#snuck in one from months ago but it fits the au!!!!!

[beybuniki]

VERY rough pieces from last week or so, but i love to think about and draft beach-themed pieces lol,, i think bnha rlly needed a beach episode like horikoshi lovessss to be so tongue-in-cheek about predictable tropes and arcs,,,,, where was our beach episode </3 anyway these are supposed to be set in their 2nd year, some of them have part-time jobs, some of them just want to have fun, and some of the *cough* hawks *cough* do sth in-between

[alisonfelixwrites]

the deal - part 2/3 (*) [harry styles au]

//

part one, part three.

summary: harry & claire are in love and have a happy family of four. the only dark cloud hanging over them is the custody battle with claire's ex, who's atlas' dad

word count: 11, 074

content warnings: smut (unprotected sex, dirty talk), cutody battle, absent father, physical/emotional abuse (hitting leading to a hospital visit), pregnancy talk

_______________________________________________

“You’re kidding me, right?” Harry had a wide, sleepy smile on his face as he entered the kitchen. His hair was tousled, his shirt wrinkled and his skin still warm from crawling out of bed just minutes before.

The smell of fresh coffee had sort of woken him up as he blinked his eyes open in bed. Patting his hand to the side blindly to find Claire, he had found the space empty. Curiosity brought him downstairs to find a decorated kitchen and a wide selection of breakfast foods on the table.

Claire stood by the counter with his shirt on and a pair of shorts, her hair up in a messy ponytail and a steaming cup of coffee in her hands, “Happy one year anniversary.” She smiled.

“Shit, baby.” Harry chuckled, walking up to hers with his arms opening, wrapping around her frame easily, “This is so corny.” He teased.

“Oh, shut up.” Claire laughed, “I tried to be cute.”

Harry smiled, dipping his head to kiss her lips, “It is.” He murmured, “It’s very cute. Happy one year anniversary, babe.”

Claire pushed up her toes to kiss him back, her hand slipping to the back of his neck as she arched into him. “Are you surprised?” She asked against his lips and Harry nodded, “Mhm. Very. Thought you snuck off on me.” He teased again.

“You know, passing the one year mark…” Claire teased back, “I think I might stay.”

She had been staying for a year.

Exactly one year ago, Claire came back from a date where she got stood up. Atlas was spending the night at Harry’s house with Finn and Claire returned, not expecting to end that evening in Harry’s bed with him inside of her.

The next morning, Harry asked her to stay forever and Claire did. Easily.

Her and Atlas went back and forth at first, but Harry and Claire made it a point to not hide their relationship for their sons. Atlas and Finn were over the moon and Claire and Atlas just… stayed. Claire cancelled her apartment a month after and they moved in permanently.

“Y’look sexy.” Harry breathed against her, his hand dropping to her ass. He fit his palm over one of her cheeks, squeezing the flesh before tucking his fingers underneath the fabric of her shorts to touch her bare. The thong covered up little to nothing and Harry groaned from the back of his throat, nudging Claire back into the counter. His free hand cupped her jaw to tip her chin back and take her in a deep kiss.

“Do we have time?” Claire was already pushing up to sit on the countertop, sliding to the edge and splitting her legs for Harry to stand in between. He grinned, humming at their dynamic. Quickies in the kitchen were their thing. Clothes didn’t even come off but they were their most primal and animalistic moments. Romance wasn’t in sight as Harry often fucked her hard and fast, just getting them both to a high. 

Not that Harry wasn’t a complete romantic. This little anniversary breakfast was Claire attempting to match his level a little bit. Most often it was Harry surprising her with his incredible cooking skills. She’d come home to find a candlelit dinner and soft music playing. Harry treasured her like no one else and continued to surprise her like that.

Harry was about to fit his fingers into the waistband of Claire’s panties to touche her bare when they heard a door upstairs.

He paused and Claire sighed out in frustration, “I guess not.”

“Guess not.” Harry smiled, retrieving his hand and kissing her lips again, “I love you, Claire bear.”

“I hate that nickname.” She whispered and Harry threw his head back in a laugh, “I know. I love it.”

Little footsteps sounded down the stairs as two seven year-olds ran down the stairs.

“No running!” Harry shouted, but their speed didn’t cease. Claire smiled at him, still sitting up on the countertop, “Okay, dad.”

“Daddy to you.” He murmured before shortly kissing her again. Claire blushed slightly as Harry patted her thighs and then stepped back. He adjusted his pyjama pants and she bit her lip, watching him. She couldn’t wipe the smile of her face and her cheeks almost hurt. Her stomach bubbled in butterflies and Claire just couldn’t believe how insanely happy she was.

And how insanely happy she had been all year. It was surreal.

Claire watched as Harry eagerly greeted Finn, who was usually first to get up. Atlas had a harder time waking up and Finn often pulled him out of bed. 

It was confirmed again when Atlas’ sleepy face appeared while Harry was hugging Finn good morning. Claire’s face lit up at the sight of Atlas. He had a haircut recently, cutting his shaggy blonde locks a little bit. It was still covering his ears but not long enough anymore for a bun or braid.

“Good morning, Finn.” Claire greeted, also bending down to hug the seven year-old. He hugged her back and kissed her cheek as Harry ruffled Atlas’ hair and the two bickered playfully. Atlas’ dimple popped as he grinned, “Mornin’, daddy Harry.”

“Hi, bud.” Harry smiled, “Want some orange juice?”

Atlas shook his head no, “Milk, please.”

Claire hopped off the counter, also greeting her boy by wrapping him in a tight hug. She didn’t have to bend down anymore to hug Atlas, who was a bit taller than Finn. 

“Is it someone’s birthday?” Finn quipped as he took a look at the decorated table. Harry squeezed his shoulders from behind, “Nope. You know what we’re celebrating?”

Chairs scraped back as both boys joined Harry and Claire at the breakfast table. Claire smiled at Harry and he winked at her before clearing his throat. She poured the coffee as Harry filled up Atlas’ glass with milk and Finn got himself some orange juice.

“Do you know what happened exactly one year ago?” Harry mused out loud.

Claire could almost see Finn’s brain working while Atlas was clearly not awake enough for trivia. She gently stroked her thumb over his shoulder as Harry and Finn had a staring match. Eventually Harry swallowed a sip of coffee, “One year ago, Atlas’ mum and I got together.”

“That was a year ago?” Atlas raised his brows, glancing at Claire, who offered him a smile, “Mhm.”

Atlas chewed, “Whoa.”

“Yep. One year ago we fell in love.” Harry smiled at Claire and Finn raised his brows while Atlas near spit out his milk, “One year ago you kissed!” He shouted before bursting out into a laugh.

Finn laughed along and Harry blushed softly while Claire giggled. The four of them were laughing and smiling around the table and Claire would’ve loved to think it was a rare sight, but it wasn’t. Every morning was like this.

There had of course been little spats in the past year, but no big fights. Atlas and Harry got along great, as did Finn and Claire. Harry and Claire continued discovering each other but kept their relationship sort of private.

They were aware basically everyone knew, like the other mums at school – but no one really asked or confronted them. Finn and Atlas didn’t make it a big deal and usually Harry dropped both of them off in the morning.

People whispered and pointed but no one actually spoke. 

And for a year, Harry and Claire had been in their bubble. They spent most of their time here at home, both not having a significant other to care for their children if they were to leave the house.

Speaking of significant others, Claire glanced at the clock. Dread filled her body knowing she was supposed to drop Atlas off at his dad’s in about two hours. Harry followed her gaze and sent her a sympathetic look.

Their boys’ attention didn’t stick with breakfast for too long. It was winter and snowy and soon enough, they were on the couch together watching a kid’s show which had a special Christmas episode. 

Harry squeezed Claire’s fingers as she started cleaning up the kitchen, “We’ll do that later.” He whispered, a small mischievous smile on his face.

“Later?” Claire repeated. He pulled her into his chest, “Mhm, later. Let’s have a shower first.”

Claire dropped the spoon she was washing off in the sink and immediately agreed. Finn and Atlas hardly paid them attention, eyes glued to the screen as Harry tugged her up the stairs, favouring their own bathroom which was furthest away from their kids.

Harry and Claire usually tried to get them to spend their time not in front of a screen, but other things were of more importance right now.

They teased for a bit, standing in front of the mirror. Making eyes at one another while brushing their teeth. Harry’s eyes lingered on her nipples through her shirt and right after Claire spit out the toothpaste, he pulled at her clothes.

Claire giggled as he got her naked, stumbling under the stream of the water together.

She moaned into his mouth, fingers raking through his hair as she felt his body pressing against hers. He was soft and smooth and warm and his hands were gentle yet needy as he roamed her body. Passion easily radiated and even if it was dirty, it was still sweet and vulnerable.

It was one year of kisses, I love you’s, gifts, early mornings together. They had spent the spring tending to Harry’s garden and spicing up the house a bit with Claire’s personal things. They spent summer by the pool and running around the garden with the boys. They spent fall jumping in the piles of leaves and carving pumpkins. 

One year of incredible sex and growing together. A year of Claire letting Harry into her life and breaking down her walls and a year of Harry opening up his heart for another woman and both learning how to love and trust again.

It felt light, the both of them together. They laughed and joked and had more fun than ever before. Harry didn’t remember that he could feel like this. 

He felt so young and every day was just so fun. Claire kept him on his toes and made him feel so fucking alive.

His fingers tangled in her wet hair as he whimpered into her mouth, warm water surrounding them. “I love you so fucking much.” He panted, hands slipping towards her thighs. 

She was free of make-up and her wet hair was pushed back, blonde locks cascading down her back. She looked young and fresh and Harry’s heart skipped a million beats, smiling uncontrollably as he shook his head to himself in disbelief, “Fucking hell.”

Claire giggled before their lips crashed together. They were aware that they didn’t have all day. Harry’s dick was painfully hard, pressing into Claire’s tummy before he pushed her against the shower wall. Claire thudded against the glass door as they continued kissing and Harry grinded into her hip, “You ready?” He spoke against her lips.

“Always for you.” She panted.

He smirked and found his footing before lifting her up. Claire squealed with a grin, glancing at his bulging biceps as he pushed her up against the glass wall, her thighs locked around his waist. 

“Slip me in.” He breathed, “Fuck, please, I need you.”

Claire moaned, her hand travelling between them to quickly slide a finger through her slit. She was wet, her legs spread for him. Her hand than reached for his shaft, feeling him solid and aching for her. Harry’s lips gaped at the feeling of a delicate touch, lowering Claire in his arms while she positioned him and he slipped inside of her.

“Oh god.” Claire sighed, her eyes closing at the feeling of Harry’s cock stretching her. The feeling never got old and her toes curled against his back when he filled her so perfectly.

Harry kept his eyes on her face, watching pure bliss take over her delicate features as they were joined together. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, “Shit, baby. Feels so good.”

“I know,” Claire panted out, “fuck, I know.”

Harry tilted his head up to catch her in a kiss, grinding back and forth before pulling back a little more to thrust inside of her. Claire thudded against the glass wall with each rock of his hips, sinking his cock inside of her pussy.

“God – Harry…” Claire moaned, “Please.”

“Need me harder?” He panted, his arms aching from the position. Claire swallowed and nodded, tugging on his hair, “Y-Yeah.”

He nodded too, putting her down on the shower floor. Water streamed down his muscular back as he flipped Claire around. Her hands were flat against the glass wall, Harry pushing her against it until her breasts flattened and she turned her head to the side.

He tugged on her hips and used his foot to spread her legs a little, sinking down a little before he pushed back inside of her. Claire welcomed him easily and Harry immediately chose a quicker pace. They both needed it, and his hand curled into her hair to pull her back as his hips clashed against her ass. 

“You’re so fucking tight.” He groaned from behind, watching the back of Claire’s body. The length of her back, the way her shoulder blades tightened from tensing up, her slender waist and the curve of her hips. His free hand slid over her body, settling on her ass to give a stern little slap.

Claire squealed at that and Harry hunched over her more, “I love you,” he moaned, “fuck, I love you. ‘M gonna cum, baby.”

“M-Me too. Just a little more.” Claire gasped. Harry nodded, tugging her hair a little more and fucking he harder. Claire cried out in sensitivity, pushed against the shower completely as her knees felt weak and Harry fucked into her from behind.

Harry’s other hand moved around her hip and Claire’s eyes tightly closed when he rubbed circles on her clit, “Oh – fuck, right there.” She cried, “Yes, Harry… I love you.”

He hardly heard her, the pulsing of Claire’s pussy pulling him over the edge too. His hips slammed forward, balls snug against her as he gritted his teeth and cocked her head back further. Claire gasped at the sting in her scalp, staring up at the tiled bathroom ceiling as Harry finished inside of her.

He stayed inside of her for a moment, gently releasing her hair and stroking his palms over her skin as he puffed out breaths and kissed the back of her shoulder. “One year of finishing inside of you.” He teased and Claire breathed out a laugh, “Wondering when you’ll get me pregnant?”

The topic ignited butterflies in Harry’s tummy as he smiled against her shoulder. They had talked about it before, about having a baby of just the two of them. Finn felt like Claire’s and Atlas felt like Harry’s, but they definitely wouldn’t mind an extension of the family.

Claire needed some time to think at first, remembering how rough her first pregnancy was with Atlas. Her situation was completely different though. She had no money after her parents cut her off and she was stuck in an abusive relationship while dependant on drugs. It wasn’t a safe environment for either her or Atlas and getting them both away from there would always be the thing she was most proud of in life.

Whenever someone complimented Atlas on how polite or nice he was, it hit Claire a little harder. She took credit for that. And then maybe the thought of raising another little person didn’t sound bad at all. 

Harry had his own thinking to do, getting over his anxiety of Claire leaving him like Astrid had. The pictures of her were all gone and her old art studio actually became Atlas’ room. Harry took him on a tour around the house and he got to pick whichever room he liked most. The garden was Atlas’ favourite part of the house so he naturally chose a room with view on the pool and the garden. At first he was pouty that him and Finn couldn’t sleep in the same room, but they needed their own little space – Harry and Claire felt.

Harry’s office had moved to a downstairs room and the memory of Astrid was gone. Finn didn’t ask about his mum yet he knew if he ever had questions, Harry was there to answer them. It wasn’t their intention to replace either of the parents, and Finn also didn’t refer to Claire as mum. He called her Claire or Atlas’ mum.

But Harry hadn’t expected to fall so fucking hard for Claire. In theory, she wasn’t his type. Her personality was so far from any other girl he had dated in the past. She was a whirlwind, a hurricane and she had a big mouth. But he learned to love that about her. Unapologetically herself, Claire didn’t give a fuck what others thought. It pulled Harry out of his comfort zone and he had never felt more alive.

They balanced each other out, Harry felt. He was the calm in Claire’s storm, and she was the tequila in his coffee cup. She was just the kind of crazy he had been looking for and life had never been more fun with Claire and Atlas in it. Finn blossomed too at their hands, and it made Harry even emotional to see it.

It was hard to know what emotional turmoil Astrid’s departure left on Finn. He was a closed book and never really spoke much. Harry wasn’t sure at what age it was appropriate to maybe take him to a therapist but it didn’t seem like that was needed anymore. Him and Atlas were the best of friends and confided in each other.

Even if they did have separate rooms, during school breaks and vacations they preferred to stay in the same room. They referred to the other as brother.

And so Harry and Claire considered the idea of maybe giving them another brother or sister. Claire wasn’t on birth control anymore. She hadn’t been for a few months now and so they let the universe decide if one month she’d be pregnant.

They weren’t in a rush.

Harry slipped out of Claire and she hummed as she got to stretch her back. His release ran down her thigh and she turned around with a blissed look in her eyes. Harry pulled her under the stream of water to share kisses and wash her hair, caring for her in so many ways.

“Mummy?” Atlas’ voice was soft as he knocked the door of Harry and Claire’s bedroom. She was pulling on her socks as she turned her head to the open door, “Hm?”

Atlas pushed open the door more, dressed in a thick jumper and his pants. His cheeks were pink because inside the house was too warm for these clothes. Claire’s stomach dropped when she saw the pout on his lips and the tears in his eyes, “Atlas?” She frowned, “What’s wrong.”

“I don’t want to go to daddy.” He mumbled, his lip quivering. Claire swallowed thickly as she glanced at Harry, who shot her a wary look. Claire opened up her arms for Atlas and he fell into her, clinging to her body. Claire fought her tears as she stroked his hair, “’S okay, baby. You have fun when you go to daddy, hm?”

“No.” Atlas whispered, “I don’t want to go.”

Claire turned back to Harry again, “Harry…” She tried but he softly shook his head, “No, Claire, we’ve been over this… The lawyer told you just a few days ago.”

“I know.” Claire sighed, “But I can’t force him to go if he doesn’t want to go?! He’s crying!”

Harry sat down too, placing his hand on Atlas’ back to comfort him and he nodded, “Yeah. But you know what they’re going to say, right? They won’t believe it until you bring Atlas to his doorstep and he refuses to leave the car.”

Claire swallowed and angrily shook her head, “I’m not putting him through that. H-He’s seen enough, Harry.” She whispered, consoling Atlas as she tried to have this hushed conversation with Harry.

“Babe, I know.” He sympathized, “But when this gets taken to court again, you’re going to need everyone on your side. If you don’t bring him, he’ll say you violate the custody arrangement. He can go to the police.”

Claire closed her eyes, resting her cheeks on Atlas’ soft hair. Her heart broke every time this happened. Atlas was supposed to see his dad on Saturday, every two weeks. It got taken to court a few months ago and even though Evan asked for a full weekend, the judge disagreed. Atlas and Evan weren’t close and Atlas didn’t feel a thousand percent comfortable there. Asking him to stay a night, was too much.

Especially considering Evan didn’t have the most stable housing situation. He had moved about six times in the past year which didn’t provide a safe space for Atlas. He was always in a house he didn’t know, usually with a new girlfriend of Evan’s and whatever children she has. Atlas wasn’t too fussy about that but it was clear that he didn’t have any room for himself.

He often came back from Evan’s, exhausted and falling asleep the moment they picked him up. He ate like crazy when they got home and crawled incredibly close to Claire, sucking his thumb again. He regressed whenever he spent time with Evan.

Claire had tried to contest the arrangement countless times. Her and her lawyer argued that Evan was old enough to make his own decisions and if he said he didn’t want to go, than they had to respect that.

For now though, Claire had to follow the current arrangement even if it killed her.

“We’re going to be late.” Harry softly added. He knew that even if they showed up five minutes late, it meant Evan would call the police on Claire. It was venomous between them and Claire regretted him more than anything in her life.

Atlas was her everything, but he was also proof of a wound that would never close. Her and Evan would always be linked together unless Atlas one day decided to not want Evan as a father anymore. He could only do that if he was eighteen or older, so they had years and years of custody arrangements, split holidays and sidewalk arguments to do.

“Yeah.” Claire rasped back. With Atlas tucked into her neck, Claire let a few tears fall freely. He couldn’t see her but Harry could, and he brushed them away as Claire let out her emotions. 

“Atlas.” Claire murmured, urging him to stand up straight, “We have to leave.”

He casted his eyes down in defeat but didn’t fight her. He shortly nodded and trailed behind Harry, going downstairs.

Claire knew she was going to pick him up in about eight hours, but it still felt like an eternity away. She had no trust in Evan as a person or as a father. He had crossed lines too often. The fact that Claire had been to the hospital twice in the past year because he had hit her, wasn’t proof enough to the court that he was an aggressive person who was unfit to be alone with a seven year-old.

But Evan had a good lawyer who continuously tried to prove that he was bettering his life. He was apparently off of drugs and alcohol – even though Atlas sometimes told alarming stories after spending the day there. He had a job or was in counselling and he was in therapy. 

Claire didn’t believe any of it.

She didn’t even believe Evan truly wanted a connection to Atlas. He just did it all to spite her because he apparently hated her that much.

Finn and Atlas were in the backseat. Claire wanted to cry again when she saw they were holding hands and everyone in the car could sense that today would fucking suck. There was no music playing, no chattering from the backseat. Finn wasn’t his bubbly self and somehow sensed he’d had to miss his best friend all day. 

Claire felt uneasy as Harry started the drive to Evan’s house. 

He insisted on coming along even if Evan refused to even look at him. They had deemed it best that Harry simply waited in the car as Claire dropped off Atlas. And naturally, Finn couldn’t be at the house by himself so they brought him too.

“Are you excited for swim practice today?” Claire tried to break the silence, glancing over her shoulder to see Atlas. His face perked up a little bit and he nodded, “Yes. Will I be big enough to play in daddy Harry’s pool then next summer?”

“You will.” Claire smiled and Atlas gasped excitedly, “Without floaties?”

Claire pressed her lips together, “We’ll see.” 

Harry chuckled from next to her, squeezing her thigh gently as they followed the GPS towards yet another new address of Evan’s. It was about a thirty minute drive and the pool where Atlas had his swim classes was actually about ten minutes away from Evan’s place.

Claire mourned the fact that she wouldn’t be able to sit at the sidelines of the pool, cheering on Atlas as he learned how to swim. He was the oldest out of the group but Claire was excited to finally get him to learn these things. Just like her and Harry had been teaching both boys to ride a bike during summer.

Atlas was such a wild child and he loved being outside, it was just necessary for him to know these things even if he was a little behind. Before being with Harry, Claire never had the funds to do anything like that for him. Without having to pay rent, she had extra to spoil him and this was part of that.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Harry slightly frowned as they drove slowly into one of the streets. Claire glanced out the window, seeing the muddy snow off to the side of the roads and the less than nice houses. She tried not to judge because she had lived in places like this for years in a row. She pulled out her phone to check the email from the lawyer, nodding at Harry, “Yes.”

He pressed his lips together, “Okay.”

She felt sick to her stomach when Harry pulled over and Claire got out, grabbing Atlas’ bags from the trunk. He exited the car with little enthusiasm and Harry got out for a moment, giving Atlas a tight hug and promising him his favourite food tonight. Atlas perked up a little and then said goodbye to Finn.

He held Claire’s hand as they walked up to the door of the house, and Claire shivered in the cold December air when she had rang the bell.

The stench of smoke and tobacco hit her nostrils when the door opened to reveal Evan. He looked dishevelled as always. Blonde, messy hair that actually resembled Atlas. He wore shorts and a shirt and the heat from inside the house almost made Claire nauseous. Evan’s previous place was cold as fuck which is why she had dressed Atlas in such thick clothes. He’d sweat like crazy inside of this room.

“Hi.” Claire forced out. Evan’s eyes dragged up her body, lingering on her breasts as always. Claire wanted to cry. He then crouched down in front of Atlas with a smile on his face, “Hey, little man.”

Atlas swallowed and Claire could tell his smile wasn’t reaching his eyes, “Hi, daddy.” He let go of Claire’s hand to give Evan a hug. Claire already knew she’d never get the smell of smoke out of his clothes. 

Claire shortly glanced inside the house, “New place?”

“Yeah.” Evan shortly answered. He then glanced behind her to see Harry’s car. Evan’s jaw tightened as he swallowed, “Still with mister perfect over there?”

Claire exhaled a breath, “Mhm. His name is Harry.”

“Don’t remind me.” Evan scoffed, dropping his eyes to the bags in Claire’s hands, “What’s all that?”

“Uh – just some of his clothes, in case he wants to play outside and gets them dirty.” Claire explained. Evan took the bag from her with little enthusiasm, “I have clothes for him here.” He argued and she shook her head, “He grew again, those don’t fit anymore.” She then held out the other bag, “And this is his swim stuff. He has practice at four.”

“What?”

“His swim stuff.” Claire repeated, “He’s in swim class now, it was said in court.” She explained, “Every Saturday.”

She wanted to add that he wouldn’t know. It was actually Atlas’ fourth class but the previous Saturday, Evan was too busy moving to spend time with his son and skipped out on his time with him. Claire had been driving Atlas for the past three weeks to the swimming pool.

“Claire, I don’t have a fucking car.” Evan frowned. Claire swallowed, “Look, it was said in court that he has swim class every Saturday and you and your lawyer agreed to take him on your time.”

Even huffed, “Am I supposed to teleport there?!”

“I don’t care how you get him there.” Claire kept her voice steady, “There’s busses you can take.”

Evan grumbled something under his breath and then exhaled, “Why does he need swim practice anyway.”

“Daddy Harry has a pool.” Atlas piped out. Evan rolled his eyes, “Of course fucking prince charming has a pool, hm?” He flicked his eyes up to Claire, “How long before your sugar daddy drops you?”

Claire swallowed and shook her head, “Stop. Don’t do this in front of Atlas.”

“He’ll learn soon enough.” Evan bit back, keeping a hand on Atlas’ shoulder, “There’s only a few correct ways to treat women, hm?” He had a sick smirk on his face before slamming the door. Claire gasped and put her foot between, “I-I haven’t said goodbye to him!” She tried to fight the door.

Evan harshly shoved it open again, near hitting Claire in the face, “Are you trespassing?” He seethed, taking a step closer to her and Claire quickly stumbled back, “No!” She shook her head, “Just let me say goodbye to him.” She leaned down and Atlas quickly fell into her hug. He clung to her tightly and Claire kissed his head a few times, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

“When will you be back?” Atlas whispered.

“At six.” Claire mumbled, “After swim practice.”

Atlas softly nodded, “Okay.” He seemed to talk to himself, counting on his fingers, “Swim practice, mum.” He whispered to himself before nodding. Claire gave him an encouraging nod and then the door got slammed shut and she was alone on the sidewalk.

Even if it was below zero, Claire was burning in rage and anxiety when she got back in the car. Harry frowned at her, “What did he say?”

“Nothing.” She quickly dismissed, “Please, drive.”

“Cl-“

“No.” Claire shook her head and swallowed thickly, “Please, get me out of here.”

Harry kept his eyes on her for a moment longer before sighing out. He did as she asked, driving away from Evan’s house and leaving Atlas behind as they drove back home.

Claire was noticeable silent every time Atlas wasn’t around. She sat on the couch, staring ahead of her and Harry didn’t know what she was thinking of. Finn was helping Harry in the kitchen, preparing lunch.

“Claire’s sad.” Finn spoke as he put the sliced cucumbers into the bowl. Harry glanced at him and slowly nodded, “Mhm. She misses Atlas.”

“Me too.”

Harry ruffled Finn’s hair, “I know, bub. It’s strange not having him in the house, isn’t it?”

Finn ate one of the cherry tomatoes and nodded, “Yes. He’s my best friend.”

“Ouch.” Harry chuckled, teasingly poking Finn’s rib as he sat up on the counter, “I thought I was your best friend.”

Finn burst out into a giggle, “Silly daddy. You’re my daddy, not my friend.”

“I can be your daddy and your friend.” Harry shrugged, “What does being a friend mean?”

Finn seemed to think hard about that before he spoke up, “Someone I can tell everything to.”

Harry hummed, “You can tell anything to me, right?”

“Yes.” Finn seemed a little stumped as he thought again, “And someone I can play with.”

“I play with you all the time!” Harry argued playfully and Finn giggled again, “You’re right. I suppose you’re my friend.”

“I’m so honoured.” Harry teased, wrapping Finn up in a hug before he put him down on the floor, “Thank you for helping in the kitchen.” He sincerely spoke and Finn proudly nodded, “Did I do good?”

“So good.” Harry spoke without missing a beat, “Couldn’t of done it without you.”

Finn’s teeth showed as he smiled, crooked and with gaps between. Harry adored him like nothing else and his insides melted as he stared at his smiling boy. He then squeezed Finn’s shoulder, “Can you maybe go cheer up Claire a little bit? I think she could use a hug.”

“I think so too.” Finn agreed. He was about to turn around before stopping himself, nibbling his lip, “Would it cheer her up if I start calling her mummy?”

Harry’s heart stopped for a moment before he exhaled a breath, “Not necessarily. It’s your choice what you call her, Finn. She’s just as happy with you calling her Claire. If you don’t want to call her mummy, that’s okay. She’s not waiting for that.”

Finn seemed to think of Harry’s words, and Harry squeezed his shoulder again, “Do you understand?”

“I think so. I can call her whatever I want? But I can also call her Claire?”

“Of course.” Harry nodded, “She’s just sad because of Atlas.”

Finn nodded too, “Atlas doesn’t have a nice daddy. Not like you.”

“That’s true.” Harry refrained from elaborating even if there’s plenty of things he’d like to say about Evan. He cleared his throat and nudged Finn in Claire’s direction. He caught on easily and made his way over. 

Claire forced a smile at him when Finn stood in front of her. 

“Hi.” He softly spoke. Claire chuckled, “Hi, bub.”

“Are you sad about Atlas?”

Claire swallowed away the lump in her throat, “Yeah, I am.”

“I miss him too.”

“I know you do.” Claire sighed, opening her arms and Finn hugged her. He stood in between her legs with his arms around her shoulders. Upon pulling back, he cupped her cheeks. His small, warm hands felt gentle around Claire’s jaws and he pulled Harry’s move, using his thumbs to wipe away a few stray tears.

The sentiment melted her heart and she was so, so glad for Finn that he learned how to be a gentle person because of his father. Harry was an incredible example and it only amplified how horrific of an example Evan was.

“I wish Atlas had a nice daddy, like mine.” Finn spoke.

Claire exhaled, “Me too. I wish he had your daddy as his daddy.”

Finn nodded too, “And I wish you were my real mummy.”

Claire shot him a soft smile, “You do?”

“Yes.” He nodded immediately, “You’re a really sweet mummy to me. You always hug me and take care of me when I’m hurt.”

“Well that’s because I love you.” Claire smiled. Finn nodded again, “Mhm. You love me like a real mummy.”

Claire closed her eyes as her and Finn hugged, and for the rest of the day she could tell they both tried to cheer her up. Her and Harry did some online Christmas shopping together. Claire couldn’t bring herself to go into town and hit the shops without Atlas there. Her mind was constantly with him and she kept checking her phone every few minutes.

She helped Finn with some of his reading and busied herself by cleaning a bit in the afternoon, until her phone rang at about four thirty.

Immediate panic seeped into her bones when Evan’s name showed up on the screen. Atlas was supposed to be at swim practice and the worst case scenarios popped into her head. What if something happened? What if Atlas was hurt? What if he was in the hospital? Evan would never let her live it down, knowing Claire signed him up for those classes in the first place. 

“Hello?!” She instantly picked up the phone, dropping the laundry she was holding in her hand.

“Mummy?” Atlas’ hushed whisper sounded through the phone and Claire’s stomach dropped, “Atlas, baby? W-What’s going on? Why aren’t you at swim practice?”

She heard his breathing on the other side of the phone and Claire pressed her lips together, “Atlas, where’s your dad?”

“He… He’s asleep. I think.”

Claire pressed her palm to her mouth to stifle a whimper, “Asleep?”

“He went upstairs a few hours ago and… and I haven’t seen him.” Atlas sounded small and Claire could hear the sadness in his voice through the phone.

She closed her eyes, “A few hours ago, you say? What have you been doing the entire time, baby?”

“Nothing. I waited.” Atlas whispered, “Mum, can you come pick me up?”

Claire sniffed as she hopped down the stairs, “Yes, me and Harry are coming to get you right away, alright? Sit tight, sweetheart, we’ll be there soon.”

Harry’s head lifted as he heard Claire speaking on the phone. He put down his newspaper, “Babe? Everything okay?”

“Atlas called.” Claire rushed out, grabbing her coat, “Evan fell asleep hours ago, he’s been by himself in that house trying to keep busy.” Her voice trembled from emotion, “He didn’t bring him to swim practice and he begged me to come pick him up.”

Harry quickly got up his feet, “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Claire sniffed and Harry cupped her cheeks, “Baby, calm down.”

“I can’t.” Claire’s voice cracked, “He’s asleep at four in the afternoon, Harry. I-I don’t trust this one bit. What do you mean you leave your seven year old fucking kid alone?! In the few hours you get to spend with him every other week?!” She was rambling now, “He fought so fucking hard in court for those few hours and then you climb in bed and leave him in that boiling house?! No fucking way.” She seethed, “I’m going to pick him up.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Harry, I’ll be f-“

“No, I’m not arguing with you on this. I’m coming with you.” He sternly spoke before turning towards the stairs, “Finn!” He shouted.

Only a few minutes later, the three of them were in the car again. Harry’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel as he tried to drive quick but the snow and traffic prevented him from doing so. “Tell me what he said again?” He asked.

Claire took a breath, “He said his father went upstairs a few hours ago and Atlas thinks he’s asleep. He’s been by himself, doing nothing all afternoon. And he’s not at swim practice.” Right as she said it, she got a call from his swim teacher. Claire winced under her breath, “Now this.” She showed the screen to Harry and he held out his hand, “I’ll take the call, I’ll explain.” He offered.

“No, no, you’re driving, it’s fine.” Claire shook her head, answering the call and explaining why Atlas didn’t attend his class today. The teacher was understanding but felt a little worried because no one let them know in advance. Claire promised he’d be there next week and they talked shortly about Atlas’ progression in swimming.

By the time Claire ended the call, Harry’s Tesla was in Evan’s neighbourhood. The car was hardly to a stop before Claire jumped out and ran through the muddy snow towards the front door.

Harry knew it was no use trying to stop her, but this wasn’t going to turn out well. Evan called the police for everything these days. Claire showing up here at least thirty minutes early would probably not sit right with him even if it was in Atlas’ best interest. Evan got the lawyers involved when Claire showed up just a few minutes early. It was unnecessary but he just made sure everything got dragged out and he hit Claire where it hurt.

“Evan!” Claire shouted as she banged her fist on the door, “Open the door.”

It took long. Too long, Claire felt. Her fingers were itching to fucking open the door herself but after a bit, she heard the fumbling of the lock and then the door opened. The insane warmth of the house greeted her once more, almost like she opened up an oven. 

Evan was frowning, his face angry as he stared at her, “What the fuck?!” He sneered, “It’s not six yet.”

“He’s supposed to be at swim practice.” Claire breathed, “Where is he? Atlas!” She shouted into the house.

Evan stepped in front of her, wearing the same clothes as before, “He’ll come out when it’s six.”

“Don’t fucking pretend you’ve been spending time with him.” Claire bit, “I know you’ve been asleep all afternoon.” Her eyes glanced over his features, “Are you high?”

“How fucking dare you.” Evan near growled, “No, I’m not fucking high. I’m not using anymore, Claire.”

“Then why are you asleep at four in the afternoon when you only get to spend a few hours with him?! God, I can’t fucking believe you.” She muttered under her breath, “Atlas!” She shouted again.

Finally, he appeared from behind Evan. His eyes glanced at his father and Evan stood in front if him, “No, he’s not leaving yet.”

“You’ve been asleep all afternoon.” Claire repeated, “You made him miss swim practice.”

Evan’s jaw clenched, “How the fuck do you even know that? You’ve got no proof of anything.” He looked at Atlas, “Atlas, have we been playing together all afternoon? We have, haven’t we?” 

Atlas pressed his lips together and looked at Claire, who shook her head, “No, come here. It’s okay, baby. Come on.” She coaxed him. Evan’s hand yanked on Atlas’ shoulder, “No, he stays here. You can wait in your car until it’s six. He’s not coming out sooner than that.” He warned, “Claire, I swear to fucking god…”

“Don’t touch him like that!” Claire immediately intervened, stepping in as Atlas was between the two of them. Evan gave him a firm yank until Atlas was behind him again, “I said no!”

“Mummy…” Atlas whined softly from behind Evan. Tears formed in Claire’s eyes and she swallowed thickly as she stared at Evan, “I hate you.” She murmured, “I hate you so much.”

He didn’t do anything besides smirk a little, “There used to be a time that you loved me, C. You loved all of me. Even begged for me.”

“Stop.” Claire shook her head. Evan’s eyes lingered on Harry’s car on the street, jealousy evident in every little detail of him, “Six. No earlier.”

Claire felt powerless and glanced at Atlas, who pleaded with her through his eyes. And Claire took a breath, “No.” She tried to sound firm, “I’m taking him now.”

“Then I’m calling my lawyer.” Evan warned and Claire bit her tongue, “Then I’ll call mine and explain what Atlas said on the phone.”

“What?!” Evan’s eyes blazed fire as he looked at Atlas over his shoulder, “You took my phone?”

“Evan, h-“ Claire tried, panic making her ears ring as Evan’s shoulders tensed, “You fucking little piece of s-“ He raised his arm towards Atlas and Claire’s eyes widened, “No!” She grabbed his shoulder and Evan briskly turned around, shoving her harshly. Claire stumbled back into the wall behind her with a smack, gasping from the pain in the back of her head. 

She hardly had time to really feel it before her head whipped to the side, a sharp sting in her jaw from where he slapped her.

“Mummy!” Atlas shouted desperately. Claire heard a car door and urgent footsteps, “Hey!” Harry barked, “Did you fucking hit her?!”

Her sight was blurry as she was down on the floor, pain somehow everywhere before she realized she fell right into a plant pot and it’s why her stomach was burning so much. She blinked a few times, tasting blood in her mouth before her vision focussed on Harry – who had Evan pinned up against the door.

Evan struggled, but Harry saw red. He had never felt such anger in his life and he wouldn’t ever consider himself a violent or aggressive person. It took a lot to get him riled up and he had never been in a physical fight before.

Sitting in the car, he had been restraining himself from intervening. He knew Claire didn’t want him to because it made everything messier. But he cared for Atlas like he was his own, and he cared for Claire in a way words couldn’t even explain. He adored both of them tremendously and so when he saw Claire’s body colliding with that wall, he gasped in a way that Finn jumped up from the noise in the backseat.

When he saw Evan raising his hand, Harry opened up his door on instinct. And when Evan didn’t even hesitate to strike Claire across her face, Harry was already running up to him. She collapsed from the force, falling down to her side with a whimper as Harry quickly shoved Evan up against the door, holding him against it.

“Harry!” Claire gasped, getting up again and ignoring the sharp pains running through her body. Atlas was frozen in the doorway as Harry used every ounce of strength to not punch Evan’s teeth out. “Harry!” Claire grabbed his shoulder, “Don’t!” She tried to pull Harry off, “Please.”

Evan was breathing heavily and Atlas took it as his moment to run out of the house. His bags were right where Claire had left them when dropping Atlas off and when she finally managed to pull Harry off of Evan before things escalated even more, she quickly reached for Atlas’ stuff.

Her eyes were wide and teary, a line of blood running down the side of her mouth from where Evan had hit her and her entire body sore and aching. She sniffed and stared at Evan, “I will literally fight until you never see him again.”

“You can’t take him away from me, Claire.” Evan shook his head, “He’s mine too.”

“Unfortunately.” She mumbled. With that, Harry gave him one last shove before he helped Claire to the car. Evan didn’t come after them, but watched as Atlas hurried into the car to get away from him and then they drove off.

Finn was silent but held Atlas’ hand again, who worried for his mum. Claire breathed heavily as she used a tissue to clean off the blood. 

“I’m driving you to the hospital.” Harry spoke. Claire winced and shook her head, “No, I’m fine. J-Just take me home.”

He swallowed and shook his head, “No.”

“Harry, I swear, just d-“

“What if you’re pregnant?” He softly spoke. He kept his eyes ahead and felt Claire’s gaze on him. His hands were tight around the wheel and he clenched his jaw. Claire’s face softened when she saw the clear worry in his face and she took a breath, “Yeah. Okay. We can go to the hospital.” She had fallen on that fucking flower pot and bruised her abdomen. They had been sort of trying for a baby and this couldn’t be good if Claire actually was pregnant.

The car ride progressed in silence and Harry pulled up to the emergency room soon after. He was on the phone with the lawyer and the cops when Claire got taken into a separate room by the doctor. They took pictures of her injuries first as proof and then the nurse helped clean her up.

Claire explained to them what happened. Her cheek would be bruised and she had a slight scrape in her forehead. Lifting her shirt, she could see bruising and swelling and she winced out when the doctor gently prodded her.

“There’s – uh… there’s a chance I might be pregnant.” She mumbled, staring up at the ceiling and avoiding the doctor’s eyes, “Me and my boyfriend have been trying. Not too actively, but we have been trying. I haven’t taken a test yet and I don’t feel anything, but…”

The doctor nodded, “Alright. Let me get an ultrasound machine to check. We need to assess internal damage either way. Afterwards, I can have a look to get you some pain medication.” His voice was soft and gentle and Claire exhaled a breath she felt like she had been holding for a long time.

Nerves took over as the doctor spread the gel over her skin and Claire held up her jumper. 

“How long have you been trying?” The doctor questioned as he had his eyes locked on the screen. Claire swallowed, “I stopped my birth control about four months ago.”

He nodded, “Okay.” He moved the transducer and tilted his head to the side, “I don’t see anything, I’m afraid. I’m sorry if that’s not the news you were hoping for.”

“No, it’s okay.” Claire breathed, “I didn’t think I was.”

“I’m not sure how to say this, but it might’ve been for the best.” He turned off the machine with a sigh, “If you did have a little foetus in there, chances of it surviving a fall like this would’ve been slim.”

Claire lowered her eyes, nodding to herself, “Right.”

“I don’t see any damage inside. There’s no internal bleeding and this will just be a painful bruise. I’ll prescribe you pain medication and a follow-up appointment next week to do another ultrasound. Your ribs aren’t broken either, so I just advise you to rest and not move around too much.” He spoke.

Claire swallowed and forced a smile, “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He shook his head and glanced at his beeper, “I see police and social services have arrived. Do you feel ready to talk to them?”

“Mhm.” Claire bit her lip as she tried to get up but the doctor shook his head, “I’ll get you a wheelchair and those painkillers first. Like I said, you need rest.”

Claire had a band-aid on her forehead and bags underneath her eyes when she was wheeled back into the waiting room. Police officers were talking to Harry and Finn and Atlas were colouring a little bit in the kid’s corner.

“Hey.” Harry rushed over to Claire when he saw her, crouching down and stroking his fingers over her jaw, “Hey, baby.” He crooned, “How do you feel?”

“Okay.” She nodded, her voice soft. She offered Harry a smile, “Really, I’m okay, Harry. Thank you.”

Her words pained him, because she shouldn’t be okay. It went to show how often Claire had been in here, in that same position for her to hardly flinch from Evan’s behaviour. She was used to being thrown around by him. Harry bit his lip, “A-And… are you?”

“No.” She breathed, shaking her head, “I wasn’t.”

Harry felt relief, knowing there wasn’t a baby inside of her who would be hurt because of what happened. He kissed her knuckles, “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

“Nothing’s damaged, I’ll just be black and blue for a little bit.” Claire sighed and Harry nodded, “Okay.” He leaned in to softly kiss her, “I love you. And I’m really proud of you.”

“I love you too. Thank you for everything.” Claire whispered back, nuzzling her nose with his. She knew she came with baggage. If either had a choice, Evan wouldn’t even exist. But it was Claire’s life and Harry was a part of that.

He took a breath, “Social services want to talk to Atlas. Alone.”

“Alone?” Claire frowned and he nodded, “Yeah. He’ll be fine, babe.”

She sighed, “Yeah, I know.” She glanced at the social worker, who shot her a warm smile. After a short moment with Atlas, Claire watched him disappear in one of the rooms with the woman. Someone else was talking to Finn and Harry and the police was talking to Claire.

She explained everything and they wrote everything down, asking her some questions. Claire sent them the pictures of her injuries and she was sure that if they laid hers, Harry’s and Atlas’ stories next to one another, they’d add up.

It was dark by the time they drove back to the house. Not many words were spoken and glancing the backseat, both Finn and Atlas had dozed off.

Harry had a hand on Claire’s thigh, gently squeezing every once in a while. She let out a breath, “This is not I wanted this anniversary to go.” She mumbled.

“We should’ve celebrated months ago.” Harry spoke. Claire turned to face him, “What? Why?”

He had a small smile on his lips, “Because I fell for you months before we first kissed.”

“I know.” She smiled back, “I knew you had a little crush on me.”

“Was more than a little crush.” Harry admitted, “I felt so jealous knowing you were going on dates with these other guys.”

“You called yourself an eternal bachelor.” Claire remembered, “Didn’t sound like you were available.”

Harry shrugged, “And I didn’t think I was. You proved me wrong. Haven’t been available for anyone besides you and I don’t plan on it.”

Claire held his hand as they drove through the dark streets, “You cursed me out the first time we met.”

He shortly glanced in the rearview mirror to see both boys asleep, “I was an asshole.” He muttered. Claire giggled under her breath, “A bit, yeah.”

They both smiled to themselves when they remembered how their relationship came to be. How unconventional it was. They came from different worlds and backgrounds but somehow both found their perfect match in one another. A blended family with some rough edges, but so much love.

Harry remembered their first time. How nervous he was and how he fell in love with Claire’s body. Even the scars from what Evan put her through. He loved on her scars, kissing away the memories as often as he could. In bed, in the shower, in the kitchen, in the car… Wherever they could get some time for themselves.

And Claire remembered the huge change in her life when she accepted Harry’s love. When she accepted Finn into her life and nurtured him like he was her own. Harry’s fingers played with Claire, “What do you want for dinner tonight?”

“Didn’t you say we were having Atlas’ favourite meal?” Claire smiled. Her heart felt heavy thinking of Atlas and the conversations they were yet to have. He saw too much today. He didn’t have to live through those hours feeling like his father didn’t want him. Claire wanted to promise him he’d never have to see him again if he didn’t want to. 

It was a horrible position, wanting your children to have two parents. She didn’t want to take it away from him, the possibility of having a father. But she also didn’t want to witness him being so disappointed by Evan over and over again. He saw her get hit today and he saw violence, even in Harry. He was too young for that. Claire wasn’t sure how he coped.

Atlas crawled into her side later that night. On the couch, he fell asleep almost immediately with his thumb in his mouth and his head on her chest. It hurt her breasts and his knee pushed into her sore stomach but she let him. She stroked his hair in comfort and when Claire had to get up to pee, he cuddled into Harry instead. Finn and Atlas both leaned into a side of his and he kissed both their foreheads as Claire watched.

They tucked them in bed and allowed them to sleep in the same room tonight. It would comfort Atlas, they both thought. And Harry spooned Claire later that evening. He was careful and gentle, sponging kisses over her bare shoulder as she felt warm and safe against his chest.

“Are you sure?” He asked and Claire nodded, staring into the darkness of their bedroom, “Yes. I’m taking him back to court. I-I can’t keep doing this.” She decided.

Harry hummed, “I’m so proud of you, my love. I think it’s the right decision. Atlas is safest here with you.”

Claire thought back of the entire day. How the lady from social services came to her after talking to Atlas, how she told Claire that apparently Atlas heard Evan cursing Claire out. Calling her a whore. No seven year-old should know those words.

Social services were also going to have a chat with Evan, but the proof spoke for itself. According to her lawyer, it’d be an easy win in court to get her full custody. 

“Do you think it’s what Atlas wants?” Claire softly asked.

“I’m sure of it.” Harry spoke without missing a beat, “You’re the best person for him, Claire. He’s not an idiot, he knows how much you do for him. He respects you so much and he loves you so much.”

Claire let out a breath, rolling on her back with a soft wince. Harry stared at her face and leaned in to kiss her, “You’re so strong.” He murmured against her lips, “I admire you so much. I could never do what you do.”

“I don’t think I have a choice.” Claire whispered back. Harry hummed and kissed her again, “Maybe not. But Atlas will never forget this.”

“I just want to move on.” Claire spoke, “Without him. Like close that chapter of life and… move onto the next. With Atlas and you and Finn. Start our family like we want to without constantly looking over my shoulder. I-I don’t even want or need his money, I just want him gone.”

“I know.” Harry nodded, “We’ll get there.”

She sighed, “I hope so.”

“And we can start trying again whenever you think you’re ready.” Harry assured her, kissing her softly again. Their lips kept brushing together as they exchanged soft whispers.

“I am ready.” Claire spoke, “So ready. I-I think I’ll start tracking it better too, like when I’m ovulating and everything. I really want this baby, Harry.”

His heart skipped a beat and he felt Claire’s hand running through his curls, “Me too.”

Claire licked her lip, “Would you want a boy or a girl?”

Harry smiled and puckered his lips, “I’m honesty fine with either. I think I’d be so worried if it’s a girl though. Like I’d go all dad-mode on her and overprotect her. She wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house ever.”

Claire giggled, fighting the pain in her stomach as she did so, “That’d be funny.”

“For us, yes. For her, no.” He chuckled, bumping his nose with Claire’s, “How about you.”

“I like having boys.” She whispered, “I think I’m a boy-mum. But I wouldn’t mind having a girl either.”

Harry hummed, getting slightly more comfortable, “How many more kids do you want?”

“Two.” Claire whispered.

“You want four in total?” Harry raised his brows and Claire nibbled her lip, “Mhm. I like Finn and Atlas being close in age. I’d like that for the next two also.”

“How about twins?”

Claire breathed out a chuckle, “I’d be huge.”

“You’d be amazing.” Harry smiled back, “And so sexy. Your tits would be incredible.”

“Oh my god.” Claire laughed, “You’re unbelievable.”

“I love your body, Claire. Pregnant or not. I’ll always worship you.” He promised, “Kiss you and make love to you.”

“I sense an obsession.”

“You sensed correctly.”

They laughed while kissing and Claire stroked her fingers, playing with the curls in the back of his neck, “When are you going to put a ring on my finger?”

“So impatient.” Harry teased, kissing down her throat, “You’ll see.”

Claire’s cheeks flushed as she smiled up at the ceiling, “So you plan on it?”

“Of course. I’ve been planning for a long time.” He murmured, “Wife you up.”

Claire sputtered out a laugh, “You sound like a frat boy saying that.”

“What can I say, you make me feel young again.” Harry smiled. He felt so light and breezy around Claire. Like there were no worries around them and they hadn’t just had this shitty day. Like all was well in the world. She just made him feel like that, every single day.

No stress, no hurries, no nothing.

“How about after Christmas break we drop the boys off at school together?” Harry suggested, “There’s family meet-ups too in January. I want us to go together, as a couple. For Finn and Atlas.”

“You do?” Claire asked and Harry nodded, “Mhm. I mean, I think it’s obvious already since you went to pick up Finn when he was sick that one time I was with a client.” He remembered the moment right before summer and Claire hummed, “Yeah. Dolores looked like her eyes were going to pop out of her head.”

“You know she’s going to invite you to play golf with her, right?” Harry teased, “When she finds out we’re together?”

Claire huffed, “I’m sure she’ll ask all sorts of questions, she’s obsessed with you.”

“She thinks you’re a bad influence on me. With your foul mouth.”

“Oh, please.” Claire laughed, “She just wants to hop on your dick. I’m sure she’ll ask me all sorts of details.”

“Yeah?” Harry rolled on top of Claire again, a shit-eating grin on his lips, “Are you going to tell her how I make you scream?”

Claire arched into him, “Mhm. Big time.”

“And how I make you squirt?”

“That was one time.” Claire deadpanned and Harry laughed into her neck, “Yeah, the first time we had sex. It was fucking hot.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down.”

“I felt like I’d won the lottery.” He admitted and Claire shook her head with a laugh, “You’re insufferable. And you still won the lottery with me, hm?”

“I sure did.” Harry murmured, kissing her deeply again. He could feel Claire’s thighs tensing around him, her foot trying to slide the boxers down his thighs. He smiled into her lips, “Are you going to tell Dolores about my tongue?”

Claire bit her lip, “You might have to remind me.”

“Fuck, gladly.” Harry ducked underneath the sheets in an instant, not wasting any time. He loved going down on Claire more than anything. She was sensitive to him and she breathed out shakily by the time Harry spread her thighs with his fingers and pulled her panties to the side.

His eyes closed when he got his mouth on her, licking and flicking to drive her crazy. She tasted sweet and familiar, a sense of comfort washing over Harry to be so intimate with someone he felt so comfortable around. It was a dream, being like this with Claire.

His nose pressed into her clit as his tongue pulsed in and out of her. Claire gasped and stuttered out praises before pulling his hair and Harry caught on, feeling how wet she was. He locked his lips around her clit to suck in soft pulses, and her fingers tightly grabbed the pillow next to her as she bucked her hips back into him.

Claire finished on his tongue and begged for his cock next. Harry laced their fingers together before easily sliding inside of her. Claire keened, exhaling in relief at the feeling of his cock filling her again. She was greedy for him and so open.

“Are you gonna tell Dolores I make you cry?” He rasped, keeping his thrusts slow and savouring, yettaking Claire deep and hard at the same time. She lolled her head to the side, “Stop talking about Dolores when you’re fucking me.” She squeaked out and Harry breathed out a laugh, “I wanna get you pregnant.” He whispered.

Claire moaned and nodded quickly, “Yes – fuck, yes. Please… Get me pregnant. Fill me.”

“’M gonna make it stick, babe.” Harry promised lowly, squeezing her fingers as he rocked his hips passionately, taking her in missionary and catching her breaths between his lips, “Gonna get you all filled up and stay inside of you.”

“Yes.” Claire lazily breathed, “Please, please… I need it.”

“I know.” Harry panted, “Fuck – I know. Claire, ‘m gonna cum if you keep clenching like that.” He warned lowly. She gasped at the feeling of a rough thrust and nodded, “Uh-huh.”

Claire kept bucking against him as Harry came inside of her for the second time that day. He buried his face in the crook of her neck to keep down his moans, his knuckles white from squeezing her fingers so hard. Claire squeezed back, their hands interlocking as he filled her with his release.

She kept clenching and he kept grinding, giving her every little drop until he shuddered and whimpered in sensitivity. Harry tried to hold up his weight and not hurt Claire, but he couldn’t. His muscles gave up as he panted out harshly, gasping into her neck. His cock twitched between her warm walls and Claire sighed out too.

The position was slightly painful but not too uncomfortable. Harry kissed the swell of her breast, “Fuck, I love you.” He breathed.

“I love you too.” She whispered, “So much.”

He hummed and closed his eyes, staying entwined for a bit.

Eventually Harry want back to spooning Claire, using the tip of his softened dick to scoop up any of his spilled release and pushing back into her. She squeaked at that, melting into his chest as he held her close.

The next few months would consist of trying to get rid of Evan for good. It’d be a battle and something Claire really rather wouldn’t do. For her, and mostly for Atlas. She felt incredibly guilty putting him through all of that. But Claire felt loved and supported and Harry was steady as a rock behind her, catching her every single time.

And knowing that, Claire and Harry knew they’d always have their happy ending one way or another.

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

love lies licky

~masterlist~ wc: 2k reader: afab!reader — reader is supposed to be like kristen stewart in love lies bleeding. you get the picture warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut; also mentions of crime/drugs/violence but no real specifics, just a backdrop; bad relationships with fathers summary: 80’s crime/city noir AU — reader is the owner of a seedy but successful gym and prettyrichboy!ricky walks in one night inquiring about a membership -- inspired by 2024 film love lies bleeding starring kstew and katy o'brian devastated by how long it too me to post something. truly sorry about that. i literally love you all so much!! enjoy.

EXPLICIT 18+ SMUT WARNINGS: oral (reader receiving), public sex, a little bit of stalking/watching, mentions of crime/drugs/violence, etc. but not overly dark— just a fun backdrop

—

three.

two.

one.

it’s the kid across from you that just finished his set, but somehow you’re the one out of breath. black hair pushed back except for a few strands that have fallen into his eyes. a heart monitor band around his growing bicep as he places the free weights back onto the rack. veins popping from his slender wrists.

it’s at this moment you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror— jaw dropped as you recline back on the leg press. how long had you been sitting there?

you stand up, wondering if he’s noticed you yet. wouldn’t be the first time you’d snuck a glance in the past week. and it’s not like he’d called you out on it before.

and even if he did, you had a pretty good cover. you own the gym. as far as a legal defense, you’re just an extra attentive fitness manager.

keeping an eye out for your most interesting patron.

you make your way over to the front desk, reminded of some new member paperwork you’d been neglecting to file for a few hours. you should probably finish that before closing.

and you have every intention to do just that. but a particular exhale suddenly comes from the other side of the room. and it’s just out of your hands.

you set your stack of papers aside, walking back out onto the gym floor. you spot him instantly: on the leg press you’d previously been watching him from. he’s got a good amount of weight on it.

you’re actually concerned it might be too much.

when he’d first signed up for your gym a couple months ago, you’d actually fought the urge to laugh straight in his face. not to be misunderstood— he was a handsome kid. a tall, thin figure dressed in a designer coat with a pretty face to match. one that didn’t like to get roughed up much. he could be a runway model. or one of those cute teeny bopper boys that your niece likes.

buy your gym had a bit of reputation. it wasn’t really a place for boys like him. it was rough around the edges. maybe even a little seedy. but it’s where every bodybuilder went to get the best winning physique. results guaranteed.

“hi,” he’d said quietly with a polite smile. you frowned, removing your headphones off of only one ear.

“we don’t have a public restroom,” you’d replied, popping a mid-size bubblegum bubble in his face. “sorry.”

“oh no, uh,” he stuttered, hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “i wanted to sign up for a membership.”

wide eyes was an understatement. you couldn’t believe what’d just come out of his mouth. this little rich boy thought he could just waltz into your gym and join? did he really think he could survive that?

“get lost, kid,” you said, smacking your blue bubblegum. “you’re in over your head. how ‘bout you try one of those luxury gyms around the corner? probably more your style.”

he shook his head fervently. “no, wait! i—... i wanna join this gym.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “yeah? and why the hell would you wanna do that?”

“because i want to do this,” he replied, brow furrowed in determination. “i wanna prove that i can do this.”

you stared at him for a long moment. you’d had a lot of people beg to join your gym before. and you’d had no problem showing them all the door. but there was something about this kid. you couldn’t tell if you wanted to watch him fail or succeed.

an exasperated sigh left your lungs as you pulled open your desk drawer and threw a booklet of paperwork at him. “fine. but i am not responsible for any injuries— physical, emotional, spiritual, medical, or financial— that you incur while at the gym.”

“financial?” he repeated warily.

“take a look around,” you said, gesturing to the worse-for-wear gym. “padlock your belongings all you want, but if someone here wants into your locker, they’re getting in. and if you walk around looking like that, you might as well just tattoo a giant target on your back.”

he looked down at the ground, swallowing nervously before meeting your gaze again. “understood.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. maybe he was just some rich shit looking for cheap steroids. he’d find that and more at your gym. you didn’t really care. but as you picked up a pen and handed it to him, his eyes lit up with excitement.

“what’s your name, kid?” you asked, taking a sip of the warm beer you’d left out on the welcome desk.

he looked up from the paperwork he was rapidly filling out, smiling as he answered...

“ricky.”

—

you hadn’t paid much attention to him at first. you figured he’d last a week at your gym at best. and you’d predicted accurately how that week would go. he was mugged three days in a row, approached to buy drugs persistently every half hour, and even took a pretty nasty punch to the gut from one of your best patrons: a heavyweight world champion powerlifter named steve.

but when monday rolled around the next week, you were taken aback to see ricky walking through the doors at 10 p.m. sharp.

he gave you a little wave. you nodded at him confusedly.

and then he went straight to work. just like he did the next night. and the next night. until two months had suddenly gone by.

and wouldn’t you know it— all of that hard work had begun to actually pay off. his arm muscles had grown significantly and his chest had broadened as well. of course, he was never gonna be the size of the regular bodybuilders in your gym. they were all on lethal amounts of steroids anyway.

but he looked... good. and you found his dedication to be kind of admirable. he was tougher than you ever could’ve imagined.

so after a couple months, you’d started moseying over from your welcome desk or whatever machine you were using to offer some help. maybe it was form correction or a spot or just some lackluster encouragement, but he seemed grateful to receive whatever it was you were willing to give him.

“if you don’t keep those fucking knees bent,” you’d corrected, lit cigarette in between your fingers and blue bubblegum twisted around your tongue.

“sorry, sorry,” ricky apologized, correcting his form immediately. “it’s just harder like this.”

“i bet it is, kid,” you’d replied, shaking your head. “thought you’d gotten stronger, but i guess not.”

“i have and you know it,” he protested, rolling his eyes. you smirk at him as he catches your eye in the mirror. “and i’m not a kid. i’m three years younger than you.”

“you’re a kid as long as you’re still living on daddy’s money,” you said, clucking your tongue disapprovingly. “some of us don’t even have a dad.”

the weight dropped from ricky’s hand, crashing onto the floor with a bang. he looked around awkwardly, picking it back up and mumbling, “sorry.”

“what? did that make you uncomfortable?” you asked, taking a drag. “figures. why’d you even sign up for this gym in the first place?”

ricky finished his set, placing the weights down on the ground carefully. “this is the gym you go to if you want the best results.”

“it certainly is,” you agreed with a smile. “but i assume you’d never been to a place on the wrong side of town like this before. like a baby deer in headlights, is what i’d call it.”

he shook his head. “you’re right. i guess i hadn’t. but i wanted to prove i could do this. and i thought this was my only shot.”

“you said that before,” you remarked with a frown. “‘prove i could do this’. why would you of all people have anything to prove to anyone?”

ricky shrugged. “just because i have a father, doesn’t mean he was happy to have me.”

after a moment, you huffed a laugh. “alright, kid. i get it.”

“and i also heard the owner of this gym was a total smokeshow,” he added, walking over to the water fountain and leaving you behind.

you fight a smile. “and?”

“and i wasn’t disappointed.”

—

you sit down on a raised utility bench, straddling it as you observe ricky at the leg press. it might be your fault he’d increased the weight so much— you’d been telling him to put some more emphasis on growing his leg muscles for a few days now. not that he didn’t already have good legs, but it’d be a shame if all the upper body work made him unproportional.

he’s handling it surprisingly well. good enough form to get him through a set. you watch as a bead of sweat drips down the side of his face.

and gasp softly when you unconsciously grind into the bench your straddling.

you’d like to claim you couldn’t help it. that it was a little mistake that you’d never make again. that you cared at all about being professional.

but you can’t. because you’re pressing yourself back into the cushion of the seat in a matter of seconds.

blame hormones. blame the time on the clock. blame the two beers you’d chugged within a half hour of each other or the adrenaline from the fight you broke up earlier in the night.

but the truth is, it’s his fault. it’s all him.

you look up from the cushion beneath you, expecting to see him completing his set, but instead, he’s sitting reclined on the machine— an amused expression on his face as he stares back at you.

“what muscles are you targeting over there?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. “pelvic floor?”

your mouth hangs open, not really sure what you could possibly say to deflect this situation.

ricky stands up, walking over to you carefully with his arms folded across his chest. “you know, that’s why i like this place so much. a lot of gyms are run by some corporate fuck who’s never even touched the equipment. but even the owner of this gym’s dedication to fitness is truly inspiring.”

“it was my dad’s gym,” you admit suddenly. “he willed it to me when he died.”

ricky looks at you thoughtfully before snorting. “i bet he’d be proud to see you using the equipment to its full potential.”

“i don’t care what he’d think,” you replied, shaking your head. “he’s dead.”

ricky smiles at this as he sinks to his knees in front of you. “lucky.”

he raises his brow quickly, asking for permission as his hands hover over your thighs. you nod slowly until his palms sink into your soft skin, kneading then gruffly. you push yourself closer to him, spreading your legs to show him where you really want him.

“a little desperate, hm?” ricky asks with a smirk, pushing his long fingers up the gaps of your short-shorts all the same. “don’t let any of these meatheads ever take you for a spin?”

“s’unprofessional,” you answer as he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs— discarding them onto the gym floor.

you were never wearing any underwear.

“oh yeah? well what would you call what you’re doing right now?” he asks, pushing you gently down until your back is flat against the bench. hands gripping your thighs, he inches in closer until his lips finally connect with your core. “you know there’s still people in here right?”

you look around at the lingering gym members still pushing through their workouts. fuck ‘em, you think as you sigh contentedly. “i’d call it understandable.”

he grins before diving into you, lapping at all the wetness that’s already gathered at your opening for him. he takes it on his tongue, bringing it to your most sensitive area and swirling persistent circles around it.

you’re whimpering and you couldn’t be more surprised. the pretty boy gives good head? you thought guys like him usually used their money as foreplay instead.

your hands reach instinctively for his biceps, admiring up close how much he’s improved his own physique. they look even better wrapped around your legs, though.

you give them a squeeze and ricky’s lips pop off of you with a smack. the corner of his lips upturns cheekily, your juices dripping from his chin.

“not too bad, right?” he asks, eyes shining as he seeks your approval. “for a guy like me, i mean?”

you smile, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots. “not too bad at all.”

the reassurance lights up his face as he continues lapping at your heat with renewed passion. your climax approaches rapidly as he switches to sucking— the steady, quick suction on your clit sending you over the edge.

“fuck, oh my god,” you whine, your grip tightening around ricky’s arm as your thighs squeeze him closer to you. “i—… m’cumming.”

“fucking gorgeous,” he moans into your cunt as you ride out your high. a few deep breaths and you sit up, looking at the mess dripping from you and onto the bench. you can guarantee it’s not the first time thay bench has been covered in someone’s cum.

ricky hands you the container of sanitary wipes on the bench next to yours.

“don’t you think we should wait until we’re all done?” you ask with a smirk, eyeing the bulge that’s grown in his shorts.

but to your surprise, ricky shakes his head and stands up from the floor— walking back over to the leg press.

“back to work,” he says with a grin. “these hamstrings aren’t gonna build themselves. maybe you should get some work done, too.”

why that little shit—

you grab your cutoff denim shorts off the ground, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the back pocket.

if this kid wants to play…

you’ll just have to play, too.

[slippery-domjot-balls]

DS9 S3 E12 Part 1 and Part 2 "Past Tense"

So....I watched these episodes for the first time about one month ago. This is not a review of the episode, but a quick look at some things I enjoyed. I just realized the play on words of the episode title....past......tense.....Past.....Tense.....PAST TENSE. Got it. Good!

Anyway, Jadzia looks professional and ready to mingle in the suit, very flattering, even the feather is great. It looks just different enough to feel unfamiliar to our 2020s, but similar to the point we recognize the potential trends humanity could have experienced and maybe still should.

I love the refined silly look! Hair is fantastic. Great job everyone! High fives all around.

Look at that vest! Can there be too many stripes? NOPE. And before you ask, yes those stripes go ALL the way down girl. All the way. Whoever decided that our vests need to be tailored to be worn upside down is an innovative magician. The fabric beneath that is also wonderful. Looks paisley in design? Either way it is beautiful!

Just look at that smile! No wonder Worf fell in love with Jadzia just like many others before him and all of us viewers! Magnificent molars!

Geometric fashion was really cutting edge....heheheh....

However, art did was not done any favor by that odd Tron Crosshair throwback thing. Maybe it is the Bell Riot Era version of retro? it isn't terrible, but would you hang that on the wall of your 2020s AU penthouse suite? Would you though? I genuinely don't know if you would, so please tell me because I have to decorate in an hour.

You might think that hot fashion would not be allowed in the slums and that the Sanctuary does not permit hotties to dress as provocateurs', but you would be wrong. Julian is sporting a lovely horizontal stripe vest that fits perfectly with his heavy hoodie. He looks VERY comfortable against the concrete.

Julian cannot steal the spotlight though. He might be Garak's main squeeze, but Ben Sisko steps aside for no one. Flannel is the future people.

Perfect outdoor wear for a BBQ with the family or for saving timelines from suffering, Sisko stands front and center showing off a delicious cutoff flannel top with the breast pockets needed for snacks. His overalls also boast great maneuverability and certainly flatter his glutes.

Commanding a room has never been so chic. But we still need to enjoy Kira and Miles.

Do you know why Miles needs to wear such a HUGE belt? It is because he carries so many tools in his pockets. The man is a walking toolbox I swear. You might think that the two tone top is common place in Star trek, and you would be right. But wrapped around the unmatched muscle of O'Brien we get a sight that captured Keiko from day one. Manly magnificence on the bridge!!! Let's take a closer look at Kira. She is always worth it.

No one else could pull off nose tape with such panache and flair! She is a beauty. I think I am smitten! Short hair has never looked better than it does right now. Her knitted vest draws out the color in her hair. The bag she wears proves that she totally snuck a disrupter to the past.....probably. She is always ready for action.

Rest up you lovely man. You deserve it. The purple pjs just work. They make sense since Sisko is DS9 royalty.

OH THERE IT IS! My favorite mug! That thing shows up sometimes and I guarantee Sisko bought that from a gift shop on the promenade.

When all is said and done Star Trek is about fashion. This is a fashion show disguised as the best science fiction franchise ever made.

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[doubleleoenergy]

Cool for the Summer

Even if they judge, fuck it, I'll do the time. I just wanna have some fun with you.

Pairing: parentsbestfriend!Steve Rogers x fem!reader x parentsbestfriend!Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, use of pet names (princess), mommy kink, daddy kink, mentions of alcohol, y/n is 18, slight size kink, threesome.

Words: 2700 (I’m so sorry, I got carried away)

Summary: One pair of drunken kisses turned to much more. Now at the biggest pool party, y/n is ready for a hot girl summer.

Notes: This is my submission for @agentofbarnes​‘s The Agency’s Writing Challenge. I chose to write for dadsbestfriends/momsbestfriend au, secret relationship, and Steve Rogers + Natasha Romanoff. This is the type of sandwich I’d love to be between. I apologize for being such a whore with this.

“Y/N, can you please grab the two bags of ice from the ice chest in the garage? We need to fill up the other coolers before we add the drinks.”

“Yes mom!” Y/N cried out to her mother, tossing a large flamingo floatie into their pool before heading towards the garage. It was their annual Summer pool party, the biggest party of the season for y/n’s parents. Her parents invited all their friends and family, including everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D.

Y/N’s mother and father were both agents with S.H.I.E.L.D. and had been working with the Avengers team closely for years. She remembered visiting the tower when she was nine, a picture of her visit still hanging proudly in her bedroom. It had been years since she personally went to visit, but many of the team members visited her parents often. 

That included her super-secret lovers Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. 

It happened by complete chance last July. Her parents were on a mission for three weeks, leaving y/n alone to take care of their two dogs and to watch over the house. Of course, her parents were nervous to leave their eighteen-year-old daughter home alone for that long, asking many of their colleagues to stop in occasionally to check in on her. The Friday of their second week gone, y/n had gotten wine drunk, having snuck a bottle of her parents' expensive chardonnay from their wine cellar.

She was halfway through the bottle when they came, Steve and Natasha. They found her dancing to some pop song in the living room, her right hand holding up the bottle of wine to her lips. Steve and Natasha had grabbed the bottle from her hand, but not before she kissed them both; Steve first for a rough kiss and Nat last for a soft one.

Y/N didn’t remember anything the next day, but Steve and Nat showed up again to remind her. About 30 minutes after they had explained what happened the night before Y/N ended up with Nat’s head between her thighs and Steve’s cock in her mouth.

They had spent the next week before her parents came home together. Then afterwards, Steve and Nat told y/n that they had to keep what they had a secret, that no one would understand. They had all hung out a few times before y/n went off to college and then a few times during her college years when she was home on break.

The last time y/n saw Nat and Steve was during her Spring Break, two months ago, and she couldn’t wait to see them at the party. She had worn her skimpiest pink striped bikini for the occasion, ready to show off her hot-girl-summer body.

Y/N lifted one bag of ice on each shoulder, carrying it into the backyard and starting to fill the coolers while her father packed them with an assortment of beer, seltzers, soda, and water. “Honey, are you excited to see everyone now that you’re back from summer break?” Her father asked, wiping a few beads of sweat off his brow.

“Yeah, some more than others.” She muttered, shrugging her shoulders. After fixing up the coolers with her father, y/n helped her parents set out the snacks, decorate the backyard, and bring out the large speakers to play music.

It was already one o’clock when guests started to arrive, parking along their circle drive as well as up and down their street. Y/N was instructed by her father to wait by the back gate and greet the guests as they came in, giving each guest a cheap lei that her mom had ordered from Party City. 

Guest after guest, dozens of lei’s later, she spotted them. Nat and Steve drove together, of course, and they looked as striking as always. Nat was dressed in a blood red string bikini top, her cutoff shorts hanging off her hips as she walked. Steve looked incredibly toned in a white t-shirt that clung to his muscles, a pair of red board shorts hugging his thighs to match Nat’s bikini top.

Y/N’s eyes met both their gazes, her figure standing up straighter to accentuate her breasts. Nat and Steve’s eyes trailed up and down her body, Steve’s cock stirring in his shorts.

“Aloha Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff.” She purred; her voice sickly sweet like candy.

“It’s nice to see you again, y/n.” Steve mentioned casually, a large grin spreading across his features. The pair bent forward to receive their lei’s, y/n’s fingers trailing a little longer on each of their neck’s, her nails sending shivers down their spines.

“There’s plenty of drinks and food, and the pool is perfectly chilled. I might take a dip myself.” Y/N gave them a seductive wink before gesturing them in the gate so that she could continue to greet the guests.

Two hours in and the pool party was raging. Y/N’s parents mingled about with the guests, hopping from group to group. As the party continued, Steve and Nat’s eyes followed y/n as she spoke with guests, handed out drinks, and refilled the snacks on the picnic table. They watched the way her ass bounced in her bikini bottoms, how her hips swayed to the music as she danced with a group of friends, and the way her body looked soaking wet as she stepped out of the pool.

She knew what she was doing, trying to rile them up so they’d crack during the party. There were so many guests, what were the chances of anyone even noticing them if they went missing for a while? Y/N needed Steve and Natasha, bad, and she was willing to do whatever it took to get them.

Her body was still dripping wet from the pool, her hair caressing her face. She sauntered across the backyard to one of the coolers, digging her nimble fingers under the ice until she found what she was looking for. Pulling off the wrapper she revealed a red, white, and blue bomb pop, how fitting. Y/N met Steve’s gaze, sashaying her hips back and forth as she stalked towards them.

“Hi Captain, enjoying the view?” She questioned, tilting her head to look up at him. He had about a foot or more on her, making her crane her neck to meet his ocean blue eyes.

“I know I have. What about you, Nat?” He tilted his head to the left, eyes landing on Natasha.

“Definitely. What’cha got there, pretty girl?”

“Just a bomb pop. It’s so hot out, I needed to cool off.” Her lips finally meet the popsicle, engulfing the tip and swirling her tongue around it, a devilish look flashing in her eyes. Natasha clenches her thighs together, thinking of how good it would feel to have the woman’s lips between them.

Y/N teases the popsicle against her lips, pushing it deeper until she gags lightly, her gaze locked with Steve’s own as she does. The same noise she usually made around his cock, he almost pushed her to her knees right then and there. She pulled the popsicle out of her mouth, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the tip.

“You sure you don’t want some?” That was the last straw for Natasha, pulling the stick out of y/n’s hands before tossing the popsicle into the grass beside them. Natasha leans in close, her breath tickling y/n’s ear.

“Go to your room and wait on the bed. Now.” She commanded, pulling away from y/n and changing her expression as to not draw any attention to the throuple. Y/N nodded her head, her own expression flashing with excitement as she moved across the lawn and headed inside her home.

Her bedroom was up on the second floor, away from all the chaos downstairs. Only a few of the guests lingered inside, walking in and out of the first-floor bathroom, some leaning against the kitchen counter in conversation.

Y/N slipped silently up the steps, tiptoeing to her bedroom and shutting the door behind her. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, stealing a quick glance at herself in the mirror. Her hair was slightly wild from her dip in the pool, her body glistening with a mix of sweat and pool water. Y/N walked over to the bed, her head resting against a pillow, her legs bent and open, waiting for her lovers to arrive.

Steve and Natasha made their way into the house ten minutes later, conversing politely with the few guests who still lingered inside, waiting until they walked out towards the rest of the attendees before making their way up the wooden staircase. Steve is the first to make it to the door, opening it and smiling at the sight of y/n splayed out before them.

“My my, princess. You sure know how to rile us both up. Couldn’t even behave until the end of the party you’re that desperate?” Steve tosses his shirt to the floor after Nat shuts and locks the door behind them, the redhead following suit as she started to undress as well.

“She just loves to tease, but she’ll pay for it now.” Nat stalked over to the bed, getting on her knees beside the edge and gesturing y/n with her fingers to join her. Steve stepped out of his board shorts last, his thick cock bouncing against his chest as he moved over to where Natasha was kneeling beside the bed, y/n getting on her knees beside her, still dressed in her bikini.

“Nat, baby, how about you help our princess undress while she keeps her mouth busy on my cock.” He commanded, stroking his length in his right hand. Natasha nodded her head, moving behind y/n and pulling at the string of her bikini top, letting it unravel and slide forward off her chest. 

Steve stepped forward, his cock slapping gently against y/n’s cheek. “Go on princess.” Y/N swallows thickly, the size of his cock always surprising her, no matter how many times she saw it. Her hand reached up to stroke his length, her tongue swirling around the tip, eliciting a groan from Steve’s lips.

Natasha busied herself by reaching over y/n’s back to knead and pinch at her perky breasts, y/n’s eyes fluttering shut as she took Steve’s cock into her mouth, her hand moving down to fondle with his balls. She bobbed her head back and forth, grinding her still clothed core against her carpet.

“Aw Steve look, our princess is getting needy.” Nat took a fistful of y/n’s hair into her hand, ripping her off Steve’s cock and tilting her back to make eye contact with her. “You know what to do, a pretty princess like you has to ask for what she wants.”

Y/N whined, bucking her hips up to draw attention to her bikini bottoms. “Please mommy, please touch my pussy.”

Nat hummed in response, releasing her hand from y/n’s hair, pushing her in the direction towards Steve’s cock once again. Y/N wastes no time, opening her mouth and looking up at Steve, her long eyelashes batting coyly. “Daddy, will you fuck my mouth while mommy plays with my pussy?” She asked sweetly.

Steve almost came immediately from her statement, his thumb sweeping lovingly across her lips before his hand moved to grip at her hair, looping it around his hand to lock her in place before sliding her mouth forward and back onto his cock.

Steve started to fuck her face slowly while Natasha moved her hand down to undo the strings of y/n’s bottoms, pulling them out from underneath her before she tossed them across the room. Her hands caress y/n’s hips as Steve moves in and out of her mouth, faster this time. Y/N’s saliva dripped from her mouth and onto the carpet as Natasha snaked her hand down to y/n’s folds, her fingers immediately covered in her slick.

Nat dipped one of her perfectly manicured fingers into her heat, y/n humming around Steve’s cock in response. She continued to work her finger in and out before adding another finger, Natasha’s lips trailing wet kisses down her neck.

“So wet, princess. You want your daddy to fuck your tight cunt?” Nat purred, adding a third finger into her soaking hole. Y/N couldn’t answer, her mouth stuffed full of Steve’s cock, her nose touching his pelvic bone. He held her down, y/n sputtering as tears welled in her eyes, watching her face turn red before he pulled her off abruptly, her body collapsing back against Natasha’s.

Y/N gasped for air, her saliva dripping from her mouth down her chin and bare breasts. Natasha’s fingers sped up inside y/n, her orgasm building fast. “Mommy, may I cum please?” She mewled, looking up at her with pleading eyes.

“Yes princess, cum now. Daddy’s waiting to fuck you.” Her orgasm ripped through her, her walls tightening around Natasha’s fingers as she fucked her through the pleasure. Slowly, her breathing slowed down again, and Natasha removed her fingers from her core. Nat opened her pouty lips, licking y/n’s slick off her fingers happily. “You taste so good, our pretty girl. Now I want you to get on the bed on all fours for daddy.”

Y/N followed the instructions, crawling up onto the bed and getting on her hands and knees, arching her back and sticking up her plump ass. Steve’s hand was soft against her ass cheek, fondling it in his hand as he rubbed his cock against her folds with his other hand. He braced one hand against her back, sliding his cock in slowly, savoring the feeling of her tight cunt swallowing him.

“Always so tight, princess. The prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. Isn’t that right, mommy?” Steve moved his cock slowly back out of her pussy before slamming in fast, causing y/n to fall forward as she cried out in pleasure.

“It is the prettiest.” Nat agreed, moving onto the bed until her thighs opened, her pussy on full display. She scooted her body until her thighs were on either side of y/n’s head, gripping her chin and pulling her head up to look at her. “Put that pretty mouth to use and make mommy cum.” She instructed, y/n’s tongue sticking out to lick a strip up to Natasha’s clit.

Natasha rested her weight on her elbows, watching y/n swirl her tongue around her clit, moaning at the sight. Steve continued to fuck into y/n, pushing her face deeper into Natasha’s pussy. His cock rocked fast into her, y/n humming with her face against Nat’s cunt.

“That’s it, princess. Let daddy fuck you into mommy’s pussy. You keep that up and you’re going to make me cum on your pretty tongue.” Natasha’s eyes met Steve. “You look so good daddy, so hot when you’re fucking our princess.”

Steve’s breathing was ragged, his hips slapping rapidly against y/n. “Cum on her tongue, mommy. Give our princess your sweet nectar.” Natasha bucked her pussy against her face, hitting her orgasm as y/n licked up all of Nat’s juices that flowed from her. Y/N continued to lap at Natasha, working her through her orgasm as she came on Steve’s cock, her walls clenching around him.

“Fuck, that’s it princess, make a mess on daddy’s cock. Gonna fill this pussy up princess, you deserve it for how happy you made mommy.” Steve thrust twice more before his hips stilled against her ass, groaning as he coated her walls with his cum. He stayed glued to her, pressing soft kisses to her spine as he relaxed his body, finally pulling out of her. His cock was wet with y/n’s cum, her pussy dripping their mixed cum onto the sheets.

“Did so good princess, let’s let mommy clean this up.” On cue, Natasha moved to take Steve’s place behind her, licking at her cunt to indulge in their mixed juices. Y/N’s body relaxed into the bed, letting Natasha clean her up.

Eventually, Natasha finished licking, pulling off to collapse next to y/n, her body spent as well from their escapades. Steve moved beside y/n, laying his head back against the pillow. 

“My beautiful girls, I love you both so much. Best pool party I’ve ever attended.”

[yellowocaballero]

Jon's Trapped in Temporal Time-Out: A TMA Time Travelling Tale

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him. 

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary. 

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

I kept on bitching about how much I dislike the beginning scenes of TMA time travelling AUs so my friend @lazuliquetzal​ (who wrote the best TMA time travelling fic in the fandom) told me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s nowhere near her level, but in my defense it’s probably even stupider than Reflection. 10K of stupid under the cut. 

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him. 

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary. 

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

****

There was, indeed, a corpse in the Archives.

More specifically, in the stacks. The worst place to die, or least be dumped. Sasha had to admit the logic of it: it was the darkest depths of the library that Martin had informed her was ‘somewhat creepy’ and ‘kind of ominous’ so ‘please stop sleeping there you’re going to give me a heart attack’. After Martin flipped on a few lights that were never flipped on (apparently Elias was a cheapskate, which explained the breakroom) they could all gawk at the corpse to their heart’s content. 

Very kindly and thoughtfully, Tim asked Martin if he wanted to stay out of the library and maybe to ‘tell someone’ or something. Both Sasha and Tim had mutually and silently agreed that Martin seemed the type to have a delicate constitution. Granted, he hadn’t seemed the type to win Magnus Anarchist every month by breaking into abandoned buildings with absolutely no shame, so maybe he was the kind that surprised you. 

But Martin had just looked a little unimpressed. “Do you seriously think this is my first corpse? I went to university.”

That somewhat intimidated Sasha, who abruptly worried that she had missed out on an essential university experience again. “Is that a typical university experience?”

Martin paused a beat. 

“Uh,” he said, “yeah, sure, of course. Hazing, you know.”

“Is that what hazing…?”

“Fraternities.”

Tim, from where he had been standing at the entrance to the stacks snapping on the sterile gloves he had liberated from the cleaning supply closet, looked delighted. “You were in a frat too, Martin? What kind of hardcore frat had corpse hazings? Was it the Sigma Gammas? My frat always thought they were way too crazy, but we were a business one -”

“You know what,” Martin said, “let’s just worry about the corpse.”

After Sasha tied her hair in a ponytail and Martin snapped on his own gloves, they awkwardly approached the aisle where Tim had been trying to find a reference book for Jon. Sasha was worried that they would have to hunt for it a little, or that there would be a bad jump scare, but when they found it she saw that it wasn’t subtle at all.

It was sprawled on the ground, face mashed into the cheap and somewhat gross carpet. Sasha approached it with absolutely no hesitation, which Tim and Martin gladly let her do, and squatted down to get a better look at the figure. 

She definitely needed to make a coroner’s report. She was the objective expert in coroner’s reports. 

 “Tim, can you run back and get one of Jon’s silly little tape recorders for my coroner’s report?”

“Did you just see that on the telly?” Tim asked skeptically. “Because if you did -”

“Oh, here one is. That’s really convenient!” Martin grabbed one off the shelf and pressed play, letting the tape roll. “Good idea, Sasha. We need proof to Jon that we were researching.”

Probably...not what Jon meant for them to be researching, but Sasha liked to believe that it was the intent that mattered. She pulled a pencil out of her pencil skirt pocket, poking the figure thoughtfully. “Report by Sasha James, Archival Assistant.” There, now it was work. “At 1:30pm today, Tim Stoker discovered a corpse in the Archives, thereby referred to as John Doe -”

“Do we have to call it John Doe?” Tim complained, standing next ot her and crossing his arms. “Then we have too many Johns, it’ll get confusing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sasha said dismissively. “Ours is Jon, this guy’s John. Completely different.”

“Sasha, I’m not sure that’s how words work.”

“What are you, an English major?”

“Yes! I was an editor for a living!”

“Sorry if I don’t listen to guys who were fired from book editing school -”

“Uh,” Martin said, “have we checked to see if he’s actually dead?”

Sasha and Tim fell silent. Sasha looked at Tim. Tim shook his head. 

“Seriously, mate?” Sasha asked, unimpressed. 

“I didn’t want to touch the corpse!” Tim cried. “So sue me! It’s not as if he’s moving!”

Pussy. Sasha gently reached out and pushed aside a little of the corpse’s very long and pretty curly hair. What was that, 3C? Jesus, that had to be work. Sasha was 3A and the amount of hair care products she owned was insane.

She waved her hand at the boys for silence and put her thumb against his pulse, concentrating hard. Martin quietly walked over and crouched down too, eyeing his chest. 

“I don’t feel a pulse,” Sasha said finally. 

“Also, uh, I’m not a doctor,” Martin said, “but he’s definitely not breathing.”

“I told you,” Tim said defensively. “You just look at the thing, and you go - yep, that’s a corpse!”

“Corpse appears to be an ethnically ambiguous adult man with very nice hair,” Sasha said loudly. Martin helpfully held out the recorder to catch her voice better. “Maybe 190cm. Incredibly skinny - potential cause of death. He’s dressed in...some very ratty clothing. Potentially homeless.”

“It definitely smells,” Tim said, pinching his nose. Sasha didn’t blame him - the clothing was an overlarge green hoodie, ratty and threadbare, and his jeans weren’t any better. His boots were worn and soft leather. “Maybe he’s a homeless guy who snuck in and died?”

“That’s so sad,” Martin said softly. “Also a little gross.”

“Have some respect for the dead, guys,” Sasha said, as she poked the dead guy with a pencil. “Tim, go flip him over.”

Tim held his hands up, stepping away. “I couldn’t possibly. Martin loves flipping people over.”

“This again?” Martin asked, frustrated. “This is just like when you made me handle the Rawlings case because you’re scared of the suburbs!”

“They have too many eyes, Martin!”

“I am surrounded by cowards,” Sasha noted for the recorder. Nothing for it, then. Sasha carefully straightened, wobbling on her heels, before solidly wiggling her hands underneath the corpse’s chest. He was cold - dead a while. 

It was surprisingly difficult to flip over a limp adult man. Sasha was strong, but the corpse’s flesh was weak, and he was all floppy. Eventually Tim got over himself long enough to help her, making a very disgusted face the entire time, and they were able to finally get a good look at the man’s face.

Abruptly, upon seeing it, they all quieted. 

There was something about seeing a man splayed out on the ground that was a little funny, if you worked for the Magnus Institute and had probably encountered a Leitener two years ago and lost all empathy. No more impediments in the search for science. But there was something very different about looking at a person, who had a nose and lips and a very ratty hoodie, and knowing that it was no longer a person. Just a lot of cloth and meat and blood and organs and nice hair that once was a person, back when things were easier and the world was a little less harsh.

But maybe Sasha was caught by sentimentality: after all, the corpse looked a little like Jon.

Judging from the stunned faces of her compatriots as they all bent around the figure, they all thought the same thing. Tim’s jaw was open, and Martin’s hand was covering his mouth in shock. 

“Man,” Tim said. “This sucks. And it’s really creepy.”

“He must have been really gorgeous,” Martin said. “That’s so sad.” 

Actually, Sasha tilted her head and took another look. He had sharp and severe features, elegant and striking. A large and thin, sharp nose, and equally sharp lips. His face was just as sharp and gaunt, as emancipated as the rest of him. He had strange scars trailing up his neck and curving around his jaw, but it just kind of accentuated the intense atmosphere. 

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to focus on, but in her defense it wasn’t really the face of a homeless guy. Well, maybe. Hot homeless people existed.

Sasha frowned. She’s only met one other person this hot. 

“Hey,” she said, “doesn’t he look like Jon?”

Both the men titled their heads. 

Finally, Tim said, “Nah, he’s hotter.”

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “I think the scars really do it.” 

“Uh, guys,” Martin said. 

Sasha grabbed her tape recorder out of Martin’s hands, resuming her coroner’s report. “Subject appears to be in his thirties. Weirdly attractive, but that’s probably not as important as we feel it is.” She looked down at his hands, carefully using her pencil to push up the sleeve. “What looks like an aged and badly healed burn scar on his right hand. Supports homeless guy evidence.”

“Knife scar over his throat,” Tim quietly observed. “Someone tried to kill this guy.”

“Guys,” Martin said. 

“Well, I guess this is the point where we worry about body disposal,” Sasha said, straightening. “I think Elias could handle this discreetly and professionally, but that might involve letting Jon know. And I don’t think any of us want that kind of stress in our lives.”

“So, are we not even pretending to want to call the cops, or…?”

“Listen to me!”

Both Tim and Sasha shut up, somewhat guiltily. Martin had straightened too, fists balled, looking firm and determined and resolute - everything that Martin wasn’t, really. Martin lived unsure of himself, never expressing his own feelings or ending every opinion with an “I don’t know, maybe, that’s just my thoughts, what do you think?”. 

So Tim and Sasha paid attention, and when Sasha nodded encouragingly at him he seemed to find further courage. Solemnly, with the air of a wise man by the side of the road, Martin said, “This guy isn’t hotter than Jon.”

Christ. Sasha takes it all back.

 Tim propped a hand on his hip supportively as Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, mate,” Tim said, “I know that you think Jon’s the hottest person in existence, and maybe objectively he’s fine as hell, but once you know him for longer than three months he loses all attractiveness. It would be like being into the DMV clerk. The really pretentious cousin at all of your family reunions who tries to explain your own job to you. The dude in your English class who thinks he invented feminism.”

“That was you,” Sasha said. 

“I am the objective expert in Jon,” Martin said firmly, shutting down the dissent. “He’s, like, my muse, okay? And can I say, as I have spent so many long hours memorizing the curve of his jaw - that’s the same jaw.”

If Sasha had a retort to that, or if Tim wanted to judge Martin for his taste in men further, neither of them had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity to say anything more, because the corpse opened its eyes. 

Sasha’s first thought was this: wow, what green eyes. 

Sasha’s second thought was: the fuck?

His eyes didn’t focus on her, or snap anywhere. They drifted a little lazily, fixed on the right, but the man was undoubtedly aware. His fingers twitched, he tilted his head from left to right, and his left hand - doubtlessly the hand that still felt texture - clenched the thin and cheap rug. The man’s jaw slackened a little, as if in surprise. 

For their part, the Assistants frantically looked at each other, all conveying the exact same thought - you said he was dead!

Sasha froze to her spot, petrified. She could handle corpses, or coroner’s reports, or mysteries. Sasha was intelligent, unkind, firm, socially incompetent, and a Libra. She could handle the dead, but the living? Sasha had no idea what to do with alive people.

But Tim did. He hesitated two moments, reeling back in shock, before he abruptly composed himself. He crouched down to the guy, and modulated his voice to sound calming and firm. “Hey, don’t strain yourself. Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere?”

The man turned his head in Tim's direction, hiding his expression from Sasha, but she saw Tim’s eyes widen. Martin, standing closer to his feet, wrung his hands - clearly torn on what to do, uncertain how to help. Martin always hated being uncertain how to help the most. Which was pretty unfortunate, because Martin always wanted to help, and Martin was always uncertain. 

“Can you speak?” Tim asked gently. “If you can’t speak, go ahead and knock on the floor for me, okay?”

“If we pack him into your car, we can say that we found him on the street,” Sasha piped up. As much as she distrusted NHS, and as much as the NHS refused to touch anybody who had ever stepped foot inside the Institute, they could hardly refuse somebody if they just lied their ass off about it. “They’ll have to treat him then, right?”

“We could make it so much worse if we move him,” Martin said quickly, just as strangely firm. “We need to take our chances with 999.”

“We don’t even know if he’s injured,” Sasha pointed out, somewhat optimistically. “Maybe this whole thing can just, like, not be a problem.”

Yeah, Sasha definitely preferred corpses. 

The man was opening and closing his mouth, before he coughed wetly. Sasha clinically noted that it was the first time she had seen his chest move. As Tim reached forward, murmuring gently, and helped the man sit up, she saw that his chest didn’t move at all.

“Alright, let’s try to get you up.” Tim helped the man shift so he was leaning against the bookcase - uncomfortable, but a better position if he started coughing up blood. “We should fetch you some water - Martin, I don’t think he has any injury like that, he just seems out of it. His eyes aren’t focusing on me at all.”

Strangely, the man scoffed at that. The sound made him cough again, but the derision was unmistakable.

The derision was extremely familiar. 

When Sasha looked at Martin his eyes were wide behind his glasses, and she knew that he had heard the same thing that she did. 

Finally, with a raspy and hoarse voice, the man said, “Well, isn’t this fucking fun.”

Everybody stared at him. His voice...different, definitely, with a less posh accent and strained vocal cords scratching his tones. But when Sasha glanced at Tim, she just knew that he was remembering when Jon had insisted on coming into work with a terrible cold and Martin had to bully him home. He had sounded eerily like…

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the man said. 

Tim, from where he was crouched next to the guy, turned his attention back to him. “I’m a funny guy, but last time I checked head injuries aren’t a joke.” He tracked his finger across the man’s eyes, frowning when they didn’t follow. “You definitely have a concussion, mate. If you can walk, we need to -”

“Lord, alright, I get it.” The man raised his burned hand and clumsily rubbed his eyes. “You’re mad at me, I’m sleeping on the couch, whatever. Is all of this really necessary?”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. “Mate, I’m not your boyfriend.”

The man waved his other hand in Tim’s direction as he pressed his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion. “I’m hardly speaking to you.” Tim’s jaw dropped in shock as the man angled his face upwards, the crown of his head jamming uncomfortably against the metal shelving. “In my defense, I was doing the best I could with the resources you gave me. It’s water under the bridge. I’ve forgotten about it already! So let’s just get back to our eldritch hellscape.”

Everybody stared at each other. 

“We should move this into the break room,” Martin said. “There’s tea there.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Jon said, “making Martin into a caricature of himself. You like Martin, you told me so.”

“Counterpoint,” Sasha said weakly, “the bullpen has Jon. And I really don’t want to explain this to Jon.”

“I don’t even know who this one is,” the man said. “What? Not going to tell me?”

“Okay, like, fucking rude, but whatever.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” Tim said firmly, reaching out and putting a firm hand on the man’s arm. The man didn’t recoil or jerk away, just looking down in vague surprise. “But they aren’t here right now. You’re in the basement of the Magnus Institute, alright? I’m Tim Stoker, at your service, and these are my coworkers. I think you have a brain injury. If you can walk, we need to get you -”

“I can’t eat here,” the man said, but he made no effort to remove Tim’s arm. He moved his other hand, pressing it against Tim’s own, as if they were friends. “Cutting me off from my Knowledge -” it was capitalized, Sasha could hear it “ - chaining me to my desk, for - what? You’re not even answering me? Come on!” The man’s voice raised, and for the first time Sasha could hear something ragged in it. “Don’t give me the silent treatment!”

“Jon.”

It was Martin, standing at a distance from the man - from all of them. He was wringing his hands again, shoulders hunched and tense, but his expression was caught in that same mysterious firmness. 

The man didn't react. Not in surprise, not in shock, not in unrecognition. He just scowled a little, ignoring all of them. 

“Jon,” Martin said, louder. “This isn’t solving anything. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not the one being stubborn, Martin,” Jon - Jon?! - muttered, folding his arms. Like an infant. Like, hypothetically, something Jon would do. “I just don’t think omniscient fear gods should be petty.”

Everybody looked at each other. 

“This needs tea,” Martin proclaimed finally, and everybody nodded in silent agreement.

Every nodded in agreement - even, strangely enough, Jonathan Sims himself. 

****

This plan had a few complexities. 

The first complexity was dealing with Jon - their Boss - himself. In an act of cunning psychological warfare, Martin had gone ahead of them and used his endless and infinite subtle acts of manipulation to guarantee that Jon wouldn’t interrupt them. This situation was already Quite A Bit, nobody wanted to babysit their boss. 

Who Sasha frequently felt as if she babysat a bit. Having the youngest person in the office be the very rigid and authoritarian boss was objectively a little funny. But you know what’s not funny? Transphobia. 

Eventually Martin came back and waved them forward, and Tim gently yet firmly dragged the man upwards and put a hand on his back. 

“Do you mind if I touch you?” Tim asked. He sounded resigned about it - barely expecting Jon to respond. “Let me know how you want me to guide you.”

“Oh, it’s whatever. If you’re going to play it this way.” Jon easily looped his arm through Tim’s, who didn’t bother to mask his shock. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sasha went ahead of them, watching Tim walk Jon down the aisle - hah! - with his arm looped through his elbow and a hand on his back. It was exactly the kind of care and meticulousness that Sasha always saw in him when it came to others. He literally walked grannies across the street. It was horrendous. She got second-hand embarrassed whenever she saw it.

Tim was loudly, extremely, messily kind. He was a person who adopted lost causes, like young men too grumpy to make real friends and women who only knew academia and never people. Sasha told him that once he got his teeth into something he never let go. It would get him into trouble one day. Maybe it already had. 

Sure enough, when Sasha opened the library door for them and peeked her head into the hallway, she saw that Jon’s office door was very firmly shut and locked. Even more incriminatingly, she heard his cute little theater drama monologues starting. Tim had found Jon’s theater aspirations very adorable and he had tried recording them to put on his Snapchat and maybe get him discovered by an agent, but unfortunately the videos made Tim’s phone bleed. They had given Martin ten pounds to taste the blood. Man would do anything for ten pounds, but seeing as they all worked this job that probably applied to all them. 

A workplace made out of people who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare. It was kind of a miracle they were still alive. Sasha was a little uncertain how she had survived to thirty five, actually. 

Once Sasha gave the all clear, Tim was able to bring Jon (Neo-Jon? Nega-Jon? Dark Jon? Mean Jon? No, that was just Jon) into the bullpen. Softly narrating what he was doing, he pulled out a chair and lowered Jon into it. 

Homeless Jon hasn’t been blind for very long, Sasha noted clinically. Long enough that he seemed more mildly irritated by it than anything else, but instead of orienting himself or testing out where he was he just kind of slumped in his chair. 

“Jon - uh, the Boss is taken care of?” Tim asked Martin, who was rapidly bustling into the bullpen with four cups of tea that he seemed to be under the impression would help. Tim had sat Homeless Jon in Martin’s chair, which seemed to fluster Martin a bit. 

“Uh, yeah. Gave him a normal statement to get his guard down, then five of the - you know, weird - statements and said that he has to go through all of them today. He’ll be in there for an hour at least.” 

Sasha frowned. “After two he gets a headache and gets bitchy.”

“Three o’clock exactly,” Tim said solemnly.

“Oh, leave off,” Homeless Jon said, “it wasn’t that bad.”

Everybody double taked and looked at each other significantly - which was quickly becoming their predominant mode of communication in a ruthless act of ableism. But Martin just held out a cup of tea, faltering as he clearly stopped to wonder the easiest way to give it to him. 

“Can you hold out your hands, Jon? I have some tea for you. It’s hot, so be careful, okay?”

“If the tea’s spiders I’m going to take it out on Annabelle,” Weird Jon said, but he held out his hands anyway and let Martin put the mug in them. He sniffed it cautiously, checking for spiders, before taking a cautious sip. 

To Sasha and Tim, Martin said, “I know, he’s going to fall asleep after two. I mean, it might be because I drugged his tea a little -”

Weird Jon spat out his tea back into the mug. 

“ - so we shouldn’t be interrupted,” Martin said brightly, clapping his hands. “Now! I think it’s time for explanations, don’t you?” He turned his mighty gaze upon Thankfully Blind Jon, who was occupied carefully holding the tea away from himself. “Drink your tea, Jon.”

Jon drank his tea. His expression twisted. “It tastes just like his.”

Everybody looked at each other. Tim mouthed the word ‘time traveller’ very clearly. Both Sasha and Martin nodded. It was the obvious explanation. 

“An explanation now, please,” Martin said pleasantly. “If you’re a time traveller, you can tell us. This is a safe space.”

Jon-from-the-future’s expression harshened in creases. He hadn’t once relaxed, expression permanently tightened in annoyance and disgruntlement. It was ridiculously Jon. 

Definitely a time traveller. You didn’t work at the Magnus Institute without secretly spending your life deeply hoping you run into a time traveller. Every researcher upstairs secretly prayed to discover the majesty. Everyone in Artifact Storage eagerly gathered around mysterious clocks and dared each other to touch them. Sasha, Queen of Truth-or-Dare, was the undisputed expert in making other people touch weird clocks and recording their reactions.

“Fine,” Super Time Traveller Jon said. “I know this is what you want. Statement of a stupid punishment by the pettiest little color in the evil crayon box. Recorded by the Archivist, in situ. Statement begins.”

Wow, Jon still had his job in the future? That’s a surprise. 

Martin was mouthing the word ‘evil crayon box’ to himself, looking increasingly concerned. The forgotten tape recorder, clenched in Sasha’s fist without her even realizing it, clicked and whirred. 

Then the Archivist began to speak. 

***

In the hazy amber of a memory, there exists an office.

You can see it clearly in your mind’s Eye, even now. You could likely navigate all of it blindfolded - which you now see that your god has the intention to test. Every corner of it is known to you, in the most subtle and mundane of ways. There’s a dust bunny in that corner, never tidied. A mysterious stain on the far right ceiling. The faint smell of blood, just under the vents. The hot waft of tea; your hands wrapped around a mug. 

Through these lonely offices, ghosts roam. They cling to desks and chairs; lingering in favorite mugs or in forgotten hair ties. A metal file cabinet holding neat rows of clothing, blood-stained jackets abandoned. A whiteboard with stubborn flakes of dried marker, forgotten handwriting clinging to life. These imprints no longer evoke terror or grief or pain. They are as familiar as the bloodstains and tea. Even death, eventually, is familiar. After long enough in a nightmare, it becomes indistinguishable from reality. 

There is nothing unfamiliar in the Magnus Institute.

Nothing save these voices, emerging from nothing. Every one of your six million senses have been cut off - your hundred eyes reduced to none. You are cognizant only of two familiar voices, and one unfamiliar one. A firm hand, with calloused fingers from leafing through aged paper. A creaky desk chair - Martin’s, undoubtedly, always squeaking as he fidgeted in distraction. The air tastes the same as it used to back then, before the AC broke and no repairman would step inside to repair it. Daisy did, eventually. Three familiar voices, rendered unfamiliar by the harsh tides of wind and cruel plastic hands. 

You are afraid of very little, these days. In this world that you’ve built, there is nothing that can harm you. The twisted little puppet strung up in his tower has been long since been disposed of, and the awful and terrifying future has settled into a gentle present. The apocalypse grows tedious after a while, and the buffet of fears start tasting a little samey.

But if anything could frighten you, this would. If anything would petrify you, it would be Tim’s kind smile, which died a year before Tim did. If anything could freeze you to your chair, it would be the sight of Sasha with red-rimmed eyes asking why you never even noticed that she was gone. 

The sanctuary of memory corrupted. A mental place of safety infiltrated. A mind turned inside out, exposing its vulnerable flesh to the world. 

There is nothing else this could be but your own personal hell. 

Your loyal servant crouches on bended knee, giving this final prayer to you. He asks, humbly and with great reverence, one simple question:

Why couldn’t this have waited until after I got my milk?

***

The spell ruptured.

It was almost tangible, like a change in air pressure making your ears pop. Sasha blinked harshly, rubbing at her ears and trying to soothe strange ringing. Tim exhaled heavily and Martin screwed his eyes open and shut harshly, as if he was seeing spots. 

The only person unaffected was Weirdly Christian Jon, who was slumped in Martin’s chair with his arms folded over his chest. He was still looking at the ceiling - speaking to whoever he had been addressing this entire time. 

“Just one day,” Jon was saying. “Just one day! It was going to be a nice day! We had decided to take a day trip to the Flesh garden and have a picnic! My darling and beautiful husband was going to make us a cake! ‘Walk down to the Hell corner store’, my husband says. ‘Pick us up some Eldritch milk’, he says. ‘Why do I have to do it’, I says, ‘I’m in the middle of something’. ‘We need cake for bridge night with the girls and I’ll divorce you if you don’t do it’, he says. I didn’t even change out of my nightmare pyjamas! What did I ever do to you? How are you still upset about the eye thing?”

Sasha and the Assistants, still digesting the extremely disturbing monologue, let him talk. Sasha was caught up in how it felt exactly like Jon’s little drama monologues. Granted, he had obviously gotten a lot more practice - guy could go to Broadway - but the weird lilting and falling sing-songyness was just the same. And he only ever did that for the very weird ones. The ones that they were pretty certain were actually true. 

So that probably meant at one point in the future, if Jon was speaking about the Archives as if they had worked there for years. Probably during the apocalypse. Which was happening. Which Jon had...built? Like, as a personal thing, or in a metaphor for capitalism and the human race? Definitely the capitalism thing - Jon was prone to flights of filing-induced passion that sometimes accidentally resulted in a stapler flying and punching a hole through the wall, but she couldn’t even imagine him even purposefully punching someone, much less being the Antichrist. Unless it was one of those things that just happened to you, like a rare genetic defect. 

“Seriously. What was the alternative here? Endless horrorterrors, everybody screaming all the time? It was boring. You eat one Statement about somebody standing in line at a slaughterhouse conveyor belt and you’ve eaten them all. I didn’t do it because I didn’t like you, although for the record I don’t. But you have to admit that having Eldritch Lidls are much more practical than just having a bunch of people lying around screaming all the time. It’s not as if I don’t have other eyes, I hardly miss them. There’s no chocolate cakes in the swirling vortex of mankind’s worst nightmares!”

Okay. They had to find a way to engage with this guy. He was completely ignoring them, probably because he thought that they were mean ghosts. Sasha was only one of those things, and it was hurting her feelings. Judging from the expression on Tim’s face he was thinking the same thing. 

Or - wait, Sasha knew that eyebrow. That was the ‘please please please tell the apocalypse has zombies’ eyebrow. Great. 

But Martin was just looking thoughtful again. Sasha was pretty proud of him - it was probably very difficult for the poor man to remain coherent in the face of the crazy time-traveller who was definitely hotter than their already objectively unfairly hot boss. 

“Jon,” Martin said, cutting Jon’s tired rant about how eggs benedict were much better these days, “Uh, I have an idea? Maybe you can’t get out of the - nightmare by bargaining with it. Do you know how to normally escape these things?”

Jon angled his head down and frowned in Martin’s direction. So far Martin seemed to be the only person who could shut Jon up, which was a hilarious turnaround from normal life. Sasha hadn’t heard anything about Martin being a sad little ghost, but it was hard to believe that Martin was a survivor in the zombie apocalypse. 

“You go through the statement and you walk through it,” Jon said, in a very ‘duh’ kind of way. “Give the statement, highfive corpses, whatever.”

“Right, right.” Martin wrung his hands, biting at his lip. “So maybe it’s like that. Maybe instead of asking to be let out - you just have to walk through it. Like - like it’s a maze. Does that make sense? I’m not sure, it’s just an idea.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Right as always, Martin.” Everybody’s jaw dropped, and Martin squeaked. “Fine, fine. Let’s...interact with the evil ghosts.” Jon gestured out with his arms, in a very ‘come at me bro’ gesture. “Go ahead and shoot. Hit me with how much you hate me and how disappointed you are that I never amounted to anything and started the apocalypse.”

Finally! Interrogation time! 

But before Sasha could finally find out if global warming had killed the world, Tim jumped in. “Are there zombies in the apocalypse?!” Tim cried, way too excited. “Is it like the Walking Dead? Or is it more Last of Us?”

Jon squinted in Tim’s direction. “Define zombie.”

“...hunger for human flesh, shambling, gross looking?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen any zombie movies.”

“I’m omniscient, I’ve seen every zombie movie,” Jon lied blatantly. “I just think that you’re - you know, stereotyping. Sometimes people are the undead and eat humans and they’re - they’re very normal people.”

“Yeah, Tim, be sensitive,” Sasha said gleefully. She put the tape recorder on Martin’s desk, deciding that she would definitely need a transcript of this interview later. Also maybe ask more questions about that omniscient thing, but she was sure Jon was just exaggerating. If you asked Jon today if he was the smartest person on Earth he’d probably say yes. Jon wasn’t even the smartest person in the room.

For good measure, she drew out her little notebook from her pencil skirt pocket, flipping through it looking for a clean page. “The Archives have never gotten a time traveller before. This is unprecedented in its history.” Well, she really didn’t know what Gertrude had gotten up to, but she dearly hoped it wasn’t this. “Do you have any warnings? Desperate messages from a ruined world, that kind of thing?”

“I’m not a time traveller,” Jon said flatly, “so no.”

Everybody stared at him in abject pity.

“Mate,” Tim said sympathetically, “it’s 2015. You’re a time traveller.”

“No, I’m in a pocket hell dimension in a period beyond time and space,” Jon corrected arrogantly. “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“The apocalypse exists but time travel doesn’t exist?” Martin cried. “That’s so unfair! Like, give us something, you know?”

“Your life is very hard,” the extratemporal reject said. 

Typical Jon. A classic case of time travel and here he was denying it. Sasha crossed her arms, upset that they were wasting time debating temporal physics when they could be talking about zombies. She was a historian and had priorities. “Your denial ain’t cute, mate. You’re just wasting all of our time.” Jon opened his mouth, but Sasha steamrolled over him. “You want evidence, right? Do you need to, like, touch my face? Make sure that I’m not a sexy ghost?”

“That’s a stereotype that nobody actually does,” Jon said. 

“Insensitive as always, Sasha,” Martin condemned. 

“How else are we going to prove it to him?” Sasha said, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if we have any evidence that we’re not sexy ghosts.”

With utmost care and incredible gentleness, Tim reached out an open hand and gently smooshed it into Jon’s face.

Jon slumped in his seat, arms folded, unimpressed. 

“No mortal who is not my darling husband has dared to touch me since I became the Antichrist,” Jon said.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, withdrawing his hand and looking at Sasha. “What’s more unbelievable: Jon as the Antichrist or Jon with a husband?”

“Jon’s gay?” Martin cried, face beet red. “Gay Jon? Gay Jon real?”

“So, like, how do you get the Antichrist gig?” Sasha asked as she silently passed Tim a fiver. Her queerdar had never been so wrong. “Is it like an adventurer quest you can do or would you call it more of a rare genetic disorder thing?”

“Definitely rare genetic disorder.”

“Then does that mean that our Jon also has the Antichrist gene?” Tim asked, alarmed. “You’d never think so just looking at him! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“No, this makes sense,” Martin said.

Tim stared at him. “So, is that, like, a negative for you, or a positive…?”

Martin’s silence was incriminating. 

“It’s a positive,” Jon said helpfully, startling everyone. They had conveniently forgotten not to talk about one very horny man’s very horny crush in front of sad grumpy time travelling crush. “He’s into it.”

“Wow, Jon,” Tim said, “what would your husband say?”

In a completely pointless show of sass, Jon rolled his eyes. “My useless husband is likely much more concerned with how I managed to get trapped in a nightmare dimension on my way back from the Hell corner store.” He waved a hand absently. “So, if we can hurry this up? Get started on the whole torturing me thing? Right now you’re just on track to annoying me to death.”

“We annoy you to death now!” Tim exclaimed, as Martin’s eyes boggled. “Isn’t that more proof for the time traveller theory?”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Jon said curtly. “I secretly enjoyed it. I always felt a little bad that I wasn’t included. Or wouldn’t let myself be included.”

That, abruptly, made everyone feel a little bad. Not guilty, seeing as Jon neither wanted nor deserved their affection, but just kind of bad. Future Jon didn’t seem any happier than regular Jon. Sasha liked to imagine that if she was trapped in an indeterminate period in time and space in a post-apoc hellscape, she’d at least be having fun.

Everybody looked at each other, equally a little uncomfortable. Tim was the one who finally took control of the situation, as the self-appointed Jon & Everyone Else mediator. He had taken up the mantle years ago and worse it with pride, and occasional exhaustion. 

“Look,” Tim said, as reasonably as possible. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, this was super cool and awesome time travel. Let’s also say maybe this was completely baller and you’re from a post apoc future where everyone wears leather.”

“That’s just Melanie.”

“Put it down as one person who wears leather in the future!” Tim cried, and Sasha obediently jotted it down.”But let’s just put all of this in a hypothetical situation where you aren’t...uh, in a bad dream? So would there, hypothetically, be a way to stop the apocalypse or something?”

Jesus christ. What a try-hard. 

Sasha crossed her arms, glaring at Tim. From next to her, Martin looked just as peeved. “Seriously, dude? Like we can just up and stop capitalism?”

“I don’t want responsibility for stopping the apocalypse,” Martin protested. “I can barely navigate the bus system. What if the Terminator comes after my mother or something?”

“You’ll be a bit better off, frankly,” Jon said. Martin nodded, conceding the point, before looking faintly disturbed. 

“But he said that he caused it,” Tim protested. “Maybe the power of friendship can fix this? I mean, the apocalypse is cool, but I feel like this is the part where we’re all badasses and we fight evil or something.” Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s what the Magnus Institute is for. To stop the apocalypse!”

“Every day I feel a slight sense of emptiness due to my internalized guilt about your death, but you are usually wrong about things,” Jon said flatly, which seemed to both perk Tim up and depress him slightly. “And no. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one event that precipitated the apocalypse; no rules of engagement. You are puppets on strings, indulging in the fantasy of free will. Yes, Sasha, the apocalypse is capitalism.”

Everybody stood in slightly depressed silence over this. Sasha, personally, was a little relieved. She really didn’t have to deal with the whole ‘preventing the apocalypse’ thing. She’d rather spend the finals days of the world in hedonism, frankly. 

Really, the unique providence of the millennial was to live your entire life half-way convinced you were in the twilight years of the world. This hedonism and apathy was second nature. Or maybe the apathy was a Leitner - Sasha had lost track of that too. 

“Aw, man,” Martin said, summarizing the abstract and complex feelings deftly and succinctly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, this blows,” Tim agreed. “So should I buy my muscle car now, or later, or what?”

Then Martin and Tim started arguing over fuel efficiency in the apocalypse, and Jon royally checked out of the conversation. Sasha imagined that he was internally having a bit of a Saving Private Ryan moment where flashbacks of bombshells exploded behind his eyelids or whatever the fuck. The important thing is that everyone was distracted, and Sasha could finally check up on their most important gambit of the day: making sure Jon wasn’t bothering them. 

Sasha listened carefully for the sounds of Jon’s little theater monologues, and caught only faint hints of sound. She slipped past everyone into the hallway and approached Jon’s office door, pressing her ear against the cheap wood. But she didn’t need to worry: he was still reciting away, oblivious to the actual interesting shit that was happening outside his door. Jon was a delicate plant, you couldn’t stress him out too much or he would die. Hopefully Martin’s drugged tea would kick in soon -

But Antichrist Jon’s head jerked towards her, directly behind him, and Sasha saw his unfocused green eyes fixate directly on her. No, not on her - on the door, or something beyond it. For just a second, his eyes flared a sharp and toxic green. 

“There you are,” Creepy Jon hissed. 

Well, sorry for leaving rooms without telling him, but she hadn’t thought that he even noticed, much less got resentful about it. But Weird Jon was standing up with no hesitation, and effortlessly swerved around Martin’s desk and stalked into the hallway. For the first time, his expression looked a little dangerous. It was bizarre and off putting, like seeing a ragged yet murderous two meter kitten. 

He reached out an arm and let it trail across the wall, stopping short when he felt it hit wood instead of plaster. Tim and Martin surged forward to stop him, yelling warnings, but Sasha quickly stepped back. She never impeded the timeless march of science and progress. Sasha had done far worse in Artifact Storage for knowledge. 

Jon brushed his hand down the door until it hit the doorknob and angrily twisted it, heaving the door open with unnecessary force. Tim and Martin spilled into the hallway as Angry Jon stalked inside, and Sasha eagerly hung in the door frame for a front row seat into the drama. 

“This is your fault,” Jon intoned dangerously, directly in the face of a deathly affronted Jon. 

In the spirit of the First Directive, Sasha heroically stretched out an arm and prevented Tim and Martin from spilling into the office. It was the right call. Jon stalked forward into the office, hair whipping in a nonexistent wind, expression obscured but undoubtedly thunderous, advancing on the terrified Archivist, as -

He tripped over a chair left carelessly in the center of the office, rocketing forward to land flatly on his face. 

Beside her, Martin went white as a sheet. “Oh no.”

Simultaneously, in complete and total unison, Jon and the Archivist yelled, “Martin!”

****

Jon and the Archivist sat across from each other, exuding waves of pure mutual hatred.

Tim had quickly helped the Archivist up, moving the chair forward and getting him situated there. The Archivist’s mood was not improved by any of this. Which was difficult enough to handle by itself, if manageable. Sasha knew how to manage grumpy time travelling blind Antichrists who had gotten lost on their way to the corner store.

She even knew how to handle their boss, who was extremely grumpy about being harassed by a random homeless person with nice hair. Jon hated statement givers at the best of times, much less seemingly homeless ex-corpses. Or, well, Sasha didn’t know if he was an ex-corpse, but he was certainly an animate one. 

They were both being so annoying about it Sasha was trying to determine if she should change their nicknames to something more derogatory. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Too long. 

Both of them were very grumpy about the fact that Martin had pushed aside the chair for guests in front of Jon’s desks when he deposited the drugged tea, accidentally moving it close to the center of the office. Jon had known this because he saw it happen. The Archivist had known this because he, apparently, knew Martin very well. 

Today had really been a bonding experience with Sasha, Martin, and Tim. Their skill at silent communication had reached borderline telepathy. They all looked at each other significantly as the Jons were caught in their mutual dyad of hatred, silently commiserating over the fact that their one goal had been spoiled by the greatest wildcard of all. Sasha privately liked to consider herself somewhat of a wildcard, but she was depressingly aware that the entire Archive team was composed of wildcards. Maybe that’s why half of them didn’t survive the apocalypse. 

It was a little unlikely that Jon was a survivor/instigator in the zombie apocalypse, actually. Dude definitely would have bit it if he wasn’t cheating with Antichrist powers. Now, if Sasha had Antichrist powers, this whole game would be looking very different -

“Boss, this is a statement giver,” Tim hinted desperately, hands clenched so hard on the back of the Archivist’s chair that his knuckles were turning white. “Remember what Elias said about statement givers? About how we can’t harass them?”

“I was in the middle of a recording and this man was unnecessarily confrontational,” Jon said crisply. Sasha caught her eye jumping frantically back and forth between the two, trying to reconcile them. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Martin’s horny surety, she wouldn’t have realized that they were the same person at all. The Archivist’s most defining attribute was his big and fluffy hair, and Jon was sadly lacking in the nice hair department. That fade and twists were the shackle around his ankle. So was the sweater vest, baggy tweed jacket, and ill-fitting.“He’s lucky I’m not throwing him out.”

Martin, who looked as if he was having his tenth gay crisis of the morning, didn’t seem to hold the same opinion, but he was king of bad taste anyway. 

“Remember what Elias said about harassing confused, blind statement givers? Remember that? Boss?”

Jon looked confused. “He didn’t specify the community of people with disabilities.”

“It was implied? Jon?”

“The optics would be terrible,” Sasha said, before snickering. Martin stomped on her foot. She stomped on his back, which definitely hurt a lot more. “Look, Jon, sorry about all of this. He was just - uh - really insistent that he talk to you -”

“I think if our visitor hassles Jon then maybe, objectively, you can say that Jon brought it on himself,” Martin said, in a daring show of anti-Jon sentiment.

This act of subtle rebellion was the first thing that broke the Archivist out of his cycle of hatred. He threw out a hand, bowling over Jon’s desktop cup of pens and sending them tumbling over the desk. Sasha saw him specifically orient his hand to do so. “Thank you, Martin! Your understanding of paraphysics is always immaculate.”

“Wow, really?”

“Stop complimenting my assistants,” Jon hissed, frantically diving to save his pens. “And stop - gesticulating over my desk! You did that on purpose!”

“Harassing the blind, Jon!”

“You don’t even need to tearfully blame me for how I ruined your life,” the Archivist said flatly. “You existing in my vicinity is torment enough.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sasha said, before pausing a beat. “I meant the first part, ha ha ha, obviously -”

“This man is a very normal statement giver who will be leaving any minute now,” Martin jumped in, “so there’s really no reason for us all to fight, when you think about it -”

“If you all don’t get out of my office, you are all fired -”

“You are listening.”

Everybody stopped talking at once, staring at the Archivist. He was still staring intently ahead, straight into his counterpart. Jon was hiding it, quite badly, but he was unsettled. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he and the man looked alike - the thought undoubtedly running through his brain and soundly dismissed - but it was clearly rattling him. But there was something else that was scaring him too - maybe the Archivist’s green eyes, so foreign from his own brown? His intense and furious expression, like cut glass? The particularly strange and heavy feeling in the air, prickling down the back of Sasha’s neck?

He hadn’t even stopped the recorder. 

“You are here,” the Archivist continued calmly. “You were listening in. Why you were listening in on him, and his regurgitated aftertaste of Statements, I do not know. I felt you, and I came to you. We cannot forsake each other. Do not hide yourself from me.”

The effect was immediate. 

The Archivist’s neck snapped forward, so harshly he cracked his head on Jon’s desk. Strangely enough, Jon screamed too, holding a hand to his temple as if he was suddenly pierced by a blinding headache. Tim immediately bent down to check on Archivist, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself, as Martin bustled around the desk to check on Jon. Jon batted his hands away, scowling, so he was just fine. But the Archivist didn’t groan, or stir, or moan. He just lay there, still and limp, and when Tim shook him he didn’t even tense. 

The air was heavy, a tang of metal in her mouth like the crackle before a storm, and Sasha couldn’t fight a shiver. But she couldn’t take her eyes off Jon, either: the way he stared at the Archivist, hand on his forehead, eyes wide and growing wider. 

“Dad…?”

When the Archivist stirred, the spell was broken, and Jon’s mouth snapped shut so quickly it was as if he had never spoken at all. He turned his head and moaned, eyes opening uselessly. They were back to their usual toxic green, no flaring or flashing. 

“Mar’in? Where…”

“I’m here,” Martin said quickly, and ducked around the desk to grab the Archivist’s hand and squeeze. For just a second, Jon looked a little jealous. Sasha had the sense that Jon had never been mothered than anyone other than Martin and Tim, and the prospect confused and frightened him so much he reacted aggressively to it. “Everything alright? You hit your head.”

“How many eyes?” the Archivist asked weakly. 

“...physically, or functionally?”

But the Archivist just ran his burned hand over his smooth hand, kneading it and feeling the skin. “Still gone. Damn it.” He straightened, grimacing and spitting out a stray tendril of hair out of his mouth. “So it’s true…”

“So what’s true?” Tim asked urgently. “Do you finally believe us about the time travel thing? Because man, I have so many questions -”

He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. The Archivist reached out a hand, fingers brushing against his shirt, and the Archivist’s hand abruptly clenched on the fabric. Tightly, roughly, the Archivist pulled him down and extended his other arm, and caught Tim in an awkward and lopsided hug. 

Tim carefully straightened him and returned the hug, gracing the Archivist with the patented Perfect Stoker Hug, and the Archivist buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. His chest didn’t heave, and his breath didn’t catch, but the element of desperation was pungent and unmistakable. 

“You were right,” Jon whispered. “We messed it all up.”

“Sure, yeah, totally!” Tim said, clapping the Archivist on the back in a masculine, yet sensitive way. “So, does this mean the zombie apocalypse is totally a-go, or…”

“Sasha,” the Archivist said, and Sasha chose to ignore her own personal distaste for hugs and being touched so she could step forward and hug him too. 

He clutched onto her just as tightly as he had Tim, which surprised her a little. Jon and Tim had probably been best friends in the future, and Sasha couldn’t imagine her and Jon ever truly being close. He respected her as a colleague, but that was probably because Sasha purposefully left her manuscripts around the office and aggressively used as many big words in front of him as possible. Jon had always been an obstacle to her - innocently stupid at best, malicious at worst. To think that he would grip her so tightly…

With meticulous care, the Archivist separated from her. His expression was crumpled, and for the first time Sasha saw something over than aggravation or impatience in Jon’s face. Relaxed and soft, he looked like a different man. No - he was a different man, it was just apparent. The change softened his sharp lines into something a little friendlier; his striking exterior melting into something pretty instead of imposing. 

Slowly, he raised his hand a little to tangle it in her hair. He frowned a little, gently tugging at it and feeling it spring back into place. “So it was curly…like mine…”

A lot of little hints snowballed into one strange and foreign realization. “Do you not remember me?”

“Dolls stole your identity,” the Archivist said apologetically. 

“Like credit card fraud, or -”

“Metaphysically.” He paused guiltily. “I mourned you as an abstract concept?”

“Like I’m every woman in Hollywood?” Sasha screeched, outraged. This was not trans rights. “Alright, royally fuck that. Feel my hair, mister. Full permission to touch it. Feel that? You call that abstract?” The Archivist shook his head, eyes wide, and Sasha gently moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. “Taller than you in eight cm heels, remember? You asked me how I walked in them, and I said -”

“ - Barbie’s Princess Charm School,” the Archivist said automatically, eyes widening. “I do remember.”

Martin clearly waited around to be tenderly embraced, and was disappointed. 

The Archivist stepped away from Sasha, expression creased in furious thought. “So it’s real. So far as anything’s real, I suppose. But I don’t understand how -” the Archivist’s eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers in realization. “The manhole!”

Everybody stared at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said pleasantly, “what is going on -”

“I was walking down the street, and I remember hearing city work!” the Archivist said brightly. “They were doing their monthly ‘clearing the gators out of the sewer pipes’ maintenance! And the Beholding told me that there was an open manhole, and I said oh it’ll be fine, I’m a demigod on Earth, I don’t fall down manholes - and then -”

The door to Jon’s office dramatically crashed open, and everybody jumped straight in the air. Jon, whose office had seen two more incredibly theatrical entrances than usual today, immediately bristled and opened his mouth to earn them all another harassment complaint, before he abruptly shut his mouth. 

It was Elias, their miniature and unspeakably boring boss extraordinaire. He stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, suit jacket askew and chest heaving. Had he ran down here?

“Is someone here?” the Archivist asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said, stepping forward cautiously. “It’s our boss, Mr. Bouchard. Elias, we’re taking a statement, can we help - ?”

“How did that get here?” Elias asked, voice strangely tense and coiled. “How did you - not even I could -”

“That makes sense!” Martin cried, thumping a fist on his open palm. “Elias wants to time travel just as much as everyone else in the Institute!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, pathetically behind, “time travel -”

“Did the time traveller sensor alarms in the basement go off?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I thought only Artifact Storage had those.”

“Uh, Mr. Statement Giver, are you okay?” Tim asked, but it was already too late.

The Archivist had turned to face Elias, expression unreadable. Sasha felt that crackle again, weighing down the air, and she saw the Archivist’s hair puff and frizz slightly with a green crackle. His neon green pupils shone again and spun, like an infernal wheel. 

“What’s wrong, Elias?” the Archivist mocked, as energy coursed through him. “Upset that Mama has a new favorite?”

And Sasha saw in that moment that the Archivist, who possessed the most inhuman green eyes she had ever seen, had eyes the same shade as Elias. 

“Oh, man,” Sasha said, “is Elias a time traveller too?”

“Only in the most mundane way. Can’t even get a little bit of special attention, Elias? Sad!” It was second-hand thrilling to watch someone mock their boss, living the dreams of everyone in the room. Even if it was a little weird how much Jon seemed to hate this guy - nobody hated Elias, just like nobody liked him, and nobody had any strong feelings at all besides unpromoted women.

 At the door, Elias’ expression was slack in - amazement? Was amazement the right word? He was staring at Jon as if...words didn’t even describe it. At least in any way that Sasha wanted to think about. 

“Mr. Bouchard, I swear I can explain,” Sasha, who could not explain, said hurriedly. “We found this corpse and we were going to tell you, but -”

But the Archivist cut her off, as if nothing was less important than explaining himself to Elias. “Did you want to know how to stop the apocalypse, Sasha?”

Sasha froze. Martin and Tim did too. Jon, who nobody had actually bothered to brief since he was kind of the fifth most important person in the room, dropped his pen. “Uh,” Sasha said, sweating. For the first time she understood the possible upsides of not knowing something. “I mean, if I have to, but you said that it was inevitable -”

“Oh, yes. But, just once every one or two centuries, a man comes along who fancies himself fate.” The Archivist raised a hand, eyes spinning and spinning, as Elias stood frozen in the doorframe. “I’ll be honest, Jonah. This isn’t to save the world. That’s so last year. I just really fucking hate you.” Something cracked in the air. “Ceaseless watcher, smite this -”

The door slammed shut. Sasha heard Elias lock it behind him. They all stood around as footsteps quickly echoed through the Archives, and another door slammed. Which was probably being locked too. 

They stood in silence, the Archivist having clearly heard the slams. He let his hand fall, but the energy didn’t cease crackling around him. He didn’t look resentful or disappointed - just thoughtful. 

“Everything in due time, I suppose. I guess it is pretty unfair to get to smite that man twice,” the Archivist said thoughtfully. “I’ll give someone else a turn.” His mouth twitched wryly. “You know, Sasha, there’s one other way to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Is it work?” Sasha asked tiredly. 

“You may kill the man who arranged the dominos,” the Archivist intoned, before hanging his head towards a petrified Jon. “Or you may kill the man who toppled them over.”

Sasha stared at Jon. Jon stared back, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Martin silently passed Sasha a penknife from Jon’s desk. 

“I’m very qualified for this job,” Jon protested weakly.

“Queen of feminism, I very much support you,” Tim said quickly, putting himself in between Sasha and Jon in a heroic display of stupidity, “but, maybe, killing your boss to take his job, is perhaps, maybe not that much of a great idea, just a thought?”

“The job’s being the Antichrist,” the Archivist pointed out, crossing his arms. 

“The direct action against sexism, xenophobia, and transphobia is very admirable,” Tim said, eyes held up as if he was placating a tiger, “but think of it this way - if you kill the Antichrist, then you become the Antichrist, like in - uh -”

“Pokemon,” Martin volunteered. 

Tim snapped his fingers. “Pokemon! So you shouldn’t -” He halted, turning back to Martin. “Pokemon? Seriously? That’s becoming champion -”

“A - alright, alright! Everybody stop!” Jon shakily stood up, brushing aside the empty tea mug right next to him. “That’s enough of all of this! I may not know what’s going on, or who this man is, or why he looks like me -”

“Hm,” Martin said, eyeing the empty tea mug. 

“ - why he looks like a homeless person, why he barged into my office and insulted me, why you are all defending this atrocious behavior, why you are calling it the work of time travel, which does not exist and you have no proof for it anyway -”

“Jon,” Martin said, watching Jon’s arm tremble, “maybe you should -”

“Shut up, Martin!”

“Don’t be rude to him!” the Archivist snapped. 

“You’ve been rude to him twice today!”

“I’m allowed to be rude to him! He’s even ruder to me! I’m the nice one!”

“ - and you were glowing in my office, which is just frankly rude,” Jon continued viciously, steamrolling over the Archivist. “You gave me a terrible headache, you hugged my assistants very inappropriately for the workplace, you made my boss walk in before trying to smite him, you encourage violence against my own person in revenge for a job that I definitely deserve -”

Both of Jon’s arms were shaking, and Tim’s eyebrows were slowly raising. “Boss, you should sit down, I think -”

“ - I want an explanation!” Jon yelled, slamming the desk. “And I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on!”

Then Jon passed out. 

Everybody watched it happen. Everybody, save perhaps the Archivist, had noticed that it was about to happen: at first a tremor, then a shake, and then a final collapse. Like a marionette with his strings cut, Jon slumped over and crumpled solidly on the floor. 

Everybody stood in disaffected silence. Martin carefully stepped over and prodded Jon with his foot. “Out cold.” He shot a considering gaze at the empty tea mug. “Sorry, guys. Looks like I accidentally used the delayed action sedative.”

"It’s alright,” Tim said magnanimously. “At least that problem is solved now. Maybe we can convince him this was a bad dream when he wakes up.”

“If he insists it was real, we’ll just ask him for evidence and refuse to believe him without it,” Sasha suggested. 

“Isn’t that kinda gaslighting?” Martin asked. “Isn’t that, you know, a little morally dubious -”

“You did drug him,” Tim pointed out.

“I mean, hardly the first time?”

“Maybe Martin should be the Antichrist,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

The Archivist’s face was doing something extremely interesting, yet inscrutable.

“I really don’t want to be Antichrist, though,” Martin said apologetically. “Does it even pay?”

“Jon did say it was a job…” Sasha said, already considering herself in the role. “Do you guys think I’d be sexier as the Antichrist? Be honest.”

“Yes and completely,” Tim said immediately, before realizing that he said that too quickly. “I mean. I’d never objectify you. I respect women. But -”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Martin said, throwing up his hands. “When you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot it’s normal and M/F of you. But when I do it, then it’s ‘gross’ and ‘get that away from me’. Great double standards, guys.”

“It’s not the fact that it’s a guy,” Tim protested, “it’s the fact that it’s Jon -”

“Oh, when you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot then it’s normal and cis of you,” Sasha said heatedly, “but when Tim respects trans women, then it’s ‘gross’ and -”

“I respect all women,” Tim said, equally heatedly, “but I do want to acknowledge the systematic marginalization of trans women within the community, especially trans women of color like yourself -”

A hoarse wheeze echoed through the office.

Everyone froze, terrified by the haunted sound, but after a second Sasha realized it was the Archivist - Jon - who was laughing. 

They had never heard him laugh before. He was practically wheezing with it, bent over with his hands on his knees, with a strained cackle that fizzed with static around the corners. He was smiling broadly, his grin splitting his cheeks, for the first time that Sasha had ever seen. 

He straightened and threw his head back and laughed too, a greater belly-laugh that was so hysterical and fragile and free that it struck something strange and raw in Sasha’s heart. He rubbed his face with his hand, still laughing, and eventually broke into coughs. 

“I understand now,” Jon said, when he stopped coughing. “I thought that you had deposited me here in revenge. You had sensed that I was happy - that the green skies were beautiful, that your large eye seemed kind that day - and that you found it a waste of emotion. But that wasn’t true, was it? It must have been an accident. I’ve never been happier to hear these idiots arguing, and you’ve lost me like a toy behind a bookshelf. The strange stupidity of it! I’m enchanted.” He sombered a little, expression falling from hysterical glee into a soft and resigned happiness. He held up his hand, feeling the crackle of electricity run across his palms. “But you See me now. The foolish man brought you down upon us, and I intercepted your lightning bolt. His eyes, mundane and paltry, are closed, and you feel my consciousness in replacement of him. I can feel you already - my Eyes opening, the Reality that we built together calling me back. When your infinite grace re-aligns with every one of my atoms, forming the fabric of my world, I’ll snap back.”

Just like that?

Sasha had thought that there would be an...adventure, or quest, or something. At least a research binge. Some kind of heroic group effort. But the Archivist was a stretched rubber band, held tightly and out of position, and after long enough straining against its center it had to snap back. A telly flickering in and out, blaring the song of a dead channel. 

“Do we have time to group hug or something?” Tim offered weakly, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. “Last goodbyes? Anything?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle moment?” Martin asked urgently. “I’ll find you in the future, right? We’re still together there, right?”

“Martin,” Jon said, strangely fond, “we were never apart.”

Martin turned a unique shade of red. 

But it was Sasha who Jon turned to, face angled to the sound of her voice. His expression was still distantly fond, but there was something strange in it too - a wry recognition, a subtle knowledge, a faint recollection of a joke that only he knew. 

“Sasha,” Jon said, “so long as you’re brave, and buy ten fire extinguishers and hide them around the office, things will be just fine. Buy twelve fire extinguishers, just to be safe. And don’t ever go inside Artifact Storage again. Not even for Alicia’s birthday party. If it’s a choice between worms and Artifact Storage then choose worms, the scars add a certain appeal. I cannot stress enough, not even if you lose your jacket in Artifact Storage -”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” Martin asked desperately, almost crying. Sasha, personally, wanted to circle back around to the worm thing. “Sad goodbyes? Waving a handkerchief? I thought you said I was alive? Don’t you have anything?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Goodness, Martin, if you insist. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. In fact, I do believe it’s about time.” 

Martin’s mind clearly projected very loudly ‘I’ve been in love with you this entire time’ in blatant wish-fulfillment. Everybody held their breaths. 

Jon drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and sternly looked at all of them. “I’m tired of holding my tongue about this, Martin,” Jon said finally, and Martin qualified. “For the last time, I don’t load the dishwasher wrong. I load the dishwasher correctly. It’s you who’s always insisting that the cups go on the bottom. It’s a freakish way to live your life, and I’ll never forgive you for -”

Static blared in Sasha’s ears and overwrote her mind, and she screamed. The sensation was a pickaxe driven into her ears, an unforgivable rip and tear, and she heard her screams echoed in concert. 

Then the pain abated, and was gone. 

Sasha, Tim, and Martin were left standing in an empty office, accompanied only by the unconscious figure of their boss. There was nothing left of the Archivist, nor any suggestion that he had ever been here - just a drained mug, some scattered pens, and a lingering sense of malaise and confusion. 

Everybody looked at each other, feeling strangely and uniquely connected. It was hardly Sasha’s strangest Magnus Institute experience, but maybe it was the funnest. 

“Well,” Tim said finally, “at least one day this week wasn’t boring.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even have to get drunk today.” Sasha sighed. “We definitely have to gaslight Jon about this.”

Martin was already carefully lugging Jon onto his chair, arranging him so his arms were folded on the desk with his cheek resting on his forearm. “We’ll pretend it was just a weird dream.” He propped his hands on his hips, satisfied. “Hopefully this convinces him he needs more sleep.” Martin gasped in sudden realization. “Maybe he becomes the Antichrist because he needs more sleep! Guys, I have a great twenty step plan for saving the world.”

“Oh, come on, we said that was too much work.” Tim shrugged and opened the office door, holding it open and gesturing for them all to come out. “I think if we just friendship Jon to death, all of our problems will be solved.”

Martin just shrugged, following him out. They really did have paperwork that they needed to get back to. “Both are vital components. But...hey, it’s not weird to put the mugs on the bottom rack, is it? There’s not really that much of a difference, right?”

“Mate, you’re a fucking freak.” Tim looked backwards at Sasha, who was still standing in the office, dazed. “Sash, you coming? Let’s go day-drinking.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “in a sec.”

He shrugged and left the door propped open, and Sasha heard their bickering fade slowly as they walked down the hallway. 

But she couldn’t help staring at Jon sleeping at his desk, chest falling in and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. His short, carefully maintained hair and meticulous fade. His baggy tweed and ill-fitting slacks. The subtle and shameful kind of earnestness, the desire mixed with fear mixed with hope mixed with genuine desire for a better future. He just wanted to be happy, to not be afraid anymore. He seemed weirdly human, when compared with his inhuman self. Or maybe it was the other way around. 

The tape recorder on Jon’s desk was still running. Sasha squinted at it, taking a second to listen to the staticy hiss. It was familiar, in the strangest possible way. It felt familiar -

Sasha reached out and grabbed the tape recorder, stuffing it in her pencil skirt pocket. “Just remember,” Sasha whispered, “I’d make a great candidate for Antichrist.”

She ran to go catch up with her coworkers, shutting the door behind them and leaving Jon sleeping contentedly in his office, head pillowed on his arms, dreaming strange and comforting dreams.

[ggukcangetit]

If The Bra Fits - JJK Fic

Final part of The Unbearable Lightness of Being... Something More series

Part 1 | Part 2 | 

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: ex-roommate au, f2l, fluff, smut, low-key crack

Rating: 18+

Summary: Jungkook knows you hate it when he pops into your apartment to borrow something, but in the 2 years that you’ve known each other, that hasn’t deterred him much. But one day when he manages to (accidentally) ruin your favorite bra while raiding through your emergency snack supply, he knows that he’s fucked. With only a brand name to help him on his search, Jungkook spends the next 48 hours buying all the bras that look even remotely like the one he ruined. The only problem is - how would he figure out which was the correct size without asking you?

Warnings: a lot of talk of breasts and the trials and tribulations of finding a good bra, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation, kissing, grinding, nipple play

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: thanks a ton to @hesperantha​ for beta-ing this! i was super nervous about writing proper smut >.< anywho, hope y’all enjoy this!

Jungkook knew he was fucked. Worse than when Jimin had walked in on Yoongi doing the do with his girlfriend. Worse than when Taehyung had lost his pet frog in Seokjin’s spice drawer. Worse than-

“Fuck.”

He would probably have to leave the country. Maybe he could move to Canada? Or New Zealand? Anywhere that wasn’t here. Or he could change his name! That might work…

“H-hello?” 

“What the hell, Jungkook? You were supposed to meet me for lunch 40 minutes ago! This is rude and, frankly, inexcusable behavior on your part.” Seokjin’s annoyed voice, talking at 300 words a minute, rang through the phone’s speaker. “And why the hell do you sound like that? Did you walk in on Yoongi and Soya this time? I swear, that guy needs to learn to lock his door. Or maybe just change his locks. I mean this is probably-”

“Seokjin!” Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose as his friend slowed his word flow. “I’ll be there in 10 and explain everything.”

Hanging up the phone, he surveyed the site of the massacre once more before stuffing the offending object into his backpack and rushing out. True to his word, he was at the hole-in-the-wall dumpling place in 10 minutes, attempting to explain to an irate Seokjin, the reason behind his tardiness. 

“No! You did not do that!” Seokjin yelled, nearly choking on the hot soup dumpling that was hanging - half eaten - from his chopsticks.

Jungkook had, in fact, done that. That being the most cardinal offense his frazzled brain could think of at this point. That being sneaking into your apartment when you were at work, hoping to swipe some of your favorite shrimp puffs, placing his cup of steaming hot mocha on your study table, rummaging through your emergency snack supply but somehow inadvertently knocking over the coffee on the table, and cleaning it up with the nearest article available, which tragically, happened to be your mint green bra. 

“She’s going to kill you. No” - Seokjin picked up a egg cream bun and popped the whole thing into his mouth - “she’s going to whip your ass and then hang you upside down from that metal pole on Hobi’s balcony.”

Jungkook stared at the way the cream bun smoothly travelled down Seokjin’s throat after a couple of chews, and shivered. “What do I do??”

“Why do you have to do anything? She won’t know it was you who spilled coffee on her table and then wiped it with her bra. Unless...” 

Jungkook stared at his fingers guiltily. 

“You took the bra with you, didn’t you?” Seokjin sighed, lightly smacking his friend on the back of the head for good measure. “Well, you could always blame it on Namjoon. That’s what I would do. Heck, that’s what I did when I accidentally broke Hobi’s favorite figurine.”

“I don’t know…”

“You have to commit to something, Jaykay.” Every time Seokjin used his nickname for Jungkook, it meant there was some kind of terrible scheme being cooked up. “Either be a complete little shit and blame it on Namjoon, or just go and own up to y/n. You can’t teeter on the edge like this.”

“I could always just sneak back in and leave her bra where I found it.” Jungkook felt better already. This was it. This was the middle ground he was aspiring towards - the sacred path between Seokjin and Hobi, the Yoongi of all decisions. 

“You might not have to sneak in” - Seokjin held up his smartphone where the group chat was open to a bunch of notifications - “Tae said we’re meeting at y/n’s place for tacos and UNO.”

“Why is Tae so invested in our UNO games? He gets confused every time we play it.” 

“Because” - Seokjin swiped his credit card at the counter and thanked the cashier with a quick wink - “like every good strategist, he plans to improve by observing everyone else’s style of play. He definitely knows how to play by now. He’s just giving us the confused puppy look so that we underestimate him and he can learn all our little tricks. Just you wait - a few more games and that sneaky shit will be handing our asses back to us.”

Jungkook, while mildly interested in Taehyung’s card game antics, was more concerned about returning your bra without arousing any suspicion. The perfect moment presented itself when Seokjin, Namjoon, Yoongi, Taehyung and Hobi were immersed in a game of UNO, while you and Soya were munching on tacos - because let’s face it, food trumps just about everything else. Coming up with a half-convincing bathroom excuse, he snuck off towards your room, hoping to finally rid himself of the mint green burden.

Seconds before he pushed your door open, a snippet of conversation floated towards him and made his heart stop beating.

“I can’t find it anywhere.” You were complaining to Soya about something, loud enough for him to hear. “I must’ve turned my room upside down looking for it.”

Soya didn’t seem too perturbed. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a bra. Yoongi regularly loses my underwear after we have sex in new locations.”

Jungkook chuckled because he could almost see the look of horror on your face at receiving this piece of information. 

“Ignoring that TMI,” you continued. “That’s my favorite bra, Soya! You know how our sizes keep fluctuating - well, this was the first bra I bought after getting measured at a proper place. It literally changed my life. Do you know how fabulous it feels to have your boobs at normal chest level - neither squished up towards your collarbones nor jiggling like that everlasting jello Seokjin keeps buying? I’m tellin-”

Jungkook stopped listening at this point. If he didn’t, there was little chance that he’d be able to think of anything other than that. As it was, the mere sight of you these days, was enough to get blood flowing to certain parts of his body. 

There was clearly only one thing to do.

“You want me to help you do WHAT?” Once again, it was Seokjin who barely managed to stop himself from choking on yet another scrumptious food item on yet another lunch date with Jungkook. 

“I’m going to replace her bra.” The resolute expression on Jungkook’s face crumbled ever so slowly under the scrutiny of Seokjin’s pure, unadulterated skepticism. “It’ll be easy. I-I already know what it looks like, and all the information I need is on the itchy tag she always complains about.”

Seokjin’s thick brow remained masterfully arched. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” Jungkook whined in frustration.

“What do I get in return?”

“Why would you want anything in return? Why can’t you just help me out this time??”

The masterfully arched eyebrow did it’s trick once again.

“Fine. You can borrow all my gaming equipment for a week.”

“A month.”

“No way!”

“Good luck shopping for y/n’s favorite bra.”

“Fine! A month! Now can we get a move on please?”

Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult to find the particular store that you had bought your favorite bra from. It was a niche boutique on the third floor of the mall, full of politely judgmental staff members and pointedly supercilious patrons, all of whom were highly skeptical of Jungkook’s grey and black hoodie-sweatpants combo. 

“Guess they didn’t really get on board with the whole athleisure concept,” Seokjin whispered, earning a hard elbowing from Jungkook.

The looks of skepticism were further enhanced when Jungkook produced the ruined bra, asking one of the assistants where he could find the same one. Jungkook hadn’t received such a disapproving look since his junior year of college when he had eaten 8 cups of instant ramen on a dare, done a celebratory jig, thrown up all over Yoongi and Hobi’s sofa, and promptly passed out. 

“Er… I, uhm, need something!” The exclamation from Jungkook was received by a few expertly raised eyebrows. One assistant, in particular, narrowed their eyes at him and walked over.

“This is a lingerie store” - they scanned him up and down a couple of times - “sir. If you’re here to buy any lingerie, I’d be happy to assist you.”

Jungkook gulped at the expensive clothes and flawless complexion of the shop assistant. So far, things were not really going according to plan. 

“Ow!” He felt a bony elbow dig into his ribs and glared at Seokjin, who was glancing between him and the assistant so rapidly, Jungkook was surprised he hadn’t gotten dizzy and passed out already.

“Right. Umm, I’m actually looking for this particular one” - he produced the once-pristine, but now covered in ugly brown splotches, bra from his backpack - “in this exact same size. Do you have it?”

If the shop assistant didn’t look particularly eager to be breathing the same air as him before, they now looked like they’d rather choke on month old guacamole than be near him.

“Our products are made for exclusivity. We do not carry the same sizes as the general marketplace. There are 4 basic sizes with 4 variations to each size. And this particular product” - they held the ruined bra delicately between two fingers and examined the tag - “is now only available in 3 particular size variations. You are free to choose whichever one you think is the closest fit.”

Jungkook’s doe eyes widened as he realized the itchy tag that you always complained about, truly had no other purpose but to inconvenience you. His panicked stare fell on Seokjin who had busied himself examining a very interesting leaf on the potted plant near the entrance.

It was up to him now, Jungkook realized. His fate was in his own hands. Walking over to the shelf carrying the mint green bras identical to the one he was holding, he inspected the 3 options carefully. 

“I think I’ll take this one.” Was what he said out loud. Inwardly, however, he was screaming a very different tune.

“HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DECIDE?? I’VE NEVER BOUGHT A BRA BEFORE! I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SIZE WOULD BE APPROPRIATE! IT’S NOT LIKE I SPEND ALL MY TIME SCRUTINIZING Y/N’S BREASTS!”

Thankfully, no one was privy to his internal screams except for himself.

“Thank you, sir. That will be $89.99.” Jungkook took out his debit card as the song playing over the system changed to No Tears Left To Cry.

Once out of the store, Seokjin let out a low whistle. “Wow… that was, undoubtedly, one of the most awkward situations I’ve ever been in. And I wasn’t even really in it.”

“At least the toughest part is over.” Jungkook felt like he had been running a 50 mile marathon while simultaneously figuring out the square roots of 5 digit numbers. In short, he was exhausted.

“Depends on what you think of that…” Seokjin pointed at a familiar figure, slowly walking towards them - someone Jungkook hadn’t expected to bump into in any of his worst case scenarios. You.

Confronted with an exceedingly dire situation with a bleak set of options, Jungkook vaulted into the nearest store, his entire being on high alert as it entered survival mode. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been paying attention to where he rushed into because-

“Congratulations! You’re our 100th customer this week! You get a complimentary hair spa and perm!” Five extremely eager faces stared back at him as he realized he had walked into some sort of hair salon. 

Whoever was writing the script for this day was definitely high on something because Jungkook walked out of the salon 3 hours later, slightly traumatized, with a head full of small curls, clutching onto the cursed purchase with every fibre of his being.

Seokjin had left hours ago, dropping a text to Jungkook which read something along the lines of catch ya later sucker - but that was the least of his problems right now.

It was nearly midnight when he finally entered his apartment after managing to sneak in the new bra into your apartment. Thankfully, you lived two floors above him, so the trek back to his place wasn’t too long. The stress from the past couple of days was finally catching up to him and Jungkook would give anything for a nice long massage and a bowl of steaming hot ramen. 

Unfortunately, all that he had at home was a few leftover containers Taehyung had left behind on his last visit a couple of days ago. There was also bread, eggs, and milk, but he didn’t feel up to making anything at this point. So dinner ended up being heated, two-day old dumplings. 

Just as he was about to head to sleep, a loud pounding started on his front door. It was well past midnight at this point and Jungkook wondered if he should be carrying some sort of weapon with him while answering the door.

There really wasn’t any need for worry because on the other side of the door stood a very angry, very disgruntled, very flimsily dressed-

“Y/n?! What’re you doing here?” 

“You!” Jungkook stepped back as you poked him in the chest. “What the heck is your problem?” Many more pokes followed, which Jungkook barely registered but which left your index finger increasingly bruised. 

“I- uh, I guess you found the parcel I left for you.” He scratched the back of his head, looking everywhere but at you.

“I CANNOT believe you!” You were fuming and Jungkook was contemplating calling someone for backup. Maybe Namjoon? Or Yoongi? Mayb- “First, you ruin my favorite bra! What were you doing in my apartment anyway? Trying to steal more stuff from my emergency snack supply?! Why can’t you just buy your own s-”

You definitely had a point about the snack stealing. But Jungkook couldn’t stop himself from going over and taking something that would undoubtedly attract your attention, because the last time that had happened, you both had ended up making out aggressively against the wall. 

“-and not just that!” You were clearly not done with being mad at him. “You go ahead and try to replace my favorite bra? With this???” You held up Jungkook’s purchase from earlier during the day.

“What’s wrong with this? It’s the same one, isn’t it? I went to the shop to make sure it was the same.” He didn’t really understand why this particular fact was making you so upset.

“You think this is the same?” You were standing very close to him and Jungkook gulped as he caught a whiff of your lavender body lotion.

“Yes?”

“You think my boobs are this small?? After the way you basically kneaded them with your hands last time??” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened, his face growing hotter with every word you were speaking.

“Why the fuck do you look like that?” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“L-like what?” His voice came out sort of strangled as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Like you’ve been caught eating the last cookie.”

Jungkook didn’t know how to respond to this. He was very aware of the fact that you were wearing a flimsy grey t-shirt and very old, very small, sleeping shorts. He gulped and wondered if this was some kind of dream that he’d suddenly wake up from.

“I’ve been waiting for you to make a move since you stuck your tongue down my throat last time. But nope! Nothing.” Now he knew that there was something wrong. This didn’t seem like the rational next line in a dialogue between real people who had just been in a, slightly one-sided, fight. “So, are you gonna kiss me or not?”

“W-what?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper at this point and you scoffed loudly before fisting your hands in his t-shirt and crashing your lips to his.

It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, but Jungkook was soon responding with impressive enthusiasm. His lips glided over yours with a desperation borne out of nearly two years of attraction and chemistry. He groaned in pleasure as your hands travelled into his hair, your fingers running through his freshly done curls. His hands travelled down your back before cupping your butt-cheeks and squeezing them until you moaned into his mouth. The feel of your body against his was enough to make him slowly lose his mind - but your tongue swiping into his mouth brought out a strangled noise from deep inside him. This was so much better than the first time you had both made out - there was more experience and knowledge of each other, and you seemed much more determined than the last time.

“Tell me what you want,” Jungkook’s voice came out huskier than you had ever heard, sending a surge of electricity to your core. “Tell me what makes you feel good, y/n.”

His voice was sultry and his body rock-hard at the perfect places - his breath falling in harsh pants as he recovered from the intensity of the kisses. But his eyes held the soft sincerity you had grown to lov-

“Against the wall,” you breathed, your face flushing as you verbalised your request. “And then on your bed.” You took one of his hands and placed it on your breast, firm with arousal, and guided his other hand to the waistband of your shorts. 

A beautiful pink blush dusted his cheeks as he captured your lips once again. He had you against the wall in seconds, his lips leaving a trail of devastation from your lips to your throat to your breasts. You moaned loudly as you felt his fingers rub against your clothed core while his tongue flicked over your nipples at a deliciously slow pace. 

“Gguk…” God he loved to hear that name coming from your lips. He loved it even more now that it was in the midst of him pleasuring you to the best of his ability. 

“Bed. I can’t… stand...” You managed to say. He obliged, placing his hands below your knees and scooping you up with ease, all while his lips kept pressing soft kisses to yours. 

Once on the bed, you removed your t-shirt and shorts, instructing him to do the same. Jungkook stared at your bare body for a moment, his eyes glazed with lust before he stripped himself of his clothes and continued kissing every part of your body he could find. 

Your insides were coiling, the heat growing at your core as you watched Jungkook’s magnificent, completely naked, body move over yours. Your hands itched to run over his abs but your eyes were fixed on his throbbing dick, your core growing wetter by the moment. 

“Can I?” Jungkook’s hoarse voice broke you out of your dilemma, his face hovering over your thighs. “Only if you want it, y/n.” You were pretty sure his soft, caring words would be enough for your undoing, but you nodded your head anyway.

The first swipe of his tongue against your core had you arching yourself off the mattress, your legs kicking up involuntarily. This was definitely where his gym prowess came in handy, as he held your thighs down with enough force for the feeling to be unbelievably pleasurable. Your hands found themselves in his curls once more, as his mouth alternated between dropping feather light kisses on your core and swiping along the wetness with a swipe of his tongue. 

“I-I’m not…” You didn’t have to complete the sentence as stars exploded in your vision, the high hitting you with more force than you had ever experienced. 

Something inside you tightened as you watched Jungkook emerge from between your thighs, his curls sweaty, and his mouth slick with your arousal. He smiled at you, dropping a light kiss on your lips, even as his dick stood red hot and angry with arousal.

“Can I help?” You asked, although your voice was hardly above a whisper, the tiredness seeping in, as you came down from the orgasm.

“Next time?” His voice was soft as he gave himself a few strong pumps before spilling onto his stomach. 

He grinned at you sheepishly. “I’m also kind of exhausted today.” Getting up quickly, he went into the bathroom and cleaned himself off, before coming back with a wet towel for you as well. 

You smiled shyly as you took the towel from him, wiping between your thighs quickly. 

Jungkook was beside you in a few moments, cuddling you from behind as sleep slowly overtook you both.

“Jungkook!” 

You cracked your eyes open slowly, wondering why someone was yelling at the crack of dawn. You were still pretty much wrapped up in Jungkook, both your legs entangled as your head rested on his chest while he snored softly.

“JUNGKOOK!”

A second, much louder, yell, woke Jungkook up as well. His eyes widening in alarm as he realised what was going on.

“It’s Tae! What’s he doing here?!” He whispered, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Umm what?” You were panicking now. As much as you had been wanting things with Jungkook to pick up, you did not want Taehyung to find you both wonderfully naked after a night of wonderfulness. “He cannot see us like this! Not yet! I refuse to let this be how everyone finds out about us!”

“Jungkook, I’m coming in!”

Jungkook quickly pushed you below the covers, fluffing it up sufficiently to hide the fact that you were under it. He barely managed to close his eyes before Taehyung walked in, much too sprightly for this early in the morning.

“Aww!” His deep voice sounded through the room. “Jungkookie, are you still sleeping?”

Much to his horror, Taehyung made his way over to the bed, his long fingers smooshing Jungkook’s cheeks together as the poor boy tried to feign sleep.

“Did you sleep late last night?”

“Mph.”

“Jungkookie’s still sleepy? Aww!” The cheek smooshing continued, and Jungkook wondered how much longer you could stay hidden without Taehyung’s perceptiveness deducing that you were there.

“Hmmmm.” Jungkook managed to grunt out, tossing over to trap you underneath him.

“Okay, go back to sleep.” With one last cheek smoosh, Taehyung got up and left the room.

“Thank god!” Jungkook whispered in relief, pulling the covers off your face.

“I’m so glad he didn’t figure out I was here,” you sighed in relief. 

Jungkook grinned at you, his bunny teeth poking out adorably as he pulled you closer to him. You giggled, reaching up to place small kisses on each of his moles - there were 5 according to your last examination. 

“The curls are cute,” you said between kisses, running your fingers through his hair. He sighed contentedly, resting his forehead on yours. If it were up to him, he’d stay here forever.

“Oh and y/n-” You both stiffened as you heard Taehyung’s voice from the living room. Apparently, he hadn’t left yet. “-thanks a lot! Seokjin now owes me 50 bucks!”

please reblog this post if you enjoyed reading the story! thank you 😊 

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: we are getting to the “height” of the conflict, therefore the angst is gonna start amping up-just as a reminder! This fic talks about self worth and healing from past trauma so please read what makes you comfy! In this chapter, the majority is implied, but still, please read the warnings ahead of time :) 

Part 4 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, explicit language, fluffy growing feelings, mentions of food, hello yes I just wanna give this changbin a huuuuge hug 

CWs: implications/discussion of past toxic realtionship, implications of negative self-worth and self-sabotage 

Word count: 4.8k 

Chapters: 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5

Popcorn flew into the air in slow motion and approximately four hundred multicolored skittles scattered the floor like the shattering of glass. 

“Yes...yes...FUCK YES!!” 

Felix launched his small body into the air with a victorious screech, turning his controller into a projectile. The clump of black plastic thumped into the torn up corduroy couch missing Chan’s arm by millimeters. 

“HOW TO YOU LIKE THAT?? WOOOO!!” 

Your friend took a victory lap around the tiny living room that was a mess of winter coats and boots with melted snow dripping to the hardwood floor. 

“Felixxxxx, you made a mess!” Chan sighed out deeply and solemnly at the array of rainbow colored candies on the floor. 

“I never win. You gotta admit the way that I finished that off was extra disrespectful. DID YOU SEE the way that I down-B’d you to pieces??? That was fuckin’ awesome.” 

“Good job ‘lix.” You pulled a Twizzler by your teeth and dished out a little wink for him. 

“Hey! I haven’t been playing for nearly as long as you two have. I see this as a complete win.” 

“Well, Chan and I were at each others throats the whole time, so, we kinda killed ourselves off for you.” 

“I still won!!” 

“Alright, alright, good job.” Both you and Chan took turns patting his poofy blond hair. 

“Ahhh our Lix’ is finally growing up.” Chan sighed, mockingly looking out in the distance to some far away place. “But...now you’ve gotta clean this up. Lucky you’re the one that paid for the Skittles, not me.” 

In his fit of happiness Felix didn’t even care about getting down on his hands and knees to pick up the pieces like Cinderella. 

Chan took a gulp of his electric green Monster. “Feels nice to have you back around here Y/n. It feels like it’s kind of been a while.” 

“Mm, it has. You know how it goes, stuff gets busy and all that.” 

“~And she’s been hanging out with someone else~” Felix’s words came out in a cutesy little song. 

“You have?” 

You slapped Felix right upside the head to which he whimpered out with a much more dramatic “owww” than was warranted. 

It was likely a mistake that the two of you had kept Changbin a secret from Chan. Chan basically idolized him, and you felt that it was best not to...complicate things. Every other hour Chan would bring up one of Changbin’s songs, talking about him as if he was some kind of lyrical genius. He had half a plan to meet him at the last show, but had gotten too shy and pulled you both before he could get second thoughts. 

For it to be so easy for you...it felt somehow unfair. 

It was definitely a mistake. 

“Who? Jisung?” Chan rolled his eyes a bit like he always would when spoke of that boy.

“No...” Your voice became small, then you shot deathly glares at Felix who tucked his tail in between his legs. 

“Chan...”

Felix’s eyes widened to full moons once he had realized what you were about to do. You curled yourself up into a ball slightly, sweaty hands grasping at your controller. 

“Its...Changbin.” 

“CHANGBIN?” Chan shot upright from his seat. “Changbin?? Are we talking about the same Changbin?? Changbin-from-the-show-Changbin??” 

“Yes.” You steadied your thumping chest. 

“When did that happen??” Chan turned his body towards Felix who cowered into the mess of Skittles. “Did you know about this?” 

Felix made a little grunt that could have sounded like either a “yes” or a “no”-- it was likely his safest bet. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because I knew it would be kinda...like this...” 

Your eldest friend sat back down his his palm firmly slapped against his forehead. “Sorry, I’m just having a hard time piecing this all together.” 

“It happened after the show that one day. I was walking home and I fell and got kind of scraped up, then he took me back to his place...” 

Simply bringing that night back up again sent you spinning into your pool of memories: and they had a particular tendency to make you just as flustered as the night when they had first occurred. There were dozens of little things about him that had stuck with you, even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud. 

There was that stupidly confident smirk of his, that little scar on his chin, how his fingers looked in those silver rings, his hooded grey-black eyes, those faint little stretch marks on the backs of his arms, and the way that his Adam’s apple would bounce when you kissed into his neck. 

“Well? Chan’s voice snapped you back. “Does that mean...you aren’t seeing Jisung anymore?” 

“...Jisung?” 

His name hadn’t occupied your thoughts for weeks, and you hadn’t taken much notice of it. There were unread text messages from him that had fallen to the bottom of you message list, and missed calls that you hadn’t returned. Creeping inside of you was a sick and sticky feeling: the kind that you pushed deep down inside yourself to the place where things would get forgotten. 

You didn’t know what you wanted from Jisung. 

It wasn’t the way that he would kiss you roughly and needily, or how he would take greedy hands to every inch of your body. It wasn’t how he would fill praises into your ears or shake a little when he would finish himself off on your belly.  Months ago, it would be all you could think of, then immediately forget after it had happened. That was what made it easy. 

Changbin wasn’t easy. He wouldn’t give himself up entirely to you just because he could. He made you earn him, and he made you seek him. 

You belonged to neither of them. 

In your lap, your hands trembled with a memory of long ago: snowflakes in your hands burning with the cold and your throat scratched from all the yelling. 

“Y/n?” Chan softened. 

 A sob had caught in your throat which you swallowed down with effort. “I-I’m still seeing Jisung.” 

“Wait, you’re seeing both of them?” Felix popped up from the floor. “You didn’t tell either of them?” 

“I don’t need to. I’m not tied down to either of them.” You had said it as confidently as you could, almost like you needed to convince yourself. 

Both of your best friends eyes carefully held yours. 

“Doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t tell them.” Felix nodded. 

Chan nodded too in agreeance. 

“But we’re just fucking around?? Its not like I’m cheating on anyone.” 

“Y/n, you’re missing the point.” 

“What? Don’t I have the right to sleep with whoever the hell I want to? Don’t you think that it’s kind of backwards that I should keep everyone in the loop when I’m just--why would I--” 

Chan’s hand snuck over to yours which had started shaking even more violently on your leg; you hadn’t even noticed. The sobs that you had held in your chest started to overflow, bubbling and spewing from your surface. They felt choked in your throat, and then burned hot tears in your eyes. Both of your friends got to work, scooting in right next to you and sandwiching you between their arms. 

“You don't have to be afraid.” Felix whispered softly. He smoothed his hand down your back. 

“I-I’m not.” You clenched the words between your teeth. “Why-why are you guys drilling me like this??” You squirmed a bit between them. 

Chan hushed, “We’re not.” 

“Then why does it feel--” 

“--You're doing it again.” Felix simply sighed, and rocked the three of your bodies to the tune of your messy sobs. 

Chan let out little “shhh” sounds. “Stop digging yourself in that hole Y/n. You know that you’re doing it. Its more than just messing around.” 

A tangible and thick silence held the air where your two closest friends held onto you tightly, almost like you would slip away. You fucking hated them for reading you as well as they did, but you also fucking loved them for being as good at it as they were. Being sandwiched like this with them was all too familiar. They had also done it on that same night: the night when your world had collapsed. That night you had been so weak you could barely hold back. 

“It’s not gonna happen again.” Chan said at last. “I know that you must think about it all the time, and I’m so sorry that you do. You’re never gonna be stuck in that alley alone again.” 

Felix quickly added, “We’ll be there--even if it does--which it won’t.” 

“Stop dragging yourself through it okay? I know it’s easier said than done.” Chan took his black sweater sleeve to dab at your tears. 

You were completely engulfed in your friends love, the unconditional kind: the kind that would part the seas and walk through flames for you. You don’t know how you could have forgotten how it had been there. 

“Maybe its one of them or the other, but, I think you should tell them. You don’t deserve to tear yourself up like this over it all. It’s not good for you, or for them.” Felix laughed a little. “We’re not blind you know.” 

Fat, thick sniffles clogged up your nose. Your subconscious and consciousness mudded behind your eyes and those memories of both boys: Changbin and Jisung became indistinguishable. You had sought them out for different reasons, but you hadn’t known why. Now, it was all becoming clearer. 

“You like him don’t you?” Felix took his turn dabbing at your eyes too. “I can tell.” 

“N-no...” 

Felix didn’t even need to say who “he” was for you to understand. 

“No?” 

“I just...go see him sometimes.” 

You would. You would see him, think of him, call all the little things about him to your memory: that scar on his chin and the faint stretch marks on his arms. 

Snot dripped down your nose and over your quivering lips and you didn’t even care. 

That voice rang in your ears just as you had remembered it on that night when he had dragged you out there, alone, furious. You didn’t even know what you had done wrong. 

"I don’t want it to happen again.” 

The words tore from your lips freely, finally. The fear that you had held so deep inside, the fear that would plague your every other thought. The fear that kept you from answering questions or giving answers. The fear that brought your feet to Jisung’s doorstep and the fear that kissed away words on Changbin’s lips. A massive weight like heavy metal chains that had wrapped around your body started to loosen. 

“How are you going to let yourself have a chance at something good if you don’t try, right?” Chan and Felix exchanged hopeful little smiles. 

Felix patted your hair to fix where you had frizzed it between them. “You know what you need to do.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

[11:18] 

changbin: this friday? yeah, I don’t think that I have anything else going on. 

its been a little while.

everything okay? 

...

i’m sorry if i overstepped that night

you just looked 

...

fuck 

 you’ve got me thinking of you all the time 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Snow fell on your walk to class. It was the same early morning one that you shared with Minho. These days, the two of you had seemed to have gotten much closer. Even though you hadn’t been over in nearly a week, Minho still talked to you as if he saw you there every day. He would complain about little things such as how the rest of his roommates would leave dishes in the sink or socks randomly on the floor. 

What the two of you didn’t talk about much was Changbin. There was some unspoken understanding now that the two of you had promised. He didn’t want to know much and you didn’t want to tell him; and it stayed that way. It was odd now considering that you had been quiet before so he couldn’t hear. 

Admittedly, that did give you a chuckle or two from time to time. 

Today, the snowflakes gathered in clumps and hugged each other while they floated down the the ground where they would melt instantly. This was the kind of snow that wouldn’t stick around. For this, you were grateful. In the first week of February, you had just enough of winter and longed for the green grasses that would peek from the melting white. 

The tip of your nose and ears were warm as you marched onward with eyes squinted from the flakes that would get caught in them. In some ways, you were thankful. During the lectures, you would often prefer watching the blanket of white dancing in the windows behind the professors head. 

Something you still had to learn however, was picking the right shoes. Your toes were frozen in the same canvas shoes that Changbin had scolded you for wearing. You pulled out your phone the check the time: eleven minutes early. It was somewhat of a personal best. 

You smiled with a little pride, missing the body mass that was walking right past you and collided with your shoulder. 

“Oh! Sorry, I’m so sorry, I was--Jisung?” 

“Y/n?? Holy shit--” 

Heartbeats rang in your ears and you felt as if you could hear the very blood pumping in your veins. 

“I-I’m late for class, I gotta--” 

“--No wait!” Rather than looking angry as you expected, that wide smile of his spread across his rosy cheeks. “I’m just glad that I ran into you.” 

“Jisung, really, I need to go--” 

His gloved hand reached out for your arm. “I’ve been trying to reach you but I think something must’ve gone wrong with your phone. How are you doing?” 

“How am I doing?” 

“Yeah, I was kinda worried, it was like you dropped off the face of the earth.” 

You clawed your arm away. “I’ve been fine.” 

Jisung sucked at his teeth, “Listen, after your class, can we talk? I borrowed my roommates car--I can drive us back to my place--” 

“--That’s what you want to do? Talk?” The simmering anxiety that washed over you turned into irate heat. 

“Yeah?” 

“No its not.” 

You slung your shoulder bag high up your arm, and walked on. 

“Stop stop stop.” Jisung threw his body in front of your path. “What’s been going on with you? Hm? Did something happen? What is it? Your-uh art or something? You still do that right?” 

Jisung had seen your paintings decorating the walls of your bedroom and the sketches that piled up on your desk next to colored pencils tied up together by rubber bands. He had seen them, but he had never looked. 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” 

“Baby--” He scuffed after your determined steps towards the business building. “Listen, I-I missed you okay?” Jisung yelled into the winter air: “I missed you. Alright?” 

“Jisung, it wasn’t me that you missed.” 

He stammered, and huffed up those puffy cheeks of his. In one final attempt, he approached you carefully with those cute brown eyes that you would often let slip into your daydreams. He reached out for your cold hand and took it in his. Had it been several months ago, you would have killed for him to hold your hand like that. 

“I’ve been doing some thinking lately, especially when I hadn’t heard from you. I just...got this feeling like had done something wrong and I couldn’t figure out what the hell it was. Now, I know that I did. I...don’t like seeing you mad like this. Tell me what it is? I wanna see you at my show next week. I just want things to go back to the way that they were.” 

The way that things were. 

The way that things were was simplier. Easier. Just like he was. Jisung didn’t ask questions and Jisung didn’t take you out to noodle places just because he he felt like it. 

The way that things were would have been easier and his hand did feel pleasantly warm in yours like you had imagined. 

“I have to get to class Jisung.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

On that Friday evening when you marched up to the front door of Changbin’s apartment building, he stood hooded under the tin awning turned to rust brown with age. He huffed out a little under the dinky light of the old building, but as far as you could see, his cheeks and nose had blushed with pink. You wouldn’t have pegged him it for it, but he had draped a thick black scarf around his neck in the same place where he would usually display that thick silver chain. As soon as you locked eyes, he gave you a little wave with knees bouncing. 

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” Your breath vaporized into thin, white, visible droplets in the air.  

“I thought that I could meet you out here rather than have you wait in the cold. I realized I did that last time.” 

“Oh. Uh-thank you...I guess.” 

Changbin cracked out a little smile, then announced, “Come on, let’s get going.” 

“Get going? Get going where? Did you want to get noodles again?” 

He chuckled, then stepped out into the lightly falling snow. It tangled up in his curling locks and got caught in the fabric of his scarf. “Hm-no. Not this time.” 

Changbin looked over at you with his stormy grey eyes, something that hadn’t come to you as easily as before. Something in him had changed since you had first met him when he was standing on that stage as if it was the edge of the world. Before, you had felt as if you were drowning in the way that he carried himself, or the way that his gaze would bear down at you as if to test your strength. The aura that you once thought to be crushing had now turned into something much softer. 

“You coming or are you just gonna stand there?” 

One of his hands which he had tucked into his parka coat wiggled out to beckon you behind him. 

“Come on. Take it.” 

“Wh--” 

Changbin made the choice for you then shoved both of your hands into his pocket. “It’ll be warmer this way.” 

You scoffed at the gesture: it was the oldest trick in the book. “Really? Is it?” 

In the cramped pocket filled with lint, his thumb rubbed up against yours. You obliged, and he tugged you close to him with each and every finger interlaced between yours.  

“See? Feels better now doesn’t it?” 

Flecks of salt crunched under both of your shoes when you turned the corner lit by a single streetlight. Both of the fabric of your coats squeaked standing this close to eachother. His scarf was pulled up all the way to his chin, and his hair bopped with each and every step that he took. 

“You’re not going to tell me at all?” 

“Can’t you just let this happen? I’m trying to surprise you, damn...” 

“...Surprise? What...?” 

Changbin lead the two of you past another corner to a much busier street in the nighttime: it was bustling with cars and taxi’s and it was lined with little shops on each side that leaked out tantalizing smells. 

“Are we getting food here?” 

“Quit asking questions.” 

Two more blocks, and Changbin’s hand tugged at you all the way down the stairs to the subway where he used his own card to swipe you both in. Down there the sides of the walls were dirtied with old newspapers and cigarette butts, and the walls were of an aquamarine blue hue. 

“The subway? We can’t be going too far...right?” 

Still, he said nothing while he brought you right over the the waiting area, and the two of you stood amongst the businessmen in their best shirts stained with food smears and beer splatters as well as the nurses still in their scrubs after a long day. 

“I said stop to asking questions.” His sentence trailed with a bit of an edge. “Here, stay close.” 

A group of particularly raucous businessmen fell all over each other in a little pod closest to you and Changbin. It was as if it was instinctual for him the way that he wrapped his arm around your shoulder to pull you in to his chest where you stood on the subway deck. A dank smell of wet coats and the sweating bodies under them wove to the air once you had entered and mingled with the rest of the passengers. It was rush hour, and the capacity of the subway was near limit, so no seats could be found. You had to bury your face partially into that scarf of his as he held onto one of the straps dangling from the ceiling of the car. Both of your arms wrapped around him in a type of hug as you clung to his frame to keep your balance.

“Only a few more stops,” He assured you. 

The lull of the car drew a heavy and sleepy film over your eyes, and you found yourself nuzzling into his warmth and clinging to the fabric of his coat just a bit tighter. You had never guessed, but there was an odd sense of intimacy about holding on to one person on a speeding train in a crowd of people. 

“This one.” Changbin nudged you lightly, then pushed a few bodies out of your way bodyguard-style at the stop. “Watch your step.” 

He swept your hand back up into his, then he led the both of you to the staircase and the sound of the city that was much louder and obvious than it was at the stop by his home. His smug smirk only grew the higher and higher that you ascended. 

“Now are you going to tell me?” 

“You’re horrible with surprises. Changbin nudged you with his elbow. “I’m never surprising you again.” 

The skin of your cheeks were once more assaulted with the bite of the winter, and it took you several moments to figure out where he had taken you. 

“Look over to your left.” 

Just past a hectic intersection, there was the soft glow of lights: the first ones that you could see were yellow-white, and they were all tangled up in the branches of tree branches: making them appear as if the leaves had never fallen, but were instead replaced by these luminescent ones. You looked further past them to the entire park which was illuminated by similar string lights of all kinds of different colors: green and red, blue, pink and orange. Every single tree in the park was decorated with them, and they shone upon the area in a rainbow of colors. 

“Christmas lights?” 

“The last ones that they take down I think.”  

“I mean...I wasn’t expecting...this” You gestured to the sea of lights before you. 

The stoplight across the street blinked on to the little “walk” symbol. 

Confident as ever, Changbin didn’t falter. “Let’s go.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

You followed after Changbin under the canopy of spiny winter fingers and the lights that were spotted in between them. The passageway of the park was lined with benches on the side of the path and little groups of families, friends and couples each passed pointing out at the whole display. Christmas had been long gone, but somehow it still existed here in this little corner and the joviality it held with it. 

He motioned for you to sit and brushed off the remnants of snow caked on the wood. 

“I’ve got one more surprise for you.” 

“I thought you said that you weren’t going to surprise me anymore?” 

“Well, you’re in luck because I planned this one already.” 

From his pocket he took out what looked like a thin aluminum container with hinges on the side. The metal was cold in your hands when you popped it open and inside was a small sketchbook with dotted paper and a set of double-sided colored pencils.

“I thought...you said something about colors the other day and how you liked them so I thought you would like it here with all the lights and maybe you could draw it? If you want?” 

“Changbin...” 

The wooden pencils were of a waxy quality; likely the kind that you could get at a corner store but that wasn’t nearly what mattered the most. 

“Thank you. I mean it. I’ll draw something.” 

Your heart always skipped a beat the second that you brought your pencil to the paper, and this was no exception. Across from you, there was another bench, identical to the one you sat on, and behind it, was a tree wrapped in pink lights. You set to work quickly, copying the picture as best as you could, not even caring for the little mistakes you could make. Changbin watched you from your shoulder, but you had barely taken notice. Once you had finished, you scribbled your signature at the bottom habitually. 

“Here, I want you to have it.” You tore out the page. “It’s a thank you.” 

He turned it over in his hand, then lightly brushed his fingertips over the way that you and woven the tree branches together and how it looked like the bench was dipped in the symphony of multi-colored lights. Beyond the tree line, you had drawn a few of the skyscrapers crowning the scene which he traced over too. 

“Wow...um, thank you.” He hid his tiny grin after shoving it in his pocket. 

Together you both sat, saying nothing, but rather taking in the scene together just as you had done at the noodle shop. It was peaceful simply existing next to another human being like this. 

Your knuckles cracked in your lap while you recalled Chan and Felix’s urgings looking over at Changbin while he too wondered around himself. 

Its not good for you. Or for them. 

The man next to you rose, “Do you want to walk around a bit more? Or--”

“--Changbin...I need to tell you something.” 

“What is it?” Under the pink glow of the string lights, his skin appeared softer. 

“There’s something--I haven’t told you something and...you deserve to know.” 

“Know...what?” 

His head titled, examining the way that your face had fallen and became twisted up in the words on your tongue. He reached out to hold both of your cold-bitten cheeks in his hands, rubbing his thumbs to soothe you. You thought to yourself, there was something oddly intimate about standing out in the open with him like this: bearing yourself as such for the whole world to see, and how the tip of your nose rubbed up against his. 

The words stung in your throat with a pain like acid. 

“During this time when we were...there was also-I was also--” 

“--I know what you’re going to stay and I want you to stop.” 

“What?” 

Changbin scoffed. "I should have guessed anyway but, it’s not my place either since we never really said exactly what this is.” 

Your voice wavered, “I’m sorry. I’ll understand--” your arms fell to your sides. “--if you don’t want to--” 

“--I said stop. Do you need me to say it again? I don’t own you or any dumb shit like that, and you don’t owe me anything either. But, I appreciate the honesty though.” Changbin pulled your forehead to rest against his, exhaling out visible breaths. “What are you going to do now?” 

Just as he had done before, he reached down, all the way down your arms to wrap them around his waist. 

“I-I don’t know. But--I do know that, being around you is...different and--” You sniffled, “--I don’t want to give that up yet.” 

“Okay then. 

You held your eyes closed, but you could hear his one and only smirk in his words. 

“I wouldn’t mind sticking around either--but--you know what this means then?” 

“What’s that?” 

“You’re coming to my show next week.” 

“Ugh, fine. I’ll go.” 

Both of your breathless giggles filled the space between you both. 

Your chest shook with a sigh, the kind that had been trapped, or maybe just held in for too long. 

His lips were cold under the array of twinkling lights, and he delved himself into you carefully with his focus on nothing other than you. The way that he kissed you was terrifyingly beautiful: as if you were the way that each of the colors from the lines you sketched intersected and became one with the other. The heat of skin and the tip of his tongue filled your mouth with his promises that he had been composing for you since he had met you, and you could finally hear it for the first time. He had never changed the way in which he had done it from that first night.

He kissed you like he loved you, and maybe he really did.  

[moonbelt]

𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐬 [ᴍ]

↳ classical mythology au | the story of icarus au

⇢ pairing: chanyeol | reader

⇢ genre: angst + smut + fluff

⇢ word count: 14,101 (this one’s a lil beast)

⇢ description: on the day of the summer solstice a piece of the sun crashes down to earth and perhaps it was fate that led him to you. 

⇢ warnings: handjobs, a bit of a size difference kink, small dom/sub undertones, butchering classical mythology to fit the plot. 

It felt like the world was burning at your feet.

That was understandable. It was the morning of the longest day of summer after all. But for the ground to be so hot that the heat speared through the soles of your work boots? That bit was new. You were quite sure your town was hitting an all-new high record for the hottest day of the year.

Even as you cooped yourself in your basement workshop, the sun still seemed to boil you to death. You could only imagine how awful it was outside. But you couldn't afford to stall on your invention. It was either now or never. You were a go big or go home type of person.

Today was the big day. The Summer Solstice. And even though you couldn't be bothered by your town's usual theatrics and a false sense of grandeur, this was the one event you loved. The one event in which you got to showcase your creations and earn a bucketload of exclusive offers from neighboring patrons that came to visit.

The longest day of summer was a huge festival. For one night you got to experience the finest things the world had to offer in your small, somewhat average life. And you loved it. For one day the townspeople put away their reservations towards you and your father and for one day, you allowed yourself to dream of flying away from this tightly-knit prison.

Forcing things into being from scraps and the dregs of society was something that gave you purpose. Something that in a tiny way puts you on the map. Fueled your somewhat childish dream of someday crawling your way out of this labyrinth-Esque settlement.

The first time you snuck into your father's workshop hadn't been by accident. Even though your father had cautioned you away from the basement because he was scared you'd interfere with his process or perhaps worse; injure yourself. But at nine years old there was only so much that could keep your mind from wandering away and the townsfolk weren't exactly forthcoming with letting their heirs and next of kins play with you.

Well, to be honest, most of them didn't welcome you at all. Not that you minded. Not that you cared. They called your father a genius to his face but a madman to his back. But that was fine too. There was a fine line between the two. You thought Little Tommy was quite literally the ugliest baby to be born in the whole wide world and when Little Tommy's mother did something you hated like shoo you away from the front of her bakery, you let her know exactly that.

So yeah, no hard feelings.

But your father's workshop had always felt like the hottest place on earth. If not for that fact that you'd been so utterly bored with schoolwork and the fantasy book you'd been able to sneak out of the library, you doubted you'd even have wanted to step foot in the dark, sweltering ass crack of hell. But if you were anything it was determined.

Some might call you stubborn. Some may even call it foolishness on your part. But you know that it was destiny. A reckoning. Fate. Maybe even a homecoming of sorts. Because in there you found your true passion. Something that tied you ephemerally to this world.

In that workshop, you saw your father create things that no one had ever dared or tried to before. But of course, he did. That was the whole reason they called him a madman by night.

In fact, you were quite certain that the townspeople revered and feared him at the same time. After all, there was still a rumor going 'round that he'd been the one to orchestrate and invent the quintessential labyrinth town you lived in. But that was a different story, one you didn't care to tell. And one you believed — at the time — didn't affect you at all.

You've been wrong about many things. Your father had made it a point to let you know in every way of what you lacked and in what you failed in. But also in what you thrived. And building, no, inventing, came easily to you. Like you'd been born for it. More than destiny, more like preordained. You didn't have a choice, didn't even want one. And you'd been helpless to stop it.

But now the workshop was your life. You lived in it, breathed it and in a sense maybe you worshipped it. It gave you a sense of being after all. The whole town could isolate you, and that they did expertly, but they still hammered down your doorstep for your helpful creations that helped ease the way of life.

You both loved and loathed how much they depended on you but it was what it was. You tried not to let it bother you much anymore.

After numerous hours of grinding at your workstation, and perfecting your latest design, you climbed out of the heated workshop basement and welcomed the fresh breeze of the cool air outside.

You'd been working on a new device that would help speed up the process of washing your daily wear. At the moment the mechanics were quite frankly the best they could ever be, but you were tinkering with it for the utmost perfection for tonight. Hell, you'd already picked out an apt name for it: The Washy-Washer. Okay, yes, it did sound a bit silly, a bit ridiculous, but you weren't going to call it the hand-washer. You cringed solely at the thought.

But you needed a break. Your back was killing you and you were quite literally tired of washing all of your socks. Even if the machine did do most of it.

You took a deep breath and fixed your gaze on the sun. It was calm and quiet in this part of town. The outskirts. But the sun was always loud. At least to you. It always felt as if the sun was trying to burn out your eyes and no matter how much you wanted to look away, you couldn't. It demanded your attention. And you gave it because what else could you do?

It wasn't like the sun was especially pretty, or particularly different than any other sun you'd seen in the last early twenty-something years of your life. But it wasn't like the sun was ugly either, so you didn't mind looking at it. Even if it did hurt your eyes.

And just like every other day, you raised a palm to the sky and imagined yourself grasping the burning sun in your hands. You imagined it would feel like a hot coal on your skin, a little bit reinvigorating but with a whole lot of pain. You wondered if it was a good thing that you thought you'd like that.

And like what had become your new normal, you daydreamed of creating wings like the birds you envied. Wings that could take you anywhere you wanted. Wings that could actually fly. The dream had been plaguing you for weeks like a disease. Visions of you donning on misshapen not-even-close-to-sturdy wings and just soaring. You weren't quite sure where you'd fly to. Maybe you'd just go until you were too tired to move.

"You are going to turn into a field of ash," the charismatic yet sarcastic voice of the town's resident homebody (and the only person that responded to your flyer looking for a housemate) yelled from inside the house.

You guess you were getting predictable these days. Too much staring at the sun and getting almost sunburnt and less of hiding in your workshop.

"The weather's trying to murder me out here," you grumbled as you pushed the creaky front door open and tapped the dirt from the bottom of your boots. "And that's how you treat me?"

Kyungsoo looked up from stirring the pot he had on the stove to shoot you an exasperated look. You had half the mind to tell him of how domestic he looked just to mess with him. "I'm preventing you from dying a sudden and painful death."

"I put a roof over your head."

"Well, I pay rent and I feed you."

It wasn't like you could you beat that. You couldn't cook for the life of you. When your father had been alive he had handled all the cooking for fear of you burning water. And when he'd married, his new wife Nau had taken over the role.

Nau was a nice woman. Although you thought sometimes that she treated you a bit too much like you were her biological daughter and not her extended family. It was fine though because at least she talked to you. Plus she told all her townie friends about the stuff you created. And she made a bomb fish-tail soup.

When your father died, she'd resorted to dropping off a weekly supply of cooked meals at your door. But with Kyungsoo around, the need had for it had practically stopped. And even though you would never tell her, Kyungsoo's cooking was way more phenomenal than hers. But you had manners, albeit a little rusty.

"You can't hold food over my head. That's just wrong." You made your way to the sink and washed the grime off your hands and face. "Plus, I gave you a friend discount when I fixed your calculator last week."

"True. But it is easy to get the friend discount when I’m your only friend," he easily replied as he moved and dumped two servings of what looked like and smelled like his signature fried rice.

You smiled to yourself. If only your dad could see you now. Making friends? Well, a friend. Singular. The town wasn't completely shitty. But Kyungsoo wasn't fond of the place either. You weren't exactly sure what caused him to uproot his life from the middle of the town where he was revered as a young chef-like god. But when he'd taken you up on your offer to be housemates to help reduce living costs six months ago, you can't say you minded.

He was a pretty easy going person and all he ever seemed to do was cook.

"So, are you still not going to have your own stall for the solstice?" You asked after you thanked him for the food and the two of you had retreated to the table set for two.

Kyungsoo shrugged, dropping his utensil to run a hand through his cropped short inky hair. "No cooking for large people ever again. They never appreciate it anyway. I'm going to be a normal person at the festival. You know, I hear the fireworks at the end are amazing."

They were. Your father used to be in charge of the mass production of them for the event. "Yeah. They're like big exploding balls of magic."

He smiled ruefully. "Can't wait."

The two of you finished your food in silence and by the time you were done you were already back to absently dreaming about wings and flying. It was abnormal the way you were fixated on it. Building wings won't be easy, heck if they were even remotely doable someone would've done it already. But it felt like an itch on your skin. Almost like you had to at least try.

Perhaps when the party was over you'd dive headfirst into it and start researching how you would even go about it. It wasn't like you had the arm strength to keep flapping your arms like a crazed person through the damn sky.

If Kyungsoo noticed your lack of speaking, he didn't mention it. And when you'd finished washing the dishes and placing them to dry. You turned to find him sifting through a handful of mail on the table. He'd been getting a ton of letters from former customers that begged him to come back and reopen his restaurant. He promptly discarded them in the bin immediately after.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"You'd just ask me anyway, regardless of my answer."

True. But you like you'd said 'manners.' "You ever think about flying?"

He peered up from the littered papers. "Thinking about inventing some kind of flying death trap?"

"Hah hah hah. Jokes on you when I actually do it." You scoffed at him. Did he think you couldn't do it? You'd show him. You weren't sure how but you would. "You'd beg me to make one for you to fly out of this hellhole too."

"Well, when you put it like that I can't, in good conscience, discourage you from it. Even though I know it's a very bad idea."

"A bad idea? Nay, I say. It's the best I've ever had!"

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at your boastful demeanor. "Where would you even fly to?"

You didn't even have to think about it. "The sun."

You'd get up close and personal with the beast that beat down on your skin day in day out. It'd hurt like hell, you knew that. But you didn't care. You weren't planning on kissing the sun or anything. Just somewhere close to it. Maybe it'd cure you off your dreams of having your body floating in a bright, hellish landscape.

Maybe flying close enough to the sun just once would be enough. You'd come back down. It'd be the greatest achievement of your whole life. Your magnum opus. You weren't trying to die but there was a whole world up there that was calling out to you like a siren at sea. And you were going to fly. You swore on it.

Even if it meant you crash-landed from space back to earth.

The Summer Solstice celebrations had already been in full swing for a few hours by the time you and Kyungsoo made it to the heart of the town. The festivals were never all that lavish or even truly a feat of major grandiose but more of a holiday to the small community. The neighboring towns visited annually and it made good to the vineyards when everyone was drunk around the bonfire with golden and russet marigolds braided into their hairs.

Colorful streamers were erected around the sides of the cobblestone roads, the sun was on the precipice of setting with the sky marred in a beautiful match of blue, orange and purple. You watched as little kids you didn’t know and old people you did flocked round in queues at various booths marveling at the creative food options.

You stopped by numerous stalls and stands that piqued your interest. Maybe it was because it was the solstice that made all the snacks taste even more heavenly than normal. Or maybe the bolstering heat had finally fried your head.

You were having fun hauling the Washy-Washer around and having people ask you what the hell it was. You’d packed a bountiful amount of socks for the demonstrations.

And when you walked away with a cold snack in your hand and a customer swearing from here to the moon that they’ll be at the shop tomorrow to pick up an order; a burst of pride swelled in your chest. Big enough for you to join in on the crowd’s summer singing. A while after you’d finished your word-of-mouth promotion, you even sold the very one you’d brought out with you.

Kyungsoo and you watched as hundreds of fellow young adult townsfolk flooded the streets decked out head to toe with the most glitzy, sheer and barely covering cloths available. It was hot and it was a festival, so no one particularly cared.

But you guess you stuck out like a sore thumb in your practical shorts and thin tank. But you weren’t part of the show so it didn’t really matter. Plus the outfits of the solstice attendees were so bizarre that you dressing a tad normal wasn’t cause for alarm. And you guessed Kyungsoo was having fun because he was running his mouth talking about the essence and the umami of a popsicle… He was learned like that.

Pushing through the crowds, you made the most of the festival. It was a bright thing. With paper lanterns floating around and above. People didn’t make an effort to seek you out in conversation but you cracked enough jokes with your friend to forget about that. Later on, Kyungsoo had been rightfully cornered by his old friends and you had given him your permission to go forth and get ultimately wasted. You promised him that you’d get drunk telepathically as well. He’d laughed.

By the time you had made it to the bonfire in the middle of the Town Square, you almost felt as if you were like everyone else. Paying for overpriced solstice marketed booze, your body felt like you were soaring. Free. You got close enough that you felt the flames of the bonfire licking and dancing across your skin and it was almost ironic how homely you felt with it.

And like year after year, the solstice let everyone shed their inhibitions. But just as the night was getting even wilder, you knew it was time for you to head back home. You could tell when you weren’t wanted. And You were pushing it without Kyungsoo by your side. People thought you were a bit mad like your father.

You won’t lie. He had been dedicated to his craft and defied the world at every turn. But he had also been a little insane. Perhaps that was where you got your stubbornness bordering on self-destruction.

You were already busy crocking up ways in which you’d start building your wings on your way back home. It was going to be a long journey to get something even manageable but you’d do it. The closer you got to your house, the less of the bustling town you heard. It was almost as if the bright festival didn’t reach your part of town. Like you were hidden in the ultimate cloak of darkness.

But that was fine. Because one day you’d have wings. One day you’d fly out of here like a bat out of hell.

And just as a droopy smile made its way to your face there came a blinding light followed by a loud and resounding thud. It shook the very core of the earth, all the way up to the enamel of your teeth.

You could swear that the sheer brightness of the light alone burnt your retinas clean off. Before you could even process what was going on, your body felt like it was incinerating from the inside. It was so hot around you that you weren’t just sweating profusely, you were melting. There was no other word for it. You clawed at your arms in a bid to do something, anything, but the mass of slick sweat on it caused your palms to slip and slip.

God, you were going to burn to death. You were screaming before you realized it. It felt like the sun was right next to you. Instead of you flying to it, it had come right down to you. And you were going to go out in a cloud of ashy dust.

But just as quickly as the heat had flamed your skin, it was gone. Leaving only the stinging sensation of your skin and tears cooling on top of your cheekbones. The cool night air caressed your skin like a salve and you whimpered a little.

What in the burning hell was that?

You were afraid. You squeezed your eyes and hugged your body. You hadn’t even realized that you had fallen to your knees. To make matters worse, your heart was beating so loudly in your ears that it overpowered all the weak sobs from falling from your lips.

Gods, you absolutely did not want to open your eyes to whatever was out there. You’d rather run blindly all the way back home.

Maybe you were cursed? Your father had told you that the gods’ anger and wrath were fickle things. Easy to provoke and swift to enact. But what on earth could you have done to deserve it? Ah, maybe if you could just open your eyes a little bit. A tiny fraction. Practically minuscule. You won’t even notice.

But when you finally managed to peel your eyelids open, you were confronted with someone kneeling right in front of you. His frame was so big that it dwarfed you and made you feel even smaller. It was undeniable that this person right in front of you wasn’t from around here. You’d never met him, never even seen him before. You’d know if you had. He had a kind of face people got mesmerized by and subsequently spent years trying to recreate it in all their art or died trying. Dramatic shit like that.

“This was not supposed to happen,” he said, his voice breathless and airy like wind and yet deep and soul bending like rock.

Huh, funny how just as you were finally catching your bearings, the hair on your arms decided to prickle to prim attention like he was inspecting them.

“Yeah?” That’s all you got? A yeah? Gods, someone throw you in a hole. You cleared your throat as you turned your gaze anywhere but his face. “Well, I swear I don’t usually burst out crying on the street like a madwoman.”

“No, no. That would be my fault.” Now that captured your attention with vice-like intensity. “I didn’t anticipate just how much heat I would give off when I reached down. Humans are sensitive. I’m very sorry if I hurt you. It is my first time on land. I’ll do better next time,” he sounded remorseful but your face scrunched up more as his words registered.

Huh. Maybe your hearing was off because what did he mean by literally anything he’d just said… Firstly, him? Hurt you? Sure he was as big as your bed frame back home and yeah, you’d never met him before. And of course, you were wary of strangers but him? He looked like he could barely hurt the ground he walked on. Squinting your eyes at him, you scrutinized his all-white attire.

Frankly, he looked like a prince. With the way, he held himself up with a dignity that just screamed regality. And even his knee that was on the ground didn’t appear to have a single stain on the white slacks. There was no royal court in your town but from the books you’d read, you imagined he was what they dressed like. With pearly white rings adorning his fingers and a tiny strip of an embellished white gold band wrapped around his tanned forehead that was framed by his blondish almost white hair.

You swiped the back of your index finger above your top lip to remove the sweat that had built up there. “There’s going to be a next time?”

He smiled, a wild thing it was because it felt like the sun was beaming straight out from his teeth. Gods, how white were those things? Did he bleach them?

“It depends. If I don’t do anything stupid while I’m here I’m sure Father would allow me to come back. He allows my siblings to fly down all the time.” He sounded almost petulant at the fact and then like he was talking to himself, his voice quieted but perhaps he’d never practiced whispering before because his voice was still way above hearing range. “But I’m sure even they have never almost charred a human down to nothing.”

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” You barely understood what was going on as is, but he was right in front of you. Like he’d been born out of the heat.

His eyes fluttered from the top of your head to your shaking hands to your knees now scuffed from the ground. “Felt what?”

“Oh, you know the blazing inferno that just swept through here.”

“Ha, I do not know of what you speak of.”

“I’m a lot of things… dumb isn’t one of them.” You forced yourself to ignore the stinging in your knees as you rose to your full height. He did the same. “Now, I don’t know what you are and I don’t really care but, did one of the gods send you? I hear Zeus can be a bit of a bitch.”

You were right about one thing, this man towered over you for sure. You always thought you were kind of tall, but he would need to lift you by your armpits to even be on the same eye level. You didn’t know how to feel about that but you weren’t scared.

“No one sends me except Father. Sometimes it is necessary. Like now,” he said not even remotely disturbed by your accusations. “I do not speak ill of Zeus but he can be, how you say bitch but respectfully?”

You gawked at him with half the mind to laugh. Actually, you were pretty sure a few giggles escaped your lips. You? Giggling? This night was only getting trickier and weirder. You blamed the booze. It was the only reasonable culprit in all this. Surely, this man did not just ask you for a more polite version of such a nasty word.

“You’re a funny one.” You tried and failed to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Or perhaps humans are just easily entertained,” he replied but he was smiling as well. He angled his head and peered around the dark road, almost like he was expecting to see something extraordinary burst out. “I thought tonight is the first day of estival? That is why I chose today to come down.”

“Oh, you mean the solstice festival?” You followed his gaze around the steep and vanishing road behind you. “If you still want to catch the end of it, you’d have to walk a long way deeper.”

There wasn’t much to look at down these parts of town. A scrap metal yard was located a few miles to your right behind another valley. But there was a good number of brick houses milling about. Not everyone could afford to live in the affluent and bustling heart of the town and not everyone even wanted to. Your house was about ten more minutes away but you couldn’t see it from here.

You wondered what this very strange man thought of when he looked around the land especially when the lanterns that outlined the street were few in between and flickering like their lives were one breath away from being completely snuffed out.

He turned his gaze back to you and you felt as his eyes commanded your body to attention. For some reason, he seemed a bit sad. “I see.”

“Well, if you run you could probably still make it. If that’s the reason you came into town then you shouldn’t miss it. The fireworks go on for most of the night. You can see them from here but it’s always better up close.”

“You will not go?” He asked, his head cocking to the side.

You grinned. “Nope. I’ve got to sleep the alcohol out. Tomorrow I start on my magnum opus.”

You weren’t sure if he quite understood what you meant but he nodded his head all the same. And it was then you really realized that even though the night was dark and the lanterns were dim, he seemed to glow. His skin alone appeared to shimmer and bleed light. And although it wasn’t bright enough to burn, it felt to you like he was blazing.

He didn’t say anything in response and when you started to feel the trickle of awkwardness slip down your spine you swiveled your eyes to the side. “I’ll just get going now.”

Quickly, you pivoted on your heel and began the stroll to your house. It wasn’t like you needed to know this mystery man. And you could chock the burning episode your body experienced earlier to the alcohol messing up with your system. Yeah, that was it. Of course, it was! If after a night of fitful rest it came again, then and only then would you make a big deal out of it.

You hummed to yourself on your way back and for some inane reason, you had a bit more pep in your step. Like your talk with the mystery man invigorated you or something. But that couldn’t be true, you’d only just met him and you didn’t even know his name.

Hah, you felt like you could start on your wings project right this second. A clear mind and non-intoxicated emotions be damned. You’d already started preliminary sketches of how you wanted it to look like. Soon, you were going to head out to the scrap yard and sift for materials. Hopefully, you found things good enough.

You were in a good mood. One of the bests since your father died last spring. Your father had been your only companion for a long time. And he’d been your everything. Your role model, your shining light. The one that believed in you more than you believed in yourself. And although you’d admit, he had fueled your stubbornness to the point of annoyance, but he’d been your best friend.

And today, almost a year and a half later it felt like you were finally releasing a breath you’d held in for so long.

But you must have been crazy out of tune with the outside world because you did not realize that there was a second silhouette following closely behind you. It wasn’t until you’d fished your copy of the house keys from your pockets and had already begun the act of shoving them into the keyhole that the presence behind dawned on you.

You flipped around, ready to claw the person’s eyes out with your bare hands if it got down to that only to meet the same brown eyes you’d just left down at the crossroads.

It appeared that this man was getting more tangled with you than you’d anticipated.

“Did you get lost or something?” You sighed as you relaxed your stance a tad. The sleepy part of drinking was quickly catching up to you. “This is really far from the festivities.”

He blinked at you. Once. Twice. And then scanned your old mismatched, creaky door that you’d sworn you’d get changed after your father had died but procrastination got even the best of you. He didn’t seem repulsed by it but you thought it contrasted too deeply against his pristine white clothes. Was it possible for the wood to scuff his fitted embroidered mantle? He stuck out so much in front of your house but he didn’t seem to care about that at all.

“The first person we meet on land is our fatum. I stay with you till I find what I was sent for.” He said in lieu of an explanation. He poked a finger into the sliver of space between his neck and his collared shirt and pulled the garment nervously. “At least that’s what Father and the rest of my brothers said.”

Fatum? You weren’t quite sure what that word meant. But you remembered that he’d spoken about this mission he’d been sent here for. You wondered if he was like you in a way. Perhaps he only had his father and his siblings. Maybe this was his first time leaving his village?

Sure, his sentences were a bit weird and it sounded like you and him were on way two different pages. Because what did any of that have to do with you? You had yet to leave the town. That was probably why you were obsessed with the notion of flying over. But he didn’t look poor or desolate. If anything, he looked like a king surveying over his subjects.

“I still don’t get what you mean by any of that but okay, let’s say I believe you. What were you sent for?”

He cocked his head to the side innocently. “I do not know.”

Gods, you were getting a headache. You suddenly wished you hadn’t partaken in some of the indulgences of the night. Alcohol was definitely not helping your situation right now. You weren’t drunk per se but you could already feel a truck of nausea knocking on your door.

“Then how would you know when you’ve found what you were sent over here for?” Never mind the fact that you couldn’t babysit this man you’d never met. You were going to be super busy fulfilling orders and building wings. “Plus normal people don’t just let random strangers follow them around. I don’t even know your name! Some might even call this stalking.”

“I have many names,” he slid his index finger away from bruising the collar of his shirt, ignoring your first question. “But you may call me Chanyeol. And I will not stalk you for I do not really know what that is.”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Truly.”

“Okay then, Chanyeol. How long are you in town for? And just so you know, I still don’t buy whatever it is your selling.”

“I will be here ’til the end of summer.” Looking you up and down like he suddenly questioned your sanity, he added. “I am not selling anything.”

Odd. This man was very odd. But you had no idea why his oddness was causing the corners of your lips to tilt upwards. Maybe it was because of how serious yet endearing he looked. Or maybe the heat did fry your brain and all your sense of self-preservation and reasoning.

“Is this about the house-sharing offer I put up in the community board?” You rolled your eyes as you crossed your arms across your chest. “That was months ago and I already found someone. I’m sure if you ask someone else they’ll let you room and board with them if you’re willing to pay rent.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

You swore on your left boot that you saw a ghost of a smirk dance across his lips. “Would you let me stay with you if I pay rent?”

Hah. You couldn’t tell if the booze was making everything funnier or what. But he really was funny, this Chanyeol. And dazzling. You would’ve thought he was a living, breathing star.

“Maybe.”

And like you were in a trance, you watched as he reached up to his forehead and carefully unclasped the white jeweled crown-like headband. He held it out to you like you’d even know it’s worth. You stretched out a palm and he dropped it gently. The lingering heat from his body slithered up the skin of your arm.

Chanyeol beamed at you as if he’d just solved all the problems. “Would that be enough?”

To be honest, you weren’t sure. It wasn’t like you carried a human gem to a currency calculator in your head. But when you looked at the band closely, you could tell that the gems were at least real. And the gold wasn’t fake either. Maybe you’d take it downtown and get it looked at. Maybe.

Wait, you couldn’t possibly be considering his offer, could you? And what were you going to tell Kyungsoo? That you just upped and got a new housemate on a whim? Plus no one in town even knew him. Or at least you didn’t. You could handle yourself in a fight but you wouldn’t be able able to do anything if he killed you in your sleep.

Gah, you were tired.

“May I ask what Fatum goes by?” Chanyeol was still smiling. Almost like that was his default setting. You wondered if he truly was happy about all this.

Fatum this. Fatum that. What the ever-loving hell did Fatum even mean?

“You mean what’s my name?” You turned back to your front door and kicked it open. After you’d told him, you let him enter your home. “My name is not Fatum.”

Chanyeol’s tall and lithe body made the space inside your home feel that much smaller. In fact, he seemed to make everything next to him appear to shrink. But he looked around your old house like it was a thing of beauty. You were beginning to doubt if he saw the things you saw. Your house wasn’t ugly by any means but it had definitely seen better days.

“Okay, [y/n],” he conceded but you could hear the barely thought Fatum at the end.

Shaking your head you pointed at the longest couch you had that was placed right in front of the window. “You sleep there tonight.”

He nodded and you didn’t wait around to see if he settled in nicely or not. You weren’t going to think about this weird night any more than necessary. Instead, you were going to go pass out and tomorrow you would kick him out. It left an awful taste in your mouth to leave him stranded and abandoned outside in a foreign town. But that was the extent of your generosity.

And it was with great effort that you decided to not crawl up the stairs to where your room was situated. It took, even more, to not fall on your face. Gods, you swore you’d never drink again.

Tomorrow you would hand him his, clearly expensive, headband back and ask him to leave your mundane life in peace.

But there was a thought nagging and poking you incessantly in the back of your mind. That there was something about him that was tied to you. And the just the fact that you’d already accepted his price meant something you couldn’t yet fathom. Like you’d sold your soul to an unknown.

That night you dreamt of flying like you always did. Soaring and nimbly twisting through an orange and purple-hued sky. It was beautiful. But then you’d reach a point where no matter how many times you pushed yourself upwards, your body kept falling. The wind pressure feeling like crushing boulders on your neck as you struggled. Over and over again.

That night you dreamt that the wings you hadn’t even built yet had already broke.

You woke up with a scratchy throat and a light strum in your bones.

Last night felt more like a personal hallucination than reality. There was no way you’d allowed this Chanyeol person to stay in your house. Your brain didn’t even let you dive into dissecting the meanings of his words yesterday.

He was so freaking weird, you thought to yourself as you stifled a yawn and sat up on your tiny bed. Your hair was a mess since you’d been so out of it that you’d forgotten to braid it in for the night. So that meant you spent a good half an hour teasing the strands out of its convoluted mess. It was a torrid and teary affair.

By the time you’d washed up and gotten ready for the day it was already close to noon. You doubted Kyungsoo would’ve come hone already which meant you had to go down and scavenge for something to eat before you headed down to the scrap yard.

Today was going to be great.

Whistling to yourself mindlessly, you took the stairs two at a time. But when you jumped the last step and landed at the foot of the staircase you belatedly realized that two voices were coming from the kitchen. But that couldn’t be right.

Feeling like you were an intruder in your own home, you gingerly crept closer to the open door that led to Kyungsoo’s claimed area only to see the man you’d told yourself was a hallucination and your housemate. And to make matters even more bizarre, Kyungsoo didn’t look like he was even a tiny bit disturbed by his prescience. What?

“If you’re going to stand there and pretend like you can’t see us, breakfast for you goes straight to the dogs.” Kyungsoo was the first to pierce through your confusion.

You stepped into the kitchen, eyes wide as you stared at Chanyeol like he was wrong to be here. You pointed a finger at him. “You.”

The piece of bread that he was about to stuff in his mouth hung idly from his fingers. It bothered you how at home he looked at your house. And now that you looked at him from the glow of the midday sun, he didn’t look as princely as he had last night. What with his white garments traded for a very comfortable blueish loose pants and a baggy shirt. You wondered where the hell he got a change of clothes from.

Chanyeol’s spine went ramrod straight in the dining chair. “Me.”

Your left eye twitched. “You can’t stay here.”

“I-”

“Sure he can,” Kyungsoo interrupted from his seat at the table. “He says you took his rent for three months.”

You gawked at Chanyeol and you almost threw yourself across the table when you noticed how smug his smile looked. This couldn’t be happening. You didn’t even have an extra room.

“I can stay on the couch. I don’t mind,” Chanyeol replied.

You must have posed your question out loud. Gods, you were going insane. And since when did Kyungsoo side with random strangers over you?

“He’s not random.” Kyungsoo didn’t look up from his food as he pointed to the plate he’d fixed for you on the counter. “And you can’t kick him out. You were complaining last month about being short on money. Maybe you should use him. No offense, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol nodded and you almost threw your shoe at the side of his head. “No worries, Land Brother.”

Land brother… yeah, maybe you shouldn’t think too much about all this. ‘Cause the more you tried to rationalize it, the more bizarre the whole situation got. If Kyungsoo was okay with him, maybe he truly was harmless? It was true that you were running low on funds. So many things in the house needed repairs and repairs cost a pretty penny. Plus, he was okay with the shitty couch. He couldn’t be that bad, could he?

Muttering to yourself, you grabbed the plate of eggs and toast. You hated eggs but you could never bring yourself to seem ungrateful. So, you dumped your butt into the third chair and begrudgingly had your first meal of the day.

Chanyeol looked eagerly from you and Kyungsoo and when you couldn’t take it anymore you barked out a “What?”

He cleared his throat. “What do we do we do today, [y/n],” he said your name carefully like it was something delicate.

You scrunched your nose at him. “We do nothing. I, on the other hand, will be going scrapping.”

“Scrapping?” He titled his head to the side. He did that a lot. Like you were the confusing one.

“I’m searching for materials I will need to create a set of wings.” You forced the last bit of eggs into your mouth and swallowed without breathing. “You can do whatever you want.”

You finished the rest of your food in record time before thanking Kyungsoo. Chanyeol thanked him as well. You adjusted the buckles of your overalls. Chanyeol retied the laces of his stretchy pants that you still wondered where they’d come from. You stuck your socked feet into your boots that you’d placed next to the front door. Chanyeol gracefully wore his white shoes from last night.

You pretended he wasn’t right next to you but it was impossible with how broad he was. His height alone blocked the sunlight and cast a shadow upon you. But he was smiling so eagerly like a puppy that was being let out for the first time.

Pushing through the front door, you allowed him to catch up with you. Reluctantly at first, you began pointing out your neighbors’ houses and the few things about your side of town that you thought were interesting enough. But every time you peered you at him for his reaction, he looked amazed. And soon enough, you got into your role as a self-appointed tour guide.

“Over there’s the Old Well. I fell into it when I was a kid and it hurt but it wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t afraid of the water or anything. My father got me out pretty quick too.”

A few of the townspeople had stopped to stare at Chanyeol but you were beginning to understand that he didn’t understand his effect on people. Maybe he was used to it, but you weren’t. The feeling of many eyes leering at you made you feel off.

“You only have your father. Like me.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you want to fly?” He halted his steps and although you were the one in the lead, you complied. “This magnum opus of yours. Does it have to do with your father?”

You laughed. “’ Course not. I’m doing this because I want to. Actually, it’s more like a calling. I feel like I can’t rest until I’ve done this.”

“Hmm,” he lifted his palm and laid it on your head. It didn’t feel weird. It felt more comforting and soft than anything. You didn’t breathe. “You and I, we’re more alike than you think.”

“H-how so?” You stammered.

Chanyeol leaned in closer and even though you were already holding your breath, you seized up completely. “Yesterday you asked me how I would know what I was sent for, correct?” He did not wait for an answer. “My mission is like a calling. I feel it and I am helpless to stop it. So, I follow it.”

You understood that. That was the one cryptic thing he’d said in hours that you fully understood. You did not dwell on the implications of that. You were too busy staring at his lips. It looked like clouds and when he smiled, sun rays shine through the gap between them.

He pulled his fingers away from your hair and you almost begged him to put it back. What the hell was wrong with you? You were going mad. Chanyeol clasped his arms behind him and tilted his head to the sky and you watched, mesmerized. Even in regular clothes, doing the most normal of things, he appeared almost godlike.

“You can help,” you found yourself saying. “I need all the help I can get anyway.”

His head snapped to you at a dizzying speed. “I accept.”

Time stood still once you’d made this pact with him. You didn’t hear the birds chirping, you didn’t feel the breeze swaying around the two of you as you stood in the eye of a hurricane. Just his eyes on you. Your eyes on him. Nothing else seemed to matter. And that sense of falling vibrated deep in your bones like a warning.

You did not heed. You did not run or cower. For some reason, you embraced it.

It was unprecedented the way Chanyeol slid into your life like a missing piece you didn't know you were missing.

And it was funny how his presence no longer bothered you because he was everywhere. When you woke up in the mornings and hauled ass downstairs. He was right beside you as you delivered Washy-Washer orders. Most of the time he did all the heavy-lifting of materials you found while scrapping. He truly was everywhere.

The only thing that bothered you was how easy it was with him.

Sometimes you found yourself going throughout the whole day preparing for a singular joke just to simply see your best smile of the day grace his face. He laughed at every and anything, granted. But you felt pride when his loud, deep laughs turned into guffaws that shook through his body. The kind of laughter that made him clap his hands together like a seal.

Chanyeol was thoughtful in a way you’d never experienced before. He was always on your side and you couldn't understand why. Or rather, you’d begun to tell yourself that it didn't matter. Because the more you were around him you realized that you didn't particularly mind.

He didn't mind being in the ass crack of hell, AKA your workshop. And to be honest, you thought that was his favorite place in the entire house. But he was always complaining about having to wear a shirt. And not because it was so hot he wanted to shed his skin. It felt like it was the other way around. Like he fed off the heat.

So, it came as no surprise to you when one month in he walked into your workshop shirtless as the day he was born. You almost smashed your finger with the hammer you held.

“No, get out,” you barely managed to speak. “You have to wear a shirt in here.”

“Says who?” These days he was smugger, bolder, and clearly did not care if you spontaneously erupted in a nosebleed.

You struggled to find apt words as you looked everywhere but his damned face. He was way too beautiful for his own good. And careless about it too. You didn't have the most prolific experiences with the opposite sex. None of them really were all that attractive to you.

But Chanyeol. O gods, Chanyeol. It was like he’d brazenly stepped into the starring role in all your fantasies. His chest resembled the washboard you’d previously used to wash your clothes. And by every will of your body, you wanted to lick it. Ah, you were going insane. He was making you insane.

“No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you.” You threw the hammer down and pretended like the haphazard clump of wood and made feathers was phenomenal work compared to the godlike creature you refused to look at.

You could feel his insolent smirk from a mile away. “Come on. You should do it with me.”

“You want me to get naked?” Gods, you were killing yourself here.

He placed a veiny hand on his waist and chided you. “Well, I meant shirtless but I won’t stop you. You can do whatever you want, I won’t mind.”

Please, you were about to commune with the dead at this rate. 

Your whole body was on fire. This wasn't the first exchange like this between the two of you. It was getting more and more unbearable. You were going to kick him out of the house before you dissolved into a puddle of embarrassment.

Chanyeol moved closer to you and you swore his body heat was making you dizzy. He used the tip of his finger to lift your face and when your gazes connected, he let go. You still felt the sizzling pad of his finger on your chin.

“You know, I’ve learned a lot of things while on land,” his voice slithered up and down your spine like a wandering serpent. “You like when I’m shirtless. That’s why I continue to do it.”

You’d also learned that Chanyeol was straightforward like that. He didn't beat around the bush much and you wholeheartedly believed that he could not feel embarrassment. Or anger. He was his own filtered bubble.

“Your face never lies, [y/n],” he laughed like the tempter he was.

You glared at him. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

“Never.” He replied instantaneously as he tried to suppress his snicker. He utterly failed.

Hah. This was a very fine line he was dancing on. You didn't think. You crossed it.

“Yeah?” Your voice was getting huskier. You unhooked the buckles of your overalls and let the top of it fall like one big petal around your waist. “You mean if I take this off right now, you won't mind?”

You needed him to call you crazy. You’d never been forward with anyone before. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you were coming off as sexy or demented. There was a thin line between the two. But Chanyeol gulped, visibly. His Adam's apple bobbled with the action. And there was that unknown feeling again. You wanted to bite it. Actually, no. You wanted to bite all of him.

You had no idea where this day was leading but you thanked foresight for the fact that you hadn't been welding today. Not that you ever thought about doing anything secondary in your workshop. But you didn't want to accidentally burn your ass when you threw your inhibitions out of the window.

“If you take it off, I would try not to mind,” he sighed out. All of a sudden, his breath was fanning your forehead, like oxygen to a flame. “And I would fail, miserably.”

“You should mind then. You should mind a lot.”

And like that was your sign to go, one of his hands slipped around the back of your neck and cradled it. “You know I’ve been reading.” He applied enough pressure to bring your face closer to him until your lips were a breath away. “I think I like you a lot more than I know what to do with. You… you feel like home.”

“What?” You said into the silence.

“A star. You feel like the star at the center of my universe.”

“Like the sun?”

He did not answer. And even though your temperature was raging like an inferno, when his lips landed on yours it felt like a calm before the storm.

It took a millisecond to register before your body was pushing into him. Hot desire dancing alongside your veins like an essential need. He was breathing fire into your body. And you were burning spectacularly.

He groaned and you swore the sound alone woke up every nerve ending in your body like a spell. You demanded more. No, you needed it. So you took it. And he gave it to you. He accepted you like it was only natural. Your tongue dived in callously. His tongue was pliant, weak against yours. There was nothing reserved about the way you kissed him. All those lingering looks as the two of you worked side by side. That yearning ache that had dug a hole in your stomach. He’d felt it too. He kissed you back like a man that wanted to engrave his very being into your soul.

“I really like you,” he said as the two of you caught your breaths. Your bodies were so close. So close that when he jutted out his hips, his hardened cock flattened against you like an iron rod. “And I need to know if you like me too because I believe I’m going insane without knowing.”

Sucking in a long breath, you bring your lips back to him and kiss him again. Impossibly deeper now. You hooked an arm around his neck and pushed his body even closer. You did not care anymore. You had no say over your body. It was a monster that acted on its own accord. It ground against him like it was trying to weld the two of you together.

You didn't say this often but, fuck.

Maybe you were a fool. You wanted to ask him a load of things. What did he like about you? Wasn’t he scared? Where did he even come from? Wasn't this all moving too fast? What if he regrets meeting you later on? What was going on? But looking into his eyes it felt like there was only one thing you could say.

“I like you too. Gods, I like you.”

A slow grin lit across his face and it quieted your demons even more. You decided then and there you’d go anywhere it took to bring that smile on his face. Always. It did something to your chest that made it impossible for you to not smile at him like he was a star. The star. The baddest of them all: the sun.

“As I said: I’ve been reading,” his voice a low beat in your chest as his fingers gripped your waist and clenched. You needed out of these clothes. Now. “I want you.”

Then he was going to have you. Every single part of you.

It’s embarrassing fast how the two of you rushed back into the main house. Bursting through like a dam at full capacity with his hands roaming all over you as you kissed. You were floating and you were pretty sure your eyes were dilated to all hell. The inside of the house was a fast blur as you clasped his hand and led him up the stairs to your room.

It wasn't the first time he’d ever been inside but your room was small. Made for one. Chanyeol made your room look like a hermit’s hole. But that didn't matter. Because as soon as you kicked the door shut, your clothes were flying off your body in between kisses that struck your body bolts of lightning. And before you knew it, your back was slammed into the mattress.

Goosebumps pierced through your skin as his fingers came in touch with your naked skin. The sexual tension between the two of you was going to suffocate you but. You. Did. Not. Care. You were suddenly very thankful for your father’s ex-wife, Nau, and how she’d embarrassingly taught you about contraceptives. You’d been steadily taking a local one to help with your period pains. Thank fuck for that.

With a knee on the bed, Chanyeol’s fingers trailed a path from your thighs to your hips to rest like a featherlike band at your ribcage. Your heart wanted to jump out and devour him.

You reached up and undid the piece of string holding his loose pants to his waist with one hand. The other hand was too busy wandering around his chest. Fuck, you moaned louder than you thought possible when his forehead fell against yours. Chanyeol was burning up. Like you but exponentially.

His head shifted into the crook of your shoulder as you began to pump him softly and he groaned so deep that it ricocheted off the walls and it felt like the whole room shook. “Gods, I’m going to die.” His words were accentuated by one of his hands tentatively brushing against your breasts and like he couldn't help it, he splayed his whole fists against them and squeezed.

“If you die, I’ll bring you back,” you said darkly. “You’re not allowed to die.”

Chanyeol smirked slyly down at you. “An honor it would be if I died for you though.”

And then he lowered his head and sucked one of nipples and rolled the bud between his teeth. You didn't think. You couldn't. Your back arched off the bed like a bow ready to release and he didn't stop. He teased one of your breasts with his mouth as he worked the other with his nimble fingers and then he switched. You weren’t going to let him die for you for he was killing you already.

You wanted to cry when he released your bruised tip from his lips but that was nothing compared to the hand teasingly made its way to your clit and ghosted around almost as if to check if you were wet. You were dripping. It wouldn't shock you if you found out you soaked the bed.

Slowly, his hands retracted from your body and gripped the headboard of your bed so hard you saw the veins in his arms bulge and you swore you heard the wood splinter at his fingers just as he pushed into you. He thrust so deep into you that your eyes closed on impulse and you had to hold your breath.

Fuck, you were being split. He was big. Longer and girthier than you’d expected. Gods, you were going to die. His thrusts were slow. Painstakingly. You couldn't breathe. You couldn’t think. You were falling apart on his dick.

“Open your eyes, fatum,” he demanded and you complied without hesitation. “Look at me.”

You thought he was going to go slow for a bit longer as you caught your breath in pants but just as you were getting used to his pace; he hooked one hand across your hip and flexed. He pulled out, shattering fragments of your very soul with him before he slammed back into you with rougher, deeper, and more possessive strokes. He did not move any faster but his rhythm choked you. The force of him broke you down and demanded you submit. And you did, gladly. Without question. You needed him to breathe you like air. You wanted his lips around your whole body all at once. You needed him to not stop. You were on the verge of going cross-eyed with how hard he was fucking you.

His kisses were like savage beasts as he pushed into you. You clasped your legs around his waist and dug him deeper. You could hear yourself whimpering but that couldn't be you. Since when did you whimper? 

“Fuck, fuck, Chanyeol.” You sounded like you were praying.

Chanyeol invaded you like an asteroid crashing and yet it felt like you were receiving a gift.

And then his fingers found your core once more and you saw stars dancing in the moonlight as you cried around him. Your whole body trembling from the impact. And like you undid something in him, his whole body tightened as he leaned forward and swallowed your cries with his lips, groaning as he released inside you.

He collapsed on top of you and for a moment you breathed in his intensity. In the silence, there was only the two of you with hearts pounding and mouths panting.

Your stomach caved in when he finally made a move to pull himself out of you. You couldn't even begin to explain the feeling that sparked and ignited in your chest. You’d always believed that sex was just sex. But this was different. Chanyeol pulled you deep into his chest and held you there like you were a piece of his heart.

You didn't realize teardrops had slipped past the corner of your eyes until Chanyeol turned your face to him frantically.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” He was so concerned it almost made you want to cry even harder.

“Nothing.” That was the problem.

Maybe you had finally crossed the bridge but somewhere you felt that this, whatever this was with Chanyeol wouldn't last. It felt like you were at the starting and breaking point of everything. You had no idea what you meant and you didn't want to tell him anything.

You wanted to be next to him until you couldn't be anymore. That was all you could do anyway.

“Nothing’s wrong,” You repeated.

“Yeah?” He laughed into your forehead as he leaned into your forehead and kissed it softly.

Yeah.

The three months Chanyeol spent with you felt like three years and then some.

It was almost funny how much time the two of you spent outside in the sun because he absolutely hated being inside. And even though your bed was the tiniest thing, somehow the two of you made it work because he no longer slept on the couch.

But then the end of his stay was rapidly approaching and you weren't exactly sure how to bring up the dilemma that had been poisoning your tongue for weeks. Was he going to just leave you? Did he need to go back home? Couldn't you leave with him? You wanted to leave this hole of a town anyway. Sure you would miss Kyungsoo and Nau but you would send them a carrier pigeon or something. If Chanyeol said the word, you would go anywhere.

However, he wasn't saying anything. In fact, it was as if he’d forgotten that he’d told you that he was only supposed to stay here till the end of summer.

As the two of you tested out your fifth set of redone and recalibrated wings at the large expanse behind your house, you decided to just let it out.

“The last day of summer is soon. Would your father still need you?” Now, why did you sound like a textbook? Gods, this was awkward. Why were you even bringing it up when he didn’t? What were you? A masochist?

Chanyeol stopped helping you fasten the body of the wings to your torso. You couldn't put a finger to the emotions flickering across his face. There were so many of them. For the first time, you saw that he was in turmoil.

“You can tell me anything,” You said, turning your body so you could place a hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He sucked in his lower lip for a moment before he expelled a long breath. And like he usually did, he fixed his eyes up at the sun. But the sun never seemed to hurt him the same way it did you. “I know it’s just…”

“Come on. I’m here in my wings and you still won’t tell me? What if I fly away from you forever?” You meant for it to be a joke. In fact, you’d already pictured the smile that would grace his beautiful face but you were met with restrained anger.

“Don’t say that,” he spat the words out.

Wait, what? Had you said something wrong? What? This was the first time you’d ever seen Chanyeol angry. You never even knew he had the range. But he looked like what you’d said set him off. He looked furious with his eyebrows drawn so close to the center of his face that it resembled one white block. And if you didn't know any better, you’d say it looked like he was angry… at himself.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You squeezed his shoulder even tighter as if to remind him that you were there.

Chanyeol’s breathing came out hard but it wasn't from physical exertion. You had no idea what you were supposed to do. “You can’t joke about that. I…” words seemed to fail him because his shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes tightly. “What if I leave you? You know I’m not from around here. What if I leave to a place I can’t come back from? What if I’m never able to come down here again? What if — ”

He cut himself off abruptly and shrugged off your hand. Something ugly and vile twisted in your belly.

“We can go together?” You proposed even though it felt like your gut was being shredded. “If you can't come back here, I’ll just come with you. I can build stuff anywhere. It doesn't have to be here.”

Sorrow. That was the look that washed over Chanyeol’s face like a dark cloud. You couldn't understand what was going on but you were trying to. Where you not allowed where he was from? Maybe it was like a gendered village? That was okay, you could hide or something… You weren't exactly sure what you would do but you were smart. You’d find something. Anything.

“You can’t come.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because you would die, [y/n],” He didn’t, couldn't, look at you. “If you follow me back. You won’t be able to make it because you would die. You can’t die for me. I will not allow it.” His resolve was strong and cutting but he would not look at you. 

Your words. He was throwing your words back at you but… “Where is your home, Chanyeol?” You asked the one question you should have asked the first day you met him. Gods, you were so stupid!

“You.”

Funny, a simple word was like a knife being stabbed into your heart. Emotions bubbled up to your lips, so many that you thought you were suffocating. Your heart was begging you to just stop. Ignorance was bliss. Whatever Chanyeol was, it was not peace.

“Where is your home?” You weren't screaming but it felt like your throat was parched and scrubbed raw.

And when he finally looked up from the ground, you thought for the last time that he was a prince. No, a King.

He did not speak but he lifted a hand that you had numerous memories of fitting yours into the sky and pointed to the glaring sun. And you did not understand but you immediately knew and you hated it. And at this very moment in time, you hated him. You wanted to push him and pull him closer to you at the same time.

You looked up at the sun and you had half the heart to spit at it.

“Please tell me I did not fall in love with a piece of the sun.” Your bottom lip quivered and you hated that too. “You’re human. You don’t belong to the gods. I know you, Chanyeol. You're not… you can’t be from there.”

You were holding in your tears like they were the end of the world. To you it was. You won't cry. You dared not to. This wasn't happening. Crying made it real. Crying meant your heart was breaking right unto the sandy floor under your feet in your very own backyard. On your turf.

From your gaze at the ground, you saw as Chanyeol’s bare feet scuffled away from you till he was a good seven feet away. What was up with this stupid distance?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” There was no way he was crying but was that a hitch you heard in his voice? You raised your head to check and you almost laughed.

The two of you were way too alike for your own good.

There he was; standing prickly straight as he sucked in his breath so much that his chest brazenly prodded his loose shirt. And you couldn't hate him. Not when he was struggling through the same thing as you. He was the only one that understood and he was doing his best to not fall apart in front of you. And you didn’t even need to see them to know that he was holding back his emotions with an iron fist that was cracking.

“Don't apologize. You didn’t lie to me. You were honest. I just didn't understand. You said some very weird things but that was you. It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. I thought it didn't.”

“But if I go Father…” he tore his gaze to the side but quickly brought it back to you. “I don’t know what he would do. Gods’ are a bit bitchy, you know?” He smiled half wry, half in irony.

You let out a sound in between a cry and a laugh. “That’s fine. We’ll work it out. We’ll — ”

You never got to complete your sentence. Like a novel that did not have an ending, you watched as, in the bright light of noon, Chanyeol was struck with a bolt of light so bright that you had to close your eyes for a second and throw your hands up blindly. The heat was scorching even from this distance. And when you opened your eyes as fast as you possibly could, you realized that the light was from him.

It was then that you understood everything.

Chanyeol was the sun. Not a part of it. Not a piece. It was his being. His core. His very sense of self.

But why did he look so terrified?

“What’s going on?” You screamed at him as he maniacally clawed at his skin like he was on fire. But the sun could not burn, could it?

“I do not know!” He looked at you and his terror became your own.

Something was wrong. Something was happening and you didn't know how to stop it. You wanted to hug him but when you made a move to him, he screamed raw bloody for you to not take a single step. You were in between a rock and a fiery place.

“You can’t come next to me, [y/n].” He was in pain. You felt in from the curl of your hair to the leather of your boots. “I can't control what’s going on. But I’m okay. I don’t know what’s wrong but I’ll be okay, yeah?”

Chanyeol was combusting. He was burning out right in front of you and he wanted you to stand still? Fuck that. Fuck everything. You loved him. You would do anything. You were going to hold him down to this world even if you had to give up your hands that you loved so much.

However, all of a sudden Chanyeol tilted his head and you swore you saw the moment he communicated with whoever was above because he looked furious for one second, and the very next he shot you a calming smile. Like you mattered. Like he was trying to placate you in all this.

You were running before you couldn't think about it. 

And your hand was reaching out to him with every breath you had and just as your fingers clutched the fabric of his blazing shirt, you felt the warmth he released close around you. It cradled you through your pain. It felt safe. It felt like you were dying. It felt like forever.

Instantly, there was a loud boom, a bang and then the hottest rush of air that blew past you like a caress.

Your palm was burned. His love burned. You were wailing at the world. You hated everything. You loved him so much. Your palm was bleeding. GODS, EVERYTHING HURT. Make it stop, you were begging. Please. I’d do anything Please. The pain was making you scream like a bitch.

You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to die. You wanted to be reborn. But the world did not give second chances. You were going to pry it out with your scorned hand and strangle your chance out. You were going to beat your destiny with a stick. You vowed it. As you cried out in pain, you promised that you would break every rule. You won't wait. You’ll fly.

Kyungsoo was the one to find you.

Passed out, dehydrated and bruised in more ways than one. But you were a phoenix that was born out of the ashes.

You knew a part of you was gone as Chanyeol was taken from you. Your emotions were all over the place. One minute you were unfeeling and the very next an overwhelming sense of rage inflamed your body. You wanted to burn the very ground you walked on. You rummaged through your room until you found the tiny piece of him you had left. His white gold headband. You made Kyungsoo tie it ‘round your head and you never took it off.

It did not help that your palm took longer than three weeks to heal. It was an ugly scar. But it reminded you of him so, when you slept at night, you gritted through the pain and the memories and held the palm close to your chest. Right over your heart. It was fitting.

And by the time your palm had healed enough, it felt like you’d aged a thousand years. Kyungsoo could not understand what was going on and you refused to talk. If you told him, he would only discourage you. And you would truly lose your mind if someone told you what you could and could not do.

But your friend was right there. He never left. Even when you were mean, he still hoped that one day he won't need to drop food outside of your bedroom door because you would not come downstairs. How where you supposed to sit at that table and not see the ghost of Chanyeol falling over the chair as he laughed like a bear?

Maybe someday you would get better. Today was not that day.

For the first time in ages, you walked into your workshop and inhaled. It was time to work.

You built and rebuilt your wings from scratch. The wooden ones never got off the ground, not even for a second. The metal one almost sawed off your arm completely but you never gave up. You were restless and you couldn’t sleep. When you slept you saw him and your hand burning. You were plagued by it. It hurt, so you did not do it anymore. Sleep only came when you were exhauseted.

The hybrid wings weren’t beautiful. A mismatch of wood and alloy. But when you jumped off the roof of the tiny shed at the back of the house. You flew. Or maybe the right word is floated. You floated for a good thirty seconds before you landed painfully on bloody knees.

“Fuck,” you spat.

Your knees hurt but it took your mind away from the present. You had to come up with something fast, You had to do something before you ran out of gas, before you burned out. 

Perhaps that is why from the dregs of your mind you remembered something your father had done when you were younger.

When you were nine, you stepped into your father’s workshop for the first time. It was hot as if the middle of the earth was right there in the basement. And when you walked in, after banal arguments about safety with your father, he let you watch him as he created the greatest thing known to man.

Your father had been creating wings.

He’d never completed it and you’d been so young that it didn’t matter to you that he never did. But now as you rush back down the steps into your basement, you wonder if maybe this is fate. Maybe fate wasn't something spontaneous but rather a series of unfortunate events that we only hoped ended in less pain.

You pushed open the back door within the basement that led to your father’s workshop. You hadn't set foot in here since he’d died. It smelled like him. You wondered if he was watching you right now. You wondered if he thought you were a bit too stupid.

It took a while to find it beneath the layers of dust and junk but when you found it, you sighed in relief. It wasn't made from metal or wood or even a combination from the two. But wax. The frame of the left-wing was nonexistent while the right-wing looked like it had melted. None of that registered and that was how it became your new project.

“You need to eat,” Kyungsoo said as he brought a plate of sandwiches out to you.

Days had passed since you’d started working on the wings and for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. Not happy but somewhere in between. You’d poured blood and sweat into molding the wax into the right frame and meticulously preserving the feathers.

You picked one of the sandwiches and bit into it. These days you hated working inside. “Thank you.”

“You'd tell me if you were doing something risky, right?” Kyungsoo eyed the wax suspiciously.

Shrugging, you stuffed the rest of the bread in your mouth. You couldn't give him the answer he wanted so you pretended not to hear. You knew he was angry and you knew it wasn't fair. But you were angrier. Kyungsoo didn't understand. You were going to fly. You had to. You fucking had to get up there.

It took longer than you wanted but when you were done, your wings were perfect.

They looked perfect and you just knew that it wasn't going to let you down. It wasn't going to break. Wax wasn't like wood after all. You were drunk on the feeling of sunshine. It felt like for the first time in months you could breathe. You did not wait for another day.

It was already the middle of Fall. The sun was out but it wouldn't be there for much longer. Sunset was fast approaching.

You climbed up the roof of the shed with the new set of wings attached tightly to your back. You wondered if Chanyeol was looking down at you right now. You wondered if he could see. You hoped he did. You stood on the ledge of the roof and let the wind build and rest before you took a breath.

You prayed and then you jumped.

And like in your dreams, you flew. And it was glorious. It was like the wings were your very arms. Your body — your invention — defied physics, defied the very aspects of anatomy. But you were flying through cloud nine at breakneck speed. You were gliding and nimbly twisting through a bright orange sky. It was so beautiful. You had tears in your eyes.

The wind whipped your face painfully as you pushed your wings up and up and then some more. You couldn't hear anything and to be quite honest, you could not see anything either.

You followed the blinding light in front of you like an addict. You wondered if the townsfolk down below could see you. You didn't care.

You kept flying, even when you got tired. Even when your arms begged you to stop because any more and they would break, you pushed. You pushed yourself until you entered a wave of encompassing heat that instantly reminded of you that day. You were so close. Your heart felt like a match in your chest and as the temperature rose, it struck and lit.

In your drunkenness, you swore you saw Chanyeol. He was right there and you were going to reach him. Tears were falling out of your eyes without pause. You’d been reborn not as a phoenix but as a river.

And just as your body felt the pressures of being burnt alive you suddenly felt nothing. Like you were nothing but a speck in the universe. You were nothing and everything at the same time. You were not sure how long you spent in the state but the next thing you knew, you were falling.

No, plummeting. You were being thrown back to earth in a ball of fire.

You were screaming. Your wings were on fire and… the wax was melting. You’d come so close and you still couldn't make it. Your dream was sifting through your empty hands. You couldn't believe it. You were falling so fast that soon enough all you saw around you was crisped air and shattered reality.

Your body was burned. Physically and mentally. Your soul was leaving your body and you knew that you won't survive this. Who could? You were going to die screaming.

It must have been a second before your body engraved itself into the dirt when you felt hot hands cradle your battered body. You were weak and you were tired but he was like a siren. He called and you answered. You fought and he appeared.

It must have been fate that you had been the first one he’d met. He was your bright and warm star.

“You idiot,” he cried as boiling tears landed like rain on your dried, desert-like face. “I was coming to you. I was coming. I was coming. I was coming.” He held you into his chest, injuries and all be damned, as he cried.

If you could smile you would but it hurt just to wheeze. “Because you love me?”

“More than anything. More than anyone.”

And you loved him back. Love was not guaranteed at all, you knew that, but he was the reflection of your soul. He had a part of you wrapped around his heart like a vice. You won't let go. You tied him ephemerally to this world and he connected you to the largest star of them all. You could feel his soul like it was a breathing thing.

“Then I go wherever you go.”

He pulled you away from his body and through your slitted eyes, you saw the most beautiful man. The man who wore the sun like a coat. The man who reminded you of gods and how weak mortals were next to them. You’d flown into the flames and he was here.

“No, I need you to understand.” Chanyeol’s lips were moving in a way that told you he was serious. But it dawned on you then that in his arms, the burns did not hurt. It was like licks on your skin. “You are the greatest star of my universe. You are all of it.”

You understood. “And I would fall again and again. It’s all or nothing with you, Chanyeol. Do you understand?”

Maybe he did because he hooked his face into your shoulder and let out a laugh. It was rusty. He hadn't laughed in ages but it felt right. His soul had fallen down to earth first, and he had come right after. He had been searching for you for a long time, for such a long time that he had forgotten. To him, you were like the vast space beyond the sun.

You’d flown to him, even if it killed you. Nothing else mattered after that.

“You. I came down for you. I was sent to you. I am sorry, so sorry, that it took me so long to reach back down.”

At first, you did not know what the hell he was talking about. Several minutes passed before you did. And that was when you grinned as tears poured from your eyes.

He finally knew.

a/n: ahh if you made it down here, thank you. im so happy you read this and i hope you enjoyed it, and yes i cried while i wrote this. i have been wanting to do this since i listened to Zayn’s 2018 Icarus Falls album. and i hope i actually did my imagination justice. pls dont hesitate to tell me what you think! :)

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2020 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

[archangeldraws]

Reunion- Part two

A King Ghidorah fanfiction

Doraut AU

The human crew watches in awe and shock, as all of Ghidorah's heads lean towards their ship and look closely at the woman standing on the railing. She stretches an arm out, placing her hand on the beast's snout and smiles, tears streaking her face. She didn't look scared. Happy even. It was as if seeing a mother being reunited with her lost child. The thought itself was just absurd. How could a human be so happy to get this close to Monster Zero? That thing killed so many people, tried to take over the world, controlled other Titans and ordered them to destroy everything in their path. He even tried to kill Godzilla and died at his hand. Then some insane rich maniacs used his leftover parts to built a robot, again to kill Godzilla and that thing came back to life! How could this strange woman, who they'd only know for a few months and didn't know about any of the things that happened in the last 10 years be so eager to meet this murderous being?!

King Ghidorah studies the little being in front of him, as if he'd never seen a human before. The fact he's just been standing there for minutes, staring down at them and hadn't attacked yet was a miracle in on itself. Usually, and everyone knew it, Ghidorah attacks on sight. Usually, there was no hesitation. But this time the dragon seems unsure on what to do. The middle head's tongue snakes out, tasting the air. It was as if the woman and the beast were talking, without using words. She had explained to them before, that she could communicate with Ghidorah via telepathy since she was a child. And it.... It used to be her pet. What a strange thought. How could this being have ever been someone's pet? It's been on this world, encased in ice for 20.000 years and she says she was Ghidorah's old master and came from the future, 1.000 years from now. This doesn't make ANY sense!

Someone screams as Monster Zero's tongue lashes forwards, wrapping around the woman and picking her up. For a second they think it's trying to swallow her and they raise their weapons, ready to shoot. But it doesn't. It just... turns around and casually walks back to the mountain it came from. It didn't attack them, just... Took the woman and left. That's.... weird. “Should.... Should we do something, Sir?” A soldier turns to his commander, waiting for orders. The man that was his superior shakes his head. “No. She asked us not to do anything if we aren't in danger. Even if it killed her, we are not to engage. She wanted this. Monarch's orders.” Everyone on board stood still, not daring to move just yet. No one has every gotten this close to Monster Zero and lived to tell the tale. It's behavior was very unusual. They have to report this. In their fear they didn't even notice the rumble that came from the left head. A low grumbling sound from deep within it's throat. Like a purr.

Ghidorah leaves the ship behind. Ni thought if thrashing it with a tail, but Ichi decided against it. “Leave it be.”, he told his brother. He moves back up the mountain, back into their cave. He lays down, the middle head bending down to carefully release the tiny being wrapped in his tongue and looks at her with his usual emotionless expression. San was shaking with excitement. He wanted to dash forward and headbutt the human. Like he used to as a Dorat. Some old habits are hard to kill. But he restrains himself. Because now his happy greeting would crush her to mush, if he did so. “Explain yourself. How are you here?” Ni squints his eyes at the woman, not sure if he should be happy or angry. He decided on angry. “How are you still alive? We thought you died a long time ago. If you've been alive this whole time, why didn't you come sooner?! WHY?!” Ni roars, angry and hurt. Eva sighs, collecting herself and stands up straight. “I know you're angry and confused. I will explain everything. Things are not as you think.” “HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT WE THINK?! YOU GAVE UP ON US! YOU ABANDONED US!!” “Ni, please. I didn't abandon you! Let me explain.” “EXCUSES!” “Brother, calm down! Let her talk. We'll decide what to do, after.” Ichi towers over Ni, looking down on his brother in a dominating manner. He's telling him to stay quiet. Ni huffs, seething with anger but he bends down submissively. For now.

After taking in a deep breath, Eva sits down on the ground. “Do you still remember the day everything changed? When they took you from me? It was horrible. I still remember the looks on your faces as my parents handed you over, just like that. They sold you. They didn't know what they wanted with you, but they didn't really ask either. All we knew was, that the government needed you to 'help mankind', but I didn't buy it. Why would they need Dorats to help mankind? Dorats were just pets, like cats or dogs. I didn't understand. I was just a child.... But I did promise I would come for you. And I kept my promise. Since that day I have been working hard to get you back. I studied hard in school, helped in charities and got in contact with activists. Anything that could have something to do with the government and Dorats. Over the years I managed to find my way to different kinds of people, until I ended up with a rebel group. We had some things in common. Like me they knew something was up, something bad. That our country's leaders were keeping secrets and doing things that were more than illegal. Like me... They had lost their Dorats. I figured out there was a pattern. All the Dorats that were taken had strong psychic abilities. So we collected more information, as discretely as we could. Some of them had connections. We found out that there was a secret lab, hidden down below Mount Fuji. We heard of terrible experiments going on there. That they were working on a biological weapon to take out Godzilla. That was their plan. They wanted to create a titan, one that was stronger than the king of the monsters, to take his place. A new king. One they could control. That's why they chose Dorats for their experiments. Because, unlike other animals, Dorats were a man made being, one that was more intelligent and easy to control through it's mind. Project: King Ghidorah.”

“How did you know we were still alive?” San snakes closer, looking sad. The information they were getting was very different to what they knew. Not that they knew much. The memories of their abuse was pushed back as far as possible, not wanting to remember what had been done to them. Then again, there were many blackouts in their memory.

“Like I said, the other rebels too, had lost their beloved Dorats. But the difference between them and you was, after some time, they had received their Dorats back. In urns....” she chuckles, though not in an amused way. “Those sick bastards. After their experiments failed, they burned the bodies and send their ashes back to their owners. So they could 'mourn' them. I never received yours. So I was clinging to the hope that you were still alive. Even years later. But.... There have been days I wished I would wake up to seeing three little urns standing on my dresser. Then you wouldn't be in pain anymore...” She coughs, rubbing some tears from her face. “I've been working with the rebel group secretly for about 2 years, taking on some Taekwan do classes, learning how to use a weapon, how to work computers... I was getting ready to come and get you. We managed to get some connections within the secret facilities. People who, like us, knew that this was wrong. And people who had changed their minds and sided with us. We snuck in. We thought we were prepared. And we were too proud. I lost many good friends that day. They either died or were taken.... I'm not proud of the things I've done. I left them behind and just kept on pushing forward. I was so determined on getting to you, I lost a bit of myself on the way... When I finally reached you... I didn't know what to think. You were no longer my three little boys, but instead.... A monster.”

Eva looks up to face Ghidorah once more, trying to read their faces. San looks sad. Ichi looks unmoved. But there was a glint in his eye. If he was feeling anything, he was hiding it very well. Ni... Ni always wore his anger on his sleeve. And now it wasn't any different. “Monster... Yes. Nothing we haven't heard before.” Ichi frowns a little. As if hearing that word come from her mouth actually hurt, for once. “We.... We don't remember any of this... You came for us? Why can't we remember seeing you?” San wore a strained look on his face, as if trying hard to remember something, searching his mind for anything. But there was nothing. “You can't remember because... You weren't there. Your body was, but your minds were.... trapped, or something. It was as if you were a zombie. I shouted your names. I touched you. I even kicked and punched you, just to get any kind of reaction! But there was nothing. Your eyes were so lifeless... When I found you... You were in some kind of underground enclosure. A prison, really. Chained down in every way possible, so you wouldn't be able to even move an inch. Not that you could anyway. When my touch and my voice couldn't reach you, I tried feeling for your minds. But they were just as empty as your eyes. But still, I knew you were still in there, somewhere. I could feel it! I tried to free you, releasing all those chains, but I didn't have enough time. Some of the scientists found me and attacked me. In the middle of our fight we somehow... activated something. I hadn't noticed it before, but they had managed to, I don't know how... Create a time portal. And that thing was big. Big enough for you to fit.” “A time portal? For what?” Ichi looks at her as if she was an alien, saying she was coming in peace. “That's the thing. They wanted you to kill Godzilla and take his place as the new alpha titan. But you weren't strong enough to take him on just yet. So they had the brilliant idea to send you back in time and kill him when he was younger and weaker. And then to use you to control all the titans and become the strongest power on the whole planet. But before they could get you ready, I destroyed their plans. In our struggle, the last of your restrains came lose and you were sucked into the portal.... Ichi, Ni, San... You were send back in time, 20.000 years from now. But we, you and I, were originally from the time 3025... We actually come from the future.”

It seems like those news actually shocked the golden demise, as Ghidorah sits down, taking all of this in. “Then.... How are YOU here?” Ni asks, looking tired from too much information. “I got sucked in as well. But the portal was unstable and kept changing its time settings and coordinates every few seconds. So I actually landed here a few months ago. We left at the same time, but now there is a time difference of 20.000 years between us. It's unbelievable that after so long, you are still alive! I almost gave up on finding you again. When they told me Godzilla destroyed you.... And how your brain was used for a robot... And how you came back to life. I-... I couldn't believe it, really. But here you are! And we can talk again! Our link is still there... I'm-.... I'm so happy to see you.” Eva chokes on her words, tears swelling up in her eyes again. “To hear your voices after all those years, it's like a dream. And I hope I never wake up from this!” “You... You're not scared of us?” San leans down, sniffing her. “I could never be scared of you.” “We could kill you, you know. We are no longer those Dorats you knew. We are no ones pet. We are KING Ghidorah!” Ichi says this, in a matter of facts. “I know... I know you could. And I came prepared. If you want me dead, you can kill me. I don't mind. I just wanted to see you, one last time.” Her voice is shaking. Not from fear, but from happiness. Happy to see them. King Ghidorah, Monster Zero, the golden demise, the one that is many. King Killer. Ichi, Ni and San. She sits before them, ready to receive death. She's happy, now that she got what she wanted. Seeing them, talking to them. Letting them know that her love for them was so strong, that she is willing to die at their claws if it makes them happy.

Ghidorah lies down on the ground, placing his three heads in front of the human before them. “Know this. If you leave us again, then we WILL kill you. Understood?” Eva looks up at Ichi. Even though he just threatened her, he didn't say it with as much malice as he normally would. He even smirked a little. “You better stay. Or WE will come find you this time!” Ni snarls, but the sound that came from him was more a purr than a growl. “We missed you.” San licked her carefully and purred even louder.

A few hours later, the ship was still there, the crew watched Ghidorah emerge from his cave again and approaching them. Did he kill her after all? Is he coming for them next? King Ghidorah growls at them, but the middle head reaches down once more. On his head? The woman. And she looks very much alive. She waves and shouts at them. “Thank you for helping me! I'll be staying here now. But maybe you can do me another favor? I'll be needing some necessities. Food, clothes, shelter and all that. You got a tent on there somewhere?”

What a strange request. A human, living among Kaiju? No human was ever allowed to step foot on this island. But this was good. With Eva living on Monster Island and with Ghidorah as her protector, they could study them even better. What's the cost of food, clothing and some electronics and everything she asks for in return for such valuable information? She even promised to help them study Ghidorah more, if he doesn't kill her. As long as they swear not to harm him in any way or use the information against him. So they hook her up with everything she needs. They built a new Monarch outpost near the island, nothing too big and send a small boat towards the island once a week to bring their new 'co-worker' everything she needs. At first she got a big tent that was placed inside the cave. Then Ghidorah allowed some humans to bring containers, to make a makeshift house inside his cave, so Eva could be warm during winter. But they were still cautious. They learned pretty quickly that Monster Zero only allows them near him as long as Eva was there as well. If she wasn't, he would revert back to his old behavior and attack any human vessel coming closer. But they can work with that. And the things they learned was important to them, to understand titans and help the world understand and live with them peacefully. Especially the weekly reports they received from Eva about what Ghidorah was up to, how he interacted with other titans, even Godzilla himself. Which they noticed, would apparently come and check up on the dragon. They learned that Godzilla seemed very surprised to find a human with Ghidorah. Eva also managed to snap some really interesting photos on that island. Of kaiju sub-species they haven't seen before and even selfies with Ghidorah AND Godzilla in the background. Even better when she send them photos of Rodan, who came to visit and Mothra as well. Knowing titans act so human like to visit each other and talk like friends was just... funny.

Read part 1 here- https://archangeldraws.tumblr.com/post/649687984452648960/reunion

(Eva is my human OC)

Do not repost my stuff

[haleths]

LotR/HP AU: Concerning the Dark Lord Sauron

In the days before the war Sauron was known as Archelaus Mairon, a Slytherin Hogwarts student who attended school in, say the late-1930s-to-40s? I don't have him well-thought-out, beyond him starting the First Wizarding War and some similarities to Voldy, bringing Isildur over to his side, and later converting Saruman, too. I don't know how to fit Gollum into this verse, either; we could go the House-elf route, but idk, he's definitely not Dobby, and the plight of house elves is a tricky thing to tackle, especially since it wasn't handled well in the books.

At least the One Ring is pretty easy to place: it's Sauron's Horcrux (though there might be others). He hid it long ago, with lots of hexes and protective charms to prevent it from being easily destroyed, and Bilbo found it during a trip to Romania with the Oakenshields, one that involved a very volatile dragon and its hoard, and kept it as his lucky invisibility ring. Frodo doesn't receive the Ring until his third year, though, when Bilbo gifts it to him, just in case he needs powerful cloaking to get out of a pinch. After hearing from Gandalf what happened to dear old Balin, and the famed Glorfindel, and Radagast, and the Eye of Sauron images popping up all over the school, better to be safe than sorry.

Side note on Balin and Glorfindel, and their roles as past DADA profs: they loosely take the roles of Quirrell and Lockhart, with Balin being possessed by Sauron and returning to Hogwarts after a sabbatical to take on DADA because they lost another prof (again), and Balin was a member of the original company when the Ring went missing from the hoard, so Sauron likely assumed Balin knew where it was (he didn't). And to give Balin credit, he resisted Sauron for a long time, and the first year went by without incident, but he left at the end of the spring term citing health problems. Glorfindel was then brought on but a lot of students were caught up in his celebrity, and they didn't really get much done in terms of actual teaching (Halbarad was furious at Gandalf for this hiring choice; in Gandalf's defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time). Little did they know that Balin, now being fully controlled by Sauron, snuck back into Hogwarts and decided to open the Chamber of Secrets and leave behind those little eye symbols everywhere, and the Basilisk was nearly unleashed a second time to chomp down on Muggle-borns. Glorfindel and Radagast got involved, and poor Balin and Glorfindel were killed in the process, but not before Glorfindel heroically slew the Basilisk. Their bodies were later found by the faculty and poor, poor Gimli didn't take losing his cousin well, but Radagast had disappeared. The faculty covered up Balin's involvement and refused to comment on Radagast's disappearance, and everyone was very uneasy going into the new school year.

(okayyy how about we just pretend this hasn't been sat in my inbox for two whole months... i'm so sorry anon, this au is so good and even if i don't have anything to add it should at least be posted!!!)

that being said maybe i do have some thoughts - the sauron/voldemort parallel is kinda a given and i love it, but i'm wondering what that makes melkor then? salazar slytherin himself?! anddd my brain instinctively saw saruman taking grindelwald's role, if were thinking of him as an old friend of gandalf's who ends up taking a different path...

but no oh please god noooo, we CANNOT make gollum a house-elf wsdghsx i don't know where his correct place is in this au but not there, anywhere but there!! also the comparison between glorfindel and lockhart absolutely sent me i'm wheezingg oh my god 😂😂

[whump-town]

High School AU: Emily tossing a rope out her window for Hotch to climb up so she can clean him up after his father’s been drinking

Warnings for abuse and violent language

The first time Emily Prentiss met the Hotchners she was struck by the dark features of the eldest boy. A sharp jawline accented by the purpling bruise on his cheek. Her eyes never leave him as his mother makes a sheepish but ultimately flat lie on his behalf-- or rather, his father’s. 

The youngest shows none of the same hawk like features as his elder brother. Aaron and Sean, she learns their names to be, don’t seem to have a lot in common at all. On the surface, that is. Her mother wraps an arm around her shoulder as she introduces them both, smiling as she places that Aaron is only a year ahead of Emily in school. They might make good friends. 

Emily sincerely doubts this. 

It turns out she’s cruelly mistaken.

“Would you get your big ass--” she’s found herself in an odd tangle of arms and torso. The two of them gripping one another tightly as he teeters on the edge of her window seal. “Why are you so long?!” He falls through the clearing with a huff, Emily landing on the bottom of their dog pile.

He rolls off of her a second later-- smelling of the woods and damp clothing. His breathing is disrupted by pants. Whether it be from the pain of injuries she’s yet to take stock of or from running through the dense woods this late at night. True to his nature, always the perfect gentleman, he’s the first to sit up offering her not only his hand in aid but an apology.

She takes his hand and rises to her own feet. Over the course of the last few months, she’s learned her fair share about this small town in Virginia. The humidity, on the right day, is a punch to the face. The rain, which should cool things off, makes this worse. Unless, of course, the rain brings showers. The kind that do not relent for the upwards of a week, perhaps more. 

They are currently in the midst of a never ending shower. Thunder shakes the earth and strikes fear in her heart as it cracks across the sky. Aaron never seems to be bothered by these noises. If anything, he loves the rain and yearns for it when it’s gone.  Which explains why his already ill fitting clothes are twisted on his long body, dripping water on her floor.

They do this enough that all she needs to do is step to her dresser.

“Are you staying the night,” she asks, pulling open her sock drawer and retrieving the men’s pajama bottoms out from under a layer of bras. The only place she’s can be certain her mother won’t go snooping. She tosses them on her bed and waits for his reply.

He’s too busy fumbling to get himself out his wet jeans. 

That’s the difference in their families and even just the two of them. 

Where Aaron is a soft-spoken, easily flustered straight A student, Emily is a rebel on the mend. She wears fishnets and skirts that push the dress code. A parallel to Aaron’s old army green jacket with the large breast pocket where he keeps the cigarettes they smoke on her roof. He pushes her to be a better person and a better student and she helps him hide the bruises. 

Speaking of, she stands as she sees a nasty abrasion on his back. He’s turned away from her, struggling to get his wet shoe laces untied. When her hands meet his cold flesh they both shiver. She flinches when he jerks, catching her wrist in his much larger hand. 

There’s a flash of something in his eyes, something she doesn’t recognize, before he releases her hand just as quickly as he’d caught it. She watches as he clenches his fist, forcing the knuckles white with the force. “Sorry,” he rasps.

She pulls her wrist to her chest. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you,” she excuses. “It was my fault.” She knows better than to do something like that. He has a very short list of unspoken rules: no sneaking up, no announced touches, don’t talk about the nightmares, and never mention the bruises. 

He rises to his feet, cheeks burning as he finally steps out of his jeans and stands in nothing but an old pair of blue boxers. Emily knows better than to look for too long. She’s not certain if it’s the scars that mark most of his body or just the self-imagery problems that all teens have but he doesn’t like to be looked at. 

No matter how many times she reassures him that he’s a very attractive man.

“He’s dying,” Aaron finally announces after a baited moment.

Emily looks up from her lap and finds him sitting on the edge of her bed, the pajama pants on. His chest is bare, allowing her the chance to clean him up some. But his comment has distracted her. Her mind takes a moment to process exactly what he means. 

When Emily settles on the bed beside him, her first-aid kit in hand, he’s crying. She’d given up a long time ago trying to understand what emotions she should feel towards his father-- the man accused of hurting her best friend. She also understands that she’ll never know how to feel about him because Aaron doesn’t know how he feels. 

She reaches up and cups the back of his head, scooting closer so she can pull his bigger frame to hers. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

He sobs into her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her. 

She’d like to pretend this the first time she’s held him together after his father’s gotten a hold of him but that’s simply not true. Tonight, the bruises on his body can’t be fixed chain smoking on the roof. How can it? His father is dying. Where does that leave Aaron? A senior in high school, meant to leave in three months for college, and leave behind a dying father, a helpless mother, and a nine-year-old Sean. 

“I hate him,” Aaron gasps but she knows him too well. He’s never hated his father, not even at his lowest. “I’ll be glad when he dies,” but there is no conviction in his words. There can’t be, not at the rate tears pour down his eyes. “He’s a bastard. I hate him.”

She rubs his back, nodding her understanding as he works through his grief. 

“Emily?”

She hums.

“I’m supposed to hate him, aren’t I?” 

The Aaron she knows is the strongest person she’s ever met. He’s brave and smart. Calculus may not come to him easily but his emotional intelligence is scary. He can call a bluff from anyone and it makes him crazy good at poker. Mostly, Aaron is a kind hearted softy. He showers his baby brother in gifts whenever he can afford it and remembers every little thing about her no matter how silly. 

Because he’s loving and caring and kind. He’s nothing like his father.

“Aaron,” she has no idea what he’s supposed to feel. Her own father is distant and the only person she’s known who died was her grandfather when she was ten. “No one can tell you how to feel. There is no right answer.”

This seems to sober him and he pulls himself back away from her. He curls himself forward, hunching over. 

She patches him up. 

The bruises will have to wait for tomorrow but for now she can apply a butterfly bandage to his bleeding eyebrow. If she sneaks downstairs she can get him some ice for his lip but she redirects her energy to cleaning the cut on his side. She’s not sure what it came from. The wound is jaggard and it looks like some dirt got into it, so if she had to guess he was pushed in the driveway. Rocks leaving this wound. 

She places a bandaid over it and no matter how much she has to dig into the wound he does not flinch. 

He never flinches. 

Placing the first aid kit back under her bed, she cuts the lights out. Pulling the comforter back she takes his hand and guides him under the covers. 

“He--” his voice has lowered to a whisper. His body shakes as much as his voice. “He put a knife to my throat once,” he tells her. The darkness has provided him a cover and unable to see her reactions he feels safe to tell her the truth. “Told my mother he was going to slit my throat in front of her so that she would have to watch as--” he swallows thickly. 

Emily presses her face into his side, squeezing his hand.

“She didn’t do anything,” Aaron’s hot tears slide over his face. “She never did anything.” But that’s not true. When Emily wasn’t here she used to hold him. In the long hours after the booze knocked his father out, his mother would climb the stairs to his room with whatever food his father wouldn’t notice was missing. She’d patch up the worst of the bruises and hold him into the early hours of the morning.

Emily rubs her thumb over his knuckles. “She loves you,” she reassures him. “He does too, in a sick twisted way.” The words are forced and they both know it. She can’t be bothered to lie to him right now. Not while her mind is tainted with the sight of his dead body. Her best friend… dead.

“I don’t think…” he feels a deep pang in his chest. His heart is aching. “I don’t think they ever did,” he admits. “Not really, not the right way.”

Emily sits up and presses a kiss to his cheek. She cups his cheek in her hand, squinting in the dark to see his eyes. “Sean loves you,” she tells him firmly. This they both know to be true. Sean worships the ground on which Aaron walks. After a moment she adds, “I love you.”

Neither are sure of the full depth of which she means the statement but that doesn’t matter.

Aaron nods his understanding and she settles back down beside him. He stares at the ceiling, her head on his shoulder. 

Too long passes before he hesitantly asks, “Emily?” Her breathing has evened out, she’s asleep. He squeezes her hand, their fingers still interlocked. “I love you too.”

Contrary to what both teens thing. Elizabeth is very aware of the rope hanging out of her fifteen-year-olds window. The horrid contraption the only way Emily could think to get that Hotchner boy from down the street up into their house. Never mind their perfectly good front door. 

In her daughter’s doorway, Elizabeth opens the door to a sight that has greeted her many times over the course of the last year. The teens are asleep, Aaron under the covers while Emily lays atop them, her head rests on his shoulder. He still has enough skin exposed for her to see the latest damage his father has done to him. 

With any luck, Emily will help him down the rope in the morning and he’ll knock on the front door. Elizabeth will demand he stay for breakfast and he’ll sheepishly comply. That’s the least she can do for him. He’ll hide here for the day and at night fall, Elizabeth will hear Emily’s soft sobs as Aaron makes the long walk back to his own home. 

To a condemned beating. 

Maybe, he’ll be back in the morning or next week but  he will be back and Emily will be waiting. 

A lifetime from now she’ll walk into his office and for a moment they’ll be these kids again. He’ll be reeling with loss, shaky but still that boy from Virginia who likes to stand in the rain. She’ll have a box of her belongings and take his deliberate incorrect recalling of her alma mater as an insult because she’s still the girl from all over the world who's too loud for her own good.

He’ll risk his career for her and she’ll hold his hand as the world caves in around him. 

They’ll always be the kids that Elizabeth sees right now. So close, yet worlds apart. Fighters.

[champagne-bucky]

The Princess & the Stable Boy

Summary: Steve loves you. You don’t. He has a way of changing that. With a little help from Loki, anything is possible.

Warnings: Royal AU, dark!Steve x Reader, loss of virginity, somnophilia, non-con smut

Notes: haaaaaa.... okay so I’m VERY late to this challenge, but I still wanted to do it because I already had my idea ready. This challenge was by @the-soulofdevil​ and I chose to do Steve and a Royal AU. I hope I did it justice and I’m so so sooooo sorry @the-soulofdevil​ for taking extremely long. I really hope you enjoy it!!!

“So this is love, mmmhmm, so this is love…”

Steve watched quietly from a stall he was tending to as you sang. You had such a beautiful voice and Steve loved hearing anything that came out of your mouth. He remembers the first day your father brought you here, so young, ambitious, and had a heart for animals.

You had begged your father for months to teach you how to ride a horse. You admired how graceful and elegant they looked while trotting around in the open fields. Plus, your father and his men always rode those majestic beings and you couldn’t help but envy how they always got to do the fun things you couldn’t.

Which brings Steve to today. It had taken years and years of practice, but you finally managed how to properly ride and groom a horse. Steve had trained you himself, much like his father did him. Over time, he got lost in the sweet smell of your perfume and your soft to the touch skin. Steve had been completely enamored by you from the first day he met you. The only problem was you didn’t notice him.

Well, you did, obviously because he had taught you how to properly ride. You just didn’t notice him the way that he noticed you. Steve was just a servant to you and nothing more. You didn’t treat him badly, but you regarded him more as a teacher than a friend.

“What’s got you all happy?” You jumped back and Steve snuck around behind you. He always had a habit of sneaking up on people.

“Oh nothing, father just told me that he’s planning on throwing another ball, that’s all,” Steve bit back his anger.

Your father had been throwing parties every so often to get you to meet somebody. It bothered Steve that your father was trying so hard to get you to find someone. He was so eager to marry you off but knew that he couldn’t arrange a marriage for you.

Long ago, your ancestors had made it a rule that no younger child should be married off unless if was with a spouse of their choice. Seeing as you had an older sister that was married off, and happily at that, your father was not allowed to intervene.

Steve thought that this rule was pretty great, for him. On the other hand, you had expressed your disinterest in Steve from the moment you found out he liked you.

You weren’t stupid, you knew Steve had liked you for quite some time, but he wasn’t taking any hints. Every time he made an advance, you would push him away. He seemed to respect that, but who knows for how long.

“So, uh, I guess I’ll be going. I’ll be meeting you in a few days, yes?” Steve nodded as he excused your departure.

“Poor boy,” Steve jumped back, “stupid, stupid, boy,” Steve huffed as the groundskeeper, Loki, came out of the shadows.

“Can I help you?” Steve was in no mood to talk to the snarky groundskeeper.

“No, but I can help you,” Steve looked at the diabolical man confused.

“The princess, you seek her, yes?” Steve replied a quiet ‘yes’.

“I can help you get what you want.”

“Oh, really? I find that too good to be true,” Steve scoffed at the man.

“If it’s the girl’s heart you want, then go after it,” Loki walked around the stable boy.

“What do you mean? I can’t go to the ball, I wasn’t invited,” Loki chuckled.

“No, no you weren’t, but I can sneak you in,” Steve was listening now.

“Clean yourself up and meet me at the west wing of the castle by the old garden. Come alone and do not tell anyone where you are going,” before Steve could muster a response Loki stalked off.

__

Steve managed to bathe and find some of the nicest clothes that he owned. He moved fast and silently so that no guards would be able to see him lurking by the castle at this hour. Only the royal family, royal visitors, and castle servants were allowed in.

“You’re late,” Loki replied as he emerged from a dark corner of the gardens.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not exactly like you gave me a time limit to go off of,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Now how am I getting in?” Loki looked him up and down with a look of disgust.

“Oh, you’re not going in that travesty are you?” Steve huffed at Loki’s rude tone.

“Look, this is the nicest stuff that I own. God, I knew I was wasting my time listening to you,” Steve lost all hope of getting into the ball and wooing you. He began to turn around and head home, but not until Loki stopped him. Steve turned around as the disappointed look on his face transformed into a look of curiosity.

Loki’s outfit hand changed from simple rags into a sleek black pants suit with a flattering cloak. In this cloak, he dipped his pale hand in and brought out a matching sleek black wand. He waved it around a few times until it lit up an immaculate green color. Steve scrunched his brows together in confusion.

“Now that I’m out of my horrid outfit, let’s work on yours,” Loki lifted his wand and started to aim it at Steve.

“What the- you’re crazy. I’m getting out of here,” Steve tried to run as the green glow chased him through the old garden. He was no match for the fast ball of light, as it captured him and wrapped him up.

The green light soon faded and it left in its place an outfit fit for the king himself. A fine tailored suit made of the finest of materials. Golden buttons had lined the front and his rough, calloused hands were covered with soft, white gloves. He looked like a prince.

“You have until dawn to make that girl yours. Don’t screw it up,” Loki tucked his wand back into his cloak and began to stalk off.

Steve looked down again at his magnificent suit. All this for him? There has to be some sort of payment for this right? Everyone knows that magic has a price.

“Why do you want to help me so bad?” Steve yelled before Loki walked away.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a happy ending,” and Loki disappeared into the night.

Before Steve could ask anything else Loki was gone. It was now up to him to find the girl of his dreams and make her his before dawn.

__

It was ridiculously easy to sneak into this ball. Thanks to Steve’s new look, the knights guarding the doors didn’t take a second glance at the stable boy turned imposter prince. He walked right into the dance hall and began to search high and low for you. It didn’t take too long.

There you were, sitting on a throne right next to your father as you watched the guests dance and drink the night away. You couldn’t have been more bored if it weren’t for the music picking up its pace every so often. A bunch of eligible suitors (no doubt hand picked by your father) had come up to you to ask for a dance, but you politely sent everyone one of them away.  You really didn’t have this much interest in the glamorous side of things that came with being a royal. No, you craved simplicity and even normalcy. Just once it would be nice to not be called ‘princess’ or ‘king’s daughter’.

Having enough of the ball, you tried to slink your way out of the room, but not before a gloved hand caught the sleeve of your dress.

“Princess, may I have this dance?” You looked at the suitor and immediately recognized who it was. How did he get in here?

“Steve?” You were in disbelief. If anyone were to have found out that he snuck in he would be thrown in with the rest if the prisoners.

“I’ve been searching for you all night, my lady. Please do me the honor of just one dance.”

Part of you wanted to run away and call the guards. It was bad enough that Steve was down your neck constantly when you both went riding, now it’s gone too far. However, if you made a scene your father would surely take the matters into his own hands. He loved his children and would kill for them if the moment called for it. God, you didn’t want to be responsible for Steve’s murder, all he was looking to do was have one dance with you.

“Okay fine, but only one dance then you have to leave before my father sees you here,” you grabbed his hand and made sure to stay out of your father’s line of sight.

__

One dance turned into two, then two turned into five. It was safe to say that you actually did enjoy your small time with Steve. He was light on his feet and swayed through the ballroom like he’s done this a million times before.

The night was wearing thin as people began to leave. Your father would come looking for you as soon as he notices you’re nowhere in the ballroom to be found. You and Steve had danced your way out of the castle and onto the large balcony.

“I have to go now, Steve,” you murmured into his broad shoulder.

“You said that many dances ago,” he smiled as he held you closer. Finally, he was getting what he wanted.

“I mean it now,” you pulled away, “my father will be looking for me,” Steve frowned as you started to pull away.

“I’ll let you go, but just one more thing,” it was now or never.

You gasped as you dodged Steve’s kiss out of the way. He didn’t think that this was building up to something was it? You were just trying to appease him so you wouldn't have needed to make a scene earlier.

“Steve, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I was just being friendly to you that’s all,” Steve’s face looked as if it had lost all hope.

His true love, his one true love, didn’t reciprocate.

“I did all of this for you! What are you trying to say? After all I did for you you can’t show me some respect!” Steve started to get angry, you didn’t like it.

“Steve, I’m sorry,” before he could do anything worse, you took off in a sprint.

Steve tried to run after you. He almost caught you, but you were smart and started yelling for the guards. He knew something terrible would happen to him if he stayed any longer, so he began to flee.

He heard the heavy footfalls of guards running to check on you. Your guilty conscience prohibited you from saying anything about Steve and his advances. Instead, you made up a lie to them saying that you felt pains in your stomach and needed to be carried back to your room.

Steve ran back the way that he came in. No guards were in sight as it seemed they were either rushing to your aid or getting your family to alert them on what had happened. He was dead, he thought. You were going to see to it that he’d be murdered before dawn.

He thought the plan was full proof, he thought it was going to work. That would fall for him and get married and live happily ever after, but no. Happy endings didn’t happen by the grace of God. No, Steve needed to take matters into his own hands.

Red in the face and out of breath, Steve approached the tiny village of where he and the other servants slept. Quietly, he made his way to the small hut where Loki lived. He would be asleep by now anyways.

He sauntered in without a peep and began to look around. He needs to find that wand.

__

It took a lot of stealth and breath holding, but Steve managed to achieve his goal. He found the wand placed securely under the floorboards after an uneven floorboard gave it away. Loki should’ve hidden it better if he wanted to keep his secret life still secret.

The night was still and there was not a soul in sight. Steve had managed to get back to the old garden undetected and slip past some guards. He was still in his suit and gloves, so it made it look as if he was just another royal staying the night.

He didn’t know where your room was per se, but after badgering a few maids that were still up and about they pointed him in the right direction. How was he going to manage to persuade the guards outside your door to let him in? Well, he wasn’t. There was no way in hell they would let anyone disturb the princess’s sleep. Steve has to act fast.

Steve found another room that seemed vacant. The doors were unlocked and they led out onto a small balcony. If he were just really careful, he could slink his way to your room. God, he hopes he doesn’t fall.

__

Steve got to your balcony and pushed open the doors. Steve patted himself on the back for the great success. There were no locks on them as who would ever think to put a lock on doors so high up in a castle.

He took a deep breath and walked over to you. There you were, in a peaceful sleep, desperate to probably forget about the tragedy that took place a few hours prior. Steve walked closed to you and bent down. His breath fanning your face as he brushed his hands through some stay locks of hair. Your breathing became lighter and your movements grew frequent. You were waking up, but Steve didn’t care, he had a plan in motion.

Your eyes fluttered open as your sleep was disturbed. It took you a minute to decipher the blurry figure in front of you. Steve? Your heart rate increased as you tried to sit up and scream. Before you could he covered your mouth and pushed you back down into the plush blankets.

“Shh, my lady, it’s okay. I’ll make this all go away, you’ll see,” you began to cry as Steve pulled Loki’s wand out from the inside of his coat.

You eyed the wand in fear, what were his plans? He held you down with one hand, but you were still flailing about. He tsked at you a few times before he tapped the wand. It started to glow a haunting hue and you cried out more.

“Rest easy, princess, it’ll all be over soon,” Steve waved the wand in front of your face a few times and you felt your eyes getting heavy with sleep. Steve removed his hand from your mouth and you began to whimper and beg.

“Please, Steve, no,” were your last words before you went to sleep.

__

This was it. Showtime. Steve was finally alone with you, something he had been dreaming about since the first day he fell in love with you.

“What to do, what to do,” Steve took the sheets off of your body and admired your figure. A simple nightgown, so sheer because of the climate, but so revealing.

He admired the outlines of your breasts, your nipples peeking out. The way the gown rode up a bit so it was at the top of your thighs. Your arms bare and hair all over the pillow. Immaculate.

Steve felt himself straining against his suit pants as he tried to palm himself to relieve some of the pressure. He finally got what he wanted.

He leaned in and got his kiss first. Your lips are so sweet and soft, he could do this all day. Then he began to touch you with his big hands. Steve touched your hair, your cheeks, traced your lips, brought down the straps around your shoulders. He kissed both shoulders and began to slide the gown down.

Your breasts were more than perfect. So soft and supple that he had to put his mouth around one while his fingers played with the other. They got hard within a matter of seconds. Steve wished you were awake so that he could hear your sweet sounds. This was everything he imagined it could be.

He kissed down your valley and took the gown with him. He made his way to your belly button and kissed above it. Maybe next time he does this that part will be swollen with his child. The thought of that made him get harder. It was getting hot in that little room, Steve began to rid himself of his clothes before he got any further.

Now he was naked in the pale moonlight with you under him, just a pesky piece of fabric in the way. He yanked it completely off out of impatience. He didn’t know how long this moment would last so he needed to make quick work of it.

You looked even more beautiful than you did with clothing on. Steve moaned at the sight of your body. He moaned at the sight of you all bare and compliant to him.

“Oh honey, I wish you could see us right now,” he leaned down and spread your legs apart. You were dry, but Steve was going to take care of that.

He used his skillful tongue and fingers to open you up and get you ready. He kept checking to make sure you weren’t waking up, but it looked like it wouldn't be anytime soon. However, he had to be fast just in case someone came in.

Once he was sure you were wet enough, Steve gave himself a few pumps to his cock and guided himself in. It was so warm, so wet, so tight, it felt like heaven. He pushed himself in more and more, but had to stop short. A little barrier was in his way.

“You saved this for me didn’t you, my lady,” Steve smirked and pushed through breaking the symbol of innocence.

He thrusted in at a slightly fast pace. Steve had been deprived and this is just what he needed. He wishes you were awake. Steve could just imagine those lewd moans coming from your mouth, just begging you to move faster.

“Don’t worry, honey, next time I’ll make sure you cum, but right now we gotta take care of me,” Steve bit his lip from crying out.

He grabbed your hips he hovered over you. Smashing his face into your breasts he went faster and faster until he couldn’t take it anymore. Steve came deep inside of you, no doubt that he might’ve given you a child, but he knew how to take care of that later.

Steve removed himself from you as he watched his cum drip out of your tight little hole, some blood mixed in it as well. He quickly got dressed and put the nightgown back on you as well as the sheets. He had much to prepare for in the coming days.

__

The king has been outraged lately. Rumors have been spreading around the village as to why. Only Steve knew the cause of the outrage, but never spoke about it.

He hadn’t seen you again since that night. He imagines that the maids had found the blood on your sheets and began to ask questions. Come to think of it, no one has seen you outside of the castle since the night of the ball. Steve guessed that he was out of the clear since no one had come to collect him for the crime he committed.

A crime of passion, Steve would think to himself.

Loki had not mentioned anything to him about the wand either. Steve made sure to place it back where it came from when he ran back home after that night. Loki didn’t even press him for details about the ball. Just a simple “how was it?” and that was the end of that topic.

Days had gone by and then weeks without seeing you. Usually if you couldn’t attend riding lessons someone would’ve reached out to Steve to let him know, but there was no word from anyone. Around this time is when Loki decided to act suspicious.

“The princess seemed to have stopped her lessons,” he nonchalantly said to Steve.

“Maybe she’s just sick and no one thought to tell us. I’m sure the princess will return soon,” Steve tried to end the conversation.

“I heard they’re on a manhunt looking for the coward that took her virtue,” Steve faltered, but kept his composure.

“Rumors are rumors, Loki. Don’t believe everything you hear,” Steve was starting to sweat.

“I heard from one of the chambermaids that when she finally woke, there was blood on the sheets. The physician examined her and found that she had been taken. She won’t give up any names, so her father is combing through all the guards and servants,” Loki knows, Steve thought.

“Has anyone come forward?”

“Not that we know of. Everyone is too afraid of what the king might do,” Steve shuddered.

“It happened the night of the ball. The princess was dancing with a man before she had to go. It must’ve been a guest from the party,” Loki kept on talking as Steve tugged his collar.

“Poor soul, if he just were to come forward he can accept his fate a lot faster,” Loki turned to Steve.

“The king is offering a reward you know? Anyone who knows any information will be given a healthy sum of money for compliance. You know what I would do if I had that money, Steve,” Steve shook his head.

“I could make the punishment a lot less worse for you,” he knew.

“H-How did-”

“Oh I’m not an idiot. I heard you that night poking around. You’re not exactly a light foot are you?”

“Are you going to turn me in?” That was it, no more true love.

“I have a proposition for you. I turn you in and I change the king's mind,” Steve was confused.

“What?”

“I turn you in, I get my reward money, before the king has your head on a plate I wave my wand and the girl is yours forever,” Loki’s eyes darkened.

“Why would you help me?”

“For years I’ve been stuck here. I helped the royal advisor out more times than I could count. I was always promised a promotion, a chance to get out of this village, but no. I’ve been screwed over more times than I could count. I want my revenge. I want my happy ending,” Loki looked almost vicious.

“And in return, I get my princess?” Loki responded with a ‘yes’.

“You get your princess and you’ll be prince. I get to move on up the ranks with you. Then it’s king and queen for the both of you. I help you and you help me.”

“And if I don’t want to come forward against my own will?”

“Then I’m sure the king will love to add a severed head to his mantle,” Steve gulped.

“So, what do you say?” Loki stared him down with his darkening eyes.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

__

“My lady, the king has called for you,” you arose from your chair and made your way down to the throne room.

It had been nearly a month since the incident had occurred. You think you know who’s responsible, but you have no proof besides the blood on your sheets. Steve must’ve done something to you, or maybe it was a guard? The night was all fuzzy, but you remembered Steve being there at one point, trying to kiss you during the ball.

“Daughter, please stand by me,” you entered the room and saw the man you feared the most, and next to him was the groundskeeper, Loki.

“Yes, father,” your father grabbed your hand and walked you towards Steve.

“Daughter, why didn’t you tell me you were involved with Sir Steven,” you were confused. The two of you were never involved.

“Father I-”

“We explained everything to him, my lady. There’s no need to keep secrets,” Steve grabbed your hands and gave you a looked that dared you to challenge him.

“While I am glad of your impending union, I do express my disappointment. Ladies are supposed to keep their virtue until the wedding night,” this couldn’t be happening could it?

“I understand, your royal highness, but life had a way of getting in the middle,” Steve had pressed his front against your back now.

Your father chuckled, “You don’t need to explain anything to me, son. I’m glad we all could work this out. Y/N, I’ll send over the bishop to go over the union. We need to marry you two as soon as possible!”

Your father walked away with Loki by his side. You tried to break away from Steve’s grip, but he held you in tight. He kissed your cheek as tears started to fall.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because, my lady, we were always meant to be together. You just had yet to see,” he put a hand over your abdomen.

“I can’t wait till our wedding night, can’t you? Can’t wait for you to see what you’ve missed out on,” Steve kissed your cheek again as you cried out.

So this is love, mmmhmmm.

[rhetoricalrogue]

Fiction Type: Fanfiction Fandom: Dragon Age Prompt: "You have no proof"

Continuing @fictober-event with the AU of the AU of the AU @alittlestarling and I are up to our eyebrows in, this time focusing on my son Vincent.

Running and fighting. Fighting and running. Catch a few fitful hours of unrestful sleep, then repeat. It seemed that was all Vincent had been doing these past few months. First, there was the running and fighting that had been expected of him when he had been conscripted into Empress Celene’s army, then the running when a templar on their side had turned on their unit – Vincent was still healing from the many arrow wounds he’d received when the smite had hit him from behind, the barrier he had put up to protect the solders on their side crashing down at the worst possible moment – and then running from where he had dragged himself, almost near death, to heal and recover back to his side of the army out of fear that they would think he had abandoned his post and hunt him down to drag him back or worse, give him the Brand and use him as an example of battlemages who thought they could take advantage of chaos on the battlefield to make a run from the Circle.

There had been a brief respite from the fighting as he traveled back east, the days of interrogation he’d undergone to prove that he spoke the truth about what had happened that day finally paying off. Vincent knew that his noble birth was one of the main reasons he had been allowed to return to Ostwick, injured in the line of duty – if conscription into a war not of his making nor even in his homeland could ever be called duty – and he wasn’t going to argue with his commanding officers once they signed the paperwork for his release back to the Circle. He’d set a hard pace from the Exalted Plains to Jader, worry that word of his untimely death – once they couldn’t find a body, the army had been quick to declare him killed in action – had already reached those he cared for.

Maker, if Roz ever thought he was dead, it would gut him to think of putting her through unnecessary grief and agony, no matter how brief.

Travel back home was on a decent pace, then he heard word of a contingent of mages traveling to Haven, which was decidedly closer than boarding a ship to sail from Jader back home. Vincent’s mind was made up when he heard that there were mages from Ostwick in the company and joining up with them was far more preferable than sailing across the Waking Sea.

Vincent and boats went together just as well as oil and water.

And then the unthinkable happened. He hadn’t even been anywhere close to Haven when word got out of the explosion, rumors quick to jump to the conclusion that mages had been at the root of the calamity and had taken a page out of the apostate from Kirkwall a year or so ago and blown up the Divine to enact change. Vincent was fortunate that his physical build wasn’t what one stereotypically thought of when they pictured a mage, and he used that to his advantage to flee. Templars were suddenly everywhere, killing on sight. Whatever brief rest he had from running and fighting was well over, and Vincent found himself hiding among pockets of mages similarly running for their lives in the wilds of Ferelden. He lost count of the days, catching sleep when he could and helping as many mages as possible while looking out for himself. It was selfish and he would feel guilty later but running, even if running meant leaving people behind, was the only way that he would possibly ever make it back home again.

Back home, and back to Rosalind. The image of her was seared into his mind and it was one bright thing he had to cling to. He would be damned if he had survived everything that had been thrown at him so far only to succumb to a templar’s blade before he could see her in person again.

Who knew how many days later, Vincent found himself close to Redcliffe. There were rumors that the village was a safe haven for mages everywhere and it was the closest thing to hope that he’d felt since leaving Orlais. He didn’t know how much further it was, but there were abandoned crofter’s cottages dotting the landscape that he dared to take shelter in. He couldn’t risk lighting fires in the hearth, but fitfully sleeping with a roof over his head instead of out in the open was a welcome relief.

And then the demons came. The most direct route to Redcliffe was cut off and Vincent found himself running from shrieking monsters that he had only encountered during his Harrowing. The only positive was that the demons didn’t discriminate between mage, templar, or regular civilian, so if he were really looking to put a positive spin on an otherwise absolute shitshow, he told himself that there were fewer templars trying to kill him in the area.

He came across a group of mages one evening and they readily welcomed him into the shelter of the woods they had named the Witchwood. He listened halfheartedly at their more radical ideas, silently resolving to abandon them for the preferred safety of the nearby crossroads once daylight broke, when he heard someone call him by name.

“Enchanter Trevelyan?”

The light was dim in the cavern, but he didn’t need it to recognize one of his favorite pupils. “Noemi?” He made to get up from where he had sat on the floor but didn’t even make it to his knees before the fourteen-year-old girl flung herself in his direction. He muffled a pained grunt as her arms wrapped just a little too tightly around his shoulder, the last of his injuries having to heal on their own as he used whatever magic reserves he had to fight off daily attacks instead of tending to himself. “How are you here?”

“How are you here? They told us you were dead!” Vincent froze. Oh no.

“Noemi, who else is here with you? Did you come with the people going to the Conclave?”

She wiped at her face, her tears making clean tracks on dirty cheeks. “No. I ran when the Circle fell.”

His eyes widened. “What?” Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders in his hands and focused on her. “Tell me everything. Where’s Roz? Is she here?” Maker, please, he begged, his pulse roaring in his ears. I’ve never been a devout man, but please, let her be safe.

“We were heading to dinner after lessons when she took me and a few of the little ones aside and told us to head to the greenhouses for a special project. She said that she would be there as soon as she could, but there was something that she had to do first. Then all at once, there was a lot of yelling and fire and…” she swallowed. “The last I saw of her was when she was running to the greenhouses. She told me to take the little ones and run.”

He couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean, the last you saw of her?”

“Ser Barnabas grabbed her by the hair and hit her with a smite.” Noemi’s lips trembled. “She screamed for me to run, so I ran. I ran and I ran and I haven’t stopped running.”

No. No, he refused to believe she was dead. “Did you see her fall?”

“No, but…” She scrubbed at her face. “We were all scared of Ser Barnabas, you know that. You know how much he liked to threaten hitting us. I didn’t see it, but Vincent, I think she’s dead.”

Vincent shook his head and sat back against the cavern wall. There was something building in his chest, a wail that wanted to break free and rip past his throat. “You have no proof though,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm as to not scare her. “You thought I was dead, but here I am. Roz is strong, and she’s clever. She had to have made it out of there alive. We have to hold onto the hope that she made it and she’s somewhere out in the world, just like we are.”

He took one look at Noemi and knew that she didn’t believe him, yet she nodded. “Okay.”

“We’re leaving here tomorrow morning. There’s a town, Redcliffe. Have you heard of it?”

Noemi shrank back from him. “No, you can’t make me go back there!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I was there. I took as many of the little ones as I could find after we scattered and we got on a boat. The older instructors said that Redcliffe was safe, but something in that town feels wrong. I made sure that the little ones were looked after, but then I snuck out in the middle of the night to find somewhere safer. I thought that I could go back, take the children with me to wherever I found, but…” she spread her hands as if to silently express the chaos around them. “They’re safer where they’re at for now, but I don’t want to go back. Please, don’t make me go back.”

Vincent winced as she huddled at his side, her entire body shaking. “Okay. Okay, we won’t go there, I promise.” He wrapped his arms around her, his mind whirring, desperately trying to focus on Noemi instead of the great yawning grief that threatened to swallow him whole. “Have you heard of the Crossroads? I don’t think it’s very far from here, we can make our way to that in the morning, okay?”

She nodded. “And look for Roz?”

Vincent squeezed his eyes tightly. There was no way that she was dead; she was such a fixture in his life, a lifeline even in the most peaceful of times. He loved her so completely that he was certain that he would have felt something, some sort of connection that tied his heart to hers sever, should she be truly gone.

He ran his hand soothingly over his former pupil’s back while trying to speak over the lump of unshed tears that had built in his throat. “Yes. And just you wait. We’ll find her.”

Maker, how he almost believed that.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Secrets I Have Held In My Heart

A/N: Modern!AU, Soulmate!AU, Soul Mark!AU, Angst, OT3.

This is quite honestly one of the longest things I’ve ever done in one sitting. I am exhausted. My prose and tenses are probably everywhere and I am so sorry for it. Enjoy x

(Edit 20/1/2021) It has recently come to my attention that lies and slander have been spread about my character amongst persons in this OT3 community. They are malicious lies made with the intent to cast a shadow over my credibility and my good standing in this community. I only ask that you come talk to me first before you believe the horrible things that have been levelled about me.

Please take care of yourselves x

--

Booker smiles placidly when he catches Joe's eye from across the room and let's the pretenses drop the moment he ducks out into hallway, finding a spot of quiet from all the music and chatter of celebration in the living room. He really should be happy but as it is with heartbreaks, happiness is something you can only fake until it feels real.

He opens the door when the doorbell rings and kisses the cheeks of the latecomers in greeting. They awkwardly avoid his eye with shifty smiles as they shuffle past him. Booker doesn't blame them. It's an awkward fucking situation all around.

Joe's warm and happy laughter carries through the air, and Booker just feels his heart twist in his chest. The sight of his head of curls bobbing along in the joy of whatever joke one of their friends was making while his arm was slung intimately low around Nicky's waist was unbearable. Booker has enough self-respect in him to recognise it as jealousy.

He has been in love with his best friend for almost as long as he has known him. It had been ridiculously easy for them; Joe had no soul marks and neither had Booker, so it was the most natural thing to move in together after they'd both hit 33 and when Booker decided to offer his fine art restorer skills up to go freelance, they make plans to spend the rest of their lives together. It made sense and they were happy. Booker had had no intentions of ever letting Joe know how he had truly felt and that was the mistake.

It isn't that he dislikes Nicky. 

The man was beyond perfect and Booker could have never hoped to compare. From the briefest of familiarities, he knows that Nicky was a former theology student who left the seminary and is now deep in his work with a local NGO, well on his way to maybe working for the UN some day. He volunteers at a local shelter, helps at his church's soup kitchen, is handsome and funny, is a fucking Saint personified and looks great next to Joe when Booker looks like a twice drowned rat on his best day. It isn't that he hates the man. It's just that, well, Nicky isn't him.

Booker knew something had changed then. Joe had never looked at him the way he had when his and Nicky's eyes first met. And he knows Joe like he knows his own mind and there won't be any one as trusting or as kind. If he tells him he loves him, Joe would stay and he'd be Booker's, but that's not how love works and so he waits until the day they're both on the sofa watching a game and Joe turns to him to say, "Nicky's my soulmate."

Just like that. And because he could never hurt Joe, he smiles, nodding. "I figured he was. Congratulations man. That's amazing!"

There had been an indescribable look that crossed Joe's face when he said that but he hadn't lingered on it for too long. Joe's soul mark was on his left forearm set in stark, bold lines; a scimitar and a longsword threaded together with roses and thorns. Pretty cool and Booker made sure to tell him so.

That had been three months ago. Three months of waiting for the other shoe to drop, the inevitable moment when Joe says he's gonna move out and into Nicky's unit. For the second it hits his best friend that there really wasn't a place for someone like him in this equation. Two months of sitting around until he wraps up his current contract with the museum in the city and the curator takes him aside to ask him if he would be interested in working for a private collector in Turkey. Two years to work on a team of freelancers. Two years on the other side of the continent. Booker said yes with no hesitation.

"Hey, you good?"

Booker knocks his bottle of beer to Copley's. He is one of the newer persons to join their friend group but it feels like they've know each other for a very long time. His warm smile anchors Booker to the here and now and he is stupidly grateful for his presence. The man was steadfast and calm, and it made sense to Booker that he'd be the only one he told about his leaving. "Yeah. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

He'd snuck a duffle bag of his things out to Copley's house the day before and then two suitcases when Joe was over at Nicky's last night. Right before the party to celebrate Joe's birthday, he had brought his carry on out to Copley's car. His name was still on the lease and he has left instructions to help pay for his part of the rent until the end of the year if Joe would like to continue staying here. Copley will help ship the rest of his things after a month. All that's left to do is leave.

Joe had been looking forward to introducing Nicky to his family and friends, and this party was perfect for it. Booker feels bereft at the thought that this could be the last time he sees him in a long while and he cranes his neck to spy him in the center of the room, accepting a kiss from Nicky as the birthday cake is brought out from the kitchen. He holds that image of Joe, smiling from ear to ear and hopes he won't hate him too much for leaving without saying goodbye.

"Let's go."

--

His Turkish is passable at best but he gets by well enough. The rest of the restoration team were up and coming names mixed with pioneers in the field and despite the lingering heart ache, Booker finds himself pleasantly settled and happy with the work he gets to do. Everyone seems to be equally as excited as he is to be working on their employer's personal collection of paintings and sculptures, in addition to the rare books that Booker has never seen outside of museums and archives.

It's good work and it keeps him busy. It stops him from thinking about Joe too much.

Booker had found thirteen missed calls and twenty texts and ten voicemails when he lands. He hesitates only for a moment before deleting everything that wasn't from Copley or his work.

As if sensing he was being summoned by thought, his phone rings as he basks in the afternoon sunshine whilst reading a book on his off day, Copley's name flashes on his screen.

"You still alive, then?"

"Alive and kicking," Copley says over the line with a laugh. "I swear, Joe is going to eviscerate me one of these days."

Booker shakes his head, marking his page and setting his book aside. The sunlight feels good on his skin and he takes a deep lungful of air. "He won't. He's way too nice."

"You didn't see him glare when I packed the last of your things into the boxes. They're shipped, by the way. Should reach you in a week tops."

"Thanks. I owe you big time."

"Oh, you owe me more than big time. When I come over to visit, I want you pulling out all the stops for me. I want the five star experience, Mr Booker. No expense spared," Copley chuckles.

"Alright, alright," Booker laughs. "I'm sure I can rustle something up. Just let me know when, alright?"

Copley hums and they fall into a comfortable pause. "How are you? Really. Don't lie."

He tightens his grip on his phone, swallowing tightly. "I miss him every day but that's not new. I think I'll keep missing him for a while yet."

"That's normal. I'm not surprised. I think he misses you too, you know?"

"He has Nicky now. He doesn't need me. I'm... I'm just his best friend with a stupid crush that had made plans to spend the rest of my life with him. I don't fit in it any more and he deserves more than I could ever give him," He swallow tightly, licking his lips. "Copley, he'll be okay."

"But will you?"

Booker doesn't have an answer to that. When his things arrive a week and a half later, he accepts it and begins to unpack his books. He's grateful to have his familiar favourites and is eager to fill his shelves when he spots the edges of an envelope peeking out of a battered copy of Neruda. It was a letter and it was addressed to him, though the handwriting is unfamiliar to him.

Dear Sebastien, it starts and this clues him in that this person isn't someone who knows him well. No one outside of his employers and colleagues call him Sebastien.

I hope you don't mind. I'll be slipping this along with the books. I really do hope it finds you well. I don't have your number and judging by the way Joe seems to not receive a reply from you, you might have changed it. I would ask it from Copley but I do not know him well enough and you deserve someone you can speak to without any awkwardness. I write this letter because I want to know you better. It occurred to me that we have never exchanged more than a handful of words whenever we meet and it was always about Joe. I found myself curious about you even if it feels like I know you from all that Joe talks about you. He still talks about you. Even if it is in confusion as to why you left us. I don't write to judge you. I just want to be your friend. If you are amenable, please send your reply to me care of the address on the back of this paper. I hope that you do. I won't tell Joe if you don't want me to.

Sincerely, Nicky.

Booker flips the paper and sees that it's for the church he'd half-remembered being the one that Joe had mentioned off-handedly once. He rereads the words, thrown by the whole thing. He tucks it into his pocket, pushing it to the back of his mind as he focuses on unpacking his life. But the shape of it digs against his skin and he cannot help unfolding it every few minutes to read it all over again.

Each word was carefully pressed and written with intent. He finds his thumb brushing over the looping Joe, but it is the careful He still talks about you that decides things for him.

Scratching his chest absently, he tears out an empty page from his notebook as writes, If we're going to be friends, you'd better call me Booker.

--

The seasons change and his correspondence with Nicky grows from a weekly letter to every few days, to Booker posting a letter only to receive a reply for the one he sent two days ago when he arrives back in his flat. Booker takes to sending a box of baklava over an overnight service and Nicky sends him a handwritten recipe for his Nonna's tomato soup when Booker off-handedly mentions a sniffle.

Eventually it gets easier to talk about Joe and Booker tells Nicky on what he likes and what he doesn't, how to best care for him; he's allergic to a certain brand of detergent, he always forgets his scarf in the depths of winter so always stuff one in his coat pocket, he loves it when you caress his hair, he doesn't support any team in football but he loves watching a game and he always chooses the team that starts on the right side of the pitch, ask his mother for her recipe for lamb stew and make that for him when he's having a busy week.

Nicky never seems to be bothered by him telling him all these things and in turn, Booker learns that Nicky cannot function before his first cup of coffee, that he misses the quiet of his life in the seminary but he is glad he can do more as he is, that he has a few kids that he works with that he is hoping will get into gifted programmes that can help them excel in academia, that if he hadn't done the almost priest route, he would have been a doctor or a medic.

It was ridiculously effortless to be friends with Nicky and he finds himself actually looking forward to his letters and random bits and bobs in the mail. Sometimes Nicky sends Booker Joe’s sketches and he keeps them up on his bedside, keeping them in sight as he falls asleep at night. Other times there’s a picture or two, taken by Nicky, of Joe. Joe on the corner of the sofa, curled up and dozing, Joe eyes crinkling as he laughs at something. Joe with those ridiculous sunglasses they bought on a whim over a very wet Welsh afternoon.

As the first chill of the season sets in, Booker asks about Joe.

He's fine. Missing you. We're heading to his family's beach house. He said you both used to go together?

Booker finds that he can smile a little easier when the memories come or when it is brought up that Joe misses him. It still tastes a little bittersweet but he can be happy about how he had the chance to experience these things with Joe. Even if he hadn't been the one to keep having them. 

Yes. He writes, But you both can do this together now. Make sure you pack extra blankets for yourself. I'm sure you know that he hogs them.

Nicky replies with a box of Marks and Spencer Welsh Cakes which Booker thanks with an assortment of Turkish Delights. 

Their correspondence slows as the weather cools further. Copley, when he tells him about what’s happening over Skype, merely asks him if it i a good idea to be even putting himself in the same sphere as Joe and Nicky when he had moved across the continent just to get away from the heartbreak. 

“I don’t see how it couldn’t be,” Booker says over the sizzling of the butter as he makes the cheese toasties that Joe used to love for breakfasts. He scratches at his chest, eyes watching the way the cheese oozes off its side.

“Mate, I don’t think you’re far removed enough to actually know how catastrophic this could be.”

“O ye, of little faith,” Booker huffs, flipping the toastie. “At some point I would like to be able to exist in the same city as him without melting into a puddle of heartbreak. If being friends with his soulmate helps get me there, I’m all for it.”

“You are a masochist, Mr Booker.”

Booker laughs even as he burns his finger on the pan.

He works harder than ever, learning and improving his own techniques under the tutelage of his colleagues and can appreciate the opportunity. There's already talks of him going to New York after the New Year's to accompany some of the artifacts that are being lent out for display. Booker is climbing the stairs up to his building, head down, free hand rubbing at his chest and reading through the latest methods of restoration on his phone when he bumps into a person rushing down. 

“Oh, sorry--”

“Booker.”

Joe’s eyes are big and wide when their gazes meet. Booker blinks, breathes in deep before looking behind him to see Nicky watching them from his landing, exhaling shakily as he whispers, deep and with feeling, “What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

--

Nicky nurses his cup of tea from his lean against the window and deftly avoids the inquiring glare Booker keeps sending his way from the safety of the kitchen. Joe, on the other hand, is carefully prowling the space of his studio flat he has made home, obviously cataloguing the way his books sit on the shelf and the way he has kept the space marginally clean-ish, how there are pictures and sketches tacked to the wall behind the dining table, the clear signs of a life he has built here.

“Let me get this straight, you picked up Nicky’s mail from the church, saw my handwriting, and decided to come all the way to Turkey. Just to see me,” Booker says, gesturing at their backpacks leaning against his door. “Again, let me ask, why?”

“Why?” Joe laughs, throat clicking when the sound comes out rough and raw. “You ask me why I would fly out to Turkey in the middle of the holiday season just to see my best friend who left me without telling me he got a job in Turkey and was going to leave without even so much as a goodbye, and you are asking me why I would come all the way out here just to chase you down? Are you perhaps short of a marble!”

“And what was I supposed to do! Linger around you when I was dying every single time I looked at you and knew I wasn’t your soulmate? We were going to spend our lives together, Joe! I loved you!”

Booker slaps his hand over his mouth and turns away, focusing on his breathing. “You love me?” Joe says softly in the stillness of the flat.

“I did. I do and I’m sorry,” He sighs, feeling his chest shake with his trembling breath. He presses the heel of his hand to his sternum. “I do. And it’s okay, Joe. I know you don’t love me in that way. It’s okay. I just need some time away to figure out how to love you like you need me to.”

“And what do you know about what I need from you?”

Booker feels Joe come close and allows himself to be turned around to be face to face with him. “Do you know I love you too?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles wetly, rubbing his nose with the back a hand. “I’m your best friend.”

Nicky choose this moment to speak. “Booker, look at him and listen. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you in our letters. “

There’s an insistence in Nicky’s gaze that galvanises Booker to turn to Joe and meet his eyes head on. “I love you, Book. I always did. I still do. Even after the bullshit you’ve put me through.”

“But Nicky--” “Nicky’s my soulmate and I love him too.” Joe smiles, eyes gone liquor soft when Nicky returns his fond look. “But I’ve loved you for the longest time, Book. I still want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The itch on his chest starts to burn.

“And you’re alright with this?” Booker breathlessly asks Nicky, taking a step back. “This- This whole Love, Actually thing is a situation you’re okay with?”

“Yes,” Nicky says, standing to cross the distance between them. Joe reaches for him then, tenderly touching him by the elbow while Nicky slides a hand to his cheeks and Booker feels immediately overwhelmed. He parts his mouth to speak when he doubles over dropping to his knees when the fire spreading over the skin on his chest sends him to his knees gasping for air. 

Joe keeps a hold on him while Nicky looks him over with clear worry. “Fuck!” Booker groans, trying to arch away. Clawing at his shirt, he tears at it until the buttons plink on the floor as they fall. For a moment, he does not register the dark lines that spread over his sternum. Running shaking fingers over his raw skin, Booker barely holds back the awed gasp at the scimitar and longsword twined together with thorns and roses. 

“Well,” Nicky laughs softly, cupping him by the side of the head, sweeping him into a gentle kiss. In that second that their lips touch, Booker feels his heartbeat skip a notch. “I guess this answers things, doesn’t it?”

-- Epilogue --

“That’s the last of the boxes.”

Joe kicks the door shut behind him, dropping the bags in his hands to the floor, ignoring the evil eye sent his way by Nicky who had warned them against scuffing up the hardwood floors. Booker throws himself onto the sofa with a sigh and Joe, grinning like a maniac, does a running start before launching himself onto Booker. 

“Oof!” And then after a beat and a wiggle. “Joe, you’re suffocating me and I can feel your dick against my ass.”

They’ve finally moved into their first home together. It had taken a bit more effort after Turkey to keep their fledgling relationship going but all’s well, ends well and Booker is back with them after finishing up his contract with glowing recommendations and growing his contact list. Joe was ridiculously proud and he knows Nicky feels the same too. 

They’ll need to work hard over the next two days to spruce the place up in time for their housewarming. Their friends and families will be here and Joe cannot wait to show off his loves. Wrapping his arms around Nicky and pulling him along back to the sofa where Booker is, he basks in the happy warmth of feeling whole with his heart in one piece.