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modernmanblues · 2 years ago

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chances

CH 2: VOGUE PT. II

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she’s presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I’m Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn’t know is how much trouble she’s about to get herself into with the group’s beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: a whole lotta fluff 🍦, some flirting, musicians? models? why not both?, a little taste of 10cc talent, curious Eric, concerned Eric, begging, begging, lots of begging, flustered Leah a/n: The much anticipated sequel to Chapter 2 pt. I! The boys finally get their beauty shots in this concluding chapter and I threw in some extra stuff to spice things up.

“I hope you fancy this tune as much as I do.”

The Canon F-1. With its slick black finish, solid body, portability and relatively user-friendly settings, it is the perfect camera for the fastidious photographer. I received this camera as a birthday gift from my father last year, and it has since become my trusted companion. I diligently study the device. Even though I had checked earlier to make sure there is a new roll of film in place, I perform another check for good measure. I unlock the back compartment and gander at the film–it is undamaged, secure and ready for use. I only snapped a few photos earlier, so I should have an adequate amount of film remaining. I proceed to close it then take out my external flash device and mount it on the camera accordingly. I was being proactive the night before departing for this trip and had attached the appropriate lens I intend on using so it would be one less thing for me to worry about. I bring the camera strap over my head and allow it to rest along the back of my neck. For my peace of mind, I check to ensure that the strap is securely fastened to the device itself–with the camera strap attached, I can freely move about without worrying that I will drop the device. I’ve learned this from past mistakes.

I hoist myself up off the floor, clutching my camera and gracefully marching over to the stage where the men have congregated. I begin to pace along the perimeter of the stage, smiling as I heed their indistinguishable banter. Oh the joys of trying to understand men with silly accents..

I pause along center stage and turn my attention to Lol, who is scrupulously combing Eric’s hair with his fingers. I bring a hand over my mouth to hide my amusement at this fascinating interaction.

“Ouch! Lol stop it, you’re hurting me!” Eric scowls at Lol, dodging Lol’s grip as he attempts to grab a hold of his hair.

“Oh Eric Stewart, how could I ever tire of touching your long, silky smooth hair?” Lol speaks in a feminine tone, a seemingly exaggerated imitation of a woman smitten by a charming man. He bats his eyes jokingly at Eric.

Eric playfully rolls his eyes and chuckles, “you’re mad, Creme.”

“Mad for you, Eric Stewart.” Lol grins widely at Eric, gently patting his back.

Eric whispers into Lol’s ear and the two chuckle. Their faces are beaming. Eric smiles timidly, seemingly deep in thought. He brings his head down, his bangs falling gently over the corners of his eyes. Lol follows Eric with his eyes. He smiles genially at him, his dimples growing more prominent. I swiftly turn the flash off the camera and quickly zoom in on their faces and snap a picture. And they barely even noticed..With my impressive muscle memory, my thumb immediately clicks the advancing lever to rotate the film.

I glance over at Graham and Kevin who appear to be mindlessly fiddling around with their instruments. I stroll casually towards Graham and Kevin’s side of the stage and observe them keenly.

Graham flawlessly transitions from tuning his bass to fiddling with his instrument, skillfully producing a random tune–a tune I can hardly recognize, but one with a catchy rhythm. I take the opportunity to make small talk with him.

“Hi. Would you mind playing me something?” My lips twist into a smile off the corner of my mouth as I gaze up at him. This is a little business tactic I’ve acquired from years of doing photography: get them to be comfortable around you then strike while the iron is hot!

Making small talk with each of them will allow me the chance to familiarize myself with their personalities and establish some sort of rapport with them. I find that this is the best way for me to build a trusting relationship with my clients, no matter how long or short our working relationship is.

My intention is to make this a comfortable atmosphere for everyone. For Graham, Kevin, Eric and Lol. I want them to be genuine, raw, unashamed and confident around me. I speak from experience when I say that the best candid shots I’ve ever taken are the ones where my clients go about their business without regarding my presence. This is what I hope to achieve with these boys today.

Graham gives me a smug look as he flips his gorgeous curls, “well what do you want to hear?”

“Surprise me.”

“Ok. But you have to tell me the name of the song afterwards.” he chuckles, smirking at me.

“Fair game.” I retort with confidence. I am by no means a musician. But I’ve been exposed to them enough to be able to recognize certain bass lines and guitar riffs common in today’s popular music.

Graham begins to pluck away at the opening bass line. I attend with patient ears, while simultaneously being mindful and prepared to capture his best picture perfect moments. At this point in time, I cannot pinpoint which particular song he’s playing the bass line of, but I give him a moment to build up to it.

I take this opportunity to appreciate Graham’s features once again now that we’re in a more intimate setting. His sleepy eyes are fixed on each fret his expert fingers land on. He plays rather effortlessly yet diligently, ensuring not one chord is missed. He gazes studiously at each fret of his beloved instrument, knowing fully well he could quite possibly hit each chord perfectly without having to gander at his fingers. However, he maintains modesty in displaying his talent–a rather admirable attribute. My eyes fixate on his prominent jawline. I notice the way he clenches his jaw ever so subtly as he focuses on his task–a seemingly typical male mannerism that never fails to instill strong emotions in me. His thick, jet black curls show lustrous against the studio light. I never thought lengthy eyelashes could suit a man, but dear Graham has clearly defied all odds.

With his eyes planted on his instrument, I take it upon myself to begin capturing his visuals. I turn the flash on this time and zoom in on his face. Gorgeous boy. I snap a photo and quickly move to his right to get him from a different angle. I kneel on one knee and zoom my camera out slightly to capture him and his bass. I snap another image. He’s barely flinched. Impressive.

My teeth sink into my lower lip to stifle a smile as he glances at me off the corner of his eyes, his lips twisting into a bashful smile. I snap another photo. Perfect.

It dawns on me suddenly which song this bass line is from, and I somehow find myself singing along to the tune under my breath.

“He got hair down to his knee..got to be a joker he just do what he please.” I chant under my breath, humming the tune in between words.

Graham pauses suddenly and beams at me. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

I feel my face growing a bit warm. I chuckle nervously, a feeble smile breaking across my face.

“Thank you..sorry I..I got carried away.”

“That’s quite alright, no need to apologize. Your voice..it’s really nice,” he smiles at me boyishly, “so, you know the song then?”

I roll my eyes playfully at him, twisting my lips into a smile. “Did you have to go with a Beatles song?”

“Mm..you haven’t answered my question. What’s the name of the song?” he raises an eyebrow, giving me a smug look.

“Do I get anything in return? You know, for identifying the song correctly?”

“Are we just chopped liver, then?” Eric strolls across the stage with Lol following behind him. He places his elbow over Graham’s shoulder, gazing at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s you again..” There is gross sarcasm in my tone. I playfully roll my eyes at him and peel away from his gaze. I suddenly find myself placing a hand over my mouth to hide my nervous smile.

“Mhm, it’s me again. Something the matter with that?” Goodness gracious, why is he such a..boy? A pretty boy at that.

Eric strides over towards me and leans his hands against his waist, smirking at me. “Anyways, I thought this was a 10cc photoshoot, not a Graham Gouldman bass extraordinaire photo spree, hm?”

“Graham Gouldman bass extraordinaire! Eric, have you gone mad?!” Graham cackles boisterously.

“He’s not just mad, Graham, he’s a bloody lunatic!” Lol chuckles, shooting a glance at Graham and shaking his head in amusement.

“Shush, enough from the peanut gallery over there.” he cranes his head over towards Lol and Graham, his lips twisting into a boyish smile, then he shifts his head back to face me.

“Well you seemed a bit busy doing whatever it was you were doing so I figured I’d leave you to it.” I cross my arms, pouting my lips. My eyes are now fixed on his.

“Oh is that right? Or maybe that’s your poor excuse for wanting me to come to you instead.” he maintains his smug facial expression.

“Geez Louise, are you always this annoying?” I chuckle nervously, maintaining a fixed gaze on him as I await his response.

“Ohh..so I’m annoying now? Very well then. I guess I won’t be needed in this photoshoot. Now, if you’ll excuse me–”

“Would you stop it? Now, why don’t you play me something? Graham did a beautiful rendition of Come Together on his bass. I want to hear from you now, Eric.”

“Say please?” he pleads with his eyes.

I march gracefully towards him and crane my head up to face him. My face breaks into a jovial smile as I gaze into his enchanting eyes.

“Pretty please?” I bat my eyes jokingly at him.

“I like the sound of that.” he smirks, then proceeds to march towards center stage.

Eric quickly tunes his guitar and fiddles around with some random chords before immersing himself into a song.

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes, his face beaming. He proceeds to speak into the microphone to render a speech.

“Thank you, Strawberry crew. I would like to dedicate this next number to our esteemed guest, the lovely and talented Ms. Leah Walker,” he chuckles, “I hope you fancy this tune as much as I do.” He raises his brows at me then delves into the beginning riff of the song.

His eyes adhere to his fingers as they skate across the fretboard. I am quick to recognize the tune. There is some familiarity to it–it has a strong punch, it’s powerful, riveting even, yet simple and very catchy. Dad used to beat this song like a dead horse on his good ‘ole rickenbacker back in the day..I was blessed with a musician as a father which made for an interesting childhood. There was never a dull moment in our household growing up. It’s no surprise why I am able to identify songs by riff alone given the wisdom my father has shared with me on music theory.

“Rumble..” I mutter under my breath.

I stride towards center stage to get a good glimpse of Eric. I gaze up at him with admiration. His bangs are slightly tousled over his forehead. He charmingly flips his hair as he progresses through the riff. I zoom in on his face with my camera and snap an image. I shift to one corner and kneel on both knees and aim my camera upwards to get him in frame. I zoom my lens out ever so slightly just enough to get him and his guitar in the portrait. I capture another image, smiling at him adoringly. I hoist myself up and march on back over to him.

“You don’t strike me as someone who fancies a little Link Wray. He’s one of my favorites. My dad used to play this song day in, day out down in our basement.” I am suddenly hit with a quick flashback of my childhood. A tiny smile breaks across my face as I reminisce about those happier, more innocent days.

Eric pauses his performance. “Your father taught you well then. And you know, it’s rude to interrupt a musician while he’s in the middle of performing an important score.” His tone is facetious.

“Ohh..right, where are my manners?!” I retort sarcastically, “so anyway, I’m curious to know what you like to do for fun when you’re not making sweet, sweet love to your guitar.” Business tactic.

“Is that what you think I do?” he snorts audibly. He grins from ear to ear as he tries to further process my statement.

I quickly snap his image and giggle rather mischievously. “Beautiful..”

“So this is how you run your sessions? Clever girl..”

“Are you going to answer my question, Mr. Stewart?” I cock my head to one side. I gaze up at him with arms crossed, raising a brow at him. My lips twist into a cheeky smile as I await his response.

“My God, soo demanding..” he leans his arms over the body of his guitar, then proceeds to construct a response, “well if you must know..when I’m not, as you say, making love to my Gibson, you’ll find me tucked away in the garage doting on my Ferrari collection.”

“So you’re a car guy, huh?”

“Oh more than just a car guy..I’m involved.”

“Now why are we larking about? It is now 6:30 pm and we’re still not through with the shoot. What’s going on here?” Jonathan enters the studio from one of the side doors. He displays some degree of aggravation in his tone.

“That’s my fault, Mr. King, I’m holding them up. We’re almost finished.” I say this matter-of-factly. I’d rather take the blame for any delays.

“Gentlemen, one last thing before we conclude this session. Graham, Eric, Lol..I need you fellas to stand right by Kevin. You all seem to be a natural at this so just be yourselves, alright?”

The guys congregate around Kevin as directed. They fix themselves accordingly. I’ve been so entranced by this group that I’ve barely noticed just how casually dressed they are. The guys are all adorned in a mixture of denim, flannel shirts and casual pullover sweaters. I love how un-rock ‘n’ roll they are.

We conclude the session with several shots of the guys flocked around Kevin and a few with Lol being the centerpiece..

I check my watch and notice that the time is now 7:00 pm. I resist the urge to yawn.

“You must be tired, lady.” Eric peers into my eyes. His smile is charming. Contagious, even.

“Mhm..time for me to go.” I give into yawning, “oh boy..what a day..”

“Um..when will I..I mean, we hear back from you? you know, about the status of our pictures?”

“Well since you boys have been very accommodating today, I have my ways of expediting the process. I plan on swinging over to the photo lab first thing in the morning so I can get your photos developed hopefully by the end of tomorrow. So, to answer your question Eric, give me a couple days to get it done.” My tone is reassuring.

“Will you be delivering the pictures to us?” He maintains his gaze on me. His tone is perturbed.

“Well I’m going to be busy within the next few days. I have a few other shoots to get through this week, but I will do my best to swing by and hand deliver them myself. If not, I have an apprentice working for me who is aware of my plan and will be more than happy to deliver your pictures in case I‘m not available to do it.”

For a moment, we are covered with a veil of silence as we both try to mentally process the act of parting ways. I want to see you again too, Eric. I think you’re interesting and I want to get to know more about you and your incredible life..

He sighs deeply, almost despairingly, then slips a tiny piece of paper into the palm of my hand while bringing my hand up to his face to plant gentle kiss on my knuckle. Butterflies, again.

“On behalf of the group and myself, thank you for making this day memorable.” He smiles at me meekly. I cannot seem to comprehend how a grown man could look so pure and innocent yet ripe all at once. “Call the studio if you have any concerns..about anything..anything at all.”

“Eric..I..today was great. Thank you..for everything.” I gently peel my hand away from his hold. Something in me is compelling me to kiss him on the cheek. No..no..too soon.

“I really hope to see you again.” He is seemingly pleading.

“Oh you will. I’m sure you will. Goodnight, Eric.” I take one last look at him before heading out the door.

“Goodnight.”

I swing my backpack over my shoulder and proceed to exit the studio, resisting the urge to turn around and look back at him. I stagger just outside the studio’s premises. I inhale deeply, then exhale one slowed and controlled breath as I take a moment to process the whole slew of events that occurred today. Where’s a cigarette when I need one?

I unravel the tiny piece of paper that Eric seamlessly slipped into my hand just before parting ways. I read his writing:

Please call me at Strawberry if you need anything.

01612857303

-Eric

I think I just felt my stomach drop.

———————————————————————————

<<previous chapter next chapter>>

please visit my masterlist if you would like to see some of my other work :))

#why is king always gatekeeping the guys?? 🙄#eric stewart #fanfiction #eric stewart x oc!fem #graham gouldman #lol creme #kevin godley #jonathan king

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quietbluejay · 4 hours ago

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Transformers Infiltration #4 1/2

hey it's still tomorrow in my time zone!

some diversity in the human cast

and well, whoever the colourist is for this issue did a much better job than Burcham (...you'll see what I mean when we get to All Hail Megatron)

social worker: "uncommonly bright...with deep socialization issues." Now to me that's just a fancy way of saying you think you're better than the rest of us ordinary everyday folk

social worker: bottom line, you see yourself as a cut above, a real tough cookie. But you know what I see when I look at you?

she's babey!

also no wonder she's always running away

the flashback scene also contexualizes some of her actions in the Wreckers trilogy, namely her choice to do something most people would consider objectively stupid because she wanted to retain some agency (I'm playing coy for the people who haven't read Sins of the Wreckers). Verity is one of the characters with the most consistent characterization across writers!

Verity: Fine. Yeah. Dandy.

"but sometimes, I wonder" hmmm yeah don't like that

"but they may have set mousetraps!"

Verity reaches the bottom

up top, Jimmy fastens something around his waist that's attached to the rope

Jimmy: Look...

Jimmy: we know our snap-happy mystery man got in and out okay. We can, too

Hunter is holding coils of the rope

Hunter: Bottom line - if we want to find out why these Decepticons broke protocol and switched hidey-holes...

Hunter:...we need to be able to see the bigger picture

Verity leaves a glowing blue light thing on the ground where she landed and starts walking away

Bee: just…be careful, is all

Bee: we can't risk any kind of holomatter recce or invasive scan. You, well…

"You're going in blind."

(this is also funny because the Decepticons are currently blowing stuff up on the evening news) (also, ruthless Bumblebee makes his first appearance in this continuity)

Jimmy: check

THEY SPLIT THE PARTY

but now, over to Texas

diversity win! for the bad guys' goon team!

Mr. Jolly gets up

Mr. Jolly: The window of opportunity for a measured, controlled appropriation is, it appears, closing fast

Mr. Jolly: Matters have gathered a momentum of their own making… who talks like that! this isn't business-ese i know business-ese

newscaster: ...a trailer park in Tucson, Arizona, injuring two people...

it switches to another scene of destruction

i wonder how they got this

Hunter wanders through the darkness

Hunter:...holler if you need us

Hunter: Jimmy?

comms go CRZ

Jimmy: here

and we're over to Jimmy, same situation, there's just a bunch of metal walls with metal stuff

Hunter: anything?

Jimmy: hard to know

Jimmy: this stuff could be the giant robot equivalent of a snappy-meal carton for all I know

verity for scale

Verity: nuhh…not that I can see. But well, I'd say they were used as storage. I-

over to Hunter, he's giving the darkness a side-eye

Verity on comms: Wait! This one's closed. Looks like content to me. Hang on...

Hunter: Verity - wait! Ratchet said not to touch anything.

Verity jostles the green thing

Verity: Oh, puh-lease

Verity: The whole point of this exercise was to poke our noses where they don't belong. I-

Verity: ah

Hunter: Verity?

Verity waves away the smoke

Verity: yeah, yeah, hang on, I'm-

DUN DUN DUNNN

Hunter: Verity?

Verity covers her face with her hands

a tear leaks out of one eye

she wipes it away

Hunter: but-

Verity: I said I'm fine. It's nothing.

Jimmy on comms: Verity, it's Jimmy. Look...if you want out, no one will think any less of you. Me, I'm spooked like Scooby, y'know. Maybe...

Verity: No. I can do this.

it zooms out and shows that they're in a clearing for some reason

Ratchet: ...but for some reason I'm feeling mighty exposed!

we zoom out some more

welp

Skywarp: Autobots. What are they doing here?

Blitzwing: Who cares? skdflsdhfkjhds BLITZWING

Skywarp: Mm. Good point.

Ratchet zooms through the black clouds of smoke

he sends a message to our human protagonists to get out of there right now

Jimmy: Got it. On my way. Verity?

Verity slides down some dirt towards a glowing green crack in the wall big enough for a human

Verity: just one more bit to check out...won't take a moment. I'll see you topside.

Hunter starts running

Hunter: Verity, dammit, it's enough

Hunter: You don't have anything to prove here!

Hunter: Verity?

there's a shot of her comm left behind by the pile of dirt

back up top, Skywarp is firing something down at them

Bee: what are they doing?

Ratchet: we're sitting on top of a big excavation. Enough sustained firepower…

Ratchet:...and this whole area will just cave in on itself!

Skywarp VOPs out

Ratchet: We've got to move!

Skywarp VOPs back in

Bee: okay, now I'm mad

A giant gun half the size of Bee comes out of his hood

Bee fires at Skywarp JUST as he teleports out of the way

Bee loses it and goes robot mode, then starts firing more accurately with the gun and gets Blitzwing in the wing

Blitzwing starts crashing RIGHT TOWARDS BEE

Bee: yeh

yes I recorded that line 100% accurately

Ratchet sends up some kind of flashbang which blinds Blitzwing and he crashes into the ground

Ratchet then goes robot mode to double check that Blitzwing is out for the count

(and wishes he had a bigger gun)

but gets shot out of the way by Blitzwing in tank mode

I guess he transformed in all the smoke

(there's a lot of smoke)

meanwhile back with Verity, she slips through the crack and, well

SURPRISE MEGATRON!

and this is gonna have to be a 2-parter

man I need to do more summarizing I guess, it's just a bit tricky sometimes T_T

#bluejay reads transformers #bluejay reads idw1

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study-coffee-chicago · 4 years ago

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Seasons of PD: Season 5: PTSD (A Halstead brothers + Halstead! sister imagine)

As always, I don't own any quotes from 5x01 of Chicago PD!

Your age: 16

Jay's age: 30

Will's age: 32

"I just talked to Ballistics. The bullet that hit the little girl was a nine-millimeter."

"I thought the bangers were firing 45s."

"They were."

"You're saying I shot that little girl?"

That. That was the conversation that was replaying in Jay's head as he sat on the couch of his apartment that afternoon. How could he call himself a cop, a good cop, if it was him who shot that girl? He should've known that there an illegal daycare center there, even though no one could've known, he still should've figured it out somehow. But, he was taking heavy fire and he did what he needed to do. But, that didn't make him feel any better. A little girl was in critical condition and fighting for her life at Chicago Med because of him. It was all his fault.

***

Your mind wandered back to the day earlier in the year when it was your sixteenth birthday...and you had gotten the iPhone that was currently blowing up with Twitter notifications all about Jay.

You had gone for breakfast with your dad because he had completed the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous and was doing a lot better. He also had visitation rights after he completed the 12 Steps, so he had the right to see you. Since you were 16, you could refuse, but you didn't want your dad to feel bad. And, from what you had heard from Will who had been going to see how he was doing to see if it was safe for you to see him, he was doing really well.

During breakfast, he had given you a gift. You opened it and immediately recognized the bracelet.

"Is this Mom's?" you asked. "I thought you said you couldn't find it when I asked for it when I was like ten."

"I've kept it all these years, I was just waiting for the right time to make sure you'd be able to take care of it and not lose it."

You remembered playing with the charm bracelet when you were little when it dangled off your mom's wrist. There were a bunch of different charms from places she had gone, such as Mount Rushmore, Washington DC, a record charm that she had bought in Hollywood, and for other special occasions, such as a steering wheel charm she got from her parents when she got her driver's license, a graduation cap she got for graduation which she also got from her parents, a wedding dress charm which symbolized the day she married your dad, among other charms.

"Thank you," you replied as you held back tears.

He'd changed, he'd recovered, but there's still no way you'd go back to live with him.

***

"How was breakfast with Dad?" Jay asked as you walked into the apartment after you had breakfast.

"Good. He's doing really good, Jay." You walked up to him and opened the small gift box you were holding. "He gave me this." You held the box out to him and he smiled.

"Mom's charm bracelet?" You nodded. "Want me to put it on you?"

"Please."

Jay's breath hitched as he took the bracelet out of the box. It was like he was holding a little piece of his mom, and this piece of your mom would forever be with you the moment he fastened the clasp.

"It's perfect," you said as you fiddled with a few charms.

You both sat in silence for a few moments, just thinking about the fact that this was your mom's and it was now yours.

"Ready to go get your license?" Jay asked, breaking the silence.

"Is that even a question? Yes!"

You had taken your driver's test a week ago after completing the long process of going through two segments of driver's training classes, taking a written test, securing your learner's permit, and accumulating 50 or more hours of driving practice with either Jay or Will.

Jay chuckled at your excitement. "You good with how you look? You'll have the same license photo until you're 21, you know?"

"Let me go put on some lipstick!"

"Not that super dark reddish-purple one!"

"Yes, that super dark reddish-purple one! It's my favorite and it looks good on me!" you yelled as you ran to your room.

Once you had applied your lipstick, you and Jay made your way to the Secretary of State with all the necessary documents for you to get your license.

***

"Why's my license vertical and not horizontal like yours?" you asked after you exited the building with your brand new license.

"You get a horizontal one when you're 21. Just makes it easier for us cops to identify if you're underage if we ask for your license. And for bartenders to know you're underage if you try to buy alcohol."

"Oh, okay."

"You wanna drive?" Jay asked you.

"Sure. It's no different than me having my permit, though because you'll be in the car," you pointed out.

"So, you don't want to drive."

"No, I do!"

"That's what I thought."

He handed you the keys and you unlocked his truck. You both got in and you started adjusting the seat and the rearview mirror.

"Don't forget to--"

"Adjust the side mirrors. I know, Jay, I know. We've been through this a ton. Trust me."

"You're essentially driving a missile down the road, excuse me if I get nervous."

You rolled your eyes and started to drive, but when you were supposed to turn right, he told you to go left.

"Where are we going?" you asked.

"The district," he answered.

"Why?"

"You'll see. Just drive. I'll give you directions because we both know you're bad with those."

"Shut up!"

"What? We both know it's true!"

"No comment."

When you got there, Jay told you to park in front of what he called the "roll-up". To say you were confused would be an understatement; you didn't even know what this was!

"It's where we load our weapons and drive out sometimes. It's the basement," Jay explained.

"Where the cage is?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Adam told me about it. And then when you and Erin were on a lunch run for everyone, he showed it to me."

"I'm gonna have to talk to him about that."

Once you finished parking, you turned off the car and handed the keys back to Jay. Then, Jay did this weird, complicated knock on the garage door of the roll-up.

"Surprise!"

You were met with Will standing there. Behind him, was a car, with a bow on top.

"Is this mine?" you asked.

"Yup," Will confirmed. "Dude," he said to Jay, "You're lucky Goodwin let me out early."

"2010 Buick," Jay said as you walked over to examine the car more. "Seized it from a mob boss two weeks ago. It was going to be impounded, but Kev's got a really good car guy, so I didn't have to pay a lot for it."

"Wait," you started, "So this is just from you, Jay?"

"My gift is in your driver's seat," Will said and then he tossed you the keys. Somehow you caught them...you weren't the best when it came to hand-eye coordination.

You unlocked it using the fob and opened the driver's side door. There, on the driver's seat, was a box. And, not just any box: an Apple box.

"Is this...?"

"Open it." Will smiled.

So you did and you squealed so loud that Jay covered his ears. "Damn, high-pitched screams...sometimes worse than the sound of gunshots."

"Sorry! I'm just so excited! I can't believe I got a car and iPhone! You guys are the best! I love you guys so much!"

"We figured it'd save me a ton of time in the morning not to have to drive you to school and, if I get called into a case early or stay at work late, then I wouldn't have to find someone to drop you off or pick you up. And, figured I could always track your phone if necessary," Jay answered.

"I knew there was a catch," you answered.

"Always is," Will joked.

"Are there traps still in the car?" you asked, causing Jay's eyes to go wide.

"How do you know about those?"

"I watch crime shows."

"No," he answered. "Made sure that was one of the very first things Kev's car guy did: remove the traps."

"Aw, man! I was gonna have fun with those!"

"And put what in them?" Will asked. "Candy? Those fancy pens you like?"

"One, there's two different kinds I like: Papermate pens and calligraphy pens. And two, a little bit of this, a little bit of that."

"Care to specific on what those might be?" Jay asked.

"Not really."

"May I remind you that I am a cop and can toss your bedroom like--" He snapped his fingers. "--that."

"Don't you need a warrant for that?"

"It's my house, so I can do what I want. And, I hope I don't need to bring charges against you for whatever you're hiding."

You burst out laughing. "You guys, I'm kidding. I just wanted to see Jay's reaction when I mentioned traps! I wouldn't do anything...especially with Jay as my brother. I'm not that stupid."

"Oh thank God," Jay sighed.

"Can we go? A little birdie let it slip that there's a surprise party for me at the apartment."

Will glared at Jay. "What?" Jay asked as he put his hands up in a sign of surrender. "I promise you I did not say a single word about it."

"Mhm." Will rolled his eyes.

"Y/N, would this little birdie be Ruzek?" Jay asked.

"No comment."

"I am never telling him anything remotely secretive again."

But now, you kinda wished you didn't have that phone. Because, all over Twitter, there were people who didn't even know your brother who was saying that he was a racist cop and a child killer.

***

You walked inside to see a very distraught Jay. he was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. And, even though you could only see one side of his face from where you were standing, you could see the dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

"So, it's true?" you asked. Jay jumped and looked at you. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"H-How do you know what happened?"

You sat down next to him. "Twitter. My mentions were blowing up."

"Y/N, you gotta believe me. I wouldn't intentionally shoot a little girl--"

"Jay, I believe you."

"At least she's at Med. Will said she's got a good chance of making it."

"Oh, you didn't hear." He furrowed his eyebrows. "She passed away. I got a notification about it like an hour ago. I'm so sorry, Jay."

"Fuck," was all he said as he buried his head in his hands and began sobbing.

You wanted to comfort him, you really did, but you had no idea what to say. You knew Jay was a good cop and, whatever happened, you knew that he wouldn't purposely kill an innocent little girl. So, you just put a hand on his shoulder as he continued to sob, reminding him that you were still there.

"I'm gonna go talk to Will," he said as he stood up a few minutes later.

He walked over to the kitchen sink and splashed his face with water and dried it with some paper towels while you walked over to him.

"I'll drive you," you told him. "You're not in any shape to be driving right now. I know you'd tell me the same thing."

"No, Y/N, I can drive myself."

"This isn't up for discussion, Jay."

"Yes, it is. My picture's all over the internet. If someone decides to come after me, I don't want you near me out in public. I need you to be safe. Just stay here. Please." His voice cracked on the last word.

"Fine."

"Thank you."

"But please try your best to get home in one piece."

Jay nodded and grabbed his jacket. "I'll be back soon."

But, what he was thinking was totally different. After what I did, I don't deserve to come home in one piece.

***

Jay stormed into the ED just as Will was leaving a treatment room and Will caught sight of Jay and walked towards him.

"You said she was gonna make it!" Jay practically yelled.

"Hey," Will said, quieter, trying to use his trying-to-calm-down-a-patient-voice to hopefully make Jay calm down.

"You said she was gonna..." Jay took a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"Hey, I said she had a chance, okay? She was in bad shape. Lost too much blood."

"I know."

"There's only so much we can do."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just...the bullet came from my gun. Even though I was aiming at an offender, it went through his abdomen and through a fucking door and into her, Will. Even though it was an accident, I still shot her. I killed an eight-year-old little girl. I killed her."

***

"50-21 George!" Jay yelled into his radio. "I'm taking heavy fire! I got two civilians down in the north alley behind the building."

"This is Sergeant Hank Voight. Advise responding units to shut down a two-block radius."

"Help! Help!"

Jay turned his attention to the building and when he saw it was clear, he pushed open the wooden door and entered.

He nearly choked when he saw what happened.

It was you. You were eight years old, clutching Beary in one hand while Hailey held you and tried to stop the bleeding.

"Y/N!" He had no idea why you were even here, maybe your parents couldn't afford a good, legal daycare center because of your mom's medical bills, but whatever it was, you were here, and you had somehow been shot. He kneeled down next to you and all but threw his sniper on the ground.

"Alright, I'm gonna call an ambulance," Hailey said.

"We don't have time." Somehow, he was aware of where his keys were in his tactical gear. "Go get my car. Fast."

He handed over the keys. "Ready?" Hailey asked as Jay positioned his hands above hers to try and stop the bleeding the minute she removed her hands.

Jay nodded and quickly replaced Hailey's hands with his as she sprinted off to get his truck.

But, then the scene changed.

It became hotter. Jay could feel the dry heat in his mouth and in his throat. He felt the sweat trickle down his face and back. He felt beads of sand on his hands and arms. He looked down to see you resting your head against his leg. And, he wasn't in his normal clothes that he'd wear to work. No, he was in his Rangers uniform.

He had his hands over the same spot on your chest as he had in the daycare center. And, you still had Beary in your hand, albeit a very loose grip on him.

You coughed, causing some blood to come out of your mouth.

"No, Y/N, not like this. Not like this." He removed one hand from the wound and applied all the pressure he could with one hand while he reached for his radio. "This is Halstead to Base." Crackles. "This is Halstead to Base." More crackles. "Please. This is Halstead to Base. I need a med truck now! My sister's been shot." No response. "Please. She's only-- She's only eight years old." His voice cracked. "Please."

You coughed once more and Jay knew trying to reach Base was useless at this point. Jay took his canteen and dabbed a little bit of water on your face and smeared it around, trying to clean the blood off your face. But, as fast as he could clean it, more would come up and out of your mouth.

You let out a strangled breath. Jay knew that sound. That was the sound of someone's last gasp of air that they'd ever take.

"Y/N, please. Please, Short Stack. Stay with me. Help will come. Please, just hang on a little longer."

Then, he saw the all too familiar look of empty eyes in front of him. He let out a strangled sob as he placed his fingers on your eyelids and gently pulled them closed.

Jay shot up in bed with a start. He reached for his chest, feeling for his radio to try and call for help again. It was only when his fingers brushed his bare chest that he realized that he wasn't in the desert of Afghanistan, but in the safety of his own bed, in his own apartment, here stateside, here in Chicago.

He went into the bathroom after his breathing calmed down and jumped into a freezing cold shower, hoping to get the image of an eight-year-old you being shot and killed by his gun out of his head.

But it wouldn't leave.

Jay dried off and then quietly made his way out of his room and over to yours.

He crouched down by your bed and watched as your chest rose and fell, signaling that you were in a deep sleep. You were sleeping on your side and had one leg thrown over the other and a few toes sticking out from under the covers. Beary was next to you. You weren't clutching him like in his nightmare, hell you weren't even holding him, but he was still in your bed. Jay was pretty sure that if that bear wasn't in your bed at night, you wouldn't be able to sleep, despite you being sixteen.

Jay longed to put two fingers to your neck just to check your pulse and make sure he wasn't hallucinating the rising and falling of your chest. But, he knew that was paranoid. He could trust his instincts now. After all, he was awake. There was no stifling heat, no hot sweat (at least, after his shower there wasn't), and no sand. All that was below him was the fluffy rug on your bedroom floor.

He slowly left your room and went back to his. But, instead of getting into bed, he tugged his comforter off his bed and grabbed his pillow. Then, he dragged those two things back into your room and settled down on your rug.

He knew it was probably paranoia, but after that dream, he wanted to make sure you were safe. He wanted to be close to you. Because, God, that dream felt so real.

She's alive, he kept reminding himself as he tried to fall asleep. And, that was the last thing on his mind when he finally fell asleep once more: that you were still alive.

***

Your alarm blared through your quiet room and you rolled over with a groan and turned it off.

"Christ, that was loud. How deep of a sleeper are you?" Jay asked as he rolled over.

You looked at him with sleep still in your eyes. "What are you doing in here?"

"Was a rough night." He yawned. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Okay...?"

"I say ten more minutes."

"Jay, I'll be late."

"I'll drive you, lights and sirens and all."

"Night."

***

"You okay?" you asked around 11:00 pm two weeks later when Jay finally got home from working a case.

"Yeah, just tired," he answered as he went to put his badge and gun away in his room.

"Are you sure it's just that?" you asked when he came out from his room in pajamas.

"I'm sure. Why are you asking?"

"You had that street fair bombing case and two weeks ago, a bullet from your gun--"

"Y/N, I'm fine. I promise. don't you have to get to bed?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday. I don't have school tomorrow."

"So it is. I'm gonna turn in. See you in the morning."

"Aren't you gonna eat something?" you asked.

"I'm not really that hungry. Goodnight."

You knew something was off, but you weren't going to push it, so you just grabbed the remote and started looking for a movie to watch.

***

You coughed, causing some blood to come out of your mouth.

You let out a strangled breath. Jay knew that sound. That was the sound of someone's last gasp of air that they'd ever take.

"Y/N, please. Please, Short Stack. Stay with me. Help will come. Please, just hang on a little longer."

Then, he saw the all too familiar look of empty eyes in front of him. He let out a strangled sob as he placed his fingers on your eyelids and gently pulled them closed.

He saw a figure moving towards him and in his hand, a grenade.

"Would you like to join her?"

Jay jolted awake, breathing raggedly. He tried to catch his breath and swallow, but it was no use, the familiar feeling of bile was rising in his throat and he dry heaved all the way to the bathroom before he finally emptied what little was in his stomach into the toilet.

Meanwhile, you furrowed your eyebrows as you slowly opened your eyes. You thought you had heard gagging, but it was gone now, so you tried to close your eyes and go back to sleep. But, then you heard gagging and the sound of something hitting what sounded like water.

Wait, was Jay sick? He never got sick.

You got out of bed and walked over to his room and quietly opened his door. From the dim light of the bathroom, and the disheveled covers on his bed, you knew he was in the bathroom.

"Jay?" you asked as you crept towards his bathroom.

"Y/N, l-leave. Please, just leave me alone ri-right now." You could tell from the sound of his voice that he was panting as if he had just run a marathon.

"Are you okay?"

No. "I'm fine. Just a stomach bug or food poisoning. Go back to bed."

You poked your head into the bathroom. Jay was leaning against the bathtub without a shirt on, with sweat dripping down his face. His mouth was wide open as if he was trying to capture as much oxygen as was humanly possible.

"Maybe I should call Will. I don't think he's on shift."

"Y/N, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You don't look fine at all."

"Y/N, go back to bed. Now."

"But--"

"I said go to bed! So how about you listen for once and just fucking do that? Jesus!"

Your breath caught in your throat. You'd never heard him yell like that...not directed at you at least.

"O-Okay."

You trudged back to your room and laid down. But, sleep didn't come for a while as tears rolled down your cheeks.

Jay put his head in his hands. He had yelled at you. Not only that, but he had sworn at you and you were just trying to help. God, he felt like a terrible brother, a terrible guardian, an overall terrible human being.

He tugged at the roots of his hair, hoping the bit of tugging from that physical pain would calm the mental and emotional pain that had been stirring inside of him for weeks. For weeks he's been like this. Ever since he had been put on his medication, he hadn't even had a nightmare and now he's had them every single day, and he's scared to sleep. What kind of police detective and ex-army ranger is afraid to sleep when they're safe in their own house? He was one of them and, God, he hated himself for it.

Not getting more than three restless hours of sleep per night was starting to have an impact on him at work. They all knew that a sleepy cop was a dead cop, but Jay was still alive. But, there were downfalls, such as getting jittery from all the caffeine he was ingesting early in the morning and then crashing and almost falling asleep doing reports when he had to work late. Well, he didn't have to work late per se, he decided to work late to put off sleeping. He knew none of this was helpful and none of this would solve the problem, but he thought it would be fine. Everything would be fine and the nightmares would eventually go away. They always do. And then everything would be normal again in his brain.

God, he longed for that: the normalcy.

So, for the umpteenth night in a row, he grabbed a pillow and a blanket and made his way to your bedroom to sleep on the floor to make sure you were alive. He put his watch on vibrate and set the alarm for 6 am because he knew you wouldn't be awake that early...especially not on the weekend.

Only when the irrational part of his brain was sure that you weren't going to die, did he finally find solace in sleep.

***

Went to get coffee with Will and to work on homework. Be home eventually, you scribbled on a sticky note and stuck it on the back of the apartment door before you left. Jay had gotten called in to work a case earlier this morning, and you needed a change of scenery to work on some AP World History homework.

You grabbed your backpack, keys, and wallet, and made your way to the parking garage. Then, you left.

About ten minutes later, you arrived at the coffee shop. Not seeing Will, you set your stuff down and went to grab a coffee and a muffin. Don't get it wrong, Jay still didn't like the fact that you drank coffee, but you only drank it when you went out to get it. It wasn't like you drank it every morning or drank two or three cups a day like he did.

You started to read your textbook and take some notes on the vocab. You were so focused that you jumped when Will slid into the chair across from you and said your name.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Lots to do?"

"Not a ton," you replied. "Just gotta read a chapter and take some notes. Then I'm done with homework for the weekend."

"So, you said you think something's up with Jay?" Will asked.

You had texted him that morning to see if you could meet up because you were worried. You had seen how tired he looked and how he poured his coffee into a larger tumbler than normal, one that was almost double the size of his normal one. Bags under his eyes and more coffee than normal had given you the impression that Jay was no longer sleeping, and rightfully so.

"I don't think he's sleeping," you told him.

"And you know this how?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because he looks like shit- sorry, he looks like crap, and he drinks a ton more coffee in the morning than he normally does."

"Maybe he just doesn't like the coffee at the district and is bringing more from home," he suggested.

"I don't think so."

"Is he still working out? Still going to the gym?"

"I think so. I'm usually still asleep when he goes, so I wouldn't know either way."

"Anything else?"

"Uh, actually, yeah." You closed your textbook. "I'm pretty sure he was sick last night."

"Sick? Like how sick?"

"He was puking. I wanted to call you but he told me no."

"How'd you find him?"

"Leaning against the bathtub, no shirt, dripping sweat, and mouth wide open."

"I see," Will said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Last night when I mentioned calling you, he said he was fine. But, when I pushed, he told me to leave and when I told him no, he yelled and cursed at me."

"He swore at you?" Will grit his teeth.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I don't know what's going on, Will. He hasn't been himself lately."

"Hey, I'll figure it out, okay? I'll make sure he's okay. I can even come over later tonight and check him out if you want me to."

"He'll fight you on that."

"I'm used to unruly patients. Is that what you--" His phone rang and he held up a finger to you to wait for a second while he answered. "Hey, Maggie. What's up?" He paused and then sighed. "I'll be right there." He hung up the phone and started gathering his stuff.

"What? Did something happen and you have to go to work?" you asked.

"Oh, something happened all right. I just got a call saying Jay was brought into Med."

You started to pack up your backpack and grabbed your keys. "I'll follow you there."

***

Jay didn't know what happened. One second he was driving, blinking heavily, the next Hailey was yelling at him and had reached over to grab the wheel, but it was too late. He was too close. When he opened his eyes, he tried to slam on the brake, but it didn't help. The next millisecond, he and Hailey crashed into an electrical pole in Pilsen.

He was awake after that.

"What the hell happened?" Voight asked after he had thrown his car in park and he and Al rushed over to Jay and Hailey.

"I think he fell asleep at the wheel," Hailey answered as she and Jay both stepped out of the truck.

"I did not," Jay protested.

"Oh yeah? Then how do you explain you just running into an electrical pole when there weren't even cars running us off the road?" Hailey yelled.

"I didn't fall asleep! I'm fully awake! Just drop it, Upton."

"Drop it? You do know if we would've hit that at full speed and it fell on us that we could've been electrocuted to death, right?"

"But that didn't happen--"

"Halstead, Upton, I'm bringing both of you to Med to get checked out. After that, you're going home to get some rest, Halstead. You look like hell," Voight told them.

"Sarge--"

"This isn't up for discussion. Get in the damn car." The two detectives walked to Voight's car, while Voight turned to Alvin. "Call Platt to get us some patrolmen to help. You good waiting here for them to pick you up while I bring them to Med?"

"Yeah, go. I'll handle this."

When Jay finally got to Med, to say he was not happy would be an understatement. He didn't need to be in the hospital and he sure as hell didn't need to be kicked off the case and told to go home to get some rest.

"Mags, what room is he in?"

Shit, they had called Will.

"Treatment Four."

Will walked into the room followed by you.

"You didn't have to come, neither of you did."

"Well, too bad," Will said. "Should've put her as your emergency contact instead of me. Oh wait, you can't, she's still too young. Guess you're stuck with me."

"All set," Hailey said as she walked in. "You ready to go?"

"Who's this?" you asked.

"My new partner," Jay told you. "Hailey, this is Y/N and Will, my siblings I told you about. Y/N and Will, my new partner, Hailey Upton."

"Nice to meet you. I've heard good things."

Will scoffed. "Would one of those good things be that Jay absolutely hates hospitals and I always have to make sure he doesn't leave against medical advice?"

"He didn't mention that, no."

"Well, either way, nice to meet Jay's new partner. Do you mind if I talk to him? Privately?"

"No problem."

Will turned to you. "You too, Y/N. Go grab some food or hang out with Hailey or something."

Will focused his attention on Jay when you and Hailey had left the treatment room. "Y/N told me she doesn't think you're sleeping and from what I heard from Maggie about why you were brought in here, don't even bother lying to me."

"I'm fine, Will, really. Nothing to worry about."

"Fine then. I'm gonna go order a blood test."

"Blood test? You're not even on shift! And, you can't even be my doctor if you were!" Jay protested.

"I read that April's your nurse, so I'm going to go find her and tell her to order a blood test then."

"Why?"

"To see if your plasma cortisol levels are elevated and if your cortisol testosterone levels have decreased," Will answer matter-of-factly.

"And you need those because...?"

"If the plasma cortisol level is elevated and the cortisol testosterone level is lowered, then those are both indicators that you haven't been sleeping. Be back, little brother."

Jay groaned and threw his head back. He didn't think he'd need to be stuck with a needle today. If only had put someone else down as his emergency contact, then this wouldn't be happening. Or, if his brother just wasn't a doctor or didn't work at this specific hospital then this wouldn't be happening, either.

***

Jay was walking you to school when you were eight years old. On your back, you had your backpack and you were holding Jay's hand and skipping to keep up with his long strides. Jay chuckled at how cute and innocent you were. He didn't want you to ever grow up.

"Jay Jay," you started, causing him to look down at you, "Did you get all the bad guys when you left?"

"Why do you ask?" He swallowed. He knew if you asked the right questions, he might not know how to answer them. And, his last tour was horrific, losing all the members of his unit except Mouse...the burning Humvee...the combatants still coming towards them...

"I don't know. I just wanted to know if there were any left?" you asked.

"There probably are."

"Do you have to go back there? Do you have to leave again to go fight the bad guys?"

Jay's breath hitched. He was honorably discharged after what had happened, so he wouldn't have to back. But, as he was thinking about how to answer you, the scene changed.

Screaming. All he could hear was screaming and the crackling of flames.

He looked around saw the scene from his last tour, his Humvee flipped over with all the members of his unit currently burning to crisp. He and Mouse had been walking behind, keeping watch of their six which is why they weren't in there.

"Help! Jay Jay, help!" He heard you scream and racked his brain from where that could be coming from because you were an ocean away, no way were you actually there.

"Dude, your sister's in there!" And Mouse took off running.

Jay quickly caught up to him. "What? She's not here! She's at home in Chicago!"

"No, she's not! You couldn't bear to leave her, so you brought her with you!"

Okay, now Jay knew he was caught in the midst of a nightmare because he would never do that. He would never bring a little girl into the midst of a war where she could get hurt or killed. Damn that melatonin he took that night because he was currently in so deep a sleep that he couldn't wake up.

"Jay Jay!"

He took off running again and came up to the edge of the Humvee. Your leg was crushed under it and it was one of the only parts of the vehicle that hadn't caught fire...yet. He needed to get you out and he needed to get you out fast or else you would be burned to death. But, to do that, he knew he'd be sacrificing your leg.

"Mouse! Get me a tourniquet and the biggest knife you have! Make sure you sterilize it!" Jay shouted. You let out a whine.

"You're doing a field amputation?" Mouse asked as he grabbed the supplies.

"I don't have any other choice." You let out a whimper. "Hey, hey, look at me. Focus on me. I'm gonna get you out of there."

"P-Promise?" you asked as tears ran down your cheeks.

"I promise. Now I need you to hold really still and be a brave girl, okay? Can you be brave for me?" You nodded as Mouse handed Jay the equipment for the tourniquet. "This is going to hurt," Jay warned you as he slid the piece of fabric underneath your leg and then started tying it.

You screamed out in agony.

"I know, I know. But, It's gotta be tight. It's gotta be tight, kiddo."

"Jay! Nine o'clock!"

Jay turned to his left and pointed his gun straight at the combatant.

"Jay...Jay..." he heard your voice wavering as you tried to get his attention. But, it didn't sound like your voice. It sounded lower, more mature even. "Jay, please." the voice that sounded like you was pleading now. "Jay Jay, please. You're- You're safe."

Jay snapped his eyes open.

There you were, at sixteen years old, holding your hands up in surrender. He was home, in Chicago.

"Jay, please," you whispered once more.

It was only when he looked down that he realized he must've thought you were the combatant in his dream because he had his service weapon pointed straight at you.

He dropped his gun onto his bed. "Y/N, I- you gotta believe me. That wasn't--"

But you were already running out of his room to grab your keys and get as far away from Jay as possible.

***

Will was awoken to a loud knocking on his door at 2:37 in the morning. "Who the fuck is here right now?" he muttered as he rubbed his eyes and stood up and threw on a shirt.

But, all his anger at being woken up at this ungodly hour washed away as he looked through the peep-hole and saw you, tears still streaming down your face.

He yanked the door open. "Y/N, what are you doing here?"

"He pointed a gun at me!" you wailed as you entered.

Will shut the door and made his way over to you. "Who? Did you tell Jay? Where were you?"

"Jay was the one who did it, Will! He pointed the- the gun right at me!"

Will's breath caught in his throat. He had his hunches that Jay was having nightmares again based on what you had told him and based on him falling asleep while driving and based on his blood work, but he didn't think they'd have gotten this bad. "Are you okay? he asked you quietly.

You shook your head and Will led you over to the couch.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You sighed. "I heard him scream, so I woke up to see what was wrong. When I walked- When I walked into his room he was squeezing his pillow with his hand like he was holding something. He was dripping sweat."

You paused and took a deep breath.

"It's okay," Will told you. Take your time."

"Then, he just, he just whipped around and grabbed his gun from- from on top of his nightstand. I don't why it wasn't in the safe where it usually is. And that's when he..."

"That's when he pointed it at you?"

You nodded as tears rolled down your cheeks. "I said his name over and over and he finally snapped out of it."

"And that's when you came here?"

You nodded again.

"Well, how about we put on a movie, and then you can try to get some sleep. I'll stop over at Jay's tomorrow when you're at school. I'm pretty sure you have some clothes here just in case."

"Thanks, Will."

"No problem, Short Stack."

***

Jay heard a knock on his door the next day. Will had texted him and told him that you were safe and at his place because Jay had been blowing up Will's phone looking for you. So, at least he wasn't worried about that anymore.

Jay sipped his beer and waited for the knocking to stop, but it just became increasingly louder.

"Jay, open the damn door!"

Reluctantly, with beer still in hand, Jay stood up and opened his apartment door. "What the hell are you doing here?" Jay asked.

"Gimme that," Will said as he ripped the beer bottle from Jay's hand after he'd entered his apartment. "And, for your information, I'm making sure you're not drinking yourself to death." He looked around at the two other empty beer bottles on the counter. It wasn't even one o'clock in the afternoon yet. "Which, I guess I came just in time."

"Just let me drink it." Jay tried to take the bottle back, but Will held it out of his reach. Then, he made his way over to the kitchen sink and poured it out.

"Shit, man. I paid for that."

"I don't really give a damn right now, Jay. You pointed a fucking gun at our little sister. She came to my place bawling last night. You're lucky she didn't get into a car accident because of how distraught she was when she was driving."

"I know, I know. I fucked up, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, you fucked up all right. This is probably the single-handed worse thing you've done in your entire life."

"Did you just come here to lecture me?" Jay yelled. "If so, the door's that way and you can get the hell out!"

Will sighed. "I didn't come here just to do that, but I needed to get that out first. You need to talk to someone about this, Jay."

"I'm talking to you. Isn't that enough?"

"A trained professional."

"You are a trained professional."

"I'm a trained medical professional, not a trained psychological professional."

Jay sat on the couch and put his head in his hands. That scene from last night had been replaying in his head for almost twelve hours now.

Him hearing your voice...seeing you with your hands raised while they were shaking...how much of whisper your voice was...the feeling of guilt that swallowed him whole when he noticed he was holding his service weapon...you sprinting out of the house in the middle of the night...

"Jay," Will said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You still with me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm still here. Sorry." He paused. "Last night, I guess I was so out of it that I forgot to lock up my gun and left it on my bedside table. If I had just locked it up, this wouldn't have happened. If I just wouldn't have taken the melatonin, this wouldn't have happened. If I was just able to fucking sleep this wouldn't have happened."

"How long haven't you been sleeping?" Will asked gently.

"The nightmares started when I shot that little girl, Will."

"Jay, it's been weeks since that happened."

"I know. And they just keep getting worse. At first, it was Y/N who was the little girl I shot when I was chasing the offenders when the bullet went through the illegal daycare center. And then, they started turning into me being overseas and Y/N somehow being with me and her being shot over there. Last night- last night was the worst."

"You don't have to tell me what happened if you don't want to."

"Thank you," Jay replied. Because in all honestly, that was one of the worst nightmares he's ever had since getting on his medication.

"Is that why you're sleeping on Y/N's bedroom floor?"

"How'd you know? I didn't even think she knew."

"She knows. She said she'll wake up in the middle of the night and you'll be there, on her floor, with a pillow and a blanket, and you'll sneak out before she wakes up."

"I just, I needed to make sure she was safe. I needed to make sure she was still alive, Will."

"I really think you need to talk to someone. Maybe ask about getting your meds increased."

"I've been on the same dose for over two years now. You really think they'd need to be upped?"

"It's a possibility. But, we need to talk about Y/N now."

Jay sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, we do. I have no idea what to do, Will. I'm supposed to be her legal guardian and I couldn't even keep her safe. I was the one who made her feel not safe."

"I know it's gonna be hard for you to hear this," Will started, "but, she doesn't want to come back here for a little while."

"Yeah, I figured that when she didn't answer my texts."

"Listen, she and I talked this morning, and if you go see someone today or tomorrow and see someone about getting your meds upped, she'd stay with me for two weeks so the meds have time to get into your system, and then we'll go from there."

"So, all I have to do is get my meds upped?"

"Well, that might be the best option. But, I still think you should talk to someone, Jay. Either a therapist or a psychiatrist or even a veteran's support group might be helpful."

"Okay. But, can you just tell her that I'm so sorry? And that, I wasn't in my right mind? I didn't know it was her, I swear."

"I know you didn't. Now, no more drinking, you have appointments to schedule." Will paused. "Have you talked to Voight? Maybe you shouldn't be working while you're trying to figure this out."

"I do not need to take time off."

"Yes, you do. Do you want our little sister to hate you or not?"

"Fine. I'll take two weeks furlough."

"That's all I ask. Please do not get shitfaced because I will babysit you if I have to."

"Then who's gonna stay with Y/N?"

"I'll figure something out."

***

"You're sure I'm good to go back?" you asked Will as you walked into yours and Jay's apartment building.

"Y/N, he hasn't had a nightmare in a week and a half. Everything's gonna be fine," Will answered.

"I know. I know I shouldn't be scared of my own brother, but, uh, what happened that night, it was..."

"Terrifying?" Will finished for you.

"Yeah, that."

"Well, I'll be there the entire weekend in case anything happens."

"Thanks, Will."

***

Later that night, you laid in bed, trying to fall asleep. But, you couldn't. You just couldn't shake the feeling of walking into Jay's room to try and wake him from a nightmare and having a gun pointed right at you. You couldn't shake the feeling that maybe tonight was the night that Jay would have a nightmare and end up sleepwalking into your bedroom with his gun drawn.

So, you were sitting up in bed, at 3:30 am, having just finished your last movie an hour and a half ago with your lamp on and the current book you were reading open.

You heard the sound of your door opening and looked up.

You held your breath.

Jay was in your room.

"Y/N, what are you still doing awake?" he asked, slowly moving closer to you so he didn't scare you.

You sighed in relief. He was conscious. He was awake.

"I can't sleep," you answered honestly.

"Is it because of me? That you can't sleep?" You looked down and that was all the confirmation Jay needed. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I've said it a lot these past few weeks, but I'm truly sorry. You have to understand that it wasn't me."

"I know. I just, you scared you me, Jay. I was scared I was going to die that night."

"Y/N, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that happened."

"And you haven't had any nightmares?"

"None in over ten days," he answered.

"Then why are you in my room? I know you come in here sometimes after you have nightmares."

"I came to make sure you were sleeping. Will mentioned you were nervous and I know you don't like to sleep when you're nervous."

"Oh." You paused. "Can you tell me what you were dreaming about? When you pointed the gun at me?"

"Y/N, I'd really prefer not to. I don't want to go back there."

"I get it," you said. "It's traumatic. Like how even though Dad isn't drinking anymore, I don't want to go back and live with him."

"Exactly."

You moved over. "You can come sit if you want." Jay sat down on the bed next to you and handed you Beary so that he didn't squash him. You closed your book. "Can you tell me a story?"

"Like a fairytale like when you were little and Mom would make me read those princess books to you?" Jay chuckled.

"No, maybe a you and Will story or a me and you story from I was little and don't remember much?"

Jay thought for a second until he found the perfect one filed away in his brain under Y/N stories. "Do you remember that time when you brought your first aid kit on your bike because you had just made it in girl scouts?"

"A little, but not really."

"Okay, I'll tell you that one then."

"Jay Jay!" little seven-year-old you exclaimed as you run up to Jay. "Ride bikes with me?"

"I think my bike has a flat tire, but I can get my skateboard. Is that okay with you?" Jay asked.

"Yeah! But Mommy said you gotta wear a helmet because she said we gotta protect our heads," you told him while putting your hands on your hips.

"That's right! How could I forget that? I'll be right back and then we can go, okay?"

"Okay!"

While Jay ran off to find his bike, you ran off to get your first aid kit that you had just made in girl scouts and Beary to put in the little basket on the front of your purple princess bike.

You waited for him and when he reappeared with his skateboard and helmet, he asked what you had.

"Beary and this I made in girl scouts yesterday," you told him. "It has bandaids and this white tape and white soft stuff and wipies."

You handed it to him to take a look. Inside, there were different sizes of bandaids, medical tape, gauze, and antiseptic wipes. "This is such a good first aid kit, kiddo!"

"Thank you!"

You got your bike out of the garage and clipped on your helmet. Jay pressed down on the horn attached to your handlebars before stepping onto his skateboard.

You two rode down the street and then Jay got to a ramp that some kids had made. There was one ramp, a gap, and then another ramp.

"Jay Jay!" you exclaimed. "Can you go on that?"

Jay had gone on homemade skateboard ramps like those hundreds of times. Hell, he'd even made one home and he and Will would do kickflips in the air when going on it when your guys' mom was home. She'd have a heart attack if she saw her sons doing that.

"I can even do a trick while I'm in the air," Jay told you.

"Really?" you asked, your eyes going wide.

"Really. Wanna see?"

"Yes please!"

Jay started a few yards back from the first ramp and started propelling himself forward, gaining speed. Then, your jaw dropped as he skated onto the first ramp and into the air.

"Whoa," you whispered to yourself as he did his kickflip in midair between the two ramps.

But, Jay had overestimated the distance between the two ramps, so when he landed, he landed on the road and not the ramp with way too much force, causing him to fall off his skateboard and land on the ground, scraping his hands across the road.

"Jay Jay!" you yelled as you quickly kicked down your kickstand and grabbed your first aid kit. "Are you okay?" you asked.

Jay stood up and grabbed his skateboard. "I'm fine. Just a little blood, nothing to worry about."

"You're bleeding? Where? I can fix it."

He held up his right hand where his palm was a little bloody. You started to open your first aid kit and Jay knew there was no point in arguing with you, so he just crouched down to your height.

You grabbed a bandaid and started to open it. "You gotta clean it out first, nurse," Jay told you.

"Oh. With the wipey-thingies?"

"Yes, with those."

You opened one of the antiseptic wipes--with Jay's help because those were really hard to open!--and wiped down his palm. Then, you put the bandaid on.

"All better!" you exclaimed as you put the trash back into your first aid kit. "Can we keep going?" you asked.

"We sure can!"

You ran back to your bike and put the first aid kit into the basket next to Beary and then you got on your bike and caught up to Jay. And then, you were off around the block again.

"We really thought you were going to be a doctor or a nurse after that," Jay said. "But, then you realized you hated both math and science." He looked down at you. "Oh, you're asleep."

He set your book on your nightstand and turned off the lamp. Then, he slowly crept out of your room and closed the door, and went back to his room to fall into a nightmare-less sleep.

Despite Will sleeping on the couch, things were back to normal in yours and Jay's apartment and neither of you could've been happier.

A/N: Hey guys, I wanted to get this posted before I'm away for the weekend and probably without internet. As always, thank you for reading, and please reblog/like and comment! I love hearing what you guys think, as it gives me tons of motivation to keep writing! If you want to be added to my taglist, just tell me and I’ll add you!

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl @dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e @i-like-sparkly-things

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lavendersb · 4 years ago

Text

Provider

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din wants to give you the universe. Making you see stars seems like a good place to start.

Warnings: Smut, this is str8 up sin, fingering, soft!dom Din, service!dom Din, overstimulation, so much praise, i wrote this at 3am so if this is hardly literate im so sorry :)

@maybege i have you to blame for encouraging my sinful behaviour

Din doesn’t know how he survived before you.

Of coursed he coped, he hadn’t become the best bounty hunter in the parsec without a certain level of diligence. His structured Mandalorian upbringing had taught him the importance of being capable and organized, of always being one step ahead.

But the child had brought with him its own unique set of challenges. Din could deal with the bounty hunters and imperial forces, they where nothing new to him. The joys of parenthood however had taken some getting used to.

He was an angel most of the time. Din could spend hours with the little womp rat and not encounter the slightest hitch, but when the fancy struck him, the child could turn into a little terror of angry gargles and twitching ears. The fact that he could also throw items around the crest with his strange magic powers didn’t make these tantrums any easier for Din to handle.

That’s when you had arrived. Offering your services as caretaker and claiming to be a half -decent mechanic as well, Din had hired you almost instantly. The child was almost as taken with you as he was, and from that moment on, Din never looked back.

He learns quickly that you had been very modest about your skills. Not only where you capable of handling whatever the child threw your way, you could also help with just about any problem the crest came up with. Din also learns that you’re not bad in a fight, and on the odd occasion he invites you out on a hunt with him. You work together like a well-oiled machine, united by a common goal of protecting the child. Protecting each other.

Perhaps it was your caring and capable nature that drew Din closer to you than he ever expected he would. Regardless of what it had been, Din has never felt as happy as when he comes home to see the love of his life waiting for him with his strange little son.

This is where his mind has wondered as he trudges through the swampy mud back to his ship. The bounty was on planet thankfully, so Din never had to worry about bringing the quarry near to his safe haven. The safe haven in question, the metallic body of the razor crest, peeks out at him through the trees and Din’s feet just can’t move fast enough.

Din lowers the ramp, and as he reaches the warmly lit interior of the hull he can’t help but pause a moment in shock.

The hull when Din had left it was a state. On the previous planet you had returned to the crest just as a team of Jawas had started to tear it apart. Thankfully Din had managed to scare them off before they could cause any real damage, but a fair few interior wall panels had already been unscrewed and tossed aside. This morning Din had left the hull in that same state. Now it was as if there had never been any damage at all.

But there, in the centre of the hull is the thing that makes Din’s heart clench beneath the beskar. You’ve set a small metal container on the ground, filled it with some warm water which gently steams, and placed the little green child inside for a bath. He watches where you kneel beside the tub, grinning at the child as he holds one of your fingers in one tiny hand, and splashes the water with the other.

“Hi,” you say through a slight laugh, snapping Din out of his reverent staring “we’re almost done here”

Din walks forward, coming to stand beside you and bending to press his forehead to yours softly.

“Did you fix the ship?” he asks softly, though he knows the answer.

“Yes,” you confirm, pulling away from him reluctantly. The child, now wholly interested in the return of his father, reaches out to Din and begins to babble uncontrollably.

“We’ve had a busy day, haven’t we? But you’ve been such a good helper,” You say to the child, and Din watches you fish the wriggling child out of his bath and wrap him up in a soft towel. He notes that the task of fixing the crest must have taken almost all of the day, and having to keep the child entertained at the same time wouldn’t have made it easy for you.

“Mesh’la, have you eaten today?”

Din takes your silence as an answer and his happiness falters just a little. Of course you would prioritise your task and the child before yourself. Sometimes he wonders how you would survive without him.

“I wanted to wait” you reassure him weakly “enjoy my break when the work is done”

“I’ll take him from here, you should rest” Din says, leaving no room for argument.

He takes the child from you, now dressed in a freshly cleaned robe (another task you’ve completed that he wants to thank you for). Din sees a moment of doubt pass over your face as you try to argue with him, but the feeling of tiredness creeping into your bones wins you over. With an acknowledging smile, you kiss the child on the head and disappear towards the nearest bunk.

Din takes care of the last few jobs of the day, content in the knowledge that his love is resting nearby. He makes the jump to hyperspace first, cradling the child in his arms. The little bundle is still warm from the bath, and Din watches his big glossy eyes blink slowly at him, trying to savour the last moment seeing his Buir’s shiny helmet before he falls asleep.

Once the child is safely asleep in his cot, Din goes to fish through his bag, producing one of the fresh bread rolls and a selection of berry’s he bought before he returned. He plates them with the last of the soup that’s left, and once he’s finished his own portion and secured his helmet back in place, he calls out to you to join him.

Woozy and half asleep, Din watches fondly as you float towards the little kitchen set-up. The sleep in your eyes is replaced with excitement as you catch a glimpse of the fresh food on the table.

“Din,” you breathe “you shouldn’t have”

“It’s the least I can do for everything you’ve done today”

Din watches as you happily devour the food. He listens intently as you tell him all of the things you and the child got up to that day. How long it took to fix the panels, how the two of you played out in the muddy swamp for a while before you brought the child in for a well needed bath. This domesticity is something so new to him, but you make it feel easy. Just like you made it easy for him to fall in love with you. He would give you the galaxy, Din thinks, if only he knew where to start.

When the food is finished, Din clears the plates away but there’s a feeling deep down in his soul that he can do more for you. There’s still something else he can provide. As he sees you walk away towards the refresher, he knows he must act fast.

Din crowds you against the wall, pressing you against the panels you’ve just diligently fixed. A hand that rests at the back of your head prevents you from hurting your skull, and Din lets his fingers wind through the strands beneath them. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at his visor, surprised by his sudden movements and hopeful, Din can tell, that he might be about to pull unspeakable pleasures from you.

“Have I taken care of you? He asks quietly.

“Y-yes”

“No,” Din chastises “I haven’t. Not yet. Tell me what you need”

Your lips flutter as the words Din seeks dance around your mouth. He encourages your response by fisting your hair a little harder, not to be cruel, but to ease you into his instruction.

“You, Din” he finally hears you gasp “I need you”

Pride swells in him at your words, and he moves the hand in your hair to wrap around the small of your back and fasten on your waist, pulling you close to him whilst he presses you to the wall.

“Then you’ll have me”

Din uses his free hand to pull at the obstructing fabric that keeps him from the apex of your thighs. Softly, but without preamble his hand dips to your heat and makes a gentle swipe through your folds, groaning when he finds it warm and soft and so very wet already.

His fingers find your clit and with tiny, firm little circles he plays with it to his hearts content. Din feels you tremble and sag against him, enjoying how accepting you become to his touch.

“My sweet girl,” Din breathes, and it’s said so reverently it makes you tremble and mewl just that bit more.

“My sweet girl, you’ve worked so hard today” The movements against your clit slow and you whine in complaint. Din chuckles and shushes you “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine desperately, moving to grip the arm that reaches between your legs, hoping to encourage it to move again.

Din smiles beneath his helmet, satisfied with your compliance as he returns to your clit with vigour, plucking from you tiny gasps that draw his hungry eyes to the way your pretty chest rises and falls.

“Then cum mesh’la. Come so I can fuck your pretty cunt with my fingers”

And oh how that filthy promise pushes you off the edge. He feels you stiffen in his arms and pulls you closer to him until you feel crushed by his solid presence. You can hardly register it though, too lost in the waves of pleasure that don’t seem to ease at all. Din doesn’t stop playing with your clit until your pretty moans turn to gasps and pleas to stop.

He doesn’t remove his hand from you, simply sliding his fingers down to trace that little fluttering hole he loves so dearly. He watches your face the whole time, enjoying how slack it goes when the first finger makes a teasing press against you.

“Pretty girl you take such good care of us, but you neglect yourself” he teasingly scolds, pressing into you a little further with his finger and watching you keen at his tone.

“Would you like to be taken care of? Is that what you need?”

“Yes, Din, yes” you nod frantically, squirming in his firm grasp.

He squeezes your hip in warning, before sliding his finger deep inside you. Both of you groan at the feeling of your soft heat welcoming his finger. He starts to pump into you, his pace direct and precise, hitting against that soft spongy spot with each push. Din wanted to give you the galaxy, making you see stars seemed like a good place to start.

“I knew from the first minute I saw you that you’d be so warm and soft everywhere” Din says as you cry out for him “and I was right, wasn’t I mesh’la? Your cunt might be the warmest, softest thing in the whole galaxy”

As he adds another finger, Din swears he’s never felt more whole then when he’s breaking you apart like this. Letting you be tender and vulnerable. You break apart for him so well he muses.

“Won’t you cum for me?” he says, and stars you’ve never wanted to come so bad in all your life. Not just because you think you might explode at the way his fingers are aiming for that spot that makes you cry out in pleasure, but also because you want- no need him to know how much you love him. How grateful you are that he treats you so well.

When you do cum its electric. You reach for Din’s pauldron for support, gripping the metal as you rock against his hand. He feels you soak his palm and groans, shamelessly grinding himself against whatever part if you he can.

He doesn’t pull his fingers from you, instead he massages your walls gently watching you twitch when he rubs that special place inside you. He waits until you meet his eye through the visor, expectantly waiting for him to withdraw his fingers.

Instead he presses his thumb back against your thoroughly abused clit and holds you tighter as you give a startled jolt against him.

“Din,” you whine, and he smirks at how wrecked and helpless you sound “I can’t-“

“You can” he insists, picking up the pace of the fingers inside you “You’ll cum again because I’m telling you to. Because I’m taking care of you, right?”

You can barely nod in response, your body to busy trying to cope with the overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. Din gazes at your face, taken by the way your brows pinch and fat tears fill your waterline and weigh down your eyelashes.

The sight of you has him desperate, and he removes the hand from around your waist, using his torso to pin you to the wall so you don’t collapse. He tugs the cowl away from his neck to expose the tanned skin of his neck. You don’t need his instruction to know what to do next, and with what little energy left in your body, you lean forward to press messy, fluttering kisses to the skin over his pulse.

Din grunts, truly blissed out by the feeling of you on him doubles his assault on your sensitive heat. He barely hears your gasping warning before he feels you come utterly undone against him. Your cunt squeezes his fingers so tightly, and he makes sure to tell you that, though he’s not sure you can hear him. Your face is still pressed against his neck, breathing against him, and he swears he feels a wet tear drop against his skin.

“I love you, sweet girl” he says, pulling his fingers from you softly.

The hum that comes from your heavy, satisfied, and sleepy body tells him he’s done his job well. He lets himself feel proud. Upstairs, his child sleeps soundly in his crib. Well protected and well loved. Here, in his arms, lays his love. Soon she’ll be asleep in their shared bed, and Din will find himself wondering how he was blessed with such a wonderful and loving partner.

#sdklmwfoncamk #anyway can yall tell im h*rny #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #my writing #smut #star wars #star wars x reader

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bopbopstyles · 4 years ago

Note

harry and y/n are famous and dated privately for a while but it didn't work. they meet again at this event and she's with a date, and he gets super jealous. they fuck in the bathroom and he's super rough?

BETTER NOW

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I’VE BEEN WRITING OTHER STUFF!!!!! BUT I LOVE THIS SO I KEPT IT!!!! 4k of BIG ANGSTY HARRY WARNING!!!!!

It was one of those benefit parties, one of the many Harry had been to in his career. Most of the ones he was invited to he couldn’t make--or didn’t want to attend, but made donations anyways. But this one...this one he accepted, despite the fact that his reason for going was completely selfish.

He was going because Y/N was going to be there.

It was a cause she cared deeply about, having had family who were unhoused, and always made a point to attend if she could. So when he got the invitation and saw the organization and its work, he knew she would be there. She was between movies, a rare period of time off, information he was only privy to because of their mutual friends, the same ones who set them up two years ago.

So on a warm April evening, he was walking into fancy house of a star in the hills, people in suits and long dresses all around him, black cars circling the drive as people were dropped off. Harry smoothed he lapels of his tan suit, straightened the light blue shirt he wore underneath, and sucked in a breath.

It wasn’t even like he was trying to find her. He just...immediately found her in the crowd, a pale pink dress floating down her body, her dark hair swept up into an up-do he knew she loved. She had a glass of an amber liquid in her hand, because he knew she hated wine. She had always been a go hard or go home kind of girl, no half-assing anything in her life.

Which perhaps was why the two of them had fallen apart--they were both workaholics in every definition of the word. There would be whole weeks where they’d play phone chase, and when they finally talked they would both be so exhausted it wouldn’t even fill the holes in their hearts. But when they were back together, it was like fucking fireworks, every moment Harry was around her he wanted to be touching her skin, hearing her voice, consumed in her. And despite as hard as he tried, he couldn’t shake that desire, even six months after they had broken up. It was “mutual” but he knew she wanted it more than him, and he loved her too much to force her to stay.

She’d been filming right after the breakup, a new film that was going to be the highlight of her career so far, and Harry had gone into the studio, pouring his heartache into a microphone and recording booth. He hadn’t seen her face in six months, heard her voice, watched her laugh at someone who wasn’t him. So seeing her in the flesh for the first time since the breakup threw his mind into overdrive.

What ripped his heart out, though, was the fact that a man had his hand on her lower back. A place that used to be his, a place he had treasured, a place he missed for every second of the day. For some reason, he hadn’t thought she would have brought a date. Perhaps that was because the prospect of Harry even putting his hands on someone else made him want to vomit, but as he watched her turn and say something to her date, it was obvious she didn’t feel the same. She was dating someone.

Fuck, Harry thought as he grabbed a flute of champagne from a tray to his left. Usually champagne wasn’t his thing, the headaches after making it not worth it, but he needed something. He wanted to rip his eyes away from her, but he just couldn’t. Because she looked magnificent.

Color in her cheeks and a twinkle in her eyes, the rise of her breasts visible from the scoop neck of the dress, dainty straps that sat on her shoulders that he used to pepper kisses across, the neck he used to leave love bites on visible because of her hairstyle. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he knew what it would sound like if he did, because he still heard it in his dreams. When he told Mitch that in the studio, he had been given the most pitiful look, but it was true. It was why he slept so much lately.

Harry leaned against a wall, eyes on her, ignoring everyone else in the room. He was sure people were trying to get his attention, but he didn’t care--he wasn’t there for them. He had come for her, and he was going to absorb every second of being in the same room as her, even though it made him want to sob.

After about five minutes of watching her, of being an utter and complete creep, her eyes finally swept over to his. Their gazes locked and it was as if the room fell away, as cheesy as that was, because the feeling of her eyes on him made Harry’s mind go haywire. Then he saw her step away from her date, just enough to wear his hand dropped from her back, and he couldn’t help but smile smugly.

He could feel her eyes trace up and down his body, just as his had been doing for the past few minutes. It felt good to have her eyes on him, like a drug being pumped into his system after being without it for so long. A relapse back into loving her.

As if he had ever stopped.

Harry once told her he was built to love her, and he still felt that way. Even though it was hard, even though their relationship was far from perfect, it was still the happiest he had ever been. As she looked at him, her brown eyes swirling over him, he wondered if she felt the same way.

But then she turned her head, her eyes focusing back on the people she was talking to. So Harry went to the bar and got a glass of straight tequila, because he was going to put himself through his own personal torture, he was going to at least have a drink.

An hour and a half later, Harry desperately had to pee. He found his way to an bathroom, almost running into a potted plant he didn’t see.

“Be careful.”

His head snapped up, knowing the owner of that voice immediately. She was leaning against the wall opposite him, a glass perched between her fingers. “What--what are you--”

“Escaping my date,” she replied, and his breath caught in his throat. Escaping her date? This had to be a dream.

“Why is that?” He was trying to keep his cool, but he knew it was slipping fast.

She took a sip of her drink and Harry couldn’t help but watch her lips around the rim of the glass. “He’s had too much to drink and is being obnoxious.”

That immediately made Harry nervous, although he knew he no longer had any right to be. “Are you okay?” He asked anyways, wanting to make sure she wasn’t uncomfortable or felt unsafe.

But she just nodded, eyes focusing on his. “I’m fine. Thank you though.” She twirled the glass in her hand, and Harry had forgotten all about his need to go to the bathroom. “So, how are you?”

“Um,” Harry mumbled, trying to figure out how to both make it clear he wasn’t great but also wasn’t the disaster he actually was. “Okay, I guess. You?”

“Same,” she replied and Harry suddenly found himself analyzing that single word. Did that mean she was still as broken up about their breakup as he was? Or was she actually okay? Because he certainly wasn’t. It was just a better word than “mess” or “disaster” or any of the proper words to describe how he was doing. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question threw Harry for a loop, making his palms sweat. How could she just throw that out there so flippantly? “No,” he said, watching her face for a reaction, which he didn’t get. “You--oh, I guess your date--”

She shook her head though. “No, he’s not...we’re not together. Just a friend of sorts.”

“Oh.” Now Harry was wondering if they were fucking. Which was something he had been actively trying not to think about. “Well, that’s...good.”

Her eyebrows raised at his words and Harry could’ve kicked himself. “Why is that?”

Because it means you could date me. “I--no reason. Fuck, sorry, didn’t mean that.”

Her lips pursed as her thoughts rolled over in her head, an action Harry knew well. “We’re just...seeing each other? We’re not like hooking up or anything.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.” She stood up straight from the wall and turned away from him. “I--I’ll go, I assume you were here for the bathroom--”

“Y/N,” he said, her name a prayer on his lips, a memory of something he clung to in his moments of need, a name on his phone screen that he barely restrained himself from calling. Then he took two steps towards her, her back facing away from him where she was frozen in place, and against his better judgement, fastened his fingers around her wrist. “Wait.”

He could hear her shaky breath, the drag of air in her lungs when he touched her skin and he wondered if she could hear his heartbeat quicken.

“I--I know I have no right to say this, that we’ve been broken up for months, that you’ve probably moved on.” It was easier somehow to say these things to her back, easier than see her face as he poured his vulnerable heart out to her. “I still love you.”

She exhaled sharply at his words. “You don’t get to do this,” she replied, turning to face him. “Not like this, not right now, not here. You can’t just...do this.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her, voice breaking. “I know, I just can’t pretend anymore.”

Finally, her eyes fastened on his properly, and that same feeling that had captured him when their eyes met across the room ran through his body. That tension. “Pretend?”

Harry threw abandon to the wind, knowing this might be his last chance. “Pretend like I don’t think about you every second of the day. Pretend like I’m not jealous of your date. Pretend like I don’t want to kiss you right now. Pretend like I don’t want you.”

Before Harry even knew what was happening, she was surging towards him, crossing the distance, her lips slotting against his and her hands curled around the lapels of his jacket. Harry barely paused before his hands were in her hair, her hair that he was messing up, but he didn’t care because he could taste her on his tongue and feel her body against his, and he could touch her. God, touching her was euphoria like he had never felt before.

Kissing Y/N had always been an experience like nothing else, but after not having it for months it was even better. Their kisses had always consumed him, and this was no different--her hands were all over him, fingers gripping his body through his clothes, breathy moans in her mouth when he pulled on her lip and tugged her closer to him. He was going to take every advantage of this moment, he decided, and not think of what would happen after or how much harder it would be to get over her after this.

So he turned her against the wall, and pressed a hand next to her head for leverage. The angle had her arching into him, chasing his lips with her own, and when her hands tugged on his hair he groaned, low and deep and unabandoned. Then, she slipped her heeled foot up the back of his leg, her dress sliding up, and pressed the back of his thighs. The action had Harry’s pelvis moving closer to her, and they both moaned into each other’s mouths.

“Y/N,” he rasped against her lips, his hands moving to try and cover every inch of her exposed skin. His mind wasn’t even operating anymore, overwhelmed with the smell of her perfume and the feeling of her skin under his palms.

“Bathroom,” she muttered, a hand to the nape of his neck. “We--we can’t do this here.”

He didn’t know what this was other than a steamy makeout in a hallway, but he knew she was right. He pushed open the door of the bathroom and flicked on the light. Suddenly, he remembered his need to pee the second he saw a toilet. Her lips were searching for his, but he pulled away, taking a shallow breath. “I like really need to pee.”

Y/N laughed into his neck, before nodding. “Go.”

He didn’t move though, not an inch from where she was leaning against the closed door.

“I won’t leave,” she said, softer this time.

Harry nodded, and with that he stepped away, turning to the toilet in the corner. Perhaps with someone else the sound of him pissing in the same room would’ve been uncomfortable, but he was comfortable with her, even after the breakup and she seemed to be as well. When he was done, he moved to the sink, washing his hands, his eyes flickering to her heaving chest. “C’mere,” he said when his hands were dried, still standing next to the bathroom counter. There was a double wide bathroom counter and only one sink, which meant an open counter.

Without pausing, she was moving towards him, hooking her arms around his neck and leaning in. But Harry had other ideas. He grabbed her hips and turned her against the counter, and then pulled her legs up, scooting her up and onto the top of the counter. He looked up at her to see if it was okay and all he found was puffy lips and blown out irises staring back at him, a tongue darting across her lips to moisten them.

Her dress was pushed up on her thighs, exposing the length of her legs and Harry’s fingers dug into the exposed skin, pulling them apart to slot himself between. Then, he pulled her waist towards him and the minute his covered cock pressed against her center they both moaned, deep and wantonly. Her head fell back and Harry took the opportunity to pull and suck on her neck, no one place too hard to leave a mark, but enough to have her scrambling at his chest to push his jacket and shirt open, searching for exposed skin.

The strap of her dress was slipping down her shoulder, and Harry ran his tongue over the skin, a hushed gasp leaving her that made him smile. He had missed her sounds, the reactions to his touch that had been his anchor to the world. “God, you feel so good,” he mumbled, words escaping his mouth before he could stop them.

But she just scratched at his chest, thumb pushing against the butterfly tattooed on his abdommen. “Harry,” she rasped, and the sound had him thrusting against her, the sound of his name on her tongue making him need her like ever before.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, hand crawling up her body to hook his fingers around the back of her neck. He lifted his head from her skin and found her face, her lipstick a mess. “I want you so bad, Y/N.”

“Then have me,” she replied, and Harry thought he had died and gone to heaven.

He wasted no time pushing the other strap of her dress off her shoulders, letting them slip down and expose her heaving breasts, a bra nowhere in sight. “Beautiful,” he mumbled to no one in particular. Then her fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants and his focus was sharpened. When she popped the button and pushed down the zipper, his hands moved under her skirt, pushing it up around her waist so he could see her underwear.

Which were pink and lacy and practically see through. “If you rip them I will never forgive you,” she told him. “Harry--”

It was too late though, he was too desperate, the material too flimsy, that he pulled on them too hard and the material came apart in his hands. “Shit,” he said, looking from her panties to her. “I didn’t mean--”

She wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled his head to hers, whispering in his ear, “Just shut up and fuck me.”

This was one of the many reasons Harry had fallen in love with her. One of the many, many, many reasons why she lived in his mind rent-free. He pushed down his pants and his briefs, leaving them in a pool around his knees, and tugged the remnants of her pants away. His shirt and jacket were still on but he didn’t care, he just wanted her, wanted to be inside of her finally.

“I--I don’t have a condom,” he told her, mind swirling. He hadn’t needed one in forever, had stopped carrying one in his wallet for whenever things like this would happen with her, but also they had stopped using one a year into their relationship.

She shook her head. “I’m on an IUD. And I--I haven’t...”

His eyes widened. “Not you and...”

“No.”

The information didn’t really properly sink in, but it had settled enough for him to process the basics. That she hadn’t been with anyone since him, that maybe she was as ripped apart by their break up as he was. Maybe he wasn’t the only one suffering. “You’re sure?”

She nodded, fingers flexing across his skin. “Please, H, I--”

He didn’t wait any longer, he needed her as much as she did, if not more. He swipe a finger across her slit, seeing how wet she was, and he groaned when he felt her slickness. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he mumbled in awe. “All for me?”

“Yes,” she rasped, pushing her hips towards his fingers, “all for you.”

He could still read her body like a book he had memorized, a song he wrote himself. She was ready, even though they’d done barely any foreplay, and he was too--he had been ready for her since the moment she kissed him. He nudged his tip to her slit and she gasped at the feeling, his eyes darting to hers to make sure she was okay. But then she hooked her ankles around his waist and pushed his waist, making him slide into her, and he nearly screamed from the feeling. She was wet and hot and tight--fuck she was too tight--and his mind couldn’t focus on any one thing. His hand was clenched against the countertop, barely holding himself together.

“More,” she said, pulling his hair. “Please.”

So he gripped her waist and pushed all the way in, her broken moans filling his ears. She was so tight he could barely breathe and she felt so good, like coming home and finally being able to think again. “Fuck, Y/N, holy fuck.”

“Move, please--”

He didn’t make her wait to finish the sentence. He had a feeling neither of them were going to be able to wait. So he gripped her waist in his hands, his rings sitting heavily against her skin, and drove into her fast and hard. Their skin slapped as his hips moved into hers, and he knew she would probably have bruises on her inner thighs, but she didn’t stop him, simply egged him on with moans and begs for more, his name leaving her tongue every time he pushed into her.

“Like that?” He asked, his voice rough with desire. “Hmm, baby, like the feeling of me inside of you? Bet he couldn’t make you feel this good. Doesn’t know you like I do, doesn’t know how to fuck you right.”

He was babbling, he knew that, but that didn’t seem to bother her because she clenched around him when he spoke, dug her fingernails into his scalp. She had always loved it when he spoke like this to her, told her what she did to him, how good she felt. That didn’t seem to have changed.

“Fuck you so good you didn’t want anyone else,” he said, dropping his head to her shoulder as he thrusted in and out. The sound of their skin hitting filled his ears and he loved it, loved fucking her, loved how she held onto him for dear life.

“Best I’ve ever had.” Her words rang in his ears and he growled into her skin, nipping at the flesh at her shoulder, his former care for her skin gone the moment she said that. “God, H, please, I need--”

“Need more, baby?” He grunted, his hand falling to her clit, sensitive and delicate for him. He rubbed at it in a circle and she gasped, bucking up into him. “Like that? That good?”

She couldn’t even reply, just moved her head up and down, her eyes screwed shut as pleasure wracked through her. He could feel her tightening on him, her high coming fast. His own was barely over the edge, holding back because he needed her to come, needed to feel her spasm around him, needed to feel her hold him inside of her.

“Close, baby?” He mumbled, pulling at her hair, the updo long gone. It was falling around her shoulders in pieces, some still clipped up, but most of it falling.

He gripped the pieces into a fist, pulling her head back so he could suck onto her neck. When he did, her hands scrambled across his chest, finding purchase anywhere they could, red scratches across his skin that he knew would be there in the morning.

His teeth grazed across tender flesh and she shook in his arms. “Come for me, baby. Want to feel you come around me.” He doubled the pace on her clit and drove into her deep, knowing the combination sent her into overdrive.

He wasn’t disappointed. She gasped, her breath leaving her body as she shook and squirmed in his arms, her high crashing over her immediately. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” she chanted, his name the only thing on her lips.

When he pulled her into him, their lips refastening, she tugged on his hair, knowing he loved it, and then broke away to murmur, “Come for me, baby, please, I need it.”

It was as if his pleasure was connected to hers, because the moment she said the words, he had to pull out of her, coming in long spurts across her lower stomach and her pussy, strings of come decorating her like a masterpiece. His breath heaved in his chest and Y/N scratched down his chest, knowing it made his orgasm prolong slightly.

When he was done, he slid his head into the crook of her neck, struggling to find air to breath. He sucked in air, focusing only on the sound of her breathing and the feeling of her fingers pulling through his hair softly, tenderly. “You okay?” She finally asked him, voice dry.

He lifted his head and looked down at where his come marked her skin. “Better now.” He grabbed a kleenex, not daring to see her eyes, and brushed his come away, stealing just one taste that made him moan.

“Harry.” He looked up at her, her dress still around her waist, rest of her body exposed. “I--”

“I love you,” he said, cutting her off. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so in love with you. Never stopped.”

“You interrupted me,” she said, an admonishment that made him smile despite himself. “Was going to tell you the same thing.”

His eyes widened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When he kissed her, the sound of her giggle made his heart soar, as if he was being sewn back together on the spot. “Will you come home?” He asked against her lips, sucking and pulling on the flesh. “Need you to come home and never leave.”

It didn’t faze her when he called his house home, because it was their home for a while. What he didn’t know yet was that their home had always been hers, because he was her home. She dusted a kiss across his eyebrow, tenderness seeping from her. “Take me home, H.”

somehow this became a fucking 4K ONE SHOT help me please this took me an hoUR ANd a HalF! i had THINGS I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO!!!! whoopsieeeee

masterlist | concepts/requests always open!!!!

#concept night #good FUCK #i need hELP #anon #answered

1K notes · View notes

sugar-petals · 4 years ago

Text

Baekhyun Doms You: Ending Up Laughing

↳⎡NOTE.⎦thought this’d be an interesting concept & a different side to smut: what if you try things out and it’s both not your thing? w/ a humorous twist and subby bf moments sprinkled in 😄

♡ words. 4k

+ tags ⚠️ pwp hc, bondage, throatfucking, graphic, cum play, unsafe/clumsy practice: do not recreate, degradation, biting, masochist bbh, domme!reader switches unsuccessfully, whips, hair-pulling

imagine that. a wide-eyed baekhyun pacing and tiptoeing in front of your toy shelf, trying to pick a riding crop he fancies. it takes five minutes and several ‘uhh, ohh’ confused puppy noises until he’s able to decide which one he’s taking.

...literally even if he knows exactly which one does what. you’ve used all of them on him.

meanwhile, you take three seconds flat to pull out one that fits your mood and proceed to edge the living shit out of him. yes, without literal further ado. teasing his dick and marking his thighs and doing all kinds of delicious things.

he’s still going back and forth in his head without having even started out. cutely tapping and swaying from one foot to the other.

it’s like he’s back to school. priceless.

what’s even more hilarious: baekhyun practices random mean facial expressions while trying to decide. he doesn’t seem to be sure what character he’s going for. it feels like he’s rehearsing for a concert or photoshoot, even. absolutely fascinating to watch.

i mean he’s absolutely photogenic no doubt about that but

you’re sitting on the bed waiting naked like okay is this gonna be william shakespeare deluxe or what is kyoong channelling over there

“um... i think i got it! this one, okay? i’m ready!”

finally he walks over, strutting with his nose in the air and his eyes glaring, muscles tense, a mysterious bad boy charm about him, whip ready to sting, lips tight and punitive...

....and hits his pinky toe on the bed

oh the pain

great master baekhyun flops headfirst into the sheets processing the existential cruelty of bedpost pinewood and needs head pats to recover

lots of head pats

at least twenty of them

so many head pats

more time passes until kyoong is back in character i guess

you probably could have listened to exo’s whole discography in the meantime

and knitted a rug for taemin’s new flat

anyway

baekhyun tries to act very confidently finally getting into it

adopting a sharp ‘hmph’ kind of tone

endlessly teasing your back and thighs with the riding crop

so far so good sir pinky toe

but he just goes on and on

you could actually crochet a pair of socks for chen’s daughter now that you think about it

it’s you who has to tell him to get to the point and it’s clear he’s more nervous than he pretends to show

to be fair he’s not the only one

you try to get yourself mentally ready but you find yourself giving him actual orders and even correcting his stance five times cuz he’s so wobbly on the mattress like a pupper indeed

baekhyun mumbles to himself and has a hard time fully implementing the advice on posture but tries to aim well regardless. it seems to work at first

but tragically

he ends up with a miss, hitting his own thigh rather than your ass and moans out loud

now you’re the one confused because you were waiting for the whip to come down

but nope it went elsewhere did it

you wonder how he managed to do all that furious fencing in the obsession mv with an aim like that

looks like he’s so submissive, he straight up whips himself

taking matters into his own hands is he. subs these days.

baekhyun keeps on being wobbly on the bed and looks like he ran a marathon already

may i remind you that this guy does 3-hour long concerts and can practice throughout an entire night

... you both agree to immediately scratch that completely after his next flailing strike sends the riding crop flying into his unsuspecting, non-consenting plushie collection

animal cruelty

moving on

you figure that a change of location might be a good idea

baekhyun sits you down on a chair and bashfully stores away the yeeted whip

he vows to never use a riding crop again already and his teddy bears are thankful for it

now the whole plushie village and whole china knows how you don’t do it

next up is rope

what could possibly go wrong

he practiced wrist bondage on his own ankles for five days straight, you really prepared a lot of things to test out together today

and he’s seen you tie him up over and over and over

but whatever it is that he manages to install on your arms

looks like a piece of very experimental modern art that just sold for half a million at sotheby’s

what’s supposed to be a column tie is nothing but a mere... ball

chaotic like baekhyun’s personality. not surprising at all

wait that rhymed

anyhow

even alexander the great couldn’t have cut this gordian knot of a tangly masterpiece

ironically: while baekhyun’s roughly grabbing your chin for an intense kiss... the rope casually falls apart harder than the soviet union in 1991 my loves, you ain’t ready

baekhyun takes ages to notice while he’s teasing and kissing you and ends up sweating bullets when he realizes that the sublime art fell to pieces.

sorry comrade

the fantasy knots and artistic freedom increases even more when it comes to putting a collar and leash on you

and his guy is supposed to be a dog owner? mongryong, instruct your man

baekhyun is a flustered mess trying to fasten it on you even if he tries very hard to be concentrated

maybe it’s because you’re watching him with literal hawk eyes checking every move (...hoping he learned something from you oh my). you’re not really melting into your role either, huh. the only thing melting is your pussy because baekhyun is acting so embarrassed which is the actual turn-on

if that doesn’t give you away

the leash comes off in two minutes time after baekhyun miraculously ties his own hands together with it

how the fuck did that happen

how do you even manage to do that

eager are we

after whipping his own thigh, self-domination 2.0 i guess

so whipping and bondage are off the programme

this has been the most chaotic and hazardous attempt at topping in the history of sm entertainment

and they’re literally called s and m

...humiliation is next

when you planned your session you both figured hey he’s tested and tried by exo’s lively debate culture and he might be able to pull that off

and there are no props involved so he’ll have an easy time right

life is an illusion

you find out he can’t pronounce degrading names clearly because he keeps on stuttering them. which in return makes baekhyun crack up.

carrying on the joke, you correct him every time.

“i want you to repeat after me: stupid, slutty, bitch.”

it ends up as you doing what you always do

teaching and training him while baekhyun either shyly or brattily obliges. you don’t even notice how you’re doing it but from the outside, it’s blatantly obvious.

because your brain is still feeling in domme mode, you also find yourself saying the usual things to him without thinking, even when he grabs you and gives orders. “now bend over! i’m gonna fuck your brains out.” — “okay, cutie!”

which causes baekhyun’s mean face to collapse and he snap out of his command tone immediately, snorting because it’s the last thing he expected

he tries to carry on by punishing you with an actual mouth gag and a harness he can hold onto while fucking you from behind, i mean your pussy is already wet why not

guess what’s gonna ensue

wearing a harness feels kind of strange and new so you wiggle back and forth and all over the place. like what is this, what’s happening. baekhyun’s dick is going into all kinds of directions my friends, the amusement park carousel surely inspired this fucking style right here.

and wearing a gag — there’s a way different person who needs to have this in his chatty mouth.

kai and kyungsoo’s dream would come true and yet you’re the one gagged

something ain’t right

if you’re honest. you’re feeling so weird being on the other end of punishment tonight and not being able to give him any directions. your dom brain is worrying he’s all left to his own devices trying to drive that confused dick home left and right and above and below and diagonal and crosswise.

the fuck

your poor guts my god

what’s worse: his stamina is gonna sneak up behind him and tap on his shoulder like... bro that’s enough pounding for a whole month please spare these balls from deflating please do not break this device

to which your pussy agrees in unison

how are you gonna love your bub day in day out if you’re that sore

there’s nothing more frustrating than being sore and horny with byun baekhyun at your disposal

or a knocked out boyfriend trying to generate at least a sprinkle of semen after getting completely emptied in one go

probably sleeping for three days straight

alright so the harness and gag come off fast oh dear baekhyun clears those away in a heartbeat

that’s another point off the list

the more you know

carousel cringe dicking down type of dominance... bizarre, disorderly, totally erratic, not on the agenda, worst rated on bing

comrade baekhyun keeps on apologizing for making things so messy even if he tries and tries

you’re both so puzzled because you’re used to something so different and need a water chugging pause

baekhyun hasn’t sweated this hard since doing the MAMA choreography

and your pussy has never had to provide this much lubrication at once

where on earth is both of your usual stamina what happened

if a type of sex exhausts you fast and even baekhyun’s balls are suddenly moody you just know you’re wired in the opposite way

safe to say you’re better at giving and baekhyun is better at taking

leave the multidirectional powerfucking to kai or something

and being orderly to xiumin

another rug could have been knitted my friends

moving on dot org

so, you both figure to take it easier and try to go with something he usually does in passing. you know, turning a typical baekhyun habit into something you can try out casually in bed so he can tease you.

that one should work out right?

proceed: teeth action. you seated, him positioning himself above you. after your approval baekhyun pulls your hair back to expose your neck — so he can deliciously bite into it (or so was the plan).

reality: his hand gets tangled up completely.

while he’s busy nibbling and giggling about like a lil’ bunny chomping at a carrot that turns out to be extremely ticklish herself.

in fact, you start squeaking out a wonky high pitch, startling baekhyun’s fine musical ear to the bone by the obvious atonality. did she just try to outsing my vocal range with a creaking whistle note?

mariah carey would cancel you on twitter over this one

that’s how you turn a vicious, possessive bite into an eternal meme

every time either of you go for a neck kiss, you end up imitating each other. baekhyun has immortalized himself as a nervous chomping bunny and you as the vocalist anti-christ

lord have mercy

you miss your old sex life already and it’s only been two hours

cause you see... if baekhyun gives you the chance to bite him? he needs a set of long sleeves, scarves, and an extra soft pillow to sit down on for the next two days

like, no mercy bitch

you get right down to business and ravage him and do it properly until he cums in his pants

sure, the way he uses his tongue now is definitely kinda hot mind you

baekhyun is always good with his singing equipment that doesn’t suddenly change aye

and you keep your eyes closed

but with time you notice that he starts drooling and whimpering. baekhyun’s wet mouth is out there betraying him, huh.

same with your body. your reactions give you away, body language just won’t lie. you have a damn hard time staying still. you wanna do something, you wanna touch and guide baekhyun all over.

and vice versa baekhyun keeps on glitching and doing the same thing he really became a living tumblr gif now

this whole session is just so confusing and laced with all these moments of awkwardness it’s really telling you something about yourself and mister pinky toe’s ideal dynamic

baekhyun can’t even get himself to even lightly slap you properly. and when he does, his delicate hands are just so cute. it’s as if legolas came along, scented in jasmine, elegant and fabulous like it’s a l’oreal commercial

he immediately looks concerned after he manages to do it cleanly and you admit it wasn’t really that exciting a feeling yourself. it felt more like, “um ouch, and?”

needless to say, you’re weirded out if anything, baekhyun smacking and dragging you around as a cold-as-ice dom is just a strange thing to do for both of you

like even exo’s wolf era fashion was more coherent than this carrot fuckery

and those were some of the most intense turtlenecks ever

is there really nothing dominant baekhyun can pull off. come on he’s the genius idol

actually

there’s something that does work out for once

because no rule without exceptions indeed

because hey, you can learn something anyway, it’s the whole point of you going through a list of things to try as a couple

baekhyun is good at doing the more hardcore, faster kind of fingering. who would have thought, totally surprising, revolutionary i know. but that’s where you’re both agreeing hey, there’s some untapped potential you can use for the steamier evenings you have going.

cuz wow, he can get you off with flying colors.

...only to succumb to a malfunctioning bobohu wrist

even baekhyun’s boner for your legs in latex isn’t that stiff

it’s another pause until his hand loosens up again

this poor man just can’t win

and if you’re asking oi hard domming isn’t the only thing you can do

baekhyun trying to summon his inner soft dom: surprise, same old tale. here we go again.

your boyfriend thinks he generally looks way too puppy-like to be your big ole buff daddy taking care of you. oversized sweater, fluffy hair and all.

you say to him well, it’s not that doms can’t wear casual things. but it’s true that you have to feel your role and find yourself believable. regardless of your looks, in fact.

unless your partner really enjoys you dressing up as some kind of dominant hyper-archetype? looking the part is relatively unimportant if you’re absolutely made for dominance you say

pretty eye-opening moment for him

in your roleplay, he caresses and kisses you to the point, he can approach and lead you to do this or that position, don’t be mistaken. and he’s good at making presents, he’s indulging you perfectly well and actually likes doing it. but... it still ends up being more vanilla than not a few hours in. the d/s is out the door almost automatically the longer you do it.

at the end, it leaves you with a feeling of “but err, what now? give the maid outfit to charity?”

baekhyun rubs his neck in search for something else to do, both of you staring at each other with expressions blanker than kyungsoo when a prancing chanyeol is acting up.

how did the quote go again. if you scramble for inspiration, let it be?

it’s exactly that situation when baekhyun soft doms. he can hold you tight and do his thing for a while, but the chemistry of your roles is dwindling into a question mark.

in fact. there’s an uneasy silence as if great mother suho was sitting right beside you critiquing baekhyun’s sugar daddy skills

baekhyun is rich like a motherfucker and can’t even call you ‘my innocent lil’ baby girl’ without looking like he just learned a first grade tonguetwister by heart

you did play your parts with less cracking up, but you clearly tell him that there’s still something strangely clueless and “ah, awkward” (baekhyun’s verdict in response, verbatim) in between the two of you.

when you take care of baekhyun and tuck him in, you hardly run out of ideas. it just goes on and on. even when you played through an entire scene, you both come up with things to extend the scenario because it’s so much fun. you make him a hot chocolate, massage his feet, brush his hair, do some extra light bondage with a silk ribbon around his ankles to make him feel pretty, feed him pizza, have him cuddle up in your lap, pinch his ass, and do some rimming if he’s feeling a bit hornier.

the spoiling is nice at the start, but there’s something missing. you want to lead his hands and really treat him, and do it all the time, and baekhyun really finds himself craving it as well.

baekhyun soft domming quickly turns into — well just normal loving makeouts and gestures. you kiss and touch, there’s nothing hierarchical about it, nothing mega juicy or exciting.

you just don’t get into the groove, you know. there’s nothing particular happening if you try to get into those roles. it doesn’t titillate both of you for an extended period of time, it doesn’t make you curious for more. it’s like... shrug. what about it.

when you usually dominate, you know something hits home when you think about it all day. baekhyun screaming and crying with his legs twitching pops up whenever you close your freaking eyes goddamn.

you make a note to observe whether you’re going about your daily business thinking about how you could be his innocent good girl. following his every whim, making big eyes at him or something.

result: more shaky, ruined baekhyun moaning his soul out in the highest of notes and leaking cum everywhere from getting choked and his face sat on.

daddy baekhyun has simply not crossed your mind. in fact, poor guy no chance to fit in there from the get-go. his particularly whorish, extra subby counterpart is all over your brain cells with his tongue out. and you’re very tempted to grab it between your thumb and index and spit in his mouth for some very good measure. maybe cum in it as well.

um. so there’s that. the more you know.

baekhyun figures as much himself and you try the other side of the equation. oh, oh. here comes hard dom baekhyun.

who gets you on your knees and starts a wild deepthroat session while calling you names. that’s all well and good... nope. your gag reflex decides to yeet some weird coughing facial expressions and reflex cock bites at poor baekhyun who doesn’t know what’s happening. to finish him off completely, you sneeze while having a hiccup and his dick slips out.

... you both safeword at the same time.

that cleanup has scarred you both for life. what the everloving fuck. no more impulse throatfucking in this pure christian household, then.

you’ll stick to lazy, twirling, indulgent blowjobs and the usual ruined orgasms for him — the actually planned ones, jesus christ.

like seriously. you invented a whole new language with those confused gargling noises and that wasn’t french, it was advanced level klingon. baekhyun repeats asking if you’re okay and you’re still stuck realizing oh hell, that was not pretty. off the bucket list, you like sucking him off but this style just doesn’t come natural to you.

the popsicles you could train yourself with are usually gone from the freezer within a day after getting the groceries. baekhyun is wholeheartedly addicted to them.

he loves cheating on his diet since you told him his fully cheeks are your emotional support squish and kiss pillows, so.

baekhyun rightfully insists he’s better at eating pussy the wild way in the first place — and that you have no business choking on his dick like you’re on hot ones eating the world’s spiciest whatever is trending now.

or actually... baekhyun’s dick can’t be compared to a chili pepper if we’re doing a choking analogy alright. that just doesn’t fit his promotion concept. cinnamon stick is more like it.

ever saw one of these terrible cinnamon spoon videos where reckless people try to defeat god by— anyway, you’ve seen them. that’s how you looked like trying to get your mouth fucked. i think god would actually be defeated by how far away from divine elegance that was and you’re so sorry for subjecting baekhyun to this artless display.

cinnamon is still best used in small doses. say, for garnishing a creamy cake or pie y’know.

anyway. you dished up the most butchered attempt at sexy gagging in history and so, baekhyun will preach for days how he’s the one chosen by fate to push down seven big fat inches of your strap still half asleep without even blinking.

... and that his world-class operatic breath control would probably enable him to bury his face in your pussy on mount everest. baekhyun knows that every domme would sell her soul to get a sub as skilled with breathing as him.

...and that he has the official copyright for giving quality slobbery oral with quality smudged tears. as he will demonstrate to you almost daily from then on. king of messy head and going stupid with the tongue acrobatics. ugh, the noises are amazing, too. give him a grammy for his oral sounds.

gotta leave the heavy-duty work to the experts innit.

at dinner, he also poutingly brags how he can make his spit run out of his nose while he’s sucking himself through your entire dildo collection. and blow spit bubbles. and snort his own semen off his thighs and let it drop off his tongue if he’s in a particularly slutty mood. or a creampie. jeez, baekhyun, the wolf of wallstreet is strong in him. you literally have to stop him from showing off because “hey boy, i already know! i’ve seen it last week bro it was good!”

needless to say he’s talking in essays all day because he wants things go back to normal and he doesn’t have to ask twice.

for real, your candy man with the cinnamon stick has been suffering from the love bites and has to retire his cock for two days from the bruising.

mind you. the pain he can deal with. that ain’t the problem. by all means, man. he’s a fucking masochist.

it’s actually more like... submissive you has deactivated his boner and he can’t help it. it’s not you that makes him limp, it’s more like, the klingon choking and the ton of mishaps that just don’t sit right.

baekhyun feels bad about not doing well enough to make both of you have a good time as well which is lowkey heartbreaking. you have to cheer him up with ‘now repeat after me: stupid, slutty bitch’ jokes to make him chuckle at least a bit.

cuz you gotta understand, baekhyun is very ambitious to develop his talents in all areas of life. if there’s a skill he gets stuck with and he can’t work with his potential, that’s so unusual to him.

and you say man, imagine if you were some kind of uber-talented dom. that’d still not make me sneeze any less.

if you dominate him, it feels easy to do. nothing can really ruin the mood, not even when the lube runs out (baekhyun drools enough to make anything slippery okay).

except maybe when xiumin rings on landline because he left his favorite fluffy sweater in the subway and needs to vent about it. my god that’s such a tear-jerking story i’m close to sobbing. this shit could kill literally any boner.

or when your hand cramps up after shoving your fingers down his throat and in his ass for like half an hour which should be ranked first as the saddest anime betrayal of all time but it’s justifiable and you had a lot of fun beforehand.

in other words. only the things outside of your control tend to mess with your femdom business. in and of itself, nothing can kill your vibe except a dying battery obviously.

whereas you trying submission oddly spoils the atmosphere from the inside out and provides a free cringe compilation. like without even doing much, it happens automatically.

baekhyun relishes in dramatically recounting how you both looked like true clowns attempting a rendition of overexpensive, extra tangly contemporary art bondage. hell, not even employed clowns, completely retired ones, struggling to regain their tightrope tricks from summer 1912 when harry houdini was still hot shit in town.

you say oh god, that wasn’t even worth a retired clown’s skillset, clowns work damn hard man. you’d be hardpressed to find any circus artist capable of cracking a whip onto themselves baekhyun-style and moaning out loud because it was this good. seriously. that was one for the books.

if baekhyun tried to set foot in some willy-nilly maledom porn, he’d be capable of firing himself on the first day.

at the end, you just have a good laugh, man. you agree — hey, this ain’t it, but it’s good to know at least. tried and tested, been there, done that. self-whipping and carrot-nibbling and blowjob hiccups.

if you’re both so hopeless and living up to the challenge managed to upset poor mariah carey instead of giving you a hot and steamy time, you very well know where you belong. that’s a good feeling. assuring and a confidence boost for your skills. it makes up for all the clumsiness actually.

exactly because the try-out part was an entire disaster, domming baekhyun will be even more fun, you can’t see it becoming anywhere near boring. it never really was, but now you know where your strong suits are even more so. and — what to avoid, anyway.

no more unsafe practice and teddy whipping under this roof my friend

and something to incorporate more often which is baekhyun unleashing his very creative, pianoesque fingering skills on you.

you have lots of anecdotes to rile each other up as well. or, at least, tease another a bit. your high note was too legendary not to be remembered.

baekhyun will use all of these things against you in a positive way if you get what i mean. he’ll say how you being so strangely vocal made him realize just how commanding and compelling your sexy time voice is when you tell him how to kneel, how to kiss, how to revere.

and you teasing him how clumsy a dom he is makes baekhyun more self-assured in his subbing abilities. he knows for a fact you’ve not once roasted him about how well he can use his pretty mouth. cuz it’s the real deal. sloppy, skilled, and eager to please. he’s damn right about that.

hitting his toes has ruined baekhyun’s whole career as a dom and he was mad at first but he did realize that beside the clumsiness, subbing just suits him well as a principle

your experience gives you even more anticipation for all the sex you will have in the future.

you already knew what you both liked. you know it even more now, it’s underlined, it’s a big relieved yes. no more cringey “daddy, daddy, choke me please!” worship. time to make his day and sit on baekhyun’s perfect face to fuck the shit out of it.

or you know, actually land a whip on his juicy boyfriend thighs and listen to those heavenly loud reactions in a dead-on pitch (he usually moans in C minor).

long story short and cinnamon sticks aside. it’s even more fun now. you just love your cute subby boy just as he is. he doesn’t have to try to be anything else or step up his game. he’s so ideal just doing what he does like a real angel.

more subby stuff: m.list + ao3

↳⎡FINAL NOTE⎦i love writing crack lmao i hope you were rolling on the floor like i did 😂 write me your favorite part in the comments so we can laugh again and buy me a ko-fi if you wanna 👍

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun #exo smut #exo #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun hc #sub!baekhyun #baekhyun crack #exo crack #dom!baekhyun #baekhyun headcanon #sub!exo #baekhyun bullet points #exo hc #exo headcanons

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uniquevocashark · 4 years ago

Text

A Good Servant

Part 1 of ?

Summary: You would do anything to keep her happy: be it keeping her pet healthy, running her house or making her wine. Everything but for what you both want.

Some content warnings for this part: there's heavily referenced sex/sexual activity, pet play (not with the reader, this is an angsty prologue fic), brief mention of adultery, casual contemplation of murder, brief mention of whipping and a joke made about catholics. If I missed anything that you think should be tagged, dm me and I'll add it.

You start down the hallway before you can stop to think, holding the tray aloft in one hand. It's very easy to hear the strangled sounds of Lady Dimitrescu's most recent pet, some twenty something woman from the village, which only makes your job that much harder.

As you had been here for quite some time, you knew one of the most taboo acts was to interrupt her during 'training'. As you got closer you could hear her voice clear as day, offering soothing encouragements before the snap of a crop reached your ears.

You stop just before the door, wondering briefly if she'd use it on you for interrupting. But you couldn't send the heads of the other families away, so you steal yourself, rebalanced the tray and knock thrice.

There's a shuffle and her pet screams louder than before, followed by a half slurred string of begging and moans.

You purse your lips. You knock again, thrice, harder this time. You finally hear the Lady curse, some Romanian word you can't quite grasp yet, followed by quick shushing of her pet. You hold the tray carefully and take a precautionary step back.

She slams the door open and you catch a fleeting look at her black silk underwear before you shift your gaze into the room. Her pet, whose name you don't know and dotn care to learn, sits uncomfortably on the floor beside her masters bed.

"What is it?" Lady Dimitrescu snarls down at you, and you look up at the filigree decorating the wall beside her head.

"The Heisenbergs and Moreau are here to see you, Madame. They bear a seal from Mother Miranda." You handover the letter one of them gave you and fill her glass while she reads it.

You drop a bit of her special wine into it and hand it over. She eyes you carefully, taking a lemon slice. "Help me dress." She says and walks back into her room.

The hallway beckons but you follow her in anyway. She won't kill you, not while Mother Miranda has need of you, but you know she forgets how fragile people are sometimes. Her pet is a keen example; she clearly hasn't slept much due to her servicing, she's bruised all over and the way her lips wobble stirs some momentary pity in you.

Unfortunately for her, any stronger feelings have long since been cut away and seeing her in such a state only brings up questions of how you can improve. Still, you try to put on some faux sympathy for her.

You fill the smaller glass and hand it to her pet with a small platter of apple slices. When you look over to Lady Dimitrescu her brows are raised.

"She hasn't eaten for two days, Madame." You say instead of explaining. It had been one of the cooks ideas, someone that knew her.

Clearly, Lady Dimitrescu didn't realise that, "Of course," she replies crisply, her tone too sharp, "You may eat, pet."

Without waiting, you walk over to her closet to pick a dress. They are the same style and differ in their colour scheme; three are the same shade of light cream, twelve are pure white and three more are tinged grey. You pick out a light cream one with matching undergarments when she calls you over.

You've been working for her a long time, excess of seven years, so you know how she prefers to be dressed after stringent activity. You slip her bra on and her underwear. Slowly, you put her stockings on, as to not rip the expensive fabric, and clip them to her garter belt.

Lady Dimitrescu choses which garter she wears each day rather than have you or her personal amod do so, today it is the one that tangles easily. Its notorious among the staff for how difficult it is to put on. You know your way around it, though, fastening it quickly about her hips and thighs. "Have you put any thought into what I asked earlier, Madame?"

Lady Dimitrescu scoffs, sipping her water, "I have a personal maid." She jerks her chin to her pet, who has been munching as quietly as possible on the apple slices.

"Yes," you say lightly, helping her step through into her dress, "I merely doubt she will have time to deal with any duties other than those of a pet."

She eyes you dangerously and sets her cup down. You ignore the passive aggressive ploy to retrieve the step ladder in the closet. You flick it open and climb it as you pull her dress up, admiring the muscles of her back when she flexes subtly, then guide her arms into the sleeves.

"Who do you recommend, my gracious head of staff?" She croons when you work your way up the buttons of her dress.

You overexargerate your sigh at her playful tone. You catch her smile in the mirror and go back to buttoning. It is much harder to accept some days that this cannot last forever.

"Jessica is a cheery and dedicated worker with a strong back for lashings should she ever disappoint," her pet looks at you with mild horror that you file away and you try to strain your voice a little more towards reluctance, "Mihaela may suit your temper better, she has a quiet nature, has little care for material things and does her best to avoid punishment." That and her aggressive asides about the Lady would stop if she wanted to live.

Lady Dimitrescu moves over to her vanity, and you follow, grabbing the scissors attached to your chatelain and three roses from the vase on her desk. "Who else?" She asks, flicking the cap off her lipstick.

"Louise may suit as well," You say as you clip the stalks, "but Miss Daniela has taken a fancy to her. It would not be the wisest choice. There is also Rachel but she is pregnant with the gardeners child."

"Leave it to humans to rut like base animals on my property," she taps her lips thoughtfully, "Wasn't Rachel married?"

"She is, Madame."

"Do you remember to whom?"

You pause in your arranging of the flowers on her breast and she catches your eye with a smile that burns you, "It was to the southern most butcher. One of the Bradleys, I believe."

She clicks her tongue, breaking eye contact, and you move to brush her silky hair out before she repins it. "Tell Heisenbergs retainer to have her husband brought here. It may be time to cull that wretched family," she paused, sipping again at her water, "Also, Mihaela will do, inform her after the meeting."

"Of course, Madame." You set the brush down, and grab her powder, dusting it onto her cheeks as she fixes the curls back into her hair. She is most beautiful like this, when her face turns delicately pensive and she stills almost completely. You almost wonder what it would be like, with her, and have to take an extra second to cool your heating face.

When she turns to you, with that deliberate, unabashed affection stealing the faux indifference from her face, it makes your heart quake in a way you haven't felt before. You have to look away before you both do something stupid. Deliberately, you plant your hand on her shoulder to keep her at a distance and stare intently at her ear as you put her earrings on.

Her pet has come to sit at your feet, Lady Dimitrescu running her fingers through her hair and you vaguely wonder what it would be like. What if you were there instead and what if this and that and everything else you could want but can't have. Neither of you will cross Mother Miranda.

Her pet gives you the dishes, the glass and plate empty. You move away from them, so that you're not tempting anything again and refill the glass.

"Shall I also have inquiries made about a new gardener, madame?" You ask as you hand the glass back, then move to gather together a suitable outfit for her pet.

The softness is gone from her face and you tell yourself you're glad of it. "Yes, someone more appropriate."

"Not a Catholic then?" You ask innocently. She chuckles warmly and you go about dressing her pet with a little smile. "And would you prefer the current one be brought to your daughters or sent straight to the cellar?"

She regards you seriously in the mirror, and you stare back into her golden eyes before returning to fixing the bow on the back of her pets dress, "Bring him to me when I'm next available."

You usher her pet back to her seat, putting the cups back on the tray, "That would be after dinner for today, or at three tomorrow evening."

"After dinner will be fine." She replies, eating the rest of her lemon. She hands you the skin, her fingers brushing yours deliberately, and you take longer than needed to deposit it on the plate.

"The families are gathered in the dining hall, Madame. I had the kitchen staff prepare a light brunch."

"Tell them I'll be there momentarily."

"As you say, my Lady." You curtsy as you leave. You make a note to have Rachel serve dinner and to watch the Lady's pet while she's busy. You may even go so far as to ask the cook to make a broth; this pet seems to make her happy and you are determined that her pet remains able to do so.

It's all you can do, after all.

Hey, little note:

This is a multi chapter fic with a planned unhappy ending because Courtly Love Trope doesn't usually end well. There will also be references to Resident Evil lore from previous games. Do I care if its accurate? No, not at all. Resi purists beware this fic. And thanks for reading!

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #angst #specified age do not touch #my writing #A Good Servant #light angst this part lads #it gets worse #:)#IVE REALLY BEEN CONTEMPLATING WHETHER I SHOULD EVEN POST THIS #but its here now so you all have to suffer for it #time line is planned out hmu if you want it #courtly love strikes again :(

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q-gorgeous · 4 years ago

Text

Fallen Star

fanfiction

ao3

The events of Doctors Disorders reveals that humans CAN have ghost powers. How does the public react to this? What does this mean for Phantom? prompt by @mystyrust

prequel to Ghost Farm

word count: 2665

warning: character death, experimentation, kidnapping

i need you guys to know that agent z sounds like either e boy or fix it felix from wreck it ralph

A glowing mosquito sat in an ecto-proof jar on a pristine white counter. It bounced off the sides of the glass, desperately trying to escape. A black, gloved hand reached out and grabbed the jar and shook it.

“So humans can have ghost powers.”

An agent in an all white suit studied the mosquito.

“How was this any different than possession? Why did this kind of possession grant the students ghost powers instead of overshadowing them?”

He put the jar down and pushed himself away from the counter, facing another man in a white suit who had been standing behind him.

“Agent K. If we can figure out how these mosquitoes gave the teenagers ghost powers, we can use it in our fight against the ectoplasmic scum.”

“How would you suggest we go about that, Agent O?”

“We’ll have to reopen the old research compound. We can’t have the people of Amity Park finding out we’re doing this kind of research. The old compound is further away from the city so they won’t be able to trace it back to us so easily.”

“What about the test subjects?”

Agent O smiled darkly.

“We’ll have to go find some, now won’t we?”

QQQQQ

Star was walking down the street, on her way to meet Paulina at the mall. They were supposed to go pick up some dresses for a fancy dinner at Paulina’s house. Star had told Paulina that she already had something she could wear at home, but her friend insisted Star let her buy her something.

She turned around a corner heading down another street. The sidewalk here was pretty empty. The only person she saw was an old woman walking into her house and when her door shut, Star was all by herself.

That’s when she felt it. There were eyes gazing into the back of her head and she quickly picked up her pace.

She could hear heavy footsteps approaching from behind along with the crunch of gravel underneath tires. Looking over her shoulder, Star saw a man in a white suit behind her and a white car trailing behind him. For a moment, she felt a small relief. It was the GIW. They couldn’t possibly be after her. They must be tracking a ghost.

But the man had nothing in his hand and the way he stared at Star said otherwise.

She turned back around and was about to start running when a hand grabbed her long blonde hair. She cried out as she was pulled backwards towards the man. The car stopped beside them and another man left the car, pulling a bag over her head and tying her wrists together. They both lifted her up and she heard one open the trunk and then she was being thrown in.

“Help!” She screamed before the trunk slammed shut above her.

She heard two doors open and close before the car revved up and started driving away. Panic wormed its way into her chest and she started trying to pull her hands free.

Luckily, the rope around her wrists loosened. She didn’t know why these agents couldn’t tie a knot, but she had to be grateful for it. She pulled the bag off of her head but she still couldn’t see anything from inside the trunk.

Feeling around, Star tried to find a corner of the trunk where the tail light would be. When she found it, she turned around and started trying to kick into the spot. It took a couple tries, but she finally felt it start to give. With one final kick, a hole was made and she could see light coming into the trunk.

She turned back around and started pulling material away from the hole, trying to make it bigger. When it was big enough she stuck her hand through and started trying to wave it around in the daylight.

Suddenly, Star could feel the car turning. She hadn’t noticed they were slowing down until the turn and her heart rate began to pick up. Did they hear her kicking?

After another couple of turns, the car came to a stop and she could hear a door open.

The pop of the trunk sounded and she was blinded by the sunlight that shone behind the man who was staring down at her. She held his gaze in fear for a few moments and the next thing she knew he was swinging at her and she was gone.

QQQQQ

Star slowly woke up. The world came to her slowly and through her blurry eyes she could see white tiles, white walls, and a glass with a different man standing outside it.

She yelped and suddenly she was falling into the hard cot beneath her. She looked back up towards the ceiling. She had been floating? But how?

“What did you do to me?”

The man finished taking notes on his clipboard before his head tilted up to look at her. His dark sunglasses glinted in the light of the bright room. From somewhere to his left, he held up a jar with a bug in it. Was that…?

“The ghost mosquitos?”

“We are currently studying the causes and effects of ghost powers in humans. Our first study involves introducing one of the ectoplasmic specimens to a host and observing.”

Star took in a sharp breath. “You put one of those inside me? On purpose?”

The agent continued without acknowledging her. “You have the honor of being our first test subject. We would have never thought of the possibility of humans having ghost powers until half the high school was quarantined. We can guarantee this information to be invaluable in the battle against ghosts.”

A mounting horror was beginning to gnaw its way into Star’s chest. “What are you going to do to me?”

“We will be performing a series of tests, starting with measuring the effects of long term possession and then moving onto introducing ectoplasm to the host.”

“Ectoplasm?! Isn’t that toxic to humans?!”

“Yes, but we’ll introduce it in small amounts that increase over time.”

Star stared at the ground below her, horrified. “You guys are crazy.”

“Not crazy, innovative.”

Her head snapped up to look at the agent. He had a sly look on his face, like this was the best possible thing he could be doing at this time.

“You’re crazy!” Star shouted.

She shot forward faster than what should be possible and slammed her fist into the glass in front of the agent’s face. He didn’t so much as flinch. He just lifted his clipboard back up and began to write another note.

“Promising progress.”

Then he began to walk away.

“Come back!” She pounded on the glass again. “Come back, you son of a bitch!”

He continued walking away down the hallway until she couldn’t see him anymore. Alone in her quiet room, Star’s anger faded back to fear. She looked down at her shaking hand.

How much worse could this get? What kind of changes were they expecting to happen to her? It was just possession! Overshadowing! Albeit, a different kind. Normally people don’t remember what happened while they were overshadowed, she didn’t know the difference between this and that. She wasn’t even in the batch of kids that had been quarantined.

But she had been flying. Moving faster than she should be able to. She’d been so much stronger than what she actually is, and she still couldn’t get out. Couldn’t break free.

Star took another look down the long hallway and dread filled her stomach.

She didn’t think she’d be getting out of here.

QQQQQ

With no changes in her powers via mosquito three days later, the agents went onto the next part of their plan.

One minute Star was floating above her bed counting the ceiling tiles, the next she was on the floor clutching at her head as something pulsed in her room. By the time the pulsing stopped, she was already strapped into a chair. She could feel the full weight of gravity and she knew the mosquito was gone. They were moving onto the injections now.

She looked up and sitting in front of her was another different agent. This one looked younger than the three she had seen already.

“Hi! I’m Agent Z!”

She hasn’t met any rookie GIW agents before, but that must be what this guy is. The newest addition.

“Today we’ll be starting the introduction of ectoplasm trial! Today we’ll start with a small amount of ectoplasm, which will increase in amount each day! As the days go by, we’ll start doing two doses of ectoplasm per day.”

Maybe she can work with this.

“Uh. You seem real chipper. Are you new to the GIW or something?”

“Yep!” Agent Z said brightly. “This is my first special assignment!”

“Doesn’t it bother you that you’re experimenting on a human though? Isn’t that a terrible thing that they’re making you do?”

“They’re not making me do anything!”

Star paused. “What?”

“I was the only agent who volunteered for the position! I think this is all very exciting!”

“What the hell.” Star whispered. “You’re all insane.”

“It’s not insane if you’re benefiting the rest of humankind!”

“That-”

Star let out a cry of pain as she was interrupted. The needle plunged into her arm and Agent Z pushed the ectoplasm out of the needle and into her veins. It burned as it flowed into her arm and was kind of cold, but it was nothing compared to the pins and needles sensation that began to cover her entire body.

“There we go!” Agent Z said chipperly. “I’ll see you again tomorrow for your next dose!”

He got up and walked to the door, scanned his keycard, and left.

What happened to the observation part of their research?

Suddenly the straps holding her wrists and ankles in place opened and she shot up away from the chair. She hobbled her way to her bed, the pins and needles sensation crawling faster through her legs and feet with each step she took.

She flopped onto the bed and cringed as the sensation crawled over every inch of her body. She looked up at the ceiling, intending to continue counting the tiles again, when she saw something new.

A small camera was fastened to the glass on the outside of her room, staring at her.

She stared at it for a few moments before she lifted her hand up and flipped off whoever was watching her.

QQQQQ

Four days later and she was starting to feel sick from the ectoplasm injections. Today was the first day they’d be giving her two doses and the pins and needles sensation still settled in her limbs, never having gone away from when they woke her up with the prick of a needle at seven am that morning.

She was starting to face constant nausea and her hands had been clipping through the things in her room for two days now. She could barely stomach the meager amount of food they were giving her anymore and she knew she wouldn’t last much longer if this kept up.

Star heard the door slide open from where she laid on her bed. She knew they could tell she wasn’t doing well. They no longer used that horrible pulsing thing on her before they came in. She didn’t have enough energy to fight back anymore.

Agent Z quickly approached her and sat her down in the chair, positioning her wrists so that the straps locked firmly around them. He roughly grabbed her arm and stabbed her with the needle. She screamed as the ectoplasm flowed into her arm, hot and burning all the way in.

“There we go, all done!” Agent Z said as he pulled away. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

She glared at the man through her greasy hair. He was talking to her like she was a child getting a shot at the doctor’s office.

“Fuck you.” She spat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for your next dose!”

With that, he swiped his keycard and walked through the door and out of the room.

The straps released her wrists and she collapsed to the floor. Shivers wracked through her body even though she could still feel the hot ectoplasm flowing in her veins.

Star didn’t want to die, but she hoped to whatever deity might be out there that this would all be over soon. She didn’t know how much more she could take.

Suddenly, her stomach rolled and she was gagging and throwing up the little bit she had managed to eat earlier. Spots lined her vision and she slowly crawled her way to her bed, just wanting to fall asleep. Almost as soon as she got on it and curled up, she was gone.

QQQQQ

When Star awoke the next morning, she realized she was already strapped into the chair with Agent Z standing before her. The two agents that had first picked her up were standing on the other side of the window.

“Due to your worsening condition, today will be the last day of the ectoplasm injection trial, you’ll only receive one dose today. Starting tomorrow we’ll begin testing the effects of ectoplasmic charged electricity. We will take a few days break in order for you to gain some semblance of stability.”

“Why not just stop the trials altogether then?” Star rasped.

“The information we have gathered this far is invaluable. We’ve learned that some ways to attain ghost powers are safer than others, while others are more dangerous but much more potent. If We can find that balance between these then we’d have the ultimate weapon in our hands.”

“You guys are monsters.”

“Your participation will do much to protect your friends and family in Amity Park.” He nodded at Agent Z. “Go ahead.”

Agent Z plunged the needle into Star’s arm.

With that last injection, Star screamed. The sound reverberated around her room over and over again, Agent Z covered his ears to protect himself from it. And then suddenly, Star’s ghost was ripping itself from her body, which fell limp against the chair it was strapped to.

Her ghost form flickered brightly, like a star in the sky. She turned her brightly glowing eyes on Agent Z who was looking up at her with wide eyes, his hands still covering his ears. Star dove for him.

Lifting him by the throat, Star picked him up and started throwing him into every wall as she flew around her small room. The ghostly trail she left behind her looked like the tail of a sparkling comet and soon blood was spattering onto the glass.

Agent O pressed a button on the outside wall and the room lit up in a bright green flash and Star was falling to the floor, a beaten agent falling from her grasp into a heap.

“Call in the sanitization and disposal team and have them come clean up this mess.” Agent O said to Agent K, who was staring at Agent Z inside the room.

“Our Agent Z’s never last long.” K said sharply. “What should we do with the girl’s ghost?”

Agent O had a thoughtful look on his face. “We’ll keep it here for study. Her ghost must be a powerful one, that act it displayed immediately upon death is one I’ve never seen before.”

He turned around to face Agent K. “We’ll need to go gather another test subject. We’ll plan to go in two days once this mess is cleaned up.”

“Sir, I respectively ask how will we get any conclusive data if all of our subjects keep dying?”

Agent O barked out a laugh. “Who cares if they die. All that matters is that we get our answers in the end. What better way to get ghosts for research and dissection than by harvesting them ourselves?”

“Like a ghost farm, sir?”

“Yes.” Agent O Smiled wickedly.

“Like a ghost farm.”

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #star #agent k #agent o #giw #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #phic #phic phight #team ghost #phic phight 21

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neon-junkie · 4 years ago

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Duality - Chpt.4

Summary: There’s a handful of things you hate, like the men who continue to pester you at the Saloon after you’ve told them no, or the way strangers look at you when you decide to wear pants. But the one thing you hate that most is Micah Bell. But if you hate him so much, then why are you allowing him to wrap his hand around your neck as he grinds his crotch down against yours? Is he using you? or are you using him?

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: lots idk its multi-chapter

Rating: NSFW

[First chapter] [next chapter not posted yet]

It's funny how Micah somehow guessed the perfect size for your new lingerie. Maybe he's held you one too many times, making a mental note of how each part of your body feels in his hands. You can picture that vividly, Micah explaining to the tailor that your breast size is "this big," as he holds his hands out in a cupping motion. You pray he hasn't actually done that, but this is Micah Bell, after all. You pull on the laces of your new corset, fastening yourself up, and then shrug a pretty yet simple dress on. Today seems pleasant, well, it looked pleasant when you peered through your tent flaps this morning, groggy and half-asleep. There's nothing wrong with being a little vain, and you enjoy putting extra effort into your appearance today, fitting in your new lingerie like a glove, and dolling yourself up to... do chores... At least you're doing your chores in style!

The effort in your appearance hasn't gone unnoticed, as many camp members throw compliments your way, along with curious pairs of eyes that trail over your figure for a few moments too long, not that you mind. The camp women are particularly kind, not that they aren't to begin with, fussing and gushing over how pretty you look. Maybe this is what you needed? a day to doll yourself up and soak up all the compliments you receive? and maybe you'll do it more often, seeing as you're feeling rather wonderful today. But all good things must come to an end... you find yourself at Pearson's wagon, chopping vegetables for tonight's supper, sliding another batch off your chopping board straight into the stew pot. It's a boring job, but it beats scrubbing laundry for hours on end, constantly feeling defeated as everybody's clothes are so stained that it's impossible to get them clean. As always, you're minding your own business, your head dipped down, focusing on the task at hand. Of course, you don't notice your partner approaching, but your ears perk up as he lets out a long whistle. "My, oh my," Micah comments. "I didn't realize it was my birthday, but I appreciate you dressin' up for such a special occasion," Micah flirts as he trails over, leaning his weight against the table. He's eyeing you up and down like a piece of meat, and you notice the way he licks his lips. "Mister Bell," you monotonously greet him, "bold of you to assume I dress for anybody but myself," you jab back. Micah lets out a long and irritating laugh, drawn out for longer than necessary. He peers over his shoulder, checking to see if anybody is nearby, before scooting a little closer to speak directly to you. "Guess you are dressin' for me when you're wearin' the lingerie I brought you," he grins. You double-check your surroundings, and once you're happy with how empty the coast is, you lean across the table, speaking under your breath. "It's a replacement, considering you ruined my last set," you remind him, shaking your head as you speak. Yet again, Micah chuckles. "And I'll ruin this set too," he smirks, and you unfortunately know that's a promise. "And then you'll have to buy another replacement," you tut. "That's fine by me. I ain't short on cash, sweetheart. I'll buy and ruin as many as I like." "I ain't your sweetheart, I told you that last night," you grumble under your breath. You straighten your back, and speak slightly above your normal tone of voice, "now if you'll excuse me, Mister Bell, I'm quite busy here," you brush him off, returning to chopping vegetables. "Oh, I do apologise for taking up your precious time, darlin'," Micah sarcastically replies, raising his hands innocently as he moves his weight off the table. "I'll leave you to it," he says with a soft laugh, then turns heel and wanders back through camp, probably debating which victim to pester next. Your brows furrow as you watch him leave, grumbling to yourself. He knows damn well that neither of you are meant to bring your business into camp, and he especially knows that you're not meant to openly talk about it. Somebody could be lurking nearby, somebody could be on the other side of the wagon, accidentally stumbling upon this juicy piece of information. The camp loves gossip, and something like that would spread like a wildfire. You hate how vividly you can picture it, the faces of everybody scowling your way as they find out that you're sleeping with a pest that you claim to hate. You've had one too many fights with Micah, both inside and outside of camp; imagine how hypocritical people would find you if they suddenly found out that you enjoy his company when nobody else is around. Honestly, what else did you expect? Micah rarely ever keeps his word, and you're surprised that he did when he said he'd buy you replacement lingerie. Oh well, that conversation is done now, and you'll have to keep on your toes around camp, just in case Micah decides to try and pull something stupid on you.

By the time evening rolls around, your body is exhausted. You've fastened your corset a little too tight this morning, although at the time it felt comfortable. After slipping into something loose and cosy, you start your final chore for today - guard duty. Lenny makes a passing comment about how tonight is quiet and boring, as always, and wishes you luck as he hands you the rifle.

Lenny was right, this is boring. You're currently leaning against a tree on the outskirts of camp, the rifle gripped loosely in your hands; you can feel yourself nodding off, your head dipping and your eyes falling shut. Unlike others, you try to take your jobs seriously, so you push your weight off the tree, doing another lap of the camp in an attempt to wake yourself up.

As you pass by a lantern, you take out your pocket watch, checking how long you have left before you can finally crawl into bed. It's 2am, one hour to go. You make your way down one of the paths leading into camp, eventually dipping off into the trees once you meet the entrance; you never normally trail this far from camp, but why not shake things up a bit?

"Fancy meetin' you out here," Micah comments out of nowhere, making you jump out of your skin, almost dropping your rifle.

"Shit, Micah!" you snap at him, "why you gotta scare me like that?"

"Ain't you on guard duty? you ain't doin' a very good job," he snickers, leaning his weight against a nearby tree, his hands resting on the waistband of his pants. Usually, Micah would rest his hands on his gun belt, but he's stripped of most clothing tonight, wandering around in his simple pants, shirt, and hat.

"I must be more tired than I thought, I'm surprised I didn't notice a buffoon approaching me," you jab back, rolling your eyes at his comment. No doubt, Micah has been stalking you for some time, waiting for the right moment to give you a sudden wakeup call.

"Oh, doll, you poor thing. You want me to go and warm your bed up for you?" Micah taunts, making you grip your rifle tighter. He lets out a chuckle, noticing how angry you look, even through the darkness of the trees.

"What is it with you?" you snap. "Did you really come out here just to pester me?!"

"Mhm," Micah agrees with a nod. He shifts his weight off the tree, taking a few steps over to you, bridging the gap. Before you can swat him away, his hand is pulling at your neckline, peering down your blouse. "Why ain't you wearing the lingerie that I brought you?" he asks, pouting dramatically.

"Off," you command, slapping his hand away. Micah begins to laugh, and without thinking, you slap him across the face, cutting his laughter short.

"Oooh," Micah sighs, giving his cheek a rub. "Not very friendly tonight, are we?"

"I ain't very friendly to anybody who puts their dirty paws on me," you grunt, and turn heel, attempting to walk away. Micah reaches out to take a hold of your wrist, his grip tightening when you try to shake him off. "Doll, I only came out here to let off some steam with you."

"You really think I'm gonna fuck you after that?"

"Yep."

You let out a long, defeated sigh. There are two options presented to you: you can either turn down Micah and let the next hour slowly trail by, bored with nothing to do, or you can enjoy his unwelcomed company, tiring yourself out before bed.

"Alright, but let's make this quick," you agree, pulling your wrist free from Micah's grasp.

There's an awkward pause, both of you staring at each other, as if you've both suddenly forgotten how to initiate sex. Micah then waves his hands about, and orders you to bend over against a nearby tree. "We ain't supposed to do this in camp, that was part of the agreement," you comment.

"This ain't in camp, it's in a forest, sweetheart," Micah corrects you. Well, he's not exactly wrong...

You roll your eyes and let out a huff, but prop your rifle up against a tree. Your skirts are bunched up to your hips, reaching beneath them to pull your undergarments down, letting them settle around your thighs; you then turn to question why Micah is stood there awkwardly.

"I was just enjoying the show," Micah replies with a shrug. He begins unfastening his pants as he approaches, palming at his cock with one hand, whilst the other dips between your legs to slide a finger over your slit.

Micah slides his fingers over you a few times, before slipping a digit in, slowly working his finger in and out. His head dips down to catch your lips, lightly kissing you, enjoying the soft whimpers you make against his lips. He doesn't bother sliding another finger in, and moves his hand away to nudge you against the tree.

Your hands rest on the trunk, and you peer over your shoulder to watch as Micah holds your skirt up around your hips, his other hand slicking his cock against your folds. He's clearly in a rush as he doesn't bother teasing you for long, instead, slipping his cock in and slowly sheathing himself inside you.

Micah mutters something under his breath as he grips onto your hips, and pulls you back onto his cock, pushing himself as deep as he can go. He holds himself there as he lets out a long, deep groan, followed by starting his thrusts, jumping straight into a quick pace. You feel something tap against your foot, peering down to see Micah tapping at you; you know what he wants, so you spread your legs wider, arching your back, gripping onto the tree trunk for support.

This needs to be quick. You dip your hand down between your legs, rubbing at your clit, building your orgasm with Micah's help. He's quieter than usual, the sound of skin against skin filling the air, and hopefully not echoing all the way back to camp.

A hand weaves its way around your waist, and Micah pulls you upright, your back pressed to his chest. He speaks in a deep, husk voice, almost growling into your ear. "I am a little disappointed that you ain't wearing my fancy lingerie, means I'll have to wait to cut it off you," he comments, still attempting to thrust into you, despite the awkward position.

"You ain't even got your knife on you," you say with a laugh. Your laughter is cut short as Micah moves his hand to your neck, gripping oh-so-perfectly, just how you like it.

"I'd use my bare hands, but I can be patient, I'll wait," he says with a soft shrug.

Micah manages to make do, bucking up into you, your hand still rubbing your clit. His thumb removes itself from your neck, only to be replaced with his lips, sucking and kissing your skin so hard that you know it's going to leave marks. You mutter his name, and Micah pleasantly hums as a reply. "Come on, sweetheart," he urges, picking up the pace, and chuckling at his pun.

Your back may be hurting, but you roll your head against Micah's shoulder, moaning away. Only your moans are cut short as you suddenly orgasm, tightening around Micah's length. He quickly removes himself from you, almost shoving you out of the way as he pulls out, spilling himself over the forest floor. "Hell," Micah mutters under his breath, finishing up, and then tucking himself away.

"Pretty," Micah comments as he lightly slaps your ass, just as you're pulling your undergarments back up.

"I know," you smugly reply, and Micah giggles at your comment. He reaches in his back pocket, fishing out a packet of cigarettes, and offers you one. Rather than using one of his matches, you light yours on the end of Micah's, blowing smoke in his face on your first exhale.

"Petty," Micah grumbles, "c'mon, I'm sure your shift has finished by now."

"You can walk ahead, Micah. I ain't risking being seen wandering into camp with you."

"Alright, suit yourself," he shrugs, turning heel and heading back to camp.

You watch him go, wandering off into the darkness, disappearing into the trees, the light from his cigarette eventually fading black. It's too dark out here to check your pocket watch, but after a handful of minutes, you finish off your smoke, and assume it's time to wake the next person up for guard duty.

The walk back to camp is quiet, as always, and for some reason, you're looking out for Micah as you enter camp. He's nowhere to be seen, probably wandered off down the shoreline, and you can't help but scold yourself for being so curious as to his whereabouts.

You shake your head, trailing over to your tent after passing the rifle over to the next camp member on watch, and soon fall asleep, despite the stinging sensation on your neck.

#duality #rdrwriting #multi-chapter #rdr2 #micah bell x reader #micah bell x female reader #f!reader #nsft #smut

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bubonickitten · 4 years ago

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Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: An examination of endings and how to realize them.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 24: brief claustrophobia; some RSD/fear of abandonment stuff; extensive discussion of death (this chapter’s all about Terminus, babey); allusions to past suicidal ideation on Jon’s part; mentions of eye gouging/blinding (not graphic); some internalized victim blaming; anxiety symptoms; spider mentions; swears. Let me know if I missed anything!

Chronic fear has been Jon’s baseline for so long, it’s difficult for him to conceptualize what he would be were it to abandon him. In some ways, he’s become acclimated to it. On the other hand, fear is a volatile, prolific thing, its many shades relentlessly coalescing and mutating to form new strains. It all but guarantees that the Eye will never truly be sated: there will always be some heretofore unknown species of terror to discover, experience, and add to its collection.

Sprinkled in amongst the more noteworthy moments of abject terror and the constant background pressure of existential dread, there are smaller fears: everyday anxieties; pervasive insecurities; acute spikes of panic and adrenaline. Each discrete instance may pale in comparison to life-threatening peril, but muddled together and given time to ferment, they compound. They feed into one another. Sometimes, they come to attract the attention of larger, far more forbidding monsters.

In this way, Jon is no different from the average person – and one of the oldest, most deep-rooted of those comparatively banal fears is his fear of rejection, of disappointing, of being seen and found lacking. It guided his path long before his first supernatural encounter, and in many ways, it still does. His self-awareness of that fact does little to dampen its influence.

So it’s vexing, but not surprising, that the foremost concern vying for his attention right now is whether this might be that final straw that chases Georgie away for good. She sits with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, eyes closed and brow furrowed as she gathers her thoughts. The longer she remains silent, the more time Jon has to run through all the worst-case scenarios.

It’s already difficult for him to capture a full breath under the crushing weight of anticipation. It doesn’t help that his intermittent claustrophobia has decided that right now is the perfect time to manifest. A tunnel collapse would probably damage the Archives above it, though, and there’s no way Jon would be so lucky. He isn’t sure whether to consider that a consolation or not.

Finally, Georgie takes a breath, opens her eyes, and leans forward.

“Okay.” She tilts her folded hands towards him in an indicative gesture. “Explain, please.”

“Right,” Jon says, rubbing one arm nervously. “S-so, Oliver –”

“I knew his name wasn’t Antonio,” Georgie mutters.

“No. That was an alias he used when he first came to the Institute to give a statement, back in 2015.”

“The prediction about Gertrude’s death?” Martin asks.

“The same.”

“And what was a harbinger of death doing looming over you while you were in a coma?” Georgie presses.

“I don’t know that I’d call him a harbinger –” Jon’s mouth snaps shut immediately when Georgie shoots him an impatient glare. “He wasn’t – he wasn’t trying to – to reap my soul or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then why was he there?”

“He was called there,” Jon says. “By the Web, according to him.”

“Oh, and you don’t think that makes him dangerous?” Martin says, throwing one arm out in a surge of exasperation.

“He isn’t allied with the Web,” Jon replies, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. “It just… got into his head, and it was easier for him to go along with it, rather than fight it indefinitely. Oliver tends to have a fatalistic outlook. If he sees something as inevitable, he’s not inclined to try to stop it.”

“So, what – he’s serving an evil power not because he’s sadistic but because he’s just apathetic?” Georgie couldn’t sound any more unimpressed if she tried. “How is that any better?”

“It’s, ah… it’s really not that simplistic,” Jon says, adopting a delicate tone. “And I don’t think I’d call it apathy so much as…”

“Acceptance,” Georgie says stiffly. “Everything has an ending.”

“Yes. Oliver is an Avatar of the End, and the End is characterized by its certainty–” Jon pauses when he catches a glimpse of Georgie’s hands, fastened to her knees and trembling with tension. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, I –” Georgie sighs, relaxes her grip, and flexes her fingers. “Just – tell me why you invited him here.”

“It’s like I said upstairs – there were things I couldn’t tell him about outside of here.”

“Why do you feel the need to tell him anything?” Martin asks.

“I just thought… he might be able to help us.”

“Why would he,” Georgie asks, “if he’s so fatalistic?”

“Because, he…” Jon hesitates, biting his lip. “I suppose I thought that maybe – maybe he’s like me.”

“He’s nothing like you,” Martin says vehemently.

A flicker of a smile crosses Jon’s face. “You don’t even know him.”

“What, and you do?”

“Not well,” Jon admits. “But I do think I understand him.”

Martin crosses his arms, transparently miffed. In an attempt to suppress his amusement, Jon presses his lips tightly together. It doesn’t work, evidently.

“What?” There’s a flat, defensive edge to the demand, highlighted by a suspicious scowl. “What’s with the smirk?”

Jon already knows the answer to the question he wants to ask, but he can’t help himself: “Are you jealous?”

“No!” Martin yelps. “Why would I be jealous?”

Jon shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Well, you don’t need to be.”

“I’m not!”

“If you say so,” Jon says with a shrug and a sly grin.

“I am not jealous,” Martin insists – and now Georgie is snickering, one hand clamped over her mouth to (unsuccessfully) stifle the sound. Martin glowers at her, betrayed.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Just – didn’t realize you were quite so jealous.”

“I’m not,” Martin says for a third time. “But – but even if I was, I would be completely justified.”

“Because he woke me up,” Jon says, toning down the smugness now.

There is an uneasy boundary between affectionate teasing and perceived mockery, and here in the past, he hasn’t quite mapped the shape of that line. Between seeing one another in the Lonely and anchoring each other through the apocalypse, he and Martin had been forced to confront long-held insecurities about themselves, both as individuals and as a unit. That shared history no longer applies. While Jon has no desire to repeat that chain of events – there are happier, healthier pathways to a relationship than bonding via trauma, or so he’s heard – it does mean that this version of Martin hasn’t yet had the same epiphanies.

Much like Jon, Martin struggles to take a declaration of love at its word. People lie; they mislead; they say what they think others want to hear – whether out of self-interest, sympathy, or simple social ineptitude, the results are the same. Sometimes they start out sincere, but little by little, their tolerance dwindles and they recognize their mistake: what they thought was genuine affection was at best a passing fancy for someone who turned out to be far more trouble than they were ever worth. Or worse: a caring façade born of pity or guilt or obligation, only to turn rotten and toxic when the burden grows too tiresome.

Add all of those deep-seated convictions to the lasting influence of the Lonely, and Martin needed proof before he could entertain the possibility of being loved. Following him into and then leading him out of the Lonely was a fairly convincing statement. Absent another life-or-death gesture to act as a catalyst, Jon suspects that this time around, building that confidence will come down to time, practice, and repetition.

“Okay, yeah, about that – what does that – what does that mean, he woke you up?” Before Jon can get a word out, Martin barrels on: “I mean, what makes him so special? I spent weeks – weeks – begging you to come back, and nothing. He visits you once and suddenly you’re fine?”

“I really did try to come back on my own,” Jon says – not accusing, not pleading, not even self-flagellating. Just plain, sincere assuredness. “I heard you calling me. Not at first, but – the last time you visited. It was the first time I’d heard your voice in… in so long, I – I never thought I’d hear it again, and then you were there, and I was – I was so relieved, so… so elated.”

Martin sulks quietly, glaring at the floor, but there’s a noticeable flush staining his cheeks now.

“And then – and then I heard you on the phone with Peter, and…” Jon swallows hard, the despair he felt in that moment still stark in his mind. “I tried to call out to you, but you couldn’t hear me. The Lonely was drawing you in, just like before, and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to wake up more than anything, but I just… couldn’t figure out how. I still don’t know why – I don’t know the exact mechanics of it all – but for whatever reason, I wasn’t able to wake up until Oliver’s visit. Same as the first time.”

At that, Martin seems to deflate somewhat, finally looking up to meet Jon’s eyes.

“If I could have come back sooner,” Jon continues, smiling sadly, “I would have. In a heartbeat.”

Martin pouts for a moment longer before surrendering, his rigid posture slackening as the rancor drains out of him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“So you think you owe him,” Georgie guesses. “For waking you up.”

“Partially,” Jon admits. “But that’s not why I invited him, really. He just seems… I don’t know. Lonely, I guess?” Georgie rolls her eyes. “He never – he never asked to be a death prophet. No more than I wanted to be a – a trauma leech. And arguably – arguably he was even less to blame for what happened to him than I am for what I’ve become –”

“Jon,” Martin says warningly.

“No, just – just listen.” Jon takes a measured breath as he puts his thoughts in order. “Oliver started having prophetic dreams several years ago. Just – out of the blue. As far as I know, he did nothing to tempt fate. Eventually, those dreams carried over into the waking world. Everywhere he went, every single day, he could see the evidence of imminent death. There was no escaping it.

“In the beginning, he tried to help people. But it never worked. When he was unable to save his own father, he stopped trying to change fate, for the most part. I think the last time he tried was when he dreamed of Gertrude. He saw how far-reaching her death would ultimately be, and he tried to warn her, even though he didn’t have much hope that it would make a difference. And he was right, in the end. He couldn’t save her, and he couldn’t prevent what came after.”

“So he just… gave up,” Martin says flatly.

“When you fail over and over again to do good in the world, when you witness horror after horror with no recourse to stop it, when you try again and again and again to escape and never even come close… at some point, you burn out,” Jon murmurs. “Lose all hope. It becomes your new normal. Exist like that long enough and you start to become numb to it all.”

“You lived through an apocalypse and you didn’t give up,” Martin counters.

“I did, though,” Jon says quietly.

Martin frowns. “What?”

“After I lost you.” Jon averts his eyes and folds his arms tight against his middle, holding his elbows. “I was lost. I couldn’t save anyone, I couldn’t change anything, I couldn’t even look away. I wasn’t allowed to sleep. I wasn’t allowed to die. So I just… survived, even though I wanted anything but.” When he glances up, he sees that Martin’s expression has softened. “You were my reason. Then you were gone, and I was alone.”

Jon hadn’t known that the world could end a second time, but there it was. With Martin gone, what little that remained of Jon’s own microcosm shattered. Yet the Ceaseless Watcher’s world dared to continue turning, to go on churning out horror after horror as if nothing at all had changed. And Jon was just another cog in that machine, going through the motions and fulfilling the purpose for which he was cultivated.

It wasn’t truly ceaseless, of course. Everything has an ending. But it felt like an eternity – and for Jon, indefinite waiting has always been a special kind of torture.

“So what changed?” Georgie asks, her tone gentler than before.

“For a while, nothing,” Jon says. “I sort of… drifted. Wandered aimlessly through the domains for… I don’t really know. When nothing ever changes, keeping track of time becomes pointless. The Panopticon kept trying to draw me in, of course, but I – I suppose there was still enough spite left in me to make a show of ignoring it.

“At some point, I got lost in a Lonely domain. Which was fine, really. Or – it would have been fine, had I been allowed to succumb to it. I wanted to just – fade into it, let it in, but” – Jon breathes a bitter laugh – “it wouldn’t take me. Wouldn’t let me go numb, wouldn’t let me forget – didn’t have the decency to let me disappear, no matter how long I stayed.”

No one got what they deserved in that future, but this was a rare exception to that rule: to be allowed to simply forget his role in creating that nightmare world, to sink into blissful ignorance, would have been a miscarriage of justice. Not that the Eye cared about what was just or fair, of course. No, it simply would not – perhaps could not – deign to relinquish its hold on its Archive.

“But the longer I stayed,” he continues, looking at Martin now, “the more I thought about you. In retrospect, maybe that’s why I didn’t want to leave. And maybe that’s part of why it wouldn’t have me – I couldn’t let you go. But being there, it kept reminding me of the first Lonely domain we came across after the change. We were separated, and I was – I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back to me. But you did.” Jon smiles to himself, remembering the relief and gratitude and awe he felt in that moment. “You rejected the Lonely all on your own. Found your own way out – found me, and… every time I thought about that, I imagined your voice in my head. Telling me off for wallowing. For giving up.”

“Sounds like I would have been justified,” Martin says delicately.

“You would have,” Jon confesses with a contrite half-smile. “I was in peak brooding condition. Eventually I wore myself out wallowing there, though, so I left to go wallow somewhere else. I needed a change of scenery, and – well, I got one. Stumbled into a Spiral domain. Ran into Helen, and… funny enough, that was the last straw.”

Jon can still recall the encounter down to the smallest detail.

‘Still drifting aimless, are we?’ Helen bared an unsettling number of teeth as her grin stretched – literally – from ear to ear. ‘Exactly how long do you plan on moping about, Archivist?’

Jon did not answer; did not even meet her eyes, instead staring vacantly over her shoulder. The incessant reel of horror scenes playing in the back of his mind made it difficult to focus on any one thing at a time, and there was nothing he cared to see so much that it was worth the effort it would take to grant it his undivided attention.

‘You know,’ Helen said, tapping an elongated, crooked finger against her lips, ‘I wonder what he would say, if he could see you now.’

It didn’t matter. Martin was gone. Those parts of the world that hadn’t already been thoroughly razed were slowly but surely withering. There was nothing left to salvage.

‘Disappointed, I imagine,’ Helen continued, distant and muffled by the din of a splintering world. (Somewhere deep below their feet, a man was screaming himself hoarse in a labyrinth made of mirrors and fog.) ‘But not surprised. It’s not the first time you’ve let him down, is it?’

Jon gave a listless shrug. Her words stung, certainly, but they were a far cry from some of her more artful jabs. A pointed insinuation to send him spiraling into his own self-destructive conclusions would always be more corrosive than outright disparagement.

(The man in the maze gazed into mirror after mirror, hoping to find himself within. In every one, his reflection had no face.)

That said, Helen wasn’t wrong. Even as a child, Jon had always been a burden. He never did manage to prove himself worthy of all the many unwilling sacrifices made on his behalf. Never measured up; never put nearly enough good into the world to balance out the cost of having him in it.

(The man in the maze had misplaced his name. Did he drop it somewhere? He checked his pockets only to find holes. Yet another eyeless reflection stared back at him from beneath his feet.)

‘You were always headed here, weren’t you?’

Yes.

(The man in the maze tried to retrace his steps, but everything looked the same: an endless, recursive corridor of mirror images. He asked one of the doppelgängers for directions, only to realize that the man in the mirror had no mouth with which to answer.)

‘To think – all that time he spent coaxing you along, and you crumble the moment you don’t have a prop to coddle you.’ Helen cackles, high and cruel. ‘What a waste.’

She wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know.

(The man in the maze was scouring the mirrored ground, searching for… something he’d lost; he couldn’t quite remember, but he knew that it was important. He checked his pockets, only to discover that he had no pockets.)

‘Although, I guess the blame doesn’t fall squarely on your shoulders. He was naïve. It isn’t your fault he was foolish enough to hope for–’

The words jolted Jon back to the present like an electric shock. Whatever else Helen had to say, he’d never know. He tuned her out, and he started walking.

“She was having a go at me – nothing new there – but then she brought you into it, and…” Jon shrugs. “I don’t think it was her intention, but it nudged me back on track. You and I had a plan, before, and… honestly, I didn’t have much hope that it would work, but you had. That made it worth trying.”

It wasn’t like Jon could break the world more by parleying with the Eye. At worst, it made no difference, but at least Jon did something to honor Martin’s memory; at best, it put Jon out of his misery, one way or another.

“I’m glad I did, because… well, it changed things, obviously. You were right.”

“Sorry,” Martin says with unmistakable self-satisfaction, “could you say that again?”

“You were right, Martin.” Jon rolls his eyes, but the effect is undercut by an indulgent smile he can’t quite repress. “You often are. All of this is to say – I’m only here because you gave me a reason to be. If not for that, then… well, I meant what I’ve said before, about needing a lifeline in order to stand any chance against the Fears. I was – I am lucky enough to have one.”

More than one, he thinks with a sense of wonder. The support he has now is such a far cry from the ostracism he experienced the first time he was here. It still gives him pause every time he dwells on the contrast. Sometimes, it almost seems too good to be true.

“Oliver didn’t,” Jon continues. “It’s hard to begrudge him for resigning himself to fate, especially considering how the power that claimed him is defined by fatalism. He never asked to be chosen, he was given no hope of escape, and he had no one to reach out to, let alone anyone to reach back. It’s unsurprising that he would come to accept the inescapable when the only anchor he had was the certainty of oblivion.”

“‘The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one,’” Georgie says quietly.

Jon nods. “And without a dependable reason to see the moments in between as significant, it’s… well, it’s hard to see the point in anything. I’ve been there.”

As has Georgie, Jon knows. She exhales heavily, massaging her temples, visibly conflicted.

“I still don’t think you should trust him,” Martin says.

“I’m not suggesting we trust him wholesale,” Jon says, “but I’m certain that he isn’t an enemy. He might not resist the End, but he doesn’t work to end the world in its name, either. He’s… thoroughly neutral.”

“Then what makes you think he’ll lift a finger to help?” Martin asks.

“I doubt he’ll go out of his way to help,” Jon admits. “He might be willing to trade information, though. I just thought… Avatar of the End – he would have more insight into the limits of Jonah’s supposed ‘immortality’ than I do.”

“You think he can tell you something about the dead man’s switch,” Georgie guesses, rubbing at her forehead.

“That’s my hope, yes. He can see the route that a person will take to their end. Or, he can when their death is imminent, at least – I’m not sure how far into the future his foresight stretches these days.”

In the hospital, Oliver implied that he could see something in Jon’s vicinity. Whether that suggests Jon’s own end is near enough for Oliver to foresee it, Jon does not Know. Given his proven resilience, he suspects it’s just as likely to be a quirk of his strange existence. There’s no shortage of idiosyncrasies that may mark Jon as an outlier: he’s the Archivist; he’s traveled through a rift in time; he’s the primed and practiced focal point of the Watcher’s Crown, and the fate of the world hinges on his ability to keep that potential in check.

And if his situation is an exception to the rule, perhaps Jonah’s is as well.

“Maybe he’ll be able to see whether our routes flow into Jonah’s, so to speak,” Jon says. “When Oliver dreamed of Gertrude’s impending death, he saw how much of the world’s fate was intertwined with hers –”

“– the veins, whose domination of the dreamscape had only ever been partial before, had thickened and now seemed to cover almost the whole space of every street – the destination – into which all the veins flowed – The Magnus Institute – choked with that shadowed flesh – following that red light that would now pulse so bright that I knew were I to see it awake it would have blinded me – and every one of those veins – where they ended – a person sitting at that desk and it was them that all of this scarlet light was flowing into.”

“Gertrude,” Martin says.

Jon nods, then holds up one finger: Wait. The Archive has more to say; Jon can practically feel the words bubbling up his throat and crowding behind his teeth. As discomfiting as it is to have it hijack his voice, sometimes it’s easier to ride out that compulsion than to tamp it down.

“I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you – such a thing is likely impossible – but after what I saw I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try – there is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.”

Statement ends, Jon thinks, working his jaw to soothe the unnatural tension that has taken root there. Happy now? Anything else to add?

As expected, it doesn’t answer. He’s well aware that addressing the Archive essentially amounts to talking to himself, but carrying on an internal dialogue with the more frustrating aspects of himself was a habit long before he took on the mantle of Archivist.

After a few seconds, he feels the Archive’s imposing presence start to recede, releasing him from the compulsion. It’s still there, of course – it’s always there, looming over him like a vulture, as impossible to ignore as a knife to the throat – but for now it seems content to fall back and observe once more.

Georgie sighs. “That’s why you’re sympathetic to him.”

“He tried.” Jon shrugs. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

“That still doesn’t mean he’s going to help this time,” Martin says.

“No, but he has no incentive to hurt us, either. There’s no harm in asking him questions. He’s not going to run to Jonah to inform on us. The worst that happens is he says ‘no’ and goes back to minding his own business. But if he agrees to talk… well, it might be our best chance to determine how much of what Jonah says is true.”

Georgie chews on her thumbnail for a few seconds before looking back up at Jon, a pensive frown on her face. “Why’d he go out of his way to come here at all, if he has no motivation one way or the other?”

“Honestly? Curiosity, I think. But… I suppose I’m also hoping that there’s a part of him that might sympathize.”

“Do you really think there is?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know. In my future, probably not. He wasn’t enjoying himself like some of the other Avatars – I mean, he was feeding on the fear produced by his domain, but even then, he didn’t strike me as cruel. It was just… acceptance in the face of a conclusion at ultimately stayed the same regardless of the path leading up to it, and…”

And maybe it speaks to Jon’s mental state at the time, but there were a few points in Oliver’s statement that struck him as almost merciful. After all, in the face of seemingly endless torment, death was a covetable escape.

“I have no power to stop it,” the Archive recites, “and even if I did, I would not do so. For to rob a soul of death is as torturous as its inevitable coming – I fear the annihilation you would gift me as little as I desire it – perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned – I am now, as the thing I feed, a fixed point, that has neither the longing nor ability to change its state of existence – even you, with all your power, cannot keep the world alive forever. All things end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose, only brings you closer to it.”

“That Oliver again?” Martin mutters tetchily. “Doesn’t sound to me like he’ll be particularly inclined to help.”

“Well–” The word comes out as a rasp, and Jon has to pause to clear his throat before continuing. “That was – that was the Oliver of the future. After the change, he was too much of the End not to live its truth, just as I was too much of the Eye not to walk its path and archive its world. We were both conduits, inseparable from the powers that laid claim to us. Here and now, though, I’m hoping he might still be…”

“What, benevolent?” Martin says incredulously.

Jon is quiet for a long moment, trying to find the right words to explain.

“At my most hopeless,” he says slowly, “I still cared, even though there was no meaningful way for me to put it into practice. I don’t think I ever managed to reach the level of acceptance that Oliver did – and sometimes I envied him for that. But embracing the End as a foregone conclusion doesn’t necessarily mean he’s completely unmoved by what happens in the interim. Not yet, anyway. And as of right now, whether it’s out of curiosity or compassion, obviously he still interacts with the world from time to time, even if he prefers to exist in the background for the most part.”

Martin and Georgie both look unconvinced.

“I’m not asking him to help us change fate,” Jon goes on. “In his view, there is no obstructing fate – not in any way that genuinely matters to his patron. Oliver isn’t particularly concerned about when the End will come – he’s just secure in the knowledge that it will happen eventually, with or without the interference of any mortal actor. Passive or active, nothing he does or doesn’t do will change that. But I’m thinking it’s been a long time since someone has asked him for help that he actually has the power to provide, and… I know what that’s like.”

Despite the immense power that Jon could exercise after the culmination of the Watcher’s Crown, he was ultimately powerless to change things for the better. It’s why he leapt at the chance to help Naomi in her nightmare: even a small, low-effort act of kindness after so long without the opportunity was overwhelmingly liberating.

It was insignificant against the vast backdrop of the universe, perhaps, but it still left a mark. It prompted a cascade of little changes that completely rewrote their dynamic; it curtailed some of the suffering in which Jon had previously been so unwillingly complicit; it's even acted as an inoculation against the loneliness that had permeated both of their lives during this stretch of time when Jon was last here. Those little changes mattered to him, and they mattered to Naomi – not only in that first moment, but in all the time since.

All of that had to count for something, right? It took fourteen ill-fated marks to end the world, after all. With any one of them missing, the Ritual wouldn’t have worked and the world at large would never have noticed. But that didn’t make any one of those marks wholly insignificant on its own. They scarred him and the people around him; every encounter changed him, whittled away at his sense of self, left him progressively vulnerable and set him up for successive marks.

The repercussions still linger. They probably always will.

In his sporadic moments of cautious optimism, Jon cannot help but wonder: If a series of little cruelties can create such a perfect and terrible storm, is it really inconceivable that a pattern of little rebellions could keep it at bay? And Jon has long since come to the conclusion that compassion in the face of unimaginable cruelty is its own form of rebellion.

“As much as Oliver talks about fate and inevitability,” Jon says, “he still seems to believe in free will to an extent. That we all make choices. When he last spoke to me, he offered me a choice. Now I’m offering one to him.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…” Georgie releases a weary exhale and tosses her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You’re sure this won’t come back to bite you?”

“We have nothing to lose by asking,” Jon says. “And he has nothing to lose regardless of what choice he makes, but… it feels right to at least give him the option. Whatever he decides, I won’t begrudge him for it.”

“Fine,” she says tersely. “Do what you want.”

Jon just barely suppresses a wince. “Georgie?”

“Sorry, that came off as –” Georgie heaves another sigh. “I’m not angry with you. I get it. It makes sense. I just don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“Just… be mindful, alright? You don’t owe him any answers you don’t want to give. And he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt just because you relate to him.”

“I know,” Jon says again.

“I mean it, Jon,” she says sharply. She takes a steadying breath before continuing, more diplomatically this time. “It’s… sweet, I guess, that you want to empathize with him, but you have a tendency to…” Georgie pauses, weighing her words. “I mean, I’ve seen you compare yourself to Helen, too. And Jonah.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone would deny that there are certain… similarities,” Jon says, not quite under his breath.

“Yeah, you’re always going to have something in common with other people if you look hard enough. But sometimes you see the worst in people and you fold it into how you see yourself. Like you’re looking into a funhouse mirror, but you can’t see how the reflection is distorted.” Jon avoids meeting her eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have a history of comparing yourself to your abusers. Sorry,” she adds when he flinches, “but it’s the truth, and you need to hear it. Just… think about it, okay? Ask yourself whether this is compassion or if it’s just another way to dehumanize yourself.”

“I –” Jon swallows around the lump in his throat, his mouth gone dry. “Okay, I – I get your point, but – I swear that’s not what this is. With Helen, and – and – and Jonah, it’s – they’ve actually gone out of their way to – to manipulate, to cause real harm. Oliver is different.”

“You were marked by the End,” Georgie says pointedly.

“Yes, but that wasn’t Oliver’s fault. He didn’t hurt me, never tried to trap me or trick me – never pressured me into making one choice over another, even at the end of the world. I really don’t think he’s evil, or sadistic, or – or scheming, weaving some grand web. He’s just watching things unfold, because he had a crash course in the stages of grief forced onto him and the end result was… well, acceptance. He doesn’t fear the End, but he doesn’t worship it, either. He just embodies it, openly and authentically.”

Georgie is silent for nearly a full minute, scrutinizing Jon intently, before she capitulates.

“Alright. I’ll… trust your judgment, I guess,” she says, but she shares a knowing glance with Martin – who looks just as leery as she does – when she says it. “Still, be careful.”

“I, uh… I imagine you don’t want to be here when I talk to him?” Jon ventures, though he’s certain he already knows the answer.

“No,” Georgie says summarily.

Jon releases a breathless chuckle. “Fair enough.”

“I really should be getting home to Melanie, anyway. It’s stay-home date night. Pizza and a movie.” Georgie offers a tentative grin, her shoulders relaxing minutely. “She hasn’t seen the new Ghostbusters yet, somehow – something about having been preoccupied with real paranormal bullshit for the last few years – but I checked and the DVD version has audio description, so I bought a copy. She’d be cross with me if I stood her up for the grim reaper.”

“I imagine so.” Jon tilts his head. “Although, Oliver isn’t actually the–”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs, “I was being facetious.”

When the three of them leave the tunnels, they find Oliver still waiting awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs out of the Archives, Basira standing sentinel nearby. Daisy leans against a far wall, eyeing him from a distance.

Georgie gives a long, doubtful look at Oliver before turning to Jon and offering a hug that he gladly accepts.

“Text me later tonight?” Georgie says. “And keep me updated on your travel plans.”

“Will do. Tell Melanie I said hello. And tell the Admiral he’s a national treasure.”

Georgie snorts at that, shaking her head in amusement before turning towards the stairs. Oliver nearly jumps out of the way as she strides in his direction, but she doesn’t stop to confront him beyond a glare as she passes. A prolonged, awkward minute of silence passes after she leaves, charged with suspicion and tension.

“Tunnels,” Basira says eventually, her tone and expression giving nothing away. She doesn’t wait for a response before stalking off down the hall, Daisy falling in line behind her.

Basira barely waits for the others to take their seats before she launches into her interrogation. Although her eyes remain fixed on Oliver, her first question isn’t directed at him.

“Why is he here, Jon?”

“Like I said, I invited him.” Jon glances at Oliver, apologetic. It feels odd to talk about him as if he isn’t present.

“Why?”

“Mutual curiosity, I expect,” Oliver cuts in, inclining his head towards Jon. “You have questions for me.”

Jon returns a nod. He has ulterior motives, and Oliver knows it. To pretend otherwise would be pointless, not to mention insulting.

“Oliver is an Avatar of the End,” Jon tells the others. “There might be a chance he could tell us how much of what Elias says is true.”

“And what’s the price tag?” Basira asks.

“He has questions of his own. He could tell in the hospital that there’s something… wrong about me. Obviously, I couldn’t talk about it where Elias could hear.”

“You shouldn’t disclose it at all,” Basira says. “If any of it gets back to him –”

“Oliver has no reason to betray our confidence.” Jon’s gaze flicks to Oliver. “Right?”

“Consider me a neutral party,” Oliver replies.

“You’re going to just… take him at his word,” Basira scoffs.

“The End has no Ritual,” Jon says, “and it has no reason to prevent any of the other Entities from successfully pulling off their own Rituals. No matter what happens to this world, the End will claim everything eventually. The when and how are irrelevant to it. In the meantime, the world as-is suits it just fine. It has no desire to postpone or hasten the end of all things.”

“Terminus is what it is,” Oliver agrees. “I have neither the power nor the desire to contradict it.”

“Then why would you help us?” Basira asks.

“I never said that I would.”

“I’m not asking you to actively intervene,” Jon says before Basira can offer a retort. “I just want to talk. That… is why you came here, isn’t it?”

Oliver hesitates for a moment before answering. “Your curiosity must have rubbed off on me.”

Unbidden, Oliver’s statement rushes to the forefront of Jon’s mind: I still remember the first time I tried to touch one…. I don’t know why I did it; I knew it was a stupid thing to do. But I just… maybe I wanted it this way.

“Don’t know about that,” Jon says quietly. “Curiosity is only human.”

And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it, the statement plays on. Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home.

“Perhaps,” Oliver says, noncommittal.

“So you’ll tell us what we want to know,” Daisy finally speaks up. Despite her veneer of calm – leaning back in her chair, arms crossed – her bouncing leg belies her agitation.

“It makes no difference to me.” Oliver shrugs. “Though I can’t promise my answers will be satisfying.”

“I still don’t like this,” Basira says, glaring askance at Oliver.

“Look,” Jon says, “this is the only way I can think of to figure out what stakes we’re working with. Jonah has been cheating death for centuries–”

“Jon!” Basira hisses.

“It’s important context,” Jon argues back. “And anyway, it’s going to come up when I tell him my story. It’s not exactly a detail I can gloss over; it’s central to the plot.” He sighs and looks at Oliver. “Elias is Jonah Magnus, the original founder of the Institute.”

Basira throws her hands up with a frustrated snarl. She turns to Daisy for support, but Daisy only offers a sympathetic grimace and a half-shrug.

“I thought there was something odd about him,” Oliver says blandly. “He’s long past his expiration date.”

Daisy snorts at that. Judging from the bemused, almost startled expression on Oliver’s face, he hadn’t expected to garner anything other than aggression from her.

“Whenever one of his vessels is… compromised,” Jon elaborates, “or nearing the end of its usefulness, he takes a new one.”

Recovering from his fleeting bewilderment, Oliver turns his attention back to Jon. “He wouldn’t be the first.”

“Maxwell Rayner and Simon Fairchild,” Basira says.

Oliver nods. “Among others.”

“Does that… I don’t know – offend the End?” Martin asks.

“No,” Oliver says. “They can’t outrun it forever, as so many have discovered firsthand.”

“Like Rayner,” Daisy says.

Once again, Oliver looks thrown off-kilter by Daisy’s diminishing hostility, but he does offer a wary nod in response to her contribution to the conversation. “And in the meantime, their fear of their own mortality ages like a fine wine.”

“Is an unnaturally long life somehow tastier for the End, then?” Martin asks. “I think most of the statements I’ve read about it involved somehow cheating death.”

“Perhaps. If my patron has a conscious mind, it has never spoken to me directly. Everything I know to be true is just… feeling.”

“So it’s as cagey as the other Powers, then,” Daisy says with a derisive chuckle. “Good to know.”

Oliver smooths his hands across his coat, draped across his lap, before glancing at Jon for guidance.

“I gave you a story,” he says reticently. “I would like to hear yours. Then I will answer your questions.”

“Fair enough,” Jon says – and abruptly realizes that he has no idea where to start. “You, uh… you don’t need to hear my whole life story, do you?”

“I did give you an outline of mine,” Oliver says with just a hint of amusement. “I admit I’m curious as to what led you here, but I imagine if you went into detail, we would be here for hours.”

“Much of it doesn’t bear repeating, anyway,” Jon says. “Just the highlights, then?”

“If you please.”

“Right,” Jon mumbles. He takes a deep breath. “Had my first supernatural encounter when I was eight, never got over it, and a combination of lifelong obsession and unchecked curiosity brought me to the Institute. After Gertrude died, Jonah chose me as her replacement because he knew I would be easily molded into the catalyst for his Ritual, and I was.” He looks up. “Is that enough?”

“Which of the Powers marked you first? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The Web.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you seemed… entangled.”

There’s something… off about you, Oliver had told him when they last spoke. The roots, they look… sick. Wrong. And the threads are – tangled.

It’s possible that Oliver was speaking in metaphor – alluding to the threads of fate, so to speak – but the question has been simmering in the back of Jon’s mind for months…

“When you visited me before,” he blurts out. “You said the Web sent you.”

“Yes,” Oliver says candidly. “Not an explicit command, of course. It was more a… well, a feeling. A tug. The Web usually prefers subtlety, but there are times when it wants its marks to know the hand that moves them.”

“S-so, when you said the threads around me were tangled, was that figurative, or could you… see the Web’s influence?”

“The Spider might make its presence known sometimes, but Terminus doesn’t give me the ability to see the shape of its web any more than the Eye does you.”

“Not unless the Web allows itself to be Seen,” Jon says absently.

Despite how much he could See in his future, the Web always remained something of an enigma. It wasn’t until after his standoff with the Eye that he was able to follow the Spider’s threads.

But then, the Eye hadn’t been the only watcher lurking in the Panopticon. The Web had woven itself into the foundation of that place from its conception, and the Spider made no effort to hide. More than once, it stationed itself where he was sure to notice it. The more he thinks on it, the more he suspects that the ensuing ability to See its threads, to Know where they converged, was as much an allowance by the Web as it was due to his communion with the Ceaseless Watcher.

“When I spoke of threads, I meant more…” Oliver opens and closes his mouth a few times as he struggles with his phrasing. “Well, I’ve not yet found a perfect description for it. Think of a life and fate as… a jumble of intersections. Some people feel like thread-and-nail art. Others feel like a snarled ball of yarn. You,” he adds, looking at Jon appraisingly, “are something of a Gordian knot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Martin demands, a protective edge in his voice.

“It’s not a compliment or an insult,” Oliver says mildly. “Only an observation. Come to think of it, Gertrude was much the same way. The fates of many hinged on the routes she took. Less of a butterfly effect and more of a hurricane.”

“So you can see fate?” Basira asks. A genuine question, but the flat skepticism in her tone makes it sound rhetorical.

“To a limited extent,” Oliver says haltingly. “I see the near-future as it relates to death specifically. When people near the ends of their routes, I can make out the details of their–”

“Seeing those awful veins crawling into them, into wounds not yet open, or skulls not yet split – they sneak up and into throats about to choke on blood, or lurch into hearts about to convulse – webbed over the face of a drunk old man stumbling into his car – one snaking along the road, over towards the railing – I’ll never forget seeing a field of cows the week before they were sent to the abattoir…”

Jon trails off with a tired groan, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“You have a good memory,” Oliver says.

“Sorry,” Jon mumbles. “Archivist thing. Can’t always control it.”

“S-so,” Martin redirects, “if any of us were about to die, you would be able to see it, right?”

“Yes. But I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes,” Oliver clarifies before Martin can ask. “Knowing your end is coming does nothing to prevent it. It only ensures that you will live your final days in fear.”

“Wouldn’t your patron like that?” Daisy asks.

Basira immediately latches onto that thought. “We have a statement here about a book that tells you how and when you’ll die.”

“Case number 0030912,” Jon cites. “Statement of Masato Murray, regarding his inheritance of an untitled book with supernatural properties. Each time the reader rereads their entry, they’ll find that the recorded date of their future death draws closer and the cause more gruesome.”

“Thanks, spooky Google,” Basira says sardonically. “Who needs an indexing system when we have a walking, talking card catalogue on staff?”

“One of my predecessors in ancient times once filed a complaint with the Eye, aggrieved by all the terrible powers it foisted upon him,” Jon says matter-of-factly, not missing a beat. “Being a benevolent patron, it granted him and all future generations of Archivists a convenience feature as compensation.”

“Smartass,” Basira says, but it sounds almost amiable, and Jon allows himself a tentative smile.

His tolerance for making light of this part of himself tends to be variable. Unpredictable, even. On good days, shared gallows humor is a balm, bringing with it a sense of solidarity and camaraderie; on bad days, even the gentlest dig feels like a barb.

He also tends to be selective about whose teasing he can weather. Martin and Georgie are safe more often than not. Daisy can usually get away with it; she’s prompt to let him in on the joke whenever he doesn’t pick up on her sarcasm. Given how blunt Melanie can be, it at least tends to be obvious when her pointed comments are meant in jest or in umbrage; and anyway, he hasn’t yet spoken to her directly since she quit.

Basira, though – she’s always been difficult to read. They have a similar sense of humor, but part of his brain is still living in a time when she saw the worst in him. No matter how many times he tells himself that things are different now, he can’t quite shake that feeling of being on indefinite probation. Hostile attribution bias, he recognizes, but having a label for it doesn’t make it any easier to silence those perennial fears. It’s only recently that he’s been able to take such joking from her in stride. Not always, but sometimes.

“Anyway,” Basira says, looking back to Oliver, “I take it that book is affiliated with the End. It feeds on the reader’s fear of knowing the details of their death.”

“Almost everyone has some degree of fear regarding mortality – their own or that of others,” Oliver says. “For some, that primal fear permeates their entire lives. Others only spare it any thought when it closes in on them. Terminus feeds on all of it equally. I suspect that active encounters with it are more about…”

“Flavor?” Basira suggests.

“So to speak,” Oliver says. “Welcome variety in its diet, but not necessary to sate it.”

“Which is why its Avatars have such wildly different methodologies,” Jon says, nodding to himself. “Justin Gough was allowed to survive a near-death experience, but acquired a debt that had to be paid in the lives of others, killing them in their dreams. Tova McHugh was granted the ability to prolong her own life by passing each of her intended deaths onto others, adding their remaining lifespans to her own. Nathaniel Thorpe was cursed with immortality after trying to cheat his way out of death. He was only one of many gamblers who played such games of chance–”

“Jon,” Basira sighs, “you don’t have to go through the whole roster of personified death omens.”

“Sorry.”

“So what kind of Avatar are you?” Basira asks, looking Oliver up and down. “How do you feed your patron?”

“For me, Terminus has not been particularly demanding. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I never attempted to cheat my way out of death. It simply… chose me – or I wandered across its path – and it never left. Thus far, it seems content to have me play the observer.” He glances at Jon. “You can probably understand that.”

“The Beholding isn’t satisfied to have its Archivist simply observe. It wants its knowledge actively harvested, recorded, curated.” Jon huffs, not bothering to contain his disgust. “Processed.”

The conversation lapses into a tense silence for several seconds before Basira changes tack.

“About Gertrude,” she says. “You tried to warn her about her death.”

“Yes,” Oliver replies.

“Why?”

“The evidence of her death snaked its roots all across London – as far as I could see, and perhaps further. At the time, I’d never seen anything like it. Such a sprawling web of repercussions stemming from a single death – I felt like I had to say something. As I expected, it made no difference in the end.”

Jon worries his lower lip between his teeth. “You said the roots surrounding me seemed sick.”

“You saw roots around Jon?” Martin says urgently, jolting up ramrod-straight in his seat.

“They’re… different from the ones I’ve grown accustomed to,” Oliver says slowly. “There’s no light pulsing within them, no life flowing to or from them. And looking at them, it’s almost like…” He frowns, squinting down at the floor as if it might offer up the words he needs. “It’s like they’re there and not there simultaneously. Faded, like an afterimage – one that can only be seen from a certain angle.”

“Okay, and what does that – what does that mean?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I was hoping Jon could shed some light on it,” Oliver says, raising his head to meet Jon’s eyes. “I may not have the same drive to know that you and yours do, but I find myself returning to the question frequently over the past few months.”

“R-right,” Jon says. “Let me just, uh… where to start…”

Jon rubs at this throat with one hand, the other clenching into a fist where it rests on his knee.

“Jon,” Daisy says, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I just, uh –” Jon breathes a nervous laugh. “This never gets any easier.”

“Do you want me to say it?” Martin offers, schooling his tone into something approaching calm. His posture remains rigid, though, hands balled into white-knuckled fists in his lap.

“No, it’s fine.” Jon takes a few deep breaths and then looks Oliver in the eye. “In the future, I ended the world.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think the Beholding gave you any precognitive abilities.”

“It, uh – it doesn’t. I didn’t foresee the future, I lived it. For… for a long time, actually, so I –” Jon exhales a humorless chuckle. “I probably meet your definition of past my expiration date.”

Oliver tilts his head, considering.

“Hard to say,” he settles on. “You’re… a bit of a paradox. Feels as if you exist in multiple states at once, and it’s difficult for me to tell which one is true.”

“Maybe all of them are,” Jon says distractedly. “But, I, uh – I eventually found a way to come back to before the change – or, to send my consciousness back, anyway. But only as far back as the coma. I… I wish it had taken me back further – back to the very beginning, though I” – Jon huffs – “I suppose it’s hard to say what counts as the beginning.”

“It depends on how you want to define a beginning,” Oliver says. “In a way, the advent of existence marked the beginning of the end. Everything since then has been just another domino.”

“Well,” Jon begins, but Daisy cuts him off.

“Nope,” she says bluntly. “You go down that semantic rabbit hole and we’ll be here forever.”

“Fine,” Jon says with a petulant sigh. “Anyway, I couldn’t figure out how to wake up on my own, so just like the first time I was here, I had to wait for you to come along and help.”

“I still don’t understand why,” Oliver says.

“Neither do I, I’m afraid.”

“Not to encroach on your sphere of influence, but I think in this case, not knowing the answer might bother me even more than it does you.” Oliver releases a quiet sigh. “So you came back to stop yourself from starting the apocalypse.”

“It’s not like he chose to end the world,” Martin says, immediately leaping to Jon’s defense once more.

“Apologies,” Oliver says with an earnest nod in Martin’s direction. “I didn’t intend to imply otherwise.” He glances at Jon. “I’ve known of many who seek to bring on the end in the hopes that they will be able to choose what shape it takes. You don’t strike me as the sort.”

“No. But Jonah is.” Jon ducks his head as he speaks, fingers twisting in his jumper. “He wanted – wants to rule over a world reshaped in the Beholding’s image. He needed an Archivist with particular qualities to serve as the linchpin of his Ritual. So he created one. By the time he showed his hand, it was too late. I was the key, and Jonah didn’t need my consent in order to open the door.”

“I imagine it didn’t go as he planned,” Oliver says.

“No,” Jon says with a grim laugh. “No, it didn’t. He suffered as much as anyone else did in that reality. It all started because he was afraid of his own mortality, and yet – in the end, he met a fate worse than death.”

“Whatever it was, he deserved it,” Martin mutters.

“Maybe so,” Jon says. “But it was never about deserving. There was some poetic justice there, seeing him brought down by his own hubris, but… at the end of the day, he got the same treatment as anyone else. Just – pointless suffering, utterly divorced from the concept of consequences. Had a way of… diluting the schadenfreude, honestly.”

Martin’s spark of vindication appears to fizzle out as Jon speaks, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening.

“Regardless,” Jon continues, “Jonah wanted to be a god, but at his core, he was no different from any other human. Fodder for the Fears. And the one he feared the most – it was in no hurry to finish the meal. I imagine by the time Terminus finally came for him in earnest, he would have welcomed it.”

“Those who seek immortality always come to see it as a curse in time,” Oliver says sagely. “When they come to terms with the fact that there is no such thing as a truly immortal existence, it comes as a relief.”

“I walked through your domain once,” Jon says after a pause. “You gave me a statement about the End’s place in that world. The domains were reluctant to let their victims die – they’d bring them to the brink, then revive them and repeat the process – but the Fears are greedy. Eventually, they would suck their victims dry –”

“– bones – every one of them – picked clean and cracked open – desperately gnawing – trying to reach whatever scant marrow might have remained inside – sucked from them to leave nothing but dry, white fragments – the hunger he saw in their eyes–”

Jon bites down on his tongue. That’s quite enough of that.

“You alright?” Martin says, leaning over and putting a hand on Jon’s knee.

“Sorry,” Jon says gruffly. “That one was…”

“Grisly?” Daisy says.

“Yeah,” Jon huffs. “But – not necessarily inapt? That reality was a closed economy. No new people were being born. The ones who already existed were destined to die, no matter how unwilling the other Fears were to grant that release.”

“As has always been the order of things,” Oliver says.

“You predicted that eventually the Fears would start poaching victims from one another’s domains – and they did. There were…” Jon grimaces. “There were a lot of territorial disputes, towards the end there. Domains encroaching on one another, monsters fighting over scraps. The Eye got its fill Watching it all play out, of course, but given enough time, it would have starved, same as all the rest.”

“And once the world was rendered barren,” Oliver says, understanding, “Terminus itself would die.”

Jon nods. “And until that happened, both you and your patron were content to let things play out.”

“Terminus is patient.”

Too patient, Jon thought at the time.

“I don’t think it was your intention,” he says, “but your statement did come as a relief. I already expected as much – that eventually it would all end – but having it corroborated by an authority on the matter was… very welcome.”

“People may fear death,” Oliver says, “but anyone who outruns it long enough finds that there is a much deeper fear hiding underneath – that of having the release of death withheld from them.”

“We have a lot of statements to that tune,” Basira says.

“I imagine so.”

“So,” Daisy says brusquely, “is that enough of a story for you?”

“I suppose,” Oliver says. “Although it raises more questions than it grants answers.”

“Our turn for questions, then?” Basira asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “The… veins, or… roots you saw around Gertrude. You’re saying they didn’t just foretell her death, but showed how it would impact everything else. So, what about the ones you saw around Jon?”

“It’s difficult to observe them for any length of time, but they do seem… more sprawling.” Oliver studies Jon for a moment, considering. “Like you are the heart of a watershed moment destined to happen.”

“So that’s it, then,” Jon says dully. “I’m still the spark for it all.”

Pandora’s box with a ‘use by’ date, he thinks to himself, somewhat hysterically.

He already knew it to be true, but that doesn’t make the confirmation any less harrowing. Everything hinges on his ability to keep his head above water, but the fate of the world weighs ever more heavily on his shoulders, pressing down, down, down –

“Does that mean…” Jon hugs his middle, slowly curling in on himself. “Does that mean it’s going to happen again?”

“I cannot say.” If Jon’s not mistaken, Oliver sounds… almost sympathetic. “This is unprecedented. I can only theorize. It’s possible that you’re like Gertrude, and what I see is a premonition. Or maybe the reality you came from still exists, parallel to this one, and it still clings to you. Perhaps it’s a Schrödinger’s cat, and it both does and does not exist, right up until the point where you do or do not bring it into being. Or maybe it doesn't exist, and the roots I see are only… imprints, so to speak. Echoes of a time and place that this world will never overlap.”

“Like trace fossils,” Jon murmurs. “Ghosts.”

“If you like.”

“Could you – could you follow them?” Jon can feel his pulse quicken, his heart thrumming in his throat. “See where they originate?”

“They originate from you.”

“O-oh.” Jon’s gaze darts uncertainly around the area before fixing on Oliver again. “Then, uh – can you see where they end?”

“You have a suspicion,” Basira says, watching Jon carefully.

Jon swallows around the breath caught in his throat. “What if they go back to Hill Top Road?”

“As far as I can tell, they reach out in all directions,” Oliver says. “There may not be a single end point. Regardless, I have no desire to visit Hill Top Road.”

“Oh,” Jon says despondently. It’s not like he expected Oliver to go out of his way to help, but…

“Would it really tell you anything of value anyway?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know,” Jon says, running a hand through his hair, one finger getting caught in a knot and pulling hard at his scalp. “But – but it feels like something I should at least check –”

“To what end?” Daisy asks. Jon looks at her blankly. “No offense, Sims, but the most likely outcome is you get no real answers, you lose yourself obsessing over theories, each more catastrophic than the last, and you spend the next few weeks compulsively checking yourself for spiders. Some things aren’t worth chasing after.”

“I just – I feel like I should know one way or the other –”

“Is that you or the Eye talking?” Martin asks.

“What’s the difference?” Jon says flatly. He immediately regrets it when he glimpses the expression on Martin’s face – a very familiar mixture of concern and frustration. “I’m sorry. Just… I don’t know. I don’t Know.”

Jon tugs on his hair once more, focusing on the dull ache it produces. He’s always had trouble letting things go. Letting questions go unanswered; letting mysteries go unsolved. The Beholding just nurtured that obsessiveness, encouraged that impulse to proliferate in his head like a weed and choke out his inhibitions.

“You’re here now,” Martin says firmly. “You can’t go back, so you may as well go forward.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, guilt heavy and searing in his chest.

“Like I said,” Oliver says, rubbing the back of his neck, “my knowledge of the future is narrow. I can’t tell you anything about parallel universes, or branching timelines, or the ability to alter history. The only certainty is that anything that begins will have an end, one way or another. All the rest is just… details.”

Martin folds his arms across his chest, examining Oliver with narrowed eyes. “You say that like the details are irrelevant.”

“I wonder about that,” Oliver says softly.

“Well, I think our experiences matter,” Martin says. “The fact that we were here at all, it’s… it’s not nothing.”

“Even those who make the greatest impact are forgotten in time.”

“So what? It will always have happened, even if no one is alive to remember it. And – and you never know when something little will have an impact on someone, which contributes to them doing something that makes a greater impact – that changes history.”

“Even time itself will end eventually. History will be forgotten, and nothing will remain to register its loss.”

“And?” Martin persists. “We won’t be around to see it. In the meantime, we’re here. We’re alive. If we’re going to end no matter what, why not make it worthwhile? Sure, there are no equivalent powers of hope and love to counter the Fears, but – but who cares? That just means that we have to make up for that absence.” Jon smiles to himself as Martin builds momentum – shoulders pushed back, chest thrust out, head held higher, speech growing more impassioned as he argues his point. “If a few mistakes and some asshole with a god complex can end the world, who’s to say a few deliberate kindnesses can’t save it?”

“Am I the asshole with the god complex?” Jon says drily. Judging from Martin’s disapproving scowl, he is not in the mood for self-deprecating humor. “Sorry, sorry. But, uh – in all seriousness, I think it was more than a few mistakes on my part–”

“You know what I meant, Jon,” Martin snaps. “And – and fine, maybe a few kindnesses can’t save the whole world, but – but they can save someone’s world. They can save a person. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Yes,” Jon says with a small smile. “Yes, it does.”

“R-right.” Martin blinks several times, momentarily stunned by the lack of resistance. “It doesn’t change the world – except for how it does. Just – the universe might not care, but we can, and that’s exactly why we should. It’s… it’s what we owe to each other. That’s what I think, at least.”

Martin goes quiet then, arms still folded with a mixture of self-consciousness and sullen defiance.

“How long have you had that rant queued up?” Daisy teases.

“A while,” Martin says, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

“You’re quite the romantic,” Oliver says. He says it like a compliment, albeit somewhat wistful.

“Yeah, well.” Martin blushes at the praise in spite of himself. “Someone has to counter the fatalism around here.”

If you ask Jon, there are many reasons to love Martin Blackwood. This is doubtless one of them.

“Besides,” Martin recovers, apparently on a roll now, “it seems to me there’s as much evidence for fate being changeable as not. Yeah, sure, eventually everything dies, but who’s to say that the details are set in stone? Like – like that book, the one where the details of a person’s death change every time they read it.”

“But does their fate actually change, or is it just the book messing with their heads?” Basira says, tapping her fingers against her lips and looking down at the floor pensively. “If the End has foreknowledge of a person’s death, maybe the last entry a person reads before dying was always their fate, and all the previous accounts were just lies intended to seed fear.”

When Jon opens his mouth to chime in, the Archive seizes the initiative, unceremonious as ever.

"When did it change?” comes the cadence of Masato Murray. “Was it when I turned back to read it again? Or perhaps when I had made the decision to never visit Lancashire? If the book knew the future, then how much did it know me? My decisions and choices were my own, so was it responding to them or simply to the fact that I opened the book again? Perhaps it changed every time I opened it, even if I didn’t read the page, every interaction changing my fate…. When I close the book I wonder: are those same words still there, squatting and biding their time, or have they already changed into some new unknown terror that I can neither know nor avoid, waiting to spring on me.”

Jon holds his breath in anticipation. After a few seconds of suspense, the pressure recedes, the Archive having spoken its peace.

“Archive’s talkative today,” Basira observes.

“Apparently,” Jon grumbles. “What I originally meant to say was that I’ve wondered the same thing – whether the book was really telling the future or simply playing on the fears of the reader.”

“Maybe offering textual support is another convenience feature?” Daisy keeps her tone carefully neutral, gauging his mood.

“The Beholding is known for being exceedingly generous,” he retorts.

Basira ignores the banter and speaks directly to Oliver. “Do you know?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the book in question,” he replies. “All the deaths I’ve personally foreseen have come to pass so far. That says nothing about whether or not the End always reveals the truth to all who cross its path.”

“Right.” Basira shakes her head. “Not sure why I expected a straightforward answer.”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” Martin says. For a fraction of a second, Basira tenses. Jon suspects she’s just as repulsed by such a prospect as he is.

“Whatever,” she says curtly. “It isn’t important right now. What I want to know is how to deal with Jonah Magnus. So” – she pins Oliver in place with sharp, unblinking eyes – “what can you tell us about his mortality?”

“In short? He won’t live forever, regardless of how much he wants to deny that reality.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Daisy says, tossing her head back with an impatient groan. “Him dying eventually doesn’t help us now.”

“I’m not a mind-reader,” Oliver says. “If there’s more to your question, you’ll need to elaborate. What are you actually asking? How to kill him? For me to tell you whether his death is on the horizon?”

“Jonah claims that he’s the ‘beating heart of the Institute,’” Jon explains. “He says that if he dies, everyone else who works here dies as well. You were able to see the ripples created by Gertrude’s death. I suppose I thought – maybe you could tell us if there’s something similar with Jonah.”

“If his death was imminent, perhaps.” Oliver averts his eyes as he twists a ring around his finger, growing increasingly tense under such concentrated scrutiny. “But as I said before, I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes.”

“So you won’t tell us,” Martin says.

“To be frank, this place is rife with potential.” Oliver casts his gaze around the area, as if seeing something the others cannot. “It would be… difficult to untangle it all.”

“Fine,” Basira says tartly. “Then can you tell us whether it’s possible for him to set up a dead man’s switch in the first place? Seems to me something like that would be the End’s domain, wouldn’t it?”

“It would.”

“Then would he be able to exercise any real power over it?” Basira persists. “There’s nothing inherent to the Eye that suggests its Avatars should be able to bind others’ lives to them. Even the Archivist doesn’t work like that – we’re linked to Jon as far as being unable to quit goes, but we won’t die if he does. I think it’s more likely that Jonah did something extra to bind the Institute to himself.”

“Assuming he’s even telling the truth,” Daisy says.

“So, is there an artefact that could let him do it?” Basira asks, still staring Oliver down. “A ritual? A favor from an affiliate of the End, maybe?”

“Terminus has a variety of ways in which it operates,” Oliver says cagily, “same as all the other Powers. I don’t seek out instances of those manifestations. Given the sheer number of statements collected here, it's likely you’re all more familiar with the breadth of its influence than I am.”

“You’re very helpful,” Daisy scoffs.

Oliver hunches his shoulders, chastised. It’s an odd sight – Jon wouldn’t have expected him to be particularly affected by such an accusation. Oliver never promised to be helpful; does not owe them his cooperation. Before Jon can pursue that thought any further, though, Oliver continues.

“I will say that Terminus is its own master. Those who believe they have tamed it are only fooling themselves. Orchestrating their own misery. The moment in which they finally realize that fact – that they have never had the upper hand, that the entire time they have never strayed from the route to which Terminus binds them…” Oliver chews the inside of his cheek, considering. “The existential terror that moment creates – I wonder sometimes whether it’s a delicacy to my patron.”

“Sounds a lot like the Web,” Basira says. The suggestion must pique his interest, because Oliver sits up straighter and leans forward ever so slightly.

“Except the Web reviles its extinction as much as the other powers, and as much as any mortal mind,” he says – not quite excited, but more engaged than before. “Terminus, on the other hand – its eventual oblivion is part and parcel of its existence. It does not fear the conclusion of its story. The Web will never surrender to such a fate. It will always seek an escape route, some way to appoint itself the weaver of its own ends. Its threads can never stray from the confines of the routes dictated by Terminus, but the concept that it may itself be under the guidance of another… such a thing is incompatible with its definition. Still, the shape of the Spider’s web will always mirror the blueprints of a greater architect.”

“And you think the same is true for Jonah,” Jon says.

“I know it is.”

“Okay, but – but Jon changed fate,” Martin protests. “In a million little ways – some we probably don’t even know about – and some big ones, too. So who’s to say that every step of the route is part of the End’s blueprints? What if – hold on.”

Martin stands and moves to Jon’s makeshift desk, rummaging around for a few seconds before coming up with a pen. He snatches one of Melanie’s therapy worksheets from the top of the pile and turns it over to the blank side.

“What if the only things set in stone are – are certain points along the route,” he says, scribbling a scattering of dots across the page, “but all that matters is that the route eventually intersects with those points?” Martin connects two points with a wavy, sine-like line. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter how convoluted” – he draws another line, this time with several loop-de-loops – “or long” – yet another line, this one traveling all the way up to the top of the page and making several winding turns before plunging back down to connect with the next dot – “the path is.” He holds up the finished product for everyone to see. “As long as the dots connect, the rest is free reign.”

“I like to think that choice plays a role,” Oliver says. “That fate is less of a track and more of a guideline. But honestly, there’s no way to know for certain. I only know the end point. The rest is speculation.”

“It’s also possible that the rift brought me to an alternate reality,” Jon says, eyes downcast. “If the reality of my original timeline still exists, I haven’t changed fate at all. I’ve just jumped to a different track.”

“Okay, and if that’s the case, and this is a different dimension,” Martin says heatedly, “then that means it has its own timeline and its own future, and whatever happened in your future has no bearing on ours.” Martin glares, daring Jon to argue. He doesn’t. “So it’s a moot point. If we can’t know one way or the other whether the future is already written, then let’s just act as if it isn’t. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. At least then it will feel meaningful.”

“The worst isn’t something you can prepare for,” Jon says darkly. “Trust me, I know.”

“If I want ominous proverbs, I’ll let you know,” Martin immediately counters – and Jon loves him for it. Daisy chokes on a startled laugh; Martin ignores her, instead pivoting to face Oliver. “We want to kill Jonah Magnus. Or, at least make it so he can’t perform his Ritual. But preferably kill.”

“Never realized you were so bloodthirsty, Blackwood,” Daisy says approvingly.

“The world will be a better place without him in it,” Martin says without a hint of indecision, not looking away from Oliver. “Jonah’s original body is in the center of the Panopticon. Except his eyes, because apparently transplanting them into innocent people is how he cheats death, because of course it is, why wouldn’t it be some messed up–”

“Martin,” Basira sighs.

“Okay, fine, moving on,” Martin sasses back. “It makes me wonder, would destroying his original body hurt him, or do we need to destroy his original eyes as well, or would destroying just his eyes be enough? And – and would it kill him, or just – blind him, disconnect him from the Beholding? Or – or would that kill him, because the Beholding is what’s keeping him alive?”

“Your guesses are as good as mine,” Oliver says. “Much of this really does come down to speculation and thought experiment, and it seems you’ve done plenty of that amongst yourselves already. I’m afraid that the only certainty I can offer is the certainty of an ending, and I don’t think that’s as much of a consolation to you as it is to me.”

“No, it’s not,” Martin says.

“But, uh – thank you for your honesty,” Jon jumps in. “For trying.”

“I really do wish I had better answers for you,” Oliver says, not quite meeting his eyes. “The End is… somewhat of an echo chamber at times. When you’re already on the inside looking out, it can be… difficult, to shift perspective.”

“I wouldn’t be able to offer many straightforward answers about my patron, either,” Jon admits.

“Wait,” Martin says. “Could you… could you at least tell us whether you can see anything about our deaths?”

Oliver draws in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “In my experience, there’s nothing to be gained from such knowledge.”

“Tell us anyway,” Basira says.

“Why?” Oliver says tiredly, his hands curling into loose fists. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because if you can see something, it could help us narrow down possibilities,” Basira replies. “If you see all of us dying in the same way, maybe it means we all die when Magnus does.”

“Or it just means you all die in the same freak accident.”

“Wait, do we?” Martin asks, his voice pitching higher in alarm.

“It was just an example,” Oliver says, scrubbing one hand down his face. “I’m just saying that this kind of knowledge doesn’t tend to give people the answers that they want.” Met with nothing but four determined stares, his shoulders sag in defeat. “Are you all certain you want to know?”

Everyone nods. Oliver equivocates for a full minute, rubbing at his forehead in complete silence. Eventually, he releases a long, low sigh.

“Right now,” he says, “I don’t see death closing in on any one of you.”

“Shit,” Martin says on a heavy exhale. “The way you were putting it off, I was sure you were going to predict a massacre.”

“Honestly,” Daisy mutters. “Bury the lead much?”

Jon ignores them, preoccupied with the implications of Oliver's revelation. If they were planning on killing Jonah tomorrow, it would say nothing about whether they were to succeed, but it would suggest they don’t die in the process, which would at least offer some reassurance going in. But Jon has no idea when they’ll be able to execute any sort of plan. This only confirms that none of them are likely to die in the next few weeks – and that’s assuming that Oliver’s premonition is accurate. Up until now, his predictions have come true, but there’s a first time for everything.

Judging from the contemplative frown on Basira’s face, she’s running through the same calculations.

“How far out can you see?” she asks.

“It varies,” Oliver says. “Weeks, usually. Sometimes months.”

“And it could change in a few weeks,” Daisy says.

“It could change tomorrow. It could change an hour from now.” Oliver looks between the four of them with a faint, melancholy smile. “I did warn you that it wouldn’t offer much sense of security. It only makes you want to know more.”

“Look where you are,” Basira scoffs.

“Point taken,” Oliver says with a startled laugh. “But honestly, ask yourself whether it’s all that different from Masato Murray and his book. If it’s worth living your life around the question of when and how – especially when the answer, should you receive one, will never put your mind at ease.”

“Just to be clear, ah – was I included in that prophecy? Or do you still see the veins around me?” Jon asks. Oliver raises his eyebrows. “I know, I know – the answer won’t satisfy me. Just – humor me?”

“Yes,” Oliver sighs, “I can still see them, if I look for them, but as we covered quite exhaustively, they look atypical and wrong and I don’t know what to make of them.” A tinge of indignation breaks through Oliver's characterisic mild manner – and then the moment passes. “I don’t think they indicate an imminent demise, but much about you is an enigma.”

“And there’s nothing else you can tell us about Jonah Magnus?” Basira asks.

“It isn’t a matter of if he can be killed, but how. Unfortunately, you’ll have to figure that part out for yourselves. As for whether or to what extent he could bind his fate to the rest of the Institute… there are any number of strange phenomena and improbable feats in this world. I would never claim to be an authority on the scope of it all.” Oliver offers another wistful ghost of a smile. “I’m afraid you might just have to take a leap of faith.”

Again, Jon thinks with an inward sigh.

But at least he can say he’s had practice.

End Notes:

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak are as follows: MAG 011; 011; 168; 121; 156; 070. The “I still remember the first time…” & “And the worst part was that…” Oliver quotes are from MAG 121.

Yes, “what we owe to each other” is a nod to The Good Place.

So. This… was a beast of a chapter, and the last half of it really kicked my ass, which is why it’s taken so long to finally finish it. Still not sure how I feel about it – it’s a bit of a digression, but I’m hoping it still fits in thematically. Either way, next chapter we’re moving on to Ny-Ålesund.

Hopefully it won’t take me an entire month this time to write the next chapter, but… we’re down to two episodes left, folks. Chances are, next time I update, we’ll have heard the series finale. Are you all ready? Because I categorically am NOT. aaaaaaaaa

(That said, I already have a handful of epilogue standalone fics planned for this AU once the main story is done. Because hurt/comfort and recovery fics are going to be at the top of my hierarchy of needs once Jonny Sims destroys me in two weeks, I s2g.)

Thanks for reading!

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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atsukashii · 5 years ago

Text

❝jealous, love❞ // e. kirishima

SYNOPSIS: ➛ contrary to unpopular belief, Eijiro Kirishima does get jealous, especially when sleazy guys are trying to hit on his girlfriend

» CHARACTER PAIRING: eijiro kirishima x fem!reader

» WORD COUNT: 2.1k

» GENRE: aged up characters, post u.a

» WARNINGS: fluffiest of fluff, protective kirishima, y/h/n - your hero name

« masterlist || ao3 »

Being a pro hero and trying to juggle your personal life is harder than you anticipated. There are things that you see people take for granted that pro heroes physically can’t. Like being able to plan dates with your boyfriend of three years.

You and Kirishima had learned the hard way that it was almost impossible to plan dates. This is purely due to the fact that you would and can be called into work at any moment of time. After multiple dates that ended up with either you or Kirishima having to run out because of it, you both decided the next time you really wanted to go out and do something, you were requesting the day off, so there would be no interruptions of any sort unless the world was ending.

As you glance down at your phone out of pure habit, you have a feeling that the world would not in fact end tonight. Instead, you and your boyfriend are going out to a fancy dinner that you had prepared for, two weeks in advance - just to be safe.

Threading your golden earrings through your lobes, you stand up straight and tilt your head slightly at your reflection in the mirror. You’d decided that you were going all out for your date with Kirishima tonight. Dressing yourself up with full glam makeup, and brand new red dress you know Kiri will love, that now brushes your thighs. The look completed with your nude strappy heels fastened to your feet, you were finally ready.

You check the time once more before grabbing your clutch from the dresser and leaving your bedroom, stepping down your hallway towards the kitchen. Kirishima leans against the island bench of your small kitchen, texting on his phone as you enter. As soon as he hears your heels click against the wooden floors though, his attention snaps to you and the phone almost falls from his hands. For a second, you both stand in complete silence, until Kirishima breaks by moving towards you. Gently, he takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“If you weren’t already my girlfriend, I’d date the hell out of you.” he breathes, making a giggle escape your lips.

“Well it's a good thing I’m already your girlfriend isn't it then.” You smile, looking up at him. God, he looks so attractive. He’s outdone himself for your date tonight as well. A black button-up shirt stretches tightly across his chest and matching slacks makes it all too much for your brain to comprehend.

“That’s what I tell myself every day.” He says grinning. Even after all this time, compliments from Kirishima make you blush - and really, you should be used to it with the amount of verbal loving he puts on you on the daily. The man is seriously smooth, and the ultimate confidence booster. You love him dearly for it.

“You good to go?” he asks, offering you his arm. You don’t bother to bring a coat with you as you wrap your arm around his. It’s summer and with a jacket, the heat would be way too much, which is the only reason you can afford to wear a dress right now.

Together, you leave your shared apartment and walk to the restaurant that's located just a few blocks from where you live. You’d seen it one day on your way back from work and decided that you and Kiri just had to visit. With classic white tablecloth covered tables, flowers, and dim lighting, it was the perfect romantic setting for a date with your long time boyfriend. When you’d stepped inside, you were seated at your table and quickly ordered before holding up your now delivered wine glass to your boyfriend with a small smile.

“To the first date and relaxing evening in far too long.” Gently, he touches the tip of your glass to his own and beams at you.

“And to many more.”

❀ ❀ ❀

It’s late when you leave the restaurant, but you both decide that the night itself is still young. On your way home, you decide to stop in at the store to get some wine to have at home. Walking into the store, you both give the man behind the till a kind smile before you slink down the aisle currently displaying too many types of wine for you to choose from. You are about to turn to your boyfriend for help when his phone goes off. His eyebrows furrow as he pulls his phone from his back pocket. You go to check your own, in case the world seriously has it out against you and is, in fact, about to end, but Kirishima places a hand on your arm. His phone already pressed against his ear.

“It’s not urgent, pick whichever one you want babe. I’ll be right back.” He explains and places a tender kiss to your brow before walking away for privacy. Obviously, he didn’t want to ruin your good mood with work talk, and it's that kind of forethought that is one of the reasons you love Kirishima. Your happiness and health are always at the forefront of his mind, whether it be taking care of you when you're sick or comforting you after a heavy day at work, he’s an actual godsend.

Your eyes scan over the numerous bottles of wine, still unsure of which one to get. Now that Kirishima’s gone elsewhere and not here to help, you’re tempted to close your eyes and point to one in hopes to find an option. Suddenly, the artwork on one catches your eye and you reach towards it, only to stop when a voice fills your ears. One that's definitely not your boyfriend.

“Need a hand with anything darling?” Your eyes move to the stranger, standing a few feet from you with a smile on his face. Your hand hangs uselessly in the air as you watch his eyes track slowly from your face, down your front, and back up again. Even though his smile seems somewhat kind, the look in his eyes screams creeper and is grossing you out. Your eyes track from the man, looking over the top of the aisles in hopes of finding your red-headed boyfriend, but you can’t seem to find Kirishima anywhere. Placing your attention back to the stranger, you resist the urge to wipe your now sweaty hands on your dress and instead give him a kind smile in return.

“I’m good, thanks for the offer though.” You say, hoping that this means the conversation is over. But apparently the guy doesn’t get the hint and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“Say aren’t you that pro hero, y/h/n?” He asks. You honestly didn’t think you would be noticed tonight, your boyfriend yes, but you? Not so much. Though, much like Kirishima, you were climbing the hero ranks at a speed that seemed to be catching attention. I shouldn’t be surprised, you think; as yesterday you helped your close friend and fellow pro hero Chargebolt bring down a villain that was very publicly known. The media had been spreading the story like crazy, and it wouldn’t blow over for a while. Or until you were outshined by another top hero or something major happened. You don’t mean to make it sound like it's nothing, because you’re proud of your skill and your job, you’re just not a fan of reporters and media is all.

“Yeah, that's me. But I’m off duty right now.” You explain, suddenly reaching forward and grabbing whatever bottle of wine off the shelf you can get your hand on, to get out of the conversation. As you turn to leave, the creeper’s eyes trail down your torso again, his lips lifting in a satisfied smile. He just graduated from creeper to pervert. You’ve been trained on how to best communicate with people, but pervs still and always will creep you the fuck out.

“What's a pro hero like you doing here all alone on a Friday night?” Gross.

“I’m here with-”

“Sorry about that babe, Bakugou was just having a go at me about some paperwork.” Kirishima’s voice interrupts and you’ve never been more glad for your boyfriend's presence then you are right now. Once he reaches you, Kirishima looks at the perv and instinctively wraps his arms around your waist.

“Picked one yet?” He asks you, nodding to the bottle of whatever in your hands.

“I think so.” You say, feeling a lot more relaxed with Kirishima’s arms around you.

“You’re Red Riot.” The guy says making you both rotate your attention to him. Kirishima gives him a tight smile, that to anyone but you would look completely genuine. But you know Kirishima, and he’s pissed at the way the stranger is looking at you.

“Nice to meet you.” Kirishima nods, before letting his hand slide down from its perch on your waist until it rests on the small of your back, right above your ass. It’s a possessive move and one that makes you relax slightly against him. Kirishima isn’t normally a possessive person, except for when it comes to you. You know that he hates that people tend to pay attention but he has never made it out to be your fault. It’s a similar thing when he’s in hero costume and guys and girls alike drool over your boyfriend's ripped physique - you amongst them.

Kirishima suddenly turns his back on the stranger and you instantly become weak at the heat in his eyes. It’s not just attraction swirling in his ruby gaze, but jealousy. Something that he doesn’t usually express often.

“Ready to go beautiful?” He asks, laying it on thick. You nod your head in response and begin walking to the counter with the bottle of what you now see to be red wine, with Kirishima right behind you. You know there’s logic to the reason he’s sticking to you like glue so that the perv can’t see your frame from behind Kirishima’s bulking one. At the register, you’re practically sandwiched between the front counter and your boyfriend, who somehow has the coordination to simultaneously hold you and try to tap his card to pay for the wine before you can, but he fails. He had demanded to pay for the dinner tonight, so you’d requested to pay for the wine, which he agreed to. Sighing in defeat, he slips his wallet into his back pocket as the guy behind the till wrap’s it all up. You lean back into Kirishima’s chest as you feel yourself finally relax again, Kirishima follows by resting his head on your shoulder.

“Thank you. I love you, Eijiro.” You whisper to the air, and you know he’s heard you when his arms squeeze around your middle in response, a silent code that he returns the sentiment.

Saying a kind thank you to the worker, you and Kirishima walk out of the store. Once you’re outside, he can’t help but glance over his shoulder and outright glare as if the shop has physically harmed him.

“Babe,” you say, trying to smother a giggle. Kirishima looks back at you with raised eyebrows and an innocent look on his face.

“What?” shaking your head at his antics, you both stop at the traffic lights and wait to cross the road.

“Are you jealous, Kiri?” Your tone is teasing, and the bulking man lets out a dejected sigh, pulling you once again tightly into his side as if he can’t bear the act of not touching you right now. His arm wraps around your waist as the lights change, allowing you to keep walking.

“I hate it when people stare at you like that. Can they not see that it makes you uncomfortable? And to do it so blatantly, that guy was gross as hell. Are you alright?” He asks and you nod in agreement, whilst falling for him a little bit more.

“I’m okay, and I'm glad you were there to save the day, Mr. Hero.” You smirk and the beaming grin that covers his face makes the awkward encounter completely worth it.

“Whenever you need me, babe, I'm there.” You both know it's corny as hell, but you don’t care. Kirishima practically drags you across the road before stopping you, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lips. Your heart flips inside your chest at his actions, something that hasn’t changed since your first kiss.

“I love you so much y/n.” Grinning against your boyfriend's lips, pure euphoria floods your system.

“I love you too big guy.” You pull back, entwining your fingers with his and begin to walk backward, pulling him alone. “Let’s go home and drink this hopefully not crappy wine and watch tv.”

“Babe, you know just what to say.” He fake groans whilst walking next to you, the bottle of wine in a paper bag tucked under his arm like a ball. God, he’s perfect.

#kirishima eijiro #eijiro kirishima #eijiro kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader #eijiro x reader #eijiro kirishima fluff #kirishima eijiro fluff

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whenihaveyouromione · 4 years ago

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 17

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

Follow this story’s Instagram account at whenihaveyou.romione if you’re interested!

------------------------------

Chapter 17

“No! Hermione!”

Ron woke with a start. It was still pitch black in his room, which told him it was only a little after midnight on Christmas morning. Despite the coolness of his room, he was covered in sweat, the blankets kicked off him and his breathing heavy.

He reached for his wand on the table beside him and lit it. Hermione was staring at him, concern etched on her face.

“Are you alright?” she murmured.

Ron’s heart slowed at the sight of her. It had just been a dream. She was alright; he was alright. They were both safely in bed.

“Y-yeah,” he said, just as quiet. “Yeah. Just…”

“A nightmare?” Hermione guessed.

Ron nodded.

“The same ones as me?”

He nodded again, swallowing hard. He had been at Malfoy Manor again, screaming for Hermione, but this time… this time Bellatrix had managed to kill her. He’d woken just as the green light filled his vision and the cackling of Bellatrix Lestrange filled his ears.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Hermione shuffled over in the bed, laying her head against his chest. Ron set down his wand, coating them in darkness once more. His chest heaved up and down, gradually slowing as he ran his fingers through her tangled hair.

“Yeah,” he said again. “I don’t know why I dreamt it, though. I haven’t… not like that before.” He debated whether to tell her how it had ended, but decided against it. What was the point? It was the beginning of their first Christmas together as a couple, and it wasn’t like the dream would ever be true.

Though, as Hermione fell back into a deep sleep — nightmare free for her tonight — Ron found himself staring up at the blank ceiling, replaying the moment over and over in his mind.

Why had he dreamed about that? After so many months and not a single nightmare, why now? What had triggered it? Nothing had happened the night before that he thought might have brought it on. In fact, he had been blissfully happy to fall asleep with Hermione beside him for the first time in months.

He’d been so happy, filled with joy and wondering if she’d like the present he got her for Christmas. His last thought that night before drifting off had been of just how much he couldn’t imagine his life without her anymore, that the idea of losing her would be —

Ah! That could have been the reason.

He finally managed to fall asleep as the early hours of the morning began to peek in through his window, and it felt like only moments before he was being woken by Hermione prodding him in the chest.

He blinked. It was a bright, yet overcast, day outside.

“Merry Christmas!” Hermione said cheerfully, and when he turned to look at her, she was smiling.

“M-merry Chr-christmas.” Ron yawned, then rolled onto his side and returned her smile. “What’s the time?”

“Eight,” Hermione said. “A little after. I would have let you sleep longer, but Ginny kept bugging me to wake you up.”

It was then that Ron realised Hermione was fully dressed for the day. He slammed his head back onto the pillow.

“Did you not sleep well after… after the nightmare?” Hermione asked, now watching him with concern.

“I couldn’t get to sleep for hours,” Ron told her. “But I think I dreamt it because last night, I fell asleep thinking about how I couldn’t imagine life without you anymore, and that moment was the closest I’d ever come to… to it. I don’t think it’ll happen again.” He reached forward and gripped her hand tightly. “You’re here now.”

It appeared that Hermione didn’t know whether to feel sad or happy about what he’d said, which resulted in her giving a rather awkward smile and saying, “Come on! Get dressed and then we can all head over to the Burrow.”

Ron allowed her to drag him out of bed by the hand, and once on his feet, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards him, planting a light kiss on her lips. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, smiling up at him. “But, seriously, get ready. We’re going to be the last ones there.”

Ron dressed quickly and then hurried downstairs with Hermione to find Harry waiting for them.

“Where’s Ginny?” Ron asked, looking around the kitchen for his sister, but not seeing her.

“She, er, said you were taking too long and went already,” Harry said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Apparently Christmas is really important.” He looked at Ron, wearing the same concerned expression Hermione had earlier. “Hermione said you had a nightmare.”

Ron shot Hermione a reproving look. She turned faintly pink. “It was nothing,” he said. “Once off. That’s all.”

“We’ve all had them, mate,” Harry said. “Trust me. I spent years having them. And they haven’t stopped just because I’m not a Horcrux anymore.”

“Not funny,” Ron said.

“I thought it kind of was.” Harry shrugged. “The point is, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. I’ve been told memories, the trauma, it can affect you months, even years later. Even when you think you’re fine.”

“It wasn’t that,” Ron said, sighing. “It’s alright. I am fine.”

Harry didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Just, we’re here if you need, alright?”

“Thanks,” Ron muttered. “Should we go?”

Harry threw some Floo Powder into the kitchen fireplace, and one by one, they all went to the Burrow.

It seemed that now that all but Ginny had moved out, Molly and Arthur had far more time to put up Christmas decorations. The first thing Ron noticed when he arrived was a tall Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, decorated in bizarre mis-matched enchanted ornaments. Some were inherited items that his mother had kept because they belonged to someone important in the family. Others were things that Ron remembered making as a kid with his siblings. Pre-Hogwarts days where Molly had just wanted some peace and quiet for a few moments (usually Fred and George running wild) and she’d sat them all down with something to do. Those somethings had turned into Christmas decorations.

Then there were the bought ones that had accumulated over the years.

Ron had missed Christmas at the Burrow.

The rest of the house was just as oddly decorated, but Ron couldn’t help but grin at how homey his parents had made it. Harry had made some kind of an effort to do up Grimmauld Place for the holiday, but training had kept them working until December twenty-third, and they simply had not had time to do much more than a semi-decorated Christmas tree in the kitchen.

“Oh, Merry Christmas you three!” Molly said, beaming, and gave each of them a hug in turn.

“Merry Christmas, Mum,” Ron said. “Good to see you looking so happy.”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Ronald?” Molly asked. “There’s a lot to be happy about this Christmas.”

Also a lot to be missed, Ron thought, though he didn’t dare express that. He’d half expected to find his mum in tears with it being the first Christmas without Fred. Though, ever since Bill and Fleur had shared their news about the baby, he’d found her in such a joyous mood every time he dropped by that he didn’t know whether to be happy or concerned.

“Come on, come on!” Molly said, ushering them over to the sofas and armchairs. “We’ll open some presents, and then a little after that, we’ll have lunch.”

Ron squeezed onto a sofa beside Percy and Hermione sat beside him. Ginny and Harry wound up on the floor, and it wasn’t until Ron looked straight up did he notice —

“George!”

Hermione’s head snapped up, Harry and Ginny spun around. George, who’d still been absent for much of the past few months, was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room.

He looked better than Ron had seen in a long while, even offering everyone a smile and a wave. “Merry Christmas!” he said.

"Merry Christmas," everyone murmured, and George's smile widened slightly.

Molly, as usual, had knitted everyone a jumper. Also as usual, everyone thanked her and smiled, but Ron knew they'd most likely be put away and never worn.

"Oh, Ron, this is beautiful!" Ron looked up from opening his gift from Harry, who'd taken the liberty in buying out a lot of Honeydukes, and saw Hermione holding up a gold necklace.

"Er, you like it?" he asked.

"It's stunning!" Hermione said, running her fingers along the gold chain and settling on the pearl pendant at the end. It had cost him most of his earnings from the Ministry, but seeing the look on her face made every single Galleon worth it.

He beamed. "Glad you like it!" he said. "I was worried maybe I'd chosen wrong, or something."

"Thank you," she said. "It's perfect." She then passed him a neatly wrapped rectangular gift. As he began to open it, she said, "I would have liked to have gotten you the broom, but… that was ridiculously expensive, so —"

Hermione had gotten him brand new, black marble chess pieces. They were smooth and clean, and he'd be the first one to get to use them.

"Woah!" he said, grinning at Hermione, "Thanks. Hey, Harry, fancy a game of chess later today?" He held up the chess pieces to Harry who had just opened Ginny's present to him.

"Sure!" Harry said. "They look nice."

"You know…" Hermione said, setting aside her other gifts and staring down at the necklace, "I can play with you, too. You want to help me put it on?"

Ron took the necklace from her and she lifted her hair out of the way so he could get it on. "You? Play chess? You hate it."

"I don't hate it. I just… don't understand it that well. You could teach me, though, couldn't you?"

Ron fastened the necklace, surprising himself by how easily he'd managed to do so. Hermione turned back to face him.

"You want me to teach you how to play chess?" he asked, not sure he had heard right.

"Yes," Hermione said. "Then we could play together. I'd like to learn."

Ron contemplated her request for a moment, smiling. "Sure, I can teach you, but I won't be teaching you all my secrets. It's the one thing I can beat you at, and I'd like to keep it that way, thanks."

Hermione laughed. "Can anyone beat you, anyway?"

"Yeah, Bill, maybe. He taught me how to play. That necklace looks great on you, by the way." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. He wished he could do more, but the living room of his family home with everyone around was not the appropriate place to do so.

As much as he hated Grimmauld Place, he really did like the privacy it gifted them.

"Merry Christmas."

They spent the next few hours around the living room. Ron immediately got out his chess pieces and set up a game with Harry. His new pieces were great, much better than the old ones, and he annihilated Harry three times straight before Harry gave up, muttering something about having to help with lunch.

So, he offered to teach Hermione — who'd been watching his games with Harry intently.

"It's the same as normal chess, isn't it? The rules, I mean?" she said.

"Er, I think," Ron said, setting up his own and Harry's pieces. "Never played the Muggle one before. Besides, you have played it before..." A thought suddenly occurred to him — something he’d not realised before. “Wait, you’ve played it plenty of times. Why do you want me to teach you? You know how to play well enough to give a good game.”

Hermione shrugged, smiling. “Maybe,” she said, “I thought it was a good way to spend time together. Besides, as you said, I can play well enough. I want to know some of your tricks.”

“... oh,” Ron said, feeling his face go red. “Well, right… alright. I’ll teach you. Though, there are plenty of other things we can do to spend time together, you know?”

Ginny, who’d been walking past in that moment, scoffed. “Yeah, but chess is something you can do in public.”

Ron ignored her, looking up at Hermione and indicating the chess board. “You go first. Let’s see how you go.”

It took five games in quick succession for Hermione to make an impact. On the sixth one, Ron suspected that perhaps she’d given up. Hermione didn’t like to lose, and he could see her frustration building, but she persisted, just so he could keep teaching her, he thought. It didn’t bother him, though. It gave them something to do, and he kind of liked the idea of her letting him teach her something.

Halfway through the seventh game, Molly announced that lunch was ready.

“Maybe tomorrow?” Ron asked, smiling at Hermione. “I had fun.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, standing up and collecting Harry’s chess pieces. “Though, I do have to get some homework done tomorrow morning. Maybe in the afternoon?”

“What?” Ron said as they made their way into the kitchen. “Work? You brought work with you? It’s Christmas!” He couldn’t help feeling a little disgruntled by this unexpected news. She’d only arrived Christmas Eve and had insisted that she needed to return the day after Boxing Day.

He realised it had taken quite an amount of persuasion to get her out of the school to begin with, but he’d thought she could at least put the books down for a few days.

“It’s a lot of work, Ron,” Hermione said in a hushed voice as they sat down at the table. “NEWTs are even bigger than OWLs, and —”

“So, what am I supposed to do?” Ron asked, also keeping his voice low. “Just sit around and watch you study?”

“No, you can always spend some time with Harry. Ginny…”

“I see Harry every day!” Ron snapped under his breath. “You, however — my girlfriend, in case you’ve forgotten — I’ve seen less of since we’ve been together than I have since I’ve known you.”

“That’s hardly my fault!” Hermione hissed. “You would have preferred me to leave my parents in Australia, then?”

“That’s not what I meant!” Ron said. “You never told me you wanted to go back to Hogwarts until you’d basically arranged it. I thought… well, I just thought you’d tell me something like that, you know? Bothered to mention it at the very least.”

“Everything okay, dears?” Molly asked, looking at Ron and Hermione with a questioning look.

Hermione, who’d been about to argue back, closed her mouth. Ron looked at her and saw that she looked rather upset about something. He guessed his own face showed his frustration too. He’d never been good at hiding his feelings.

“Yes,” Ron said, perhaps a little too quickly.

Hermione shot him a scathing look, but said nothing more.

Harry stared at them both from across the table, looking rather alarmed. Before he’d left to help with lunch, Ron and Hermione had been perfectly happy.

Ron piled the food onto his plate, glowering at it as he did. Why did she have to keep doing that? Keep making plans without telling him? He’d thought they’d have all of Christmas and Boxing Day together. Even if she’d bothered to mention that she brought work with her, he could have planned around that. Compromised, even…

Once the table had erupted into pleasant chatter, Bill and Fleur talking excitedly about the impending arrival of their baby in April to anyone who would listen, George — to Ron’s delight — speaking about his plans to reopen the joke shop soon, and Percy speaking loudly about how maybe next Christmas, if they were still together (which he hoped they would be), he’d spend Christmas with Audrey’s Muggle family. This seemed to interest Arthur, dropping hints about how he’d love to be invited as well.

Under the raucous of Christmas lunch, Hermione elbowed Ron. He turned to her, not at all in the mood to continue on with the argument they’d started. But the look on her face was gentler.

“Did you, um, have plans for tomorrow?” she asked, sounding apologetic.

“No,” Ron mumbled. “I mean, nothing beyond us doing something together. Making up for lost time… you know...”

“It’s just, the workload is really tricky,” Hermione said. “And, I just wanted to get a start on —”

Ron turned back to his food, once again in no mood for talking.

“— Ron, please, just…”

“It’s okay,” Ron said amidst the loud chatter around them. “I get it. You’ve always been like that. Ever since I’ve known you. Really, I should have guessed.”

“Ron —”

“It’s fine, Hermione. Honestly. I’ll just… I dunno, maybe I’ll come back here tomorrow. Leave you in peace.”

The rest of lunch was very uncomfortable for him. Ron didn’t speak to Hermione, and despite a few attempts on her part, it seemed she had no idea what to say to him. If she’d just admit that she didn’t need to do anything tomorrow, then perhaps they could resolve the issue, but she seemed hellbent on standing her ground, and therefore, so would he.

“Everything okay?” Ginny asked after lunch, when Hermione had quickly volunteered to help Molly clean up — along with Harry, who was probably querying Hermione at this very moment.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” Ron asked, sinking onto a step at the foot of the staircase.

“Well, you’re sulking,” Ginny said. “And you and Hermione didn’t look very happy over lunch. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Ron…”

“Not your business, Ginny,” Ron said. “It’s nothing. Just a small argument, that’s all.”

“So you’re going to sulk for the rest of the day then?” Ginny asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Because if you are, maybe go home. We don’t need your mood here. Especially when Mum is trying to keep it together.”

“What do you mean?” Ron looked up at her. “Mum’s fine. Happy, even.”

“You didn’t notice, did you?” Ginny said.

“Notice what?”

“The empty seat at the table.”

“The — what? I never saw —” Truthfully, Ron had not taken much in at the table, too busy being upset with Hermione to even enjoy himself.

“Yeah, she set a spot for Fred,” Ginny said. “Kept looking up at it, fighting back tears. It’s tough, Ron. Tough on all of us. So if you’re going to be moody, take it elsewhere. Or make up with Hermione. I’m sure whatever’s happening is something you can sort out. Tell you’re sorry for whatever it is you’ve done and —”

“I didn’t do anything!” Ron snapped. “Why do you assume it’s me? It’s her… her and her obsession with work. If she just wasn’t so obsessed with it, then… then I’d be okay.”

“You're upset because she’s obsessed with her work?” Ginny asked, sounding amused. “Do you even know her?”

“Yes, I know her! Maybe you can talk to her then. Talk her around. Tell her she’s being ridiculous, and she can go one more day without feeling the need to get her books out.”

“What are you talking about, Ron?” Ginny asked.

Ron jumped up from the step. “Nothing.”

“Well, just try and enjoy the rest of the day, alright? For Mum’s sake. Even if you have to fake it, and then you and Hermione can fight as much as you want when you get home.”

Ron glared at her, feeling his frustration rise. Why couldn’t Hermione just relax a bit? Why did she have to be so —

“Fine,” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll talk to her.” And he stormed off toward the kitchen. Maybe if he made up with Hermione, it would convince her to change her mind anyway.

…

It didn’t.

The rest of Christmas had been alright, Ron finding Hermione after his talk with Ginny and making things right with her again. Neither of them had apologised specifically, though he thought kissing her in a manner that left her blushing had been a good step to go about it. He’d still been mad with her, but he tried to let that slide for the remainder of the day and well into the evening.

By the time they’d gotten home later that night, he’d almost forgotten about their argument all together, and their first Christmas together had ended quite wonderfully.

But, by next morning, it seemed that no amount of affection, no amount of I love yous, and no amount of sex could deter her from her work. When Ron woke he found the space beside him empty, despite it being rather early. They’d gotten back fairly late, been awake even longer — he’d thought that she’d want to sleep for hours.

“What are you doing?” After dressing and stopping by the bathroom to see if she was in there, he came down to the kitchen. She was hunched over an impressive spread of parchment and books and was scribbling away rather quickly for this time of the morning.

She looked up, a flicker of guilt flashing across her face, before she said, “I thought I’d get some of it done before you… before anyone got up.” She didn’t quite meet his eye as she spoke. “You’re up early.”

Ron took a seat opposite her. “So are you.”

She blushed. “Yes, well…”

“You couldn’t even go two days without thinking about it, could you?” Ron said. “Not even after what happened yesterday. Was I being unreasonable when I asked for two days of your time over the holidays? That’s all, and you couldn’t even manage it.”

Hermione had started gathering up all her bits and pieces, her face filled with guilt. “I thought if I got it done in the morning, then we could… we could have the rest of the day together.”

“It’s not the point, Hermione!” Ron said, feeling a surge of anger inside of him that he’d not felt towards her since… well since he’d thought Crookshanks had eaten his pet rat. “Last night, when we got home, you said to me you could leave it another day. I asked you, and you specifically said —”

“I know what I said!” Hermione told him in an anguished tone. “Alright, I know what I said, but you asked me just after we’d had sex, and I was obviously in a good mood, and, well, you caught me in a moment of weakness. And I didn’t want what you were doing to stop.”

Ron stared at her. She seemed to have realised what she’d said, because her whole face went a furious red and she jumped to her feet so quickly she knocked her chair over.

“I-I’m sorry, Ron. I didn’t mean…” she set the books back on the table and with a tap of her wand, they vanished. Then, she picked up her chair and sat back down, burying her face in her hands.

Rather than feeling sorry for her, Ron said, “So you lied to me? Just so you could have sex with me?”

“No!” Hermione groaned. “No, I didn’t lie to you. I meant it when I promised you I’d stay away from it. But then when I woke up this morning, I started to stress over it. You seemed out of it, so I thought if I just got an hour in, before you woke up, then… I’m sorry, Ron. I know I promised. I know it looks really bad. I’m sorry.”

“It feels pretty bad, too,” Ron said. He’d really thought he’d convinced her last night, but now all he felt was that she’d used him. He couldn’t recall a time he’d felt so bad about Hermione — as her friend or otherwise — and he’d been pretty miserable when he was convinced she would never see him as anything more than a friend. But it seemed that this now took the cake. Wasn’t she supposed to love him?

“I’m sorry, Ron. I really am. I won’t even look at any homework until I set foot back on school grounds. I won’t even think about it. We can do anything you want today. I’ll —”

“Maybe you should leave,” Ron said darkly.

This seemed to upset her more than anything else. “Ron —”

“You made it clear from the beginning that you were only coming here because I asked you to,” Ron continued, unable to stop himself. “You would have much rather stayed at the school, spending Christmas with your head in your books than with me. You —”

“That’s not true.”

“You then told me you’d changed your mind, acting like you actually cared and I’d managed to convince you that I was better than staying on top of your work, when in reality, I apparently just had you ‘in a moment of weakness’, and then once that was over, once you’d snapped out of that, you couldn’t have cared less about what you’d said to me.”

“No! That’s not true at all, Ron. I do care about you. More than anything. More than —”

“You’re still lying, Hermione! Just… just stop.”

“Ron, I really, really am —”

“Just go,” Ron said. “I really shouldn’t have bothered trying to fix things with you yesterday. It clearly meant nothing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked.

“It means that I was still mad at you yesterday, but Ginny convinced me to patch things up for the rest of the day because of Mum. So I thought I would, and I realise now I was wrong, because you don’t even care. You never did.”

For a moment, the room was filled with silence. Hermione’s face gradually grew darker as his words sunk in.

Ron momentarily looked away despite himself. He was angry with her, but he still loved her, and even though he knew he was right in being upset about it all, he hated knowing that what he said was true. He had pretended to make up yesterday because of Ginny’s words. But she had also pretended, so they were kind of even.

He pushed away the small seed of guilt that had planted itself inside of him at his words and glared at her.

When she spoke, her voice had lost all of its remorse.

“You mean to say,” she began, “that all of those things you said yesterday, all of last night, was just an act? And here I was, feeling guilty because —”

“No, it wasn’t an act,” Ron said. “Because believe it or not — and stupidly, so it seems — I actually got over it. By the time we came home, I’d almost forgotten all about it. Would have been nice for you to apologise, though.”

“Me?” Hermione shrieked, and they both glanced to the door to see if it would draw Harry and Ginny down. “I wasn’t the one being unreasonable yesterday. I wasn’t —”

“So, me asking you to take two whole days out of your life for me is being unreasonable, is it?” Ron leapt to his feet, his own voice rising for the first time.

“It is when I told you I needed to get stuff done!” Hermione cried, also springing to her feet. “You didn’t even have a plan for today. You just wanted me here.”

“Yes, because I stupidly love you and want to spend time with you. You’re my girlfriend, and we’ve spent more time apart than we have together. I hate it, and I miss you. When we get two days together, I just want it to be us. You have every other day to do the other stuff.””

They glared at each other across the long table, both breathing heavily, both furious.

It was Ron who looked away first, realising she wasn’t going to budge. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. Forget I ever asked you. Forget I even bothered. How stupid of me to think that maybe you’d actually want to spend Christmas with me. Next time I’ll remember you’d much rather be spending it in the Hogwarts library alone.” He turned away, too angry and hurt to even look at her anymore. “I guess this is how it’s going to be, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, and her voice had returned to normal again.

Still with this back to her, Ron said, “You and me. I suppose I’ve got to get used to coming second to your work.”

There was a long silence, Ron focusing his attention on the odd wall patterns. He’d never noticed just how unusual they were before.

Then, “Is that how you feel?”

“At the moment? A little, yeah.” He finally turned to look at her again, and he saw that her anger had subsided. He felt his own frustrations melt a little upon seeing her expression, too. She was no longer glaring at him, but looking at him with an air of guilt and surprise — as if she hadn’t realised that it had bothered him so much, that it had felt like a rejection to him.

He ran his fingers along the table for something to do — he didn’t know what to say now.

“Well, I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like that. I never meant to.” She looked down at the table where her work had been sitting a few moments ago. “I really did want to come here for Christmas. I really did want to spend the day with you. I suppose… I suppose I just have to learn to prioritise better.” She looked up, offering a smile. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had a proper relationship. I’m still learning.”

Her smile had Ron’s own resolve weakening. He shrugged. “Yeah, and I suppose I need to be a little more understanding of who you are. I mean, I know who you are, what you’re like. I know what’s important to you. I’m really proud of you, by the way. Your dedication, how clever you are...” He also stared at where her work had been a moment ago. “And it’s not like you wasted the whole day doing it. I wasn’t even up, was I?” He felt a tad stupid, only now realising he’d still been in bed the whole time she’d been up, and she’d stopped the moment he’d come down — albeit a little too angry with her.

“This isn’t as important as you, Ron. I hope you know that,” Hermione whispered. “It doesn’t come first.”

Ron shrugged again, but said nothing. Sometimes he wasn’t sure about that, and sometimes he let his mind get away from him. It wasn’t really her fault — it was his own.

He looked back up to her, momentarily surprised to see what was sitting around her neck. “You’re wearing the necklace,” he said.

“Of course,” Hermione replied, fingering the pendant and smiling slightly. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

Ron returned her smile, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his chest upon seeing her wearing it. He’d been hurt by her, yes, but at the end of the day, he’d known her for eight years now and her habit of overworking hadn’t changed in all that time. It was a part of her that frustrated him, sure, but it was also the part that he deeply admired and loved about her. He supposed that being in a relationship with her made it just that little bit harder to accept than it had when he’d been her friend.

“I’m glad,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t know if you would… Hermione, I didn’t mean to get so upset. I just… I’m sorry. I miss you. This is a really sucky first year of being with you. I don’t get to see you when that’s all I want to do.”

Still smiling, Hermione stepped around the table so they were on the same side. She hesitated for a moment, and then closed the distance between them.

Ron held her to him, his chin on the top of her head. A moment later, Hermione looked up, and he kissed her.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Harry and Ginny came in with grave looks on their faces.

“Everything okay?” Ginny asked them. “We heard… well, we thought we heard —” She eyed Ron and Hermione suspiciously, as if she hadn’t expected to find them locked together like they were.

Ron looked at Hermione, and they both smiled at one another.

“Yeah, everything’s okay,” Ron said. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“It didn’t sound like —”

Harry placed a hand on Ginny’s shoulder, and she fell silent, nodding.

“Well, that’s good.” She then moved over to the benches, opening the cupboards. “You guys had breakfast?”

“No,” Ron and Hermione said together.

“Hm, well, what do you two have planned today? Anything exciting?”

“Er —”

“Not sure yet,” Hermione said. “Maybe something with just the two of us, though? If that’s alright?”

Ginny turned back to them, shrugging. “I don’t care what you do,” she said. “Go for it. Just, please, for the love of Merlin, remember to put silencing charms around your room this time.”

Ron grinned at Hermione, pulling her close again. She had turned a deep pink.

“Love you,” he whispered, kissing her again. Then, lowering his voice even further, he added, “Let’s never fight again.”

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mariapanpan1833 · 4 years ago

Text

How Cyro joined Talon pt. 2

Cyro, Sombra, and Widow walked around the city of Rome, of course, with Cyro and Reno leading the way to the pound, proudly whistling a tune with her arms slung over her shoulders holding her head with Sombra and Widow trailing along.

“Sombra...” Widow growled.

Sombra looked up from her computer, “Yeah?”

Widow sighed as if it wasn’t obvious what she was going to ask, “You haven’t clarified why we’ve been following a child through the city yet...” She grimaced, Widow was known to take little to no care for these things, but something irked a nerve when she was with Sombra.

“Look I get it, but Cyro is no child, she’s a genius! She’s got connections all over the city, and her bounty hunter job is actually pretty solid,” Sombra pulled up a screen, out of earshot of Cyro, and started showing some of the details she found.

“Kid's smart, she makes it look like a wild attack other than murder. She collects detail and items, all across town, she’s got too many people scared of her.”

Widow raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused by Sombra’s amusement about the news.

“Alright, alright, check this.” She swiped through a few screens, “She was hard to find, and coming from me that’s saying something. Doesn’t stay in the same place for too long, and doesn’t keep the same phone number, let alone have much of an internet presence.”

“So how’d you find her?”

“Pfft, Nobodies that good at hiding from me plus, she isn’t that hard to recognize.” Sombra pointed to Cyro about her small stature.

“Sombra, do you know what Akande would do if we-”

“We’re here,” Cyro called out, the three of them standing in front of the pound’s fence.

The pound was small but the fact it needed any form of protection scared away most people around, alongside the loud barking from the dogs inside.

“You two wait here, this will be quick” Cyro climbed the fence, followed by Reno as he sprinted up and over the fence.

“I’m coming with you.” Widow said.

“There’s not that much security, there’s no need.”

“I’m coming to keep an eye on you.” Widow clarified, clearing the fence after.

“The more hands to help I guess, Sombra, keep a lookout here.” Cyro nodded at Sombra who nodded back in response.

Cyro led the way, her and Widow crouching over onto cover for the nearest wall for cover, they were in the back entrance, guarded with a dog and officer.

Cyro’s eyes blinked grey, “I’ve got the dog, you handle the guard.”

Widow looked confused, “How do you-”

Cyro pointed to her eyes, “Animal tamer, remember?”

Widowmaker rolled her eyes and moved over to the next cover, once she was good, she inched closer to the guard, out of sight, and once she was close enough, she used her grabbling hook and tightened it around the guard's neck, knocking him out.

Widow signaled Cyro over who jogged forward. “Nice work.” She complimented as she took the guard's keys and worked on finding which one to opened the door.

“So ‘Widowmaker’ I thought you were blue?” Cyro asked, trying to make conversation.

Widow took a mirror out of her pocket and checked over her white skin, “Makeup.” She answered plainly.

“Oh... I-I mean, yeah, that makes sense.”

Cyro continued fiddling with the keys, "So you and Sombra-"

"No." Widow shut it down before she got to finish.

"Ah, so you're free then?" Cyro flirtatiously growled Widow scoffed, not paying mind to the teen's advances.

Cyro unlocked the door and stuffed the keys into her pocket.

They walked inside with Cyro now having the guard's dog with her, checking the cameras which Sombra had already taken care of.

“You check upfront for any more guards, I'll grab the rest of the dogs,” Cyro told Widow, who walked away without a word.

After dealing with the last guard, Widow turned her head, Cyro had the entire pound under her control, which is shown by her grey eyes, each dog standing freakishly still.

“How do you expect us to walk into town like that?” Widow asked.

Cyro split the dogs into groups of three, lining them up like a military. “There, got a guy who can hold them for a bit, I’ll control them over to him in groups. Strays here aren’t new.”

Widow sighed, “Fine.”

Cyro sent the dogs off, it was odd to Widow how Cyro had so much power doing so little, but Sombra did say she was good.

Cyro and Widow walked out meeting Sombra who was waiting outside.

“Where are the dogs?” Sombra asked, sitting up from the wall.

Cyro pointed at her glowing grey eyes, “Taking them to a guy right now in sets, he’ll hold them for me.” She answered.

“Wait, you’re controlling all of those dogs at once,” Sombra asked with complete interest.

“It’s a harder job, but yeah.” Cyro stop to scan the area and Widow turned to see Sombra nearly squealing.

“What?”

“She’s controlling a shit ton of animals at once!”

“That’s only impressive to you because you can’t multitask.” Widow explained.

“You try having every person on file 24/7. If that’s all we can head back to the apartment.”

Cyro snapped her fingers in realization, “Ah yes! We have one more place to stop if I’m training these dogs, I need my equipment!”

Widow sighed, “And where is that?”

“My truck, of course, the guy who drives me, Pako, is holding it for me, you all don’t mind do you?”

Sombra perked up, “No... but how many guys do have to do you favors?” She asked.

Cyro laughed, “Let’s just say nobody here is actually scary compared to me. Let's hurry while it’s still daylight outside.”

Cyro walked up to Pako, a big muscular guy almost ten times her size. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, “Kept up our end of the deal, I need you to take me somewhere.”

Pako sat up from the black van he was leaning on, “You know what kid, I’ll think I’d outta hold on to this money for now...” He towered over her, his large shadow covering her entire body.

She shrugged, “Fine.” She walked away towards the back of the alley, once she was near the end, she quickly drew her knife and threw it at him, fitting itself into his leg.

He quivered in pain, wincing over himself holding his leg, just stopping himself from screaming in pain. He leaned over the closest wall and almost back up from Cyro as she approached, “Kid! Argh.... don’t go doing anything rash now, I was just about to give you the car!”

Cyro opened the back of the van, waking up the sleeping tiger in the back, “Sasha, I got you some food.” She said it so quietly, the guy felt a shiver down his spine. Cyro walked over and took her knife back out from the guy’s legs

“We can talk this out, I-I got money, you like money don’t you?! I got a place you all can stay! Some food, I got food! Cyro!”

She took the van and drove a bit down the road, the guy's screams becoming nothing but soft sounds of music as she drove down a few blocks to where Widowmaker and Sombra were waiting.

“You weren’t kidding! You actually have a truck!” Sombra nearly bounced in excitement.

“My very own brand.” Cyro added, rubbing the red decal on the side of the truck, “Reminds me, I need to get out these rugs, give me a second.” Cyro climbed into the back of the truck and shut the doors.

Widow turned to Sombra with a skeptical look on her face, all Sombra could do was shrug.

Cyro came out of the truck, wearing a velvet leather suit, the end of it hanging lower behind her, sporting a commander hat with a gold heart emblem on it, the outfit wasn’t too fancy, but was rather flashy for combat wear. She pulled out her knife from earlier, the name “Cyro” lazily carved into the side of being shown, and glided her finger across it, cleaning it from the blood it gained earlier and sliding it into its respected place at her side.

“Where’d you get the blood?” Widow asks.

“Pako came up short, so I cut my loose ends.”

“And the truck?”

Cyro rolled her eyes, “Ay, bella, do you always ask so many questions?”

Widow crossed her arms, “Only to people I don’t trust.”

“Okay then, I’ll make it up to you, trust me to go get us some good food?”

Widowmaker shrugged while making her way to the car, “As long as we’re heading back to the apartment, I don’t care what you do.”

They entered the empty apartment, turning on the lights while heading inside.

“Told you guys, I’d get us something good!” Cyro chirped.

“You didn’t even pay.” Widow replied.

“I forgot my wallet, but our darling Sombra did for us, and I have to say you did a marvelous job with the apartment too, very well done.”

Widowmaker scoffed, “Forgot your- You tipped the waitress!”

“I had enough to thank her for her hard work... and giving me some eye candy to have during the stay.”

Widow rolled her eyes as Cyro winked back at her.

“If that’s all, then I’ll be heading off to bed, I’ll see you two in the morning.”

With that Cyro walked off into a random room she decided would be hers for their stay.

The two adults got settled for bed, setting up their stuff in separate rooms, just as Sombra got done with her equipment Widow walked in.

“Her file.” She stated plainly.

“Why won’t you just leave the kid alone?” Sombra asked.

“She’s hardly a kid, what’s she doing out in the streets anyway? I need her file, Sombra.”

Sombra opened up a computer and began typing, “I wish you were more fun...” She mumbled.

When Widow heard her phone ring, she began to walk out, “Amélie?”

Widowmaker’s attention fastened to the use of her name, “What?”

Sombra caught herself, looking down and thinking, “It’s nothing, sorry, goodnight.”

Widow eyed Sombra, eventually stop caring about what it was she was going to say, “Goodnight.”

#widowmaker #overwatch #sombra #spiderbyte #myoccyro #cyroseries

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brideofedoras · 4 years ago

Text

Under Covers

This fic was inspired by this photo. That leg is my current sexuality.

Tagging my urbabes: @below-average-fangirl @emily-strange @nora-hewlett @to-boldly-nope @urban-trek-thru-middle-earth @pandaqueen7799 @bakerstreethound @portals-to-a-new-world @writerdee1701 @ladyreapermc

Enjoy!

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3200+

Warnings: Smut.

Ember had never been more thankful for dark sunglasses in her life. And coffee shops that opened at the ass crack of dawn near the sleepy suburbs surrounding the greater DC area. And six hour car rides to get to their destination. Hopefully her boss would be kind and not go over the operation parameters for the tenth time since yesterday afternoon and she could catch an hour of sleep. Without dreams. Please please please, don’t let me have any repeat dreams that kept me up all night, she prayed fervently.

The last thing she needed was to have a any more vivid sex dreams about her very hot boss while in the car with him.

It was bad enough she had agreed to go on this assignment with him, posing as a couple at some fancy beach resort in North Carolina and she fit the profile of the type of woman their target frequently sought out. There were probably sixty agents with more fieldwork under their belts (or at least more qualified) for this kind of op who fit the profile, but Cooper had chosen her. It was both an honor that he wanted her with him and intimidating as hell because she did not want to let him down.

Her phone pinged with an alert, drawing her from her exhausted stupor.

I’m outside.

Ember sighed. Be down in a minute, she texted back. She slipped her phone in her back pocket, shouldered her purse and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. She mentally went over her Leaving For Vacation checklist for the hundredth time, just as she always did before leaving for a few days. Plants watered, lights off, oven off, thermostat set to a reasonable temperature, all small appliances unplugged, windows locked. Phone charger and keys in purse. Toiletry bag in suitcase. Vibrator and extra batteries in suitcase…

Unfortunately, since they were posing as a couple and would be sharing a one bedroom bungalow, she would have to remove the batteries to make damned sure she wouldn’t embarrass the hell out of herself should she need to relieve any frustrations.

Which there would be plenty. William Cooper was a walking wet dream. Tall. Broad shouldered. Scowly. Sexy. Intelligent. And deep down underneath that frown she was used to seeing on a daily basis he was a softie. That rarely seen soft side only fueled her crush on him that much more.

With a weary sigh Ember set her security alarm and locked the door behind her.

Black Mercedes sedan, Cooper’s next text buzzed through.

Her brow quirked up as she pressed the call button for the elevator. No Porsche?

Didn’t want to look like a man going through a midlife crisis.

She bit back a smile. You’re too young for a midlife crisis.

Ember was not surprised when no response buzzed through. She stuffed her phone in her pocket once more and stifled a yawn as she made her way out to the parking lot.

She thought nothing of it when Cooper climbed out of the car and made his way to the back. But once he cleared the trunk she nearly tripped over her feet.

In the short time she had known William Cooper she had never seen him wearing anything other than a suit. Granted, most of the time the jacket was off and his sleeves rolled up, but suits had quickly become the sexiest thing she’d ever seen on a man (firmly replacing uniforms. She’d always been a sucker for a man in a military uniform or tactical gear up until the first time she’d seen her boss loosen his tie and roll up his shirt sleeves).

But she was woefully unprepared to see her hot boss wearing casual clothes. A blue and white plaid button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, unbuttoned over a light grey tee-shirt and a pair of snug jeans with a hole ripped in the left knee… and a pair of sunglasses hiding those dangerously gorgeous hazel eyes. And the stubble gracing his jaw. Oh sweet heavens she was a sucker for unshaven jaws...

She once again thanked her lucky stars for dark sunglasses hiding her eyes.

The trunk latching shut startled her out of her wandering thoughts.

“Get in the car, Kid.”

Oh.

No.

He.

Didn’t.

Ember bristled at that moniker. She hated being called kid. Hated it. She was twenty-eight years old, barely, what, seven years younger than him. Her eyes began to burn when she jerked the passenger door open. Oh, don’t start, she admonished herself. It’s too damned early and I hardly slept last night.

“Easy there, tiger,” Cooper commented as he joined her in the car. “You okay?”

She carefully shut her door, fastened her seatbelt and took a deep breath before she responded. “Yeah. Sleepless night,” she pasted on a smile as she turned to face him.

His brow furrowed. “Worried about the op?”

“You could say that,” she let the smile fall off as she settled back in her seat. That was partly true, at least. She was worried about her part, terrified she would blow it.

“You’ve got the easy job,” he started the car. “Look pretty, flirt, be coy.”

“You call that easy?” She glared at him behind her sunglasses, blushing at his look pretty comment. “I can’t flirt my way out of a paper bag if I tried.”

His dimples flashed when he grinned. “‘Your tie brings out the gold in your eyes, Boss’ ring a bell? Or ‘You’ve got a bit of powdered sugar on your cheek’?”

Ember flushed beet red. “A compliment and a gentle warning before a meeting are hardly flirting!” She stammered out.

God, she had mentally kicked herself for a MONTH on the powdered sugar incident, brushing it from his cheek with her thumb.

Her palm still tingled from the feel of his afternoon stubble when she had cupped his cheek, as if she had any right touching him in such an intimate manner!

“You were flirting,” his grin widened as he pulled out onto the street. “And the plate of extra cookies left over from your Christmas dinner?”

“Figured your kids would like some cookies, and I had more than enough left over,” she shifted in a poor attempt to hide the blush creeping up her chest and neck and wished like hell she had worn something other than a scoop neck tank top. She was not a pretty blusher when her chest got all splotchy.

“That’s what break rooms are for,” he chuckled. “Pretty sure Sanderson would ask you to marry him if you bring baked goods in.”

She shuddered. “Pretty sure he still lives in his parents’ basement.”

“Yeah, he has that personality,” Cooper frowned thoughtfully, slowing for a stoplight. “Not your type then?”

“Have you ever heard me flirt with him?”

His belly laugh echoed through the car. “No, no, I haven’t,” he managed to get out when his laughter died down. “You can give Wilkes a run for her money in the ice queen department when you’re dealing with him.”

“I hope you’re giving me a compliment and not calling me a frigid bitch,” she couldn’t help but smile.

“She’s the frigid bitch and she wears that badge with pride. She made Sanderson cry a couple of times. You’re at least polite.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be,” she turned her attention back to the window. “And I don’t flirt.”

“‘You’re too young for a midlife crisis’?”

“Not flirting!” She shifted until her back was to him.

“What is it, then?”

“The truth,” her forehead thunked against the passenger window. “Thirty-five is still young.” She sighed heavily. “Age is only a number, what matters is how you feel inside. Take Grandpa- er, Henry, for example. He’s eighty-five, still working downstairs, running circles around the younger desk jockeys.”

“I need to find out what his secret is,” Cooper mused beside her.

“No,” she squeaked out, remembering something she’d overheard her grandpa telling Joe a few years ago when they went to New Orleans to see her godfather. “You don’t want to do that.” That particular memory would be forever burned into her brain.

He looked over at her. “Wait, he really has a secret? What is it?”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “It was bad enough overhearing it. I’m not telling you.”

If she could lobotomize herself to remove that particular memory of hearing her grandfather say his secret to remaining youthful at heart was masturbating every day she’d do it in a heartbeat.

The thought of telling her hot boss was embarrassing.

But the images popping up in her head of her boss following Henry’s secret to youthful energy?

Ember squirmed a little in her seat. “H-how long of a drive is it again?” Her voice cracked.

“Six hours if traffic isn’t bad.”

Six hours in a car with her hot boss. After a couple of sex dreams and a long, sleepless night with her normally trusty vibrator and her vagina’s stubborn refusal to accept a toy penis to get the job done? Fuck.

She groaned. “Straight through, no stops?”

“I’ll make a couple of stops, I’m not a monster,” he chuckled. “You have breakfast yet?”

She shook her head. “There’s a coffee shop up ahead. They have donuts and breakfast sandwiches.”

“Any recommendations?”

“The omelette sandwiches are to die for,” she stifled a yawn behind her hand. “They come with sausage and cheese. You’ve already had their donuts.”

He groaned. “Might have to order a dozen for this weekend.”

“Better make it two dozen,” she shifted in her seat to get more comfortable. “I’m not crawling out of bed before ten a.m. this weekend.”

“You’ve already claimed the bed, huh?”

A slow, delicious warmth crawled through her veins at the husky, playful tone in her boss’ voice. “Figured it was a given since I’m a woman and you seem like the kind of guy who would take the couch.”

“Sweetheart, my back can’t take sleeping on couches for even a little catnap anymore,” he flipped on the blinker and turned into the lot for the coffee shop.

“The bed’s a king, isn’t it? We could share it,” her eyes fluttered shut behind her sunglasses. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

The strangled cough coming from the driver’s seat had her eyes snapping open.

“What?”

“You’re flirting again,” his voice was really husky now.

She frowned at him. “No, I wasn’t. My brain loses its filter when I’m running on very little sleep.”

“Always an excuse,” he shook his head as he rolled down the window. “What kind of coffee?”

“Just ask for the Emberleigh special, they’ll know.”

Twenty minutes later (and some seriously teasing looks from the barista silently telling her that she was going to have to tell him all about the hot guy in the luxury sedan next week) they were on the freeway heading to North Carolina. Cooper set the cruise and shifted to get comfortable.

“Should we go over the parameters again?”

Ember swiveled her head around to glare at him, an “Oh, hell no” dying on her lips when she took in the glorious sight before her.

He had his left arm on the door, elbow bent to hook his fingers along the top of the window, left knee bent to showcase some tanned skin and glorious denim-encased thigh.

A very weak, very breathy “no” left her lips instead of the feisty retort.

He cast a quick glance at her before returning his attention to the road and the traffic around them. “Seat reclines if you want to take a nap,” he told her.

Sleep was suddenly the furthest thing from her mind.

And learning the seat reclined?

That really didn’t help matters any. At. All.

She picked up her caramel macchiato and took a sip. Her vain attempt to put the brakes on the naughty thoughts forming in her mind just from the way those jeans hugged those thighs and that knee…

Stop it, Emberleigh, she firmly reprimanded herself as she turned back to watch the traffic in front of her. Count road kill or play the license plate game. Don’t stare at Cooper’s thighs and wonder what they look like out of those jeans. Or nipping at them. Or how thick he gets when he’s… sonofamotherfuckingbitch...

“If you want to turn the radio on, go for it, I listen to just about anything,” his voice broke through her wayward thoughts, teasing her with that husky tone. “Except for the new crap.”

She blinked. “Yeah, I can’t listen to that stuff either,” she pulled a face before looking at the dash and the stereo. “I can Bluetooth my phone if that’s okay?”

“Go for it.”

Of course her playlist would just have to start off with “Rock You Like A Hurricane” by the Scorpions.

And oh that wicked, wicked grin that slowly spread across William Cooper’s face and his poor attempt to imitate the lead singer’s vocals… of course that would make her squirm.

Both hands were on the steering wheel now, thumbs drumming along to the beat.

The tempo was the perfect rhythm to have sex to. She mentally whined at the images popping into her head.

The thought of Cooper timing his thrusts to the beat of the drum and adding a little rocking motion with the drum rolls nearly did her in. And the fact he was singing off-key only made her that much hotter.

Ember squirmed, pressing her thighs together as she forced her attention on the road ahead of them.

I’m fucked if he does this the entire drive…

She caught her bottom lip in her teeth to hold back the shuddery whine when her boss put his all into the one man, driver’s seat concert. By the time Cooper pulled off the freeway at a rest stop she was a mess.

“You okay over there?”

His husky voice broke through her nearly-fevered thoughts. “Huh?”

“You okay? You’re whimpering over there,” he shoved his sunglasses up to give her a worried look. “You get car sick?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Yes!

She bit down on her bottom lip and shook her head. “God dammit…”

“Ember, do I need to call someone else in on this?” Gone was the light-hearted, teasing tone, in its place the no nonsense, cold tone she was used to in the office.

Ember sucked in a shuddery breath. “No, sir. I can do this.”

“You’re about to crawl out of your skin, Ember,” he shifted in his seat to show her she had his full attention. “What’s wrong?”

“You really don’t want to know,” she cringed when she realized how needy she sounded.

The silence in the car neared a deafening pitch… or was it her heart thundering in her ears… as she waited for his rebuttal.

“Honey, I think I do.”

Honey.

That one word, the low, guttural way he practically growled it, had even more heat pooling low in her belly.

She must have moaned or whispered his name, something to make his hazel eyes darken. “I… should… get some air…” she blindly reached for the seat belt.

But instead of reaching for the door she leaned across the console.

Cooper met her halfway. His hands slid along her jaw to tilt her head before his lips met hers.

Ember let out a strangled moan when his tongue snaked into her mouth and curled around hers, teasing her, torturing her until she shuddered and pulled away for air. She slowly blinked open her eyes to meet his. “We… shouldn’t…”

“No, we definitely shouldn’t,” he agreed huskily as he tugged her into another kiss. “It’s a damned bad idea.”

One minute she was still in her seat kissing her sexy boss. The next she was straddling his lap with the seat reclined, her cutoffs nowhere to be found. She pawed at his clothing as he tugged the low neckline of her tank top down to expose her lace-covered breasts.

“We can get naked later when we get to the beach house,” he growled before biting one pearled nipple through the sexy bra she wore.

Ember gasped his name as his hands curved over her ass to grind his hips into hers. Any attempts to divest him of that magnificent plaid shirt and tee-shirt were quickly forgotten.

His jeans had to go. Or at least be undone and pushed down so the zipper wouldn’t scratch the shit out of her ladybits.

She curled one hand into his dark hair and shoved her other hand between them as Cooper switched his attention to her other breast. Holy Jesus she never thought getting her nipples sucked through a bra would be so hot!

“Easy, Tiger,” he groaned when she yanked at his belt. He dropped his hands from her hips to help her, thrusting his hips up just enough to shove those slightly snug jeans down to mid-thigh. They both moaned when his erection rubbed against her uncomfortably wet panties.

He hooked his fingers into the crotch of her panties and pulled them aside, earning another shuddering whine from Ember when his knuckles brushed her clit. He palmed his hard length with his other hand and thrust his hips up.

“Oh… god…” she curled her fingers into his shirt as he grabbed her hips to pull her down.

“I’m hardly god, Baby,” he half-groaned, half-chuckled as her tight heat sheathed him. “Fuck… you’re so tight…”

She rolled her hips slowly. “I don’t think I’m gonna last,” she moaned when Cooper’s hands palmed her ass to guide her.

“Me either, Sweetheart,” he rocked his hips in time with hers.

Ember buried her face in Cooper’s neck when the coil low in her belly tightened. She untangled one hand from his shirt and slipped it between them, her fingers seeking out her clit.

“That’s it, Baby,” he growled when he felt her knuckles against his lower belly. His hands tightened into a bruising grip, one she relished, as he thrust up harder and faster.

She quickened the pace of her fingertips on her clit. “Oh… God… Cooper…”

“Ember.”

She blinked her eyes open at the gentle squeeze of a large hand on her shoulder.

“Wake up, Sleepyhead, we’re stopping for lunch,” he cleared his throat when she turned her head to face him.

Ember’s brow furrowed.

What the hell?

She was buckled in her seat, fully dressed?

Cooper dropped his hand. “I’m surprised you fell asleep with my singing,” he teased her. “Never worked on my kids when they were little.”

Did he sound a little gruff?

She blinked her eyes to try to focus on him. Was he avoiding eye contact, too? Damn those sunglasses…

“No comment?” His chuckle sounded a tad forced.

“No!” She blushed fiercely, wondering now if her dream had been… possibly a bit vocal. “N-no, I… I guess a smooth car ride combined with a sleepless night put me to sleep.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” he slipped the key from the ignition and shifted in his seat to slip it in his pocket. “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

#william cooper #red #william cooper x ofc #car smut #karl urban

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flintwoodandco · 4 years ago

Text

Of Masks, Magic, & Falling In Love

Summary: Marcus Flint is Spectre, a reluctant protector of the world.

Amongst the chaos of being a superhero, hiding his identity while being a rugby player, Marcus also has to deal with his rival, Oliver Wood, and not strangling the man every chance he gets.

As if his life couldn’t get any more off-balance, there’s Marcus’ predicament with Illusion, another superhero he finds himself liking a little too much.

What’s a hero to do?

Rating: T

Genre: Superhero AU, Enemies to Lovers, Banter, Minor Violence, Falling in Love

Words: 3480

A/N: a gift for @acespacejay !!! thank you so much for this prompt!! it was a fun challenge!!

AO3

When the call for heroes echoed around the world, Marcus ran.

For years he only had to worry about himself, managing his powers on his own. The weight of the world was terrifying and Marcus wasn’t ready to let everyone down. It was easy to hide really. With his questionable past, nobody sought him out. Nobody but Illusion.

Marcus didn’t know where to start with him. Illusion was a loud, excitable hero, ready to help at a moment’s notice, jumping headfirst into danger. It had been an accident that they met. Marcus had stumbled onto a villain’s lair and, well, he couldn’t just let them get away with their nefarious plot. Identity be damned, Marcus jumped into the fire and managed to catch the villain by surprise. Of course, with invisibility powers, Marcus could catch an attentive watch dog off-guard. The situation was under control, but then Illusion and his many clones popped up, almost sending everything into chaos.

By the end, Marcus simply fled. It was the only option, it seemed, and Marcus didn’t want to be dragged into the league of superheroes. Especially not by one such as Illusion.

Eventually time caught up with him and Marcus reluctantly joined the battalion though not without his conditions. He worked alone, took on missions he knew he could handle.

When he wasn’t working, Marcus found his solace in rugby. Out in the field, he didn’t need his powers. His strength, wit and skill, led him to victory without fail. Well, almost without fail.

The thorn in his side, Oliver Wood, was forever a challenge to be reckoned with. None of Marcus’ tricks worked against him and as soon as Marcus tried something new, there was Oliver blocking him.

“How about you try playing like your life depends on it?” Oliver called from the opposite side of the field.

It was rich words coming from an ordinary human like him. Marcus had risked life and limb, always sleeping with one eye open for the sake of humanity.

Gritting his teeth, Marcus grabbed his passes, found his opening. He would show Oliver once and for all who owned the rugby field. Oliver came closer and closer as Marcus charged towards him. He was almost there before all went white.

Marcus didn’t make the winning score.

Oliver’s team had one-upped his own yet again, leaving Marcus in a state of loathing. If only he could give Oliver a taste of his own medicine. Semi-finals were coming up and no doubt Marcus’ team would have to face Oliver’s again. Redemption was so close, yet ages away, driving Marcus to practice harder and longer every minute he could.

It was only when his teammates worried about him that Marcus scaled back, giving in to an invitation of drinks at a local pub.

The evening went on well enough until familiar faces appeared and the tension in the air grew thick. With two rivalry rugby teams staring each other down, the pub owner was quick to threaten banning both teams unless they agreed to get along on the premise.

At this, Oliver beamed, wrapping an arm around Marcus’ shoulder. “We’ll get along fine, won’t we, Flint?”

Marcus grit his teeth and weakly attempted to throw Oliver off. “Like hell we will.”

Oliver’s smile did not falter and he remained by Marcus’ side as the two teams accepted their fates with grumbles and snarky remarks.

“Come now,” Oliver shook his head as he took a sip from his drink. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been dying to talk to someone about the game between Westchester and Fairmeadow.”

Marcus’ face gave him away and Oliver dove in, pointing out certain plays, the end result of the game.

“Well, Charles really should have dodged Blythe’s tackle,” Marcus slurred, now more than a few drinks in.

Oliver’s laugh filled his ears, a strange fuzzy warmth overcoming Marcus. “You on a first name basis with ol’ Charley?”

“You’ve got the nickname for him,” Marcus retorted, jabbing a finger at Oliver.

Oliver hummed in return, his body swaying dangerously close to Marcus’. “And perhaps more than that.”

It didn’t take long for Marcus to put two and two together and he smirked, looking Oliver dead in the eye. “You looking to sleep around with all the rugby captains then?”

“Mm, perhaps,” Oliver grinned with a coy sip from his drink.

Marcus blamed the alcohol, but what happened next was a memory that was never far from his daily thoughts from then on.

He leaned in, grabbing Oliver by the back of the head and planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. Oliver was quick to reciprocate and before Marcus knew it, he was being dragged out of the pub and into the quiet streets.

“Thought you didn’t like me,” Oliver teased, his mouth brushing over Marcus’.

“You’re right. I don’t like you,” Marcus shot back before meeting Oliver in another heated kiss.

When they finally reached Marcus’ flat, tangled limbs and lost clothing led the two men into a night of whirlwind fantasies before having to wake up to the harsh reality of morning.

Marcus woke alone,

A hastily written note on his bedside table was all that was left of Oliver, along with memories of questionable choices. This wasn’t what he wanted. It couldn’t be.

Marcus tried to forget about it, but all he could see was Oliver. All he could think about was the next time they would see each other.

It was agony not knowing where Oliver was, what he was doing. So many nights, Marcus would find himself far from sleep, staring at the ceiling with the man on his mind. It was as if nothing else existed.

The buzz of his phone pulled Marcus from his thoughts and he picked it up with a sigh. In an instant, he perked up. It was Illusion. Though it took Marcus a while to come around, he found he enjoyed Illusion’s company. He couldn’t put a finger on why however, let alone how he ended up with his number.

An invitation to fly was all Marcus needed to dress and head out into the breezy night. Fastening his mask on, Marcus breathed in the night air deeply, almost giddy with excitement for what the night would bring. Diving head first out of his window, Marcus closed his eyes as everything faded away.

The wind whistled past his ears, the ground growing ever closer, yet a smirk remained on his face. There was no fear, no tightness in his stomach. With a contented sigh, Marcus summoned the strength within himself and his body snapped upwards, suspended in the air.

The citizens on the ground didn’t notice his presence or perhaps they didn’t care as Marcus weaved between buildings, zooming around the bustling city.

Landing on the domed roof of the library, Marcus stared out at the lights, reminding him of his responsibility, his gift.

“Fancy meeting you here, Spectre.”

Marcus turned to the voice, unable to stop his smile as he was greeted by a familiar masked face. “You’re the one who invited me out, Illusion.”

“Ah, so you do like me!” he beamed, joining Marcus alongside the rooftop edge.

“Just because I remember your name, doesn’t mean I like you,” Marcus scowled.

Undeterred, Illusion leaned against the railing, focused on Marcus and nothing else. “Well, when I first showed up in the city, I was sure you were going to have my head.”

“That’s because this is my city to protect,” Marcus butted in. “I was doing just fine before you came along.”

“But isn’t this fun?” Illusion grinned. “You, me, the threat of the end of the world?”

Marcus pursed his lips. He wouldn’t admit it outright, but he did admire the other man. They were both reckless in their own manner, utilizing their powers in unorthodox ways. It kept their rivalry, or perhaps friendship, strong and Marcus found himself looking forward to the next encounter with Illusionist.

“I suppose,” is all Marcus offered, but it was enough for Illusion.

He gave Marcus a friendly nudge before turning about to look at the city as well. The two fell into a contented silence, a warm breeze passing between them. This was nice. The calm moments in between saving the world were cherished. Here, with Illusion, he didn’t have to put on a show. He could even take off his mask if he wanted.

The thought had struck Marcus time and time again. Here he was, in a tangled web with Illusion, yet this was the one person he trusted, the one that understood the world as he did.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes again,” Illusion teased, breaking Marcus from his trance.

Marcus turned his face away with a huff. “What look?”

The hand on his cheek sent a jolt up Marcus’ spine and he didn’t dare look at Illusion. Despite his inner protests, Marcus allowed the other man’s hand to guide him until they were facing each other directly.

“That one of longing. Wondering what our lives would be like had we not been given our powers.”

Illusion read him like a book and Marcus caved easily. As he stared at Illusion, Marcus watched his face inch closer, anticipation rising in his chest. His mind screamed at him to run, his heart told him to stay, so Marcus froze, letting Illusion do as he wished.

That was, before a siren shook the air, breaking the spell between them.

“Fuck,” Marcus swore, staring at the beacons. “Guess that’s us.”

Illusion replied with a heavy sigh, jumping off the roof first and flying into the night. Marcus was quick to follow, but his thoughts were a flurry, jumping from one thing to the next. He had to focus on the mission–whatever it was–but all he could see was Illusion. Illusion’s touch, his strength, his gentle demeanor, it was all rolled up into one frustrating man that Marcus couldn’t be without.

“Spectre!” Illusion shouted past the wind. “The metal factory!”

Marcus furrowed his brows, ticking off villains in his head. The factory had been abandoned for years, but it was not without its valuables, left behind as its doors shut for good.

“Of course,” Marcus muttered to himself as he veered off to the right.

With Illusion a few buildings away from him, the two shot off, following the cacophonous booms and shakes. Police were circling the building, but none could make their way in, not with the entrance blocked by a massive sheet of ice. Diving in through a large shattered window, Marcus crouched down on the steel walkway, watching the sparks that flew as the villains cut through metal with mechanical saws.

“Looks like Helix is back in town,” Illusion whispered right next to Marcus’ ear and nearly caused Marcus to scream.

He shot a glare at Illusion before turning back to the scene, eyeing the workers that moved quickly from the cut metal to the moving trucks.

Steadying his breath, Marcus embraced the shiver in his body as he became invisible. He let his fingers graze along Illusion’s hand, a small laugh bubbling up as the man tensed. Then with a nod, Illusion followed Marcus’ lead forming several images of himself that then scampered off in different directions.

“On three?” Illusion checked.

“On three,” Marcus replied and climbed over the railing.

The countdown began and Marcus rushed at the closest workers, taking a few down with precise kicks and punches. The chaos began, yells echoing in Marcus’ ears as the enemy helplessly tried to hit him. Teasing them, Marcus appeared for a moment before vanishing again, sprinting toward the main target. Once Helix was taken out, the rest would be a piece of cake.

“Twenty!” illusion boasted as another one of his mirror images sent someone flying.

“Rich, considering I’ve got thirty five!” Marcus retorted.

He hadn’t been counting but he wasn’t going to let Illusion get the best of him. Smashing another face into the wall next to him, Marcus spotted his opening.

With Helix distracted, Marcus shot off, landing a blow across his face. The masked man stumbled back, shooting out a beam in Marcus’ direction. It grazed past Marcus’ ear, a ringing shaking his eardrums as he stumbled to the side. Just as he was ready to grab at Helix, one of Illision’s clones slammed into the villain, sending him to the ground.

It was time to breathe a sigh of relief, even when the clone was blasted away. Then, Marcus saw the blood, the gaping wound on Illusion’s shoulder. All clones dissolved away, leaving the true Illusion bleeding out. Face contorting into anger, Marcus grabbed hold of Helix, his emotions letting his camouflage fall. The two struggled, punches and kicks thrown along a steel walkway. Blind rage fueled every one of Marcus’ moves yet no matter how hard he fought, Helix wasn’t going down. The mocking laughter from Helix cut Marcus down to his core, tearing down his morals one by one. Justice be damned, Marcus summoned a deep power within himself, stealing the very breath from Helix. As the villain struggled to breathe, Marcus held him up until Helix passed out before throwing him to the side.

Chest heaving, Marcus thought to do more, but remembering Illusion shook him from his onslaught and he rushed over to the other hero. His body lay crumpled on the ground, blood painting the ground around him and he was still. Holding a hand to the wound on Illusion’s shoulder, Marcus lifted up his head, panic rising in his chest.

“Don’t fall asleep, back up is almost here,” Marcus tried to reassure, a lump forming in his throat.

At this, Illusion’s eyes cracked open and he smiled weakly. “Worried about me?” Blood dribbled from the corner of his lip and he hacked up another clot, sending more red streams down his chin.

“Of course I am!” Marcus exclaimed. Biting down on his lip, Marcus ignored the sting in his eyes, the ache in his chest. “I can’t lose you too.”

Confusion and heartbreak swarmed in Illusion’s eyes before he let out another grave laugh. “Never thought I’d hear that from you. Well, just in case I don’t make it…”

With all of his strength, Illusion dragged a hand up to his face and pulled his mask down. When familiarity hit Marcus square in the gut, he reached for his own mask, only to find his face bare, his identity lost between fighting Helix and rushing over to Illusion. There was no going back now. All Marcus could do was squeeze his eyes shut, pull Oliver close until their foreheads were touching.

“Should’ve known it was you,” Marcus bit, his voice breaking on the last word.

“Keep my secret?” Oliver rasped and Marcus nodded, fastening his mask back on for him.

Sirens rang in his ears, lights flashed all around, and Marcus was numb as Oliver was taken from his arms, rushed away to the hospital. All he could focus on was the beat of his own heart, his struggle to understand all that had happened.

He didn’t know how he had missed it. From the taunts on the field to their teasing as they saved the world again and again, it should’ve been obvious that Oliver had always been at his side, yet Marcus almost didn’t want to believe it. They were rivals, different as could be. Or maybe that was the lie Marcus tried to tell himself. He thought back to their night together, the attraction shared between them. Surely that wasn’t made out of hatred at all.

When a violent shove to his shoulder snapped him to attention, Marcus glared at a medic fussing over him, mistaking his presence as an innocent bystander than one who had helped with the fight.

Marcus blinked and in a second all his senses came back full force. He tried to get to his feet only to find strong arms helping him up.

“Easy there,” the medic warned, her face wrought with worry. “What were you doing here anyway?”

“I...homeless. Was going to stay the night here until all this happened,” Marcus stuttered through his lie. “Is Illusion…?”

“Not too sure, but he’s not one to go down easily. Do you need help finding a place to stay tonight?” The medic’s grip was still tight on Marcus and he gave a quick shake of his head.

He had to get to the hospital. Pretending he needed some water, Marcus then made his get-away. He shot off into the night, all but crashing into the hospital lobby when he finally got there. Several secret codes and barred doors later, Marcus finally made it to the room that held Oliver, several robotic machines crowded around the bed and fussing over him.

Brown hair edged into his peripheral and Marcus waited for the doctor to speak first.

Dr. Granger had set up this facility all on her own, specializing in healing those with powers, protecting their identities while under medical care.

“Illusion had overused his powers, made too many clones,” Dr. Granger spoke, gentle but straightforward. As usual, her mind-reading took care of Marcus having to speak. “His body is finally catching up, but he will need to recover here for a few days.”

Nodding his understanding, Marcus then found himself with a decision he never had to make before. He could stay overnight, be there when Oliver awoke the next morning. Then again, they weren’t anything more than acquaintances. He didn’t owe anything to this man.

Except, he did.

Accepting himself, his powers, had been a nightmare for Marcus. He was ready to throw it all away when he first ran into Illusion. The man had been an annoyance, bugging Marcus with incessant questions. It was only with reluctance that Marcus allowed Illusion to see him for nights after that.

Then, like a switch, everything changed. Marcus was happy, smiling, amongst all the competitions between himself and Illusion. Life was turning for the better and Marcus had fallen for the hero and the man behind the mask.

With a nod to Dr. Granger, Marcus edged into Oliver’s room, careful to not get in any robot’s way as he sat in the corner. Minutes passed by like an eternity and when the final robot left the room, Marcus dragged his chair over to the bedside and stared at Oliver’s sleeping figure.

Had he not seen the wound, it would appear that Oliver was just resting after a hard fight. If only it was just so. Marcus sank, his worry tiring him as he replayed everything in his mind. Yes, Oliver would be okay, but how soon that would be was uncertain, eating away at Marcus’ heart. Surely there was something he could have done. He had almost taken care of Helix before everything went to hell.

Exhaustion eventually took over and Marcus was woken suddenly by the clearing of a throat. Sitting up straight, Marcus hastily rubbed his eyes, wincing a little at the sunlight that poured into the room. When his vision focused, he was met by Oliver staring at him, the corner of his mouth quirked. The man didn’t look much better from the night before, pale face, tired eyes, but at least he was alive.

“Sleep well?” Oliver rasped out.

“No,” Marcus couldn’t help retort and then readjusted in his seat. “How are you?”

Oliver sighed, a slight hitch in his breath. “Could be worse. Been worse.”

Marcus could only imagine, nodding his understanding. An awkward silence filled the air causing Marcus to look away. Where to go from here was a mystery and Marcus was too tired to solve it.

Both men wore matching frowns, trailing into their own thoughts. Marcus shot back to the one night stand, his muddled feelings hitting him like a truck. He liked Illusion. He didn’t hate Oliver. There was no need to keep him at arm’s length. Not anymore.

“Alright,” Oliver spoke with conviction, shaking Marcus from his trailing mind. “What if after I’m all healed up, we meet up for drinks? One drink. You as Marcus, me as Oliver.”

“No masks, no secrets,” Marcus muttered to himself.

“Exactly.”

Biting his tongue, Marcus summoned the courage to look at Oliver. His eyes were gentle, shining, and through everything, the past, the present, Marcus’ chest ached, his stomach churned.

It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Maybe, in this world of unknowns, Marcus could finally be okay. He could have a friend, something more, who truly understood the complex workings of a superhero’s life.

As Oliver’s hand reached out to him, Marcus met him halfway, their fingers lacing together. They didn’t have to solve everything now.

For the moment, they could just linger and let their minds wander into the what-if’s that would soon await them outside of this little room.

#flintwood #marcus flint #oliver wood #indigo writes shit #acespacejay

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