makinglies | Respite

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faerun

Respite

The lake is dark and calm with a small breeze by the time they arrive at its shores. The stars above reflect perfectly in the still waters before them, and a small copse of trees lines one side, starting on their side of the river and jumping along the other side.

Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.

He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.

As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.

Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.

"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.

Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.

A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.

Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.

"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."

♥

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The kiss initially is grounding and settles some other piece in him. Eventually he’d find them all.

The heat and bite on the other hand jolts him and he returns it on instinct…but as quickly as the need stirs in him, it sputters out like a failed spark.

He hates this, hates when he gets like this, it feels…he feels bad looking at them both. He wants this, them…but not right now.

He looks down, face hot with shame even as he tries to smile to soften his own words.

“I’m sorry, loves, I think you’d find me a less than pleasing partner right now. I…when things are too…when I’m too in my head about everything, I can’t find the mood, not even were you to strip bare in front of me. Maybe after some sleep.”

His face feels like an inferno. He knows how ridiculous this sounds coming from him of all people.

“Kissing and holding would be nice, though…or I can leave if you need a moment…?”

"No, of course. I don't really-- I mean, I do, but I'm-- I don't think the smaller head should be doing the thinking right now. Especially not mine."

If Chris' face is heated, then Wolfe's is downright roasting. Its uncommon for him to blush, but he does so now, all across his face and down the back of his neck. He brings one hand up to cover what of his face he can while still being able to talk.

"There were a lot of aphros and I don't think they're entirely out of my system yet? And having been apart from both of you for so long, my body just reacted. I love you both, I do want you both!" He drops his hand and looks at Amelia specifically, since she'd been the one who warmed to the idea almost immediately. "But I want to find our footing first. You were just sobbing your heart out, Love."

He feels like that's a point that needs to be made.

"I think some cuddling and some sleep thereby would be best. Clearly we're all too exhausted to be making any choices." If the floor could open up and swallow him that would be great.

Edited (what even is my autocorrect) 2025-10-11 05:09 (UTC)

For once, she's not hurt by being turned down. She said it herself: it's been a long day. Just because they could doesn't mean they should, either. Wolfe has good points and Chris is right to listen to his heart and head. What's stirred in her is still there, but it's quiet enough to ignore with these assurances from her loves.

"Then we hold each other and all do our best to sleep." She smiles softly at both of them, the laughter she's holding back at the adorable blushing in her eyes. They each get a hand to their cheeks before she leans up to kiss each red face in turn. "We don't have to do anything we don't want to, tonight or ever. Our lives belong only to us and each other from now on."

There's so much to talk about, too. The whole of what Wolfe went through. Chris' troubles while the mage was locked away. Her reckless and stubborn choices that hurt so many.

Later. All later. Tonight is for rest and what comfort they can take.

"We should head to the pit of pillows to drink our tea and rest. Chris, can you show Wolfe his shirts? I'll grab my knives and follow." They'd be fine left in here, but she'll feel a lot better having them all within easy reach of where she rests her head. Just in case.

Before either of them move she adds, "I'm all right, I promise. If I was set on anything, I'd tell you both. There's no reason for me to hide anything from you." Not now and not ever again.

Chris nods to Amelia’s words and folds Wolfe’s away for later. He needed to press on that and know more…but not right this moment.

He takes Amelia’s hand and kisses the inside of her wrist then lets go in favor of taking up his cup of tea again. The others could get their own.

“Come on, love. Let’s figure out how to make you decent for one night at least.” Tomorrow he might need to get creative with pants or even simple cleaning charms, but for now they just needed to manage.

And end up in the pillow pit. Things would feel better then, he was sure.

"You two go on, I need to- I'll be on in a moment," Wolfe says, clearing his throat and holding the blanket around his waist in a tight grip. His flush still hasn't faded, even with their assurances, but he knows its out of reflex. He just now has to take care of said reflex, which is mildly frustrating when it came about because his body has now been conditioned to expect sex and the logical conclusion thereof from even a simple kiss. At least he knows he'll calm down after he takes care of it.

"Clothes would be lovely."

"I could--" Amelia cuts herself off from finishing her offer with a thoughtful frown. She could help him with this, be here for him so it feels less awkward when being close to them is what started this. It wouldn't bother her and would likely be a good reacquaintance for them even if only he came. But he's asked for space and given his desire for anything but since they walked into the temple, it's better to respect his wishes. Slowly, she nods and presses another kiss to his cheek on her way past him to retrieve her knives. Those in hand, she finds her cup of tea and gestures to Wolfe's mug.

"It's here when you're ready. We'll find you something to wear before then." Her expression warms into a small smile as she steps out of the room with Chris, fading with a heavy sigh once they're back to the tables and the pile of shirts they have for their mage.

"Dreams, I... I never thought sex would be the most awkward of our problems tonight." It makes sense, in a way her mind is vaguely able to acknowledge right now, but with all of them falling apart over larger revelations, this felt like one thing they wouldn't have to worry about. "Settling is going to take longer than I'd hoped with that conversation to have." A beat. "All those conversations. Another night... you and I should have one, too."

They have so much else to worry about and work out, but if they're going to have difficult conversations, they need to talk about sex between the two of them as well. She assumes it'll be even more rare than it was in Duplicity, though she can't be fully certain. Everything is new and different now that they're in Faerun; who's to say more can't change than she's expecting.

Chris shoots Wolfe a mixed look of sympathy and worry but doesn’t press when he heads back out into the main area.

He sets his tea by the pit and heads over to sort out Wolfe’s clothing. His pants are hung over the shower screen and his smalls gathered to hang slightly by the table. Chris sets the other shirts nearby, but puts the stupid howling wolf shirt on top.

“We will.” He assures her that first and foremost. “When we’ve both slept and ate. Maybe tomorrow or day after. I don’t want to rush anything either…other than needing a few things, we aren’t in much of a hurry.”

He sighs and turns to her properly.

“For now…it’s ok to focus on yourself and what you need. Please know I want that for you too…I need that for you.”

Which is part of why he’s not going to go collect Jon yet even though he wants to. He also needs to be patient. Keep busy.

"Chris..." She reaches for one of his hands with a gentle smile. "I'm still working out what I need. Having all of you here is the most important thing, sleep is next. And I can have that because you're all here." There's so much to be done, but it all waits for these two things. Sleep will help her regain her strength and pull herself together, but it's the people around her now, her new family, that will make it possible to not only survive but live.

"I promise you, I want nothing more tonight than to collapse into cuddle pile with our mage for as long as you're willing. And then I'm going to hold him so tight he'll have to peel me off in the morning." She chuckles softly and kisses the back of his hand. "I'll be all right, and I have you to thank for that. You brought us here, made us this temple, and helped me see what I was too stuck in my grief. I wouldn't be where I am without you, and I'm going to be certain we make it through this together. We take care of each other now, cleric, as we're able. Tonight you have me, and tomorrow... we'll see what comes."

She takes his hand and again, it focuses his attention from everything around them down to just her. To her earnest words that tug at his heart. The others would have loved her. Loved Wolfe…maybe even Jon, with time.

His eyes sting and he blinks the feeling away and brings her fingers to his lips.

She was right about one thing: they’re this far. Maybe she wouldn’t be his master rogue, Wolfe his lord of hounds, nor Jon his historian and archivist…but instead they’re just them. And he’s just him. Whoever that is.

“I hear you.” It comes out more rough than he intends, more wet, but he squeezes her fingers and turns to…do something. Anything but trail down that path of thought.

But gods, they would have loved his people.

He hears her, but it's too much right now. She understands all too well, and so she won't press. She leans up to kiss his cheek again, then sets aside her tea so she can drag her fingers down the outside of his arm from shoulder to elbow. Rather than try to find more words to reassure him, she falls back one what she knows will always help when they find their footing together for even a moment.

"I love you." She raises herself up to the balls of her feet to press her forehead to his. "I love you, and I promise that you are enough. You are what we need." Now and always, and she'll tell him every day for the rest of their lives if that's what he needs to rest easier at night.

About that time, Wolfe steps out of the wreck room and closes the door behind him quietly. He seems a bit more relaxed, if sheepish, as he joins them with tea in hand. He's also gratified to see his two loves getting along, as evidenced by his broad smile when he sees them so close.

"Did you want to get Jon so we can all get some sleep?" Wolfe asks, assuming his friend has disappeared into the other room for privacy when he doesn't see Jon out in the common area. Thinking Chris would probably want to do that, Wolfe grabs the shirt from the top of the pile and pulls it on. He keeps the blanket around his waist, though; there's no way his pants or small clothes are dry yet.

"We can get settled in the meantime," he directs at Amelia, deciding now definitively that he's too tired for food and just wants the weight of the people he loves on him before he goes to sleep. Someday he'll be hungry again. Probably in the morning.

Her words ease some things and share in others, but it’s overall helpful to hear. Helpful enough he sets the rest aside for now.

He couldn’t outrun the tears forever, but he could try his damndest until they caught him.

His hand finds a place at Amelia’s hip while she speaks assurances and soothing things to him and he gives her a squeeze, a quiet thank you as Wolfe steps out to return to them, though he adds a kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling away.

“Yeah. Settle in, we’ll take our space around you.”

The pit was plenty big enough and piled still with several pillows and blankets for maximum comfort, he didn’t doubt the least they could do tonight would be sleep.

Chris heads for the other room, pauses outside to listen a moment, but then heads inside and closes the door behind him. He wasn’t exactly sure what state he’d find Jon in, but privacy would likely be appreciated regardless.

When Chris enters, he'll hear a man's voice. If his memory serves, he'll recognize Rafa's accent. "...chambers. I had to be escorted. I had never seen the inside of the castle, not like this. It was so...opulent, Jon. Full of gold, and jewels, and silks and velvets..." The recording continues as he describes being transformed into a vampire and being assaulted by his sire.

On the sofa, Jon has pulled up his sleeve and is writing names on his left hand and arm wherever there's room around his tattoos. He's breathing heavily, his eyes are fixed in the middle distance and glowing an eerie green. Chris' arrival garners no immediate reaction. Jon is lost in what he's doing.

The words on his arm are more names, and he digging into his skin to write them, going over them again and again, to ingrain them there and in his mind. The book hadn't been enough. What if that's taken away? He'd needed to put them somewhere that couldn't be removed.

Edited 2025-10-12 21:31 (UTC)

A smile starts to form when Chris kisses her and grows full when she turns to Wolfe, dressed in that ridiculous shirt of his and with his mug in hand. A shirt he's worn dozens of times and carefully washed and dried to keep it in good condition. A mug he insisted on using even when she had others that better held the heat of his tea or coffee. The way he looks between these two things tugs at 'normal' in her mind and she clings to it; something grounding while the rest of her life is still in upheaval. Even if he does look a little silly with a blanket tied around his waist.

"You in the center of us?" she asks, taking his free hand in hers as they step over to the pit. She pauses at the edge to sit down with her tea. Best to finish it now before taking off her knives and laying down. "I don't think Jon will want to hold your hand or curl against you, but I know he's missed you too. Being close to missed friends is helpful when you suddenly have them back."

"I'd put my arm around him if I thought it wouldn't get me bitten," Wolfe jokes, taking a swallow to tea. "But no, I figured it would be me between you and Chris and Jon on Chris' other side, if he can sleep at all. He doesn't always."

It seems a little odd speaking to Amelia about Jon's personal habits, but she'll learn them eventually since they're going to be staying together for the foreseeable future. That thought is a happy one, the idea of a house of their own, maybe with a garden for vegetables...

Thats getting a little ahead of things, but its nice to dream again.

"Come on, Love. Let's see how comfortable Chris has made these pillow pits."

As it turns out, extremely comfortable, some of the pillows acting like they're stuffed with that memory foam stuff from Duplicity and some very soft feathers, and all the perfect temperature. The bed itself is firm enough for sleep but soft enough to practically sink into, and Wolfe does so gladly and with an appreciative groan after setting his tea aside.

"If all the Raven Queen's temples have nests like this, I might convert."

He'd met the man once, nearly five years ago now, when Lux had wanted Chris to meet his dominant in a more official capacity, for how often he was over at the incubus' house. He suspected Lux might have even had some designs in the back of his head for involving Chris in some more intimate interactions between the three...at least before Lux had vanished barely a week later. Not his first loss, but one of the bigger ones. He'd always thought it ridiculous that someone so old, the progenitor of lust on his own world, would claim to love something so transient and nothing as Chris. Copy as he'd been, now Chris wished he'd let himself believe him a little more.

The thought is quick, brief, and he shakes it from his head as his focus narrows to Jon's vicious scrawling on his own skin.

"Jon. Stop."

Two strides, and his hands reach out to clutch at Jon's hand and arm in a bid to separate them. A bubble of Silence falls over the room instead of bothering to stop the tape.

If he can, he pries the pen from his partner's hand to let it drop to the floor, but even if he must only curl his fingers over the pen and the tip, he bodily pushes into Jon's space to bear his weight down against his love in a way he hopes is grounding as he presses their foreheads together.

He won't be able to say anything or hear anything, but neither would Jon, and maybe that would help. Just for a moment. For a moment, no one had to hear Jonathan Sims breaking.

Chris' words are like a siren blaring from above. Jon freezes for a split second, knowing he's made a mistake. He hadn't meant to let things get this far, hadn't meant to let the cleric see this. He has enough problems as it is with Amelia breaking down, Wolfe a mess, Chris himself having his whole world shattered on so many levels. None of them are meant to see. And there's some perverse pleasure in that, in having the other man Know him, See him, having the secrets he'd been meaning to keep ripped away and exposed like a rotten wound. He can feel the Ceaseless Watcher in the back of his mind, knowing his shame and pushing some sense of satisfaction into him with it.

For as still as he is, Jon's grip isn't particularly strong. Chris knocks the pen from his hand, presses him back and down and over him, and Rafa's voice is gone. Everyone is gone. Martin. His Martin, twice over. His Morrigan. His Alessandro. Lyall, Garrett, Daphne, Anya, Rafa, Jamie, on and on and on, his list of names so much longer than his arms could hold. They're the last repository for every single off-worlder in the LIES program. They are the only people who will ever remember them. Even if LIES does this again, if their abomination finds another crop, they'll wipe out everything about the ones before.

How many times have they done this? How many stories have been lost? Left a complete and utter mystery.

He hates to cry, despises being so weak, but Chris is there and the silence beckons. The first few tears slip out against his will, and as soon as they do, the dam breaks. Jon curls his hands into Chris' shirt, the grip too hard, too much. This is what Amelia keeps doing as she breaks, thinking she's too much, but she has Wolfe and Chris both. He knows Chris will think he's the only one who can handle this. And he's going to feel like he has to handle it tonight.

The urge to push his boyfriend away, to curl up wars with the desire to keep him close and sob into the quiet where no one can hear him.

The reaction to the feel of the pillows is promising. Amelia quickly finishes her tea, trying not to chuckle too much at the way Wolfe practically melts into the downy comfort. It's hard to resist when it's such a Wolfe thing to do.

"I'll remind you said this tomorrow morning." She smiles down at him, waiting until his eyes are closed to shed her knives. She shouldn't hold back, but it's hard to ignore the reflex. They'll work on that another day. With those set aside, she slides down to join him, sighing in relief at how good it feels to fall into any kind of bed after the hell of a day she's been through. Her body doesn't ache much after the bath, but she's still exhausted.

Once she's fully down, she cuddles into Wolfe's side and wraps an arm across his chest as far as she can reach. "This is nice. Better for having you in here with me." Another sigh as she lets her eyes fall closed. "I've missed falling asleep with you at my side."

"You should. I'm going to have to start acclimating anyway," he replies as he fits his arm around her back, relaxing all the more just for having her beside him. This, at least, feels normal.

He doesn't expect Amelia to abandon what faith she has from home; she doesn't need to if she's not going to be written into the Weave as he and Jon need to be to keep themselves as they are. If she doesn't, Wolfe imagines the gods of her world will take her then, and...

No, that's not right. The deity present at all of their creation is the god of Duplicity, and fuck if any of them want to figure out what that afterlife is. Would that be her fate? She has no magic to weave and she has no previous connection to a God as Chris does...

"You should too. Choose a god, I mean. Chris says those of no faith here go somewhere awful. I don't want that for you." Now that the threat of death is again something to consider, especially with how they'll likely be earning a living.

In the silence of the room, Jon's pain can't be heard by either of them, but it's felt. Chris can feel it in the grip of his hands and the way his smaller frame quakes in Chris's hold and how his tears burn hot and cool quickly against the cleric's neck when he pulls his partner more into his chest and the safe curl of his arms.

His own eyes prick and sting out of sympathy. Empathy. They've lost too much and all at once, it's too cruel. Especially when they have the comfort and safety to actually face it.

At least, in Duplicity, there was almost always something else demanding part of their attention. There was always something else they had to keep moving for. Here, on the banks of a little-known lake in a small region, no one demanded anything of them. Time stood still. It was the unkindness of antiseptic on a wound.

He keeps his focus on his spell and how his hands stroke along Jon's back and his hair. His lips press small kisses where they happen to fall, but he makes no move to interrupt him or slow the storm or even try to offer kind words. There was nothing he could say that would feel right enough. Yet in the stillness where their words couldn't be heard and he couldn't interrupt him, he says "I love you" and "I'm sorry" to the quiet and hungry room.

It takes a minute or two for the worst of the sobs to pass, for the tidal wave of emotion to recede. Jon can feel the tears still stinging his eyes, the phlegm clogging his throat, the sense of humiliation that he'd let himself spiral like this when he'd assured Chris that he wouldn't. No wonder the cleric hardly trusts him to be on his own sometimes. Gradually, his tears dry up and he's able to swallow down the worst of everything. There's an unfortunate amount of snot and salt decorating Chris' shirt that they can't simply prestidigitate away, but maybe he can... pretend to spill tea on him? Would that be better as a lie for Wolfe and Amelia? The thought that they would know about this is far worse than Chris' ken.

It's a few minutes more before he's matching his breath to Chris', mirroring, and a another one before he finally pulls back enough to look up at the other man.

'I have to remember them,' he tries to say, lips moving silently. Jon shakes his head a moment, then tries for something simpler to articulate as a concept, if not as words to read by the lips. He lifts a trembling hand to cup Chris' face. 'Please... just cry, too?' At least he wouldn't be alone in the humiliation.

She huffs an amused breath against him. "Have to meet one before I do that. Gods don't exist where I'm from." Or, rather, where her original is from. Luckily for everyone, the exhaustion is weighing heavily enough on her that the thought doesn't have a chance to fully form in her mind. Whatever gods may or may not exist in that world, Amelia's never known them and never believed they existed. There's no one to call her to that plane, as far as she understands.

"I need to see to believe. Maybe I'll pick whoever helps us most to get written into the Weave." A concept she still only vaguely comprehends. It's important and will tie Wolfe and Jon to this plane, and right now that's enough for her. Some other day she'll ask more questions to better understand what's involved and if she needs to be threaded in too.

One of her shoulders rolls in a shrug as she cracks an eye open to look up at Wolfe. "I can always pick whoever you follow. Heard plenty of stories of gods liking blind followers. Why not one blinded by love?" That'll be enough, right? If it's not... dreams, she'll figure it out later because she's so much closer to sleep than she thought she would be when they stepped into the temple.

A chuckle escapes Wolfe at that, something sleepy and more relaxed than he thought he could get right now. He tries to fight it at least until Chris and Jon return.

"I see no problem with that," he concedes, kissing the top of her head. "Get some rest, now. It's been one of the longest days I can remember."

Its strange to think how he started the day versus how its ending. From a prisoner to freer than hes ever been in his life, from alone and losing hope to surrounded by loved ones and looking forward to their future. Its a big change, but an exhausting one.

The rattle of a collar sounds as Patience hops down into the pit as well. She turns around twice and lays herself across both Amelia and Wolfe's legs, almost daring them to get up before resting her large head down on her paws. Chuckling again, Wolfe cranes his neck to spot Cookie snoring away under the table, only her back legs and tail visible among the furniture.

"I hope you didn't intend to get up again."

He's not much for reading lips, even ones he knows so well, but 'remember' is the thing that catches his eye. The second part he understands all too well, and it yanks at him. Wolfe and Amelia had been trying to get him to break down too, and now Jon...he knows he needs to. If he doesn't now, it'll sneak up on him at a worse time. When the remembering would overwhelm the present. It was the honor and duty of the living to carry the lost...no, the dead. They weren't lost, sent home, missing, vanished, they were dead.

His throat fills with thorns again and he shakes his head. "I can't."
He's not even sure why he can't anymore. All of the reasons he might cling to run from him like sand between his fingers.

Crais would have told him he was being an idiot. Did he rail and fight against a second death so much more ignominious than the first? Martin would have been gentle, always so gentle when he smiled and blushed and looked at Chris like he kept waiting for the punchline on why Chris even wanted him. On second thought, he would have told him not to be so stubborn too...it makes him choke on the thorns in his throat. Did he die thinking they'd abandoned him? Left him to his Lonely end and the fears trapped in his head?

Chris' vision blurs, and he presses his forehead to Jon's while he fights not to let his grip turn to claws.

Did Jacob die knowing he'd never see his kids again? Did he die knowing they'd never actually been his kids? That the other life where he and Chris had quiet morning coffee and sunshine and vows was exactly as real as he'd been?

Caleb, Nate, Oliver, Nick, they would have died fighting for a world they couldn't save, a world they'd never broken in the first place, and one they never got to see again. Rosita, Stephen, Daphne, Lux, Diane, Katherine...fuck, Festival-

He sobs into the silence, the people who had made him an unstoppable line of faces in his mind's eye. He wasn't the Chris that existed here on this plane because that Chris hadn't known them, didn't carry them, and hadn't grown from them. He had and it made him just as important as anyone else with his face here. He was better because of them...and the least he could do was cry for them.

Amnos.

He hadn't thought of it for seeing his friend only a few hours ago alive and well, but that hadn't been the one in the city with him. His best friend had died knowing he'd never see his wife and kids again.

He can't keep himself upright at the thought; he crumples into Jon's chest with a silent scream of anger and grief. They'd deserved better than that. He should have done more.

Jon wraps his arms around the cleric, hugging fiercely and sinking fingers into his hair to grip and twist. He knows pain is grounding for Chris, much as the Archivist hates hurting him. This is necessary. All of this grief. Chris has lost his friends in Duplicity and his family here. He’s a man stuck behind a pane of glass, having to watch someone else live the life and dreams, the struggles and triumphs that he thought he was going to. If this were Jon’s world, he can only imagine the Chris, Wolfe, and Amelia all being shunted off to personal hells if the Stranger’s making, having to watch some other thing that isn’t them have what they were striving to reach.

While he can hear it, he feels Chris’ scream, and his fears and anguish come through at full volume. All of those names are in the book already. Jacob’s is somewhere near his elbow. He’d known that was an important one for Chris, much like Aloise for Amelia and Anders for Wolfe. They’re names that need to be remembered. But ‘Amnos’ is one he needs to add.

He holds Chris as he cries, pulling him onto the sofa as he lays back and down to make it easier. Jon lets him go for as long as he needs to, keeping a steady rhythm of harder twists in Chris’ curls to remind him of where he is and that Jon, at least, is here and real.

Edited (Too many ‘he’s) 2025-10-13 04:31 (UTC)

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cw: link leads to an extremely dub-con situation; mild self-harm

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