

"You just came back. No way am I letting you out my sight and give you the opportunity to vanish again. Sasha and Martin would have my head."

Jon frowned down at his hands, flinching when the car sprung to life and grabbing for an empty take out bag, just in case. Tims behavior deeply confused him. The last time he had mother henned him like this was back in Research. Did Michael accidently drop him in a different dimension?

"We're there."

How did Tim get to the side of his door? When had they started to move? When had they gotten to Tims flat? Good lord time didn't make sense anymore.

Jon half stumbled out of the car and followed Tim into his apartment.

"Make yourself comfortable boss. I'll get you some tea, yeah? And food. Try not to fall asleep on me yet. And don't wander off."

Where would he even wander off to? Jon wanted to ask. He forgot about that as soon as his body hit the hard surface of the couch. At least the pillow was nice enough to cushion his fall. Letting out a pitiful groan he levelled himself up again to take his glasses off, rubbing at the spots where the plastic had dug into his skin.

He was glad that Tim seemed to have calmed down during the ride. Maybe doing something had helped. Tim had always been an action guy, needing an outlet for all the pent up energy.

It all felt so surreal. Here he was, out of the hallways, in Tims flat, with Tim being nice to him and the apocalypse over and done with. He would probably get an earful for missing out on that one later. Probably from Melanie. Maybe from Basira and Daisy.

Gods they were alright. He was gone for so long and they were all fine. Maybe a bit more traumatized, if Tims behavior was anything to go by, but alive. And in this economy that was probably the best outcome they could get.

"Sasha, how is she?" Jon asked as soon as Tim came back into the room.

A rainbow coloured mug and a bowl of instant noodle soup was placed on the coffee table in front of him before Tim answered.

"She's amazing. I mean she's doing well. She was in way better shape than you coming out of there. But I guess you didn't exactly go in at the heighth of your power. She said she was afraid for awhile, that Michael would keep her forever. But she was also curious how the hallways worked and she kinda got lost trying to figure them out? She chatted with Michael whenever it popped up to gloat. It kept her updated pretty well actually, which is kind of creepy. I think out of all of us she had it the easiest."

"That's... that's so good to hear." Jon breathed.

Tim chuckled. It sounded suspiciously wet. "Yeah. Come on sit up and eat your shitty soup."

Before Jon could move on his own an arm curled around his waist and hoisted him into a sitting position.

"I can move myself, Tim." Jon grumbled, leaning heavily into Tims side either way. Just for the contact, he told himself. He could totally sit upright if he wanted to.

"Of course boss."

Tim turned on the TV as Jon ate, the soothing chatter of news reporter talking about the weather filling the air. Jon was half dozing, unsure if he had eaten much at all when Tim moved him again.

"You want to clean up before going to bed?"

Jon took stock of his body, weighting his options. It was as if his muscles only now began to realize the amount of miles they had walked. His scars itched and pulled and the cut on his throat as well as the burn on his hand pounded against the confines of his mangled skin. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, a bit of vertigo still throbbing in the back of his skull, while his ears still echoed faintly with piercing, inhuman laughter.

"No?"

"Okay. Sit tight boss I'm gonna get you a blanket."

Sit tight... Where did Tim think he would go, if he wasn't even up for taking a shower?

"You got better, too." Jon said in lieu of a thank you when a heavy blanket got draped over him.

"Hm. Blowing up a building helped."

"Ah yes, arson. The best therapy of all."

Tim laughed at that. "You'd be surprised. But actually I did get a therapist at Sashas request. I blew up at her a few times in between and she didn't take it well. I wanted to be better for her."

"Good." Jon mumbled, half asleep. "That's good."

"Yeah. Sleep well."

"Hmhm."

He woke up in the middle of the night. Or was it day? It was dark, but the curtains were drawn so he couldn't be sure. It wasn't to a full body flinch like he was used to waking up with. Just a slow, disorientated blinking into wakefulness.

The flinching came later, followed by a yell when he made out a blurry shape sitting in the arm chair mere inches away from him.

"Good Lord, Tim! What are you doing?!"

"Making sure you're not getting kidnapped." Was the brightly given answer.

"That's creepy." Jon grumbled, rubbing his eyes and settling his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

"Well you're not the only one allowed to be spooky."

"M not spooky."

"Suuure. So Martin and Sasha will be by in a bit. Wanna tell me what all that about going back through Michaels door was about?"

Jon sighed. "He- it just threatened me."

"Really? Cause it kind of looked to me like it was kicking you out."

"I have it on good authority that I can be rather annoying, yes."

Tim crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at him. "Does that mean I and the others need to make sure you take the right doors from now on?"

"No?"

"That's not very reassuring, Jon."

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" It was said out of exhaustion and Jon immediately regretted it, seeing Tims face fall. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that."

"No." Tim took a shuddering breath, mussing up his hair with the hand that wasn't clutching at his own shirt. "No, that's fair. I've been an ass to you before... Fuck before you literally fed yourself to the Spiral in order to get Sasha back."

"You don't have to feel guilty about that."

"I do! But that's not just it. You've missed a lot. And I got better, but I'm still so angry most of the time. But when you were gone I was also fucking terrified. For Christs sake Jon we were friends once. And I just let you barter your life away like it was nothing. I was happy. When Sasha came back and you were gone I was even happy for a while."

Oh no he was crying again. They both were. He knew because Tim had gotten up to draw back the curtains before dropping onto the couch at Jons feet.

"I... it didn't last long. Call me selfish, but after a while all I wanted was for us to be complete again. You know the original four. It took me a bit to realize that I was mourning."

Tim barked out a broken laugh. "I've probably not slept about as much as Martin."

"You should then. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere at the moment."

"I can't. Every time I try I panic that you will be gone when I wake up."

Jon mulled that thought over in his head, an odd tingle flooding his body. "Lay down with me then?"

Tim stared at him for a moment, biting at his lip and barely stopping before drawing blood. "That... that sounds like an idea. Yeah. Let me draw the couch out first."

They could have just gone to bed, but Jon just about managed to drag himself to the armchair. And Tim hadn't offered so Jon wouldn't pry.

Tim collapsed on the couch and immediately reached out an arm and made grabby hands. Jon huffed out a small chuckle and obliged, trying not to seem too eager.

"We'll have to get up again when Sasha and Martin visit." Jon noted, snuggling into Tims chest with a sigh, whole body thrumming at the none violent contact.

"Sasha has a key." Tim muttered into his hair, spitting out some of the loose strands right after.

Jon shook his head. There seemed to be quite a lot he needed to be caught up on. And as they tangled their legs together Jon found that for once the future didn't look as threatening as it usually did.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #michael distortion #helen richardson #canon divergence #my writing

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suitedsalamander · 7 years ago

Text

last white lie | MadaKaka

this is super long and also on A03! this lines up with wage my soul IT DOES STAND ALONE though I do advise reading wage my soul and struck me yet is after this in the timeline. Gah I blame the enablers @madakaka which made me turn out over 3k which became this fic yesterday. another round of thanks to @purple-possibilities

Mature with some sexual themes. | Kakashi POV | MadaKaka

Agony is what he knows when he awakens.

This is familiar, so Kakashi moves to the next step: assessment.

His body isn’t about to go anywhere, and he lets himself sink fully into the muck as rain washes over his corpse. His chakra pathways are flaming lines of pain with no energy to speak of.

There’s nothing left.

Blood is seeping out from his left eye and the rainwater causes it to run down his face.

Obito’s parting gift burns and aches; the rain is cool and soothing on his skin, but chilling to his bones. If his wounds don’t kill him, hypothermia certainly will.

Kakashi’s head is jumbled a mess of things that could have happened, should have happened, and what will happen. All at once he feels younger and lighter, but twice as heavy and ancient for the knowledge he now possesses.

Is this my price?

Plagued by these thoughts, Kakashi can’t find it within himself to move.

Every breath rattles his body, the urge to cough itches the back of his throat. Kakashi doesn’t hear the footsteps, but even in his weakened state he can feel the presence of another. The power emanating from them is a startling warmth in the chill of the downpour. Forceful as well as fiery; he’s captivated by the chakra he's sensing.

And they are leaning right over me.

A cough wracks Kakashi’s body as he tries to move, iron flooding his mouth. Strong hands are gently grasping him and then removing the mask from his mouth, peeling off the last vestiges of his life.

He raises his hand up in an attempt to shield himself and instead grips silky hair.

Kakashi’s eyes flicker open, Sharingan swirling. The expression that passes of the dark-haired individual’s—a man’s—face looks like shock. It could also be rage, he’s too distracted cataloging the massive amounts of information the Sharingan gives him; the little lines on the man's face. The halo of long black spiky hair. The wild red hue of chakra almost too massive to be human.

Kakashi’s nerve endings are a tortured mass of suffering and this man is a balm to his vision.

“Angel?” He asks—surely this man can be nothing else.

“Shinobi,” the being clarifies. That’s just as good.

Kakashi has known demons; they could never look him in the face.

It's easy to look someone in the eye and lie.

Only one had been so daring as to hold him this way.

If this man is also one then so be it. His arms are comforting, and if he is the devil then Kakashi can count on the man to guide him properly into the next life.

But, Kakashi’s blade has fallen beside him, and he can’t reach it—as he must reach it—to pass on. It’s an old practice, and one passed down his family since their founding.

The Hatake were Farmers and Samurai first, then Shinobi. He remembers his grandmother first showing him how to hold a blade. She later passed, and then his father—sure and strong—directing his swing.

“Please,” Kakashi rasps. “Please put my sword in my hands.” Let me die with honor.

The air is getting thinner, and his sight blurring. There are none left who need him to fight for them.

In this silent place, everyone he once knew is absent. There is only the Will of Fire and the unknown Shinobi’s company to keep him warm.

Who am I without my loyalty?

There is a possessive curve and an edge of cruelty to his angel's lips.

Instead of a sword, another hand is placed in his. Kakashi finally places the symbol on his armour as the Uchiha fan.

“Not today.” You must not die. The man tells him, tomoe circling his scarlet eyes,

“You don’t have my permission. ”

Kakashi has never disobeyed an order.

“Angel,” he declares upon waking.

“Madara,” the man corrects, a wry smile twisting his lips.

“Angel,” Kakashi repeats, unwilling to take back his words. Then, “Kakashi,” half a beat later.

“I half expected you to be cursing me,” the Clan Head tells him, brushing his hair back with one hand. Dark circles rest under Madara’s eyes and he doesn’t look much better than Kakashi feels.

A glass of water is handed to Kakashi and he happily quenches his thirst. “Tough week at the office?”

“Ah. Yes.” Madara agrees, though Kakashi can tell he doesn’t exactly understand.

“Cranky old men, Elders, you know how it is,” Madara gestures and drops his hands to grip one another. It’s endearing to see the Uchiha Clan Head attempt to make awkward conversation.

“Yes,” Kakashi concedes before he can help himself. Shit. He doesn’t know the rules for this kind of Jutsu, but he does know he didn’t ask to get taken back. “Maa, did you tell them to find a kunai and sit on it?”

Madara arches one black eyebrow and laughs, low and throaty. His features are sharp and angular, though not to be mistaken for delicate or ephemeral in the way of Mikoto's or Itachi’s.

The resemblance in their rare smiles is . . . jarring.

“I should try that next time. Setting up a new village is tedious, and getting anyone to agree moreso. Then there was the subject of your appearance. “

“Why are to telling me all this?” When in doubt, bluntness rules out.

“You are one of ours now.” You are mine now. “If there is a security issue”—here Madara pauses to convey his doubt—“I will deal with it.” Your life belongs to me and I am responsible for everything you are, is what Kakashi hears.

Kakashi relaxes. “Duly noted. I have faith in your abilities.” My loyalty is yours.

Nothing more needs to be said.

“You should sleep,” Madara suggests, picking up a familiar orange book from the table to read. I’ll watch over you.

Kakashi hums and settles back down on the bed. Safe, he succumbs to sleep.

“Hello.” The young man has his head propped on his chin and he huffs out a bit of air in greeting. His long dark hair falls away from his face when he stretches

Ah, Kakashi thought, they come in miniature, then, where's the big one?

For a moment he thinks it’s. . . it’s. . . it’s. . . someone else. The hair’s too long, he reassures himself.

The newcomer grins and his eyes flicker down to beside Kakashi where Madara has fallen asleep. Madara’s long hair is coiled around him, leaving the impression of a slumbering dragon.

Kakashi’s position becomes immently more clear when he realizes the warmth he’s feeling is coming from Madara, and his hand just might be trapped in said hair as he pets the Uchiha Clan head.

The locks feel silky and strangely soft in Kakashi’s hand, despite their coarse appearance. “He must be tired after breathing all that fire.”

The young man kicks his feet out from under him, the move graceful and fluid but also making him appear five times younger than he is.

“He told you about the meeting with the Elders?” Bright eyes looked at him questioningly. His actions and appearance are achingly familiar. The breath leaves Kakashi’s lungs and he can’t manage to formulate a reply.

The Uchiha doesn't seem to care. “Oh.” The boy seems to shake himself.

“I'm Izuna by the way.” The way his lips tug at the corner says he’s more used to smiling then most Uchiha.

“Nice to meet you. He might have mentioned it in passing.”

“Huh. They wanted to rip out your eye. Big brother got a little huffy.”

“A little?” Kakashi muses, smiling. Someone—most likely Madara—has tied a bandana-styled bit of cloth over most his face. His hitai-ate is notably absent.

“Okay, a lot.” Izuna crowed, scooting closer at the prospect of sharing gossip. “His hair stood on end and everything, like a huge porcupine ready to stab someone with its spikes.”

“Kashi?” Madara mummers gripping him and nuzzling closer.

“I'm here,” Kakashi says, still trying to extract his hand from Madara's hair.

“S’nice. Stay,” the Village Hidden in the Leaves’ personal demon grumbles.

Kakashi stills and resumes his petting, fearing removal of his limbs otherwise.

Izuna stifled the Uchiha equivalent of a giggle (a different form of air exhilaration) behind his hand.

When Izuna still lingers in the room, Kakashi realizes that the younger Uchiha is acting as a buffer, not only for him but the older Uchiha. Clan tensions, it seems, are high.

“I’ve got him,” Kakashi tells Izuna, and he means it. His sword isn’t that far away, placed as it is on the table as well, and it’s not as if he needs his blade to afflict damage. Chakra is a steady thrum, resting just under his skin, ready at a moment's notice.

“Good,” Izuna agrees with an almost imperceptible nod. “He needs his rest.” The younger Uchiha stands. ”I’ll leave you both to it—oh, before I forget, training starts in a week.”

The door closes, Madara briefly stirs, reassures himself Kakashi is there, then sinks back to sleep.

Kakashi was skilled before he danced with the Shinobi of this time. Here, now, he was among the greats; how could he not seize the chance to learn more? Many of his abilities and renown came from his “Jack-of-all-trades” nature. He is still able to surprise his opponents, but takes care not to use too many Justu that he thinks may not have been invented yet.

Although Kakashi doesn’t sell himself short, he is no Madara. That being said, Kakashi has never had the opportunity to spar with one of the Founders before. His ability grows exponentially after each bout, or “training session.”

Sometimes one can’t progress without a good opponent; Madara is all that and more. He won’t actually kill Kakashi if he loses. Yet. The man is a monster on the battlefield, and they spend half as much time repairing the training ground as they do using it.

Over the course of weeks, theses session give them something equally valuable. They teach Kakashi and Madara how to move and work with each other. Madara is also in the process of examining the best way to connect and utilize Kakashi’s Sharingan, something he is immensely grateful for. Little by little the chakra drain lessens and Kakashi can feel himself growing stronger.

Kakashi takes to rising early each morning, and under Izuna’s watchful eyes, practices his swordsmanship. Specifically, the Kata’s passed down in the Hatake family for generations. He has always been good with a blade, and made point of keeping up on that. Left with little else to do, he practices to an extent he hadn’t bothered to since becoming a Jounin.

Izuna’s eyes are mirthful whenever they regard Kakashi, as well as speculative.

Madara has alluded to his appreciation of swordsmanship.

The younger brother begins to bring his own Katana along to face off against Kakashi’s Sabre.

Afterwards, Kakashi will seek out Madara for a brief spar, or find the man pouring over scrolls, frustration etched in every line of his body until Kakashi can convince him step away and fight.

It’s during the return journey from one of these morning workouts that Kakashi overhears the argument.

“This has gone on long enough! It's improper!” protests one voice.

“When last I looked, I was Clan Head,” Madara’s voice cuts in, low and angry, a monster roused from the depths. “I decide what's improper or isn't.”

“It's simply unsightly! You can't possibly mean to have him trail after you everywhere like some stray; Madara, see reason.” Bids one Elder.

Kakashi knows he shouldn't stop, that he ought to carry on and let Madara handle this.

He's dealt with this same talk before, and he’d be damned if he didn’t face it again on his own two feet.

Kakashi promised Obito he’d get to see the world; whether it was the last one or the next has no bearing. No matter how badly Kakashi wants to burst into that room, sword swinging, it won’t help. Anything he does now will only hurt their chances; this is a matter of custom and proprietary.

Beat them at their own game.

Minato’s voice spoke in Kakashi’s head, drawing him back to the days when his sensei was Hokage and had to deal with this incident in the first place. Kakashi recalls all the formal terminology and etiquette he was made to learn when it came time to meet the Uchiha Elders. If they were just as tiresome now, then it was a wonder Madara hadn’t ripped out their guts already, just to be done with it.

“He is a valuable asset and I consider him one of ours.”

“No one is disputing that merely, the matter of the eye.” “What would you have me do, rip it from his skull? Then what? Mount it on the wall like some sort of prize? We are not barbaric Senju to do such a thing!" Madara laughed low and mocking and Kakashi’s skin broke out in gooseflesh "I assure you, your retirement will occur before I allow that.” There was a wicked edge to his voice that stirred Kakashi’s blood. His heart is pounding out of control, as if he awoke in the middle of a thunderstorm and tried to call the lightning down.

Here is someone that will never leave him for any cause but Konoha.

In the face of honesty like that, Kakashi reverts to step one: assessment.

Kakashi use Shunshin to escape to his assigned room. It takes him a moment to locate his equipment in another dresser drawer. He’d mostly been wearing other Uchiha clan members’ castoffs. It didn't escape his notice that most of his tops had a huge Uchiha fan embroidered proudly on the back.

Kakashi’s ANBU armour and former clothes have been cleaned. His hound mask rests on a folded undershirt. He lets his hands trail over the painted ceramic. There are no flaws that he can find with touch or the naked eye. It’s smooth as the first day it was handed to him. The work of seals no doubt.

Kakashi dresses swiftly, straps the painted mask to his hip, and then steps out the door.

Madara is already waiting a mission scroll in hand.

“They're going to give us hell,” Kakashi states, observing the scroll and mission ready clothes.

“It might just be the other way around.” Madara smiles and nothing about it’s pleasant. Kakashi must still be recovering from blood loss, as he finds it attractive.

“Shall we?” He offers, gesturing for Madara to lead the way.

“Let’s.” Madara echoes, already striding away.

The day of the incident with Izuna and Tobirama, Madara is stuck in another meeting with the Elders and is only notified slightly before Kakashi. The kunai scarcely avoided all of the vital areas. Izuna himself seems to be taking the news the best and has been placed on light duty.

Right now, at the younger brother’s behest, Kakashi lopes down the corridors of the compound, seeking the elder of the two Uchiha. Madara had eventually left Izuna’s beside with murder in his eyes.

“Kakashi,” Madara says upon seeing him. The Clan Head is the sharpest he’s ever sounded. Darkness envelopes Madara like the bleakest of traveling cloaks. If Kakashi doesn’t stop him, he might very well storm out and kill the Senju brat for nicking his baby brother.

“This may not be the best time.” Madara continues. With fire blazing in his eyes and smoke swirling after his steps, he stalks closer. Kakashi closes the distance. The air is filled with the smell of soot and ash; Madara is a man made ruin. The threat of violence lays in wait.

Want, snarls the ugly part of himself, scenting blood.

Kakashi reaches for Madara and pulls the man down the narrow corridor of the Uchiha Clan’s main building. If they don't get out, they'll suffocate. Kakashi desperately needs to ground himself.

What’s resting between them shouldn’t fester any longer. This is his boiling point, and he refuses to let go even when the other man moves to pull away.

No more running.

“Kakashi,” Madara warns, clinging to his name like a lifeline. Madara acts as if he needs the reminder of just who he’s dealing with. There are a myriad of emotions flickering across his face in the subtle way of the Uchiha.

What Madara’s attempting to do, that’s not going to work. Kakashi knows who he’s dealing with. Destruction rests in Madara’s eyes, that’s fine; Kakashi wouldn’t mind being destroyed. Fire and chaos are just one part of creation, and he breathes in.

“Yes,” Kakashi answers, and knows what he's agreeing to. Kakashi tugs the mask down his face and steals a kiss from Madara’s lips. Madara grasps his arm and reels him back in for another.

Then another, and another, till Kakashi’s lips are swollen and his head is dizzy.

He can’t say when he last got the chance to breathe.

Kakashi curses when their positions reverse and his head hits the wall. Madara is holding him upright and caging his body with his.

Safe. Possessed. Owned.

Madara is doing everything in his power to steal the air from Kakashi’s lungs and return it every time their mouths meet. Madara is an inferno blazing hot enough to match the stars.

Kakashi’s wounds are being cauterized by his flame.

The sun rises and climbs over the mountain, prompting the people of the sleepy village to wakefulness.

Kakashi lays resting on Madara's broad chest. He’s humming to himself an old song Rin used to sing, his eyes half lidded. Arousal simmers under the surface, ignored for now, as Madara plays with the spikes that is his hair.

“The Silver Wolf, that’s what they’ll call you,” his lover says abruptly. By now, though, Kakashi understands that Madara never does anything abruptly. It’s just that what he contemplates isn’t always spoken out loud like he intends while thinking. It’s an amusing and, dare he say, adorable quirk.

“I've always been more of a dog person. A hound,” Kakashi admits, conceding to the point. My father was The White Fang, he wants to say.

Madara brushes a kiss on his shoulder, following the trail of previous marks.

“Dogs have masters, ” he murmurs, tugging on Kakashi’s ear lobe.

Panting, Kakashi tilts his head, baring his neck. “Then does that make you my keeper?”

Madara weighs his words, smugness dripping from him. “Perhaps.” Madara languishes, a god absent from his throne, and Kakashi basks in his presence.

“Every demon needs a hell hound,” Kakashi reminds him, kissing his jaw. Kakashi thinks he knows what kind of evil he’d like to be. He can always smell the residual iron of blood on his hands from where it never washes off. Here in this space, with this beauty beside him, is close enough to prayer.

“You are so much more than that,” Madara corrects, a hint of anger creeping in. “Kakashi, look at me,” he demands and grips Kakashi’s chin, tilting his head further till their gazes lock.

“You're mine,” growls Madara, seizing Kakashi’s lips for a searing kiss. His head spins. “My Samurai, I found you first.” The Uchiha declares.

Konoha was built because of a feeling, a shared dream between friends.

It will continue to stand because of their commitment.

“Live for the sake of it, for me.”

Kakashi can’t turn away from those garnet eyes.

There is only one reply to that order.

“Yes, Angel.”

#MadaKaka #madara uchiha #kakashi hatake #izuna uchiha #tobirama senju #naruto #anime #fic #naruto fic

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