witchfangs

🗡️🩶🪦 Writer currently working on The Trials expanded and WOUNDS NSFW / 18+ / minors dni

[vvitchfangs]

☣︎ WOUNDS - Chokehold ☣︎

CHAPTER SEVEN

Summary: A god, a demon, a man... what was the difference? They all look the same when they're deciding how to damage you.

Pair: Henry Creel/Vecna/001 x Female Reader

Content/Warning Labels: dark slowburn, Hawkins Lab, angst, violence, flashbacks of abuse, Martin Brenner is straight up evil in this, trauma, manipulative Henry, smut (kissing, voyeurism, masturbation, oral if you squiiiint, Henry wants to be in control so bad), touch starved, yearning

WC: 8k | Read on Ao3

(Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six)

Yet, no matter how deeply I go down into myself, my God is dark, and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence.

- Rainer Maria Rilke, The Selected Poetry

The next day was as frigid and clinical as every other.

You were glad Henry wasn’t on the day shift. You didn’t know if you could bare to look at him ever again. You knew, in the very pit of your being that he’d seen you, in that fraction of a second as you’d yanked yourself out of the void.

How were you meant to explain yourself? How were you meant to face him? Your mind ached as you sat at the maze in the rainbow room, absentmindedly spinning the marble through it.

When night came, you almost decided to stay in your room like an obedient, shamed little rat. The more you looked at the frigid space, however, the more you wanted to be in the tide of his warmth.

So you went.

As you heard the night nurse clipping away down the halls, you moved, blanking the camera lenses, using the blind spots Henry had shown you to get your bearings.

You found the white rook settled in the crevice of the door frame of the utility room on your floor, a beacon. Suddenly the door felt like a dam, threatening to burst as your fingers fell around the handle. You opened it tentatively.

His hand fell around your wrist as soon as you stepped inside. He moved in the darkness, shutting the door with a quiet click as he pulled you in. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only light was dim, coming from a single thin strip of a fading fluorescent. The shadowed hues played off his blond tufts, set neatly as always, iced his blue irises.

The air was thick. His face was maddeningly unreadable.

“Henry,” you exhaled. “You weren’t followed?”

He shook his head softly.

“Feeling better?” He asked quietly.

“Still a bit out of it.”

“Hm.”

Your throat tightened.

“Did you… did you find anything out?” You aimed at casual, but it came out as a strained whisper in the dark of the utility closet.

He studied you for a moment, expression calm but obscure.

“You know, it’s not an easy thing, breaking in to Brenner’s private offices.” His voice was strange, stilted.

“I - I know it mustn’t be.”

“No,” he said, his voice low as he took a step closer to you. “It is even more difficult not getting caught.”

Your breath hitched at the back of your throat.

“Did - did you?”

You didn’t know why you were still pretending. Your insides felt on fire at his gaze, at his every word that was pointed and dripping.

“No.”

You breathed out. He stepped closer in the dark.

“But you did.” He said softly.

Your lips pulled apart a fraction as he studied you. “I -”

“I saw you.”

You felt a surge of hot defensiveness crawl through you, desperate to save your reputation, which you feared was now bleeding out into nothing in front of him.

“I - you - you saw me. It - it was only fair -” But you knew it was useless. You knew how wrong it was, watching him like that.

“I was helping you then.” He said, eyes narrowing.

You pushed a sharp breath through your nose.

“I know.” You admitted quietly, finally. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” His eyes had grown darker, the cerulean a deep midnight blue.

You hesitated, and then raised your eyes back to his.

“No.”

He huffed softly, taking another step forward, invading your space.

“Neither am I,” he murmured, his index finger rising slowly to stroke featherlight under your jaw. “For seeing you.”

He tilted your chin up, the pad of his thumb brushing over the flushed pink of your lower lip, sending a jolt through it.

“You saw everything?” He asked softly, his sculpted face flushed a delicate shade, barely perceptible in the low light, if you hadn't been looking at him so intently.

“Yes.” You breathed.

He was so close you could feel the hum of his warmth. Was that your heart hammering, or his?

“I shouldn’t have.”

“No.”

Henry stepped forward far enough to push you back into the metal bench. It was cold, bumped up against your lower back. His face was still, but there was something lurking behind his eyes. He leaned into you, his height towering as he pressed his body against yours.

Your insides were aching, embered and alive by the heat of him so close to you. His mouth hovered over the shell of your ear.

“But you did. You wanted to. You wanted to watch me like that,” his voice was a ghost of itself, writhing into your head.

You swallowed audibly. “Yes.”

He hummed, the vibration rumbling through your ear, sending a cold shiver up the back of your neck. He ran a finger down the softness under your throat that pulsed with life. A slickness pooled out between your thighs as he hovered there, gentle yet commanding.

He leaned back a fraction to take you in, looking intrigued, his doe eyes shifting over every inch of your face.

“Henry -” The way your voice shook surprised you.

He smiled calmly. His lips parted before he spoke.

“Your turn.” He whispered.

“W-what?”

“It’s only fair, isn't that what you said?” He murmured, running his knuckle up your flushed cheek. Your breath hitched as you realized what he was asking for.

“You watched me come undone, now I want to watch you.” He purred, the edge to it unmistakable.

He brushed his full lips over the bone of your jaw, and dragged them down to the beat kicking wildly in your throat. You shuddered against him as he sucked over your pulse with wet lips, claiming the proof of life like it was his own.

For a moment, you wondered if you had fallen asleep waiting for midnight. If this was one of the dark corners of your selfish desire that found you when you were floating somewhere between wake and dreams.

Your hands finally left the cool metal, attempting to brush up the sides of him, but his fingers snapped across your wrists abruptly.

“No,” he muttered as he raised his head, his nose dragging up your jaw. “I said, your turn.”

He let one of your hands go and shoved the other to the bench behind you, his fingers still tight on your wrist, holding you there as he pressed against you. You could feel the hard line of his erection against your thigh. It was an agony, the ache so hot and deep within you as your mind reeled over the feeling.

“Henry -”

Henry's eyes pierced into yours, an unrelenting instruction. You swallowed. He pulled back just enough to give you room, his heat still radiating onto you.

Your breath shook, the fingers of your free hand trembled as you brushed under your sweater and hooked the waistband of your pants. Henry’s gaze fell, tight on your every movement, following your fingers as you swept your trousers and underwear from your hips.

The low light fell across your exposed flesh in the space between you.

His eyes were unyielding, analyzing every detail of you as you stood there, your blood hot with the vulnerability of exposure. And yet, you'd wanted nothing more than for him to see you like this again. He hummed gently, shadows falling about his angelic face.

“Show me...” His voice was caught between a command and a beg.

Your chest rose in a jagged breath and you moved your hand. You slid a finger languidly through your slit, parting the slick flesh, gathering your arousal. You brought your hand up to his face, your finger glistening under the light.

Henry was motionless, a sharp breath drawing in as he surveyed it.

Then, as if he physically couldn't restrain himself, his lips curled over your finger, hot and wet as he sucked it into his mouth. You couldn’t contain the broken noise you made as he whined in his throat, his eyelids fluttering closed. He breathed against your finger as you ran it over his mouth, pulling his bottom lip down under your fingertip.

“Show me what you wanted to do to yourself when you watched me.” He murmured.

He followed your fingers as you moved between your legs again. Your every nerve felt alight under his controlled gaze as you slid your fingers slowly through yourself. Your lips parted on a soft breath as you dragged up over your clit.

Henry's face was veiled in shadow as he watched every flicker, every tight circle you made over the swollen nerves.

“That's it,” he said softly, “did you want to touch yourself like this when you saw me?”

You whined at the coiling pleasure, as he started undoing you with his eyes and his words alone.

“Yes...”

“Do you want my fingers touching you like that?”

Your hips rolled against your hand desperately, your thighs brushing against his.

“Yes, I do,” you whimpered pathetically, your insides blooming with heat.

“Show me where you want them.”

You slid your fingers down through your slick and pushed into yourself, whining as you stretched around them. Your chin tilted up, your mouth begging for his, but he kept his gaze between your legs.

“That’s it, go inside like that.” Henry praised, watching your fingers intently. “Deeper.”

You pushed higher into your aching cunt, curling your fingers up, the sounds wet and obscene in the quiet of the room.

He groaned, content, finally leaning back into your neck. “Should I tell you what I wanted?”

“Y-yes, tell me...” you begged as his lips parted over your skin, laying a wet trail.

“I wanted your hand around me… your mouth… wanted to be inside that pretty thing I saw between your legs. I looked at you for so long.” He breathed, his finger brushing under your ear. “So long.”

You moaned at his confession as you pumped your fingers faster, your eyes becoming hazy. His fingers tightened around your wrist.

“I wanted you undoing me,” he purred into your ear.

Your desire mounted into a scorching pleasure twisting deep in your belly.

“Please, Henry… kiss me,” you begged. “I’m doing what you want, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re repenting.”

He brushed his lips against your throat as a string of broken moans fell from your mouth. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb sliding through your parted lips.

“Please…” You groaned as you pulled your fingers from yourself and circled them tightly over your clit again.

“No. Not yet.”

There was something cold lurking in his eyes that made the thrill even more exquisite, made you ache desperately for him. The way he was controlling you so angelically, with nothing but his eyes and his whispered words.

“Fuck -” you whined as your fingers spun urgently across your swollen nerves.

“That’s right,” Henry purred, “keep going.”

He was undoing you with his velvet cadence and his intense eyes, every atom of himself narrowed in to you, in to the world between your legs, his angelic face edged with a quietly violent hunger.

“I’m - going to -” you breathed raggedly as you felt your orgasm cresting.

“Say my name.” Henry demanded excitedly, his hand twisting tight around your wrist.

His command was the final pin he pulled.

“God - Henry -” you cried out as you climaxed, your hips shuddering and thrusting, your cunt clenching around nothing as the pleasure pulsed through you in exquisite waves.

Henry was swift, falling to his knees between your legs. His hands were tight on your bare thighs as he tilted his face up between your legs. He licked a single broad stroke through your pussy, making you flinch and whine as he tasted your slick. He groaned in content, lapping another single stroke over you before his mouth fell to your thighs with gentle, possessive kisses.

He breathed at your knees for a moment before rising, his fingertips running up your bare legs as he stood. Finally, he crashed his lips over yours, a reward, letting you taste yourself on his mouth.

“Next time,” he murmured into you, “next time I will do this properly.”

Your breaths drew down, normalizing again as he lingered in your neck.

“Next time? Henry, I’m here right now.” The desperation was hot on your tongue as you slid your hands up into his hair. He breathed into your mouth as you spun your lips across his.

“I can’t.”

“What, why not?”

“I’m on shift. I have to return.”

Your hands slid down his neck and settled against the hard plains of his chest contained beneath the crisp white fabric.

“Why do you do this? Why do you deny yourself?”

“What? I don’t.”

“Yes you do,” you said irritably, dropping your hands from him. “You don’t let yourself have anything good. No without clawing for it first, do you Henry?”

“That’s not true”

“Then why are you always running away?”

His face had softened now, his eyes calm and stripped of their edge.

“I’m not running away.”

“Yes you are,” You sighed. “You can’t run away from this place so you’re running away from me instead. Every time you get close it’s like you can’t stand it. It’s like you - you want to punish yourself. I'm sick of it. I want you to show me who you really are.”

He tensed at your words, and expelled a long breath. “You shouldn't want that.”

Your teeth clenched.

“Why shouldn't I?” You snapped. “Don't you want something good in all this misery?”

He was silent, studying you.

“My priority is finding out who you are. Helping you.”

“Is it? Or is it playing games with me?” You spat, shoving him away and pulling up your pants.

“I'm not -”

“Yes you are. And you keep doing it.”

His brow knitted softly, his jaw clenching in the dim light.

“I don’t think you really want love, do you Henry? I think you just want to feel its sting so you can prove to yourself that you’re alive.”

“Love,” he pushed the word out like it was sour. “Cannot exist in a place like this.”

“In the lab?” You spat. “Or in you?” The light flickered aggressively above you, whirring like a threat as your frustration coiled.

His head jerked back a fraction, as if you’d shoved your fingers into an open wound. For a moment, you thought he might sweep out the door and slam it behind him. But he just stood there, looking like a desolate angel in the dark.

“You want to figure out who I am so badly then do it. Figure me out. But I won’t give you any more of whoever the hell I am without you showing me who you are first.”

You swung past him in the dim light.

“Nineteen, please -”

“That’s not my name.” You hissed, not looking back at him as you left him in the dark.

***

You could barely sleep for days after your encounter with Henry. When had your waking life become even more of a nightmare than your shattered dreams? You tossed aggressively in your bed, heaving sighs out into the dark.

You were angry.

Angry at him. Angry at yourself for wanting him, for how desperately you needed him to save you from yourself, from this place. This wretched place and it's ceaseless control, gripping you tighter every second of every day.

When had you become someone who needed rescuing? When had you become so fragile? It was a feeling that didn’t settle, like it didn’t belong to your body. Not in this life, not in the one you couldn’t remember.

The frustration was coursing through you, unbearable. You shoved your pillow over your face and screamed. The force left you before you could reason with it. The light above you shattered, raining glass and plastic and bits of fluorescent tubing down onto you in an array of sparks and crackles.

“Fuck!” You yelled, bolting up out of bed to throw the blankets off, sweeping the debris from your face and the mattress. It spread with a harsh scattering across the floor.

You sank down onto the side of the bed and hung your head in your hands. You didn’t know what was ruining you faster. Your mind, or Henry.

It wasn't long before the night nurse was knocking on your door. She unlocked it, and swung the metal open into the dark.

“Why bother knocking if you were going to come in anyway?” You asked in a huff.

She eyed you, then the floor, then the ceiling.

“What happened?”

“The light... malfunctioned.” You said, flicking on the desk lamp.

“Right.” She frowned as she assessed the damage. “Are you hurt? Cut by any of these shards?”

“No.” You huffed.

She hummed disapprovingly. “I'll come back with a brush and dustpan. Stay here, don't step on any of this.”

You shot up off the bed and advanced. For a moment she looked terrified, as if you were about to throw her down the corridor. You had to admit, you'd thought about it. But really, you and your aching head just wanted out of this room.

“I'll get it.” You said tightly.

“What -”

“I know where the supplies cupboard is. Please. I can't sleep, I need a walk. My mind is... overloaded, clearly.”

She frowned and curled her lips in, studying you.

“Please,” you said, in your most pleading voice that still afforded you a shred of dignity. Your eyes fell to her name badge. “Please, Helen -”

As her name tumbled from your mouth, you heard a voice carry behind your own. Sinister, covered in a layer of honey too thin to completely mask it. Your own voice choked, your skeleton growing cold bone by bone as you heard it.

His voice. Papa.

"...Nurse Helen here will give you some oxygen now..."

Then came the splitting pain in your head. A flash of film behind your eyes. The nurse, half hidden behind a surgical mask, the same dull hazel eyes peeking out. Bright lights blowing out your pupils, steel suns radiating directly from above. Shaped, suffocating rubber being placed over your face by the nurse's hands.

You felt the imprint of it, felt the dread rising, every nerve screaming under your skin. A scorch of fury ran through you, alive and untamed, and for a fleeting moment, you saw yourself crush her into a mangled pile.

Instead, you stuttered, swallowing the shadows down your throat.

“H-Helen,” you repeated thickly, voice sounding miles away as you stomped down the dread.

“Are you alright, Nineteen? You've gone awfully pale.” She remarked.

“I, uh, yes, I'm fine. I just - I just need some air, like I said. Please?” You asked again, your eyes staring into nowhere.

She considered you for a second longer before finally sighing in surrender.

“Three minutes. If you're not back in that time I will call the guards,” she warned tightly. “I'll fetch some new linens, in case there's any shards in these.”

You nodded and sped out, trawling down the halls in hurried paces. You knew where the supplies cupboard was, you'd passed it hundreds of times.

So how did you end up outside the staff dormitories? Specifically, the wing labelled 'Orderly Staff'? You stood staring through the steel-netted windows in the doors for far too long, your mind feeling both completely blank and entirely too full.

The hairs on your neck stood up, electrified as you felt the air behind you shift.

A hand grabbed your wrist.

Reactively and unstoppably, you spun, yanking your arm free and pushing a violent, frightened wave of kinetic force forth from your other hand. He went skidding down the hall and hit the wall with an ungracious thud, gasping as the wind was knocked clean from his lungs. He doubled over, his blonde tufts falling haphazardly as he coughed.

“What the fuck, H -” Your voice caught as you saw the camera blink red down the hall. “- Peter.” You hissed.

You stalked towards him and helped him straighten up. He shook his hair back and pushed his hands over his trousers, neatening them.

“Sorry,” he choked, voice tight and strained from the lack of air. “I should have known better than to grab you like that.”

“Yes, you should have,” you groaned. “Are you hurt? I didn't mean to -”

He held up a hand and shook his head, his hair still falling in a delicately mussed way that was far too beautiful for the walls around you.

“No, don't,” he protested. “My fault entirely.”

You sighed, heart still hammering, stomach tight with guilt. He searched your face, his eyes turning inquisitive as he recovered from the blow.

“What are you doing here?” He asked quietly.

Your head didn't move, but your eyes flicked up to the camera blinking down the hall again.

“I - I got lost.” You replied, too low for the camera to hear you.

“You got lost?”

“I was meant to go to the supply cupboard.”

“At 3am?”

“Yes.” You chewed your lip. “I - exploded a light.”

His eyebrows slid upward together, curious.

“You... okay,” he breathed. “Why?”

Because of you.

“It was accidental.”

“Well I didn't imagine it would have been recreational.” Henry chuckled lightly. “But you came here, instead? Why?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

He stepped a pace closer. Close enough for the shape of the conversation to change, but not close enough that it would have looked inappropriate to anyone viewing the monitors.

“You didn't?”

“I -” you breathed, “I don’t think so.”

His eyes were swimming in yours again, dangerously, too dangerous for a monitored hall way.

“Something happened,” you whispered even softer, your eyes falling to the floor. “I saw something.”

He exhaled slowly, his brow knitting down as he studied your face, only now realizing how fraught you looked behind the eyes.

“Tell me.” He murmured.

“The nurse -”

At that moment, she rushed around the corner, finding you and Henry standing a perfectly acceptable distance apart. Just a simple orderly and a lost looking experiment.

“Ah, there she is now.” Henry said, his tone calm and practiced. “Helen, I’m afraid Nineteen here went a corridor too far. I was just about to escort her back.”

Helen's cheeks pulled in, her face set in a stern frown.

“Well, thank goodness for you, Peter. I was about to call the guards, Nineteen. You told me you knew where to go.”

“Sorry,” you offered meekly, shrugging.

“What do you two need?” Henry asked, addressing Helen deliberately instead of you. “I can get it for you, if that would help.”

“It’s no problem Peter, I’ll get it on the way back to her room.”

Her fat fingers grasped your forearm, making you flinch. He nodded politely, his hands settling steadily in front of him.

“Wonderful. And don’t worry, Nineteen. Soon you’ll know this castle like the back of your hand. Right Helen?” He smiled, gesturing at the walls.

Your ears rang at the way his voice fell around the word.

Castle.

Helen returned his smile, though hers was oddly stilted, something about him making her wary like it did so many others. As she lead you away, you could see the instruction in his eyes. You nodded once at him, imperceptibly, letting her drag you back through the halls in clipped silence.

***

After finally cleaning up the ungracious scene, once the nurse had decided you weren’t a complete basket case and finally left you alone, you slipped into bed and closed your eyes.

You left yourself there, pulling your mind from your body like separating Velcro. Your feet touched the waterlogged floor of the darkened ether, and he materialized almost immediately, pacing in the blackness in front of his bed.

“Henry?” Your voice was a hollow whisper, eerie tendrils of sound reaching through dimensions towards him.

He stopped pacing and looked up, his eyes drawing towards you.

“Can you see me?”

“A little, not properly. Not all of you.” He said softly. “It's as if you're a ghost.”

To him you looked like nothing more than a faded apparition, while to you he looked like a pale beacon of radiance in the blackness, every detail shockingly vivid.

He sat on the side of the bed.

“Finish telling me what you saw earlier.”

“It was her name that did it, I realized I'd heard it before.” You sighed. “I saw her above me. She was wearing a mask, but I recognized her eyes. She was leaning over me, putting an oxygen mask on my face. I can... I can still feel it. I can taste the rubber.”

Henry frowned. “Do you think it could be from when you were in the infirmary?”

“No, Henry, this was before, I'm sure of it. Just like the other things I've seen, it came to me so violently, the way they all do. It made me want to...”

“Want to what?”

You paused, a sigh falling from you.

“Tell me.” He said softly.

Not a demand, an invitation. One you trusted.

“It made me want to kill her, for a moment. I - I thought I might -”

His face remained oddly still and composed despite the harshness of your confession. His hands slid down to rest on his thighs as he looked at the shade of you.

“There was something else. Papa, he was talking. He said something about her giving me oxygen.” Your brow creased as you recalled it. “Bright lights... but I couldn’t make out anything else.”

Henry was quietly studying you, taking in every word.

You came closer, and sat on then edge of the bed next to him. The void was so cold and empty that even his warmth couldn’t penetrate it. It felt like sitting the bottom of a lonely ocean.

“You said, once you’re caught or made or lured, you can never get out.”

“I meant it.” Henry huffed, looking at his feet.

Your eyes fell to his long, slender fingers resting elegantly on his thighs.

“I think I was made.” You whispered, as if the words said too loudly would make the thought solid enough to break you.

“Of course you were.” He said stiffly. “Tell me everything you remember, from the beginning.”

“I don’t know if things are in order, exactly.” You sighed.

“It doesn’t matter, just tell me the things you have seen.”

“Well, there's a man, a violent man. Always hurting me.” Your throat tightened. Henry’s jaw clenched.

“Then, there was the sound of cans, empty ones. Like they’re being crushed. Um - there's a bus. That was a vivid one. The driver, I saw him too. The seats… and the noise. Really shrill, like old brakes.”

Henry nodded calmly.

“There was another one - a man in a suit. He gave me something...a piece of paper, or a flyer or something. There was rain, rain in my shoes...”

“You said you needed to fix your shoelaces.” Henry said suddenly, his head turning to you. “When you were drugged, you said your shoelaces needed more thread. You said they were ripped, you'd tried to mend them.”

You bit your lip.

Henry stood up swiftly, moving through the space. As you followed his form in the blackness of the void, a dresser materialized. He pulled open a drawer and rustled inside briefly before pulling out a bundle of keys, rattling together metallically on the ring.

“Keys?” You asked, your voice hollow as it stretched through the ether.

“Brenner’s office, the filing cabinet, probably some others on here.”

“How did you...?”

“His personal assistant. She’s new. I -” He paused.

“You what?”

“I got them from her.”

“I don’t suppose she just handed them over.” You said snidely. “What did you do?”

His face was stony. “I know how people work. They are easy to distract. Easy to make do things.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, stomach twisting as you recalled doing everything he said only days ago in the dark confines of the utility room, nothing but his velvet voice and haunting eyes controlling you.

Did he see you as something just as commandable, just as pathetic?

He read your expression, and his feet shuffled awkwardly.

“Not like that.”

“I’m not like that, or you weren’t like that with her?”

“Both.” He said tightly, sitting down beside the ghost of you on his bed.

You didn’t say anything, just stared down at the dark water rippling gently underneath your bare feet for what felt like forever.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he admitted in a hush. “It was... self indulgent.”

You shook your head softly. “No, watching you was. But I don’t... I don’t regret what happened.”

His eyes gazed into the ghost of your own. “Neither do I.”

Your hand whispered out towards him, coming to rest on his thigh. He flinched, the muscle in his leg twitching in response.

“You can feel me, can’t you?”

“A little.” He murmured, his eyes tight to your hand on his leg. “It’s cold, though.”

Your stomach twisted oddly. You let your hand rest there in the dark as he studied it, his initial reaction settling into calm and curiousity.

“I will look in Brenner’s office first. See if I can find anything out -” His breath hitched sharply as you moved your hand upwards, turned your fingers in to his inner thigh.

“You flinch every time I touch you, you know?” You said softly, brushing your hand higher.

“Do I?” He breathed tightly.

His leg jerked a touch more as you hitched your hand up to the crease of his hip.

“Do I repulse you or something?” You frowned.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He huffed, his voice still tight and breathy. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his pale throat as he swallowed. “I’m not - I’m not used to people touching me like that.” He said quietly.

“Sorry,” you said, pulling your hand away. “I... know what you mean. Everyone who has touched me has damaged me.”

Henry’s eyes followed your hand as you dragged it away.

“Can you-” he paused, words stuck in his throat. “Do you think you can put it back?” It was barely a whisper.

The contrast of this Henry compared to the commanding presence he’d wielded over you in the utility room was so harsh it took you a moment to reconcile that this was the same man.

You obeyed, resting your hand on his thigh again. He exhaled a short, soft breath, his brow knitting down.

“I can barely feel you.” He said sadly.

“Well, I’m not really there.”

He huffed a small breath, turning to look into your shaded eyes. He looked like an angel in the blackness, lit from within, a sort of gentle halo thrumming around him.

“No, you’re not.”

You sat in silence for a while, your cold shade of a hand resting on his leg in the darkness, his face contorting into several different emotions, all lit with the same cerulean blue. Your fingers rubbed idly against the white fabric.

“I can’t... I can’t feel it anymore.” He frowned after a while, looking up at you. “In fact I can barely see you.” He reached out towards your face, but his hand touched nothing, just sank heavily through the air.

“I’m fading, I think. My head is hurting.”

“Then go,” he smiled softly. “You don’t have to sit here with me all night.”

“What if I want that?”

He smiled higher, shaking his head.

“Go, please.” He instructed softly. “There will be testing tomorrow and if you’re exhausted, he’ll know. They’ll medicate you again.”

You sighed, breath falling out into the blackness between you.

“Alright,” you pulled your hand away, and this time he flinched when you removed it.

You stood up, his eyes intense on your form as it began fading in and out of view with the exhausted effort of your psyche.

“Goodnight, Henry. And whatever you do with those -” you nodded down towards the keys still clutched in his fingers. “Be careful. Don’t make me watch them break you again.”

His face held a hung smile, an edge of grief in his eyes.

“I will be careful. I promise.”

With that you faded into nothing, pulled backwards into your body.

You wanted to return to him, properly. You wanted to touch him until you stopped feeling haunted. You wanted to claim every part of him, sink your teeth into his neck, feel the shape of him weighed down by you, by every terrible thing inside you that only he could soothe.

You lay heavily on your mattress, blood trailing a thick path of crimson into your lips and down the side of your cheek. You swiped at it, limbs boneless and sapped, head throbbing as you spun into the pit of dreamless sleep.

***

Henry stood like a chalk sentinel against the dark tiles of the testing room. Perfectly still, perfectly gentle, perfectly observing.

The room still held the ominous imprint of your chaos from weeks prior. The feeling settled oddly against your skin. You stared at the spot where the bodies had crumpled, bloodied and crushed by your chaos. Nothing but shiny black tile stared back at you.

Your throat dried.

You fell into line at the wall with the others. A row of grey, hairless rats, waiting for your lord’s instruction.

“Today you will be tested against each other.” Brenner said as he paced down the line. He moved to the center of the room and outlined two large chalk circles on the floor.

“Each of you will take a turn in the circle. You will attempt to push your opponent out of their circle. Whoever’s feet leave the circle first will be the loser. The winner will face another challenger.” He said brightly, rubbing the chalk off his fingers as he spoke.

You thought about how easy it had been to throw Henry down the hallway. But you hadn’t had an audience then. You hadn't had Brenner's ominous presence looming over you, or the many eyes that now glanced at you warily, the memory of the room not only weighing on you alone.

“Two and Eight, you’ll start. Peter, if you will?”

Two strode into the circle as if he owned it. Eight hesitated, small stature eclipsed by the brutish teen. Henry nodded dutifully, approaching each of them in calm paces, placing blindfolds over their eyes with practiced hands.

It was easy work for Two, easy as swatting flies. You watched as he dispatched his opponents one by one, sending their small feet skirting outside of the chalk lines with his forceful strength, his face curling with smirks of triumph with each subject he sent careening over the floor.

One by one until it was only you, waiting against the wall alone.

“Nineteen.” Brenner nodded.

You studied Two’s face as you stepped forward. It was square, sweaty, arrogant. A deep red blood trail slipping from his nostril to his lip. The edges of the circle were warped and smeared from the many who’d been defeated before you.

Henry stepped up behind you like a ghost. You kept your face rigidly composed as he slipped the blindfold over your eyes. His fingertips ghosted across the top of your ears as he went, heating your entire spine with a static hum.

Your mind trailed into the dark spaces you'd shared as he shrouded your vision. Your body bloomed with heat, yearning to return to them.

“Begin.”

Two’s power thrust forward like a wall against you, a dense thrumming of energy as you attempted to push against it with your own. The two forces ground against each other like opposite ends of a magnet. You felt your heels rise a touch as his turned heavier, becoming leaden against your limbs, a weight that threatened to send you backwards. You could feel the blood already slicking your upper lip as you grunted your own force forward, attempting to move him even an inch.

Then, the taunting began.

“Is that all you’ve got? Useless.” He shoved harder, forcing your heels to lift higher, sliding you back in your circle. “You think you have a chance against me, is that it?”

“Two.” Brenner warned.

“Can’t you see how weak she is Papa? You waste so much time with her.” He snarked. You heard a few of the others snicker in response.

You grunted louder, pushing out more force, but he quickly retaliated, making you slide even further back.

“The six year old gave me more of a challenge than this mangey dog.” Two snarled.

His force began to shift. It took on an odd shape, the wall finessing down into a precise form. It pushed up you in a wave, landing over your throat. It wrapped around your flesh, digging, choking.

Tighter, tighter...

You felt the white-hot agony, splitting you at the seams.

-

All you could taste was the rancid copper. Had your teeth been knocked loose this time? Had you swallowed them? Your fingers were in your mouth, counting them, smearing blood across enamel.

Tattered threads ripped free under your fingernails, tiny fibers of dread, the floorboards beneath you groaned. There was an animal... no, a voice. Was it Death's this time?

“What the fuck did you say?” He snarled, spit flying down onto you.

Is this how you die? Is this how you join her? Blood falling against the tatter as his fist grappled around your collar, yanking you up from the floor.

“Do it.” It's hysterical, pure elation at the thought. Though you really want to say "please... please, don’t make me beg... don’t make me do it myself."

A god, a demon, a man... what was the difference? They all look the same when they're deciding how to damage you. Your head against a rock, a wall, a floor... what was the difference? They all feel the same when your skull is rammed against them.

“I know what you did to her. I know you did it but I just can't prove it.”

It was taunting disguised as begging. Begging through blood and saltwater and bone. His face was a contorted snarl of itself, red-raged and seething. His fingers were digging into the column of your neck, so deep, so brutal, as if to breach the flesh.

It ached and clawed and crushed until it didn’t, until the oxygen was gone, until he had sapped every pathetic atom of it. Until the hall was empty, liminal, white.

Could you hear her? Was she singing? Were you there now? Were you finally gone, was this mercy?

Was this mercy?

-

Darkness had a shape.

The shape of tiles, the shape of grout, the shape of something terrible and powerful and wretched. The shape of Two. Levitating, pinned flat-backed against the wall, his limbs splayed, his fists tight and trembling, pathetic and useless.

Who was doing this? Who had him so violently restrained? Who had their hand outstretched in front of you, fingers splayed? Who was splitting you open straight down the middle?

A crunch, a scream. Then another. Another.

“Enough!”

The hand receded. The arm fell. Two slid to the floor, a whimpering mess, three fingers bent into jagged shapes, face purple and sweat-soaked, his chest heaving with cries.

Your hands were shaking violently, your lips and teeth were saturated in the taste of your own blood.

“Two, can you stand?” Brenner was hovering over the boy, a hand on his shoulder.

He groaned and cried as he was lifted by the arms. “Y-yes Papa.”

The rest of the children were all huddling terror-eyed against the wall.

You found the only face you could. Your sentry, your rook. His face was rigid, his haunting blue gaze already boring into you. He had that look in his eyes again.

Recognition.

“I -” was the only word you knew.

“Peter, take Two to the infirmary. Then return to us.”

Henry nodded, lingering on your bewildered face for a beat before moving.

“The rest of you will return to the rainbow room.” He said simply.

They filed out obediently. You moved to follow them, but you were stopped abruptly, a cold hand around your wrist.

“No.” Brenner spat. “Stay. Sit.”

Like a dog, you did.

He sank you down into an empty chair by the shoulder.

Henry’s eyes darted back to you as he helped Two through the door, the brutish arrogance of the boy reduced to nothing but tears and wails, holding his mangled hand by the wrist.

“Have I not warned you enough, Nineteen?” Brenner snarled, pacing calculated strides in front of you. “Have I not made you understand the gravity of your actions, the seriousness of the consequences?”

You were silent, wordless. You could still feel the dread and despair of what you'd seen writhing through you. It would be all too easy to mangle him as well, wouldn’t it? You could do it right now, you could -

“Don’t even think about it.” Brenner said, his practiced eyes reading every single thought behind yours. “You’re nothing without me, don't you remember? You were nothing before me, and you’ll be nothing after I’m gone.”

You swallowed. His fingers shoved into the buttons of his pager. He leaned down into you, his breath a flume of cold mint and tobacco.

“It seems you have real power, Nineteen. Beyond what I thought, and your progress is nothing short of remarkable. And regrettable as this next part is, it is a necessity. You are fortunate that I do not take away your powers completely. The only reason I am not doing so is because of what you displayed here today. It was... remarkable.”

He clicked his teeth as he eyed you. “Regardless, punishment is inevitable.”

“Papa, please, I didn't mean to -”

He held a rigid hand up, silencing you. The door opened.

Henry's steps faltered a fraction as his eyes darted over you, desolate and slumped in your chair.

“Ah, Peter.” Brenner said curtly, straightening up. “Two?”

“Broken fingers. He should be perfectly fine, once mended.”

Brenner turned his sharp gaze back to you.

“How many?” He asked over his shoulder.

Henry hesitated. “Three.”

“Hm.” Brenner hummed. “Three it is.”

Your head darted back towards the door as one of the guards swung it open, his heavy black boots thumping over the tiles.

“Nineteen - left or right?” Brenner mused casually.

“W-what?”

“Your left hand, or your right hand?”

“Papa, please, I didn’t mean for any of that to happen, I swear, I didn’t even know I was doing it - I didn't even see -”

He leaned down into you again, his face so calm it was sickening.

“I said - left hand, or right hand?”

You knew he wasn’t going to relinquish the reigns of punishment, the thrill of the performance. It tasted too sweet, to satiating for him to surrender.

Henry’s jaw was clenched harder than you’d ever seen it, the blue hue of his eyes depressed into a dark ocean.

“Left.” You murmured weakly.

“Peter, hold her back.”

His command was the blade of a guillotine, coming down across your neck. Ice ran through every one of your veins in slow motion. Henry’s whole body stiffened.

“Doctor Brenner -” He protested, voice stuttering.

Brenner’s fingers cinched a vice around Henry’s wrist. Brutal, bruising, the threat not even disguised. He flinched aggressively, looking more terrified than you thought possible, every perfect feature marred with dread.

He stared at you, his face twisted into helpless guilt and turmoil.

“Now, Peter.”

Henry’s throat worked. He glared into the face of the monster, and then moved, his chest bowing in with a great sigh as he approached you.

For a moment, it was just the two of you. Two chess pieces on the board in the dark, two terrorized souls spinning into each other's eyes with regret and fury and lament toiling in the color.

Henry guided you up from the chair gently, as if trying to ease the brutality that would come next. He slipped his fingers around your right wrist, and stepped behind you. You gasped sharply as he pulled your hand up behind your back, twisting your arm up to your shoulder blades, pinning it there.

“Papa, please -” you choked out.

Brenner simply nodded at the guard. You could feel Henry’s entire body trembling behind you, could hear his breaths wracking through him. In one swift move the guard yanked you to the floor. Henry followed you down, his knees buckling, his grip unyielding. As you yelled out, you heard him whisper, the sound falling sombre and strained from his lips.

“I’m sorry.”

He was a wall behind you, still pinning your right arm back as the guard violently pulled your left to the ground. He crushed his boot to your wrist, forcing your fingers to splay across the tile. You writhed and thrashed, yelling desperate choked pleas. The guard pinned your wrist with his entire weight.

“I’m sorry.” Henry murmured again, his voice breaking over itself, cracking in the back of his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

The pain was almost blinding as the guard's other boot came crashing down onto three of your splayed out fingers. You shrieked, guttural cries of agony as his foot came down again, and again, his entire weight cracking over your fragile fingers, until you could do nothing but whimper and sob. Henry was violently shaking, amongst your own cries you could hear his chest catching with silent, guilt ridden sounds.

“Sufficient.” Brenner said finally. His face was nothing but a collected, composed expression of nonchalance as he stared down at your fingers, mangled a deep, bone-bruised purple, streaked with blood where your skin had torn.

Henry relented your right arm immediately, but his fingers lingered around your wrist, as if he physically couldn’t bring himself to let go. The guard just smirked, straightening himself up and retreating.

“Peter, take her to the infirmary. That looks like it needs attention.” Brenner nodded at your mangled, bruised fingers before leaving the room in his usual clipped stride.

Henry said nothing, only the sound of his ragged breaths in your ear as he led you through the halls, his hand still around your wrist, the other at your upper back. Your sobs of pain drew down as you walked, your fingers throbbing ceaselessly.

He stopped you just outside of the ward.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” His voice was almost a whimper, almost nothing. His eyes were damp and avoidant.

You felt devoid of all emotion but pain.

“It’s not your fault.” You said, voice robotic. “Better Papa hurt me than both of us.”

He looked broken, traumatized. Your eyes felt hollow as they tried to hold the image.

“Besides, I deserved it.”

“Don’t.”

“I hurt Two, Henry. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t even know I was doing it at first. But he - he started choking me. After that it’s like I’d fallen back into a nightmare.” Your voice choked as the images reeled through your mind.

There were cameras, of course there were.

Henry held you anyway, pulling you into him, his body stiff and still trembling with guilt-laden breaths as he held you there, letting you cry against him in your pain in anguish.

“What you did in there -” Henry said finally as your head pulled back from his chest, his tear-stained white shirt. “I’ve seen that kind of power before. Papa has seen it before. You need to be very careful.” He murmured.

Papa...

“What do you mean you’ve seen it before?”

Henry sighed. “There was someone else, before. A long time ago. Someone he could not control. In the end, he took away their power.”

“Soteria.” You murmured.

Henry nodded. “Yes.”

“What happened to them?”

“That story doesn’t have a happy ending, I’m afraid.”

His thumb whispered up your wet, tear-stained cheek. “I meant what I said. I am going to figure this out. Until then, you must do whatever he says, you must be whatever he needs you to be. Don't give him a reason to weaken you.”

You nodded, eyes still wet, fingers throbbing with a hot drench of pain. Henry's hand tightened around your wrist one last time.

“The time will come. You'll need your powers if you're going to survive this place. Or ever leave it.” He breathed.

You knew he was right. The time would come.

To end the nightmare once and for all.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

☣︎ Comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series! ☣︎

Taglist: @cherrybbys , @creelvx , @cristalbeesnow , @snugglesiren , @cannibalcoyote , @taylor-munson , @frolickingbimbo , @twilightzone88 , @bontensbabygirl , @yourferretsblog , @belleoftheball70 , @daddyavesxx , @nocasdatsgay , @bowernocturne , @nashoernchen , @f4deds0uls , @letmeridethatstaff , @ooridwitch , @cinnamongirldances88 , @bowersgoodgirl

[vvitchfangs]

someone else asked to be tagged on Wounds (Henry Creel x f reader) and I can’t for the life of me find the comment/user!!

So please comment here if you’re not already tagged and want to be! New chapter today 🤍

[twihs-blog]

06.10.2026.

[vvitchfangs]

The Trials Winter Solstice: Over Your Head

NSFW / 18+

Part eight of The Trials: Winter Solstice expanded fic.

(The Trials chapters here)

Plot Summary: Theo overcomes his fears. Gregory rouses suspicion. Theo tricks Jane, and she doesn't let it go without making him beg.

Pairing: Theo Deschamps x Jane Warfield!Reader (note: reader-insert friendly! Jane's physical description kept very vague.)

Content: house fluff, the Black Ravens, fucking Gregory, fpreg, smut (fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, dom!Jane/sub!Theo, blindfolded, magical binding, teasing, oral, intimate telepathy use, good boy), whiny begging Theo

NB: This chapter is not part of the original Trials audiobook.

WC: 11k

Additional credit: Tyler McCall - original creator of The Trials audiobook/characters.

___________________________________________________________

The colorless morning light of deep winter was breaking through a gap in the bedroom blinds, illuminating a white streak across the bed. The puffed downy covers were haphazardly bundled, the plush blanket strewn about the foot of the bed, half hanging off.

Theo's dream hung hot in his head as he rubbed his eyes open and glanced at the messed covers. He stretched out underneath them, and as always, they were tangled around himself like a cocoon. He yanked them out from under himself and threw them heavier across Jane as he scooted into her warmth.

She murmured nonsense as he ran a finger through the side of her hair, his gaze following the soft streak of light that pooled across her face. He wound a soft wave of her hair around his finger.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” He said sleepily, nudging his face into her neck.

“Mhm...” She mumbled, not opening her eyes.

“Are you awake?” He ran his fingers through her hair again.

“Mm… no.” She sighed, nestling closer to him as he huffed a laugh into her collarbone.

Theo brushed his fingertips down the side of her neck, feeling the static hum of her energy underneath them. He trailed over her shoulders, covered in her satin pajama shirt, working his way down in the whisper of a touch until his fingers came to rest in the dip of her waist.

“How about now?” He mumbled, his lips pressed into the front of her neck as his fingers drew circles on the satin.

“No,” she sighed again.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he murmured softly. “I was going to tell you about the dream I had.”

Her eyes stayed shut but her flushed lips curved into a quiet smile. “I’m listening.”

Theo chuckled as his hand roamed down over he swell of her hip.

“Oh, that got your attention.”

His fingertips dragged gently over her outer thigh.

“Get to the good part,” Jane murmured, wriggling closer as he nuzzled at her neck “or I’m going back to sleep.”

He kissed gently up her neck, under her jaw, laying an affectionate path as he spoke.

“We were just like this, my hands all over you,” he breathed.

His hand trailed back up, pushing under her shirt, brushing over her smooth skin. He felt it goosebump beneath his touch.

“…and?” She breathed.

“And we were at the lake. Do you remember when we were there the first time?” He mumbled as he continued kissing up her jaw.

“Remind me,” she sighed.

“Hm, yes… in the grass, in the flowers. The sun shining on your face just like it was that day,” he trailed off, gripping her waist, pulling her tighter against him.

“Is that right?”

“Mhm,” Theo murmured as his lips kept trailing over her neck.

“Just like this?”

“To start with,” he said into her, his soft sleep-soaked voice humming over her skin.

“And then?” Jane coaxed lazily.

“And then - then my fingers moved down, between your gorgeous thighs…”

Theo slid his hand under the waist band of her pajama bottoms, his fingertips ghosting across her hip, landing on the soft flesh of her inner thighs. He nestled his fingers between her legs, gripping her there as he sucked her neck with parted lips.

“What else?” She breathed as she craned her head down, her hand cradling his jaw to pull his face up to hers.

She took his lips in hers greedily, barely giving him space to speak as she tasted him.

“Then,” he murmured between their mouths when she finally relented her hunger. “Here.”

He dragged his fingers up, settling them tightly over the fabric clothing her heated flesh, his fingertips pressing gently into her mound. She whined softly into his mouth as his lips danced over hers, his tongue flickering across her bottom lip.

Theo's stomach lurched as he felt her dampness that had already collected on the fabric. He groaned, his fingers greedily curling under the lace of her panties.

“God, such a pretty mess already, aren’t you?”

His fingertips slid through her folds, spreading her arousal, swirling lightly outside of her entrance. She writhed down into him, her body begging for every part of his touch.

“Yes,” she whimpered. “You know how badly I want you inside me again.”

He rocked his hips against her, pressing the hard ridge of his cock into her thigh as his fingers danced across her clit, a quiet groan passing from his lips.

“Hm, like this?”

Jane's breath caught as he pushed a longer finger into her slick entrance halfway and let it soak there. Her stomach bloomed with a delicate, anticipatory heat. He hadn’t been inside her at all since before Christmas.

“Mhm, like that,” she whined as she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth slid her tongue against it.

He spun his fingertip in her pussy, sliding it against the delicate ridges of her walls.

“More Theo, please…” she begged in a needy whisper.

He hummed softly and pushed his finger deeper, until her heat was enveloping him to the knuckle.

“That okay?” He mumbled, his face falling into her neck, his lips wet and hungry against her. She whined and rolled her hips, instinctively chasing more sensation.

“God, I almost forgot how fucking warm you are… how good you feel inside this pretty mess.” Theo moaned, flickering his finger up inside her.

He ground the rigid line of himself harder against her thigh, his own desire snaking through him with a fierceness that seemed to dampen his fear.

“What else happened?” Jane murmured. “In your dream?”

Her voice broke as he pressed the pad of his thumb into her clit.

“This…” he said, voice dripping with lust as he pushed another finger into her, stretching her slick flesh as his thumb worked in tight circles over her swelling nerves.

She writhed down onto his fingers, chasing the pleasure.

“Yes, you like that, don’t you sweetheart? Have you missed having my fingers inside you? Have you missed me making you come like this?” Theo purred as he pumped his fingers.

“God, yes...” she groaned.

“Did you slip your own fingers into this pretty pussy and pretend they were mine?” He asked on a breath, curling his fingers up into the spot that he knew drove her wild.

“Fuck… yes, I did…” she moaned, her hips starting to buck as the pleasure coiled like a tight, hot spring in her belly.

“Hm… did you make yourself come, thinking about me inside of you?” He hummed, his low voice vibrating against her throat.

She whimpered a wordless admission as he sped up his pace, his thumb spinning urgently across her clit, his fingers pumping so hard inside her walls that the slick, wet sounds of her were audible from under the covers.

“Yes…” she moaned. “Please, Theo…”

“Show me how you came for me sweetheart… let me feel it.”

His words and relentless fingers undid her and her body obeyed, so starved of him. Her orgasm crashed through her in waves of pure heat, her walls clamping over his fingers, trapping them inside of her as she writhed.

“Oh god I’ve missed how you feel clenching around my fingers like that,” Theo moaned.

He let his fingers soak inside of her, massaging them slowly inside of her, feeling every single pulse of her walls until she’d descended, her breaths ragged.

Now, his mouth was greedy on her neck, teeth grazing over her skin in hot, possessive bites. Her hand moved from his face, trailing down between their heated bodies. She pressed her palm against the long line of his needy cock, reveling in the soft moans that fell from his lips. Her fingers squeezed and stroked him over the fabric of his trousers, working up to toy with his tip, already leaking beads of his slick arousal.

“Is this what I did, in your dream?” She breathed.

Theo's stomach flipped a she swept his trousers down and sprung free his cock into her hand, hot and heavy. Her fingers wound tightly around the rigid length, squeezing until he whined with need and started grinding himself hard into her hand. She met his movements, stroking his cock in quickening, rhythmic pulls. His tongue slid into her mouth to taste hers, graceless whimpers falling from him as he fucked her hand.

“Yes,” he groaned. “But not just this.”

“Oh, not just this?”

“No.”

He dragged her pajamas and soaked panties down until she kicked them off over her ankles under the blankets. His knee came up to prod in between her legs. She spread them softly, obediently, her core aching for him. He pulled himself higher and slid between her thighs, his weight resting agonizingly on her hips, the head of his cock sitting against her slit.

“Are you sure?” She breathed into him.

He nodded, his mussed long hair falling about her face as he kissed her messily.

“Yes. You have no idea how badly I want you my love.” He murmured. “I’m done torturing myself, torturing you… god you felt so real in my dream, you felt so good I swear I almost came in my sleep.” He huffed, lips finding her neck.

He slid the head of his cock against her flesh, his breathing already ragged. His whole body tensed, his energy lighting her up as he lined himself up and pushed into her in a slow, deep thrust.

She moaned softly at the hot stretch of him inside of her, how much her body had missed him filling her so perfectly. Theo whined, feeling her tight walls engulfing him so exquisitely.

He let himself soak in her pussy for a moment, savoring every second of her heat. Her hands slid up into his hair, mouth hungry against his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured lovingly, running a hand over her cheek before falling into the crook of her neck.

Slowly he pulled out and rocked back into her, his cock already throbbing at the overwhelming feeling. She rolled her hips gently, coaxing his every movement until he gave himself permission to bury himself faster. Her core twisted with every contented moan that fell from his mouth.

“I’ve missed you like this,” Jane groaned.

Theo's hand moved to her hip, anchoring her as he thrust himself deeper, faster, chasing the bliss with aching need. She felt his skin goosebump under her hands as she ran them over the plush muscle of his ass. His hands slid under her and gripped her there, arching her pelvis up against him, deepening his reach.

“Fuck, like that, like you missed me…” she moaned, her hips writhing down into his hands.

“I did miss you,” he groaned, sliding one of his arms up to twist around her waist, embracing her against him as he drove faster, his movements becoming messy and urgent. “I missed you so fucking much… missed this... so fucking much…” he said, his voice ragged and breaking as he buried himself faster, every whine from her mouth spurring his desire.

She arched up into him, the tight spring of pleasure threatening to unfurl with every push of his cock. His fears seemed to diminish into nothing as he fucked her again, felt his cock graze against her deepest parts.

“Harder,” she begged gracelessly, arms tight around his neck, pulling him into her. “Theo, fuck… don’t stop, don’t -”

He obeyed, groaning messily into her neck as he fucked her, angling his hips to drive himself deeper. Her hand slid between their heated bodies, fingers finding her swollen clit. She spun hurried, rhythmic circles over it to match his desperate strokes.

“Fuck, I can feel you fluttering around me... god you feel so good… come for me, come on me, please…” he begged raggedly.

She cried out, her pussy clenching like a vice around his cock, pulsing, milking him as the blissful waves of her orgasm scorched through her core.

“Fuck - Jane -” he grunted brokenly, thrusting himself to the hilt as he followed her over the edge, his whole body spasming in violent shudders, his cock throbbing in her walls as he filled her.

His groans were still messy as he rode them both down. “Fuck, I’m - I'm still coming...” he shivered against her, his arms wound tightly around around her waist as his cock continued pulsing his thick lust into her.

After a while he finally stilled, laying against her as his chest heaved. He ran a hand through his hair, tossing it out of his face before settling his hand against on her jaw.

“Are you okay?” He asked tentaively, his eyes swimming in hers.

“More okay than I have been in ages,” Jane chuckled.

She lay her arm across his chest and wound the ends of his hair around her fingers. “Are you? I was beginning to think you'd never want me like this again.”

“I never stopped wanting you,” he breathed, pressing his lips into her forehead. “And I never will.”

“Promise?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I promise.”

He sealed his lips over hers tenderly, claiming her, his heart blooming as he put his fears to rest.

***

“What about this one?” Jane asked hopefully, drawing herself up on her knees and leaning over the back of the sofa.

She wafted the flyer in the air. Theo craned his head up curiously from the kitchen. He waved his hand and the flyer floated from her fingers, drifting eagerly towards him. He caught it and flicked it out, his eyes trawling the page.

His thought landed before he could form any words.

Nope.

“You don’t like it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it.”

He looked up at her pointedly from behind the page. “Stop listening.”

“Stop thinking so loudly,” she laughed.

“It’s… fine, I suppose.”

“No, go on.” She sighed, slipping of the sofa and padding over to the kitchen. She sank into one of the island stools. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Well, take your pick darling. Too close to the city, the lawn is tiny, and that porch looks entirely unsafe. We'd be rebuilding it immediately.”

Jane rose an eyebrow silently.

“What?” He huffed. “You asked. I think we can do better. Much better.”

She rolled her eyes. “If we wait for something to meet every one of your perfect standards we’ll be here until we’re eighty.”

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “Besides, what’s wrong with having standards? I mean really Jane, can you imagine us living here?” He slid the flyer back over the island to her pointedly.

“I mean, you know I'm not exactly the biggest fan of the hotel vibe.” He said, gesturing vaguely. “You know that I don't care about modernity, or elegance, or any of that. I only care about being able to see us there.”

She dropped her shoulders, surrendering with a short huff. “No, well, I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” He smirked.

“Is that so?”

He leaned over the island, hovering his mouth over hers. “Yes, very much so.”

“Well then, what am I thinking?” She countered slyly.

“Not fair. I can’t hear your thoughts, can I?”

“No… and if you could, you’d blush.”

His lips slid up into a grin before they brushed against hers teasingly.

“Do you know what I’m thinking right now?” He brushed a finger up her jaw seductively and dragged it down over the tender spot in her throat that made her stomach bloom with heat.

“Why don't you tell me,” she murmured, melting into his touch as he tilted her chin up towards his mouth.

He leaned in, not all the way, just enough for her to feel the static shift of his energy humming between their mouths.

“I think…” he said deliberately slowly, making sure every single nerve of her was tuned into him.

“Yes?” She breathed.

He stilled in front of her mouth, his eyes lit and intense as they stared into hers. He lingered there, his lips parted, the crook of his mouth curving softly into a sly smile.

“That…”

He leaned closer, his lips touching hers so lightly she could’ve imagined it.

Her breath caught. He grinned approvingly at the sound.

“The vegetables are burning.” He whispered, dropping his hand promptly, leaving her there with parted lips and breathless sighs as he spun on his heels toward the oven.

“Tease.” Jane whined.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He smiled over his shoulder as she slunk back to the sofa and sighed down into it.

“Ever since we started having sex again you've become downright maddening, making me practically beg for it.”

“You love it.” He smirked. “And you are so good at begging, darling.”

She didn't respond, just huffed quietly on the couch and reached for another flyer off the stack she'd collected from the real estate broker that afternoon. She pretended that she couldn't hear his steps coming up behind her, and kept her eyes on the picture of the suburban, sunshine-yellow nightmare of a house in her hands.

She felt him lingering tightly behind her, felt his energy radiating from him as he leaned into her ear.

“Don't you?” He murmured.

“You're very cocky.”

“Perhaps. But I'm right again, aren't I?”

“Perhaps.” She mumbled non-committally.

He chuckled, laying his lips under her ear. “I'm only making up for all the moments you teased me, sweetheart.” He cooed. “Is that not fair?”

She didn't respond.

“Ah, right again,” he smirked playfully. “My my, I am on a roll tonight.”

“You'll be on the sofa if you're not careful.”

“Intriguing... I do love it on the sofa. So many fun angles.”

She rolled her eyes and screwed up the flyer, tossing it behind her in a huff. “Enjoy it while you can, Deschamps. I'm going to get even, and it's going to drive you insane.”

He slid his tongue over his lips, his eyes lit with anticipation. “Oh I bet you are, darling.” His teeth grazed over her earlobe, sending a shiver down her neck. “Now, be a good girl, and come get your dinner.”

He straightened up and plodded back into the kitchen, entirely too happy with himself.

***

The ice was fractured in glassy shards over on the smooth pavers that morning when Theo appeared in front of the Black Ravens building. The heel of his winter boot slipped ungracefully over the pathway as he materialized, making him teeter backwards for a moment, his long arms swinging out before he found his footing.

He regained his composure and waited in the frigid air for a moment instead of rushing into the heat. A second later, Jane materialized next to him, her own feet slipping dangerously on the ice as she did. She gasped, her warm breath misting a small frantic cloud as she teetered. Theo’s hand flew out abruptly and gripped her arm. He pulled her in, holding her steady.

He grinned at her flushed face, the delicate tip of her nose already a hot shade of pink from the cold.

“Clumsy… I thought that might happen.” He laughed lightly, his breath billowing a soft cloud into the air between them.

She studied him closely for a moment.

Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “You slipped too, didn’t you?”

“What? No, of course not darling. I’m the poster boy for elegant landings.”

She frowned, shooting him a sarcastic look.

“Fine, okay, I might have slid the tiniest fraction. But I looked good doing it.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, a couple strands of soft hair loosening from her bun. “You know, it would be much smarter to teleport directly inside.”

“Well, yes, but I’m so used to this exact coordinate that it would mean having to refocus my magic if I altered it now. That's brain power I don't have access to this early in the morning.”

“That’s hardly a big task.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Come on, it’s freezing.”

She tapped the loose ice from her heels on the bottom of the door frame as they crossed through the heavy front doors, and shivered into her coat sleeves as the warmth engulfed them.

Theo huffed a breath into his hands, rubbing them together.

“Nice of them to come in at the crack of dawn to light the fireplaces,” she mused, loosening the scarf from her neck. “Could you light the one in my office for me? I’ll grab us coffee from the -”

Her voice halted abruptly as she heard the door of the initiates offices swing open, the sound of clipped footsteps across the marble.

Then, he rounded the corner.

Theo’s eyes narrowed irritably. “Gregory?” He said, his face contorted in disbelief. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Gregory strode down the hall, his clacking steps on the marble eventually becoming muffled by the black velvet carpet.

“That’s hardly your business, is it Deschamps?” He said snidely, stopping in front of them with an unmistakable air of arrogance falling off of him.

Theo’s neck prickled.

“Oh, on the contrary. It’s entirely my business, and Jane’s. Answer the question.”

Gregory stepped closer, his hands loosely held in the pockets of his long coat. He eyed Theo up and down for a moment before casting his eyes over Jane. He lingered on her too long.

Theo’s gloved hand shot up and grappled Gregory's shoulder, not violent yet, just enough to make him flinch.

“Answer the question.” He repeated in a low growl.

“Well, aren’t you nosey?” Gregory jeered, screwing his nose up. “If you must know my business that badly, I’m here by appointment.”

“With whom?”

“My my, you’d think you be more aware of what’s going on around here.”

Theo’s grip tightened.

“Oh, you really don’t know.” Gregory chuckled arrogantly.

“We’ve been on Christmas break.”

“Aw, taking a little break already? The work proving to be a bit too much for you, is it? I suppose you’re not used to doing anything without Daddy’s help.” Gregory said, his voice slick as his mouth curved into a sarcastic smile.

Theo’s grip tightened, fingertips digging in enough to make Gregory’s face twitch in a grimace he tried and failed to hide.

“Don’t act like you have insider information Gregory,” Jane scoffed. “You’re not a Black Raven, you’re not even an apprentice. What business do you have here?”

“Like I said, an appointment.” His eyes drew into Theo’s pointedly. “Our dear Jerry of course. My, you really should be brought up to speed.”

“Jerry?”

Gregory’s face lit up in a snarky grin. “Oh, they did keep that one from you, didn’t they? Well you see, I've been corresponding with him for some time.”

Theo was closer now, hovering in Gregory's face, his hand still tight on his shoulder.

“You have five seconds to explain.” He hissed lowly in Gregory's ear.

Gregory snickered. “Goodness Jane, you know how to pick them, don’t you? The anger on this one,” he tutted.

Jane simply glared at him, the disgust plain enough on her face that words weren’t necessary.

“Not that it’s your business, like I said, but Jerry wanted to speak with me. About my future with the Black Ravens.”

“You don’t have a future with the Black Ravens,” Theo scoffed. “You were removed in disgrace in front of the entire guild, or don’t you remember that part?”

Gregory rocked on his heels for a moment. “I’m hardly going to discuss the specifics with you, am I?”

“You will if you know what’s good for you.”

Jane could feel the hot anger rolling off of Theo, radiating against her.

“Gregory, answer the question or leave,” she said, her voice clipped.

“I’m - going to be doing some work, for the Black Ravens.” Gregory said vaguely. “An assistant, if you will.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “An assistant to whom?”

“The organization.”

“My, how industrious of you.” Theo snarked.

Pathetic little worm. Weaseling his way back in here after he -

Jane’s arm brushed over his bicep, drawing his attention for a fraction.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s clearly trying to rile you up.” She huffed. “We have actual work to do here, Gregory, so if you don’t mind.”

He eyed them both for a moment, his square chin tilted up in that pompous way that made Theo’s fist form instinctively.

“I think you’ll find my work quite enlightening, actually Jane.” He said through his teeth, his lip curled up at the corner as he dragged his eyes over her.

He lingered in her space for a moment longer, before sliding his gaze back to Theo.

“Deschamps.” He said simply, with a snide flick of his shoulders. “Be a dear and keep this dog under control, would you Jane?”

He swiftly slid his thumb over Jane’s cheek. She jerked her face away violently, a shudder running through her. Theo scowled, and rounded on him, but he was already striding away quickly through the front doors.

Jane just caught sight of the edge of a fat pile of parchments and books tucked under his arm beneath the fold of his grey coat as it flapped in the force of him vanishing from the front pathway.

“That fucking -” Theo growled.

“He had something with him.” She interjected, eyeing the space where he’d vanished.

“What?”

“Files, a book maybe. I don’t know, but I don’t feel great about this,” she murmured. “Something's off.”

Theo’s brow knitted, his lips parting to form a response when the sound of steps descending the spiral staircase at the far end of the corridor drew their attention.

“Ah! Good morning to you both! I trust you had a good Christmas?” Jerry grinned brightly as he approached them, a huge silver thermos steaming in his fist.

“Jerry, care to explain what Gregory was doing here?”

Jerry’s eyebrows slid upwards. “I believe the courteous response would have been 'good morning' and 'happy holidays to you too', but alright.”

“Jerry,” Jane said plainly. “He said he was here by appointment. For you.”

He sighed. “Yes, in fact we’d just finished speaking.”

“About?” Theo promoted, his eyebrows rigid.

“You may be a Black Raven, but you’re not an Elder.” Jerry warned lightly. “Not everything needs to be run by you, Theo. Nor you, Jane.”

“It does when it involves Gregory,” Theo hissed. “Or have you forgotten how he almost killed Jane during that duel?”

Jerry’s face went stony. “Well, yes, no I haven’t forgotten.” He sighed. “Gregory has been… remorseful. All winter really, just an endless stream of letters appearing in my office. I feel bad for the poor man, if I’m being honest -”

“Remorseful to you maybe,” Jane scoffed. “I’ve yet to hear a single shred of an apology.”

Jerry chewed his words for a moment. “Yes, well, that may be so. And unfortunate as that is, we can’t deny that Gregory has valuable skills.”

“Valuable skills?” Theo huffed, a sarcastic laugh escaping him into the quiet foyer. “Spare me.”

“Yes, valuable skills.” Jerry said pointedly. “And given his remorse, and his urgency to make up for his actions during the retreat, he’s expressed interest in carrying out some work that we had on the table.”

“What kind of work?” Theo accused.

“Work that no one else wants to be doing, to be completely honest,” Jerry said plainly. “Or can you see yourself groundskeeping the estate?”

“That’s what he’s going?” Jane laughed shrilly. “Groundskeeping?”

“Groundskeeping, administration, maintenance.” Jerry gestured vaguely, flapping his hand about. “He’ll be stationed at the estate for a while, seeing to a few things that are in dire need of improving. Once he’s finished with his work there, we will discuss whether he may have a place in any future trials.”

“You mean he could have another chance at becoming a Black Raven? Has everyone here gone insane on account of the cold or something? Or did the eggnog render everyone stupid?” Theo spat, his anger rising a concerning degree, making Jane's hand grip his arm instinctively.

Jerry sucked his teeth awkwardly. “Now now, Theo. It’s only a small possibility. A very small one mind you.” He tried to laugh it away, but Theo's eyes narrowed in even further.

How could they be that fucking stupid?!

Jane's grip tightened.

“Jerry, do you really think it’s wise to trust Gregory with the estate? There are seriously classified things kept there. Case files, ancient magic, the Crypts, the library itself houses some extremely rare and valuable materials.” she protested.

“Oh, he won’t be accessing any of that.” Jerry said casually. “Strictly maintenance and administration. Several Elders who are permanent residents of the estate will oversee his work and the estate’s security.”

Jane’s face was stony. Theo shot her a tight look.

“Now, if that’s all, chop chop - work awaits!” He turned on his heels.

“Wait, Jerry -” Jane said.

“Hm?” He swung back around.

“Did you meet with Gregory upstairs?”

“Oh, yes. In my office of course.” He smiled and strode off, his steps clipping over the marble and back up the staircase.

Both Theo and Jane were silent, half stunned, half deducting.

“Theo,” she turned her head toward him, realization in her eyes.

“I know, I don’t feel good about this either.” He muttered.

“No, Theo. Gregory didn’t come from upstairs. He was in the lower offices, and he left with a stack of files.”

Theo’s jaw clenched.

“He took something,” she murmured, her gaze tight on the corridor to the offices. “And he was hiding it.”

“Should we tell -”

“No, not yet.” Jane said softly, chewing her lip. “Unless we have something solid against him I doubt Jerry and the Elders will change course. I’ll figure out what he took first.”

Theo exhaled a sharp breath.

“And then?”

“I don’t know, but I - I have a feeling this isn’t over.”

The warmth in the air suddenly felt too thick, too suffocating as Jane’s heart began to hammer with a sense of creeping dread.

***

The dark, hard tile of the apartment was making Jane’s back ache as she sat craned over a loose piece of parchment on the floor. She could hear the soft splattering of slushed snow against the skylight, dropping in thick deposits across the glass.

Theo was reclining back in her desk chair, teetering precariously on its back legs as he watched her.

Her finger skid across the rough grain of the parchment as her brow knitted.

“I think… I think it was an old book of Cryptic Runes.” She hummed. “I took a loose inventory when I was an initiate, and when I checked this afternoon there were a few things missing. Cryptic Runes, an old spellbook - I’m talking old, like two hundred years old - and a few case files.” She bit her lip. “I’m not sure specifically which ones, I didn’t catalogue all of those, only some of them.”

“What would he want with a bunch of random files and some dusty old spellbooks that he probably can’t even comprehend?” Theo huffed, his feet touching back down to the floor as he leaned forward on his elbows.

“I don’t know,” Jane mumbled as she scanned the parchment again. “Maybe Jerry asked him to take them?”

“Jane, come on.”

She sighed. “Yes, I know, not likely. Plus, the way he was hiding them. But why those…”

Her mind spun messy circles as she sat curled on the floor, her thumb tapping the page. “Let me do some more digging. I’ll have another look through the library tomorrow.”

Theo rose from his chair, brushing his fingers across the blooming bud of one of her winter plants hanging from the ceiling. The vine wriggled and receded from his touch as if personally offended. He frowned.

“Your plants don’t like me.” He huffed softly.

She craned her neck, staring up at his tall frame from the floor.

“Because every time you come in here you prod them.”

“I - no I don’t.”

She looked at him from under her eyebrows pointedly.

“Okay, sometimes. Like, one other time.”

“Every time.”

His lips curled in, pushing his cheeks out. “I like the way they wriggle.”

Jane grinned.

“What? It’s cute.”

“It annoys them.”

“Would you rather I annoy you?”

“Theo, please. I’m trying to focus on Gregory -”

His brows drew together as he let out a loud huff of air. “I’m sick of talking about Gregory.” He whinged. “We’ve been talking about that creep all day.”

Jane stood finally, stretching out her aching joints, depositing the parchment back into the drawer of her desk.

“Because he’s up to something.”

“He’s always up to something.” Theo said, his face stony. “And whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do, love.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face and kissed her temple.

She sighed, her gaze lingering on the desk, her mind lingering on the spaces between the ink where she could have sworn she was missing something.

***

The morning was still and serene, the snowfall having halted and given way to the bright white sun. It beamed through Theo’s office windows, dancing off of a glass on his desk, throwing flares across the sleek surface. He looked up from his paperwork to admire a fat little blackbird who had flapped itself down onto a branch outside the ledge of his window.

He was reaching for his mug of coffee when the office door flung open which such force that it smacked and bounced off the wall behind it.

“Jesus-“ he started, sloshing his coffee over the paperwork. “Fuck - Jane, what the -”

She barreled into the office in what seemed like one endless stride, her teeth flashing in a wide, elated grin. She practically sung his name as she halted at the desk, going from foot to foot in a barely contained excitement. Theo raised an eyebrow at her as he blustered about his desk, fixing the spilled liquid with a snap of his fingers, drying the papers with a wave of his hand.

“It’s far too early for this level of excitement,” he said. “Unless I’m the one exciting you, then it’s perfectly acceptable.”

She slapped a flyer down onto the desk in front of him. His eyes fell to the page.

“This one.” She said, biting her lip.

His eyebrows rose as he scanned the picture.

“Let me give you a better look.” Jane said.

She snapped her fingers, and the image on the page grew upward and outward, becoming a three dimensional projection of itself, floating gently atop the page.

A white cottage. Somewhat modern, with a black slate roof and a black framed, glass-roofed conservatory attached snugly to the side. A white-washed, irregular stone slate path curved through lush green bushes and up two steps to the front door, which was engulfed in an arch of barely-pink roses and green leaved vines that snaked up the white exterior to the second floor.

Theo spun the imagine in his fingertips to view it from every angle. “Two stories?”

Jane nodded.

“In the city?”

She shook her head. “Far enough away, but not as far as your parent's place.”

Theo nodded gently, still looking at it. “Well that is a bonus. But what about the -”

“Lawn? Pretty big from those measurements.” She tapped her finger on the page. “It has a garden, a greenhouse. Room for a little pond even?” Her voice lilted up hopefully.

She couldn’t hide the excitement on her face when Theo didn’t offer a single piece of criticism.

“I mean, that ticks nearly all the boxes.”

“What do you mean nearly all?”

“No gazebo?” He laughed.

Jane rolled her eyes, and wafted her hand through the projected image. It dissipated into a thin cloud that vanished into the air above the desk.

“Semantics.”

“Your semantics.”

Jane chewed her cheek. “We’ll build one.”

“Will we?” His eyebrows grew loftier.

“Someone will build one.” She corrected.

Theo chuckled, took a long sip of his coffee, and rounded the desk. He stamped her forehead with a warm kiss as she looked up at him hopefully, and gazed back down at the flyer.

“Shall we go see it?”

“Right now?” She squeaked.

“Decidedly not.” He laughed. “It’s seven-thirty, darling.”

“Basically lunch time.”

Theo huffed. “How about we do go at actual lunch time?” He said as she opened her mouth to negotiate. “Not ten, not eleven. I’m talking one-thirty.”

“Ridiculous. That’s basically dinner time.”

“Jane.”

“Okay, sorry.” She huffed. “I’m just excited. We’ve been looking for weeks and this seems perfect.”

“Well I must admit, the others weren’t really hard to out do.”

He took in her hopeful face for a second, the way her irises were lit from behind, how they always were when she was this excited about something.

“Now.” He said, cradling her face to kiss her. “Back to work, sweetheart. Before I get properly distracted.”

“Oh,” she curled her lips down into a playful sad face. “But that’s my favourite hobby.”

“I know,” he murmured, kissing her again. “I’ll see you at lunch time. Go slowly.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I said so.” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, tossing her hair back playfully as she went. Theo’s eyes were tight on the line of her back, skirting down over the curve of her ass as she walked. She craned her head around, catching his eyeline as she hovered at the door.

“So that's why,” she smirked. “I thought you didn’t want to be distracted.”

“Well,” he grinned playfully. “A little distraction is good for motivation, don’t you think?”

She rolled her eyes again, tilting her hips at him deliberately as she closed the door behind her.

***

The winter sun had defrosted enough of the flaky layer of ice upon the ground that there was no risk of slipping backwards when Jane and Theo materialized down the road from the cottage. They were at the bottom of a lane road with a soft incline, framed by grass verges and tall trees that created a canopy above. The white afternoon light flittered down and shone off the defrosted grass, wet with icy dew.

It was a short walk up to the cottage.

“Here we are,” Jane said, stopping in front of a long driveway that snaked down into the property. Her eyes found the white stone letterbox, the glossy black numbers. “Number 001.”

“Well, it is peaceful, I’ll give it that.” Theo mused as she grinned and laced her fingers through his.

The grass expanse on either side of the drive tapered down into the garden. Bushes of winter flowers and miniature magnolia trees were grouped about artistically. It was peaceful, birdsong tweeting out around them, their steps clacking gently over the stone path as they rounded the trees.

Jane let out a small “oh!” when she laid eyes on the cottage. A large cherry blossom tree hung over the pathway. Rose bushes lined it, while a charming wrought iron table and chairs sat adjacent to the front door steps. Her eyes widened, trailing up the arch of vines that snaked over the front face of the house. Theo took it in, but mainly watched Jane, the way her face lit up as she scanned the front garden.

“Shall we?” He smiled, leading her up the pathway to the front door.

He rapped twice against the glass with his gloved knuckles. After a moment, the sounds of heels on hardwood clipped from behind the door, and it opened with a click. A soft faced agent with short, greying hair set into neat curls greeted them, her mouth a crescent of red lipstick.

“Oh hello!” She said brightly, shoving her hand out to shake Jane’s hand, then Theo’s. “You must be Theo and Jane! I’m Marion, the agent. Wonderful to get your call earlier, Jane. Come, come in from the cold!”

She waved them in animatedly.

Theo’s eyebrows softly rose as he took in the entrance way. Beyond the threshold it was open, bright, the light streaming in from the glass conservatory. The floors were a light hardwood, and thick, rough cut black beams spanned across the white ceiling.

“Conservatory is through here.” Marion said brightly, flapping her hand out to the left as they stepped deeper inside. “Kitchen and dining, just up ahead and through to the right. Living room and office are straight ahead and around the corner, as are the stairs. Bedrooms upstairs, as well as a small library.”

Jane shot Theo a wide grin at the word, her hand squeezing his excitedly. His mouth curved up at the corners.

“Well, don’t mind me. Have a look around, let me know if you have any questions!” She sung out, heading through to the kitchen.

Jane paced off excitedly, heading for the stairs, and ascended them in skipping steps. Theo watched her until she’d disappeared onto the landing. He stepped into the conservatory, hands relaxed in his coat pockets. The beige stone of it clacked under his shoes as he paced around slowly, scanning out the glass.

He was idling through the kitchen a while later when Jane came up behind him and squeezed his hips excitedly.

“I love it.” She said, scanning the kitchen with its light wood cabinetry, white bench tops, pale green backsplash. The deep sink was adorned with gold hardware and backed by a large, bright window.

While her eyes were drinking in every detail, Theo’s were locked on her face and the soft, quiet smiles that kept forming in her lips.

“Would you like to see the back garden?” Marion piped up from the living room.

“Oh, sure.” Theo replied, his hand guiding at Jane’s lower back to follow her out.

The back door led them out onto another stone patio, bushes and trees artistically arranged in the same manner, tapering off into a large, lush lawn framed by low wooden fences in the distance.

“So the pathway stretches down to the lawn here, and then further on there’s a small gate. It’s part of the property, but nothing much to see there at the moment, just a field with various trees and flowers dotted about.”

Theo led Jane across the patio and through the lawn, eventually coming to the fence lined with bushier, wilder trees. He leaned his elbows on it.

His face was set and unreadable, and her eyebrows knitted softly as she turned to him.

“What’s wrong?” She frowned.

“Hm? Oh, nothing.” He said vaguely.

“It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

He was quiet, considering his answer. “I think it’s a house.”

Jane’s face fell. “What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled vaguely. “I don’t know if it feels right. The vibes are off, you know?”

“Are you kidding me?” Jane scoffed. “Theo, are you blind?”

“What? No, I’m serious.” His voice was even and genuine.

“Theo, it’s literally perfect.”

“Well, I guess that’s your opinion.” He said plainly.

“I - don’t understand. What exactly isn’t meeting your standards?”

He straightened up, and gestured vaguely at everything that Jane thought was perfect. “Like I said just - the vibes are off. Sure it looks nice, but I just don’t really see us here.” He shrugged.

Jane's face was laden with disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“No, sweetheart. I’m serious.”

She frowned. “Oh. Okay.”

She started walking off, her shoulders tight, a wash of embarrassment coming over her as she recalled how stupidly excited she’d been.

“Jane, come on,” Theo said, pacing up quickly behind her. “There’ll be others. This is only the first one we’ve actually looked at.”

“I uh, yeah, I know,” she said flatly. “But um, how about you look for the next one? Based on your… vibes or whatever.”

His stomach knotted as she flashed him a sardonic smile.

She stalked back inside as he hung back in the garden to thank the agent. Jane glared out the window of the back door, watching his back as they spoke. Her excitement seemed miles away, faded into nothing.

“Lovely to meet you Marion.” She said perfectly politely, shoving on her boots in the entranceway. “We um, we’re going to keep looking I think. We might see you again some time.”

“Wonderful, I look forward to it.” Marion smiled cheerfully as Theo shook her hand again. “And don't hesitate to reach out, if you change your mind.”

The walk back through the driveway and down the lane road was silent and pointed.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t like it.” Jane sighed as they finally reached the bottom. “I guess I thought it was perfect.”

Theo sighed, rubbing her upper back. “The right one will come along, sweetheart.” He smiled softly.

She didn’t answer, just nodded vaguely, her eyes far away as she grabbed his hand and snapped her fingers, vanishing them from the tranquility.

***

The stack of property flyers was becoming precariously tall on the coffee table later that week. Jane had returned from work with yet another handful that day. She sat cross legged on the sofa, flipping through them, discarding them just as quickly. The cottage was stuck in her mind like a fat pin in a corkboard. She sighed back into the sofa, and looked at the clock. Theo would be home from his meeting soon.

She got up and plodded into the bathroom, waving her hand and bringing the shower to life. The week had left her flat, heavy, and somehow hollow at the same time.

Between her suspicions about Gregory, the constant stream of houses running through her head, the unending nausea, and the disappointment of realizing she might not actually know what Theo wanted was all weighing on her like lead. She peeled off her clothes and stepped into the steam.

The hot water held her like an embrace, softening her edges, though not completely easing her. She stood under the cascade, her thoughts twisting into a headache as she washed her hair.

She shut the water off with a wave of her hand as she heard Theo’s steps across the living room. He craned his head into the bathroom as she was doing up her robe and fluffing out the waves of her hair which she’d dried with a snap of her fingers.

“Hi,” she said flatly, trying a smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Oh you know, as much fun as you’d expect.” Theo said, coming closer to her.

He ran a hand through her soft hair and kissed her forehead. She offered only a small hum as she turned to leave.

“Jane?” He said, still standing in the bathroom for a beat before following her out.

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

The question was so simple and yet enough to bring a flash of tears to her eyes. They pooled precariously at the edges, and she rounded into the bedroom, wiping at them furiously.

“I’m good,” but her voice was strained.

Theo lingered in the bedroom doorway, watching her closely.

“Jane,” his voice was the low, gentle tone that always made her even more emotional.

She peered over at him, trying her best to present a happy face and failing miserably.

“I said I’m good.”

“You’re not.”

Her eyes were welling again. “It’s just been a long week. I’m not feeling great.”

“I’m here,” he said, stepping into her and resting a hand on her cheek. “Talk to me.”

His touch unraveled her, forcing the dampness in her eyes to run over into soft streams down her cheeks. He swiped one away with the pad of his thumb.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He asked gently.

“Everything.” Her voice was tiny, broken.

He sighed, pulling her in.

“It’s alright,” he said soothingly as she leaned against his chest, his hands running through her hair. “You’re alright.”

“It’s just a lot, you know? Gregory, work, not being able to find a place we both like. I’m exhausted all the time, I want to throw up all the time. And I don’t -” her voice broke again with a caught sob. “I don’t know what you want anymore.”

“What I want?” Theo frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I just.. I was so sure that place was perfect, Theo. I was so sure that you wanted the same as me and I was wrong, and I feel stupid because of it.”

“You weren’t wrong.” Theo said gently. “I do want the same as you, Jane.”

“No, you don’t. I’m looking through so many flyers and just feeling hopeless, everything I like I feel like you’ll hate.” She sniffed.

She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe but it was useless, the tears were falling thick and fast and she was powerless to stop them.

“Shh,” Theo whispered, kissing her hair. “Close your eyes.”

She looked up at him, confused, eyes red and irritated with tears, irises deepened in colour by them.

“What?”

“I - I have something for you. Well for us. I think it will make you feel better. But you have to close your eyes.” He said softly.

She sighed, studying his face for a moment before closing her eyes.

“Is it cake?” She muttered, wiping her face on her sleeves. “Cake would help.”

Theo chuckled softly. “It’s much better than cake.”

“Nothing's better than cake.” Jane mumbled as she stood there with her eyes closed.

Suddenly, his warm fingers were reaching for her hand. His thumb drifted over her palm gently before he placed something inside of it.

Small, cold.

He closed her fingers over it.

“Theo what -”

“Open.”

She opened her eyes. His face was lit, his lips curled up into a wide smile. She took in his face for a moment.

“Look,” he said, his voice light, nodding toward her hand.

She opened it tentatively. Sitting in her palm was a small, shiny brass key.

Her brain went blank for a moment, eyebrows knitted, lips parted softly. Finally she picked it up in her fingers and ran them over the ridges.

“I - what?”

Theo was grinning now, his perfect teeth flashing.

“Is this... what I think it is?” Her words were barely a whisper, caught behind her disbelief.

Theo bit his lip, his face blooming with giddiness.

“The cottage?” She murmured, her eyes trailing from the key to his bright face.

He nodded, his eyes wrinkling with the force of his smile. “The cottage.”

Jane was motionless for a beat, her eyes drifting between him and the brass on a loop. Then, they narrowed.

She slapped his chest with her palm, forcing him backwards a step.

“You absolute... ass.” She exclaimed, her face contorted with too many emotions at once. Tears of joy, knitted brows of annoyance, parted lips of disbelief.

Theo laughed as she whacked him again.

“What?” he teased. “You don’t like it? I’m afraid I can’t really return it, love.”

She shook her head, huffing, tears still falling. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“But I did.” He stepped back into her and ran his fingers through her hair, his thumb coming to rest under her ear.

“That was really mean,” she groaned.

“I’d say it was the opposite.”

“No, making me think you didn’t like it!”

He chuckled. “Oh I really can’t believe you bought that. Do you know how hard I had to try to keep my thoughts to myself?”

“So you did, you do like it?”

“It’s perfect,” he smiled, his heart blooming at the excitement that was shifting onto her face. “More than perfect. I knew it from the driveway.” He chuckled.

“That was so sneaky.” She sniffed, wiping her eyes again. He pulled her into a warm embrace and cradled her head as she looked down at the key with bright eyes.

“Okay, I'll admit, it was a little sneaky. I did feel bad, making you think I didn’t like it. Truly, I could barely sleep. But I knew it would be worth the look on your face.” He tilted her face up in his hands and kissed her deeply. “You’re so pretty when you’re surprised. I couldn’t resist.”

“Mean,” she breathed as he kissed her again.

“So mean,” He sighed between their mouths. “I’d go so far as to say horrible… terrible… punishable.”

Her stomach flipped as she read the sly smirk on his face.

“Hm... punishable?” Jane murmured, her insides twisting with a dark desire. “Yes, that does sound reasonable... you’ve been mean, haven't you Theo? A mean little sneak. Naughty.” She tutted.

“Punish me then,” Theo purred, his tongue sliding over her bottom lip as he sucked it into his mouth.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” she breathed, hovering her mouth over his.

“Oh, am I?”

She leaned in to kiss him again, waiting for his mouth to just meet hers before she pulled away. His gaze was locked on her, hazy, watching her every careful move.

She slid her fingers through the tie of her robe and let it slip off her naked body to the floor. Theo’s lips curved upward as his eyes feasted on her bare skin, trailing from her parted lips to the swell of her breasts, the pop of her nipples. His gaze dragged down across her torso, over the curve of her hips and the shape of her thighs, lingered between her legs before trailing back up to her face.

She watched him watch her until she saw his fingers twitching with the urge to touch her. She stepped closer, slowly, and slid her hands around his neck. His settled against her bare waist, but she slapped them away forcefully. He flinched, the crook of his mouth twitching upward.

“Bad boys don’t get to touch.” She smirked, her hands sliding around his neck again. She dragged her fingertips teasingly down his neck, making his throat arch back softly. She landed on the knot of his tie, her fingers slipping it loose.

Theo’s lips parted as she pulled it slowly from his collar and ran her hands down his torso. She stepped around him, dragging her hand and the tie over his arms, drifting it up his back. He inhaled sharply as she wrapped the silk around his throat and pulled, making his neck arch back again.

“Oh, you liked that... hm.” She hummed into his ear as he craned his head back into her. “But I’m afraid this is going somewhere else,” she said, running it over his throat again.

He huffed a small, aroused sound from his throat. “Where?”

“You’ll see,” she murmured, dragging her fingers tips up his throat and under his jaw. “Actually, you won’t. Only good boys get to look.”

His breath caught, a shiver of anticipation running up his spine. Jane smoothed his tie across his eyes and knotted it behind his head, pulling it taught, drawing a soft breath from his mouth.

“Not fair,” he murmured, his eyes shrouded in darkness.

“Isn’t it?”

He exhaled a long breath.

“This is a hazard.”

“It’s a punishment.”

Finally she stepped in front of him and leaned up on her tiptoes, brushing her mouth against his feather light. “Isn't that what you asked for? To be punished?”

He whined as she denied him a proper kiss, instead dragging her thumb across his full bottom lip. His stomach heated as he felt her fingers hooking under his coat, pushing it off his shoulders. She undid his shirt buttons one by one, frustratingly slowly, before sliding it back and down his arms. She stepped back for a moment to admire him, her eyes trailing over every lean plain of muscle, every peak and trough.

“Jane -”

“Be quiet,” she commanded as she stepped around him, dragging and dancing her fingertips across his bare torso.

He huffed, breaths quickening as she ran her nails down his abs, settling on the line of hair beneath is navel. His cock twitched softly in his pants as she scraped a nail just underneath the waistband of his trousers.

“Oh?” She smirked, her voice dripping. “I saw that.” She dipped her finger underneath the band of his briefs, scraping her nail over his groin. Her eyebrows slid up as she watched his rigid bulge twitch again against the fabric.

“My my,” she chuckled. “Someone is eager.”

“Jane… please.” He breathed.

“Are you begging already? Adorable.”

Her fingers worked on his button and zipper, and she pulled his trousers and briefs down off his long legs. Her gaze pulled towards his cock, long and rigid as it sprang free. She scraped her nails up his muscular thighs. Theo’s breath felt both trapped and ragged as his hips twitched towards her.

She straightened up and slid her hands slowly up his torso, over his chest, settling them back around his neck. Theo’s desire was snaking through him like an unruly flame, and he responded, his fingers gripping her waist, trying to pull him against her.

“Uh uh.” She tutted, stepping backwards, smacking his hands away. “You just can’t do what you’re told, can you? Maybe I’ll just leave you here, what a shame -”

“No,” he whined, the cold space she’d left between them unbearable. “Please, Jane, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to make sure of that.”

“What -”

She snapped her fingers, and Theo’s arms were pulled back behind him. He gasped as his wrists were forced together and bound with a magical shimmering thread. He wriggled his arms uselessly.

“No touching. No looking.” She repeated, tiptoeing back up to his face and hovering her mouth at his ear lobe. “Don’t make me gag you as well.”

A shiver ran down his spine, her sultry tones rumbling through his ears. He whined uselessly, naked and bound and blind, completely at her mercy.

“Now, where was I?”

He felt her heat radiating onto him. She was close, but he couldn’t see anything but the darkness of the silk across his eyes. He could smell her scent so fresh on her skin, sweet pea and jasmine, swirling around him as she moved.

After dragging her fingernail over his body in swirls and dips, she lowered herself, sliding the very tip of her tongue down his torso as she went, laying a trail of wetness across his muscles. He shivered at the slick feeling of it, and felt his cock leak a bead of precum as her weight and heat shifted below him.

He gasped sharply as her tongue flickered over his slit, tasting his arousal. She hummed approvingly as the salty, musky taste of him sat on her tongue.

“I love the way you taste when your body is begging for it,” she purred “you’re going to give me more of this, aren’t you Theo?”

She swirled the tip of her tongue over his head again, pulling a whine from his mouth.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Whatever you want… it’s yours.”

She hummed again. “Oh you are trying to be a good boy, aren’t you? So sweet for me.”

She ran her fingernails down his lean thighs again, lightly, watching intently as his skin goose-bumped in her wake. She was rougher on the way back up, digging and gripping into the muscle. His breath drew in as she hovered her mouth near his length, her lips barely brushing over his silky shaft, her hot breath pooling over him.

His hips twitched toward her instinctively, and she hummed happily as another silky bead gathered on his tip.

“Hm, yes, there you go,” she purred “just like that.”

He whined again as she mouthed his shaft, dragging and sucking wet kisses along it, his flesh hot in her mouth.

“Jane...” he breathed, more pearly beads spilling forth from him. “Please…”

“Please what?”

“Please, please put me in your mouth... your hand... anywhere…”

She stood up and leaned into his ear, briefly sucking on his earlobe before speaking.

“No,” she murmured. “Not until you’re dripping for me. Not until you’re desperate.”

“I am, I am desperate.” Theo groaned, his arms wiggling in the magical binds. “Please…”

“You’re going to do what I say, aren't you?” Jane asked, running her hands over his throat again. “Don’t you want to be rewarded?”

“Yes, yes I do, I’ll do whatever you say, I’ll -”

“Shh,” she cooed as his voice rasped with desperation. “Don’t talk. Your mouth is for tasting.”

“What -”

“Those are the rules.” She smirked. “You have other ways to talk to me.”

He groaned as she pressed her hot lips to his throat, brushing just her fingertips lightly up and down his rigid cock as she sucked at his neck, her tongue flicking over his skin as she went, her teeth nipping over his Adam’s apple, which bobbed with effort as he tried to swallow his soft sounds.

His thoughts were loud and needy.

More... please Jane? Please…

“Your mouth looks so hungry when you’re not using it to speak.” She purred into his throat.

She leaned up and sucked in his bottom lip, fingers still trailing lazily over his shaft. He whimpered, shivering against her.

“Are you hungry, Theo?”

Yes, so hungry for you my love…

She hummed and slid her other hand down between her legs, sliding a finger through her wet slit, gathering her own arousal.

“Open your mouth.”

He obeyed quickly, his lips falling open softly, his breaths quickening with anticipation. Jane brought her finger up to his lips, spreading her wetness across them before popping her finger into his mouth, sliding it across his tongue.

He groaned needily, sucking her finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it to taste her.

Fuck you taste good…

Finally she kissed his mouth properly, engulfing his lips in her own, pushing her tongue over his teeth, pulling his bottom lip down with her own until he whimpered for her. She slid back down between his legs, eyeing his cock, which was dripping a slick line of precum.

“Good boy,” she cooed. “Look at you dripping so desperately. For me?”

He nodded, long hair brushing over his shoulders as he did, his lips parted, but his words landed in her head.

Yes, for you... please... I need you so badly...

“Hm, well I wouldn’t want to waste this now, would I?”

She opened her mouth softly under his cock, her tongue out, leaning up to catch the slick line of lust that pooled over his tip. She collected it on her tongue and moved up until her wet lips met his head, a sharp gasp drawing into his throat as she made contact with it.

God, thank you... thank you…

She took more of him into her mouth, rolling her lips down his length, sliding her tongue along the underside ridge as she sank deeper.

Theo whined loudly as she drew back slowly and then sank forward again, taking him deeper into her mouth, until her lips were flush with the base of him. She hummed along his length as she worked him in tight, wet pulls, the vibrations of her mouth making his stomach curl with an intense heat.

Fuck... yes… just like that…

She bobbed her head faster, sucking in her cheeks, the sounds of her mouth wet and messy as she forced his head to the back of her throat. His thoughts became a rushed, desperate string of curses as he felt his muscles spasming in intense knots, felt himself barreling towards defeat.

The pleasure was too much, making him rasp and beg out loud between moans as his hips jerked forward with every pull of her mouth.

“Oh fuck - don’t stop, don’t fucking stop...” he begged in a desperate whine. “I’m going to - can I? Can I come for you Jane?”

She hummed approval as she took him faster and gripped his hips, digging her fingernails into crescent moons in his skin, urging him deeper into her throat until she was gagging and spilling messy tears down her cheeks, until her saliva was pooling out around her lips and falling in a slick line down her chin.

Theo crashed over the edge, undone by her fervent mouth, grunting out loud, broken moans as he came. He shuddered violently, his hips rutting forward as he spilled thick ropes down her throat, his cock pulsing with every divine wave of pleasure.

She purred over his cock, slowly dragging her mouth along it, rolling her lips back to gather every drop of him before popping him out of her mouth.

“Good boy.” She cooed as she rose to her feet, her hands dragging up his heaving chest. He was still shuddering as he stood.

“My, your legs are shaking. Was it that good?”

He swallowed roughly. “I’m sorry I - I think I need to sit down.”

She brushed a hand up his cheek affectionately.

“Then kneel.”

His breath caught, and he obeyed quickly, sinking ungracefully to his knees, his hands still bound behind his back.

“Now, since you’ve been so good, I’m going to let you choose.” Jane said softly, running her fingertips through his hair.

“Choose, sweetheart?”

“Do you want to see me, or touch me while you taste me?”

He was quiet for a moment, still breathing ragged breaths.

“Touch you,” he said finally.

She snapped her fingers and the shimmering thread vanished, unbinding him, his wrists spun with a pink flush where the binds had held him so tightly.

“Oh, thank you...” he groaned, his hands immediately finding the warm flesh of her thighs, kneading and dragging over it as he kneeled obediently between her legs.

She didn’t need to instruct him. He leaned into her heat, his nose bumping over her clit as he tilted his mouth up to her slit and delved his tongue through her, spreading her folds as his hands trailed up to knead her ass.

He pulled her harder against his mouth as she whined, his tongue lapping and swirling from her entrance up to the crest of her pussy, his lips sucking hard over her swollen clit. His thoughts were loud in her head as she started writhing down over his mouth.

God, you taste divine… do you want my fingers?

“Yes…” she whined as he flickered circles over her clit with his tongue.

He slid a finger through her heat and then prodded into her slick entrance, stretching her gently before he plunged two long fingers into her, making her hips buck hard against his face.

She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Yes Theo, good boy, just like that.”

He groaned into her pussy, pumping his fingers as his tongue circled her clit in tight circles. The wet, slick sounds of his mouth on her and the string of frantic moans that were drawing from her throat only fueled him further. His hand pumped harder, his fingers curling up into her walls in a relentless rhythm as he hummed into her flesh. His other hand pushed up and found her breast, pulling and kneading at it as he worked her. She moaned out as he pinched and rolled her nipple between his fingers.

“More Theo… more.” She whined as he felt the hot coil in her belly pressurizing with intense force.

He obeyed, driving a third finger into her slick, pushing them deeper, pumping and curling frantically up into her most sensitive spot as he sucked hard over her clit. Her fingers fisted painfully in his hair.

That’s it Jane, come for me… please, please…

Her orgasm was a thrashing, violent thing, the spring of pleasure snapping in hot glorious waves of release through her core as she cried out, her hips bucking and jerking wildly onto Theo’s face, her walls clenching his fingers a vice grip as he moaned excitedly into her flesh.

She shuddered as the aftershocks pulled through her, Theo’s fingers massaging her down as his tongue lapped broadly, gathering her arousal. Finally, he drew them out and sucked them into his mouth, tasting her a final time.

Once her breaths calmed she slipped the knot from the tie and slid the silk from Theo’s eyes. He blinked roughly a few times, normalizing back to the light, before his adoring gaze trailed up to her flushed face.

“You were so good for me.” She praised, her thumb bushing up his cheek. He leaned into her hand and kissed her palm affectionately.

“Consider me reformed,” he chuckled as he rose to his feet.

His hands come to rest at her waist, steady, trusting, while he peppered her lips with tender kisses. He dragged a hand up and over the swell of her breasts, coming to a rest on the side of her neck.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?” She sighed as he gazed Atlantic blue into her eyes.

“Mm, maybe. But tell me again, sweetheart.” he grinned, taking her lips in his.

“I love you, Theo.” She said softly.

He led her to the bed and sunk down onto it with her, his arm resting lazily across her waist, fingers drawing circles on her back as they lay in the warm, thrumming post-lust haze.

“I love you, Jane.” He stamped a sleepy kiss on her chest. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I tricked you. I just couldn’t resist surprising you like that. You do so much for me, for us. For this little one.” His hand trailed over her lower belly. “I wanted to give you the kind of surprise you deserve.”

“I still can’t believe you bought us a house.” She scoffed lightly, her eyes bright.

“A perfect one, might I add,” he grinned. “I promise I’ll make up for the trick, Jane. I’ll bring you tiny cakes every day if that’s what it takes.”

“Hm,” she chuckled, running a finger through his hair. “Well I’ll be holding you to that, Deschamps.”

They lay entwined as the evening turned toward the night, bare and embraced in each other, the tide of the future drawing over them, hearts blooming as one as they envisioned the bright days that lay in wait for them, just around the corner.

___________________________________________________________

A/N: This is the last chapter of Winter Solstice! So, I made it extra long with more smut than I initially planned but that's hardly my fault because they just start doing it and I'm sat in the cuck chair watching.

PS. I hope you all enjoy whiny, begging, subby Theo as much as I do lmao - but never fear, our beloved dom Theo will return very soon.

[vvitchfangs]

I’m having epiphanies… making deductions…. coming to conclusions…

hope y’all like the dark and twisted 🥀

[vvitchfangs]

☣︎ WOUNDS: Furnace ☣︎

CHAPTER SIX - MIXED POV

Summary: You weren't even conscious. And you were the most threatening thing in the room. Stolen moments and a bad drug reaction lead to the binds of obsession tightening around you and Henry.

Pair: Henry Creel/Vecna/001 x Female Reader

Content/Warning Labels: dark slowburn, Henry POV, flashbacks, Hawkins Lab, Martin Brenner is his own warning, angst, yearning, medical abuse, pills/drug trip, forbidden relationship, kissing, non-con touch, voyeurism, masturbation

WC: 7.3k | Read on Ao3

(Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five)

Somewhere between the swamp and the mountains. Somewhere between fear and sex. Somewhere between God and the Devil passion is, and the way there is sudden and the way back worse.- Jeanette Winterson, The Passion

[HENRY]

Henry knew it was reckless. Feeling like this.

Yet, the thought seemed obscured behind the magnetism that pulled like a hook from his gut.

His body still pained, his ribs and soft tissues aching with the remnants of his punishment. Not the worst he’d had, of course, owing to Brenner’s knack for punishment pageantry, but still one that lingered for days after he’d left the staff infirmary.

He should have walked away then. He should have put an end to the longing, the stolen glances, the nights he spent mulling over the question of you and the lines of your shape, the hue of your eyes, which were so marred with the grit of damage.

Though the question remained, crawling through him like a slow venom, one he was powerless to suck out.

Who were you? How did you come to be here? What had Brenner made you for? He couldn’t let it go.

When he saw you in that god forsaken collar, one of Brenner’s favourite toys, he felt it like a fist around his throat. Was it the same one that had so lovingly graced his own neck countless times? He could still feel it's imprint, even now, and like a map of pain the memory of it seemed to light up every other scar the lab had left on him. He stood there, watching you, collecting every purple bruise on your jawline with his eyes like shreds of evidence, filing them away inside his head.

For someone so broken, you seemed so in control, sitting there at the chess table, nose dripping crimson onto the board. You were starting to learn to be calculating. He felt you before he saw you. The soft grace of your fingertips upon his knuckles. He was surprised he could hear you, your voice reaching him as if he was in the bottom of a well. Hollow and dark.

“Peter…”

He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the name. He couldn’t stand that it was invading your mouth, stealing the place of the name he wanted to pass your lips instead.

So he chose. Waited until midnight. Descended the steps to the machinery room. Left the rook on the bottom step. Lurked in the dark, pacing, waiting.

He didn’t know if you’d come. He didn’t know if you’d risk it.

What would you risk, for him? Anything? Everything?

He’d only wanted to know if you were okay, at first. That want turned into a writhing need as he watched your face, lit in dark blue. A need he couldn’t stand, a need he wanted to indulge more than anything.

His blood ran hot with malice as he imagined Brenner’s calloused hands clenching around your delicate jaw. When you compared him to the monster with that venom in your voice, he couldn’t stand it.

There was a war raging inside him, dragging him like a restless tide. Nothing felt real anymore, not really. Nothing except you, standing in the veil, a beacon.

And he shattered against it.

He imagined this is how it was to taste fire, what Icarus tasted behind his teeth the moment before he wrenched back down from the heavens, wings aflame.

He’d never felt so strangled yet so alive. The taste of you was an unravelling, and he wanted nothing more than to be pulled apart stitch by agonizing stitch.

His name. His real name, in your mouth. It was a siren song in his ears, unmooring him entirely, drawing him helplessly into the depths of you. The way you looked at him, because you knew how it sat in the bones to have your identity stripped and stolen from you. He knew then that your restless hearts beat the same broken rhythm.

He wanted to hold yours in his hand, bloody, watch it pulse with life.

***

[019]

Your mind was rotting.

The usual dredge of darkness and fear looming within you had only been concentrated by Henry's warnings. His words hung like lead in your ears.

Prisoners, weapons. Caught, lured.

Underneath it all, the question of his identity. Hammering into you like a rusted nail. You understood well enough that you and all the people here were bound to this place, like mice in glue.

But it didn't make sense. Why would his identity be a secret?

You wondered if all of the staff had fake identities. Was it a safe-guard of Brenner's? In case anyone escaped, told someone about the people here? So there was no way to trace them, no way to know them? Perhaps.

The incessant buzzing of your brain was only calmed by the ghost of Henry on your lips. Your fingertips danced across the surface slowly as you sat there. Your ears felt full of water, as if you were tumbling at the bottom of a lake. A lake so blue it could never exist anywhere other than a dream or an oil painting.

You could barely hear the clipped inflection of Brenner’s voice.

“Nineteen.”

“Hmm?” Your gaze snapped upwards.

“Your focus is waning.”

“I - just didn’t sleep very well, that’s all.”

In reality, you hadn’t slept at all. The shape of the fluorescent lights set into the ceiling above you had morphed into his face in the dark. The shape of his lips. The shape of his eyes.

The ghost of him haunting every corner of you.

Brenner studied you in his usual calculated silence that made the back of your neck ache.

“Your concentration is vital to our work here Nineteen. Sleep is essential for that concentration.”

He noted something down on the clipboard before returning his eyes to you. Your eyes traced his hand movement, and your jaw ached with the imprint of his violent fingers.

“The nurse will bring you something to help you sleep tonight. And you’ll take it, without incident. Won’t you?”

Your throat dried, your neck aching with the memory of the collar.

“Yes, Papa.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good. Now, one more time. I want you to tell me what the pictures are.”

His hands rustled a stack of images which were concealed from you, only the glossy white backs of the paper visible.

You sighed through your teeth, and closed your eyes. The needle began scratching furiously on the monitor as you tuned your mind inward like a psychic radio.

“Don’t linger too long. Just tell me the first thing that you see. You may begin.” He instructed smoothly.

Your brow knitted as an image came to you. Red, shiny, with a dirt coloured stem.

“Apple.”

“Good.” Brenner said, his pen scrawling.

You heard the paper rustle, and the image shifted. The flash of a great concrete overpass glared through your mind in the static.

“Bridge?”

“Correct.”

The papers rustled again. You frowned deeper, your concentration beginning to wane, a fat drop of blood pooling at your nostril.

“What do you see?”

“Um -”

“Don’t linger.”

“No it’s a - a cloud. I think.”

“Yes.”

The needle beside you was beginning to wobble in response to your psychic exhaustion, the lines becoming jagged and slowed.

“How about now?”

The next image didn’t fade in or gather softly at the edges until you could make it out. It came crashing into the darkness of your mind like an iron fist.

Metal, rusted yellow, with shrill wheels and the groan of an ancient engine.

“B-”

“Go on.”

The word felt like vomit forcing its way out of you.

“Bus.” You choked out.

You were doused in cold dread as you sat there, the image invading every corner of your mind. It pulsed with the shrieking sounds of bare breaks, and the grim face of a man with age-nobbled knuckles hung lazily around the wheel.

Then, a second of film grain. A clipping cinema reel.

Your feet moving down the metal-floored aisle. Your body sinking into a seat with ripped upholstery.

The needle had stopped wobbling. It was scratching furiously now, so intensely it sounded like it was tearing the thermal paper beneath it. You were trembling, the blood from your nose now streaming a slick crimson river over your lip.

“Nineteen.” Brenner said sternly as your eyes swiveled aggressively behind your stuck eyelids.

Your breathing was coming in ragged bursts as you helplessly tried to claw at the images, like you were simultaneously trying to pull more out of it and keep it concealed.

“Nineteen. Come back to the room. Now.” It wasn’t a request.

This was how it always began.

The unravelling, the mental delirium that had painful and often catastrophic consequences. You were bowing to it once more, letting the weight crush down upon you, when something else began leaking into the confines of the image.

Henry.

Flickering in and out of focus. A still image of him at first, like an angelic overlay within the dread. Then, his hand moved, hot and alive, gripping yours from somewhere behind the pieces. The feeling yanked you back into the room abruptly.

Your eyes flew open, and you pulled the wired crown from your buzzed head, chucking it down, chest heaving. Blood had fallen in heavy droplets onto the white table in front of you. You smeared your face with the back of your sleeve, tasting the rancid copper on your teeth.

“What did you see?” Brenner asked tightly.

“A bus.”

He eyed you skeptically.

“That was all?”

“At first. Then -” you paused for a fraction, remembering Henry’s warnings like a lit up neon sign behind your eyes. “Then it was black. Nothing.”

Brenner’s face was laden with disbelief. He inhaled a pointed breath and turned over the image in his hand and held it up. A yellow cartoon bus.

“So I was right then?” You said, body still trembling. “It was a bus.”

Brenner studied you over his nose, his face held like he was making several silent calculations. “Indeed.”

The room felt heavy, occupied with something other than the two of you and the whirring of the monitor dying down.

“Odd, don’t you think?” He said, a heavy skeptical lilt in his voice.

“Odd, Papa?” You swallowed.

“Your reaction. To nothing. To blackness, you say?”

Your heart kicked a little. You had to get better at lying.

“I - I don’t know why that happened.”

A low, short hum was all he offered as he eyed you over his nose again. The air thickened as he studied you, until finally he rose into his tall, imposing frame and slid his pen into his blazer pocket.

“We can end here. The orderly will see you to your room. The nurse will be along later - to help you sleep.” He smiled, a menacing curve to it that he couldn’t quite soften.

You weren’t surprised when the orderly who came in at the sound of the buzzer was another lifeless face you didn’t care for. Of course it wasn’t Henry, it was never Henry anymore. Brenner had seemingly made it so that his movements hardly ever coincided with you now. Another string of control he was pulling on the puppet of his kingdom.

You rose to follow the orderly out.

"Oh, and Nineteen?" He said, a thick honey in his sinister tone.

"Yes, Papa?"

"You won't lie to me again."

***

[HENRY]

Henry could’ve left the rook anywhere. The machinery room, a supply closet, some blind corner of the lab that meant nothing. But it was the memory of your mouth, and the fact of your very existence, that emboldened him into recklessness. The intimacy of your bedroom drew him in, far better than any cold corner of the lab.

He sat white-knuckled on his bed, waiting for the drag of the clock hands. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t have a reason or some classified information to share.

He just wanted to sit in your warmth.

Which was somehow more terrifying to him than any of Brenner’s classified nightmares. More terrifying than the white-walled hell that had stretched out in front of him for so long.

You were an angel. You were a weapon. Both things could be true.

Midnight came, and he moved. Swiftly as always, waiting for the telltale gurgle of the coffee machine before fully slipping out into the halls. He’d mastered the art of making his steps almost noiseless on the linoleum. His shoulders relaxed once he rounded the corner to your bedroom door.

Locked. From the outside?

His brow knitted. He could hear the faint splattering of water running. He drove the floor key into the lock, and slipped in, clicking the door shut behind him.

The room was oddly dark. He flicked on the desk lamp, and his eyes were met with disarray. Paper scattered everywhere, your clothes and shoes tossed haphazardly around, a capless pen on the floor.

Then, his ears drew back to the sound of the shower.

The bathroom door was ajar. He could see your bare legs across the floor of the shower, feet out the door.

For a cold second, he was paralyzed. You weren’t moving. You hadn’t reacted to the light, to the sound of him entering the room. He hardly felt himself move toward you.

The sight of you made his heart twist with dread. His fingers slammed around the shower knob, shutting off the frigid water, which had completely saturated you. For a moment he just stared at you, eyes tight on you until he saw your chest inflate with a ragged breath.

He slid his hands beneath your arms and pulled you up out of the shower. The water on you soaked into his white uniform as he held you against him, moving you onto the bedroom floor. He sat you up against the end of the bed.

“Nineteen?” His hand slapped lightly against your face. You didn’t move. He sighed, and grabbed the towel from the hook.

He carefully dried your face first, so pale and white from the cold water. You whimpered but didn’t move as he wrapped the towel around the back of your neck and ran it across your shoulders.

He tried not to look. He knew it was wrong. But his eyes moved without instruction. His gaze flickered down to your chest.

Your white tank was soaked and utterly see-through. The soft swell of your breasts and the darkened pop of your nipples made his breath catch in the back of his throat.

He forced his gaze away and focused on running the towel down your arms, until he found his eyes following the line of them back up to your chest. He threw the towel over your torso, flustered, and tried to soak the water out of your tank, pressing his hands against you. It was useless, though. All he was doing was wetting the towel. He couldn’t put you into bed like this.

“Can you hear me?” Henry murmured, his hand on your cold cheek, trying to ask permission from someone with the consciousness of a corpse.

You didn’t respond. He didn’t have any other option. You were shivering aggressively.

The breath he drew in was shaky as his fingers hooked softly under the bottom of your tank.

To him, it felt like witnessing something both sacred and sinful. He revealed more of you, peeling your tank up with cautious fingers, faltering for a beat when he reached the bottom of your breasts. He tried looking away as he drew the tank up over them, and it worked for a moment, until he realized he had to get your arms out of it.

He picked up your forearm and bent it carefully, folding it through the armhole. As he rested your arm down against yourself and reached for the other, his gaze fell back to your chest.

So bare, so beautiful. He felt his fingers go numb as he stared, taking in every curve, every shade, every bump and ridge of your nipples.

His stomach lurched violently.

He pulled your other arm through, and lifted it over your head. He threw the soaked tank into the open shower cube. He ran the towel over you, smoothing it across your chest, your torso, underneath the soft folds of your breasts.

Then he sat back, knees bent, just staring for a while. The odd whimper fell from you, but you were completely gone.

You wouldn’t know, would you? You wouldn’t feel him if he just…

His hand moved too suddenly for him to control it, before he could even comprehend it's motion. His fingertips whispered over the swell of your breast, slowly, his eyes darting up into your face to check if you were responding to it.

You weren’t, and it made something reckless twist inside him.

His touch grew firmer, his fingers greedier as he dragged his thumb down and across your nipple. It was already a hardened peak from the cold. He circled the pad of his thumb over it just once.

Your breathing picked up at that, and it made him panic.

He pulled his hand away.

You were in no state to be fawned over. Yet, here he was, eyes wide as planets, hands hungry and tingling at the thought of you bare underneath them. He smoothed the towel over your hips. Your underwear were saturated as well. His throat dried as he tried to ignore it, brushing the towel down your bare thighs, pulling it over your calves to your ankles.

You were shivering again.

“Nineteen?” He asked again, louder. He tried to rouse you, shaking your shoulder gently. It was useless.

He told himself he had no choice, that it was a matter of your health and comfort. And maybe that was true, in part. But a much more selfish part of him was what drove his fingers to reach for the waist band of your wet underwear.

Henry felt every atom of air leave his lungs as he slid them down over your hips. He averted his gaze as he peeled the wet fabric down your legs.

Then, his eyes drew back up. What harm would it bring you, to look?

The breath he drew in was sharp as his gaze came to rest on the flesh between your legs. For a moment, a long one, he didn’t feel his heart beat at all. Then, suddenly it was violent and hammering in his chest, threatening to break free.

He felt wretched, wrong, and yet he didn't look away. He took in every shape, every delicate fold, every plush part of you with his hungry eyes, cataloguing every detail.

Until you whimpered again, and a cold panic shot through him. He hadn't even realized his hands were on your thighs, his fingertips and thumbs gripping into you.

You weren’t even conscious, and you were the most threatening thing in the room.

Once he realized you were shivering again, he forced his attention away and crossed the room to your single drawer. He took out a grey tank and underwear, his fingers brushing over the fabric as he thought about it gracing your skin, clinging to you like he wanted to so desperately.

He was gentle, cautious, trying his best to control the self-indulgent glances that keep drawing his eyes to your bare body as he dressed you. He pulled your underwear softly up your legs and over the curve of your hips. He fed each of your arms gently through the holes of the tank and drew it down over your chest and torso.

You huffed quietly.

“Nineteen?” He asked again, brushing a thumb up your temple.

Nothing.

He pulled back the covers of your bed and picked you up. One arm snug under your knees, one arm supporting your lolling head. You were warmer now, a flush of pink coming back to you. Part of him just wanted to stand there and hold you like this until dawn. He lay you in the bed, rest your head back on the pillow, and pulled the blankets up over your chest. He stood at the bedside for a moment.

He wanted to crawl in next to you. He wanted to run away. He wanted to bang his head into the wall for looking at you. He wanted to peel your clothes back off and look closer.

With a long, quiet sigh he dragged the chair over and sat, his eyes lingering on your face. He curled his hand in to yours, barely noticing as the night began to press in on him.

***

[019]

The control, the illusion. All of it.

It was going to slip. Piece by fluorescent piece.

The first piece was sitting on the floor, nestled into a tight crevice of your bedroom door frame, almost unnoticeable against the white tile.

Henry's rook.

You bent down casually, pretending to adjust your scuffs, blocking the crevice with your body as you curled it into your palm.

“Thanks.” You muttered to the orderly, who nodded without a word and plodded off down the corridor.

You clicked the door shut behind you, and paced softly about the room, fondling the rook and it's carved ridges between your fingers.

Henry wanted to meet here? Here in the camera-less confines of your room?

Your stomach lurched with the same violent heat that seemed tightly stitched to your every thought of him, and you lay on the thin mattress of your bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling tiles for what seemed like forever.

Your mind felt like it was being pulled at the seams with everything it was holding.

The broken pieces of yourself, coming to you in jagged, unending shards. Your fixation with Henry and the ghost of him haunting your mouth. The memories of his tortured shrieks. The dread that was slowly uncoiling the more you learned about where you were.

Eventually, the sound of the door opening made you flinch. You swiftly stuffed Henry’s rook into the pocket of your grey sweatpants, and sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

A nurse with a sharp face strode in, her white kitten heels clicking over the tiles.

“Doctor Brenner has requested a sleeping aid for you.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What kind of sleeping aid?”

“Medicinal.”

You could feel the rook in your pocket. You looked at the clock.

10pm.

Henry would be here in two hours. Could you fight the effects for that long? Would you even be able to hold a conversation? Surely it was a simple concoction to make you groggy a worst.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

But you knew better. You knew Brenner for what he really was. And if it was anything as controlling and insanity-fueling as the rest of it...

The nurse held out a tiny plastic cup of water and a brown pill bottle, rattling it slightly in her fingers as she eyed you. You didn't move.

“Doctor Brenner assured me there wouldn’t be a fuss. You wouldn’t want to have me send for him now, would you? You wouldn’t want to interrupt your dear Papa’s night, would you? He is such a busy man...”

You throat worked, fingers flickering into your palm, a reactive fist almost forming at her words. You brushed your hand over your thigh, bumping over the rook again.

There was a time for fighting, and a time for surrender. Henry could come back tomorrow. You’d tell him they'd given you something. You'd leave him a note and then drift off into a dreamless slumber, which if you were honest, did seem like it could be a salve to your aching head.

You took the pill bottle and cup from her with tentative fingers. Her tilted smile made it obvious she wasn’t going to leave until you’d downed them. You hesitated for a beat to long, and her fingers fell to her pager.

“No! No, I’m taking them.” You stuttered.

Three fat little pink pills sat threateningly in the bottom of the bottle. You exhaled sharply, and threw them back into your throat, following with the water, swirling it all down against the dryness.

“Now open.” She smiled.

“What?”

“Open.” She said more sternly, her smile dropping.

You opened your mouth and tipped your head back as she inspected you. The fact that Brenner could control you like this, using nothing but the threat of his presence and a small-statured nurse you could have easily thrown down the corridor, wasn't lost on you.

“Good.” She said snidely. “Sleep well.” She clicked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. It locked from the outside with a clunk.

You had just under two hours until Henry would be here. What had you taken? What would it do to you? The panic rising within you seemed to be making it take effect faster, like some sort of sick nocebo.

10:23pm.

The room was suddenly too warm, flushing your face. You shed your sweater and flung it across the room, limbs already feeling careless. You could feel your head pulsing at the edges. How long had you been staring at the wall? The clock looked distorted as you squinted at it accusingly.

10:40pm

Fuck, when had that much time passed?

You could feel yourself slipping as you stared at the wobbling hands. You kicked your shoes off. Your socks disappeared somewhere without your knowledge. The cold tiled floor was sending a buzz up through your feet. You paced around it like a madwoman, counting on your fingers in an attempt to combat the fog settling behind your eyes.

1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 9.. 77.. 719.. 1927.. 19.. 293.. 0

How many numbers were there? How many fingers did you have? There was a bus rambling around the curves of your brain.

11:07pm

You peeled your sweatpants off and lay on the floor in nothing but your white tank and underwear, trying to use the cold tiles as an anchor. You could feel the rook being rolled around by fingers that didn’t feel attached to your hand.

I just need to cool down. I just need to cool… I just…

The ceiling plaster was breaking off in chunks and landing in your mouth, choking you. You sat upright in a bolt and starting coughing violently, spitting up chunks of absolutely nothing but your own saliva. Your fingers slid over your tongue, around your mouth, but there was nothing.

11:2?pm

Your thoughts were a half lost jigsaw, cardboard pieces swollen by the rain.

the rain... rain on the pavement... rain in your converse…. petrichor… Henry, Henry, Henry… Peter… no, not anymore, weren’t you listening?

You slapped a sweaty palm against your head aggressively and stumbled over to your tiny metal shelf of a desk. Your fingers somehow found a pen, but the paper seemed to evade you, jerking away from your hand every time you tried to slap it down on top of a piece.

You decided on your arm instead. Your scrawl was wonky, distorted even more so by your spinning eyes.

Henr y .. …. Dr ugs

Was that right? It looked right. Did it? Fuck. What was that noise? Did you say something?

11:4?pm

The blackness started enveloping you like a consuming weight. It was a sphere of dark matter, the inside of a black hole pressing in on every corner of the room.

Cold… you needed cold…

Your legs apparently carried you into your shower cube, though you couldn’t feel the floor beneath your feet, only the thick weight of the darkening fog. Your fingers fumbled the knob. There was a blast of white noise as the frigid water burst from the metal head.

You stared up into the cascade, utterly mesmerized as the walls began to move into you. Or were you moving into them?

You were soaked. Still in only your tank and underwear. Spluttering for air as the cold monsoon rained down onto you. You sank to the waterlogged floor, legs splayed out of the shower door.

The sound of the lock… the soft shuffle of careful steps… the distorted, clouded outline of him… white and blonde and blue and…

You slumped, head hitting the shower wall, pressed into nothingness as you heard the white noise abate, felt the warm pressure of hands sliding under your arms.

***

You discovered there was a veil beyond sleep. One of absolute obscurity, where even the darkest pieces of your mind couldn't break through. Tumbling through the shade of night, as if Somnus himself had plucked you from earth and swallowed you whole.

It was a formless thing. You thought it might be death, but you could still feel the drum of your heart as you floated through it. And something else, something warm. A weight in your palm. A soft brush over your wrist. The smell of soap and fresh laundry.

Pulling you back from the ether.

You wanted to float here forever, to dissipate into the nothingness atom by screaming atom. But you wanted even more to see his face. There was a faint sound in your ears. Your own breath? No. It had solidity, shape, and the cadence of a melody.

“Can… you... hear me?”

Your mouth was wired shut, voice wrapped in twine behind your teeth.

“What... did they give… you?” A hollow echo of a voice.

Then, you were lost. Pulled into the darkness by a force you couldn’t escape.

***

The veil was smothering your head for a long time, swirling together with the mismatched images you couldn’t place. But eventually, you peeled your eyes open like two stuck Band-Aids.

The room dissolved into view inch by inch, fragmented and utterly too bright even in the dim light of your lamp, which had been turned on.

There was a head of askew, blonde hair dipped against the mattress at your hip. The rest of him was awkwardly slumped in a chair pulled close to the bed.

“Henry?” You mumbled, voice thick and groggy.

He lifted his head almost in fright, taking a second to analyze where he was, the blue in his eyes cooled by the touch of sleep. You wobbled up on your elbows.

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes between his thumb and index finger.

“Sorry I - I must have fallen asleep.” He mumbled.

You realized you were still wearing nothing but your tank and underwear. It took you a beat longer to realize they were grey, not the white set you’d had on in the fragmented memory of yourself laying on the ground the night before.

“What... what happened?” You asked sleepily.

Henry looked like even more of an angel like this. Soft, mussed, control pulled away at the edges into something far more human.

“I came to see you last night. I found you unconscious in the shower.”

The memory came to you like a cold spattering of water.

“I knew you were coming. I tried to stay awake, I really did. But they gave me something.” You groaned.

Henry’s face tightened.

“The pink ones?” He said with a knowing look.

“Mhm.”

“They like doing that.” He sighed.

“I can’t even really remember what happened, I just remember trying to stay awake, so I could talk to you.”

Henry’s eyes were still sharp in their sleepiness.

“You did.”

“What?”

“You did talk. Well, Sort of.”

Your throat thickened with a feeling close to embarrassment. What had you said in your drug-induced delirium?

Henry read the feeling on your face.

“Mostly you talked about a bus.”

You nodded, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “When I was in testing yesterday with Papa, I had a vision of a bus.”

“A memory?”

“I’m beginning to think so.” You sighed.

“You said my name.” Henry said, the shadow of a small smile curling over his mouth.

“Oh.” Your stomach knotted. “Did I?”

“And something about your shoes. You needed to fix your laces.”

You frowned, and took a deep breath, running your hand through your buzzed hair.

“I’m sorry. You risked a lot coming here and I was totally out of it.”

Henry huffed air out of his nose, shaking his head. “Don't apologize. I wanted to come. Besides, you might have ended up with hypothermia if I hadn't have pulled you out of that shower.”

“I tried to leave you a note, I think.” Your eyes scanned the desk. Paper was strewn everywhere, a pen was laying with the cap off.

“I noticed.” Henry’s eyes fell to your forearm.

Your jagged words were smeared and blotchy. Henry’s hand came to rest on it, flinching slightly. His thumb trailed over the messy ink.

His touch was pure static, firing the nerves under your skin to life. He trailed down your arm, and his eyes followed his fingers curiously, as if watching where they'd go. His thumb stopped over the raised, black ink of the 019 etched into your wrist.

Your gaze was locked to his hand. Then to his face, serene. His eyes, curious. His mouth, flushed and perfect. Even the slightest touch from him made your stomach turn with heat.

The sensation made you glance down, and you caught sight of your clothes again.

“Henry?” You asked softly.

“Hm?” He snapped his face back to yours, pulling his hand away from absentmindedly stroking your wrist.

“Did you - did you change my clothes?”

His eyes flickered down your torso for a moment.

“Yes.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Oh.”

“You were completely wet. From the shower.”

You didn’t say anything, but your lips parted softly.

“I’m sorry. I - maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do, but I didn’t want to put you in bed soaking.”

“No, it’s okay.” You breathed. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

It was a big deal. It was banging through you like a hammer. He’d seen you. All of you. His hands had touched places you’d only dared dream of in your darkest hours.

Had he carried you like a ragdoll? Or was he careful with you? Did he cover you quickly, or did his eyes linger? Did his stomach knot like yours was now as he’d peeled the wet fabric from your skin?

You feel the furnace toiling. Henry shifted awkwardly in the silence.

“You saw me.” You murmured.

“Yes.” His voice was soft.

You swallowed.

“All of me.” You said, quieter, almost a whisper you wished he wouldn't hear.

“Yes.”

His eyes were lit gently at the edges, like he was remembering.

“I’m sorry.” You said finally.

His face contorted, as if you’d said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Why are you sorry?”

“I - that must have made you uncomfortable.”

He inhaled a short breath, like he didn't quite trust the words he might say.

“It didn’t.”

“No?”

“No.”

His eyes were swimming in yours now. When had he shifted closer? He looked like he was waging war with his thoughts again, almost pained. After a beat he nested his hand in yours. His finger drew circles in your palm.

“I saw you.” He murmured softly.

“I know.”

He leaned closer.

“And I didn’t feel bad about it.”

“What did you feel?”

He was silent for a moment.

“Impulsive.”

Then, his mouth was falling against yours. Soft but insistent, tasting of sleep and thoughts that belonged to the night. His hand came to your face, cradling you as he kissed you, his mouth like a livewire against your lips. Your fingers slid into his soft, mussed waves.

You pulled at his hair subconsciously as the desire snaked within you. He whimpered between your mouths, his tongue sliding between your lips to taste your teeth.

“Stop…” he murmured, pulling his head back. His perfect features were screwed up, as if he was in pain.

“Why?”

His eyes slid to the clock.

“Morning rounds start soon. I should go.”

You huffed and fell back into the pillow. “You’re making a habit of this.”

“Of what?” He frowned.

“Running away.”

“Nine-”

“I told you not to call me that.” You snapped.

He studied you. “I am not running away.”

“Yes you are.”

He sat back in his seat. “Anyone could walk in.”

You sighed, and looked at the ceiling pointedly.

“Besides, you should try to sleep a little longer. Before breakfast.” He said, as if you cared about any of that.

You looked at the clock. 4am.

You didn’t want to sleep. You wanted his weight and warmth on top of you like a divine force, pinning you to the earth.

“Sure.” You said, not looking at him.

You could see him studying you in your peripherals, deciding how to respond to your attitude.

“I’m on the night shift.” He said smoothly.

“So?”

“I can freely move around after hours.”

“And?”

He inhaled. “Meet me in the utility room down the hall. At midnight.”

Your stomach lurched. Another dark space, alone.

“Okay.”

His lip curved up at the corner and he stood up, hesitating for a moment as if giving himself permission. Then, he kissed you softly on the head before moving towards the door.

He paused and looked at you, eyebrows aloft.

“I’ve got you.” You said, nodding at the door. “Go.”

You focused in to the cameras as you lay there, blanking each one in succession as you heard his feet recede quietly through the sleepy corridors. Eventually his steps faded, and you couldn’t make sense of where he was. You just had to hope that you’d blanked enough for him to get back to his room without being noticed.

***

You let your breath tumble from you as you lay there, still feeling only half alive in the post-drug haze of yourself.

He’d seen you.

But more than that; he’d taken care of you.

Your heart squeezed in on itself, the blood rushing hot through your veins as you thought about his delicate, pale fingers peeling off your soaked clothes. His careful, practiced hands ghosting across your bare skin as he covered you again.

You tried to let sleep take you. You tried to will it down on top of you like a great black sky but it refused, hanging above you, spiting you. Your mind hummed his name as you lay staring at the dark ceiling.

Henry. Henry.

Your lips still burned. The dark corners of every night where you’d laid your most selfish, damp desires pressed in on you. His eyes. His mouth. His soft tongue that had graced yours for only a fraction of time. The dark, predatory toil inside of him that you could taste lurking in his mouth.

The way he was so many beasts at once.

The hunted, the hunter. The one observing them both.

Your fingertips traced over your lips. Your nail scraped against the edges of them. The furnace roared within you, and it was alive. It snaked from your chest to your core as you lay there feeling him on your mouth.

Did he feel it, too? Was he still awake, tasting the memory of your mouth in the dark?

Something dark twisted around your desire.

You knew it was reckless. You told yourself you’d never do it again. You shut your eyes.

Just this once. Only once.

You slipped into the ether of black space, and roamed around until your mind focused in on Henry. You only needed the image of him to drive your psychic landscape.

After a moment, a shower cube materialized in the black space in front of you. The sound of water cascading echoed through the void as you stepped closer to it. The glass was foggy, clouded with condensation, but the water falling against it created a rippling distorted window through which your violating gaze pierced.

You stepped closer. You couldn’t stop yourself.

Another step. So close you could’ve reached out and touched the glass. So close you could see the beautiful shape of him, distorted through the rivers of water.

Your eyes feasted.

Pale, lean shoulders. Shaped biceps. The line of muscle popping in his forearms as he reached up to soak his hair in his hands. Delicate plains of muscle descended from his chest to his torso, sculpted peaks and troughs through which the water rippled.

Your eyes were wide, starved as you followed the lines of his body down to his hips, to the steep muscular ridges that led down into his groin.

Your breath hitched.

If he knew you were watching him like this… you should leave… you should...

But the furnace was roaring desperately inside of you, and like a beast, like a madwoman, you didn’t leave.

You kept watching.

Just as your eyes were trailing down between his legs, his hand moved, making you jerk back in fright. You were jumpy, skittish. Because you knew how wrong this was.

You watched as his hand moved down his torso, as his fingers slid across his beautiful skin. Soaping himself, you supposed.

Until his hand trawled downwards and didn’t come back up. Your heart hammered as you let your eyes fall to it.

His hand was wound around his cock. It was long, swollen and rigid in his grip. The pad of his thumb circled the head once, twice, before his hand started moving across his flesh in slow, tight drags.

Your breath went ragged, your very lungs quivering at the sight of it, the sight of Henry stroking himself. You watched unblinking, your core throbbing out a wet pool between your legs.

Was he imagining you? Was he imagining your hand around him?

He was leaning against the wall of the shower now, his head bowed, wet locks of hair falling about his forehead. His eyes were shut, his brows pulled together, his divine lips parted. You watched with a fever hot enough to kill as he palmed his cock, soft broken sounds tumbling out between the bursts of water as he sped up, the muscle in his forearm flexing.

His strokes became more desperate until his hips were rutting forward, fucking his hand entirely.

Your cunt was pulsing, surging as you watched him unravel himself.

Suddenly his other arm jutted out, palm flattening against the shower wall as his entire body tensed under the water.

He grunted as he spilled into the shower, his shoulders heaving as the water fell over them. He shuddered, eyes tightly shut, pulsing slow strokes over his swollen cock as the water spun his thick release down the drain.

The fact that he had no idea you were watching him made your core quiver even harder. The wrongness of it, the desperation of it, all embering the furnace.

Your fingers were crawling under the waistband of your underwear to address the sodden flesh between your legs when the shower door opened into the blackness.

You froze in terror.

Henry stepped out into the void dripping with water, his cock still thickened a touch, and reached for a towel.

Then, his head quickly drew up, as if sensing.

You weren’t fast enough.

He stiffened. His eyes pulled directly towards you for a split second, before you wrenched yourself out of the void and back into your body.

Fuck.

Your thoughts were frantic as you wiped the stream of blood hastily from your upper lip. You’d been watching him so long that it had pooled between your lips, staining your teeth with the taste of copper, and your head was pounding.

Had he felt you? Had he seen you, or just an eerie fading shape dissolving away in front of him?

You sat up on your bed, guilt icing through you. Your heart hammered with panic and thrill and your own unspent lust that remained unsated within you.

Sleep didn’t come after that.

It punished you, let you writhe in panic until dawn, until the steps of the morning staff were clicking through the halls outside your room.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

☣︎ Comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series! ☣︎

Taglist: @cherrybbys , @creelvx , @cristalbeesnow , @snugglesiren , @cannibalcoyote , @taylor-munson , @frolickingbimbo , @twilightzone88 , @bontensbabygirl , @yourferretsblog , @belleoftheball70 , @daddyavesxx , @nocasdatsgay , @bowernocturne , @nashoernchen , @f4deds0uls , @letmeridethatstaff , @ooridwitch

[vvitchfangs]

Loved your announcements!

Cannot wait for a new season of The Trials, I am obsessed with it! The week draaaags in waiting for the next instalment

Also cannot wait to see what you do with Wounds, it’s getting so good!

Your writing style is my absolute favourite, I adore both of your fics, I never want either to end, keep up the amazing work :)

Thank you so much that means a lot! Currently writing the next Trials chapter and planning ~ x

[vvitchfangs]

Couple of announcements!

🤍 Wounds is getting an extra (and heated) chapter next because my brain turned one scene into a whole ass thing and for the life of me I can’t let it go.

also

❄️ Winter Solstice will only have one more chapter… ….. … but seasons change, don’t they? … 🌱

[vvitchfangs]

hi i haven’t watched st since season 3 and have no clue what’s going on but i saw your fic Wounds and i started reading it and im obsessed. Random q is are you going to name the mc? Cause i know this is a reader insert fic but i love named readers cause i can really “get into character” and i feel like an actor performing in what the writer directs

I’d highly recommend watching season 4 for Peter/Henry alone 🤍

I wasn’t planning to name her at this point of Wounds but I may be already semi-planning a sequel and have thought about giving her a nickname in that but I’m not sure!

I did a poll before writing and went with nameless “you” since that’s what was most preferred!

I hope you can still enjoy it! Feel free to give her whatever name you like in your head x

[vvitchfangs]

lmfao not me forgetting to tag the new WOUNDS chapter for like 4 hours jfc.

Anyway new chap is up (and on Ao3)! Also new chapter up for The Trials.

x

[vvitchfangs]

☣︎ WOUNDS - Covenant ☣︎

CHAPTER FIVE

Summary: After being forced to witness Peter's punishment, you find a way to get close to each other again. When boughs are broken, a covenant is forged.

Pair: Henry Creel/Vecna/001 x Female Reader

Content/Warning Labels: dark slow burn, flashbacks, Hawkins Lab, violence/torture, physical abuse, Martin Brenner is his own warning, yearning, inner conflict, forbidden relationship, dark/dominating undertones, kissing

WC: 7.7k

(Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four)

She thought that she felt a touch of fire imprinted on her lips, a kiss more burning than the red-hot iron of the executioner. - Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame

For hours you’d been panic pacing. Up and down, up and down.

You kept recalling the night as you stepped around the room, your footfalls growing more frantic.

You hadn’t said anything wrong, exactly. And Peter’s words were so hushed that there was a good chance the camera didn’t hear him.

At least, you hoped so.

It saw him though. Slipping in in the middle of the night unauthorized. Stepping ever closer to you. Sitting with you as you slept, his fingers curled into your palm.

His touched lingered still, a steady ember on your cold skin.

Finally, the metallic click of the lock broke through the quiet hum of the infirmary room. Pointed, sharp, like the raising of the guillotine.

He entered in a way only he could.

Clipped, calculated, tailored to the seams. Papa.

“Hello, Nineteen.” He said coolly. “Sleep well?”

You chose silence.

“Tell me about your late night visitor, hm?”

No pretense. Your stomach leapt aggressively into your throat.

“Peter?” You asked as casually as you could, like you hadn't been pacing on his thought alone for hours.

Brenner's gaze was cold, shirred with something that urged caution in your teeth.

“He just - wanted to check on me.” You added with a non committal shrug.

But Peter was right. You were a bad liar.

“Did he now?” Brenner asked snidely. “How very caring of him. And tell me, what did you discuss with him?”

So he didn’t know. He didn't know the warnings Peter had murmured through that very air about him. A man capable of murder, who now stood in the tight space in front of you.

Or, he did know, and he was trapping you into another lie.

“Nothing interesting.” You said casually, though your hands shook. “He just asked how I felt.”

You hoisted yourself back up onto the side of the bed and swung your legs like you were merely reporting the weather.

“Is that so?”

Brenner studied you closer. You knew if he looked too close, he’d see the lie sitting plainly on your lips.

“You wouldn’t lie to your Papa now, would you Nineteen?” He asked, sickly sweet.

“No, Papa.” You shook your head. “Of course not.”

He was measuring you with his frigid, calculating gaze. “Good, because if you did, you would be punished. Punished just the same as an orderly who oversteps their duties... or becomes attached.”

A shard of ice sliced through your gut.

What had he done?

Rage was boiling beneath you, the way it did when you started losing control, curving the edges of your mind inward toward that concentrated point of fury. You wanted to choke him, send him careening into the walls, snap his fingers like twigs.

You had to leash it, feral beast that it was.

Brenner was observing you as if he wanted you to unhinge. As if he wanted a reason.

You could hear Peter's voice ringing through your ears.

Calculate your opponent. Then act.

It took every ounce of strength you had to swallow the beast. You looked up at Brenner with wide, innocent eyes.

“I understand, Papa.”

He looked almost disappointed. But he was calculated in the way you needed to learn to be, and he already knew his next move.

You didn’t need to ask about Peter.

He was going to make sure you knew exactly what it had cost him to comfort you.

“Wait.” Brenner instructed sternly.

You had to play along, for now. You stilled at the edge of the bed, not moving an inch. Panic was a creeping tide, pulling up your throat.

He returned not long later, a nurse at his side. She was holding a large, circular device. Metal, with probes on the inside. The sight of it made your throat dry.

“Collar her.” Brenner said casually.

The nurse hesitated, but obeyed. The device clicked open threateningly, and she secured it around your neck. It was tight, rigid, the probes pressing against your fragile skin.

“Doctor Brenner, I would advise against -”

He held his hand up to silence her.

“You may go.”

She nodded once, and then slipped from the room, avoiding his eyeline as if trained to.

He was fiddling a remote between his calloused hands. Your fingers tugged the edge of the collar, trying to move it, but it was unyielding.

“Oh, it’s not meant to be comfortable.” Brenner smiled.

“Papa, what is this?” You coughed, throat tight inside the metal confines.

“Merely a precaution.” He stated. “But if you lose control again, you will find out.”

It was a threat he didn’t bother to honey, and it sank like one.

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, the collar pressing in just enough to remind you who was in control.

“I won’t.” You said quietly.

Brenner’s mouth curled up at the corner. His chin tilted up as he eyed you.

“No, you won’t. And orderlies won’t overstep their bounds. They won't form attachments. They won't toy with inappropriate relationships.”

Inappropriate relationships? Something tight curled inside of you at the words.

He held his hand out, serpent that it was.

“Come. I have something to show you.” He said. “I believe you’ll find it quite eye-opening.” He smiled, a wicked edge to the curve.

Your entire body pinpricked, nerves firing as you eyed the remote in his fingers. You took his hand obediently.

He led you from the infirmary, polished leather shoes clacking through the white-washed halls. He smiled sickly the entire way. Around every corner, down every length of corridor, through the antiseptic concourse.

Until you arrived outside a door inset with a small window. Not unlike most of the doors, except for the fact that Brenner looked most pleased to be outside of this one.

It looked like a disused testing room. Dimly lit, a wall with a large pane of glass separating it into two halves. On the other side of the glass stood two orderlies.

Composed, still, waiting.

You’d seen their faces before. In passing, in testing, sometimes in the rainbow room whenever you’d forced your focus from Peter. Against his seraphine beauty they were just lifeless faces.

“Watch.” Brenner said, too softly.

Your eyes flicked apprehensively over his face and slowly back through the window.

Brenner nodded sharply. One of the orderlies walked a few paces away, disappearing behind the wall for a moment.

When he reappeared, your heart wrenched into the linoleum.

Peter.

Hands tied behind his back.

Face as forlorn as it was beautiful.

Your blood morphed into crystalline ice, every vessel frozen in fear. You tried to swallow the feeling, but it pulsed against your throat, the tightness of the collar pressing in even further.

The orderly had him gripped at the collar of his shirt, the usual neat white fabric was crumpled under his aggressive fingers. He dragged him violently to the floor, dead center in the window pane. He fell to his knees with a bruising thud.

Then, you noticed the rods. The same ones that had been used to light you up like a livewire.

“Papa -” you choked out, voice cracking helplessly over the weight of the scene unfurling in front of you.

“Quiet.” Brenner hissed.

You tried to drop your eyes, turn your head as your lungs began bursting with quick panic. But Brenner was not about to allow you the mercy of looking away.

“I said, watch.” He commanded sharply.

Suddenly, he gripped your face, pulling your chin up with his calloused fingers, forcing your gaze forward through the window.

Peter was kneeling, his back bent, his head lowered. His soft blonde waves falling over his forehead, a frame to his fear.

Brenner nodded once more. They wasted no time.

Peter’s tortured yell was a broken, desperate sound as the tasers hit him, one in each side, lighting him up with violent bursts of hot electricity.

You writhed and squeaked against Brenner’s grasp still tight on your chin, but he only held you harder, his fingertips pressing demandingly into your jaw.

“Watch.” He growled.

Peter wailed again as the orderlies shocked him with more unrelenting bursts. His ribs, his sides, his back, every scorched assault pulling a tormented yell from his mouth.

Tears started pooling in your eyes as you witnessed him, wrecked and demented with pain. They streamed hot rivers over Brenner’s knuckles.

“See what happens when you stray from your place in my lab?” He sneered. “Peter is not your friend. Nor are you his. You would both be wise to remember it.”

Peter was wracked with violent jolts until he collapsed helplessly to the floor. He crumpled, his body shuddering with pained breaths. His white clothes were singed. Scorched and blackened where the tasers had burned past the fabric into his skin.

“Papa... please,” you forced out through your tears. “Please, he only wanted to check I was okay.”

But it was a performance, an entertainment they reveled in.

Brenner’s fingers tightened on your jaw even harder, making you hiss a sharp breath. His mask had slipped entirely, the full extent of malice visible between the aged lines on his face.

“Peter will abide by his duties. You will control your abilities. And neither of you will attempt to befriend the other, nor attempt to deceive me again. Are we clear?”

“Y-yes Papa.” You murmured, tears still falling hot rivers.

“Good. Now rejoin your brothers and sisters.” He finally dropped his bruising grip. His lips curved back into a controlled smile, as if you'd been merely having a cordial conversation.

“How… how long do I have to wear this?” Your neck craned awkwardly in the collar.

“Until I am satisfied.”

He pressed the buzzer outside the door, and one of the orderlies exited.

Peter was motionless on the ground. Your heart was choked, spun tight with barbed wire, racing against every wretched vengeful thing you wanted to inflict on them all. Your fingertips were numb with it, coursing with embers of hatred.

“Doctor Brenner.” The orderly smiled cheerfully.

His teeth looked far too comfortable in his mouth, and for a fleeting moment you saw yourself grabbing his head and smashing it into the tile, painting the white gloss red.

“Take Nineteen to the rainbow room.”

The orderly nodded, and grabbed your frail bicep like a vice, dragging you along the halls with sick satisfaction.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He smirked.

The embers coursed through you, mind lashing and serpentine. You were silent, letting it writhe inside of you.

“Well, we had fun.”

Your teeth clenched together, bone against bone.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. That’s not the worst he’s had.”

That made your steps falter.

How often did Brenner do this to him? How often did he break upon the tiles, how often was he lit up like a livewire, shattered and tortured?

And why on earth would he stay here?

Unless he had no choice. Unless he was also a prisoner.

A wounded animal, a beast. Just like you.

***

You didn’t see Peter for a few days.

Agonizingly slow days, filled with anguish and anxiety and the images replaying like a stuck cinema reel behind your eyes.

His wails, his shuddering body, his angelic face twisted into torment. His limbs tense with pain, his hair thrown into disheveled splays of blonde. His perfect white uniform blackened and singed.

The malice on Brenner’s face, coupled with the cruel entertainment in his eyes.

His bully grip on your jaw, which had left pink-purple bruises along it. Your fingers trailed along the tender spots, and your mind pulsed with an odd sense of familiarity.

You'd felt bruises like this before.

Your brothers and sisters were wary of you. They eyed you with an array of paranoia, suspense, fear. 002 looked like he was on the cusp of throwing you across the room.

Maybe you deserved it. Shattering had a cost. It had cost Peter in a way he never deserved.

Guilt spun a web through you as your eyes lingered on the empty space that Peter usually occupied. The chess pieces that sat untouched on the table across the room.

Your fingers ran against the collar, still tight on your neck. Your head pained oddly in sputtering bursts, the remnants of your own punishment.

You were beginning to fear the worst. Shadows crawling beneath your skin.

Until the doors of the rainbow room parted.

Brenner.

And behind him, Peter. Stoic and controlled as always.

Your heart breathed out when you saw him. The anguish dissipated little by little as you watched him walk across the room in perfectly spaced strides and take his usual post.

He looked normal, at first glance. Beautifully angular, all long lines and lean frame draped in crisp white. His hair was sitting in its neat blonde waves.

But the longer you looked, the more pieces you found disjointed.

He stood too stiffly. His face was framed with a sharp edge, his eyes a little too dark in the hollows. His shoulders were taught. His chest rose with a quiet jaggedness, like every breath quietly pained him.

His eyes flicked up towards you for no more than a second. They fell to your neck.

Long enough to see your collar, to see the fingertip bruises on your jaw. Long enough to see the eyes of someone who had witnessed the pantomime of punishment.

Long enough to understand.

He didn’t react. Not loudly.

But his weight shifted a fraction. His knuckles grew several shades paler as the blood tightened out of them.

The urge you felt to be near him was painfully overwhelming.

You scanned the room. Brenner was busy speaking to 010 near the small bookshelf. His attention was diverted.

Your gaze darted back to Peter, and you shifted to stand up.

Peter noticed.

At once his eyes were in yours. Piercing and sharp with an urgency that felt misplaced framed by the rest of his stoic features. A singular, unmistakable instruction.

No.

So you waited. Eyes glazing as they stared around the room, breaking only to flicker over Peter's face and form every so often.

Every so often, his lips would part. Tiny, pained breaths. Every so often, his eyebrows would knit together a single stitch. Every so often, his weight would shift, as if his body was aching.

As soon as Brenner and 010 departed the rainbow room for lessons, and the door clicked decidedly shut, you moved.

Not in a dramatic, extravagant way. But quietly, calmly, like you were simply going about your morning, moving on to the next task.

You sank into the plastic seat at the chess table. Your fingers slid around a carved, white rook. You spun it across your fingertips once, twice, before setting it back down.

You could feel Peter’s eyes on you.

You didn’t look at him. You looked at the rook on the board. Focusing intensely inward, you reached toward it with your mind, feeling the tendrils of energy encasing it.

Slowly, obediently, it lifted.

You willed it forward like an extension of yourself. It drifted through the air, wobbling a touch.

A few heads looked up. To them, you were simply practicing. Hovering a random item. Moving it around like everyone else was doing with their blocks and cars and spinning tops. They lost interest after a few seconds.

Peter kept watching you.

The rook inched further and further from the board, and you could feel it pulling away from your hold the further it got.

Almost there.

With your brow furrowed unfathomably deep in focus, you hovered it in front of Peter’s clasped hands.

For a still beat, he just stared at it.

Then, decisively, his pale fingers curled around it. You saw his hand tighten. His gaze travelled toward you, lingered on the collar. You waited until his eyes fell to the board.

When they finally did, you plucked a black rook from the other side, and twirled it between two fingers. You tucked it into the sleeve of your grey sweatsuit jumper, and stood up.

Peter frowned, a brief flicker of analysis.

You approached the only other orderly that was on the observation shift in the rainbow room.

“Hello Nineteen, is everything okay?”

“We are missing some chess pieces.” You said, nodding towards the board. “I’m not sure which… maybe you could get a whole new set for each side?”

She scanned the table behind you, and sighed.

“I’ll check if we have any spares in supplies.” She said. “Stay here.”

“Of course.” You nodded. “I’ll stay right here.” You paced back to the board and sat, arranging the other pieces casually.

The corners of her mouth softened back into her cheeks. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” You smiled.

She paced out of the rainbow room, the door shutting with a metallic clunk behind her.

You didn’t shift dramatically in your seat. You didn’t look at the cameras looming in the corners of the rainbow room. You just focused on the board in front of you, as if studying it.

The supplies cupboards were a few corridors away. You had at least three minutes to work with.

With a sharp inhale and focus intense enough to set your teeth on edge, you slipped into the black space of the void. The room dissolved around you, replaced with the endless dark expanse of nothingness. Your feet, always inexplicably bare in here, stepped over the waterlogged floor.

You focused on Peter. You could see him, standing in the blackness, rigid as ever, his eyes on you at the table.

You padded, water rippling across the ground until you were standing directly in front of him. Slowly, you reached your fingers out to brush over his tight knuckles.

Only a tiny pop of his jaw muscle and the pulling of his gaze to the space in front of him told you that he’d felt you.

He didn’t just feel you. He knew where you were.

And odd feeling crawled through you. If he could feel you, could he... hear you?

You spoke. Barely a murmur that passed your lips as you sat at the chess table. Tiny octaves that no one would pick up over the sounds of their own activities.

“Peter.”

His eyes were sharply focused into the space where you stood.

“Can you hear me?” He didn’t move for a second. Your stomach dipped with disappointment.

Until he flicked his head, a tiny, minute nod. Your stomach lurched back up.

“We need to speak.” You whispered.

His head tilted up and away from you, scanning the room, cataloguing where everyone else’s attention was.

“Machinery room.” He murmured on the ghost of a breath.

“How -”

“Midnight. One week.” Was all he said, another almost inaudible whisper.

The sound of the rainbow room doors groaning open pulled you back from the ether. You were looking at the board in front of you, head tilted down.

A drop of crimson fell to the white square under your nose. You hastily wiped across your face with the back of your sleeve, smearing it. You licked the pad of your thumb and ran it furiously against your skin to clear the painted red streak from your face. You swiped the drop up from the board on the edge of your sleeve.

You looked up just as the orderly reached the table, a bright thankful smile on your face. Nothing amiss.

“Here you go.” She said, dropping a small cloth bag onto the board. It rattled slightly as the wooden pieces tumbled around inside of it.

“Thank you.” You smiled, perfectly normal.

As she retreated back to her observations, your gaze landed back onto Peter. He shifted his weight again, glancing at you for only a moment.

His fingers were still curled around the rook, nestled in the palm of his hand.

One week.

You could do it. You could play the game.

***

The week was painfully dragging.

Brenner watching you eagle-eyed through every test, scrawling notes as the needle recorded your heavy neural waves.

You didn’t know if you were stronger, or if the thought of being near Peter again was acting as some sort of generating force inside your mind.

Either way, something clicked.

You crushed the cans. You didn’t let the sound unravel you, even as it scraped through your ears, even as the images flashed.

You lit the bulbs. As bright as you possibly could, forced them into patterns of hotly buzzing light. You refused to acknowledge the violent scene that played out behind your eyes as you did.

Brenner was receptive. He’d slipped out of the role of punisher and back into the role of Papa. The way you remembered, his warmness forced and edged by a sharpness he couldn’t entirely hide.

He seemed content that his performance of punishment and rituals of torment had done their job.

You’d hardly seen Peter more than a few moments a day in the rainbow room, or in passing through the halls.

His face never gave anything away, but the feeling coming off of him did. He was stiffer, more obedient, quieter - if that was even possible.

He was holding up the facade as well. Performing, just like you. Climbing the ladder back in to Brenner’s good graces. Or at least, his precarious trust.

On the seventh day, you’d successfully pushed the silver marble through the maze on the table. Facing the wall, eyes shrouded by a blindfold.

You heard Brenner's hum of approval.

“Well done.” He said, scrawling down the readings. “It seems you are finally thriving, all things considered.”

You smiled graciously, though it felt sickening to look warmly into his face.

“Thank you, Papa. I am trying my best.” You said sweetly.

Too sweetly, anyone else would have noticed. But he was too preoccupied with his selfish feelings of triumph to notice.

“You’re making great strides here.” He placed the clipboard down and stood up, rounding the table towards you.

“You’ve displayed remarkable control of late.” He brushed a thumb up your cheek. You had to shove down the violent shudder that crawled up your neck.

You smiled softly instead, looking away as if humbled, as if the praise did anything but make your stomach churn violently.

“I think you’ve earned having this removed.” His hand nudged at the collar that had made a home around your neck.

His fingers slipped into his tailored pocket and pulled out a small ring of keys. He reached to the back of your neck, to the clasp of the collar.

He was too close. Smelling of tobacco and leather polish and something antiseptic, making your nostrils scorch.

The collar came away. The relief was instant.

The removal of the weight you’d become so used to almost made your head wobble on your shoulders. Your fingers dragged over your skin, hot and numb from the constant pressing in of the electrodes.

“Th-thank you Papa.” You breathed graciously, making your eyes as big and sweet as possible. “That feels much better.”

“I trust you won’t need it again.” He said, dipping his head to look at you from under his eyebrows.

You shook your head too vigorously. The extra movement in your neck sent a sharp jolt of pain up the back of your head.

“No Papa, I won’t. I promise.”

***

You were sitting cross legged on your bed, hospital scuffs thrown off in favour of socks you knew would muffle your steps better.

11:45pm.

You stared at the clock hands, ticking slower than ever around the circular face. Your gut writhed almost painfully. If this went wrong, the consequences would be severe.

Peter’s tortured wails were hanging in your ears as you sat there, waiting for the minutes to pass.

What would Brenner do to him if he found out? If a single pair of eyes spotted either of you moving about the halls after hours, let alone disappearing into the same darkened spaces together.

Together.

Alone.

Your throat thickened. Your ears suddenly felt full of running water. Rumbling with hot sound. Something was hammering at your heart behind the anxiety.

Quieter, warmer, the kind of thing you’d only let yourself feel in the darkest corners of the night. The kind of thing that was foolish and selfish and starved.

Your thoughts drifted into a space tinged with a pink haze.

Alone with him.

Then, the hands struck midnight. You squashed the flippant fantasies toiling in your brain and moved, opening the door as quietly as possible.

You craned your head out into the darkened corridor.

An excuse was ready on your lips, but there was no one outside. Only the sound of the heels of the night nurse, fading down the end of some corridor, carrying away from you.

You slunk out into the halls, feet padding over the linoleum as you crept close to the wall, the breath rising in your lungs as your apprehension grew with every corner you turned.

You pushed through the swing door to the basement. The concrete stairs were cold, the chill seeping through your socks as you descended them. On the very last step, nestled to the side sat the white, carved rook.

It was dark through the long, steel-netted window you peered through. Only the deep blue hues of light from the machinery whirring stretching throughout the concrete expanse.

Your palms pushed against the metal doors. The cold air met you as you stepped into the dark.

Just as you moved toward the railing to scan the room below you, a hand yanked you away from the doorway.

***

For a held moment you both hung there silently in the dark atop the metal platform, so close you could feel the warmth coming off of him.

The air between you was baring it's teeth.

“Peter -”

“Quiet.” Peter whispered, dropping your arm to lay a finger across his full lips.

“Cameras?” You whispered.

He shook his head, the blue hue of the room flittering over his blonde tufts. “Not in here. There’s one in the stairwell. So stay away from the door.”

“How do we know they haven't seen us already?”

“We don't. But midnight is shift break. No one is monitoring the cameras.”

He pointed to the ceiling. You craned your head upwards. You could hear the very faint sound of boots stepping, the low gurgle of a coffee machine, the hushed beeping of a microwave.

“Staff room?”

Peter nodded softly.

“For how long?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“That doesn't seem long enough to have a conversation.” You frowned.

“No, it isn't. You'll have to help us on the way back.”

His hand twitched out towards yours again and then faltered, hanging in the air between you oddly. Your eyes darted to it.

“Come.” He moved toward the metal stairs of the platform.

His feet were purposeful on each stair, delicately placed as if he knew exactly where to step. He slunk underneath the platform at the bottom.

It was even darker under here, the blue light dissolved across his features. It made his cerulean irises stand out shockingly more than usual. They seemed to pierce sharper, here in the dark silence, alone.

Every hair on your body felt stiff as he studied your face in a solemn silence.

“How badly did he hurt you?” A strained tone, as if he physically pained.

“How badly did he hurt me?” Your mouth parted in disbelief.

“The bruises.” He said, his gaze hard as a rock.

His hand came up to your face.

His expression flickered, as if observing his own motion with intrigue and something sideways of surrender.

Your breath stopped. A tiny catch betraying your composure.

The knuckle of his index finger whispered up your jaw, his touch a feathered phantom.

“Here.”

Your entire face was hot in the frigid air of the dark undercroft.

“You didn’t have them in the infirmary.”

“No, I didn't...” Your gaze drew back up into his, which hadn’t left your face.

He didn’t say anything, just waited. Waited for the words that felt too heavy for you to say.

“He made me watch.” You said finally, eyes welling against your will.

Peter's eyes squeezed shut as he drew in a long breath.

“When they punished you.” You choked out, the memories rearing violently in your mind as your eyes dropped to his feet. “He didn’t let me look away.”

Peter stiffened. His face darkened with a shade far more dangerous than anger.

“Of course he did.” He pushed through his teeth.

“How badly are you hurt?” You asked, eyes dragging over him in the dim light.

“I am fine. I have had much worse.”

You stared at him with disbelief painted plainly on your face. “You mean - does he do that to you often?”

His gaze dropped, enough to confirm the question.

“Whenever he can find a reason.” He muttered. “Control is all he has. Control of us, control of the lab. It makes him feel powerful.”

Control of… us?

You frowned in the low light. “Why do you stay here?”

His breath sounded broken. His eyes were fraught, like they were being pulled toward the truth and trying desperately to stay back from it.

“Answer the question, Peter. I'm tired of not understanding things.”

His eyes shut, a long breath escaping him before he opened them again.

“I can’t leave.” He murmured.

“You can’t leave your job? Why? Because what we can do is classified, or something?”

He didn’t answer, just looked at you. “In a manner of speaking.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“You sound just like him.” You hissed, stepping backwards.

His face contorted, as if doused in acid. “What did you say?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” You said, voice sharp as a knife. “You bring me here, you put us both in danger and you can’t even be honest with me. You give me the same excuses he does.”

He glared at you, stepping closer. “I am trying to keep you safe -”

You scoffed, the sound harsh in the tight, dark space. His expression tightened.

“I am not safe.” Your voice started breaking before you could stop it, a rush of emotion filling you in an uncontrollable tide.

“I am not safe.” You choked out louder, more shattered, tears filling your eyes to the brim as he stood in silence.

He exhaled a reserved breath.

“I have never been safe.” Your mouth said the words as if your mind had known them forever.

Peter’s face softened, every angelic feature marred with a quiet guilt.

“Nineteen -”

“What?” You snarled, anger rising to combat the pain.

“I am trying to protect you.” He rasped through his teeth.

“By deciding what truths I’m worth.”

The anger was steering you now, faster than the tide of emotional turmoil, damming it behind a solid mass.

“If you had any idea -”

“You still think I have no idea what he is capable of?” You hissed. “Peter, you were the one who told me not to be so blind. Now it is you who is blinding me. Just like he does.”

Your words crashed into the air between you, landing like lead at his feet.

He let out a long, sharp breath as you let the silence weigh purposefully, let it crush against him in the dark.

You stared up at him, eyes wet and wired.

“I am not like him.” He snarled. “You have to trust me.”

“The last person to tell me to trust them tortured me, then made me watch as he did the same to you.”

His teeth clamped together. You didn’t care if it made him angry. You were angry.

You were agony in the shape of a person, clawing desperately, trying to make sense of every wretched piece.

And he was hiding the pieces inside closed fists.

“I am not like him.” He said again, the hiss in this voice sharper as his eyes narrowed with a monstrous edge.

“You sure sound like him.”

For a thick, dark second, there was silence.

Then, he was on you.

His hands gripping into your shoulders, pushing you forcefully against a stack of plastic crates. His eyes were almost crazed, leaking acid blue into yours.

Animal. Predator.

Yet you felt the torrid coiling of something much more terrifying in the back of you neck.

Invitation.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden rush.

“You would compare me to that monster?” His voice was a dark growl, setting your nerves alight as it careened through your ears.

“If you’re going to hurt me, get it over with.” You braved, though your voice shook over the words. “I feel little else that isn’t pain.”

His grip slackened immediately. His face fell into a million truths that he couldn’t, or wouldn't, give a voice to.

“Peter -” your breath was a choked, broken thing falling out between you.

His fingertips trailed in a whisper up your neck. He lingered there, before claiming your jaw with his thumbs.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was a somber sound, a lilt of regret.

“Be honest with me then. You’re a prisoner here too, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He murmured. “Just like you. Just like everyone else. The nurses, the orderlies, even the guards.”

“Everyone?” You breathed.

“Yes. Prisoners. Weapons.”

You shook your head, trying to will the sense together. “But I'm only here because of the accident, I -”

“You still believe that? After everything Papa has done to you, after everything you’ve witnessed? Lies come to him easier than breathing.” Peter hissed.

Papa?

“Brenner -” he corrected himself fluidly, before you could question it. “This place is his kingdom. His trap. Nineteen, people don't just wake up with abilities like yours. And once you are caught... you can never get out.”

“Caught?”

“Caught. Made.” He said gravely, not breaking his gaze from you. “Lured.”

Lured.

Your mind reeled with a single second of disjointed footage, like a glitch within a black tape. A man, a suit, the rain. Crisp white paper in your hands.

It faded before you could make out the words inked into it.

“You will never be free, Nineteen. Not for as long as he is.” Peter sighed. “You won't ever get the truth about yourself from him.”

“And you?” You asked, heart hammering. “Will you tell me the truth?”

His breath caught softly in his lips as he stared down into you, hands still holding your face like it was something breakable.

“I am trying to.” He breathed.

He was so close you could smell his breath tumbling over his lips with every word. Coffee, the remnants of spearmint toothpaste.

You were unsure exactly when the anger in you had morphed into a serpent of desire. The scorch had fallen from your head to your chest as Peter loomed over you, a shadowed seraph lit in midnight blue.

“I don't know the whole truth.” He frowned. “But knowing him... it will be painful.”

“I don’t care if it’s painful. I don't care if I have pull it out like a knife.”

“Truth is a knife.” Peter breathed, his mouth so close you could feel the hum of life coming off his lips.

“So cut me with it.”

His breath sharpened.

A beat of stillness.

“And I’ll bleed out at your feet like the wounded animal that I am.”

It was a dare.

A desire you could no longer contain.

He broke first.

He settled his lips over yours with the type of soft terror that tasted of desperation. It was controlled, guarded, charged with fragile restraint as if he wasn't sure how to let himself feel it.

Your heart had stopped it's incessant hammering, becoming instead a halted furnace radiating nuclear within you.

He drew back. He leaned his forehead down into yours, looking like it was a pain worse than what had already befallen him to restrain himself.

“I'm - I'm sorry.” He murmured, though his face stayed agonizingly close.

“I’m not.”

Your mind was racing. You tried to brush your lips against his, selfishly seeking, but he pulled his head back.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

A tiny scoff fell from your mouth. “Why? Didn't you mean it?”

His eyes were full of something you couldn’t pinpoint.

“I did.” He murmured.

“Then do it again.”

“Nineteen, it’s not that simple.” He breathed. “The more I feel... the more I allow... the more danger you're in.”

Your lips parted.

“Allow?” You repeated, dumbfounded.

Was your desperation for him that plain? Was your desire held like a plea on your face that he'd simply wanted to indulge?

“Allowing this would put you in more danger.”

“Allowing this? You say that like you’re doing me a favour.” You scoffed. “You kissed me. I didn't ask you to.”

“Like I said I - need to protect you.” Peter murmured.

Need.

“So protect me.”

Your hands brushed over the sides of his shirt. His breath caught as you pulled him closer. His face contorted, as if in the middle of a painful thought.

“Peter, you’re allowed to feel.” You breathed desperately. “Kiss me again.”

“I… can’t.”

Your eyes narrowed into his.

“Coward.” You said, shoving your hands hard into his chest, making him stumble backwards.

“Nineteen.” He warned, his face growing rigid. “If anyone found out -”

“What will they do? Hurt me? Hurt you?” You snarled. “They’ve already done that, or have you forgotten?”

You were in his face now. Ignited, driven by your ceaseless desire and the anger that toiled ever presently in your blood.

“No.”

“So you’re going to take it upon yourself to hurt me instead?” You hissed.

“No, Nineteen -”

“You’re not protecting me by being afraid.”

“I am trying to be rational.” He said quietly.

“Tell me what you want.” You said, your voice picking up in the darkness. “Or I’m leaving.”

“I -”

Your hands fisted the front of his shirt.

“Tell me.”

His gaze grew sharper as you eyed him combatively, all fury and longing and frustration.

“I want to help you.” He breathed. “I want you to know the truth. I want to help you remember.”

He paused.

“You - you make me feel -” The words were barely a whisper.

“Feel what?”

His face contorted as if the feeling was lodged too deep in his throat to come out without a fight.

“Say it, Peter.”

He inhaled sharply.

“Human.”

“Then stop being so goddamn afraid.”

“Nineteen -”

“Peter.”

He shifted into you, tentatively this time, until your back was flush against the crates. His arms outstretched, pinning you a cage of himself.

He was looking directly into your eyes, with the expression of a man who’d been dueling with himself for far too long.

“Don’t. Please…” He said almost inaudibly as his head dipped against your shoulder.

Your heart was beating wild hooves against your ribs. You could feel the soft tufts of his hair against your chin, smell the faint clean scent of his soap.

Your stomach lurched with a passion that felt like violence. 

“Don’t what?”

“Don't call me that.” He murmured through his lips.

“Pete-?”

“Don’t.”

“You don’t want me to call you by your name?”

“That’s not… my name.” He forced out.

You knew it all too well. A strangers name with your face. A name that wouldn’t stick. A name that was covering a much darker truth. There was not a shred of pantomime to his plea.

“That’s not… okay,” you said softly. “So what is it?”

He lifted his head solemnly.

The silence tasted like a loaded gun. Pointed at you, pointed at him. You couldn’t tell. You could only taste the gunpowder.

“Henry.”

He said it like pulling a splinter, with a whisper of relief tumbling through his lips.

“Henry?”

The azure in his eyes deepened.

Before you could say another word, he crashed his mouth into you.

This time it wasn’t the controlled, fragile man who wouldn’t let himself feel and be felt.

The bough had broken.

It was like falling through a supernova, explosive and alight and alive with colours you could scarcely imagine. He tasted like something holy, something your lips were unworthy of.

His hands drew tight around your face, pulling you against him like he wanted to sink behind your teeth.

He pulled back just enough to breath between your heated mouths.

“Don't stop.” You whispered.

“Say it again.” He begged.

“Henry.”

The ghost of a whimper fell from him as his tongue slid over your lips to taste you, starved.

It felt like every unspoken agony all at once, his mouth falling over yours desperately, drawing your breath out of you with every pass.

Eventually he broke his face away from yours as if it was torture.

“Nineteen...” He murmured.

“Yes, Henry?”

His chest seemed to catch in the most devastating way every time you said his name.

“I meant what I said. I want to help you. You don’t deserve to be in this hell.” He said softly as his knuckle trailed your jaw again.

“Neither do you,” you breathed.

His eyes were intense, wild with purpose. “I’m going to find out exactly what brought you here.”

The furnace in your chest roared.

Was this what it felt like? To mean something to someone? The feeling ran through you as if it was brand new, as if your bones had never held it.

“And then?”

Henry’s gaze was as sharp as a guillotine, his jaw set with clenched teeth as he spoke.

“Then… then we will get out. We will burn it to the ground. And Papa will be the first to burn.”

There it was again. Papa.

The darkness that spun behind the blue in his eyes was ominous. It wasn’t a fantasy or a dream or a game. His intent was clear on every single one of his angular, angelic features.

It was a promise.

A death sentence.

“Do you really think that's possible?”

“Ever since you arrived I've known it to be possible.”

Henry pressed his lips over yours a final time, the searing seal of a covenant.

“I still don't understand, though. Why is your name a secret?”

“Later,” he breathed. “We have to go. Before they notice.”

“How? The guards -”

“They’ll be back from break, but you can manipulate the cameras.”

“Can I?”

“Nineteen, you crushed two people to death and threw another into a wall without even trying. It will be as easy as breathing. Trust me.”

He lingered a moment, brow knitted as if deciding whether to move or stay in the dark. Your mind reeled with the image of your hands under his shirt, on his skin…

Before you could act, he was grabbing your hand and leading you back up the metal stairs, the blue light of the machinery filtering over him as he stepped out of the dark.

He flattened at the door, next to the window.

“There. In the corner.”

Your eyes trailed up to the metal box, blinking red at the top of the stairwell. You took a deep breath, steeling your focus as you willed the force towards it.

Henry gripped your wrist. “Not so intense. Don’t break it.”

“Exactly what am I meant to do, then?” You hissed.

“The shutter. Over the lens. It has to be fast, or they’ll notice.” He breathed. “It has to seem like a glitch.”

“We’ll have to run to the top. There’s a blind spot right outside the stairwell door.”

You nodded, and turned your focus back towards it. This time, you tunneled the force into a tiny point, pulling at the intricate, fragile machinery whirring within the camera until the lens blackened.

“Now.” You said through gritted teeth.

Henry grabbed your hand and pushed the door open, only faltering for a second to collect the white rook before pulling you up the stairs in a flurry.

He slid against the shadowed wall at the top with you as you relented control of the lens. A warm, slick drop of blood was creeping from your left nostril.

“Good.” Henry breathed. “There's one in every corridor, but I know where the blind spots are.”

***

You moved through the corridors like phantoms, Henry's fingers laced and unyielding through yours.

You blackened the cameras for mere seconds while he led you into each blind spot, the maneuvers becoming almost a dance by the time you'd reached your room.

You slipped inside, shutting the door with a soft click. Henry stood near the doorway, watching you closely.

Alone again.

Your legs moved for you, carrying you back towards him.

“Henry -” your fingers reached up to push a wayward tuft of blonde from his forehead.

He flinched, as if it was the kind of touch he'd never learned to feel.

His gaze dropped to your mouth for moment before he craned around to the dark window, surveying the corridor outside.

“I have to go,” He said tightly. “You can’t call me Henry out there. Only when we're alone.”

He looked pained. “If he hears you, he will kill us both. He can't suspect anything. Do you understand?”

You swallowed and nodded.

“Good. I have to go.”

Your hand lingered on his face, fingertips brushing down the warm marble of his cheek.

“Will I see you like this again?”

“Yes.” His thumb and index finger tilted your chin up. “Like I said, I am going to find out who you are. I promise.”

“We'll use these.” You said, pulling the black rook from your pocket. “Leave it somewhere I'll find it, and I'll meet you there at midnight.”

He nodded.

“Be careful.” You sighed. “Go quickly. I'll blank the cameras for you.”

He set his lips gently against your forehead. “Goodnight, Nineteen.”

He dropped your chin, studying you for a beat longer before turning on his heels.

“- and Henry?”

“Yes?”

“That's not my name.”

“Nineteen?”

You nodded slowly.

“No, I don't suppose it is. What is your name?” He asked softly.

“I don't know.” You admitted. “But that's not it.”

“I'll help you find it.” He said, his voice tipped with velvet.

He opened the door silently, and slid into the darkened halls like a shadow, leaving you trembling where you stood, your lips still burning with the phantom of his own.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

☣︎ Comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series! ☣︎

Taglist: @cherrybbys , @creelvx , @cristalbeesnow , @snugglesiren , @cannibalcoyote , @taylor-munson , @frolickingbimbo , @twilightzone88 , @bontensbabygirl , @yourferretsblog , @belleoftheball70 , @daddyavesxx , @nocasdatsgay , @bowernocturne , @nashoernchen , @f4deds0uls

[vvitchfangs]

The Trials Winter Solstice: Frostbitten

NSFW / 18+

Part seven of The Trials: Winter Solstice expanded fic.

(The Trials chapters here)

Plot Summary: Theo and Jane stay for Christmas at his family home, the night bringing with it doubt, fear, and love in different forms. Later, they make a decision.

Pairing: Theo Deschamps x Jane Warfield!Reader (note: reader-insert friendly! Jane's physical description kept very vague.)

Content: manor, self-doubt, anxiety/fear, comfort, Christmas, family tension, fpreg, flirting/teasing, smut (grinding, handjob, oral, thigh sex, orgasms), soft!Theo

NB: This chapter is not part of the original Trials audiobook.

WC: 10k

Additional credit: Tyler McCall - original creator of The Trials audiobook/characters.

A/N: Sorry this chapter is so long! I wanted to include the dance, and I tried to end it on the lake scene but it felt oddly cut off to have them just appear back at home after that, so I added the ending. Hope you like it anyway!

___________________________________________________________

The sound of the graveled drive was less severe this time when Jane and Theo appeared on top of it. The earth underneath was damp, wet-through with days of rain and snow, muffling the noise under their boots.

Jane scuffed her foot across it lightly.

“Nice of you to land closer this time.” She said, brushing her fingertips over the edge of the ornate fountain that sat in all of it's stone pomp in front of Theo's family home.

“Did you really think I'd make you walk all the way up here again?” Theo scoffed.

“I thought you might want the chance to change your mind, like before.” Jane shrugged.

Theo drew a soft inhale through his nose as he looked at the grand, pillared manor looming over them.

“Maybe I've changed my mind from here.” He murmured.

“Theo.”

“I'm just saying...” Theo muttured. “No one's seen us yet. We could just run away. They'd be none the wiser -”

Abruptly, the heavy doors swung open across the stone porch. The force of air sent several small hovering lights bobbing away toward the fountain. Theo flicked his hand at one of them as it swept past his head.

“Theo!” Alice squeaked as she danced down the stairs and around the fountain, clad in a pair of beige leather boots and a thick, brown fur coat that fell to her calves.

Her hair swung in frustratingly perfect long curls of greying-blonde as her arms spun Theo into a warm embrace, making him grunt.

He rolled his eyes, but softened into his mother, resting his chin on her shoulder as she squeezed him.

“Merry Christmas, Mum.” He said warmly. “So good to see you.”

“Jane!” She added, just as excitedly, sweeping Theo away to pull Jane into a tight hug.

“Oh -” Jane said, her voice straining against the force of Alice's affection. “Nice to see you, Alice.”

Theo's hand shot to Alice's shoulder. “Okay, not so tight.” He frowned softly.

“It's fine.” Jane breathed quietly from her confines.

Alice drew herself away and rubbed her hands together excitedly.

“I've so missed you both,” she grinned. “And so has Auggie, though he'll never admit it. Well, maybe to you, Jane.”

Jane blew a scoff of air out of her nose.

“Okay, well this is lovely and everything, but I might need my toes in the future.” Theo said, his breath tumbling out of him in a fine mist against the frosted air. “Shall we?”

He snapped his fingers, and his and Jane's suitcases began trailing over the gravel, and disappeared around the hedge towards the guesthouse in the garden.

“Yes, yes - get in!” Alice chirped brightly. “I'll put the kettle on.”

Theo's gloved fingers fell around Jane's hand as he led them through the heavy doors, which groaned shut behind him of their own accord.

The foyer was just as grand as Jane remembered it, and it made her feel just as small.

Polished beige marble, high ceilings, a central staircase branching off to both the left and right. The large crystal chandelier still hung from three stories above, glinting with an array of sparkling flecks of light all over the walls. Pairs of polished wooden doors lined the bottom story, some splayed open, some tightly shut.

A wild-haired blonde head appeared two stories above them, leaning over the banister with a grin.

“Hullo,” August called, peering down into the foyer.

Before they could answer, he’d flung himself over the railing. His lanky frame careened towards the glossy tile of the ground floor, before slowing and coming to a gracefully soft landing, as if he’d merely jumped an inch off the floor.

“Impressive.” Jane smirked as he spun his hand and dipped into a bow.

“Showing off already, my my.” Theo tutted, but his soft smile gave him away.

“Jealous already, my my.” August jeered.

He looked Theo up and down playfully, raising his eyebrows.

“Shut it.” Theo grinned as he spun August into a towering hug. “Good to see you.”

“And I suppose it's good to see you, too.” August smiled, letting Theo ruffle his already untidy hair before sliding over to Jane to hug her as well.

She returned it warmly.

“How have you been?” Jane asked

“Extraordinary as always.” August smirked. “Where’s mum?”

“Kettle.” Theo said, jerking his head towards the dining room.

August nodded and skipped off across the foyer, through the doors.

Janes throat felt dry as her eyes trailed up the staircase.

“Do you think he’s here?”

“Oh, yes. He’s always lurking somewhere.” Theo droned, his expression tightening for a moment.

He rubbed a hand over Jane’s back, air pushing through his nose.

“Come. Let’s get something warm to drink.”

***

There seemed to be a Christmas tree in every corner of the house.

Each room held a differently sized one, based on the importance and use of the room, Jane supposed.

The dining room boasted an exceptionally tall one, meticulously manicured into a perfect conical turret. Miniature lights hovered around it, making soft flares dance off of the large crystal baubles it was adorned with. Gigantic gold bows were spread perfectly throughout the branches, and a gilded crystal star spun softly in the air just above the top, suspended like a tiny sun.

For hours the four of them sat lounging in the dining room, tall chairs pushed lazily from the long table to the front of the fireplace.

The cocoa was even richer here somehow, as if the grandeur of the house improved the taste by simply exisiting around it.

Janes fingers were tight around the decorative mug as the conversations spun around her. It should have been peaceful, enjoyable. But joy seemed to evade her as she sat there, smiling through the sentences, laughing at the right moments, praising Theo as he talked about the Black Ravens, the Winter Solstice.

The wider Alice’s eyes grew, the bigger the grin pulled up her face, the more Jane's shoulders tightened. The more August scoffed playfully, the more he chatted excitedly about his music, the more her throat dried.

She’d always felt misplaced here, and every ornate corner of the room seemed to press in on her with every passing minute.

As engrossed in the conversations as Theo was, he was still very much in tune to her. He could feel the thick, stiff air around her like a palpable force settling against him.

His hand brushed over her thigh, coming to rest at her knee for a moment. His gaze met hers, inquisitive and searching.

Sensing her unease, he got up, stretching out casually in front of the fire.

“Well,” he said softly. “We should get our things sorted, right darling?”

Jane nodded, smiling as she stood.

“I suppose we should.” Her eyes met Alice’s, the blue almost as shocking as Theo’s. “Can we help at all, with dinner?”

“Oh no no!” Alice said, shaking her head. “Don’t trouble yourselves. August will help me, won’t you?” She said brightly, her hand shaking his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, sure. Of course you get out of helping.” He muttered to Theo, who winked playfully in response.

“I’ll chime when it’s ready.” Alice smiled, getting up in a gracious sweep and collecting everyone’s empty mugs. With a wave of her jeweled, manicured hand she sent them floating off into the kitchen.

“See you soon, then.” Theo smiled, planting a peck on her cheek before collecting Janes hand in his and ferrying them back out through the manor.

***

Jane shrugged her coat off as she stepped through the doors of the guesthouse.

The air was cushioned with a thick warmth from the fireplace crackling happily in the corner of the living room.

A light dusting of powdered snow had fallen onto their suitcases, which had been waiting obediently outside on the patio for them. Theo brushed a gloved hand over them, before snapping his fingers and sending them wheeling into the bedroom.

Jane could feel Theo’s eyes lingering on the back of her head as she hung up her wool coat.

“Jane.” He said softly.

She turned to him with a sweet smile, aiming for completely normal and missing.

“Yes?”

He rolled his eyes a bit as he studied her face.

“Don’t act like nothing’s the matter, sweetheart.” He said gently, his arm winding around her waist. “I can feel you from a mile away.”

“Nothings the matter, I’m fine -”

“Jane.”

A long breath pushed out from her nose, shedding her final layer of futile stubbornness before she leaned her head softly against his chest. There was no hiding from him.

“You barely said a word in there.” He said, leaning his chin on top of her head.

“I’m - just tired.” She breathed.

“No.” He said gently. “Try again.”

She bumped her head against him in irritation.

“It’s - just all of this.” She said, her hand gesturing vaguely around the room.

“All of what?” Theo frowned.

“Everything is so… perfect. So beautiful.”

Theo's frown deepened. “Okay, and why is that bothering you?”

She sighed into him, trying her best to not let her voice betray her by breaking.

“You had such a perfect childhood.” She said, her voice tiny. “This place is like heaven. Alice is so… perfect. Just look at the trees. The decorations. The perfect cocoa. The way she celebrates the tiniest things you do.”

“What if I…” her voice was barely a whisper as the words choked out of her. “What if I can’t be that? What if I can’t give our child what you had?”

Her eyes started to blur with salt water as she leaned against him.

His arms tightened around her.

“Jane…” he said quietly. “I did not have a perfect childhood. Far from it actually.”

“But what if I can’t… what if I can’t measure up. What if I can’t be like her?”

“I don’t want you to be like her. You shouldn’t want to be like her. You’re you.” Theo said softly, his hands cupping her face so he could gaze into her damp eyes.

“You’re Jane, and you’re perfect.” He said, brushing his lips over hers. “You’re brave, and clever, and much stronger than I am.” He huffed. “Christmas trees and decorations and big houses… it’s nothing compared to who you are. You are incredible.”

“Theo -”

“No, you are. I wish - I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Anyone’s eyes. You’re going to be a wonderful mother. I would bet my life on it.”

“It’s so easy to say those things. But you don’t know, Theo. You don’t. I'm scared. What if I can’t… what if I don’t like being a mother?” A wash of shame pulled over her like a wave at the words.

“Shh.” Theo said, cradling her head against him. “I know it’s scary. It’s terrifying. I’m terrified.”

“How do you… not feel terrified?”

“I don’t,” Theo chuckled. “I feel it all the time.”

“I don’t know how to turn it into excitement.” Jane sighed. “I’m scared all the time. I’ve never doubted myself so much… even during the trials.”

“Darling, the fact that you’re so worried about being a good mother just shows that you will be.” He said, kissing her head.

“I don’t know anymore.” She breathed, squeezing her eyes shut to stem what was welling in them.

“Well I know.” Theo said softly. “I know I love you. I know we love our baby.”

“I love you too, Theo.”

“And I don’t have all the answers but - but that’s all we can do, right? Love them, and learn, and do the best that we can.” He kissed her on the head again. “And I know - I know that you’ll be incredible, Jane.”

A soft smile curved through her lips as she nuzzled into his chest.

“So will you.” She said, pulling her head up finally to brush her lips against his.

“Well, I will be much better than my father, I hope. And that’s not a hard bar to jump.” He huffed.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” Jane sighed.

She ran her hand up the side of his jaw, the warmth of her touch pulling his eyes closed.

“I love you, Theo.”

“I love you too, Jane.”

He leaned down, enveloping her lips in a tender kiss. The kind that lingered long after he drew himself back to study her.

“Hm. Beautiful.” He murmured, his thumbs resting under her ears.

Jane returned his affectionate gaze with a soft smile, and then turned gently on her heels towards the bedroom. Part of her burned with desire, hoping Theo would follow her.

She needed him. She needed to feel something other than the cold doubt that seemed to be ever-present in the pit of her stomach lately.

But he lingered in the living room, watching the line of her legs as she walked away.

He hadn't touched her since the bleeding.

She huffed with frustration after realizing he wasn't going to follow her. But that didn't mean she was done trying.

“What do you think, Theo?” She called from the bedroom as he sat, sunk into the sofa with his legs elegantly crossed. He could hear her rustling around in her suitcase.

"Hmm?" He answered, knowing exactly where her energy was by the slight lilt in her voice.

“Green or gold?”

She walked out into the living room, in nothing but her black lace bra and panties, a dress in each hand.

Theo inhaled a sharp breath at the sight of her.

“What do you think?” Jane asked innocently.

His eyes were edged as they trailed over her almost-bare body.

“Jane...” He whined softly, throwing his head back over the sofa.

“Hmm?” She asked, stepping closer. “I only want your opinion.”

“You're not as sly as you think you are, darling.” He groaned, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“I don't know what you mean.” She smirked, coming even closer, her thigh bumping against his knee as he continued to stare at the ceiling. “I just want to know which is better. For dinner.”

Theo squeezed his eyes shut.

“That one.” He said, pointing vaguely without looking.

“Which one? ”She purred, tilting her head.

“Green -”

Theo's breath hitched sharply as she slid her leg over his lap, settling across him, caging him in her thighs. His brow knitted as he squeezed his eyes shut, neck still craned back over the sofa.

“Oh? I'm not so sure.” She breathed. “This is so... hard.”

She ground her hips forward a single, agonizing thrust, drawing a helpless whimper from his lips.

“Jane..." He whined, his hands hovering over her thighs.

She was so warm, so soft against him, it was the most singular agony to keep his hands off her as his stomach curled with desire.

“Hmm? What was that?” She breathed, sliding against his lap again. “Oh, there you are.” She grinned wickedly, feeling him swell beneath her core.

“Do you enjoy torturing me?” Theo whined, still looking at the ceiling.

“You're torturing me,” she said. “Don't you want to touch me?”

“Jane...” Theo sighed, finally bringing his head down, finally letting his eyes meet her bare, flushed form.

His lips parted as he trailed his gaze across her face, over the swell of her breasts, down the curves of her waist and inclines of her hips.

“I always want to touch you, you know that.” He sighed. “I just -” his face fell into a mix of sadness and frustration.

Jane dropped the dresses onto the couch next to him, and slid her hands around his jaw, cradling his sculpted face like a work of art.

“I know.” She sighed, brushing her lips tenderly against his. “I am being... selfish. I'm sorry.”

His hands found her bare waist as she kissed him, his fingers trying their hardest not to dig in to her supple flesh.

“Can you blame me for trying?” She murmured into his mouth.

He smiled against her lips, dragging a wet trail underneath her jaw where he left a heated sigh against her skin.

He was battling every single nerve in his body not to drag them both to the living room floor and tear her lingerie off with his teeth. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, laying kisses across her flushed chest.

“Soon sweetheart.” Theo sighed as his hands softly roamed up her back. “I promise.”

She leaned into his hair, taking in his perfect scent before gently sliding off his lap.

“Green it is.” She smiled, collecting her dresses from the sofa and heading into the bedroom.

Theo watched her like a hawk, the sight of her near-naked body setting his insides on fire. He adjusted himself, still hard and tight in his trousers from her heat pressing against him.

Was he mad? He felt mad. Resisting her was a torturous task. But he also couldn’t shake the anxiety from his bones, the dread that had settled there after he’d thought the worst.

He ran a hand through his long caramel-blonde locks and moved to lean in the bedroom doorway.

“Changed your mind already?” Jane asked slyly as she shimmied into her emerald green, off-shoulder evening gown.

Theo huffed.

“You wish. I just like to watch you.” He said as his gaze trailed from her long cascading waves of hair to her ankles.

“And tell me,” she smirked, stepping into his warmth and tiptoeing to drag a kiss over his jaw, “what do you think about when you watch me?”

“Hm, dangerous things, sometimes.” He grinned as she sucked his neck. “But mostly how much I adore you.”

He took her face in his hands and laid his full lips against hers in a tender claiming. She sighed warmly into his mouth as he lingered there, stealing one, two more kisses.

“I love you.” She breathed. “But, if you’re not going to tear this dress off of me, then stop distracting me.”

“How am I distracting you?”

She took a step back and gestured vaguely over his entire body.

He huffed out a smirk. “Oh please, I’m only standing here.”

“Theo. You could be hanging from the ceiling like a bat and you’d find a way to make it maddeningly attractive.”

“Now that’s intriguing…” he grinned. “I do love a vampire story… and I can’t deny how much I love to bite you.”

He was on her swiftly, sinking his teeth into the side of her neck, drawing a small yelp from her mouth.

“Theo!” She whacked his bicep, and he chuckled against her wet neck.

“Hmm? Don’t you like it?” He cooed, grazing his teeth over her again.

“Now you’re torturing me.” She sighed.

“It’s only fair.” Theo laughed, pulling back to brush a thumb over her cheek. “Hm, pretty. Very bitable.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes and plucked a pair of gold earrings from her suitcase.

“Yeah, well, tell me when you’re ready to bite me for real.” She huffed, sweeping past him into the bathroom.

She adjusted her earrings, the gold glinting softly in the warm bathroom light as they dangled. She tidied her makeup and swept her hair back over her shoulders to mist herself with perfume.

“You’re... different when you’re here. Did you know that?” Theo said softly from the living room as he peered at her through the doorway.

“How do you mean?” She stopped applying her lipstick to frown at him.

“You try too hard.”

“What?” She frowned. “I do not try too hard.”

“Darling, you look like you’re going back to the Winter Solstice ball.” He chuckled.

Her jaw tightened. “I do not -”

“You do.” He closed the distance to wrap a hand around her waist. “And you look incredible, as always. But -”

“But what?” She demanded, clicking her lipstick closed aggressively.

“You don’t have to do all this for my family. You know they already love you.”

“With one exception.” She breathed, rolling her eyes.

“You know, I don’t think my father really loves anyone, apart from himself. And maybe my mother. Besides, you don’t need his approval.”

“I don’t want his approval.” She scoffed.

“Jane.”

Alexander’s words were still hot in her ears, even months later. She was a nobody. A nobody in a place filled to the brim with the type of elegance and grandeur that she never felt deserving of.

A nobody carrying Theo’s child. It made her sick to imagine what his father would think of her, of her daring to grow a Deschamps heir in her unworthy body.

The doubt tightened in her like a cold knot.

Theo pulled her into him again, sensing her unease like prickling static.

“I just - I want to feel good enough. For them. For all of this. And I -” she whispered. Her voice stuck on the words.

“I’m afraid I never will.”

She blinked back tears as she leaned into him.

“You are the most perfect thing in this world.” Theo breathed into her hair. “And everyone in it should be concerned with being good enough for you, my love.”

A chime rang out through the guest house as Theo kissed her forehead. His shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh.

“Come on.” He said reassuringly as he rubbed her back. “Take my hand, I don’t want the snow ruining all of your hard work.”

She placed a warm, thankful hand in his and he snapped his fingers, pulling them both through the ether and back to the main house.

***

“Oh!” Alice exclaimed brightly as Theo and Jane landed in the dining room with a soft thud.

“You look so beautiful!” She planted a kiss on Jane’s cheek.

“Oh - thank you.” Jane stuttered under the liveliness of her affection.

Alice grinned and swept into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a gigantic, fragrant roast lamb floating in front of her on a silver dish, surrounded by roasted vegetables.

August was leaning his elbows on the dining table, looking bored.

Theo aimed a hard kick at his chair leg.

“Oi! What was that for?”

“Are you going to help or not?” Theo hissed.

“I am helping!” He grumbled, before snapping his fingers.

A large gravy boat appeared over the table, sloshing slightly over the edge as he gestured it vaguely down onto the silk table runner. He ran a finger up the side of it and licked the spilled gravy.

“Nice.” Theo said with a stony expression. “No - come on. Don’t be lazy.” He yanked August up from his chair and led him into the kitchen.

Jane huffed out a breathy laugh as she watched them.

“Beautiful, these!” Alice said, stopping to fondle Janes earrings.

“Oh, thank you. They were a gift from Theo.” Jane smiled.

Alice grinned. “That man,” she tutted. “He’s got an eye for lovely things.”

Jane's stomach twisted again. She wanted to smile genuinely, she wanted to feel like she belonged in Alice’s world of gilded jewelry and children who grew up knowing the richness of solid gold.

But she couldn’t, not really.

“Wine?” Alice asked, breezing over to the drinks bar.

“Oh, I -”

“I have the most amazing vintage here, courtesy of Alexander of course.” She plucked out two crystal wine glasses, the light glinting off of them.

She popped the cork and filled them, handing one to Jane with a grin.

“Well go on! It really is stunning.” She smiled as she sipped hers, rolling her eyes up in dramatic bliss.

Jane’s fingers tightened around the glass.

As if divinely timed, Theo and August returned from the kitchen. Alice spun in her towering heels toward them.

Theo’s eyes landed on the glass in her hand. Then, the one in Jane's. He clocked her strained expression in a split second.

“Do you mind finding the cutlery?” Theo asked casually. “I can’t remember where we keep the ones you like.”

“Of course!” Alice said, sweeping into the kitchen.

Theo strode over to Jane and plucked the glass from her hand, downing it in a single swig.

“Thank you.” Jane mouthed silently.

A small movement made her eyes dart to the side. August was eyeing them both from the table. He didn’t say anything, just stared for a moment with raised eyebrows.

Theo rocked on his heels for a moment before sinking down into a high backed chair and arranging the plates.

The air was thick with the unspoken acknowledgment that everyone in the room knew something weird had just happened.

But before anyone could speak, the dining room doors flew open.

Alexander Deschamps strode in, his greying hair perfectly quaffed, adjusting the crisp ends of his sleeves into his gold cufflinks.

There was a long beat of silence. The room held it's breath.

To Jane and Theo's surprise, he smiled. It was rehearsed, stiff, but still unexpected.

“Theo, Jane.” He said, his gruff voice covered in a layer of tight politeness. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Alexander.” Jane offered, nodding her head curtly.

Theo took a moment longer to speak. “Yes, Merry Christmas.” He said plainly, not rising from his seat.

“I -” Alexander faltered for a beat in a way that was very unlike himself. Theo's eyebrows slid upwards.

“I believe congratulations is in order.” He held out his thick hand towards Theo, who eyed it for a moment. Alexander cleared his throat, and Theo finally took his hand, shaking it reluctantly.

“Thank you.” He nodded.

“And to you, Jane.” Alexander said, nodding in her direction.

For a moment, he didn't offer her his hand, and she thought that he might not do so at all. He seemed to consider it for a long second, but eventually he did, though his face was held in a sort of stiff, twisted smile that looked more like a grimace.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction as she shook it.

“Seems I missed quite the event.” He said casually.

“Yet you don't seem very concerned.” Theo muttered. “For someone who's career is on the line for that exact reason.”

Jane shot Theo a look. She wasn't going to let this be a repeat of Alice's birthday. He drew in a sharp breath and returned to arranging the dinner settings.

“Yes, well.” Alexander said reluctantly. “If I had have known -”

“Or perhaps, you could have just done your duty regardless of your incessant pride?” Theo snapped.

“Theo.” Jane warned.

“You have Jane to thank, by the way. She's the reason I am a Black Raven now, after all.” He glared at his father. “Not you. Her.”

Alexander sucked his teeth for a moment, like he was deciding how to proceed.

“Yes, it - seems I do.” He admitted.

“And I do hope you're aware -” Theo said, finally rising from his seat to glare at his father. “- it wasn't for you, or with you in mind in the slightest, that I accepted their offer.” He hissed.

Alexander swallowed thickly, a flicker of combativeness edging his dull blue eyes. He leaned forward a touch, as if his instincts were driving him toward a fight.

He stepped forward, glaring into Theo’s face, his jaw set stiffly.

Theo’s thought landed loudly in Jane’s head.

Go on. Try it.

She stepped forward and spun her hand around his arm, her eyes tight on the way his jaw was popping.

“Okay, let’s just all of us calm down shall we?” She murmured, positioning herself between them.

She shot them both pointed looks.

“Dinner looks wonderful, doesn’t it?” She said to Alexander thickly. “We wouldn’t want anything ruining it now would we?”

“Wouldn’t we?” August chuckled from across the table as he popped a baby carrot into his mouth. “I do love a show.”

“August.” Jane hissed.

He shrugged and sat back in his chair with a half grin still on his face.

Alexander loosened the collar of his shirt and cleared his throat.

“No, no. Of course not.” He said slowly, before rounding the table and taking his own seat.

Jane pushed Theo back down into his seat by the shoulder and sat down next to him.

Theo watched Alexander like a hawk who’d been denied his prey. Jane punched his thigh under the table, making him jerk in his seat.

“Stop it.” She muttered harshly. “Behave.”

He sucked his teeth for a moment and then let his tight shoulders drop.

“Fine.” He murmured, flapping a large fabric napkin over his lap.

“Maybe I should’ve had that wine after all.” Jane grumbled.

By the time Alice danced into the room with the cutlery, everyone was seated and smiling graciously as if the room hadn’t just been almost magically and furiously rearranged.

The rest of Christmas dinner passed without incident, other than the sharp looks Theo and Alexander kept shooting across the long table at each other.

To the delight of August, who was silently egging them on, but going entirely unnoticed by Alice, who had polished off her expensive vintage and was rambling about how amazing everyone was.

“Marvelous spread, my dear.” Alexander said as he stood up to pour himself another whiskey.

She stumbled up to his side and planted a sloppy kiss on his rough, stubbled cheek.

August grimaced.

“Eugh. Gross.” August grimaced. “I’m going to the music room if anyone wants me. But don’t bring your geriatric PDA in there please, it’s a holy space.”

Theo rolled his eyes.

“Oh yes! Yes! Perfect,” Alice squeaked “Please will you play for us?”

Alexander huffed out a smile at her excitement, one of the few of his that had ever looked genuine.

“My gigs don’t come free.” He smirked.

“Boy, you’ve been more than spoiled this Christmas. That vintage signed Fender alone was worth -”

“Fine!” August said, waving his hand. “You’re right.”

“Go on, look how excited she is.” Alexander jerked his brow towards Alice.

“Alright, alright.” August said, stretching his lanky youthful frame out of his chair. “Come see the master at work.” He grinned.

“Humble as always.” Theo muttered, but he smiled as he stood and held his hand out for Jane.

“If it’s anything like last time -”

“You’ll fall asleep?” Theo grinned.

“No - if it’s anything like last time then he deserves to boast.” She laughed.

“Yes, yes, Beethoven and Bowie themselves would be fans or whatever he says.” Theo chuckled.

His hand rested against the small of her back as they swept from the dining room, following August as he strode through the manor.

***

The magically amplified tones of the piano were enough to make Jane feel floaty even without a single drop of wine.

The angelic, classical notes swirled about the room in a divine arrangement, even Alexander in all his gruff rigidness was eyeing Alice in a soft haze as she spun in her heels in front of the piano.

“Come. Dance with me.” Theo said, his voice melodic as he gathered Jane’s fingers in his.

She raised her eyebrows at him. She shook her head lightly as she let him pull her up to her feet.

“Theo -” She protested

“Shh. You’re too beautiful to just sit there like that.” He purred.

She rolled her eyes as he swept her onto the wide open, polished floor that had been cleared of the usual musical instruments and band equipment.

August snapped his fingers, bringing a violin to life. It hung in the air happily next to him and sung out melodic high notes, complimenting the piano.

Theo took Jane’s hand in his, letting his other arm wrap about her waist, resting it over the fitted gown that clung so elegantly to her curves.

Their feet moved in synchronized steps, fluid and gracefully in tune with each other as the serene notes floated in the air around them.

Theo’s eyes were fixed on Jane as he spun and twirled her over the floor, his gaze catching at the glinting of the chandelier and the flares of the fireplace dancing together across her face.

Her hair floated in elegant waves as she twirled in his hands, cascading across her shoulders, the shimmering emerald silk of her dress shining under the light.

“God.” He murmured, spinning her tightly back into him as they continued to float across the floor. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

“Shush.” She blushed, her hands laying across his chest as he held her waist.

As the music drifted down into a slow, serene rhythm, their paces and twirls dwindled into gentle, graceful sways.

Jane’s head rested against Theo's shoulder while his lips peppered tiny, soft kisses along her hair as she breathed against him.

When the song ended, Alice’s excited claps rung out across the room.

“Oh you two are just so precious!” She cooed. “Aren’t they, Alexander?”

He sipped his whiskey and huffed out a wordless sound that she took as agreement.

“Remember when we were like that?” She whined.

He studied her brightly lit face for a moment, and then stood up. His usual pompous demeanour began softening piece by piece as he looked at her.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Of course I remember, love. Shall we?”

He nodded at August who was still sitting at the piano.

“Go on. One more.”

“Fine.” August rolled his eyes. “But if you start kissing I’m cutting you off.”

Alice squeaked with happiness as Alexander swept her onto the dance floor.

Jane had never seen him so gentle.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” She murmured to Theo as they moved back toward the fireplace. She watched them inquisitively as they swayed together.

He chuckled. “As much as he is a pretentious, hot headed ass... he does love her.”

Theo’s gaze trailed back to Jane. He wrapped a silky strand of her hair around his fingers and watched the light play across her features.

His chest bloomed with a steady warmth.

Her eyes rose to meet his, swimming against the deep blue.

“I love you, Jane.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers tenderly.

“Oi!” August shouted over the elegant music. “No kissing! What did I say?”

Theo shook his head and chuckled.

“Sure, sure.” He called back.

His thumb brushed over Jane's jaw.

“I love you too, Theo.”

Her hand slid under his coat and sat against his waist.

“I… want to go.” He murmured. “Back to our room.”

Janes eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He nodded. “Really.”

Her lips parted softly in response to her kicking heart.

“Okay. Only if you’re sure.” She said gently.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Theo said, kissing her on the forehead. “Let’s go.”

***

The guesthouse was even warmer than when they’d left it. Theo waved a hand at the fire place, reducing it to a soft ember as he led Jane through the living room. He snapped his fingers and conjured a soft ball of light at the ceiling of the bedroom, lighting it with a soft, dim ambience.

“We don’t have to do everything.” Jane said gently. “Only what you're ready for.”

“I know.” Theo breathed, brushing his fingertips over her exposed shoulder. “And... I don’t think I’m ready for everything. But I know I want to see you.” He murmured as his lips pressed into her neck and fell across her collarbones.

“I want to touch you.”

Her neck craned as he trailed his lips along her skin in a wet, tender path. His hands reached behind her, pulling down the zipper of her dress.

It fell in a heap of emerald silk at her feet. Theo breathed into her as he sank to his knees, his mouth and hands caressing every inch of her as he went, making her insides bloom with heat.

Jane's breath hitched as he passed his lips down her thighs, his soft hair whispering over her skin. His hands ghosted down the back of her legs and over her calves, his mouth following them to her ankles. He bent her legs up softly one at a time and unstrapped her heels.

Theo drew himself back up to his feet and enveloped her mouth in tender yet hungry passes as she peeled off his coat and unbuttoned his shirt.

Her hands drifted across the plains of his chest and down his torso. She whispered a few fingers against his clothed hardness, drawing a soft breath from his mouth as he slid his tongue through her lips.

“Can I?” Jane breathed as her fingers tightened around his zipper.

“Yes, please.” Theo murmured, his hand cradling the back of her neck as his tongue danced across hers.

He groaned a soft sound into her mouth as she freed his silky, rigid cock. She wrapped her hand around him, swirling the pad of her thumb over his wet tip before beginning to work him in slow, gentle strokes.

His mouth pressed harder into hers, his tongue lashing more urgently as she palmed him. He hooked his hands under her thighs and picked her up, her grip still tight around his cock as he deposited her onto the bed.

“Stop,” he murmured. “My turn.”

He collected both of her hands and lifted them above her head, resting them on the pillows. His mouth trailed a wet path down her neck, stopping to suck against the swell of her breasts. He popped his wet lips over each of her nipples, drawing them into hard peaks as she whimpered.

He sank further down until he was nestled between her legs, his mouth kissing over the ridges of her hips. She squirmed beneath him, already wound so tightly with desire.

He slid his tongue against her inner thighs, his hot breath pooling against her core before finally brushing his lips over her sodden flesh.

She whined as he spread her with his tongue, delicately exploring her folds, tasting every drop of her wetness. He lapped against her entrance and swiped upwards in broad strokes, circling passes over her clit before laying his lips over it and sucking the swollen bud.

The soft, wet sounds of his mouth sucking and popping on her slick flesh only spurred her on, tightening the coil of pleasure in her belly as she writhed against his face.

“Fuck, you taste divine.” He hummed, his lips sending delicate vibrations through her core.

“Theo... fuck...” Jane whimpered as he pushed his long tongue into her entrance, slowly fucking her with it.

“God, I can taste when you're about to come, Jane...” He purred into her, his tongue lashing out greedily against her folds. “I can feel the pretty mess you're making on my mouth...”

She cried out as he returned her to clit and began sucking it in tight, rhythmic pulls, his tongue flickering rapidly in tandem with his lips.

“Fuck...” Jane whimpered, her breaths ragged. “Fuck, just like that Theo... don't stop...”

“Mm, that's right baby...” He cooed between sucks as she started bucking down against him. “Fuck my face just like that... come for me...”

A graceless, broken string of moans tore from her as her orgasm crashed over her, the tight spring of pressure snapping, pushing waves of divine release through her every muscle.

Theo whined into her orgasm, his fingers spreading her pussy so that his tongue could lap up every drop of her arousal as it surged from her. His cock throbbed tightly, needily, as he tasted her.

“Theo...” She breathed, sliding her fingers into his hair and pulling his head up.

“Hm?” He grinned, his eyes hazy, his mouth and chin glistening with her slickness.

“Come up here.” She begged, chest still heaving with ragged, spent breaths.

“Who says I was done down here?” He huffed, stamping his lips over her swollen folds.

She twitched, still oversensitive from her release. “Please... I want to feel you against me.”

He obeyed, moving to rest his weight on top of her bare, flushed body.

She enveloped his wet, messy lips in her own, tasting her sweet musk in his mouth as she kissed him.

“You taste so good with me all over you,” she moaned as she slid her tongue around his mouth.

Theo whined helplessly into her mouth. His desire was overwhelming, his cock throbbing with need. He thrust against her thigh, groaning at the perfect friction.

His head nuzzled into her neck, his mouth sucking at her throat as he ground against her, his hand gripping her hip.

“Tell me how you want me,” Jane begged.

“I... I don't think I can be inside of you yet.” Theo sighed.

“It's okay, I understand.” She purred into his ear, her voice silky. “What do you want? Do you want to come in my mouth?”

He raised his head out of her neck and looked at her with dark eyes, hazy with lust.

“As incredible as that sounds, no.”

“No?” She frowned.

“I have... a better idea.” His lips curved into a wicked, delicious grin.

He repositioned himself, pulling her legs together underneath him. He tilted his hips up for a second and settled the thick head of his cock against her slit.

“I'm going to fuck you like this...” He breathed, pushing himself slowly between her thighs, his cock sliding against the outside of her slick pussy.

“Fuck...” Jane moaned as he drew back and drove forward through the soft, tight crease, his cock pushing over her clit with every thrust.

“That feels so good...”

His face returned to her neck, his mouth hot on her throat. He thrust faster, broken groans rumbling in his chest. He gripped her legs and pushed her thighs together harder, creating a tighter passage around his cock.

He whined as he drove into the slick, snug crease, his swollen cock beginning to throb dangerously. She kept her legs pressed tightly together as he fucked them, the pleasure building in her core as he drove against her clit.

“Oh god... Jane...” Theo groaned, his muscles starting to spasm. “You're so fucking warm and wet like this...”

Her hips bucked back against him as he straddled her closed legs and continued fucking them, his hands pushing the flesh of her thighs tight over his cock.

“Fuck, I’m going to come…” he grunted, his hair falling wildly about his face.

“Me too…” Jane whined.

He laid into her with messy, jerking thrusts, every movement wilder as he barreled towards his orgasm, the sound obscenely but deliciously wet in the quiet room.

He tilted himself slightly, pressing harder into her clit with his shaft, making her cry out in pleasure.

Stars starting popping behind her eyes, her back arching as she felt it cresting.

“That’s it…” Theo groaned as the pleasure mounted, “oh god… I’m going to make an even bigger mess of you… fuck -”

With a violent shudder he spilled into the slick crease, broken grunts tearing past his lips as his muscles spasmed in intense knots. His cock throbbed forcefully, spilling more of his cum forth with each pulse.

Jane‘s thighs clenched around him as she came from the friction against her swollen clit, her hips shuddering with every wave of scorching, blissful release.

Theo pulled softly out of her thighs and collapsed down next to her, breathing raggedly as she brushed his hair from his sweaty forehead and took his lips in her own.

Theo eyes were hazy, he ran a hand through his mussed hair and wound his arm over her waist.

“I'm sorry. We’ll do it properly again soon, I promise.” He rasped.

“Don’t be sorry, I don't want to rush you,” she smiled softly. “Besides, that felt amazing. So I’m not complaining.”

He whined tiredly and peppered her cheek with kisses. “Yes, it did.” He sighed. “But not as good as you do.”

“I don’t know, you seemed to enjoy it.” She chuckled as she sat up, carefully getting off the bed and stepping into the bathroom to clean herself up.

Theo stretched out and stood up, removing the blanket that was sodden with their combined mess. He plodded into the kitchen and threw it in the washing machine, stopping to down a glass of water before collecting a fresh, fluffy blanket from the cupboard.

He slid back into bed, his body still thrumming.

Jane joined him a beat later, curling in beside him and resting her head in the warm crook of his neck.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice sleepy as he drew lazy circles on her bare back.

“Good… tired...” She sighed, kissing his neck softly.

“Sleep then, sweetheart.” He murmured, kissing her hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Theo.”

Slumber took them both swiftly, settling heavily over the day that had pulled them through a myriad of emotions.

***

The next day had dawned with a fervent frost, a sharp layer of ice covering every inch of the ground.

“Darling, I love you but were you born in a tent?” Theo groaned from under the thick covers.

Jane stood in the open doorway to the rose garden in the frigid air, admiring the rainbow of blooms that were made pastel under the layer of frost. She chuckled.

“This is where I first heard your thoughts you know. Sitting in the rose garden.”

She sighed as she shut the doors and tumbled down onto the bed on top of him. “I couldn’t make it out back then though. I thought I was insane.”

She leaned into his face to brush a kiss over the tip of his nose.

He whined and stuffed his face under the duvet. “Cold!” He murmured from beneath them.

Jane rolled her eyes. “Fine, hot coffee then.” She peeled herself up and padded into the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil.

“Do we have time to see the lake before we go?” She called.

He was already up and sliding his arms around her from behind, inhaling her hair.

“I should think so. Although, the swans have probably found somewhere warmer to go for now.”

Jane filtered the coffee into their mugs. “We’ll take these with us.” She said, handing him his hot, steaming cup.

“Yes, well, good idea darling. I’d like to keep my fingers.”

Jane smirked. “They are very pretty fingers.” She said, kissing his knuckles. “Whatever would I do without them?”

Theo rolled his eyes as she skipped off into the bedroom.

She returned a few minutes later, thickly clad in her burgundy knit sweater, trousers, and wool socks. She shook on her winter coat and waved a hand toward the door, summoning her boots.

“Gloves?” Theo called from the bedroom.

“Sofa.”

He padded back into the room, covered in his own winter clothing. A black sweater and trousers with a long, grey overcoat.

He slipped his hands into his thick gloves and wound a cashmere scarf around his neck.

“This was the perfect gift by the way,” he said as he nuzzled it. “Almost as soft as your thighs.” He leaning down to her to squeeze his hands over them.

She grinned as he laid a kiss on her cheek.

Jane finished lacing her boots and summoned her steaming mug into her hands.

“Ready.” She smiled.

***

Their hands were snug around their hot coffees as they walked. The icy air frosted over their exposed skin, leaving pale pink flushes on the tips of their noses.

They roamed the sprawling expanse of the grounds. The tall, thick trees which dotted it were mostly evergreens, but the usual deep hue of the leaves was sullied by the frost fall. They snaked through the paths of frosted lawns and low fences tipped with ice, until the manor was nothing but a tiny, snow covered dolls house in the distance.

The grass this far out was still untamed, now snowed in, crunching under every step as it brushed wet ice crystals against Jane’s knees. The wildflowers that usually sprawled about the grasses were gone, the bushes bare.

The enclave of huge, hanging willows had lost their walls of leaves, and looked like a tent of bare, hanging icicles. As they passed through a gap in the willows, Janes eyes fell to the lake. It was frozen over, a few preserved lily pads distortedly visible under the ice.

She bent down to run a gloved hand along the crystalline surface.

“It’s still so beautiful, even like this.” She sighed, running her gloved fingers through the dusting of snow at her feet.

Theo wrapped a warm arm around her and sipped at the remnants of his coffee, still steaming gently.

“I mean, it is freezing, but there is something beautiful about everything being covered in tiny ice crystals.” He said, scanning the white, shimmering haven.

Jane set her empty mug in the snow.

She straightened up and walked a few paces away, a wicked idea curving her lips into a smirk as she looked at the long line of Theo’s back.

Quietly she bent down, gathering a fistful of snow, packing it into a small, tight ball.

“Oh, now this is odd.” She said casually.

“What is?” Theo spun around, frowning.

She threw the snowball at him, grinning as it exploded over his chest, ice flying up into his face.

He was speechless, stunned for a moment as she bent over in a fit of laughter.

“Your face!” She laughed, her cheeks flushed pink. “Classic.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it Warfield.” He scowled playfully, grabbing a fistful of snow and hurling it at her.

She darted to the side and it exploded onto the ground.

“Missed me.” She grinned as she gathered up another heap and chucked it at him.

It hit him in the shoulder, spreading white across his scarf.

Theo darted towards her, gathering two fistfuls of snow as he went, chucking it haphazardly as she darted around giggling.

“You’re so terrible at this.” She laughed as she threw another snowball, hitting him in the cheek.

His mouth fell open. He paused and stiffened in the snow, his knees bent like he was about to pounce.

“Aw, you look so frosty over there.” Jane jeered playfully. “Look it’s all in your hair and everything.”

He didn't move, just kept this eyes locked on her as she taunted him.

“Poor thing. Let me even out for you.” She grinned, stooping to gather up more snow.

In the blink of an eye he teleported behind her, grappling her into his arms. She dropped her handful of snow in fright.

“Got you.” He growled.

She squealed as he lifted her off the ground and sent them both tumbling backwards into the snowy grass with a thud. She wriggled in his unyielding arms, squeaking out protests as he tightened his embrace.

“Not so bold now are you, sweetheart?” He smirked, grazing his teeth over the back of her neck.

“That’s cheating!” She huffed. “No magic.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“When?”

“Right now!” She grumped.

“Too late.” He smirked. “I won.”

She gave up wriggling, laying breathlessly as he held her there.

“Fine. You win.” She mumbled.

“What was that?” He grinned snidely, his voice purring in her ear.

“You win!” She conceded louder.

“That’s what I thought.” He chuckled, releasing his grip around her.

She rolled into the snow next to him and smeared the spattering of ice across his face with her thumb.

“You’re so pretty.” She smiled, taking in his flushed, red cheeks.

“I think you’re delirious from the cold, darling.” He scoffed as he brushed his icy lips against hers.

She sighed, her gaze moving across the winter-kissed space around them.

“It would be amazing to have something like this for us, don't you think?” She said softly. “A garden… maybe even a little lake. Our own swans…”

She looked up at him hopefully. “We could make it whatever we wanted. We could make it perfect.”

Theo's mind raced with warm images as she spoke. A picnic blanket on a lush green lawn, Jane cradling their baby amongst bushes of bright wildflowers, a tiny person pointing out the swan family nesting under a bush.

He sighed. “Yes actually, it would be wonderful, Jane.”

He held her face in his hands and kissed her again.

“I have to admit, I have thought about it. My apartment is only so big and well, not exactly where I’d want to have grown up.”

She bit her bottom lip excitedly.

“I want to do it all properly. I want to be able to run around with this little raven.” He said softly, brushing a hand over her belly as they lay in the snow.

“Wait, do really you mean it?” Jane asked excitedly.

“Yes, of course.” Theo said. “Who wants to grow up in a lifeless apartment?”

Jane grinned. “Are we seriously going to do this? Find a home for our family?”

“Jane, I would find you a castle if I could.”

“Well now that’s interesting…” She said playfully.

He rolled his eyes.

“Kidding… but a greenhouse would be nice.” She said, rolling onto him fully and gazing into his blue eyes.

Their breaths misted together in warm clouds as they breathed in the frost.

“A lawn… a tiny little swing set… a gazebo…”

He chuckled. “My my, you have thought about this, haven't you darling? Any other requests?”

“Hm. Must come with a tall, beautiful man who looks like he belongs in the heavens.” She grinned, kissing his cold lips. “Oh, and he has to bring me tiny cakes while I laze about reading in the sun all day.”

Theo laughed. “And what about what I want?”

“Well what do you want?”

“Just you.” He said softly. “Always you.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly.

“You’re shivering.” He said, feeling her tremble against him. “Come on, let’s head back into the warmth, and then we can go home.”

He helped her up off the snowy ground and brushed the ice off of her coat.

As he collected their mugs from the side of the frozen lake, she wound her arm through his. With a snap of his fingers they vanished from the white, crystalline haven.

***

The snow had melted by the evening, turning the ground into a soft, icy sludge underneath the gravel of the driveway.

Theo rubbed his gloved hands together, huffing his warm breath between his hands as he and Jane stood near the fountain.

“Gosh, what is she doing, going to Europe for it?” Theo muttered to August, who was leaning against one of the stone pillars.

“Potentially.” He said as he peered into the open front doors that Alice had disappeared through in a rush.

Jane let out a breathy chuckle as she wound August into a hug. “Be good.”

“Where's the fun in that?” He smirked, letting her ruffle his wild hair.

Finally, Alice's bright voice came singing back through the open doorway.

“Found it!” She announced, blustering out into the cold air.

She handed Jane a bottle of wine adorned with a huge gold bow. The same expensive vintage she'd boasted about at dinner the night before.

“I knew I had more than one bottle.” She smiled.

“Oh, Alice, you really didn't have to -”

“Nonsense, it's Christmas!” She smiled, wrapping Jane into a warm hug and then sweeping her aside to embrace Theo's tall frame.

“No, really, this was Alexander's gift for you -” Jane started.

“God, he won't know.” She chuckled, waving her hand aggressively.

August was eyeing Jane and Theo like he was trying to resist causing trouble. Theo could feel his energy and eyed him back, the two locked in a battle of glances as Alice fussed over the wine.

“Mum, I think Jane's just too polite to tell you she doesn't like it.” August piped up, his lip curving up at the corner.

“August.” Theo hissed.

“What?” He said innocently. “Isn't that why you drunk it for her at dinner last night, Theo?”

He knew exactly what he was doing. Theo's jaw clenched.

“Oh - wait, is that true?” Alice asked, frowning. “You didn't like it?”

“No, I - I do like it.” Jane started.

“Come to think of it, I didn't even see you try it.” August said casually.

“Yes, I did -” Jane forced through her teeth.

“What does it taste like, then?” He smirked.

“August, stop.” Theo hissed.

August was grinning, the delight of causing trouble just too much for him to resist.

Alice was looking utterly bewildered. “Oh, well if you don't like it, I'll find something else for you, it's really not a big deal.” She smiled.

“Why didn't you try the wine, Jane?” August chuckled.

Theo swept forwards and loomed over him. “Shut it.”

Alice looked confused. “Wait, I don't understand -”

“Although, I think Theo liked it a lot, right Theo? He downed her whole glass in one go.”

Alice's face was caught in an odd expression, like a realization was beginning to dawn on her ever so slowly.

For a beat, there was silence.

Then, Theo's eyes gave him away. For a fraction of a second, they flickered down to Jane's stomach. Alice saw it.

Her mouth fell open.

August grinned. His work here was done.

“God you absolute, ass Aug-”

Theo's words were cut off by Alice's shrill, excited squeals as her brain connected the dots. She yanked Jane and Theo forwards into a hug so forceful it squeezed the air right out of them.

“You're pregnant?!” She squeaked, her eyes welling with joyful tears.

“I can't believe you did that.” Theo scowled at August, who shrugged nonchalantly.

“I didn't do anything. I only said she didn't like it.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“And a Merry Christmas to all!” August sung out with a dramatic bow before retreating back inside.

Alice still hadn't relinquished her hold, and was now sobbing into Theo's coat as he patted her on the back.

“Yes,” Jane sighed softly. “I'm pregnant. We were planning to wait a little longer before telling you, but...”

“But of course he couldn't keep his trap shut.” Theo huffed.

“Oh! I'm so, so happy for you.” Alice snuffled through her tears. “Oh Jane, Theo, please, you must come back soon! When are you due? It must be early, you're not showing yet, are you? Oh, I need to know everything, everything, and then I can help you plan and oh! I have so many things I've kept from Theo and -”

“Mum,” Theo chuckled. “You're going to overwhelm her.”

“It's fine.” Jane laughed as Alice finally released them both. Her face was pink and blotchy with emotion. “No I'm not far along. I'm um, due in August, funnily enough.”

Theo scoffed. “Naturally. It's not even about him, and yet it's always about him.”

“Oh, a summer baby! How am I meant to say goodbye now?” Alice whined as she squeezed Janes shoulders.

“We'll come back soon.” Theo said. “I promise.”

Jane nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“I'm so proud of you both.” She choked out. “You're so, so perfect. This is perfect!” She squeaked again, squeezing her manicured hands into excited fists.

“Love you, Mum.” Theo said softly as he kissed her on the head. “But I should really get Jane home.”

“Yes, we should. You go back into the warm, Alice.” Jane said, letting her squeeze her into one last hug. “See you soon.” She rubbed her hand over Alice's arm warmly.

Alice only managed a vigorous, wordless nod as her eyes starting welling with tears again. She looked at them for a long moment with watery eyes and a huge grin before dancing slowly back through the front doors and lingering in one of the foyer windows.

“I'm so, so sorry Jane.” Theo said gruffly. “I can't believe he did that.”

Jane chuckled and shook her head. “It's fine. Look, at least we don't have to plan some big reveal for them now. It's probably a good thing.”

Theo snapped his fingers, sending their cases careening into the ether before winding his arm through Jane's.

“Maybe you're right.” He sighed. “Now come on, I can't feel my toes.”

He snapped his fingers once more, pulling them back home and leaving the snow-dusted grandeur of the manor behind as Alice waved vigorously out one of the tall, amber-lit windows.

___________________________________________________________

[vvitchfangs]

When will you post the next trials episode? You left off on a total cliff hanger I can’t wait to see what’s going to happen

I’m over halfway done with the next chapter!

I try to get one chapter out per week, tomorrow will be a week so I’m going as fast as I can and will have it done in 1-2 days time 😭

I work full time just as a heads up and I do try to be as fast as possible but real life sometimes slows me down.

Rest assured it’s coming VERY soon! (Eek I didn’t think it was too cliffhanger-y sorry if it felt that way! The next chapter goes immediately on from the end of it though)

EDIT: It's up! x

[vvitchfangs]

Here's the link to WOUNDS on Ao3!

Trying to focus on the trials and feeling thoroughly unfocused fml

[vvitchfangs]

I feel like Henry definitely still had weak powers with Soteria right like I can’t be the only one who thinks this?

Yes he could do very minimal things

No he didn’t have any access to his powers whatsoever

Voting ended onMay 21

I can tell this will be a hotly contested issue but i need notes for the darkfic bc my mind is in one camp but readers opinions also matter!

[vvitchfangs]

Helloo loves, new chapters for The Trials and Wounds are both posted!

I just got my Ao3 activated so I'm figuring that whole thing out (be patient with me i'm from the 1900s) and then I'll post Wounds there as well.

x

[vvitchfangs]

☣︎ WOUNDS - Labyrinth ☣︎

CHAPTER FOUR - HENRY'S POV

Summary: Henry had learned not to ask questions. Until you landed like a knife against his throat. What were you, feral untamed beast that you were, about to do?

Pair: Henry Creel/Vecna/001 x Female Reader

Content/Warning Labels: Henry Creel POV, slow burn darkfic, Hawkins Lab, angst, intrigue, manipulation/Brenner, violence/death, torture/injury, inner conflict, eventual smut - age gap

WC: 5.2k I Read on Ao3

(Part One - Part Two - Part Three)

He had a heart that could have held the entire empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar. 

– Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera.

Henry had learned not to ask questions.

He’d learned the hard way. The way that strips you apart piece by wretched piece.

Curiosity had a cost, and it was one he could not afford. There was safety in omission, even if it that safety was a tilted illusion.

There was structure in ignorance.

And Henry's life was a wired structure. Bound, rigid, unyielding. One he could not break from. One he could not let curiously dismantle.

He’d constructed himself into the kind of order which was forced upon him, and that order was vital to his survival. Vital to what was left of his sanity.

Every day came with monotonous regularity.

Wake. Wash. Dress. Breakfast, which would’ve been more aptly named colourless fuel.

Patrol. Station. Supervisions. Sparse interactions. Report.

Dinner. Undress. Stare at the ceiling plaster.

Sleep, if he was fortunate. Insomnia, more often than not.

He’d learned the hard way not to swipe sleeping pills from the nurses station. That one had earned him a disciplinary sanction. And if there was one thing Martin Brenner loved inflicting, it was discipline.

Punishment. Preferably painful, preferably with an audience.

Now, Henry merely accepted whatever the shade of night offered, whether that be the brief reprieve of sleep or the drawn out suffering of the dark.

Regardless, every morning was the same, and hued with the same sharp fluorescents.

That morning was no different.

He woke from a shapeless dream to the dull buzzing of the alarm. Stepped out into frigid clinic air. Showered in the dim light. Donned his meticulously ironed white uniform. Laced his black shoes. Checked himself in the small mirror.

He never looked to long.

Only long enough to deem himself acceptable. Not long enough to find questions in the cascades of his cheeks or the hollow of his throat. The more he looked at himself the more he seemed to blur into an unnameable shape, a mass of pale and blonde with a hint of blue.

He ate flavorless oatmeal in the staff mess hall. Plain, one spoonful of yoghurt.

No one spoke to him, and he preferred it that way.

Talking opened doors. Talking created curiosity. The kind that had a cost.

Henry wasn’t a stranger to being regarded as the odd loner, the one that made the air in the room tilted and uncomfortable. He’d become accustomed to it. Lack of conversations meant the retention of his usual routine. Which was far preferable to the performative idle discourse that he heard others partake in.

He needed the structure. He needed the monotony.

That morning had been like any other. Stable.

Until your arrival landed like a knife against his throat.

***

Henry observed everything.

He observed as you cowered behind Brenner’s back, half hidden, with the face of someone who didn't know how to be human.

He’d thought you yet another wayward child, until he’d flicked his eyes over you properly.

An adult?

An adult with the pale limbs and buzzed hair that informed all of Martin Brenner’s pets.

One glance was enough for Henry to recognize every agony on your face.

Uncertainty. Fear. Confusion. He’d seen it before on every other face, every other subject. But there was something darker, something lurking in the confines of your mind, leaking out of your irises.

Saturnine. Intriguing.

Alluring, though he refused to entertain the word.

“This is Nineteen.” Brenner said brightly.

It was a statement, a fact. Not an invitation for curiosity. Yet Henry was curious all the same, even though he couldn't afford to be. Even though it coiled his insides in barbed wire.

You were twisting that wire. Every glance you made around the room. Not shy, but carefully deducting. Every comment you made to one of the younger subjects. Not warm, but honest.

As he observed you, looking like you were trying your hardest to simply exist, he felt it.

Familiarity.

But familiarity was a candle with an even shorter wick than curiosity, and he refused to light it.

Henry moved in careful, practiced paces. Every step ordered and purposeful. He was mostly a silent ward; observing behaviour, assisting with testing, dutifully carrying out rounds and rigid procedures.

The children mostly avoided him. A few of them were receptive towards him, a couple of them even warmly so, he supposed. Mainly 011, who reminded him of a small bird and a type of innocence he’d never known.

He pretended not to watch you.

He averted his gaze when he realized he’d almost memorized the furrows in your brow. He was looking too long. He was wondering, and wondering led to disorder.

Henry checked his watch. Thirty more minutes of supervision. He could do that. He could will himself into not being distracted for another half hour.

That was, until you provided one he could not ignore.

Because the next time he looked at you, you were somehow crooked. Not physically, but the air around you. The way your breathing was wracking your body all of a sudden, like you’d forgotten how to use your lungs.

Then, you’d shot to your feet. It was unexpected enough make his composure wane, to make his eyebrows flick upward a fraction on his stoic face.

Intriguing.

What were you about to do? Feral, untamed beast that you were?

It was nothing violent, nothing chaotic. Nothing that set the hairs on his neck to stiffen.

It was just panic. The cold kind he knew well, the kind he'd learned to keep locked in the cellar of himself a long time ago.

Henry watched you fly out of the room, feet pounding the linoleum, doors flying open under your palms.

He hesitated. Reached for his pager. His fingers were curling around it, resting on the number for the guards, when he felt a tug on his sleeve cuff.

012.

“Is she okay?” He asked with that childish lilt in his voice.

The genuine concern in his voice was too apparent.

Henry's finger slid to another number instead. Brenner’s. He wouldn’t make your first memory in this room more violent than it already was.

He leaned down, resting his palms on his knees.

“Shall we find her?” His voice was melodic, gentle. The way it always was with innocent things.

012 nodded, and grabbed his wrist with tiny fingers. The small warmth of his miniature hand was enough to make Henry flinch.

When they made their way into the clinical corridors, you were far beyond, your feet having flown you to some lost corner. Henry and 012 strode urgently down the halls, around the corners, poking their heads into rooms quietly as not to draw attention.

Brenner appeared from his office with his signature long, methodical strides.

“She panicked.” Henry said quietly.

Brenner nodded stiffly, his eyes making note of 012 and his tiny hand clasped around Henry’s. He placed the entirety of his attention on the child.

“Don’t worry Twelve, we will find your sister.” Brenner smiled.

“Yes Papa.” 012 nodded.

Brenner checked more rooms as Henry and 012 sped ahead through the halls.

Then, Henry saw you.

Curled into the corner against the fire escape door, meek against the metal. Your head clasped in shaking arms, your back rising roughly with every panicked gasp.

Something tightened in Henry's chest. He couldn't name it. He didn’t want to name it.

“Here.” Henry called.

As he watched Brenner pick you up from the floor, he felt an odd, tiny flicker as Brenner’s hands touched you.

Malice? Contempt?

He didn't know, but it went as quickly as it came.

When you returned Henry's gaze, there was something underneath the fear in your eyes. A piece of your mind with nowhere to go. He saw it, felt it lurch against his own irises as you passed.

He watched silently as Brenner led you away, his eyes lingering on Brenner's stiff hand at the back of your neck.

“We found her.” 012 smiled, squeezing Henry’s hand happily.

Henry smiled softly, leaning down. “You did a great job.”

“You too, Mister Peter.” 012 grinned. “Papa will look after her now, won’t he?”

Henry’s jaw flexed in the way a child would never notice.

“Of course.” He said, the words souring his teeth as they passed.

***

You were an experiment. You were a subject.

And you were a thorn in Henry’s otherwise perfectly rigid side. One that attempted to pierce a tiny hole in him every time he watched you from across the room, every time he passed you silently on patrol.

He watched you carefully, not long enough to draw your attention. Until curiosity began to make him careless, and you kept catching his gaze.

Henry couldn’t pinpoint exactly when you’d become the main cause of his insomnia, the reason for his staring at the ceiling all night. It started slowly, in the way he could blame general sleeplessness at first. But eventually, it was obvious.

It didn’t make sense.

You didn’t make sense.

And sense was all Henry had to cling to in the god-forsaken white walls of the lab.

Why were you, an adult, here? You weren’t born here, like the others. You weren’t some runaway Brenner’s dogs had viciously sniffed out from hiding.

You felt like the outside world. Rugged at the edges. Winter-paled in a way that looked like a lack of sun rather than a lifetime of fluorescent lights.

Like colour would have come back to you if it could.

Henry tossed and turned, his nights filled with repetitive questions, each scenario making less sense than the last.

Until one day when he woke, and silent curiosity was no longer enough.

He had to know. He had to stem the intrigue of his own mind from running rampant any longer.

And so, he spoke to you.

Henry could tell he made you nervous. He had that effect on people. But usually, it was because they were uncomfortable. Wary. You were nervous in a way that told him you knew he was analyzing you from the first word.

Rolling that softball around. Even in your hospital gown and buzzed scalp you didn’t look like you belonged here.

You seemed so far removed from the others, who were so young in years and minds. They had eyes that hadn’t seen anything but the white walls and the manipulating faces of science.

It started creeping up Henry’s spine as soon as you mentioned your “accident”.

Brenner was purposeful. Every lie was carefully curated, and this wasn’t an exception. Adults didn’t just develop psychokinetic abilities after brain trauma.

The others were made. Curated just like Brenner’s lies. Which made you even more of an enigma.

Why were you made?

If Brenner was making adult subjects, why were you the only one? Were you some sort of benchmark, patient zero?

Henry wanted to dissect you. Look at every synapse under a microscope, explore every blood vessel.

For now he settled on listening. Speaking. Carefully, of course. Brenner had eyes and ears everywhere. He’d be a fool to say anything that fell outside of the confines of his role.

Henry could feel the way your mind pulled at you. He could see the way it warped and plagued behind your eyes.

You were… surprisingly combative, for someone so lost. It made him feel something sideways of reckless. He hadn't been challenged for a long time.

He was sundered by feeling anything at all, frankly. Anything other than the monotonous drum of his heart which felt only partially alive at any given moment.

Then, your fingertips ghosted across his.

It was immediate. Unmissable.

The force Henry felt, the pull he had to contain before it spread throughout him like a disease.

The words he'd spoken rang through his head as he left you standing there.

Everyone here is a wounded animal.

***

Despite Henry’s calculated attempts at avoidance, it seemed the lab, or Brenner, or some sort of twisted humor of fate kept magnetizing him to you.

As if it reveled in watching him squirm against painful inner conflict.

It called him into the testing room.

It made that unnamable thing tighten inside him as he saw you once again broken on the linoleum. It made him want to step closer, and flee as far as he possibly could.

Martin Brenner was a bloodhound. And Henry knew your memories wouldn’t stay hidden forever. He needed more time. To figure you out. To discover what had really happened behind the smoke show of Brenner’s lies.

On the way back to your room, he knew he was walking to close. He could feel the static warmth pressing between the two of you, strangling him as you paced quietly through the halls.

It was a leech that drew his voice from his mouth before he could stop it. He knew conversation was dangerous. He knew it opened doors that he shouldn’t walk through.

But then, he walked through yours. It was automatic, instinctive, a gravity he couldn’t combat.

“Why do you care what happens to me?” Your voice wasn't accusatory, or spiteful. It was raw curiosity, mirroring his own.

Henry could feel your pieces. Crooked, jagged pieces of a person that wouldn't fit together right. Frayed at the edges, spilling ash. You felt like a memory his skin wanted to forget.

That's why.

While you were looking at yourself in the mirror, he was looking at the line of your jaw. The soft pulse jumping beneath it. Tracing the line of your fingers as they fell across your neck.

“I don’t think I always looked like this.”

Of course you hadn’t.

But he couldn’t tell you that.

Instead he just studied you, calm and measured as always. Until he wasn’t.

Until he was imagining you before this nightmare of a place. With colour in your cheeks. With life on your face.

Until he was imagining you -

Henry drew in a sharp but quiet breath, watching as you sank down onto the side of the bed.

***

Imagination was a thing more dangerous than curiosity.

It plagued Henry almost more than the question of your being here. It pulled at his mind as he tried to operate with the reliable, rigid monotony that he hoped would stem it.

His need to know more about you was incessant. You were becoming a fixation, and he knew it would unstitch him if he let it.

So he clung harder to his structure. Eat. Work. Sleep. Converse only when necessary. Avoid anything more than clipped, controlled sentences. Don’t look to long.

It worked, for a while.

But each time he saw you was a artificer's chisel, chipping away at his control splinter by splinter.

The rainbow room was quiet. And you looked like someone on the edge of a building, considering your options.

His feet were moving toward you before he could register the steps.

Your voice was quietly pained, and it made his fingertips numb.

“How do I sort out the memories from the nightmares?”

Henry didn't have the answer. All he had was half-answers that were veiled in the shadows of himself.

Again you embered the furnace of his curiosity. What nightmares plagued you? What memories were shattered through you like shards of glass needing plucked out?

What had you seen? What writhed in the darkest parts of your mind?

Did you dream?

Were they dreams of him?

The thought made his stomach shift uncomfortably. Or was it warmth? He’d never learned the difference.

Then, the song stuttered out of the speakers. Distorted and broken and sliding through him like a javelin.

Hold me tight… Tell me… miss me… I'm alone… as can be… dream… dream of me…

He felt himself react. Rigid in a way that was too much, even for him. His face was acting alone, holding a expression too grave for you to ignore.

He saw the scene behind his eyes.

Violent flashes. Blood. Dining table. Bones. Stained glass rose. Bodies. Floorboards beneath him collapsing into blackness.

And he could feel your eyes on him. Trying to dissect the same way he did. He had to force himself back into the room with every once of strength he had.

“Did I do that then?” He heard you ask, but it sounded hollow in his ears.

Of course you did.

But that song. Here, in this place. Why?

Suddenly, you were a weapon. And you didn’t even know it.

Were you put here to taunt him? To threaten him with ghosts and the dark, demented shades of himself?

Was it purposeful? A sick experiment of Brenner’s? Were you… made to break Henry? A bespoke beast just for him?

You were labyrinthian, and he was standing at the entrance, torch lit.

To step inside might be suicide. It might be salvation.

Either way, it would release him.

***

Chess was Henry’s favourite.

And he couldn’t deny the satisfaction of out-maneuvering you.

He could feel your focus waning with every move. He caught every time your eyes fell across his pale fingers. Curious.

Henry was learning that it wasn’t in your nature to roll over. You wanted things to bend to you, to break. You certainly weren’t going to accept defeat easily.

As soon as you slipped into the void he could feel you. Lingering behind him like a shadow.

He knew the feeling well, and truthfully, he was intrigued at how much understanding you had for your powers in only months of exploring them.

You could’ve been Brenner’s new prodigy, if you weren’t so opposed to performing under pressure.

Every moment was giving him something new to learn. Some type of intrigue. But his deductions were cut short when Brenner entered the room to announce the group test.

Henry caught his eyeline just as he stood up from the chess board. Brenner's eyes were still but framed in the way Henry knew to be calculating.

Had he been sitting too close? Leaning in too far? His mind raced as he resumed his usual posture with practiced ease, hands clasped in front of him, falling in to step behind the subjects as they moved through the halls in ordered lines.

When it was your turn to perform, Henry took his time.

Carefully fit the electrodes over your head.

He brushed his fingertips over the very top of your ears unconsciously, some silent part of himself desperate to make contact with you again.

He pretended to adjust the connections so that he could spend a fraction longer studying your face.

When had he passed the point of curiosity and found himself at the point of caring? Some time between wake and sleep, he supposed. Some quiet moment that had slipped over him like a veil, unnoticed until it wasn't.

Henry knew you had power. He knew you had something dark toiling inside of you.

But he had never expected the scene that spilled forth from you.

The sheer magnitude of power that erupted through the room. The force of Two slamming into the wall. The sharp shattering of the glass.

And in the middle of the chaos, you. Consumed by fear as you cowered under the strength of yourself.

It wasn't the violence that twisted like a knife in Henry's gut. It wasn't the crushed bodies of the guards leaking crimson onto the tile.

It was the way you shrieked.

It was the way your eyes were screaming silent pleas into his.

It was the way you looked as you were set alight and dragged, lifeless through the debris.

Tormented, helpless, broken.

It wasn't what you'd done. It was the familiarity, shooting through him like a cold splinter.

***

Henry didn't know what had happened to you.

Brenner had instructed him to return to the rainbow room with the children and the other orderlies.

002 was sent to the infirmary, though he didn't spend long there, quickly recovering from the bruising to his head and chest.

Henry listened silently as he spewed his vitriol to the others his age. That you were nothing but a useless, psychopathic basket case with no grip on her abilities. How he would get his revenge when he had the chance.

Still, Henry didn't see you for days.

It plagued his nights, pulling at him in a way that he had never been pulled before.

He felt twisted, outside of himself. He could feel his rigidness inching into recklessness with each hour that passed.

When he heard his colleagues mention your name in hushed tones against the coffee machine, his chest tightened.

“Yes…. infirmary…. surprised she woke up….”

You were alive.

He didn’t react. He finished his breakfast. He washed his dishes.

Silent. Composed. Controlled.

He waited. He did his duties to the letter. Took his notes diligently during testings. Supervised like a hawk.

Though every painstaking minute dragged through him, his chest tightening with each one that passed.

The decision made itself for him.

***

Henry returned to his room, just like every other night.

He waited. Sitting on the edge of his bed like a statue, his limbs weighted like marble, his fists curled white-knuckled on his knees. He watched the clock. The hands seemed to move purposefully slowly, like they were spiting him.

He knew what time the night security staff would go on break. He knew that for a fleeting period, no one would be looking at the monitors.

When the clock clicked softly over into midnight, he moved. He hovered at his door, opening it just a crack, listening into the halls.

He heard the sound of the coffee machine gurgle faintly down from the staff kitchen. That was his cue.

He moved swiftly, quietly, a phantom though the darkened halls. His shadow moved oddly across the tiles in the dark, warped and crooked. He went efficiently, sweeping through the maze that he knew like the back of his hand.

He hovered at the door of the infirmary wing, flattening himself in the corner and glancing through the window until the guard inside moved into another section.

He flashed his access card at the reader, and slid inside unnoticed.

The guards were distracted, talking among themselves down a length of corridor.

Henry peered into every room, scanning each precisely. Until he saw a shape in the dark, shifting in a bed in one of the rooms.

You.

With one last crane over his shoulder he slipped inside, clicking the door softly behind him.

“Peter?”

God, he hated that name. But it didn’t matter. You were awake, you were talking.

But you looked wrecked. More injured than you had been from just the glass and the tasers. More confused and destroyed than you had since he’d first seen you.

Something awful and sharp was twisting under his ribs as he took you in, cataloguing every wound. Angry burn marks on your temples. Scabbed cuts across your cheeks and forehead. Purple bruises lashed around your wrists.

You didn’t even know how long you’d be here.

Henry felt a sickness crawling through him. You looked like a memory. A nightmare. One he’d woken from many times.

“I thought -”

He forced the words out.

“I thought you might not be coming back.”

“You thought… I was dead?”

Henry was taken aback at your surprise. How did you not already know the kind of place you were in? The kind of man Brenner was?

“Don't tell me you're this blind Nineteen. If he thinks he can’t control you-”

“He already threatened to take away my abilities.” You said. “Some chip thing.”

A concentrated pain seared through Henry’s jugular.

Was that the worst you thought Brenner capable of?

“Right, yes, that. But Nineteen, he will not hesitate to discard you if he thinks you too unpredictable.”

Your eyes dropped. They were dark, somber, exhausted.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so terrible.”

A knife wrenched inside of him. He almost glared at you. Angry, at first. Then something smaller, and much worse.

Fear.

“What does that mean?”

“I just mean… what kind of existence is this?”

Henry watched as your eyes grew damp in the dim light. His own were intense, his neck prickling with a sense of panic at your lack of concern for your own life.

“Do not say things like that.”

“You don't know what it's like, Peter.” You snapped. “You know who you are. You can leave any time you want.”

Henry wanted to shout. He wanted to shake you. He wanted to hold you. He wanted to burn this place to the ground with everyone in it.

He wanted to scream.

“What happened? In the testing room? What did you see?”

“A man. The same man. Saying I was useless, choking me. Once it started I couldn't stop it.”

He watched your fingers drag across your throat like they were remembering.

His stomach wrenched again. Your memories were nightmares, just like his. They were wretched and shattered and aching. Lurking in your darkness corners and reducing you to ashes whenever they wanted.

Only, you didn’t remember like he did. You couldn’t make sense of them. And that was worse.

Henry moved closer before he could stop himself.

“I know what it is to be different. To be a wounded animal. To lose yourself.” He said.

He felt how your eyes were swimming against his, searching for a place to anchor.

“Did you ever find yourself again?” Your voice was tiny.

Henry hesitated.

“I am still looking.”

As you sat up and let your legs fall over the edge of the bed, Henry’s eyes dropped inexplicably for a fraction of a second, cataloguing the shape of your calves.

“Then I'll look with you.”

His breath caught.

It was a mercy. The kind he'd never held. The kind he felt disgusted at himself to need. Here you were, bruised and broken and on the very edge of yourself. Caring about him.

He didn’t know what to do with the feeling. He didn’t know how to hold the simmer behind his ribs. It made him want to remove every single one of them to stop the feeling.

“You're the only person who has seen me as more than the wound that I am.” You said.

Seen you. Was that what he had done? In all his silent analysis, quiet searching, endless inner questions?

Had he opened the blinds? Watched as you toiled outside? Invited you in?

Henry’s feet again brought him closer before he could question it. The way you looked… the way you looked at him. It was an anchor, dragging him forward.

Then you moved. Only your hand. A small gesture.

One he’d both craved and avoided for weeks.

Your hand in his.

It was immediate, the static force that shot through him once again. It spun through his fingers, trailed up his arm, made him flinch.

He wanted to pull his hand away. He wanted to grip you tighter. He was a tide, pulling and dragging, two halves of something monumental and uncertain.

This was more than curiosity. It was more than intrigue.

It was reckless, a precipice.

Henry could see the red light of the camera blinking in his peripheral vision. Security would be back soon, if not already.

“Nineteen -”

Your grip tightened. “Don’t.”

He was silent, not knowing how to answer your pleas. Not knowing how to hold them. Not knowing what he would do next.

The camera kept blinking. He didn't drop your hand.

It was warm. An asylum. Your fingers looked like they belonged there.

“Peter -”

His eyes squeezed softly shut.

Don’t call me that.

“Would you stay?” He could tell that your own weakness was a threat to you.

The light kept blinking. Red and threatening.

“I shouldn’t -”

“Just until I can sleep?” You pleaded.

Henry felt his breath fall. He felt himself surrendering piece by piece against his better judgement.

He was too far in now. If he hadn’t already been seen he would be. And he decided it was worth the cost.

He dragged over a chair and sat, too perfectly upright, as if he was holding himself together. His eyes didn't leave your face as you lay there, drifting in and out of the dark crevices of your mind.

He angled his back to the camera. He knew they’d see him, but they didn’t need to see everything. They didn’t need to see the things that were for him alone.

His fingers, cold and unsure as they still were, curled into your palm as you breathed soundlessly in your slumber.

Would you feel it? He both hoped you would and would not.

The red light bored into the back of his head. He knew there would be consequences. Bad ones.

Ones that might take him away from your orbit entirely.

The thought only made his hand tighten around yours. If this was the last time his skin would be graced by the feeling of yours, he was going to hold onto it with every fibre of his being.

***

Henry remained in his chair for hours.

What were they waiting for? Why hadn’t they come in, seized him?

Was there a chance they still didn’t know?

Regardless, his shift would begin in a few hours. He needed sleep. He could feel it pulling at his edges. The weight of everything he felt suddenly seemed heavier in the dead hours of the night.

He stood up silently, his knees aching. He slid his fingers out of your palm. You didn’t stir. And he wasn’t surprised.

He couldn’t see anyone lurking outside the door through the window.

Curious. Where were the guards?

The door opened with a soft click under his fingers. He slid out into the corridor, somehow even darker, more oppressive at this time of night.

He could feel a looming, pulsing sense of dread as he paced quietly though the halls, as he slipped through the ward doors.

The night felt thicker around every corner. Darker, blacker, a threat growing tighter around his neck.

He was almost at his room when the feeling made his steps falter. A creeping up the back of his spine, stiffening the hairs on the back of his neck.

And with it came the knowledge of what was waiting for him around the corner.

Patiently. Not with a roar but with a sinister, malevolent hum.

He drew in a sharp, decisive breath. He would accept his fate, for now. He would pay the cost of comfort.

He stepped around the corner.

Consequence was waiting for him with white hair and a waistcoat too structured for this time of night. Flanked by two guards who looked thrilled at the prospect of dragging him off.

Why hadn't they come to the infirmary? Why had Brenner waited here for him, in the dark, in the quiet, when he so loved a pantomime?

“Back from your little excursion?” Brenner hissed, his eyes tunnelling into Henry’s.

Henry’s stoic silence was both a defiance and an acceptance, and Brenner knew it.

“Take him.”

As the guards grappled Henry's wrists violently into the metal cuffs with an almost cutting force, as Brenner sneered down at him, as he was yanked and dragged away across the linoleum, something resolute settled in his chest.

He was no longer uncertain.

He had stepped inside the labyrinth.

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