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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.

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<<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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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 · 5 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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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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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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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 · 5 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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heychangbin · 5 years ago

Text

The Camping Trip ║ Part Two

Summary: You and Billy find your way back to your campsite, learn some things and spend the first night out in the woods.

Wordcount: 4876

Warnings: More smut towards the end.

A/N: picks up where part one left off, tag list at the bottom.

You didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it, there was no way in hell that Billy Russo, whose job demanded that he be on high alert and commit, even the most minute of details to memory, was lost.

“8 years of military service," you began, fingers fastening the button of your jean's, "134 confirmed kills, 3 tours in Iraq, 1 in Afghanistan, CEO of your own private security company and you can’t remember from what direction you came from when you found me?” you cried incredulously, walking between the breaks in the trees, eyes squinting to see if you recognized some gnarled branch you might've passed by.

“In my defense,” you turned to look at him over your shoulder, shoulder pressed against the truck of a tall tree, jeans buttoned and zipped back up, dark gray t shirt smoothed down against his torso, “when I got those kills and was doing my tours I wasn’t getting my brain sucked out through my dick.”

You rolled your eyes as you turned away from him, brows furrowing as you caught the color of the sky. Was it getting darker? It definitely looked darker than when you arrived. Were there bears in New York? Oh god, were you gonna get mauled by Winnie the Pooh?!?

Your breathing started coming in shorter bursts, the rising panic making you start to hyperventilate.

"Stop panicking." He said, his voice controlled and calm as if he wasn't lost in the middle of the woods with no idea how to get back to the campsite. Probably due to all his training, you were sure that being a Lieutenant in the marines special forces he had to have nerves of steel.

But you didn't and you couldn't pretend you did.

"Billy, we're lost, how am I not supposed to panic!"

"Panickin’ about it ain’t gonna help, you're just gonna work yourself up--"

"Of course I'm gonna get worked up, we're lost and we don't have our phones Billy! what if a bea--"

"STOP." He said over you, voice hard and commanding, sounding every bit the decorated Lieutenant he was under all the expensive tailored three piece suits, silk ties, and immaculate personal grooming.

You froze mid step, shocked, Billy had never raised his voice at you, not like this, not even during the heated argument you've had over the years.

"S-T-O-P," he continued, voice back to its usual soothing tenor, "Stands for: stay calm, think, observe, and plan. First thing you gotta do is calm down." He pushed himself off the tree and walked over to stand in front of you, ducking his head down until his eyes locked on yours, placing his hands on your shoulders and giving them a tight squeeze., the weight of them helping to ground you and regulate your breathing. "Now, think….observe."

You take a moment and look past him at your surroundings, your eyes dancing between the breaks in the trees,

“Everything looks the same!” you groan out in frustration

“Hey, hey,” his hands come to cradle your face, dark eyes seeking out yours, “breathe.” you did, pulling a lungful of air and exhaling it slowly, “Alright, now think, where are you?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem.”

“Cute,” the corner of his lips giving a slight twitch, “think of where you are.”

“The woods? A forest?”

“Good, what does a forest have?”

You rolled your eyes and looked around again, taking in the trees, grass and….mud. Huh. Your head cocks to the side as you noticed the tracks in the damp dirt.

“Billy,” your eyes follow the prints on the ground that lead and disappear into the trees, “how long do footprints last in mud?” you step past Billy and walk to the edge of the tracks

“If undisturbed, they can last days, weeks, months even.” he says from somewhere behind you.

“Think we can follow those,” you nod towards the prints, “back?”

“It’s worth a shot, if they don't lead us to our site, they can always lead us to somebody else’s, and we can go from there.” His voice has a satisfied tilt to it, you took a few steps alongside the tracks when a rustling made you stop and turn. Billy was crouched down near the ground, large hands gathering the bulk of the sticks you had collected.

“Are you serious?”

“What? I ain't about to let all your hard work go to waste.”

You rolled your eyes but walked over to where he was and helped pick up the remainder of branches on the ground. After picking up the final gnarled branch he nodded to the tracks, saying,

"Lead the way."

With your eyes trained on the ground, you followed along side the clear indents on the wet dirt, It wasn’t long before you were able to hear the familiar sound of Foggy’s voice.

“All I’m saying is, they’ve been gone a while, maybe we should go out and make sure they’re okay!”

“You got nothin’ to worry about tenderfoot, Bill’s with ‘er, she couldn’t be in better hands.”

“What if he didn’t catch up to her? These woods are huge and easy to get lost in!”

“And lets not forget it’s—”

“We don’t need to worry about them cuz they’re about to break through the treeline.”

You heard Matt say as you took the final step that put you and Billy out from the cover of the trees,

“There you are! What took you guys so long?” asked Karen at the same time that Frank let out a “Finally decided to show up, eh?” making Karen toss him a glare over her shoulder.

You rolled your eyes ignoring Frank instead choosing to answer the clear and genuine concern in Karen's eyes.

“Just headed out too far and lost track of time.”

You heard more than saw the amused huff Billy gave at your words, but you were not about to admit to your group of friends that you had gotten frisky in the great outdoors, especially not when at least two of them had been worried about you being lost.

“Well, that's a relief but we kinda need to get this fire going if we wanna have dinner.” Foggy said as he hurriedly waved you over to the center of your site, where he sat, hunched over a ring made of rocks. You walk over to where Foggy is, Billy a step behind you,

“First thing you need to know is how to build a fire.” Said Foggy as he took the branches from under your arm, “what I’m about to show you is the Nelson method,” he said as he snapped several twings in half, tossing them into the ring of stones. “It’s a family secret that’s been passed down from Nelson to Nelson ever since the old country and has a 99.9% success rate.” he had gone through the majority of the sticks you had brough when he continued, “When you have a nice pile goin’ you get them nice and close, then, you take your trusty box’a matches,” he says pulling a small box from the pocket of his pants, sliding it open and taking one of the wooden matches, pushing the box close, quickly striking the red head of the match along the stripe on the side, the match head bursting to life with a puff of smoke and a menacing fizzle. Foggy held the burning match to the edge of the pile of sticks, the flame transferring to the thinner ends of the twings, consuming the dry wood in a matter of seconds then dying out. Foggy struck another match and tried again. And again, and again, and again. Finally giving up when he burned himself for a second time.

Foggy pulled this thumb from between his lips, his arms falling to rest a top his knees, turning to look at Billy.

“You wouldn’t happen to have one of those fancy portable gas stoves packed away in one of the SUV’s, would you Russo?

‘Fraid not,” Billy answered,

Foggy’s head falls, his chin pressing against the middle of his chest, letting out an exaggerated sigh as his shoulders slump, before looking up at the others and solemnly saying,

“Got some bad news guys, looks like we're gonna starve.”

“Y’all better get a fire going over there Billy, I did not spend the last 20 minutes prepping these dogs for nothin’.” Curt said, not lifting his eyes from the work his hands were doing on the picnic table.

With that, Billy scooted closer to the edge of the stones, hand reaching in to pick through the pile of twigs and branches Foggy had made,

“First, you need to know the different materials it takes to build a fire.” he said, picking and snapping some of the more spindly ends of the twigs off, “Tinder should be thin and dry, ideally it would be birch bark, dry pine needles, grass, or leafs, but these,” he waved the growing fistfull of thin twigs, “will do just fine.

“The thing you wanna remember about tinder is, it should be easy to burn, it's what you’re gonna light directly and will spread to your kindling.

“Next, you got your kindling. These should be sticks no thicker than your fingers and go on top of your tinder.” he turned and picked some of the thicker pieces of branches you had found; gathering them into a loose bunch and setting it aside.

“Now, there’s several ways to go ‘bout it,” Billy said, pulling out a pocket knife from the inside of his boot, pulling the the blade from the metal casing, it locking in place with a click, and shoving the tip into the ground and shoveling out dirt, “the most efficient and easiest is the a-fram—”

“Ey! Don't you be teaching ‘er that shit!” Frank hollered making you, and everyone else, turn to look at him

“Pipe down Frankie, we’re trying to build somethin’ here!” Billy threw over his shoulder at the same time that Curt groaned out, “Oh lord, it’s Afghanistan ‘03 all over again.”

“Afghanistan ‘03?” Karen asked Curt as her eyes jumped from Frank to Billy, just like yours were.

Curt heaved out a sigh, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, “Story for ‘nother time Karen,” he said, sounding far more exhausted than he had seconds ago, “Just get a fire going Billy.” he added without looking up.

Billy threw a salute in Curts direction that he didn’t see, then continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. He picked up one of the thickest branches you had found and shoved it into the ground at an angle, adding two sticks at the end that stuck out, propping it on the “y” at the ends. He grabbed the bunch of tinder and placed it in the middle of the space that rested under the three sticks, then layered some of the kindling on either side of the structure. When he deemed it finished, he pulled out his own box of matches, struck one along the side of the box and held the burning match to the front of the tinder, the small pile quickly catching the flames, white smoke forming and rising to the sticks above it, followed closely by the lapping of the fire. In a matter of seconds, the layered sticks caught the flame and were burning warm and bright, the tails of the fire flicking and licking at the open air above them.

The fire had been burning steadily when Foggy asked Billy about the hole he had dug up.

“It’s to let the oxygen flow under the tinder, fire needs oxygen to burn and not choke, that helter skelter shit you pulled would’ve worked had you not packed it so tightly.”

Foggy nodded along with Billy’s words, “Oxygen, not choke, gotcha.”

Billy laughed good naturedly at the intense look on Foggy’s face, poking at the fire as it continued to consume the branches, poking at them a few more times before he twisted to look behind him and called behind him.

"Hey Frankie, how ‘bout you make yourself useful and bring over the fuel wood and the grill racks to set up!”

Frank threw a glare at Billy before he pushed himself off the bench connected to the picnic table, picking up one of the bundes of chopped wood in one hand and with the other picking the steel rods and grill racks, walking over to where you were, setting down the bundle of wood, rods, and grill racks beside Billy.

By the time they had set up the grill racks and had added a few large pieces of wood to the burning fire, the sky had turned a shade darker, everyone gathering around the warmth and idly sipping from beer cans as you waited for the hot dogs to finish cooking. After the timer on Curts phone went off the meal went by pretty quickly as you made plans for the next day, which consisted of hiking and catching lunch.

It wasn't long before Frank was coaxed into bringing out his guitar as everyone held long sticks with skewered marshmallows over the flames.

"C’mon Frank," you said, pulling your marshmallow away from the fire and quickly sandwiching it between a pair of graham crackers and a piece of milk chocolate, taking a bite before parroting his earlier words, " it's part of the experience."

"C'mon Frank," Karen said from beside him, gently bumping her shoulder against his, making the last of his resistance disappear muttering out a low "fine." pushing himself off his chair and going to grab his guitar.

"Didn't know Frank could play," said Foggy around a mouthful of crackers, chocolate, and burnt marshmallow.

"He's actually pretty good," said Billy as he slowly rotated his stick, the marshmallow at the end getting an even golden coating all around. "Self taught if you can believe it."

Just then Frank sat himself down on his chair, resting the body of the guitar on his thigh, the pad of his thumb strumming and plucking at the strings, his head tilting to the side whole his other hand turned the tuning knobs at the top of the headstock. He turned a few more before he began strumming the strings in earnest. The fingers of his other hand dancing along the fretboard, the crackling of the fire complementing the easy familiar melody that filled the air. Frank cleared his throat a few times and began to sing, his usually gruff voice turning just a bit smoother and wrapping around the well known lyrics.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Billy shift beside you, heard the slightest bit of rustling over the strumming of the guitar strings and the words that flowed from Frank, you turned to look at him, mouthing "You okay?", to which he just smiled and winked at you.

Frank was coming to the end of the first verse, his voice fading as his hand changed chords, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips as a twangy whistle came up from beside you making you turn to see Billy, sitting up straight with his eyes closed and his hands cupped around his mouth. The whistling changing as he slid the harmonica across his lips, his hands opening and closing over the slim metal instrument, making the pitch rise and fall, before fading completely as Frank began the second verse of the song.

They continued like that for the remainder of the song, the melody swelling before Frank plucked the last remaining chords as Billy blew on his harmonica, the twangy whistle tapering out as Frank continued to strum the guitar, the fingers of his left hand dancing quickly down the frets as he changed chords, a new melody quickly starting.

Frank and Billy did a couple more songs and had everyone around the fire humming and singing along to his rendition of Thunder Road, before you knew it, the fire had dwindled, the temperature had dipped, and the sky had turned and inky black, it’s after Karen had slumped against Frank’s side, eyes struggling to remain open that Matt suggested putting an end to the night.

The low flame that had been doing a good job at keeping you warm was put out, the mixture of reds, oranges, and yellows hissing as water was poured over them, extinguishing them and giving way to billowy wisps of gray smoke, Billy waved you off, giving you a small smile and saying, “I’ll catch up in a few, wanna make sure this doesn’t come back to life while we’re sleepin’.”

You nod and push yourself off your chair and walk to your and Billy's tent, you reach for the zipper and slide it along the length of the opening, the fabric going slack and letting you step through, pulling your phone out of your pocket and using the light to illuminate your way.

The first thing you notice is the inside of the tent is organized with the same meticulousness you've come to associate with Billy. The large raised bed that takes up a large portion of the left hand corner is made, the sheet and bulky spread pulled taunt, had you had a quarter, you're sure you'd be able to bounce it off the smoothed out surface, beside it a small table with one of the power stations he had sent in the text group. On the opposite corner a couple of hanging organizers, the clothes in them folded with the precision that is, at this point, second nature to Billy, under the organizers an empty mesh hamper, and hanging from the ceiling, an electric lantern.

You reach for the knob, turning it clockwise past the initial click until the room is flooded in a soft, barely there glow. After a few flicks of your phone screen you take your phone cable and connect it, laying the phone on the table and make your way to the organizers, eyes and hands going through the handful of clothes to find an old Anvil t-shirt Billy had once left behind in your apartment and you never returned. It’s worn and frayed around the collar and along the right sleeve but soft to the touch from repeated use; it’s easily your favorite thing you own. Billy has tried to get you to get you to throw it out, swap it for a new one on more than one occasion, mentioning the tiny holes that litter the left side, the stitching that’s coming undone from the right shoulder, but everytime you just shrug, not telling him why you refuse to part with the shirt. You refuse to tell him that it’s the only thing that kept you from breaking down when you—

No. You stop the memories of those lonely nights and days before they are able to fully form. He’s here now, that’s all that matters, not the past, only the future. Our future. Together.

You shake your head, tossing the shirt onto the bed, maybe one day you’d tell him, when the ghost of the things he did and endured for the people he called his family wasn’t so present on his face and dimming the light of his eyes. You strip your clothes, tossing them into the hamper, followed by your bra, pulling the dark shirt over your head, settling it over your shoulders, the hem falling a few inches short of your thigh.

You bunch the front of the shirt over your stomach and pop the button of your Jean's free, pushing them down and off your legs. On your way from picking them up off the floor you felt a body press against your back and a pair of arms circle around your middle.

“Curts right, we really should put a bell on you.” you say, relaxing against his chest, closing your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder. You waited for his witty retort, something about no one getting any sleep if he had a bell on, but it never came. You peeked at him outta he corner of your eye and noticed the way his eyes were locked in on your shirt.

“Y’know, I almost tossed this out when I pulled it outta your bag,” he murmured against your temple, his beard grazing against the side of your face as he spoke, long fingers paying with the frayed hem, “knew you woulda served me my own balls for breakfast if you didn’t see it.” he paused for a beat and rested his chin on your shoulder. “You ever gonna tell me why you hold on to this thing?”

Someday. The word echoed in your mind as you lifted the shoulder opposite him in a shrug, “It’s comfortable, ‘sides,” you take a step away from him and turn, resting your hand on your hips, “it looks good on me.”

He smiles, his gaze traveling down your body then back up again, eyes lingering where the soft fabric clings to your body, “it does, holes ‘nd all but,” he closes the small distance between you, hands coming to rest on your hips and pulling you close, “it would look much better on the floor.” with that he seals his lips over yours.

His hands came up to cradle your head as his lips molded over yours, his tongue teasing at the seam of your lips before pushing past them and delving into your mouth, you angled your head, meeting each swipe of his tongue with one of your own. His hands trailed down, the pads of his fingers caressing the column of your neck, the curve of your breasts, and down your ribcage before circling around your waist, fingers kneading the swell of your ass. Your hands running up his chest, feeling the hard muscle under his shirt, going further up, past his neck to bury themselves in the long tresses at the back of his head, nails dragging against his skull, making him groan into your mouth.

His fingers are bunching the back of your shirt against the small of your back when you break away, panting into his shoulder as his hands go back to your ass, digging into the supple flesh.

“Billy,” your voice sounds paper thin as Billy kisses the side of your neck, beard scratching the thin skin, “Billy,” you try again through labored breaths, getting an acknowledging hum from him as his lips work on the slope of your neck, “Billy...we can’t…the others--”a moan interrupts you as Billy sinks his teeth on a sensitive patch of skin that makes your knees buckle, your hands gripping the front of his shirt

"We'll keep it down.” he whispers against the shell of your ear before nipping your lobe and sucking it into his mouth, teeth worrying the sensitive skin before moving to kiss his way down your neck. A hand coming up to circle your breast, thumb swiping across your hardened nipple through your shirt, you breath out a moan and Billy smiles against the side of your neck as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Billy," you breath, voice thick with want and need, your hands clenching the material of his shirt, pulling yourself impossibly closer against him,

"I’ve got you," he murmurs, lips brushing against yours as he guides you backwards toward the bed, his hands reaching and pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it off to the side while your hands work on the button and zipper of his jeans, pulling his own shirt up and over his head. You leave a trail of open mouth kisses that start from his left shoulder to his neck, sinking your teeth on the tendon there, making him hiss and stumble as he struggles to step out of his jeans.

When he’s successfully gotten his jeans off, he kisses you with renewed vigor, his lips hungrily devouring yours as he lowers you onto the mattress and settles himself between your legs, rolling his hips into yours, the outline of his harden length making you a bit desperate to have him inside of you.

You open your mouth to tell him to stop teasing you when a moan pushes itself past your lips as Billy works your clit through your underwear, the speed and pressure varying every few swipes, keeping you from reaching your peak. When he pulls his hand away from between your legs it feels like it’s been an hour, your body is hot, sensitive and you’ve been reduced to a whimpering mess. He shifts around, hooking his fingers in the elastic of your underwear and pushes them down and off your legs.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, kissing the inside of your bent knee and up your thigh, the jut of your hip, the hollow under your sternum, between the valley of your breast, the base of your neck, and lastly on your lips. Your hands dig into his hair, nail scratching against the back of his head, moaning into his mouth when you feel the tips of his fingers touch your core, slipping between the wet folds and running up and down the slit, wetting his fingers before circling your clit, keeping the pressure light and the speed just slow enough to keep you on edge.

You roll your hips against his hand letting out a whimper when you feel the tip of his long fingers at your entrance, pushing in so slowly that the groan you let out was half pleasure half frustration, the frustration fading as he started pumping his fingers into you, quickly adding a second finger and picking up speed, the undulation of your hips making the heel of his palm brush against your clit every so often, turning you into a withering mess as he helps you chase your peak.

It wasn't until he added a third finger that he fucked you in earnest, long fingers reaching and curling inside of you while his mouth nipped and sucked at any skin within reach, it was the combination of a particularly hard shove and his teeth sinking into the skin over your jugular that hurtled you to reach your climax, body tensing, eyes rolling back of their own accord and mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Your chest rises and falls heavily as you catch your breath, your body jerking when Billy pulls his fingers away, you take a few deep breaths, tongue coming out to swipe your lower lip while your hand reaches for the front of Billy’s boxer briefs, he catches your wrist and holds it above your head, lowering himself against your body, lips slotting over yours and tongue delving into your willing mouth as he lazily rolls his hips against yours, dragging his covered length against your mound. His teeth nip and pull at your bottom lip before pulling away from you and climbing off the bed.

“Where’re you going?” you slur breathily as he walks over to the hung organizers on the opposite wall, rummaging through one of the cubbies for a moment, then makes his way back to the edge of the bed, pushing his briefs down his long legs, wrapping his hand around himself and give his length a few lazy strokes, the motion practiced and familiar, you'd seen Billy put on a condom countless times, before climbing back on and between your legs.

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he murmurs against your skin, hand settling in the crook of your knee and gliding up to your thigh, fingers digging into the supple flesh as he rolled his hips, the tip of his hardened length dragging between your folds while he leaves a trail of open mouth kisses across your chest.

“Billy….need you…” your voice is caught between a whine and a plea, your leg hooking around his hip and bringing him down to you, rolling your hips against his. Billy hisses and lets out a string of curses before reaching between you and guiding himself to your entrance, letting out a rumbling groan as he pushes into you.

Despite his prep, you still feel the stretch when he enters you, clamping your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as Billy slowly works himself into you, the speed and force with which he moves increasing with every few thrusts. You feel your second orgasm of the night approaching fast as Billy fucks you in earnest. You struggle to keep yourself quiet as his thrusts become harder, your own movement helping you race towards your finish, Billy pulls your hand away from your mouth and crashes his lips to yours, letting out a moan that Billy swallows as you crest, back arching off the bed and the leg over Billy’s hip pulling him impossibly closer. You’re riding the tails of your high when Billy’s thrusts stutter, hips flush against yours and he bites the top of your breast, groaning as he climaxes.

You're a heaving, boneless mess, struggling to keep your eyes open when Billy pulls out and rolls off of you, you turn and catch him tying off a condom before your eyes close and slip into unconsciousness.

Last part will be uploaded by/on 6/25/20

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excindrela · 5 years ago

Text

12 Days of Demon Ayno -Day 9 (18+)

Supernatural AU

Pairing: demon! Ayno (Noh YoonHo) VAV / Female reader

Genre: Fluff/ Angst/ Smut

Warnings: Cussing, alcohol consumption, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you snap it!)

Word Count: 5031 (...I did not mean to write War & Peace...)

AU: OMG DAY 9 IS FINALLY DONE! (So I guess we’re having Christmas in July)�� I’m sorry this one took so long. I knew where we needed to go, I just couldn’t get there. Good news: Day 10 is started, Day 12 is done! (We might skip 11) I have also started NYE & Lunar New Year (I’m writing all of them simultaneously) I love feedback- so if there’s something you like, or something you want to see- tell me!! Thanks to everyone who has stuck around! Special thanks to @quyennie for being my editor!!

Demon Ayno: Summoned, Thanksgiving, 12 Days: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11| Day 12 | NYE | Lunar New Year

On the 9th Day of Christmas: You Took Ayno to the Office Holiday Party

It was a little after three thirty when you came through the apartment door wearing baggy sweats, a zip up hoodie with nothing but a tank underneath, fuzzy flip-flop slippers, and no gloves. Even with the calf length down coat on you were freezing, but you couldn’t risk wrecking your once a winter pedi and once a year mani. Even though the heater was on and it hit you like a blast furnace the minute you came in, you were still shivering.

“Ayno? Are you here? I’m home.” The question was rhetorical. You knew your beautiful demon was there somewhere because the TV was set to a music channel playing Christmas standards, and something smelled good.

Ayno came striding out of the kitchen. “Good. I have made you lunch.”, he said as he took your coat. Like a typical human male, he paid no attention to your fancy nails and hair and instead focused on your outfit. “Why are you dressed so inappropriately for the weather?! You will catch a chill and die, and I will have to go back to being a…what was it you called me?”

“Interdimensional hooker. What are we having?”

“Macaroni and cheese. I am told that this food brings comfort, and you seem very agitated today.” He said as he bent down and wrapped his arms around your legs just below your butt and carried you into the kitchen.

“Out of the box?”

“Is what out of what box?” he looked around confused as he deposited you onto a barstool.

“Lunch.”

“Why would macaroni and cheese be in a box? Cheese must be kept cold.”

“You know- the blue box? With the orange powdered cheese? It’s like its own food group.”

Ayno looked horrified. “I do not know what kind of witchcraft would be necessary to turn cheese into an orange powder, but it should not be trusted and I do not know why you would dare to consume it.”

You privately thought he was missing out. Instead, he removed a baking dish from the oven with cavatappi noodles he had baked with some mixture of cream and cheeses and topped with panko breadcrumbs. He dished out a large helping and retrieved a bowl of salad from the fridge and set it next to the mac & cheese. You took a bite…it was creamy and cheesy and delicious…and you were so not hungry.

“It’s delicious, but not exactly cocktail dress friendly.”

Ayno frowned. “You did not eat breakfast. Now you do not want lunch. You are…stressed” he said, happy that he remembered the right word. He moved around behind you, fastening his lips to your neck and slipping a hand inside your jacket to fondle your breast through the thin tank. “You do not smell right…too much cortisol…” he said as his lips worked their way toward your ear. “If you do not do something to relax, then I will have to make you relax.” He gently threatened as his thumb flicked over your erect nipple.

You sighed and closed your eyes, “Ayno, so help me God, if you ruin a $60 hairstyle before I get to that party, I swear I will pour holy water over your head myself!” you gritted out through clenched teeth.

He wisely released you; then reached over and picked up the glass of water above your plate, and poured it out in the sink while muttering something that sounded like “I’d like to see you try it” under his breath, before going to the fridge, grabbing the open bottle of wine, removing the cork with his teeth, filling the glass and setting it in front of you.

He stepped back and looked meaningfully from the glass to your face and back again. You took the hint and drained half the glass in three gulps. Ayno refilled it.

He moved back to your side and picked up a forkful of mac & cheese and held it up to your lips. You obediently opened your mouth and took the bite. “We should not go to this party if it is making you this unhappy”, he said gently rubbing your back.

You placed your forehead carefully against his chest. “Oh Ayno – I don’t mean to be like this to you. Yes, you are right, I am stressed. The Office Christmas Party is one of my least favorite nights of the year. But this is one of those weird human social things that you have to attend even though you don’t want to.”

He continued rubbing your back comfortingly. “I will stay home if it will make you less worried.”

You put your arms around his waist and looked up into his concerned eyes. “Not a chance. Having you as my date is the one thing I’m looking forward to about tonight.”

* * *

You came through the doors of your building at 7:41 and the Atrium was already packed with people and the party was in full swing. Ayno slid your coat from your shoulders and went to take it and your bag to the coat check. Meanwhile, you glanced around and saw Tenley & Kara leaning against the wall by the elevator bank and headed straight over.

“Hey!” “There you are!” They called as you trotted over as fast as the slippery soles of your strappy sandals would allow. You all engaged in the typical “girl hug” that involved leaning over with your butt sticking out and the bare minimum of contact while patting the other’s back.

“Cute dress Ten!” you said. “Thanks! I was accused of being boring by Danielle, so I decided to embrace my ethnicity!” she replied, smoothing the peony embroidered satin of her mandarin collared mini-qi pao. “But it’s still black. Festive is Kara’s job.”

“What? It’s still a neutral! Just because I refuse to join the sea of black dresses with you two…” she retorted, giving her hips a little shake that made the silver beaded dress shimmy with her.

“I like it Kara! Perfect for New Year’s Eve too!” you supported.

“Right?! Kill two parties with one dress!” she affirmed.

“I thought Ayno was coming tonight?”, Tenley questioned.

“Oh, he’s here. He’s just dropping my things at coat check.”

Then Kara’s brain caught up with the conversation and she turned to Tenley looking confused “Danielle? From the Data Matrixing dept. called you boring? They only have one ‘Danielle’, right?”

At that, Tenley launched into her story the way only catty girlfriends can about another woman throwing them shade. She was just wrapping it up when you noticed Kara’s attention had been diverted.

“I don’t know what department that belongs in, but whatever it is, I will find out, and then I am transferring there whether I have the requisite skill and experience or not.” Kara said, her gaze never wavering.

You understood. You smiled at the tall, well-built man that had captured her attention, his fire engine red suit tapered from his broad shoulders to nip in at his slender waist and the pants caressed his muscular thighs. A black mesh shirt peeked out from underneath the jacket and was accented with a couple silver chains at his throat. He was stunning – and oblivious to the attention he was garnering: wide eyed open mouth stares from the ladies and looks of undisguised envy from the men. He glanced around and spying your little group he made his way over with four filled champagne flutes tucked between his long fingers. He handed out the champagne, gave a blinding smile and said “Hi!”

Kara giggled. You just shook your head. Tenley took command of the conversation. “Hi Ayno. It’s good to see you again. I like your suit! It’s a much better look on you than the reindeer sweater.”

“Thank you, I think so too. It itches less. Although, it does not have lights like the sweater, so I think it is unlikely I will win a prize. I think you look better too.”

You laughed. “Kara, this is my boyfriend, Ayno. Ayno, this is Kara- she’s our department assistant.” “Which means she’s the only one who has any idea what’s going on.” Tenley supplied as Ayno, excited to once again be practicing traditional human greetings, extended his hand to Kara.

Kara shook his hand and then downed the whole glass in one gulp. You followed suit, and then handed the glasses back to Ayno. “Will you be a love and go get us 2 more?”, you asked him sweetly. He bent down until his face was even with yours. “Please?” you smiled at him. He smiled back, “Yes Mistress. I am always happy to serve you”, he whispered as he planted a quick kiss on your lips and then turned on his heel and headed to the champagne fountain.

“Ho-lee crap!” Kara said to no one in particular. She looked at Tenley, “You said he was hot, you didn’t say he was the male equivalent of a Victoria’s Secret angel.”

You snickered at the idea of Ayno being an angel of any kind. Kara turned slowly and looked at you. “He’s cute? He’s tall? I love his smile? Seriously??? How about he’s breathtaking and sexy as fuck??”

You laughed. “Sorry Kara. After my last boyfriend…I just sort-of downplay things now. And yes, Ayno is breathtaking…sometimes I think people look at us together and wonder what a man like that is doing with me.”

“Whatever! He’s with you, right? And he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.” She grabbed your arms and turned you to face her, “Please tell me he has a single brother?” she mock pleaded.

“Actually, he has six brothers.”

Both of them stared at you wide eyed. “SIX BROTHERS?” they chorused in unison. “Are they all single and do they all look like him? I just want one.” Kara said. “Yeah, one for you & one for me” Tenley agreed.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen them. But they’re…uh…adopted, so I’m not sure what they look like.”

“Well, you clearly hit the jackpot on this one. He’s gorgeous and seems totally devoted.” Kara said with a touch of envy.

“I know, right? I want a man who follows me around and does whatever I say without question while looking at me adoringly too.” Tenley agreed.

The conversation was halted by the ding of the elevator doors opening to reveal a couple of drunk colleagues from accounting stumbling out tipsy and looking slightly disheveled. They looked around nervously before slipping back into the crowd. “Like we didn’t all know about that…” Tenley said rolling her eyes.

You were glad the conversation shifted away from Ayno. Not only was answering questions about him like walking through a mine field, but something about the champagne or the girl’s words had made you uneasy. You didn’t doubt Ayno truly had feelings for you, but you sometimes wondered if he would stay if he had a choice. Did he only stay with you because he had to? Was this like Stockholm Syndrome where you fall in love with your captor as a coping mechanism? Was he devoted because he had to be, not because he wanted to?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Ayno’s arrival with more champagne. You took the glass he offered, and then turned away to eye the crowd- causing Ayno to frown slightly. Kara, emboldened by the alcohol now coursing through her veins, pounced on him in full getting-to-know-you mode. Normally you would have jumped in and changed the subject, or answered for him, but you were so edgy you decided to just let him handle it. If he freaked out, transformed into his natural form, and rained hellfire on the building then so be it. You still listened with half an ear, proud that he remembered the answers you had practiced to common personal questions.

Your sudden coolness was not lost on Tenley. Sensing that Ayno might need to be rescued from Kara, and the two of you might need a moment, she nudged you, “Hey. Have you shown Ayno our floor yet?”

You looked at her with something between distain and annoyance. “No. I can’t imagine why Ayno would want to see our cubicle farm.”

“Nope. You don’t get a choice. It’s an unwritten rule that all new significant others must get a tour of the prison cells at their first Christmas Party, so they have a frame of reference for stories of office shenanigans and sympathy for the conditions we are suffering in when we have to work late”, she said matter-of-factly. With that, she punched the elevator button, snagged your champagne glass, and shoved you in when the doors opened, Ayno following right behind you trying not to laugh. The last thing you saw was her giving you a cheesy grin and a wave of her waggled fingers.

The elevator ride to the 9th floor was quick but felt like an eternity with the two of you standing in silence, you just out of Ayno’s reach. You walked at the same speed you did during your workday, lengths ahead of Ayno who strolled along behind you down the hall past the conference and break rooms, eventually arriving at the center of the floor full of cubicles.

“This is it.” You sighed, bored.

Ayno nodded. “I have seen this before.”

“Someone summoned you to their office building?”

“No. Purgatory. There are several levels that look just like this. I recommend avoiding it.” He paused, “Which chamber is yours?”

You started walking and Ayno followed you to your desk. “This is it. This is where I spend most of my day”, you said gesturing to your glass walled box full of pre-fab office furniture.

Ayno stepped inside and sat in your chair. You were surprised how normal he looked sitting there, as though you might have come around the corner and found your handsome coworker at his desk.

While you absentmindedly stared off into space, he took in your workspace, thinking to himself that it was rather like a cage, and feeling sorry that you spent so many hours there. He smiled when he saw that the one truly personal thing on your desk was a small photo of the two of you.

Knowing Ayno would follow, you slowly began strolling out of the maze of cubicles, idly wondering how much longer you’d have to stay at the party for people to consider it an “appearance” and what you needed to do to give the impression that you had had a good time.

“What is this place?” you heard Ayno’s voice behind you as he stuck his head into an open doorway.

“That’s the break room.”

“Ah!”, Ayno said with comprehension, “The domain of Cody the Coffee Snob and Amber the Refrigerator Nazi!” You almost laughed– he always asked how your day was when you came home, and you were impressed he had paid attention to your rambling stories about office drama …but it made you feel even less worthy of him. “Was the identity of the Lean Cuisine thief ever discovered?”, he asked as he continued to follow you.

“Nope. It remains a mystery.”

“What is this place?” he asked stepping into yet another doorway.

You followed him. “This is the conference room. We come in here when we have important things to discuss. That triangle thing in the middle of the table lets us watch Power Points, call other offices, make announcements…or sometimes we just use the table and talk.”

You turned to leave, but the door slammed shut. You didn’t need to ask how. Taking a deep breath, you turned and walked back to your waiting demon.

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong- I’m fine.”

“No. Something is very wrong. You have stopped speaking to me. You are not looking at me. You are pushing me away”, he paused looking sad and confused “What did I do wrong? Please tell me, because I do not know.”

You sighed. “Nothing…you haven’t done anything wrong – I swear…I was just thinking about things the girls said to me and about you being with me…it just made me question whether you would be here if you had a choice.”

Ayno slipped a hand around your waist and pulled you against his body, his other hand tipping your chin up to look him in the eyes. “Do you really doubt my feelings for you?” he asked gently.

You looked into his deep eyes and shook your head, “No, I believe your feelings are very real. I just wonder if you would choose to be with me if you had another option.”

Surprisingly, Ayno smiled. He gave a small laugh and a little shake of his head, “How old am I?”

“Uh…Eight hundred and…something…”

“Fourty-four.” He supplied. “You are not my first patron. I have had so many masters and mistresses in these years that I lost track long ago. You are not the first to want to keep me…but you are the only one I have ever stayed with. I assure you that if I wanted to leave, I could make your life so miserable that you would release me and beg me to be gone.”

Then he threaded his fingers into your fancy hair and pulled your face to his. He kissed you hard, tongue pillaging your mouth as he pressed his body tightly against yours. He backed you up until your butt hit the conference table, and then lifted you slightly so you were sitting on it. He finally released your mouth and dove straight for your neck. “No! Ayno! What are you doing?” He pulled his head up and looked at you with eyes so deep they bordered on maroon, “This is a conference room. We are having a conference. Apparently, I need to explain to you again how much I want you. That I will willingly be your slave until the end of time. That I am wholly yours…not just because you keep me, but because I choose to be. So, I’d start taking notes, Mistress, because I am going to fuck you until you get the memo.”

With that he pushed you down on to the table and resumed his attack on your neck. You could feel the heat of his mouth even as the cold of the glass covering the table penetrated your thin dress. You shivered, unsure if it was from that or Ayno’s sudden aggression.

Ayno put one knee up onto the table and pressed his other thigh against your waiting heat as he continued sucking harshly on your neck and chest working his way ever lower. You felt yourself growing warm and wet as he ground his thigh against your core. “Ayno! You’ve got to stop… someone could come in and find us!” you pleaded. “Let them”, he growled low in your ear, “I don’t actually care.”

“I care! Anyone could just walk in! And one whole wall of this room is glass!!” Making an inhuman sound, Ayno raised his head and held one hand up toward the door. A rope of red energy shot out and zig zagged around the door and frame stitching the door closed. Then he waved his hand in the direction of the windows and you watched as they turned black like magic demon limo tint. “Better?” he hissed. He had that determined look on his face – the same one he’d had when he showed up the night of the Halloween party…and once again you realized there was no escape. Ayno in pure demon mode was a dangerous force that both scared the crap out of you and turned you on in a way you could never have imagined. You suddenly noticed that his shirt and jacket had disappeared from his body and recalled his warning about why conjuring his clothes was a bad idea.

His hands roughly yanked the straps from your dress down and to the side pushing your dress down and causing your breasts to spring free. He brought his other leg up onto the table and pushed your dress up to your waist before he reached down and flipped the crotch of your thong to the side plunging his fingers into your already dripping pussy. “Always so wet for me…”,he hummed, “I know how much you want me, and I am going to show you how much I want you”, he said as he worked his fingers in and out of you rapidly while he sucked on your nipples. Your barely there underwear were finally in his way so he pulled them off and slingshot’d them somewhere unknown in the room- not caring about where they landed or how you were going to find them, before plunging his fingers back in and rubbing at your G spot at a frenetic pace. You could feel the pressure building in your belly. Needing an outlet for your own desires, you consciously willed him naked (enjoying that particular power you had) and once your will was done, you reached down and grabbed his cock and begin stroking it. You knew that you didn’t need to, but feeling his length running up and down in your hand felt so good…and you knew that he enjoyed it. “Do you like that?” You choked out. “Yes”, he whispered. “I like it when you touch me.” His fingers rubbed your G spot in time with the strokes you made to his cock. The tingling sensation you were feeling in your fingers and toes was causing your hips to buck. “Oh! Oh!” you cried as you whimpered his name like a mantra as your walls clenched and your juices ran down onto his hand.

He lifted your ankles to his shoulders and slid easily between your folds with how worked up you were. He leveraged his weight and trapped you between him and the conference table as he speared into you hot and hard. Every thrust sent you sliding backward across the table. Your nails dug into his biceps as his thrusts gained in strength and speed and the table began to groan in protest. Somewhere around the middle of the table Ayno’s hands finally found a grip and you stopped sliding. You couldn’t help the loud moans escaping your lips and mixed with the sound of skin on skin as his hips slammed into the back of your thighs, the creak of the table and Ayno’s soft grunts, it was intoxicating - you closed your eyes and let it echo in your head and overtake your senses.

You reached between your legs and firmly pinched your clit, rolling the ball of nerves between your fingers. Your mind was empty as you looked at Ayno’s beautiful lust filled face and saw his ab muscles rippling as he drove himself into you. Robbed of the ability to form coherent words, you settled for the vocal equivalent of a keyboard smash as your legs began to shake and your orgasm overtook you. Ayno continued his thrusts until you had ridden out your high before he lowered your legs and unsheathed himself from your over stimulated body.

You laid there on the table, sweaty and panting. Something gleamed out of the corner of your eye and lolled your head to the left. It was a small red light. The world came back into focus as the realization hit you: Ayno’s hand had finally found purchase on the command console in the center of the table…which was where the red indicator light was coming from…on the “Intercom- all office” button. Oh shit. Oh shit no. That thing over-rode everything else…including the music being piped into the party. Your moans of ecstasy weren’t echoing in your head, they had just been echoing through the entire building – including the party in the atrium and on every single floor. Everyone in this building had just heard you and Ayno going at it on the conference table. You reached over and gently pressed the button again, watching as the light went out.

You were in such a state of shock and horror at the realization of what had just transpired that you almost failed to notice Ayno’s naked body, covered in a light sheen of perspiration, planking over you. His eyes, still burgundy ringed with pink, bored into you. “Have we reached an understanding Mistress? Or would you like me to explain it again?”

“I got the memo, and while I’d love to go over it again, I think this is not the place.”

* * *

It had only taken a few moments for you to assess the situation. Your up-do was ruined, you were sweaty and smelled like sex, and you couldn’t find your underwear. You were a hot mess. Worse, the keys to the apartment – and the car- were in your purse that Ayno had politely coat-checked…right by the front doors of the building…so any thoughts of sneaking out an exit door on another floor and just going home without having to see anyone were dashed. You were going to have to do the ultimate walk of shame. The only good thing you could say was that it took only a heartbeat for you to desire Ayno back into the red GQ suit – and there he was- looking like nothing had happened.

As soon as you had finger combed your hair, adjusted your dress, and given up hunting for your thong, Ayno un-tinted the windows and released the door.

The hallway and elevator bank were mercifully empty.

If the elevator ride up had seemed to take forever, the ride down felt like an express. You wanted to just stand in the corner, but Ayno wasn’t having it. He pulled you to his side and wrapped one long arm possessively around your waist.

You took a deep steadying breath, squared your shoulders and lifted your chin as the elevator thumped to a stop. The bell dinged, the doors slid open, and your heart began pounding. Maybe the system was turned off? Maybe everyone was so drunk they wouldn’t notice you?

No such luck. While you were sure it wasn’t really the whole room it felt like everyone turned to stare at the two of you. You felt your face go hot, and you were certain that your cheeks matched Ayno’s suit. Ayno, who wasn’t the least bit embarrassed, kept his arm tightly around you and steered you straight into the crowd. You heard giggles, saw knowing smiles, got some judgmental frowns with accompanying head shakes, and a few hissed “yes girl!”s as you passed people. You saw Kara & Tenley over by the snack table, both sporting giant grins, who as soon as they caught your eye held up a cocktail napkin in each hand like Olympic judges- at least they gave you four 10.00s. You were almost there when Santa, who was in fact Ernie from Accounting, walked by and said “Ooooo! Someone’s on the naughty list now!” …and you could have sworn Brandon from IT high fived Ayno who simply continued strutting along unfazed, with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk on his face.

You finally reached the coat check, and Ayno handed the pimple-faced college age clerk the ticket. He returned a moment later with your coat and bag, looked at Ayno and said, “Well at least I don’t have to ask if you two enjoyed the party.” You snatched your bag from him and pushed your way out onto the freezing sidewalk, making a beeline for your car. A moment later, you heard Ayno’s laughter as he ran up behind you and threw your coat around your shoulders before sweeping you up into his arms and carrying you the rest of the way.

* * *

When you got out of the shower, Ayno was lounging on the bed shirtless in a pair of pajama pants. The intense gaze had never left his eyes, so you avoided it by heading to the mirror to comb out your hair. You were about three strokes in when you felt yourself being pulled backwards around the waist. Looking down you saw the red energy rope that was dragging you to your demon’s waiting arms. As soon as you got there, he pulled you against him and the ropes wrapped around the two of you, binding you together. You remembered that struggling would make them tighter, so decided to just enjoy the feeling of being forced against him without escape. The intense look in his eyes was now accompanied by an arched eyebrow. He knew your mind was busy. He was waiting.

You sighed. “I’m sorry about tonight. I know I ruined the party for you…I get so nervous & stressed about things like this… I feel like I keep questioning you Ayno, and it’s not fair. Never once have you not been perfectly clear about your desires, feelings or intentions. So, no more – it’s not your fault I’m being insecure. I apologize for treating you this way, and I will do better.”

Ayno smiled and pressed his lips to your forehead. “I am not upset. I understand. The reality of me challenges everything mortals assume demons to be. We are all supposed to be ugly, deceitful minions of evil, not humanoid in appearance and capable of honesty and feelings. This is not about you or me – it is about whoever damaged your heart before I came. Your questioning comes from fear- the fear that you will experience the same pain again. I am used to this. Do you think I am summoned by people who feel secure and happy and loved? Quite the opposite. I am called to fill a void, and my temporary nature makes me ‘safe’. I told you, I will take good care of you and I will not hurt you. I promise this. You may doubt all you wish. I will just keep explaining it to you over and over and over until you know”, he said kissing your cheeks gently as he finished.

You kissed him deeply before meeting his eyes. “I already know Ayno. But I’m happy to let you remind me as often as possible.”

And with that, Ayno turned out the lights, and reminded you again.

#ayno #vav ayno #demon #demon ayno #noh yoonho #vav fanfiction #vav smut #kpop fanfiction #vav fluff #vav

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looselucy · 6 years ago

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Epilogue

August 22nd – Harry’s POV Thirteen years of living with her, and I still wasn’t quite accustomed to how it felt to wake beside Alfie every morning.

Each day was met with this quiet elation, especially when I was lucky enough to wake up first, watch her peacefully slumbering. I would simply lay on my side and embrace those few moments of harmony, playing with her hair and not taking my eyes off her for even a second. It was exactly how I’d wanted to spend my Monday morning. It had been how I’d spent most of my mornings for thirteen long years. I’d only been back in Rosebury for three months before I asked her to move in with me. She had been adamant that we take things slowly, go about things as though it was a brand-new relationship, but I wanted to live with her so badly. She was round at mine most of the time anyway, so to me it had made sense to just ask. And though she said no the first time I asked, after a few more months of practically begging her, she moved into the home I had initially bought for my mother, and we made it our own just in time for Christmas. Thirteen years and I was still in awe of how it felt to wake in our bed, to know I had a life with her. I leaned into her, placing the softest kiss I could upon her lips in the hope of not waking her, but as I pulled away, I noticed there was a smile on her face, proving that I hadn’t quite managed it. She opened her eyes, the morning light unforgiving as she blinked in the new day. “Morning.” Her voice was sweet, fractured. “Morning, Fee. Happy Birthday.” “Oh shit. It’s my birthday?” She whined, turning her head into the pillow. “Yep.” I chuckled. “Another year older, still as beautiful as you were the very first time I saw you.” “What, in my neck-brace?” She looked at me again and laughed. “Well it’s not hard to be, is it?” “Fair point.” I snickered. “You still looked good though.” “You talk shit.” “M’serious!” She didn’t have to believe me because I knew it was true. Even with her neck-brace and her gym-wear on, nothing could have covered how beautiful she was. She caught my eye so quickly, and I knew she’d always thought that was because I’d spotted her injury, but I wasn’t sure that was entirely to blame. She went all shy, rushing to give me a peck on the lips before she went back into hiding, burying her pink cheeks into the duvet. “You should’ve stayed asleep. M’gunna make you breakfast in bed.” I said. “Hm.” She didn’t seem too impressed by the gesture. “What?” I queried as she revealed herself to me again. “Y’know what’s better than breakfast in bed?” She smiled. “Cooking breakfast with you.” That’s what I loved about her and our relationship. There was always this sense of teamwork, solidarity, cooperation, support. There was no more give than there was take on either end, we simply worked together as a unit and that was what made us happy. She knew that she’d get more pleasure from spending her time making breakfast with me than she would simply receiving the breakfast. There was more to gain that way. “Alright, let’s make breakfast together then.” “Kiss me first.” She demanded sweetly. “You needy thing.” I hushed, leaping to lay my body on top of hers and kiss her the way she deserved to be kissed; with every ounce of strength and love I had in me. It felt incredible to see her so bright, so happy. I could feel the way she smiled as I kissed her, something I didn’t think I could ever tire of. Every day with her felt exciting. We were settled with one another and our lives together, that much was clear, but there was an exhilaration there that I was confident would never fade. Maybe it was partly to do with the fact we’d lost each other at one point, like there was an appreciation there, an awareness of what life was like without the other, how bland and meaningless. Or maybe that’s just what happens when you’re with the right person. Maybe real love never loses its light. I kissed her until she was breathless, then swiftly I clambered off her, smirking and watching her whilst I grabbed our dressing gowns from the back of the door, throwing hers over her happy little face before putting mine on and fastening it tight. “C’mon then!” “Okay, I’m up, I’m up!” She cried, throwing herself out of bed and putting her gown on before she started chasing me out of the room. She caught up to me and grabbed at my hand, rearranging my fingers so that she could slot her own between them, my stomach still leaping due to the contact. Thirteen years, and my body still burst with giddy glee at the most minor of touches, everything from hand holding to how she would sometimes search for me in her sleep, her mind trapped in dreams and her physical form finding me, as though I was the embodiment of her subconscious fantasies. I loved the life I’d built with her. After she’d moved into our home, we spent some time debating over what we should do with her old apartment above the shop, and we’d eventually realised that our best option was to turn it into a gallery. I kept my most precious pieces there, the few I didn’t want to sell, and people would travel to Rosebury to see them, wander up into that small space and immerse themselves in what I regarded as my favourite pieces. It was a wonderful space. I still painted and Alfie still worked in her shop when she could, and other than those times where I’d need to travel for work, we spent most of our time together. Whenever we were apart it physically stung. I always rushed home to her. “You make the brews.” I grinned as we walked into the kitchen, lightly smacking her arse as she headed towards the kettle, laughing at how she squealed delightedly over my touch. In my younger years, especially my darkest years – at university and my first time living in New York, I hadn’t ever really thought about my future, how it might look, what I wanted. I had been so lifeless and lost that considering how things might be down the line had never been something that entered my mind. The only time I ever started thinking about the future was when I’d met Alfie. I should have known instantly that was because she would be the centre of my life from that point forward. From the very first fucking time we’d met, she had eclipsed my life then and every day since. I knew that wasn’t ever going to fade. I knelt down and opened the cupboard door ahead of me to get out all the necessary equipment. “So what do you fancy?” I asked her, continuing when she didn’t answer. “Summat little or Full English? I feel like we should go all out. With it being your birthday. Fee?” I turned to her, noticing her blank expression, the way she just stared forward like she’d seen a ghost, zoned out and empty. I dropped everything that had been in my hands, the pans and cutlery clattering on the floor as I practically jumped to her, standing in front of her in an attempt to grab her attention, snap her out of it. “Fee?” I tried again, but there was nothing. I really didn’t want to panic. I really didn’t want to expect the worst, but I could feel her fading. I could see a haze clouding her mind and taking everything away from her. I could fucking see it. The mug she had been holding fell from her loosening grip, shattered across the kitchen floor, and that’s when I couldn’t hold in my fear any longer. “Fuck, Fee, stay with me.” I grabbed at the side of her neck, pressed my forehead against hers, holding her as steadily as I could when she stumbled due to my strong hold, but she was still completely blank. “Please stay with me. Listen to my voice, okay? Listen to my voice, I don’t wanna lose you.” It wasn’t working. Slowly, she was fading away again, right before my eyes. Everything I loved about her, all our memories, all of who we were, just disappearing into nothing. My bottom lip began to tremble, fighting tears. “Alfie, do you remember who I am? Can you tell me my name?” She didn’t have an answer for me. She didn’t have anything other than the drop of her brows, which was almost an answer in itself. It told me she was confused, desperately searching for the correct, or any, response to my question, but she was unable to find one. It told me she didn’t know my name. It told me that her Alzheimer’s was flaring up once again.

2 years earlier… “No. No, that can’t be right.” Harry blurted from beside me, keeping desperate hold of my hand. “Please tell me that’s not right. She’s only thirty-six! That can’t be right!” “I’m really sorry.” My doctor replied simply. “I know you were both hoping for better news.” It was the worst-case scenario. It was the exact news we’d been dreading. It had started with really small things that Harry had noticed before even I had, how I would misplace things, struggle to find the right words. Then my memory really started to fail me, and even things like my vision took a hit, and that’s when Harry forced me to book an appointment with the doctor. I think he’d done that in the hope that we could rule Alzheimer’s out for good. But the opposite had happened. “Well… What can we do? How can we stop it?” Harry wailed as I sat in silence, attempting to let it all sink in. “I’m afraid there’s no known cure at this moment in time. But what I need you to do is have a good routine,” He addressed me. “Keep your mind active, and for now that’s all we can do.” “But-” “I’m sorry, Harry. Maybe further down the line if she’s having depressive episodes or struggling to sleep, there are things we can do and medications we can prescribe. But other than that, the best you can do is take it day by day and keep her happy.” I had no idea what to say. All I could do was hold his hand as tightly as I could, prove to him I was still there with him even though I couldn’t say a word. Maybe I’d been expecting the diagnosis in some ways. I knew it could be hereditary in some cases, so it was something I’d worried about sparsely since my mother was diagnosed, but then I’d always pushed it to the back of my mind, told myself that it wouldn’t happen to me. It was terrifying to have to acknowledge that it was already happening. “H-how long do we have?” Harry asked next. “It varies. You could have many, many happy years together. Just because she’s been diagnosed, doesn’t mean that it’s the end. Best-case scenario, this is the extent of it. It might not get any worse.” “And worst-case scenario?” Harry hadn’t needed to ask that. It had been a matter of months between my mother’s diagnosis and her moving into that home for assisted living. That’s all it had taken. Harry knew that already; I don’t know why he needed to hear it from my doctor. I guess it was disbelief more than anything. A refusal to face what we both knew. As scared as I was, I couldn’t imagine how that felt for him. If and when my mind began to truly disappear, I wouldn’t even know about it. Harry was the one who would have to watch it happen, to witness my demise, to lose me in the most painful way. He would be the one handling the most agonising repercussions of my illness and that made it even worse. I didn’t want him to go through that, ever. I couldn’t imagine how he felt then, having to acknowledge the possibility that in just a few months’ time, I might not even be able to recognise him. “Maybe… a few months…” My doctor managed to say, before Harry broke completely, dropping his head into his free hand and sobbing. And still, I sat in silence, hoping I had more time than my mother had, hoping that this illness wouldn’t be something that ruined Harry’s life as well as mine. I hoped he could be more selfish than my father had managed to be, but I knew he wouldn’t be. It would be history repeating itself all over again. I kept tight hold of his hand as he wept, still unable to find any words to share. I was terrified.

I opened the door to Robert, saw the way his smile dropped as soon as he’d noted the exhausted look on my face. He had planned to come around and spend the day with his daughter on her birthday, but he could tell instantly that he wouldn’t be so lucky. The sun was no longer shining, dark clouds hanging so low I thought they might be touching the tops of the trees that surrounded our home. It sometimes felt as though the sun couldn’t shine without her. “How is she?” He asked before he could even greet me. “Not so good.” I answered, stepping aside to welcome him. “What’s happened?” He asked as he entered, taking off his coat. “I dunno, I just lost her.” I tried to stay calm, to hold in my tears. “She was fine and then she just… She just disappeared.” “Where is she now?” “She’s upstairs sleeping.” “Okay. We’ll leave her to it. Hopefully she’ll wake up feeling more like herself. Let’s have a cuppa, eh?” I liked having Robert around. He understood my situation better than anyone else, though I’d gotten much luckier than he had with Rita. It had been over two years since Alfie was first diagnosed, and most days she was okay. It wasn’t often she completely vanished like she had that morning, whereas Robert had all but lost his wife in a matter of weeks. Rob was never condescending, he never compared my situation to his, and as agonising as it was losing my Fee that way, I could never imagine how he felt. To have lost his wife to that disease and now his daughter, I couldn’t even comprehend it. To have had to witness them both slowly fading away. He always remained resilient, positive, trying to make the most of the horrific hand he had been dealt. No one had my respect in the way he did. “You sit yourself down, son.” He demanded once we were in the kitchen, heading towards the kettle. “Talk to me.” “I… I don’t even know what to say.” I sighed. “It’s good to talk. Not so easy, but good.” He knew I wasn’t much good at talking. Alfie had always been the person I wanted to talk to, the person who I was most comfortable expressing my feelings to. When it came to everyone else, it didn’t come quite as naturally, even after all the therapy I’d had over the years. Fee had helped me to see that just because I’d stopped seeing my therapist in New York didn’t necessarily mean I should stop altogether. So, after moving back to Rosebury, I did some research and travelled fortnightly to our closest city to see a therapist, to continue learning and growing. I’d done that for a few years, until I truly felt in my heart that I was ready to stop. I knew how beneficial talking was, even though it was difficult. I couldn’t talk to her, not about this. I had to confide in someone else. Robert was the best person for that. “I’m angry.” I admitted, ignoring his instructions to sit down and instead washing up the items I’d used that morning, still making breakfast in the hope of bringing her around, but I’d failed. “Okay. Angry about what?” “So many things. I’m angry on your behalf. Aren’t you pissed off?” I asked him. “Uh… I try not to be. But… sometimes. Yes, sometimes it makes me angry.” “You don’t fucking deserve this. No one does, but least of all you.” I rambled. “And doesn’t it piss you off the way that people try to… own things that are fucking traumatic?” “What do you mean?” “When something bad happens, somewhere or to someone… people really latch onto it. They use it like it’s their own. Talk about how well they knew them. Or how they’d been somewhere where something bad happened, y’know? You wanna see the way Chloe talks about Alfie. They haven’t been close for years and yet Chloe talks about her like she’s lost her best friend and it makes me so fucking angry. Like someone else’s pain is her opportunity to gain some sympathy, it’s fucking twisted.” “Mm.” “People try to own trauma for their own gain, and I keep seeing that happen with Alfie and it makes me so, so angry.” Tears began to fall, my voice began to quiver. “Bu-but when you encounter real fucking trauma, that’s when you know you don’t want anything to do with it. You want to stay as far away from it as fucking possible, you don’t wanna fucking claim it and draw yourself towards it. Why the fuck do people do that? I don’t fucking want this.” I lay my hand on my chest, crying heavily. “If people want that pain so much, take all of it. I don’t want an inch of this, it’s fucking awful.” “I know it is. I know.” I loved Alfie with everything I was, everything I ever could be. She meant everything to me, and I would stick by her through anything, but it didn’t make our situation any easier. It made it harder, if anything. Some days I’d look in her eyes and see her fucking soul, but when her Alzheimer’s sparked that way I would see nothing at all, no sign of recognition, no love, no evidence of the woman I had been with and built a life with for so many years. The agony of looking into her eyes and seeing nothing was beyond any pain I had ever experienced in my life. That sort of loss is something I had never been able to imagine and would never be able to describe. And I was so frustrated by the way people had started using her as a pawn for attention and cruel compassion. Only a few weeks earlier, myself and Libby had been having a quiet drink in The Tin Mouse when we’d overheard someone talking about her, some lad who barely knew her, talking about how they’d been friends, how sad it was, talking about her mum like he knew anything. I was glad Libby was there to calm me down, tell me not to listen, drag me away from him. She’d had to lure me away from a fight that evening, my first in years. I was so close to snapping. No one can speak openly about things like that if they really hurt them. You don’t just nip down the pub and express your darkest sufferings, talk to whoever’s around you about it like it’s nothing. If they really wanted that pain, they could take all of it as far as I was concerned. “Pay them no mind.” Robert simply said. “You’ve got enough to worry about here without concerning yourself with how everyone else is dealing with it. Just focus on how you’re dealing with it.” “I don’t think I’m dealing with it well. I know I’m lucky. I know it could be worse, but like… even now, I miss her. I miss her so fucking much. I miss her presence. I miss her knowing my name. Because it’s not just her memories that go, it’s all of her.” “I know it is, Harry. I know.” “How did you do this?” I wept. “How could I not?” He simply stammered through a heavy breath, and it made perfect sense. It wasn’t necessarily this feeling of responsibility, like I had to do it because I loved her and I’d told her I would spend my life with her. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t that I felt obligated to stand by her, or that Robert had felt obligated to stay with Rita even when she reached the stage where she really didn’t know who he was. It was because I loved her. That was why there was no other option than to just do it, to face it head on, to be there with her and for her through everything. She was the person I wanted to spend my life with, whether or not that was a life she recognised or remembered, it was the life I wanted. She was the person I wanted. I had to stand by her through everything. How could I not?

12 years earlier… We swayed one way as the room swayed the other, my arms hung around Harry’s neck as he lay his hands on my waist and we stepped side to side slowly. “Look at ‘em.” He grinned, nodding towards the newlyweds. I looked to my left, the way Libby lay her head on Louis’ shoulder, a new place she could call home for the rest of her life. He just held her, the two of them dancing close-by, central to all the couples who were on their feet slowly dancing to Across the Universe. “M’so happy for them.” I sighed softly, laying my head on his chest. “Mm. I know. Me too.” He kissed the top of my head, the two of us dancing in silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “Do you want this?” “Want what?” I lifted my head to look at him. “Y’know. Marriage.” He looked down. “All this stuff. Is it something you want?” I took a few minutes as I considered his question, looking around the room and taking in the sights, thinking over what we’d witnessed that day and what it all meant. As wonderful as it was, I knew my answer hadn’t shifted. As wonderful as Harry was, I knew I didn’t feel any differently about marriage than I always had. “Not really.” I answered honestly. “It’s a lot of fuss, innit?” “Yeah,” He sniggered. “If you look at it that way.” “I dunno. I guess it’s just another one of those things. I don’t have that desire in me. I don’t really want any of this. I mean… I want you.” I told him, noticed how he blushed like he wasn’t already well aware, gnawing his lip shyly. “But I don’t really need any of this additional stuff to prove anything, or confirm anything. M’happy just being with you, y’know?” “Mm.” “Unless… Unless you want this stuff?” “I don’t.” He grinned. “You don’t?” “No. If it was something you needed, then I’d have proposed in a heartbeat. Anything to be with you, anything to make you happy, you know that.” Now I was the one blushing. “But I feel the same way. I get why it means something to people, and I love that. But… maybe m’just one of those cynical people who thinks it’s just paperwork.” “I know exactly what you mean.” “I don’t need that to promise I’ll be with you through everything. I’ll just promise it. Out loud. I’ll… scribble on a piece of paper. I’ll paint it on every canvas I own.” He was making me laugh, in this weird way of endearment, somehow. “Because it’s definitely not through lack of commitment. That’s not why. I’m committed to you more than you’ll ever know. But… I don’t need this.” “I don’t either.” I loved that we felt the same way about it. It was like how we’d always felt the same way about not having children; it just made our lives so much easier. It’s topics and things like that which can ultimately tear couples apart, bring an end to good relationships. When there are fundamental differences in what each person wants and desires at their very core, it can break love down. We didn’t have to worry about that. We wanted the same things, felt the same way. Sometimes it truly felt like we were perfect for one another. “I promise I’m yours.” I whispered up to him. “And I promise I’m yours.” He whispered back. “Forever. Through everything.” It was so extraordinarily wonderful to hear that and not immediately question him or have any doubts. Since Harry had come back into my life, he had proven to me in every single way he could that the promise he’d made then was one he intended to keep. He had instilled this confidence in me that I might have thought was impossible during the earliest months of our relationship, taken away those doubts I’d had. I didn’t think he was going to disappear, I didn’t ever feel like I was trying to work him out or figure out who we were as a couple, I didn’t feel distant from him in any way. I had always thought the world of him, and he knew that, but there had been parts of our relationship that I really struggled with, things I wanted to change so we could be better and work better as a pairing. Those changes had been made. “I love you.” He told me quietly as we continued to dance. I closed my eyes, lay my head back on his chest, listened to the beat of his heart. I didn’t need any more of a promise from him than that.

By the early afternoon when Libby, Louis and Niall arrived, the rain outside was relentlessly unforgiving, meaning they’d driven the short distance to get to ours, but even the walk from the car to my front door seemed to have left them all drenched. “Uncle Harry!” Ronan squealed as he leapt up into my arms. Niall and Sean had adopted him only a few days after he was born, meaning the little lad had been brightening up my life for over three years. Me and Alfie had never wanted our own kids, but it was amazing to have Ronan there, a little one we could look after and love without that full, lifelong commitment that neither of us had ever desired. But there is something incredibly warming about children. Having him leap from Niall’s arms right into mine, to wrap himself around me like that, it was the first thing to make me smile for hours. We loved being Uncle Harry and Auntie Alfie. The three of them let themselves inside and took off their coats as I continued cuddling him, feeling comforted. “Y’alright?” I eventually asked them all. “Yeah, good.” Louis answered. “Where’s the birthday girl?” “Um… She… She’s not doing so good today.” “Shit.” He knew what I meant straight away, and unsurprisingly, his first concern was me. “You alright?” “Yeah, m’fine. Rob’s here, so… y’know. That helps.” “Is your mum coming?” “She’s here too. She’s upstairs trying to talk to Fee.” She’d arrived around an hour earlier and then gone upstairs to try and get some sense out of Fee about fifteen minutes before they’d arrived, but due to the fact I hadn’t heard a peep from either of them since, it didn’t seem like she was having much luck. My mum definitely saw Alfie as her own, the daughter she’d never had. They had this bond that I couldn’t describe, like they’d known each other their whole lives, like they connected on a level I couldn’t even see. I knew that had only deepened when Jack died. It had happened around four years earlier, when she’d received a call saying he was in a hospital not far from her. Despite everything, she called me and we had both rushed to him, forgetting all the suffering he’d put us through, all the bad things that had happened, the grief he’d caused. He was still her son and my brother. That was one of the few times I could clearly see just how strong love and forgiveness could be. It was the first time since I was a child that my family had felt strong in any way shape or form. We felt like a unit again, like people who wanted to help and heal one another rather than abandon and tear each other apart. But we’d lost him. He was only thirty-seven when he’d died. Jack��s lifestyle hadn’t changed much since we’d both seen him last, when he stole from me and my mum without either of us knowing, targeting the two of us in just matter of days. He’d still been in and out of prison, he was still on the dark path he’d chosen for himself and refused to step off, but that path had lead him into the belly of the beast. He’d crashed his car when fleeing a home he’d broken into, and though he’d put up a decent fight, two days after the accident his body had surrendered, and he’d passed away with me and our mum by his side. It had been so much more trying and upsetting than I could have ever anticipated. He’d brought me nothing but anguish for so many years, and he’d done nothing to change or better himself since before he’d even reached his teenage years, but we both still felt this inordinate guilt, similar to how we had when my dad Billy had taken his life. There was this unpleasant and unsettling sensation, that thought of what might have been different if we had done more for him, supported him more, helped him to help himself instead of wanting to run from him for our own sake. I wasn’t sure we would have ever been able to get through to him, but maybe there was more we could have done, but it was too late to ever know. Thankfully, this loss brought me and my mum closer together, unlike when my dad had died. I’d half expected us to shatter again, but we’d thankfully learnt from our mistakes and allowed the harm to bring us this new bond. We knew we couldn’t lose each other again, not after everything. We were the only part of our family left and we needed to cherish that in every way we could. “You lot get settled,” I sighed, handing Ronan back to his dad. “I’ll go check on them.” “Do you need anything?” Libby offered. “Nah, m’good.” “Tell her I’m here.” Niall forced a grin. “She’s bound to remember her favourite person.” Niall had always been soft, covering his insecurities and fears with humour, but he seemed to struggle that little bit more when it came to what was happening to Alfie. Even then, he’d tried to make some sort of joke, but I could tell how much it was actually breaking his heart. He didn’t cope well when she wasn’t herself. None of us did. They went through into the living room to join Robert as I headed upstairs to see how my mum was getting on, rushing up to our room to find Alfie sat on the edge of the bed and my mother crouched at her side. “Hey, look who it is!” My mum was overly cheery, trying to bring some life out of Fee, who sat despondently staring into the distance. “You know who this is, don’t ya?” I got down on one knee next to my mother, right in front of Alfie, catching her eye and her attention, smiling as brightly as I could and taking her hand in mine, acting like nothing was wrong even when I saw the way she looked over my face, trying so desperately to place a name to my face, trying to recall the millions of memories we shared, but it was as though they were no longer there. If death was the belly of the beast, that disease was the mouth, the enlarged jaw, the sharpened teeth, the thirst for blood and the saliva it drew. Losing her was like being devoured alive. I gave her the most encouraging smile I could, squeezing her hand. “C’mon, boss.” I tried. “I’m missing you. You wanna come downstairs? Everyone’s here to see you.” I wasn’t getting through to her. I could see it in her eyes that what I was saying did not make sense. She withdrew her hand so that it was no longer mine to hold, looking down to her lap. “M'sorry, I have such a bad headache.” She trembled. “Can I be on my own for a while?” “Fee-Fee-” I started to shake. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling myself.” “I know.” I gripped her hand again, becoming frantic, even though I knew that wouldn’t help. “I know you’re not, b-but I think if you just came downstairs and saw everyone, you’d-” “When’s my mum getting here? I shouldn’t be here without my mum.” Tears poured over my eyes as rain crashed unremittingly against the windows in our bedroom, my heart breaking all over again. I just wanted her to go downstairs and talk to the people who had been in her life since she was a child, because maybe that would make sense to her. Maybe that would bring her back to me. I always thought back to the theoretical bookcases she had, what I’d learnt about Alzheimer’s when she’d first told me about her mum. It helped me to make sense of her mood changes, the things she said and the way she acted when she was going through a particularly bad spell. When things got bad, I would picture her bookcases in my mind. The bookcase on the left; old, feeble, holding her memories. And then the bookcase on the right; strong, secure, in charge of her emotions. Every time she vanished that way, I took it as though an earthquake had hit, rocked each case, and the books on the left had fallen from their place, leaving her with only the option to pick books from the lower shelves. She seemed to be talking as though she was young, like her mum was still alive and should have been there with her holding her hand through this. She was lost and confused and sad and it killed me to see her like that. That was why I wanted her to go downstairs, talk to her friends, talk to the people who had been in her life since she was so small. Her and Louis had known each other since they were babies, and if her mind could only pluck at her earliest memories, I knew that he would be there. And if he was there that might calm her and that might keep her happy, which was the most important thing. Nothing mattered more than keeping the bookcase that shelved her emotions filled with books of joy and content, even if she didn’t remember where they’d come from. I wanted to bring her back to me. I just wanted my Fee-Fee back.

13 years earlier… During his first few weeks back in Rosebury, Harry hadn’t really made himself known. We’d stayed sort of cooped up in his house, figuring things out, falling in love all over again, catching up with one another and deciding how our relationship should look moving forward. But over the past week or so, he’d started to reintroduce himself to our little village, make himself at home again. He’d been to the pub with everyone, told them he was planning on moving back, that he even wanted to start running his classes again. That night, the two of us were in The Tin Mouse, sat side by side, waiting for everyone to arrive so we could break what I felt was some of the most important news Harry had to share with everyone. “Lincoln’s gunna hate me.” He sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “He won’t. He’s not like that.” “Y’know… me and Lin proper got on when I first moved here. Proper got on. But then as soon as I clocked on that he liked you, I got all weird about him.” He turned his head and looked at me. “I dunno why I’m like that. I don’t wanna be like that. And I don’t want him to hate me.” “He kinda already knows, y’know. About us, I mean.” “He does?” “Yeah. He guessed before you came around to mine that morning, when he was there.” “When I told you I loved you?” “Mm.” I nodded. “And Louis knows. I mean, they don’t have a clue we’re back together now, but they know we were together when you lived here before.” “What about Niall and Libby?” “Clueless. I mean, both of them had little inklings back in the day, but nothing more than that.” “They had inklings too? Shit.” He huffed, picking up his pint and taking a sip. “We really mustn’t have been as sly as I thought we were. Like, I thought we hid it well.” “M’not too sure.” I chuckled. “Maybe it was too big to hide.” He acknowledged profoundly, then snapped. “Also, I go proper doe-eyed when I look at you, which is probably very noticeable.” “You should try and get that under control.” I smirked. “Trust me, I’ve tired.” He grinned. “It’s impossible.” I leaned towards him and kissed his cheek, which spurred him to turn his head and grab my jaw so he could pull me back to him and leave a luscious kiss upon my lips, lingering his love upon my pout. When he pulled away, he looked at me with those exact eyes he’d just been speaking about. I couldn’t wait to tell everyone about us. I couldn’t wait for everyone to know and to finally be in a relationship that wasn’t happening behind closed doors. What I had with Harry was the most magnificent thing I had ever experienced in my life, I was bursting to talk about it with the enthusiasm and joy it deserved. I didn’t want to admit it to Harry, but I was pretty apprehensive about Lin finding out too. I imagined he already had an idea since Harry was moving back, and the same could be said for Louis, but everything that had happened with Lincoln was still really fresh. He didn’t have a bad or bitter bone in his body, I knew that, but it was bound to be strange for him. He was the first to arrive, stepping into the pub only a few moments after mine and Harry’s kiss, but I was glad he’d caught us in a less compromising position. I’d asked him to get there a little earlier than the rest, just so we could tell him without the others being there. As soon as he saw us, his face dropped somewhat, before the door had even closed behind him. He knew. I shot an encouraging smile his way, noticing the way he took a deep breath in as though to prepare himself, before he came over to our table, sat himself down across from us. From the corner of my eye, I saw Harry drop his gaze, looking down to the table rather than at him. It seemed like this was in my hands. “You okay?” I asked Lin. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He sighed. “How’re you two?” “Yeah, we’re fine. We just kinda wanted to… chat to you.” “Yeah. I think I know what it’s about.” He sniggered dejectedly. Harry still couldn’t look at him. I should’ve known he’d be like that, all defensive and jealous and ridiculous until it got down to actually facing Lin, acknowledging his feelings. Harry wasn’t a bad person; in fact, he was incredibly caring when it came to others, incredibly conscious of other people’s feelings. He was good at picking up on things and going out of his way to make others feel better. It was why he’d always been so good with those self-defence classes. Beyond the jealousy, when it actually came down to Lin and how he was feeling, when it actually came to sitting down in front of him that way, Harry’s anger and arrogance was nowhere to be found. “M'sorry, I hate doing this, it feels so weird, but after everything’s that’s gone on recently, I feel like I should.” I got straight to it. “Me and Harry have been talking a lot since he came back and figuring stuff out and… we really wanna try and… make this work.” “As in… you’re getting back together?” “Yeah. We… We have a lot of history, and we-” “Yeah, I uh… I saw that coming.” He smiled. “As soon as Harry said he was moving back, I figured. It’s fine.” “I just-” “Alf, as long as you’re happy, that’s the main thing.” He interrupted, but I actually felt the main thing he wanted right then was to avoid the weird sympathy we were giving him. I imagined that didn’t make it any easier for him. “Look… I-I knew it was a risk when I asked you out and I wasn’t expecting it to work out, genuinely. It would have been a bloody miracle, to be honest. I just wanted to try, and we did, and it wasn’t meant to be. I’m not mad that you’ve found the person that’s gunna make you happy, Alf. I’ll find that too. It’s all good, I promise, you really don’t need to explain yourself to me or worry about me. As long as you’re both happy.” Harry lifted his head, scoped Lin out for a few seconds before he turned his head to me. “Are you seriously picking me over him?” He was somewhere between joking and being completely serious, forcing a laugh out of both me and Lin. “I feel like that’s a poor decision on your part. He’s a better man than I am.” They finally looked at each other, sharing a smile, this strange acknowledgement that I couldn’t quite understand, but it seemed like a positive thing. “I’m sorry.” Harry said to him. “Don’t be. It’s all good.” “And if I was ever off with you or anything-” “You were.” “Yeah, I know, shit.” Harry shook his head, smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry. It’s just because… I just love her so much.” “Then don’t fucking leave again, alright?” Lin grinned, reaching his hand across the table. “You won’t find a better girl if you do.” “M'not going anywhere.” Harry reached back, the two of them shaking hands over the table. I imagined Lin wanted to forget the whole thing, frankly. I really hated the thought of him regretting asking me, but looking at how it had all unfolded, I couldn’t blame him for just wanting to forget that he’d ever proposed a date in the first place. As long as he was alright, that was all I could hope for, and he seemed to be. It seemed more than anything, he just wanted to move on. He and Harry got chatting, returning to normal, the atmosphere much nicer than I’d been anticipating, but I really shouldn’t have been surprised. They were both just incredible men, I was lucky to have them both in my life. Not too long later, the rest of them arrived. Louis and Libby hand in hand, with Niall close behind, shooting a wink to Sean behind the bar before they came over to the table. “Right, what does everyone want to drink?” Niall offered. “I’m going to the bar to flirt with Sean, so I might be a while getting the drinks back to you, but still. It’s the thought that counts.” “Mate, it’s barely the thought that counts when your thought is that you want to go to the bar to flirt with Sean. You don’t wanna get us drinks!” Lin laughed. “You make a fair point, Crosby. I barely wanna sit with you lot, to be honest. I just wanna sit at the bar and make eyes at him all night.” “Okay, before you do that then,” I yelped, wanting to keep him with us. “Can you sit down for a second? I’ve got some news.” Louis’ eyes lit up in a second. I hadn’t told him exactly what had been going on, but the last time I’d spoken to him about it properly I’d said I was going to go and talk to Harry, and since then I’d been very coy about the whole thing. He’d have been a damn fool not to figure it out, but he’d given me my space to let me announce it in my own time, and I could tell from the giddy look on his face that he knew that time had finally come. Libby didn’t look so excited. “What’s happened? Are you okay? Do I need to kill someone? Who hurt you?” “Lib, it’s fine, it’s nothing like that. Just… sit down a second, I’ll tell you.” They all pulled up a stool and sat themselves down, Harry tensing beside me. These were incredibly unfamiliar waters for him to be treading. Harry had lived his life in lonesome shadows he had created, hiding in the darkest corners he could as a way of protecting himself. He wasn’t used to being open about any section of his life, especially a part as intricate and evocative as love. Though it was clear the therapy he’d experienced since he’d left had helped him, there was a difference between him being open and honest with me, someone he’d been so close to and shared with before, compared to sharing such delicate truths with everyone else. This was new to him, it was bound to be scary. I reached for his hand beneath the table, squeezed it tightly. Eager little faces awaited the news I was about to break. “Okay… so… as you all know, Harry’s moving back.” “Woo!” Niall cheered. “Cheers, Niall.” Harry grinned and winked at him, laughing a little. “And uh…” I tried to continue. “I guess I’m kinda extra happy about it, because… Well, before he left, me and Harry-” “WERE YOU FUCKING?” Niall screamed, interrupting the entire pub as he did, cringing and then turning to address our fellow pub-goers. “Apologies! Excuse my French.” I had to drop my head onto the table, everyone else trying to hold in their laughter in an effort to show a little respect to the old blokes who were sat drinking and genuinely unhappy with Niall’s language. “For fuck sake, Niall!” Libby scalded. “Keep your voice down! If you wanna yell shit like that, we’ve gotta spend more time at The Royal Rose.” “I’m right though, aren’t I?” He pretty much ignored her, eyes darting between me and Harry. “Tell me I’m right?” “We were together.” Harry worded it much more eloquently. “SHUT THE FUCK UP, NO YOU WEREN’T!” Libby yelled. “Oh my god, Libby, shh!” I cried once I’d whipped my head back up. “Who needs to go down The Royal fucking Rose now, eh?” Niall huffed. “Sorry, everyone! Sorry!” Libby bellowed around the room before she turned back to us and whispered harshly. “Were you really?” “Yeah.” Harry smiled. “Were you in love?” “We were. We are.” “Alfie! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” “Sorry, we didn’t tell anyone.” I shrugged. “But that’s why we’ve kinda gathered you all, because… well, now Harry’s moving back… we’re getting back together. I mean… we’re already back together.” “Knew it.” Louis smirked. “What do you mean you knew it?” Libby turned to her fiancé and gave him death eyes. “Did you know about them being together last year?” “Sorta.” “Wow, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. The wedding’s off.” “What? I’m good at keeping secrets! If anything, that should make you want to marry me more! I’m very trustworthy.” The two of them started sweetly squabbling between themselves, Harry and I moving our attention across to Niall who still had questions. “So, wait… you two are serious about each other? It wasn’t just sex?” “Nah. It was never just sex.” Harry said, to my surprise. I didn’t know why he’d said that, but I wondered if he might have done it as a way for compensating for the things he’d said to me when I’d told him I loved him the first time and he’d told me he only saw us and our relationship as sexual, nothing more than that. But knowing what I knew then, being aware of how he actually felt about me, maybe he really hadn’t ever seen it as just sex. Maybe I hadn’t either. Maybe we’d always meant more to one another than we’d known. “That’s wild. Why’d do you leave? Did you break up?” “Uh… Sort of, I guess.” Harry choked. “But that’s not gunna happen again. This is it now. It’s me and her.” Niall was beyond excited, happily asking Harry every question he could think of, even the ones he must have known Harry would find awkward to answer, but he answered regardless. It was yet another way I could see Harry stepping up for me, doing things and removing himself from his comfort-zone because he knew it would make me happy. It was nice that I knew it would make him happy too, he merely needed to get used to the change. We both did. Being in an open relationship with Harry was going to be different, but I’d never been so excited about anything. Our future seemed, so, so bright.

“Harry!” Louis’ voice was loud, sending shockwaves through my body as I bolted upright, cursing, my heartbeat racing. I looked around, agitated and anxious, noticing we were in the reading room, noises coming from the distance proving I still had a good number of visitors. Thunder and lightning crashed outdoors, light splitting the dark skies whilst the thunder bellowed its dominance as I came back around, a little woozy and lost for a few moments but gradually, things came back to me. I could recall I’d gone in there to give myself a bit of space after me and my mum had tried to speak to Alfie, but I must have nodded off at some point. “You alright?” He was concerned. “Uh…” I was still half asleep, my hands resting firm on the chaise beneath me as I gathered myself, reintroduced myself to the literal world. “Yeah, sorry, m’fine. Sorry.” “Don’t apologise, mate. I can’t imagine how you feel.” I budged up and tucked my knees closer to my chest so he could sit himself down at the end of the chair. Louis had become for me what he was for Alfie. Since I’d moved back to Rosebury, we’d gotten much closer, and he possessed this aura that made him incredibly approachable. Sharing felt easy when it came to Louis. Alfie had always used him as the person she went to when she needed to talk about anything, and I felt a similar way. He could sense that I needed to talk. “Sorry our little ones aren’t here.” He started gently. “They’re getting harder to control now they’re older. They’d rather spend the day with their grandparents on the farm than with us.” “It’s alright. Kinda feel like… the less people the better.” “Mm, I bet.” It wasn’t long after their wedding that Libby told us she was pregnant with Ben, their eldest. A couple of years later, they’d welcomed Amelia to the world, two more kids who referred to me and Alfie and their auntie and uncle. They were good kids, but how could they not be with their parents? “You’re handling all of this really well, Harry.” Louis was kind, encouraging. “Better than most people would.” “The thing is, I’m lucky right now.” I rubbed over my eyes. “With Fee… this isn’t happening often. This is the second time this month, and that’s the most it’s been since she was diagnosed, y’know? She struggles with the little things, and small lapses, but this sort of thing is rare, and I’m so, so lucky that that’s the case two years after her being diagnosed. It could’a been so much worse.” “It could, you’re right.” “But when this does happen… I can literally feel myself falling apart. It fucking kills me. To know she looks at me and… she see’s nothing. It’s agonising. It’s a physical pain, I can’t describe it.” “She doesn’t see nothing, Harry.” He tried to comfort me. “She might be a little lost, but you’re there, deep down. She could never look at you and see nothing, I know how much you mean to her.” I hoped he was right. I knew I’d comforted Alfie with similar words when it came to her mother, and I’d meant it, but it was so much more difficult to see that as the truth when I was so directly involved, when it was me losing the love of my life. “It’s probably gunna get worse. How am I gunna cope when it gets worse?” I asked him rhetorically. “We’ll be here for ya, the whole time. Whatever you need from us, whenever you need it.” I knew he was telling the truth, and it was incredibly comforting. “And maybe your luck won’t run out. Maybe this is how it’s gunna be for her, maybe she won’t deteriorate more than this. Don’t write her off yet, you know how strong that girl is. She’s got a hell of a lot of fight in her.” I’d barely realised I was smiling over his words, nodding. He was so right. She had so much strength in her, I’d known that since the second we’d met. She’d never really been able to see it herself, but she had such a desirable sustainability, this power and fire in her gut that had seen her through some really difficult times. I loved every part of her, every inch of her body and every piece of her soul, but that strength was something really special, something that had always drawn me to her in ways I couldn’t fight. “You gave her some really incredible years, Harry.” “But I want to give her an incredible life.” I explained exhaustedly. Her Alzheimer’s had made it seem as though that was no longer an option, that any life I could provide or that we could build would be lost, either in the depths of her mind or quite literally, if she maybe had to go into care as her mother had. I’d struggled to understand Robert when I was younger, when I saw what he did for his wife, the way he upped and moved to be with her, altered his whole life to be at her side, but now it was happening to Alfie I completely understood it. It no longer seemed preposterous, it no longer seemed like something completely heroic that he’d done. It was the only option. If I had to, I’d do the same thing, I knew that without a shadow of a doubt. But I wanted to keep her at home for as long as I physically could. I wanted to give her a life full of love, a life worth fighting for. “You still can. You will.” Louis smiled. “Do not waste these years worrying about losing her completely when she’s still here. I know it’s easy for me to say that, and with how she is today… it’s fucking awful. She’s my oldest mate, it hurts me too. But right now, like you said, this is rare. So fucking cherish her whilst she’s here. Do whatever you can to keep her here. Think of ways to bring her back. If anyone can do it, you can. I have every fucking faith. Don’t start to let go when she’s still holding on.” He commanded. I nodded, absorbing his words in every way I could. There was something incredibly special about the love between me and Alfie. When I’d fallen in love with her all those years earlier, she’d made me realise that love could truly do some remarkable things. I had to hope that love could keep her with me for many years to come.

9 years earlier… I wrapped the towel tighter around my frame as I anxiously approached the red curtains, nervously hiding from Harry who sat in room ahead of me, canvas and colours all set up in preparation, sun setting between the trees, exactly how he’d wanted it to be, the light breaking into the room and projecting the most fascinating shadows. I peered through the small gap in the curtains, not moving any closer. “C’mon, Fee-Fee. I’ve seen you naked a million times.” He said without turning to look at me. “This is totally different!” I cried. “It’s not!” “It is! This is nude! Which I feel like is not the same as naked.” “It’s exactly the same.” He cackled. “It’s different! It’s a different sort of experience entirely. No one’s ever painted me nude before.” “Good, I should fucking hope not.” He laughed. “This is my privilege.” “I feel really nervous.” “How can I make it better?” “You can’t, it’s not you, Harry! You make me feel very comfortable in my own body, there’s nothing more you can do.” I explained truthfully, standing in silence for a few seconds before I spoke up once again. “What kinda painting is it gunna be? Is it gunna be abstract, or are you gunna be able to tell it’s me?” Harry had been painting everyone of recent, actually asking them to sit for him. He’d already painted me plenty of times since we’d gotten back together, but he’d branched out, painting Louis, Libby, Lincoln and Niall. He’d even done one of his brother, though that hadn’t been in person. He’d gone off memory alone, but I knew he was hoping to reach out to Jack at some point, try to help him and mend their relationship again. It was just a matter of plucking up the courage and tracking him down. He'd even painted Chloe a few weeks back. Her and Sam had recently split up, which meant for the first time in years, she’d attempted to spend time with us all, get herself back into the group, but things had changed. It almost felt as though it was too little too late. I had no bad feelings towards her, I’m not sure any of us did, the water had passed under the bridge years earlier, but it just hadn’t felt the same. It didn’t even feel genuine coming from her, like she’d only come back to us because she felt we were her only option. It was disappointing and it truly was a shame, but it just hadn’t worked. I think that was why Harry had wanted to paint her; not because of the friendship, but more the lack-thereof. But the thing with Harry’s recent work was that they had been varied in style. His older work was entirely abstract, pieces in which I’d barely been able to see myself even when he’d tried to point out exact features. His recent work wasn’t like that though, with some pictures being the most detailed portraits I’d ever seen, so lifelike it sometimes felt as though they could start talking. He kept them all in the gallery above the shop, a collection he continued to add to. “M’not sure yet.” He confessed. “Depends how I’m feeling once you’re in place. If you think it’s too detailed, I won’t put it anywhere. It’ll be your call when it’s done, alright?” With that confirmation, I finally felt comfortable enough to step into his most creative space, shuffling past him and heading over to the podium he’d set up, balancing my knee on it first so I could climb up and sit myself down as gracefully as possible, knees bent, legs to one side, body as upright and straight as I could make it, clutching at the top of the towel, holding it against my chest. I took a deep breath in, steadied myself, made one final request. “Will you make my nipples nicer?” “Your nipples are perfect as they are, idiot. I wanna paint you, not some idealised version of you. There’s nothing wrong with you right now, as you are. I promise.” Harry made sure his voice was warm, the sound alone making me feel at home, like I should be proud to just be myself. “Whenever you’re ready.” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath in, tore the towel apart and then dropped it to the ground. The first thing I could concentrate on was the way he took a deep breath in, his chest swelling with the intake of air, like he needed to calm himself down as his eyes ran all over my body with care, slowly moving over every inch of me. I felt so exposed and yet it was overwhelmingly intimate too, like my body belonged to his eyes, like I would be invisible to anyone else. I was infatuated with the way he looked at me, because it was all there in his eyes, every emotion and every memory and every loving feeling he had towards me. After figuring out how to remain somewhat calm, he spoke. “Okay. Could you… have one knee up? Just lift your right leg, have your foot pointing right at me.” He instructed and I altered my stance accordingly. “And just link your fingers together and hold around your knee. That alright?” “Mm.” “Are you comfortable?” “Yeah.” “Good.” With that acknowledgement, he began, mixing a few colours and studying me in silence for a few moments before he put his brush against the canvas, proceeded to paint me. From what I could tell, from his point and with my position, my body would be both hidden and revealed. I imagined the shadows that were casting on me only added to the affect, and maybe that was why he’d chosen that time of day, when the sun was going down, when the world was glowing and yet infiltrated with tenebrosity. He had a vision, and I was the centre of it. Strangely, I’d predicted that I would be totally conscious of the time, that the clocks in my mind would strain and my body would ache and tire with speed, but that didn’t happen. Though we didn’t speak whilst he worked, the time flew. Occasionally, he would purposefully catch me eye, smirk at me, bite his lip, probably as a way of easing me, because when he did that, I’d notice my body relax even though I hadn’t realised I had tensed. Harry knew me so well. He knew my mind and my body and my soul in ways that were way beyond my understanding. He saw things in me that I couldn’t, loved parts of me that I hated, understood conundrums within me that I could never comprehend. I loved him so much. “You look amazing.” He said after almost three hours. “I-I dunno. Sometimes it feels like you’re the inspiration I’ve always needed. Proper little muse, aren’t ya?” I tried to keep hold of my position, stay quiet, not blush too much, but it was a complete honour to be his muse, the perfect stimulant for him to be able to create some truly beautiful pieces, none of which involved blood. Wine had been his calling for years, finding its way into most of his paintings, especially the ones of me. But he often got creative too, not always because it worked effectively as a substitute for paint, but as interesting addition. He used fruit juices, my perfume, put petals within his paints or blades of grass. He took his surroundings, pieces of Rosebury, and he made art. More time passed, Harry concentrating intently on each stroke as I slowly began to rearrange my limbs, but he didn’t notice until my legs were both dangling off the front of the podium, still facing him. “Alf-” He began, but I managed to stop him talking when I slowly opened my legs. That was how much confidence he could bestow upon me. I’d gone from being nervous to even walk in the room, to spreading my legs for him, letting him decide what he wanted to do with the woman ahead of him, whether that was painting her or otherwise. Harry looked almost dizzy, eyes transfixed on my core and plump lips parted. He stepped to his side so that the easel and canvas didn’t block an inch of me from him or vice-versa, so I mirrored him, dropped my eyes down to his crotch and saw how much he appreciated the sight. He was rock hard. I bit at my bottom lip, hoping to lure him closer to me, hoping I’d inspired him beyond the canvas. “You’re something else.” He was breathless, a look of amazement clouding his eyes. And yet he remained still, purposefully building the heat. I didn’t realise us saying nothing and not even touching could do that, but I was sure I’d never wanted him more. I had never felt such intensity between us. My whole body quivered the moment he finally snapped, storming towards me. His hands went to his belt as soon as he started walking, the jingling of the metal he was fiddling with sending shockwaves through my body. He was still working on it when he reached me, taking one hand and pulling harshly on my hair to make my neck snap back, forcing me to look up to him. His other hand continued to loosen the leather from the slack trousers he was wearing, the two of us panting even though we’d barely done anything, looking into each other’s eyes. I could feel his hand moving, hear the pleasing titter of the buckle rattling. That alone got me worked up, those two senses sparking a million sensations. Then before I knew it he’d pushed into me, so much force behind his hips that I almost fell backward before he pulled me back to him, shot his head down so that he could bite my bottom lip. His touch was strict, severe, strong. Even with my lip still gripped between his teeth, he managed to smirk, aware of how much power he had in those moments, but it was my power that had brought him to me. He let my lip loose, his hand moving from my hair to my jaw as he began to kiss me, surprisingly gentle, his hips beginning to wind, gradually moving in and out of me. I loved how he could feel so tough and unforgiving whilst also moving with such a gentle ease. I didn’t understand how he could be both and yet he was, and he was with ease. He was the light and the dark. The night and the day. The sun and the thunderstorm. The fighter and the artist. My fingers clung frenziedly to his t-shirt, possibly puncturing holes through the thin material, closing my eyes and breathing him in, barely able to kiss him with how ethereal I felt just being with him. “You feel so good. Fuck, you’re amazing.” He wheezed. I wrapped my legs around his, my heels digging into his backside, pushing my chest up and putting my arms behind me so I could keep myself propped up, Harry slowly taking his kiss away from my mouth trailing it down my chin and then over my chest, causing pretty palpitations that skipped through my body, his hands lowering to my backside and yanking me closer to him. Ever since the day I had seen his paintings for the first time in person, there had been this magnetism between me and his captivating work. Being around his pieces, touching them, breathing them in; it was fascinating and overwhelming and it always brought out such powerful emotions from me. So when I actually became a part of his art, that intensified, took all those feelings to an entirely different realm. That was one of the reasons I felt we had gotten carried away in such a physical sense. We connected when he painted. He took hold of my legs, curving his fingers behind my knees and gripping tight as he picked up the pace, head lifting so he could gaze down between our bodies, watch the way he worked in and out of me as I watched him, the way he bit his lip, even scrunched his nose, concentrating all his strength on me. I moved one hand so I could touch myself, stealing his focus. He watched my fingers move over my clit, the sight bringing new groans from him, and I could tell I was leading him to his finish. I knew all the signs, his giveaways. Nothing turned me on more than seeing him unwind that way. My moans were getting louder and louder, my eyes closing just a few seconds after I noticed a grin spreading across his lips, smug over my pitch, like he always was. “Oh fuck.” He seethed piercingly as he came, and I was able to feel the way his whole body trembled, the ripples riding against my heels and the parts of my legs that came into contact with him, moving my hand until he gasped. “Please finish. I wanna you feel. I wanna watch you.” So I moved my hand back, touching myself for those final few moments before it happened, Harry watching me in awe the whole time. As soon as we were both calm enough, Harry took my neck in his hand once again so he could bring me closer to him, kiss me with enough passion to knock me out completely. I slung my arms around his neck, feeling his smile grow against my lips. “I love you.” He gasped as we kissed. “I love you so fucking much.” “I love you too.” “You’re fucking bliss, I’m so obsessed with you.” He was rambling, spewing his thoughts, and it only made me smile more, my cheeks genuinely hurting even though I was still trying to kiss him back, butterflies in my stomach and rose tinted glasses perching on my nose and altering my vision. When our kiss ended, he stayed close, rubbing his nose against mine, closing his eyes and breathing steadily as I just watched him, just as obsessed with him. I stroked the backs of my fingers over his cheek, transfixed. “You make me so, so happy,” I whispered to him. “I feel like my heart is gunna burst.” “Nah, fuck that.” He sneered. “I need you. No heart bursting, please.” “I’ll try.” I giggled. “I make no promises though.” “I’d be lost without you. I’d hate it. Stay with me, okay?” “Okay.” He kissed me again, lightly gliding his tongue into my mouth, so tender with me I thought I might cry. I never wanted him to feel lost. I would always stay with him.

Everyone had stayed with me for a good few hours, keeping me company on Alfie’s birthday seeing as she couldn’t quite do that herself. Lin and his wife Jessica had shown up eventually too, all of them being upbeat in their attempts to lift my mood, and temporarily, it had worked to the extent it could. But then as soon as I had closed the door on them, all my sorrow had come flooding back. My only aim then was to make sure that Alfie was happy. That was why I’d thought up a plan. “Just follow me, okay?” I encouraged her, finally having gotten her downstairs, though I could tell she was still confused and wary of me. “Where’re we going?” She asked, tracking my steps as the two of us tiptoed through the living room. I was walking backwards so I could keep my eyes on her, conscious that she might cower or run at any second. She glued her eyes to me, as though she was slowly teaching herself to trust me, a flicker of recognition darting through her eyes. I smiled. “Alfie, I just wanna show you something. It’s something you’ll like.” “Uh-” “You can trust me, I promise.” “Ca-can I hold your hand?” At first, I couldn’t even find it within me to reply to her, in a state of shock that she’d even asked that of me. But what it told me was rousing. It told me that I wasn’t entirely a stranger to her. It reminded me that even when she couldn’t quite place me, there was a sense of trust between us that remained. Even though it wasn’t immediate or obvious, it was still there. “Uh- Fuck, yeah, of course you can.” I held my hand out for her to shyly slot her fingers between mine, almost bashful when she did, like it was the first time we’d held hands, like we were giddy teenagers who were dating one another. And I wondered then if that was how I should start viewing it, when her Alzheimer’s attacked her that way. Maybe it would help if I started thinking of it as though I had to win her back and win her over, as though she was someone I needed to charm and woo, a girl I really fucking wanted but needed to earn. Slowly, I lead her through the kitchen and then into the conservatory at the back of the house. I took her to my paintings. Her pupils blew up in seconds, a new galaxy appearing in her eyes, looking around the room in wonder, gazing at all the art in there, the abundance of canvases that still sat in that room. There were paintings of her, paintings we’d done together, paintings of her friends and loved ones, paintings that had been in there the very first time she had been in there. It had the potential to be a really good space for her. She let go of my hand, unhurriedly exploring her surroundings. “Did you do these?” She enquired. “Mm.” “You’re talented.” “Thank you.” I nodded. Her fingers played over a painting I’d done of her, but she was clueless, unaware she was the inspiration behind almost everything she could see. Under the guise that she was a guest, she worked her way around the room like blood running through veins, oblivious to the fact that she was actually the beating heart. I didn’t want to tell her that she was a part of so many of the paintings she was looking at, because I didn’t want to obscure her reality and upset her. Sometimes it was just better to go along with however she was feeling, whatever she felt was real. She spent her time leisurely wandering and inspecting the work that grabbed her the most as I headed towards the prime piece, the painting I had wanted her to see most. Earlier, I’d propped it up against the back window, central, ready for her to inspect. I pulled the cloth that had been covering it away, hurling that tattered throw to the ground beside me. She was so engrossed she didn’t even notice. “Alfie?” I caught her attention, watching her spin on her spot. Her face dropped. I’d captured her attention entirely. It was the Blood Sun. Before my mum had left, I’d asked her to keep an eye on Alfie whilst I rushed to the gallery and grabbed the painting to bring back. Me and Louis had covered it to protect it from the rain before throwing it into the back of his car and getting it to mine and Alfie’s house as soon as we could, hoping for the best. That painting was hers. It belonged to her, and as its owner, I knew the emotional reaction she had to it and how that never tired. Every time I’d seen her around that painting, it had affected her in such severe ways, like it spoke to her, as though it could touch her both physically and mentally. My gut was telling me that connection would still be there. I watched her intently as she took steps towards the Sun, seeing the familiar look of awe that she always had when she was close to that painting, blinded and dazzled and struck with wonder. “It’s beautiful.” She whispered as she stopped ahead of it. “You… You should feel it.” I suggested. “What? Touch it? I can’t do that.” “Course you can.” I grinned. “It’s mine, and I say you can.” She stared at me like I’d gone mad, but I just nodded, willing her to do as I’d asked. She had this beautiful, dastardly look in her eye as she reached her hand outwards, the tips of her fingers only grazing the red for a moment before her hand retracted, like it had stung her. It was rather fascinating to watch her. Within seconds, she was touching it again, and I could see that her mind was whirring. I couldn’t even begin to guess what might be going on in her head, how she might be feeling, what she might be thinking. It might have been an entirely new experience for her, or it might have been shining a light to parts of her mind that had spent that day in darkness. I moved so I was standing right behind her, my body only an inch from hers, admiring the way she let her fingerprint distinguish the paint like brail. I reached out, lay my hand on top of hers, gently guiding her touch. She inhaled heavily, my touch affecting her, my stomach twisting. “Tell me how you feel.” I was quiet, hanging my head just over her shoulder, able to see the profile of her face. “I… I feel sad.” She explained. “There’s so much sadness here.” When she said that, I found my eyes looking at the hand that I had resting on top of hers, seeing the scars that were still so prominent, even after all those years. Looking back, I couldn’t even imagine feeling that way, being able to cut myself like I had. Seeing those scars reminded me of how lucky I was to have wound up with such a wonderful life, so full of happiness that harming myself that way was almost incomprehensible. Seeing those scars was a reminder of my current wellbeing. Alfie had helped me build that life, she had been the one that pointed out just how harmful my old technique had been, and that was why she’d always been able to sense the pain that would forever remain trapped in that painting. “But…” “But what?” I tried to spur her to say more. “There’s something else, I don’t know.” “Tell me. Just tell me how you feel.” “It’s like… home, and warmth. I… I don’t know.” “Like us.” I hushed. She closed her eyes, and I noticed a tear pool over, stream down her cheek. Something was happening. I was rapidly short of breath, keeping my eyes on her. “Fee? Please talk to me.” “I remember the first time I saw this in real life. I remember.” She trembled. “I remember the feeling. I remember crying.” “What else?” I begged, tears beginning to build in my eyes. I could hear my heart beating, observing her memory reform and construct in her mind, filling her drop by drop when all I wanted was for everything to flood into her consciousness again. I adjusted our hands so that I could squeeze hers, resting my forehead against her temple, whispering, pleading with her to search a little deeper. She took a shaky breath inward, overwhelmed. “Harry.” She whispered, and I thought I might collapse to the floor, simply hearing her speak my name. “Yes! Look at me.” I cupped her cheek, not pushing but trying to encourage her to turn her head. “Fee-Fee, please look at me.” She turned to her right, eyes sparking as soon as she looked into mine. She knew me. “Harry?” She questioned. “Holy fuck, Harry!” She scrambled so that she could wrap her arms around my neck, throw her body against mine and take me into her. I’d never held her so tight. Though there had been a few similar occurrences since her diagnosis, none had gone on for that long. I’d spent the entire day wondering if that was it, if she had reached her breaking point and her memory just wouldn’t come back. It was terrifying and excruciating. But she was with me. She was home. My body was frail, using all my might to hold her, but it was as though that meant strength was retracted from elsewhere, my legs giving way beneath me. I crumbled down to the floor, taking her with me, first landing on my knees and then falling back, Alfie straddling my legs, the two of us still gripping onto one another. I pulled my head back so I could look in her eyes, grabbing her cheeks. “Are you okay? Do you feel okay?” “Wh-what’s happened?” “I lost you. I lost you, I’ve missed you so fucking much. It’s been so hard without you. I hate it.” I sobbed, brushing some hair from her face. “How do you feel?” “I’m okay. I’m sorry.” She wept. “Don’t be sorry. You don’t have to be sorry, Fee-Fee. M’just so glad you’re back.” We kissed, another way of coaxing her back to me. I knew from previous experience just how disorienting it was for her, coming back around like that, I couldn’t even imagine how it felt. All I could do was talk her through it, be there for her, kiss her, remind her of her life in the kindest way I could. I kept the kiss brief then pulled away, eyes darting across her face and keeping her close. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked. “I’m fine!” She cried, clinging onto me. “Please don’t be upset, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Another horrific addition to her illness was the guilt she felt when she came back around. All she would focus on was my feelings, how it would have hurt me, as if it wasn’t fucking bad enough with everything else it did to her. She was strangely selfless about the whole thing. “Fee, you’ve gotta stop apologising to me, please. You’re here, that’s all that matters.” “I love you.” She wept. “I love you too. I love you so much.” I’d only recently realised the importance of being there for her when she found herself again. Every time, I was elated that she was back, and she was all I could focus on, but I had to be caring and present and not just break over how difficult I’d found it. I kissed her tenderly, breathlessly continuing to tell her I loved her at every opportunity, the words losing themselves upon her lips and swelling within in her mouth before hopefully finding their way to her heart. She was all that mattered. Doing everything I could so that she could find herself and fight that disease was all that mattered. I saw it as my responsibility to give to her and help her to sustain the best life I possibly could, and I wasn’t going to give up on that or give up on her. That disease was venturing to steal our happiness, and though it could gain temporary success, I refused to let it consume us entirely, to rob us of the sublime life we had created. Our love had more fight in it than any disease ever could. “I missed you.” I shuddered when our kiss soothed. “When I touched the Sun… It’s like I saw your face.” She enlightened me. “I saw your face and heard your voice and you were telling me you loved me and then everything started coming back to me. Everything.” Though I had been there physically, it was her mentality that had needed to alter, to shift and shake and align once more. When she had touched the Blood Sun, I had re-entered her mind and memories, my voice calling upon her soul and willing it back to the present. I could never underestimate the power of us. I could never underestimate the power of her mind and just how engrained I was within it. “You were there. You brought me back.” She whispered, laying a loving and gentle kiss upon my lips. “You brought yourself back.” I told her. “You’re so fucking strong, Fee-Fee. Keep fighting it.” “I will, I promise. As long as you’re here-” “M’always gunna be here, Fee. You know that.” She dropped her head. “Hey!” I placed my thumb beneath her chin, lifted her head back up so that she was forced to look into my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Whatever happens, I’m yours. I’m here. We fight this together, okay?” “Promise?” Her bottom lip quivered. “I promise. It’ll always be us. Just me and you.” “Just me and you.” She repeated back to me. She needn’t fear that I might leave, that I may tire of the tumultuous routine of our lives, that her illness wouldn’t merely steal her memories but it would eventually take me from her too. She didn’t need to worry for even a second. I wanted to be her support system. I wanted to be her life, her lover, her confidant, her centre. No matter how difficult things got, even if one day she disappeared indefinitely. I would never love another person the way I loved her, no person would ever compare to her, no life would ever come close to the one we had. I was with her, skipping through fields during the days of sun or sailing with her through the eye of the storm. It was just me and her through everything, always. That was my promise.

#the app seems to be messing up my text from what I can see 🙃#might be worth reading off the app #Soooooooo #this is 14428 words long #which is the longest chapter I've ever done so it's gunna take some time to read #just so you know before you jump in #farewell HBS #thank you everyone for reading #please send me all your thoughts about this #I'm sad now URGH #HBS #HBS50 #HBS Epilogue #😭😭❤❤😭😭

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