#OH yeah. u can have that with jon too without needing to make him have colored eyes. idk i dont really care i dont actually interact

[literalfuckingfreak]

also while im on it i dont care how magic a character is not everyone needs to have colored eyes. its like. fine to give people dark brown/ black eyes even if theyre "magical" or some shit.

[banannabethchase]

Adam's connecting flight gets delayed, and who else should be on the flight but Jon Moxley. They decide to share a hotel room, but, oh no, what could possibly go wrong? Or right?

~

Being in an airport really does inspire a person, doesn't it? Also this has been lingering in the back of my noggin for months.

~

Adam drops his head when the announcement comes on again.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters. He should have taken the Bucks up on their invite to stay in one of their guest rooms – there’s no way he’s getting home any time soon at this point.

Stuck at the airport want to die, Adam texts Matt

It’s almost immediate that he gets back, told u so

Sometimes I actually hate you

<3 <3 <3 <3

He resists the urge to text Nick, who will probably be the exact same as Matt, just a little less overtly bitchy. He stretches out in the airport chair as he listens to the flight attendant repeat the announcement for the third time.

”Again, flight 1883 out of San Diego to Cincinnati is cancelled due to weather events across the Great Plains,” she says, sounding too chipper for the announcement. “We will be happy to help any stranded passengers make alternate plans.”

Adam curses the need for layovers as he gets up to the counter, Orville Peck’s newest album keeping him from losing it as he waits behind soccer moms and business professionals and, to his amusement, one of the crew guys from the night before. He doesn’t seem to recognize Adam, and Adam’s not going to get in the way of whatever he’s got going on in his headphones.

When he finally gets up to the counter, he exhales with relief. “Hey, there, ma’am, I was hoping you could help me out.”

“Certainly, sir,” she says. “Tell me what your situation is.”

Adam begins talking, and practically jumps when he hears an obnoxiously familiar voice go, “Oh, fuck me.”

Adam squeezes his eyes shut and exhales. He should have known this was coming. “Lord save me now.”

“I know,” says the counter attendant, sympathetic smile not helping in the slightest. “Flight delays are frustrating.”

“Oh, no it’s not that. It’s just – ” He stops himself from going into a detailed rant about just how perfect it is that he’s going to be stuck in the same airport as Jon Moxley for the foreseeable future. “Never mind. Regarding the flights, I have a connection that there’s no way I’m making.”

“Yeah, unfortunately that’s going to be the case,” she says, frowning. “How about this. We can book you a hotel room,” she does some clicking, “and get you a new fight for…well, it looks like, in order not to give you a 12 hour layover, we can get you out of here on a flight directly to Virginia tomorrow at 4pm.” She smiles at him. “Does that sound like it could work?”

Adam nods. “That sounds like a great alternative. I appreciate your help.”

She prints him out a boarding pass and a hotel receipt, only to turn to run smack into Mox.

“Jesus, you’re charming as fuck even in a stressful situation,” Mox says, grinning at him. “Ever turn it off?”

“You’ve seen what I do when I turn it off,” Adam says, refusing to meet his eyes. It’s unfortunate, then, that his gaze lingers on Mox’s lips. On the way his tee shirt gaps a little at the collar. “You get hung by a chain in front of thousands on a pay per view.”

Mox’s grin goes a little predatory. “Yeah. Anyway, hope your day sucks.”

“What? I – fine. You too. Prick.”

Mox winks at him and gets into line just in time for Adam to get a phone call he’s not going to be able to finish without plugging in his phone. So he, with CD on the other end of the line checking in on him, is privy to the shitshow in front of him.

“There’s no more hotel rooms?!” says the lady who had been standing a few people behind him. He remembers she was the one loudly listening to videos on her phone in between complaining. “Then find me a different one!”

“Ma’am, there are no more hotel rooms we are able to –”

“Well that’s your fault, isn’t it?!” she shrieks. She turns to the line of people behind her. “Aren’t you all just as angry? We want to get home! We paid good money for these tickets!” She turns back to the attendant. “Are you the most competent person I can deal with? Do they only hire idiots?”

“Chris, I gotta go,” Adam mutters into the phone. “I’m good, though, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Alright, Hanger.” Chris sounds skeptical, which is fair, but he hangs up anyway.

Adam’s in the process of standing up to go give the lady a piece of his mind when Mox steps out of line to swagger up to the complainer. “Yo, lady, I’m not sure what your problem is, but you don’t see any of us acting like toddlers who didn’t get a cookie.” He does that stance, arms behind his back, like he’s daring someone to hit him. “Chill out.”

“I,” she says, “am a very important oil executive, sir, and I have places to be. People require my presence to complete their jobs.” She looks Mox up and down, taking in his ratty jacket, ripped jeans, and faded tee shirt. Her eyes linger on the scars on his forehead. “I can see you don’t have much experience in that arena.”

Mox scoffs. “Lady, I’m a wrestler. Like a pro one? Like on TV? Not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty sure I’m just as whatever as you are and I’m not being a bitch.”

Adam snickers into his hand. It’s not quiet enough – Mox glances over his shoulder and grins at Adam. “See? That guys a wrestler, too. And he was perfectly civil. So you can grow the fuck up and act like a human or you can keep this up and I’ll put you in a headlock.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says. Adam knows that face. She’s trying to call Mox’s bluff. Adam giggles again.

“Hey, Cowboy,” Mox says, “what did I do to you in that match?”

“Before I choked you out with a chain?” Adam asks. “You tried to break my hand between two bricks.”

“Right,” Mox says. He turns back to the lady, whose face has turned a weird shade of green. “So, like, if you’re gonna go after this nice person trying to help you, I kinda hope you go full on nutjob and jump the counter. I’d love give you a suplex onto the floor.”

Adam’s full on laughing as the lady sputters some nonsense. She snatches the boarding pass that the flight attendant had been holding out for her and stomps off. “I hope you get a concussion,” she snarls at Mox and Adam as she leaves.

“Been there, done that, lady,” Mox calls after her.

Adam lets the laughter fade. “You got a way of handling assholes, that’s for sure.”

“Only way I’ve survived being coworkers with you,” Mox says. “I’m fucked, though. Stuck sleeping on airplane chairs like it’s 2003 again.”

Adam practically sees his options scatter across his vision. Take the hotel room and enjoy a night to himself. Offer the room to Mox and be stuck here. Give the hotel room to someone else so they’re both miserable together.

Or.

“I mean, you can come with me,” Adam says. “I’m sure we can avoid killing each other for a night so we can both get decent sleep.”

Mox stares at him for a second. “What?”

“You don’t have to,” Adam says, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. “Just saying you could be, like, not a weird martyr and take the comfortable option.” He’s about to walk away, hand on his rolling carryon, when Mox sighs.

“I like that you think spending time with you is better than being stuck in an airport,” Mox says, but he grabs his carryon and starts walking. Adam falls into pace next to him.

“Dick,” Adam says, grinning. “You look like you’re coming with me, though, so I’d say I’m better than an airport.”

“I’m too fuckin’ old to try and sleep on airplane carpet,” Mox says, rolling his shoulders. “Plus, I got that GCW match on Sunday and I really don’t want to be fucked up for it.”

“Oh, right,” Adam says, sliding out of the way for a family of what appears to be four thousand blocking the path, “because a GCW match requires tip top shape to get bludgeoned to death with a trash can.”

Mox stares at him. “We just bludgeoned you and your boys with worse than trash cans, so I have no idea where this high and mighty bullshit is coming from.”

Adam opens his mouth to argue before realizing, annoyed, that Mox is right. “Well shit.”

Navigating the airport to get to the hotel is easier than Adam had thought, but with a chattering Mox behind him making commentary on everything it’s less smooth.

“Do you ever shut up?” Adam asks as they settle in line at the hotel. “Seriously, I don’t think I’ve said anything in ten minutes, but you’ve spoken a novel’s worth.”

Mox shrugs. “I’m fidgety. I talk when I’m fidgety. That a problem for you?”

“If you talk in your fuckin’ sleep, it is,” Adam says, but he’s sure to smile to make it sound like less of a death threat. The people in front of them in line keep looking back at them, concerned. Adam doesn’t want the cops called on him. “Now shut up for, like, two minutes while I get checked in.”

“You better ask for two beds,” Mox says. “I ain’t cuddling with you, Cowboy.”

“I’m sure there’s two queens,” Adam replies.

Mox giggles.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Just, if there’s two queens, it’s the Bucks, right?”

Adam kicks him in the shins.

~

“And there’s a king bed in this room,” says the attendant when he gets his key cards.

Adam blinks. “I’m – just a king bed?”

“Yes, sir,” she says. “It’s the only room left.”

“Alright,” Adam says. He’ll sleep in the bathtub if he comes to it. Anything to get this shit show over with. “Yeah, it’ll work. I appreciate the help.”

Mox steps in pace with him, like a puppy learning how to heel, as Adam makes his way to the elevator. “So, we gonna fight on who gets the bed?”

“I’ll sleep in the tub if it means you shut up,” Adam deadpans, pressing the button for the elevator.

Mox slides into the elevator, and grabs Adam’s carryon to move it with him. Adam’s…confused, but appreciative. “I was kidding about the cuddling bit,” Mox says. “I mean, you’re letting me stay in your hotel room. I’ll sleep in the tub or on the floor.”

“That can’t be much better than an airport carpet,” Adam says. He checks the key card – fourth floor, room 451. Before he can press the button, Mox has reaches out and practically punched the button for number 4.

Mox is quiet for a few minutes, long enough to make Adam wonder what he’s planning. “Or,” Mox says as the elevators doors open. He grabs Adam’s carryon again and hauls both suitcases down the hallway. Adam decides not to mention his has wheels – he kind of wants to see how long it’ll take Mox to notice. “I mean, we can share. The bed, I mean. If you’re okay with that.”

Adam considers it as they walk down the hallway. “You’re not gonna try and cuddle me, are you?”

“I – that was a joke, you fuckwit,” Mox says. “And you could thank me for carrying your bag all the way here.”

“First off, it rolls, so you didn’t have to carry it,” Adam says, sliding the key card into the lock on the door. “Second, I didn’t ask you to carry my bag.”

“I had to,” Mox says. Adam barely gets the chance to push open the door before Mox is hauling all their bags and throwing them into the room with zero ceremony or care. “It was the nice thing to do.”

Adam shuts the door behind the two of them. “You saying that right after chucking the bags into a wall feels weird.”

Mox shrugs and throws himself onto the bed, arms behind his head. “What, you want me to, like, apologize or something? Did you have something breakable in there?”

Adam shakes his head as he carefully unzips his boots and sets them neatly next to the desk. “Just wondering what the fuck goes on in that weird head of yours.”

“You don’t get to call me weird,” Mox says, and he’s grinning when Adam glances over at him. “You’re just as much of a freak as me, Cowboy.”

Adam throws the pillow from the chair at Mox and sits down. “Am not.”

“Oh, so the whole hanging me using a chain is normal behavior to you?” Mox shifts, grinning at Adam. “Wrapping barbed wire around yourself like a fuckin’ corset is vanilla in your world? I’d hate to see what you’d consider freaky, then.”

Adam adjusts in the seat, desperate to lay down but not ready to cross that bridge with Mox. “I’m sure you would Mox.”

They’re quiet for a moment, as Adam tries to figure out if getting up will be seen as an offensive maneuver. Then Mox groans and stretches, his arms above his head on the bed. He grips the bars of the headboard, which Adam tries not to think too much about. “Well, Cowboy,” he groans, “if we’re gonna act like an old married couple and share the same bed, least I can do is wash the airport offa me. I’m gonna go shower.”

Adam nods, because there’s not much else he can really do. “I, uh. Appreciate it?”

“You should,” Mox says, swaggering over to the shower. He pulls his shirt off and throws it on top of his luggage. Adam recognizes a fresh scar on Mox’s back as one he placed there with barbed wire. He ignores the voice in his head that growls mine at the sight. “I’m a fuckin’ saint.”

“I absolutely wouldn’t go that far,” Adam laughs, but he follows Mox with his eyes as he makes his way to the bathroom, allowing himself to look at the way Mox’s ass fills out the jeans.

~

Adam’s halfway through his compulsive daily email clear out when a noise jolts him out of his focus.

He looks around the room for the source, only to see an outdated phone buzzing on top of Mox’s bag.

“Mox,” Adam yells, “Mox, your phone’s ringing!”

Adam stands and walks over to the phone to pick it up. He wouldn’t normally impose, but he glances at the screen and it’s Tony’s number. “Dude,” Adam says again. “You’ve been in there for twenty minutes.”

The phone stops ringing and Adam relaxes. And then it starts up again.

“Asshole,” Adam grumbles, almost stomping down the short hallway to the bathroom. “Hey dickhead!” he yells, and he’s surprised when the door swings open under his grip.

He should have remembered he’s never been in this bathroom before.

He should have remembered this is Jon Moxley.

He should have remembered that boner he popped during Anarchy in the Arena.

The shower is in perfect view of the door, so he can’t even act like he can’t see what’s in front of him. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Here to join?” Mox asks. His hand is curled around his cock, grinning over at Adam through the water droplets on the glass shower door.

“No,” Adam says, averting his eyes, a little too late, “uh. Here.” He shoves the phone toward Mox. “It’s Tony.”

“Tell him we’re having a sleepover and he can wait,” Mox says. Adam can sense that Mox is moving, and he’s not strong enough to imagine the kind of movement. “I’m busy.”

“It’s the second time he’s called in, like, four minutes,” Adam says. He moves to stare at the wall, but all that happens is he locks eyes with Mox through the mirror. He fights the urge to run or whimper or something else he doesn’t allow himself to think about too hard. “Just fuckin’ answer it.”

Mox groans and turns off the shower. “Asshole.”

“Dickhead,” Adam replies, and he hustles out of there like his life depends on it.

~

Mox comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later followed by steam. Adam is unable to ignore the fact that he’s not wearing anything but a towel around his waist.

Adam had waffled between what to do, and ended up sitting on the bed stiffly, still fully dressed, with a book in his hand. He’s made it through two pages and didn’t understand any of it.

“Tony was just freaking out about if I was gonna get home or not,” Mox says. Adam intentionally doesn’t look at the way the water leaves trails down his chest, his back, his arms. He doesn’t look at how low the towel is on Mox’s hips, on the perfect lines of muscle making a V at the bottom of his torso. “Since he booked the flights he got the notification of the cancellation and I,” he rolls his eyes, “am the only one who didn’t check in with CD, so he was freaking out.”

Adam swallows, forcing himself to stare at the wall behind Mox. “You chill him out?”

Mox nods, stretching, and Adam’s eyes snap right back to that chest of Mox’s. “Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Mox says. “Freaks out about everything, Tony. Told him we’re bunking together.”

That’s enough for Adam to set his book down. “How’d he react to that?”

Mox laughs, twisting. Adam finds himself wondering how tightly the towel is tied, if Mox is still hard under there. “Tony freaked out, like always. Wanted to know if we planned on killing each other.”

“It’s not off the table,” Adam replies, adjusting his glasses and going back to the book.

Adam feels the bed shift as Mox sits at the foot of the bed. “Yeah? Planning on strangling me in your sleep?”

Adam looks up to see Mox grinning at him. “Already strangled you once,” Adam says, flipping the page like he’s been able to take in a single word since Mox walked out of the bathroom. “Figured I’d try something new.”

Mox huffs. “Yeah? You been thinkin’ about killing me?”

“No,” Adam says. He sets down the book. “But, you know. Always have ideas in my back pocket.”

Mox studies his face for a moment. “Ideas?”

Adam nods. He’s not sure where this is going. “Yeah. Ideas.”

The silence feels heavy for a second, and Adam’s pretty sure he’s seconds away from doing something stupid when Mox says, “I like the glasses.”

Adam blinks. “Oh,” he says, taken off guard by the compliment. “Uh. Thanks?”

“You don’t have to act all weird about it,” Mox says. “They’re – they look good. Real studious and shit.”

Adam laughs. “High praise from a man whose wardrobe is his own merch.”

“It’s my merch because I like it,” Mox says. He leans back on the bed. His head is level with Adam’s knees. “Course I’ll wear it.”

“You don’t see me in Hangman shirts all the time,” Adam says.

“No, but you were those, uh, those button downs. Very yeehaw. Cowboy shit, right? You dress the part.” He reaches out and pats Adam’s leg. “Even your jeans are all cowboy.”

Adam tries not to flinch or burn at the touch. “I – thank you?”

Mox rolls over. “Are you okay? You’re all tense?”

Adam opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again and says, before he can stop it, “What are you doing?”

Mox stares. “Huh?”

“Like, you talk all the time, I know that, but you’re like.” He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know. Trying to be friendly.”

Mox’s face falls, and Adam practically watches him close in on himself as he scrambles to his feet. He can’t explain why his heart clenches at it, only that it does. “Oh.”

“No!” Adam says. “I – no, it’s not a bad thing. It’s just I didn’t expect it. Especially after I walked in on you –” Adam cuts himself off, because saying, ‘walked in on you jacking it’ feels a little too real for whatever’s happening.

Mox’s expression shifts incredibly slowly, from confusion to understanding to amusement. “Oh,” he says, drawing out the syllable. “Oh, you walked in on me with my hand on my dick and you freaked out.”

Adam wills himself not to turn red. He doesn’t think it’s working. “I didn’t freak out.” He forces himself to look up and meet Mox’s eyes, blue and bright. “I tried to be professional about it.”

“Yeah?” Mox says. “What if I didn’t want you to be professional about it?”

Adam’s eyes flicker from Mox’s eyes to his mouth before he can stop them. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Fuck a coworker in a hotel room. That’s great.”

“A coworker?” Mox says, pouting. He puts his hand to his heart. “I’m hurt. I’m at least an arch nemesis at this point, right?”

“Fine, fuck an arch nemesis,” Adam says, and he can’t fight the grin. “But that’s a bad idea, right?”

“Interesting,” Mox says. “You’re not saying no, you don’t want to. You’re saying no, it’s unprofessional? Weird stance to take when everybody knows what you and Cole were doing before your Revolution match.”

Adam shrugs and tries to act like he knew everyone was aware of what he and Cole get up to. “We have a history together. It’s what we’ve always done before matches.”

“You always blow him before a match?” Mox says. “I gotta get that on the schedule for our matches. Sounds nice.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you,” Adam says, but he can’t deny that the picture of Mox with his cock in his hand, that grin on his lips, is burned into his memory. “But I get what you’re doing now. This your seduction technique?”

“Not usually,” Mox says, and he stands, hand going to the place where the towel is tucked in on itself. Adam wants to pull at it. “But I figured, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Adam licks his lips before he can stop himself. “Desperate, huh? You look it.”

“Excuse me,” Mox says, and he finally throws the towel to the ground. “You’re the one staring at me like I’m a piece of meat.”

“You walked out of the shower with nothing but a towel and started talking about our boss as a weird segue to flirting,” Adam says, and he hopes Mox doesn’t notice the way he spreads his legs, just a little. His hands are threatening to start shaking with anticipation as Mox climbs on the bed.

He is still hard.

“I’ll have you know my flirting is far more than just words.”

Adam can’t move and doesn’t want to as Mox leans in and kisses him, a hand on the side of his neck. It’s gentler than he would have expected, less insistent, and Adam rests a hand on Mox’s hip and pulls him down. His skin is damp and warm, and Adam grabs at it like a lifeline as Mox’s tongue slides across the seam of his lips.

Adam makes an involuntary little squeak and Mox pulls back.

“What?” he asks. “You good? Too much?”

Adam shakes his head. “No. I mean, yes. Jesus, ask one thing at a time.”

Mox grins at him. “Oh, I like you flustered.” He reaches out and brushes his thumb across Adam’s bottom lip. It’s devastating. “You good?”

Adam nods, Mox’s thumb catching on his upper lip. “I’m good,” he says. He’s already breathless, like he’s a horny teenager. This would be embarrassing if he weren’t so into it. “I just – not what I expected, you know?”

Mox shrugs. “Nah, but when the opportunity arises.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Is that a dick joke?” Adam asks. “Of course you’d make a dick joke right now.”

“What, I should make a fuckin’ – what else rises? A sun joke?” Mox asks. “Stay in the moment, Cowboy.”

“You stay in the –” But Adam’s cut off by a kiss, this one a bit less gentle.

He grips at Mox’s sides again, then flips them before Mox can react. Mox makes a funny little sound and adds teeth into the kiss, catching Adam’s lower lip, and Adam can’t help it. He moans into it.

Mox’s hands slide under and up his shirt, scratching at his back in a way that makes him kiss harder, press his leg between Mox’s legs. He chances a hand along Mox’s thigh, not getting too close, not until Mox says so.

Mox pulls his mouth away. “Fuck, Cowboy, you a tease, too? Grab my cock already.”

“Jesus,” Adam laughs, “you could be, like, a little romantic about it.”

“Oh, and you walking in on me jerking off just to give me my phone with my boss on the other line is romantic?!” Mox says.

“Okay,” Adam says, reaching up to spit in his hand, “to be fair, I didn’t know that’s what you were doing.” He curls his hand around Mox’s cock, laughing at the way Mox’s face relaxes, the way his head drops against the pillows. “Believe me,” Adam says, lips at Mox’s ear. He catches Mox’s earlobe between his teeth. “If I’d know that’s what you were doing, maybe I would have joined you.”

Mox lets out a fascinating little whine at the way Adam twists his hand. “Oh, I like this side of you,” he laughs.

Adam strokes gently, careful not to give too much pressure, too much friction. He’s still fully clothed. He’s not going to let Mox have all the fun. “Yeah?” Adam says.

Mox nods. “Hey, wait, you – too much clothes. Get naked.”

“No fuckin’ romance,” Adam laughs under his breath, but he leans back and pulls his shirt off over his head. He looks down to see Mox staring at him. “The fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Just looking,” Mox says. “You got a chance to look at me naked, I’m just returning the favor.” Adam tries not to squirm under Mox’s gaze. “Hot. Alright, pants.”

With an eye roll, Adam unbuckles his jeans and rolls off of Mox, shoving his pants and boxers down his hips in one move. Mox stares at his dick and licks his lips. “Goddamn,” he says, voice low and pupils blown, “that Hung Bucks thing isn’t a joke, is it?”

Adam rolls his eyes and pretends he isn’t blushing as he gets back onto the bed and on top of Mox. As much as he didn’t see this as how his day would end, he’s enjoying it.

“Hey,” Mox says, grabbing a handful of Adam’s ass, “what if we take this to the shower?”

Adam pulls back from where he’d been working a bruise into Mox’s neck. “Shower?”

“It’s big,” Mox says, “Got some little seat things.”

Adam stares at him. “You don’t want to leave wet spots on the bed, huh.”

“There’s only one bed.” He wrinkles his nose. “We fuck here, things’ll get wet. One of us would be stuck sleeping in it.”

Adam pushes himself off the bed and walks to the shower. “For once in your life, you’re making sense.”

“You know this was my idea, right?” Mox says, following him. He puts his hands on Adam’s hips, half steering him to the bathroom. Adam finds he likes being manhandled like this a little bit. “You could be a little nicer about it.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Something tells me nice isn’t what you actually like.”

“Am I that predictable?”

Adam laughs as gets the shower started, the water turning warm quicker than he expected, and he steps under the stream. He hears Mox step in after him and then big hands span his stomach from behind him. He shivers under the touch. He has to fight the urge to push Mox off, used to those hands causing harm. But right now he’s gentle, warm, and Adam’s got to loosen up a little.

“Breathe, Cowboy,” Mox says into Adam’s ear, “not gonna hurt you.”

Adam laughs. “You sure about that?”

“I mean, unless you’re into it.” He punctuates it with a nip to Adam’s neck, sending sparkles through Adam’s vision. “But, nah. Just gonna do this.” He slides his hand down Adam’s body and wraps it around Adam’s dick. Adam drops his head backward, resting his head against Mox’s neck. A part of him is screaming to push away and run, but it’s a part that is way quieter than the part screaming fuck me.

“God, that’s good,” Adam mumbles before he can stop himself. He rolls his hips into the circle of Mox’s calloused fingers. “Fuck, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah?” Mox says, lips on Adam’s neck. “How long? With who?

“Me – fuck – me and Kenny used to fuck around a lot, happened once a few weeks ago, when – do that again, yeah – I went back with the Elite…” He trails off, eyes fluttering shut as he leans into the feeling, gripping at Mox’s hip hard enough to leave fingernail marks.

Mox laughs. “Maybe I bring you to the rest of Blackpool,” he murmurs. “I think you’d have a good time. Yoots might be kinda young, but he fucks like an animal.”

Adam laughs. “Yeah?” He turns to catch Mox’s mouth, pushing him backward against the wall of the shower. He’s grateful for the space, for the room in here to really move Mox around. “Knew I was right about that circle jerk shit, you horny motherfuckers.”

“Hey, you’re benefitting from this horny motherfucker, so you better not complain,” Mox says. “I’m gonna blow you now, okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, and he lets Mox press him up against the wall. “Fuck yeah.”

Adam watches as Mox sinks to his knees and grins up at him. He should say something, do something, but all he can do is breathe heavily and wait.

“You look good from this angle,” Mox says, and then his mouth is around the head of Adam’s cock and, frankly, Adam forgets how to think.

Mox is focused and determined as he works his tongue and lips around Adam in a way he hadn’t realized Mox could be out of the ring. Then again, he muses, as Mox reaches up to grip at Adam’s thighs, this isn’t far out of the realm. He giggles before he can stop himself.

“Are you laughing at me?!” Mox exclaims, pulling off of Adam’s cock. “Look, I don’t know shit about etiquette or whatever but I’m pretty sure laughing at the guy sucking your dick is bad manners.”

“Not at you,” Adam chokes out. “Just. Look, dude, this is a far cry from us and our friends trying to kill each other back at Double or Nothing, you know?” He runs his thumb along Mox’s cheekbone. “You look pretty both ways, though.”

Mox rolls his eyes at him. “You’re fuckin’ weird. I can’t believe I want to fuck you.” He shakes his head and dives back to wrap his mouth around Adam.

Adam closes his eyes and rolls into it, letting the feeling take him over. This is far different than what he gets up to with the other guys in the back rooms. This feels like they have all the time in the world, like they don’t have to worry or rush. Like Mox has all the time in the world, and he’s going to take it.

He pushes at Mox’s shoulder. “Get up here, I wanna kiss you.”

Mox stands and crashes into Adam, and Adam shivers a little at the taste of himself on Mox’s tongue. He reaches behind himself to get some of the cheap hotel conditioner and fumbles to cover his hand with it.

“Are you washing your hair right now?” Mox turns.

“No, dipshit, I’m gonna grab your dick,” Adam replies. He reaches down between the two of them. Mox is a little too far away, so Adam grabs his hips and pulls him closer so he can wrap a hand around both of their cocks at once. Mox lets out the prettiest little moan at it, a hand flying up next to Adam’s head to brace himself against the wall.

“Jesus,” Mox mumbles. He circles his hips in a way that makes his cock slide against Adam’s with just enough friction to make his head spin. “Kinda glad that our flight got cancelled now.”

Adam laughs, meeting Mox’s movements. “Yeah? There are definitely worse ways to spend a layover.” He glances up to see Mox’s tongue between his teeth, eyes locked on the way their cocks slide against each other. He can’t resist it – he leans in and catches Mox’s lips in his, swallowing the moan that follows.

He focuses on the sensations, the feelings, the sound of Mox’s breathing and of their dicks sliding against each other. That part of him that thinks this is a terrible idea keeps trying to get loud, but he shuts it up every time his lips meet Mox’s.

He feels it build slowly, like the water that trails down Mox’s forehead, in the base of his spine.

“Fuck,” Adam pants, “Mox, I’m close, I gotta –”

“Yeah, Cowboy, I got you.” Mox slides his hand around Adam’s, their fingers tangling, and that’s enough to send Adam over the edge.

He gasps, without meaning to, “Mox,” as he comes all over both of their hands, rocking his hips up to ride it out.

“God, that’s pretty,” Mox mumbles. He gets a little reckless and frantic, and he leans in to kiss Adam as he comes, biting down on Adam’s lower lip. Adam whines at it, and he has to work to make sure he doesn’t slip down the wall.

Mox rests his forehead against Adam’s and they stand there, gasping, as they come down from the moment. Adam realizes after a few moments that Mox is trailing his knuckles gently along Adam’s biceps. It’s sweet. It’s confusing. Adam doesn’t want it to stop.

“Cowboy,” Mox murmurs, pressing his lips to the side of Adam’s neck, “you fallin’ asleep or something?”

“No,” Adam says. He sighs before he can stop himself. “Just – enjoying the moment.”

Mox’s laugh is soft, almost sweet.  It doesn’t match the man Adam’s run into over and over again, but it feels right. “Yeah, me too. But we’re gonna get all wrinkly if we stay here.” He steps away, and Adam is suddenly very cold. It fades quickly, though, as Mox adjusts the showerhead to spray warm water on both of them.

“Gotta wash my hair,” Adam mumbles, fumbling for the shampoo.

“Let me,” Mox says.

Adam actually does get close to falling asleep as Mox gently massages his hair. “This soap smells good,” he mumbles. “Gotta stay in an airport hotel more often.”

Mox laughs and Adam’s pretty sure he presses a kiss to the back of Adam’s neck. “It’s probably just some sort of drug store shampoo, baby, don’t get too fancy about it.”

Adam sighs, just a little, at the nickname, and wants to hold onto it.

They finish washing up and drying off in near silence, a few words here and there scattered around, until they both drowsily curl into bed.

“Scoot,” Mox says, pushing his butt up against Adam, “we’re cuddling.”

“I thought you said no cuddling,” Adam mumbles, throwing an arm around Mox’s waist.

“That was before I saw what you look like when you come,” Mox replies. He sounds like he’s already nearly asleep. “Now we got a bond. So you gotta cuddle me.”

It’s not flawless logic, Adam thinks. But he’s cozy and warm, and he’ll let it slide.

~

Mini Playlist: Magnets - Lorde, Disclosure Familiar - Liam Payne, J Balvin I Want It - Two Feet Talking Body - Tove Lo

[mangoisms]

oh i forgot to mention but i was plagued by Thoughts again last night of a dc/dna crossover. there was the supergirl/reader as clark/miyuki as lois au i briefly yelled about which was just a passing thought but still a whole lot of fun.

and what was last nights???? under the cut because wow i’m thinking thoughts

once again in the dc universe…. reader as an amazonian specifically as fulfilling the role of wonder woman (since that’s a mantle and has been passed to people other than the og lady diana). But… instead of having bruce wayne as batman and clark kent as superman i think it would fit more if they were legacies or that’s just what i find myself considering often. anyway. for superman it would be jon kent — clark’s son — and then for batman… drum roll please… cassandra cain.

i know this largely doesn’t mean much to u guys who are following me for daiya and that’s totally fine! there’s a lot behind it but generally of all of bruce’s kids it’s accepted that she is the one most passionate about succeeding him and also probably the only one who could have even a remotely healthy relationship with the mantle (whereas the others…. Would Not). but along with this i see them as being new to the positions and they are IMPORTANT positions not just in their respective cities but on the justice league because those three founded the league (i think i’m pretty sure who knows what continuity says these days).

anyway basically all that means reader is the one helming the league for the moment as they settle in and where is miyuki you might ask?????? Glad you asked. miyuki kazuya = justice league’s pr head and perpetually annoyed at having to deal with the finicky stuff of politics when a leaguer says something people do not like. or alternatively trying to do damage control when they uh. destroy a whole city block fighting off aliens or some shit.

i keep making him the ‘normal’ one. as in reader continues to be ultra strong literaly invincible — ie being imagined as a kryptonian and then here as an amazonian. specifically a demigod? yeah i think that’s correct. either way. but you also couldn’t tell me that he wouldn’t be mildly turned on by the fact that his girlfriend can like. kick severe ass. and i mean SEVERE ass. we already know kryptonians are super strong but diana — og wonder woman diana prince the one we all know and love — can and will go toe to toe with clark/superman.

of course that one is more yummy to me because the amazonians are literal warriors and generally just. really powerful but also sort of. feral in a way? (affectionate). and a kryptonian reader would lack that mostly because of the in universe perspective of kryptonians. that is as being seen as practical gods and generally wary of, they need to be careful not to be perceived as too feral or too dangerous otherwise people get Nervous. but with amazonians i feel it’s sort of known. what with themyscira being like. Kill men who breach our territories. you know. it’s like yeah yeah yeah we all know about the slightly homicidal amazonians but wow get a load of these aliens! so dangerous!

(which is true but i stand by my thought that the speedsters are the most dangerous because they could effectively eliminate the justice league quickly without even a second for retaliation but that’s. uh. not related to this…)

anyway. i don’t have much in terms of anything else. maybe an assassination attempt. kidnapping. sorry miyuki but how else should we get the full might of the justice league on your behalf????? with the reader leading it and a little bit feral too come ON

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Watching Paint Dry | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.7k

✦ request — i was wondering if u could make a damian x reader where they have been best friends since they were kids and once they're older (let's say 17/18) damian starts to realize reader is really attractive, and notices other people see it too, and he doesn't know what's going on because he's seeing them in a different light for the first time & Is it possible to soon write a Damian x reader jealously?

✦ warnings — some angst, jealousy, pettiness, fluff.

════════════════════════

“You’re more quiet than usual.”

Damian looked your way at the worry in your voice. There was something different about you, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

Had you cut your hair?

He doubted it, you hadn’t told him you would. You always told him when you would do or change something, impulsive decisions included.

“I have nothing interesting to say.”

You frowned. That was a lie, the biggest lie he had ever uttered. He didn’t believe it, so why would you?

“What?” he encouraged you to say what you were thinking.

“Nothing.” You steered your gaze down, back to your keyboard. “Did I tell you my cousin is getting married?”

“I don’t think you did,” he said, trying to mask his confusion at the sudden change of topic.

You hummed. “Her sister didn’t take it well,” you told him, still unsure as to how to start typing your conclusion. “She’s been trying to get her boyfriend to propose, then the youngest of the two arrives one day and bam, says her girlfriend proposed and she said yes.”

“That’s a failure on her boyfriend’s part, I suppose.” Damian adapted what you called his wise tone. “Or perhaps she should accept he isn’t interested in marriage...”

You stayed silent, letting him come to terms with what he wanted to add.

“Did they talk about marriage early in the relationship?”

You huffed a laugh. “I dunno. Mom says they did, dad says they didn’t.”

“I hope they don’t get married.”

Taken aback, you snapped your head up. “You like her or something?”

He scoffed. “No.” Indignant, Damian lifted his chin and said, “This city is full of unhappy couples. We don’t need to add another one.”

“You could hope they work things out, then.”

He stared at you. You held his gaze, always so defiant yet so warm. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to stay there, to get lost in your eyes.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he asked softly, careful not to disturb anybody around you.

You shook your head. “I’m staying with Wally to finish our project. Hopefully.”

Damian’s stomach dropped. He closed his laptop. “I still can take you home, I’m staying with Jon.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Damian withdrew his phone and you did the same with yours. Wally said he was on his way to the library which you communicated to Damian.

He stood up and carried his things to another table without a word. You didn’t get the chance to ask if something was bothering him.

Wally offered you a piece of gum as he sat down. You said yes and took it to be polite, watching from afar as Damian asked for a book.

Your attention went back to Wally who didn’t remember where you had left the project off.

Jon waved at you on his way to his favorite table and you observed Damian was back, no book in sight.

Sighing, you rested your cheek on your hand as Wally explained the changes he was planning. He messed with his hair as he talked, moving it from left to right.

A thick piece of hair flopped down his face, prompting you to help him out by pushing it back.

Wally thanked you with a smile.

Damian shifted in his seat. “Does my hair look decent?”

“Yeah.” Jon tilted his head as he assessed the scale of his sketch. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Damian watched as Wally leaned in and whispered something in your ear. You covered your mouth to muffle your laugh.

He didn’t like the pressure building in his chest. What was wrong with him?

Damian elbowed Jon. “Pick everything up.”

“I’m not done.”

“I didn’t ask if you were.”

Jon turned to the side, but Damian was looking forward. Following his friend’s line of vision, he chuckled. “They look good together, don’t they?”

Damian ignored him. He knew Jon’s tricks and he wouldn’t fall for them. He stood up, leaving Jon, who didn’t have a real reason to be in the library, behind.

Damian ignored the attention from the people nearby as he stood in the space between you and Wally. “Are you done?”

You craned your neck, smiling at him. “We’re almost done. Ten minutes, yeah?”

Damian blinked rapidly. “Won’t your father have a problem with your tardiness?”

“He might,” you conceded, “yeah.”

You tilted your head, looking at Wally. “I can edit on my own.” Wally leaned forward to look at you as Damian refused to move. You added, “I’ll send you a copy and you can change anything you see fit.”

Wally didn’t answer immediately. You took time to store your supplies and laptop, knowing Damian was growing impatient.

Wally followed your lead when Jon joined you, standing at your other side.

“I’ll text you,” Wally told you as he stood up.

You nodded. “Thank you, Wally.”

Damian zippered your backpack for you, desperate to leave already. You shook your head playfully and stood up.

Wally smiled at you on his way out. You waved at him goodbye.

“He likes you,” Jon teased you.

Your cheeks grew warm. “You think so?”

Damian frowned. “Do you like him?”

“He’s cute,” you said honestly. “And nice.”

Jon wiggled his eyebrows, yet made no other comment.

Damian drove you home. In silence. You were starting to get worried, but everybody had bad days and with everything Damian had on his shoulders, he deserved a day to be grumpy and sulk.

You thanked him, reminding him to text you when he was home. He tutted like he often did and waited for you to get inside your house.

Damian didn’t have a problem with you having other friends, but it was different with Wally. He wouldn’t say anything, though, he didn’t have to when your project was over and you had no reason to spend more time with him.

Or so Damian thought. Then one Saturday afternoon he randomly checked Instagram and a photo of you and Wally appeared on his feed.

Was that a date? You hadn’t mentioned anything about a date or about seeing Wally again.

He locked his phone as Richard entered the family room. His big smile made him frown. Damian knew his brother was smiling at him in greeting, being nice or whatever — but nice was a word he was starting to despise.

“Richard,” he called for his brother.

Dick sat opposite to the reading chair Damian was occupying. “Mmmh?”

“Am I...” Damian briefly drummed his fingers against the book on his lap, trying to find the right words. He didn’t want to sound stupid. “Not nice?”

Dick stuttered. “Where is this coming from?”

Damian shrugged.

“You’re nice when you want to be.” Dick warmly smiled at Damian, but the youngest didn’t react positively. Damian was frowning now. “That’s not what you wanted to hear...”

“It’s fine.”

“Talk to me.”

“I was just curious.”

He felt like he was losing to somebody he was better than. What did Wally have that he didn’t? Bad hair and an annoying voice?

He hated it. Wally wasn’t funny, and perhaps you were right and he was nice to an extent, but Damian found his niceness fake.

Nobody could be that nice all the time. Not even Jon! Damian didn’t trust him, not with you — Wally might have been adequate at some things, but he wouldn’t be adequate as your acquaintance; much less as your partner.

Air filled his lungs when your name appeared on his phone screen as you sent a text asking if he wanted to go out for a walk or maybe some coffee.

He asked where, keeping to himself the pressing question at hand: were you by yourself?

You let him pick, informing him that you were bored.

He wanted to ask if your date had bored you, but he found enough self-control in him to merely type an I’ll see you in 20.

“Where are you going?” Richard asked as Damian put his coat on.

He told his brother he was meeting you. “They’re bored,” he felt the need to explain, to flaunt that you didn’t get bored with him.

As if he had stated the obvious, Richard merely nodded and told him to be careful.

Damian and you walked in silence. A silence that bothered you. It was heavy, bestowing a bad feeling upon you.

You never minded his silences or giving him space. You could spend hours in silence in Damian’s company, so used to him that the rhythm of other people’s breathing felt wrong.

But Damian’s silences weren’t common around you. Not anymore.

You heard a parent tell their child to hurry up which prompted you to turn to the side. A little girl in a borderline comically thick yellow jacket ran, as freely as the jacket allowed her.

The cold day was the first autumn had brought. Chances of rain were up to 70% so you couldn’t blame parents for being concerned.

Damian followed your gaze, huffing a laugh. Your attention went back to him.

“You’re quiet again today.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not with me. You can’t shut up when it’s just us.” You didn’t mean to sound upset, but the look in his eyes told you the tone had slipped.

“I have a lot in my mind,” he confided. “I wonder...” He couldn’t say it, he wasn’t sure. “I wonder many things.”

You had seen him doubt himself before, many times actually, and every time was harder to find the words to assure him he was perfect.

You never used that word, neither of you believed in the existence of perfection — not in the literal sense. Calling him such a thing would be counterproductive, condescending.

And he wasn’t perfect, he had flaws you accepted and qualities that made your stomach flip.

“Is that it?” you asked meekly.

It was hard for you to believe him. His attitude didn’t read as somebody who had doubts, not now. It read as somebody who wanted to put distance between you and him.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Why would he get defensive if it was?

You had feared the day where he picked a favorite between you and Jon would come, but now that it was here, you found yourself wishing you had been either naïve or more prepared.

He could be friends with whoever he wanted, Jon was good for Damian in fact, but you knew he didn’t deserve to be the favorite. Nobody but you did.

And to think your plans for the day had been wildly different...

He said your name. “Is something the matter?”

You hated how worried he sounded. “No. You know how I get when the weather changes.”

Yeah, that had to be it. There was no way you could be upset about something you weren’t even sure was happening.

Damian continued to stare at you. You cocked your head, wondering what he was thinking.

Your phone vibrated in your coat pocket, forcing you to take your eyes off him.

You read the message you got, then dropped your phone back into the warm pocket.

“Wanna do something else?” you asked Damian.

”Am I boring you?”

What a ridiculous assumption. “Never,” you immediately answered. “Wally just texted me, wants to go to the movies so I thought you would be up for it, but...”

“I don’t know what gave you such an impression,” he blandly said. “You can go if you want.”

You walked towards the nearest bench and sat down. Damian’s eyes were on you, fiery in contrast to his tone.

He stomped towards you, surprising you. You assumed he would leave.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

You twisted on your seat to face him, pressing your body to the back of the bench. “I knew this day would come.”

“Which day?”

“The day you don’t tell me things because I’m not Jon.”

“Spoken like somebody who hasn’t replaced me with West.”

“Wally?”

He hated the way you said that name, as though West was worthy of your acknowledgment.

“Wally isn’t my best friend, he’s just fun to be around.”

Damian wanted to throw up. “He’s fun to be around, Damian.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s nice. I can be nice.”

“Nobody said otherwise.”

“Funny how you say that and yet you spend more time with him than with me.”

“A—are you...” Shaking your head, you stood up. “You think I’m replacing you with Wally?”

The movement of his head was light as he nodded, almost unnoticeable, but you caught it.

“I wouldn’t change you for anybody. Or anything.”

He just sat there, staring at you. Did he not believe you?

“I asked you out earlier,” you mumbled.

“No, you didn’t.”

“It’s fucking cold out here,” you reminded him. “So I thought you would read between the lines that I was asking you to spend time with me even though I could have been comfy in my bed.”

“You said you were bored.”

‘I’m bored’ was code for ‘I miss you’ but you were too scared to tell him that. He didn’t like clingy people, you didn’t either, yet you found yourself wanting to be around him more and more as you grew up.

“Part of me expected you to ask if it was a date but you only asked for a place to go.”

“Why would you...” He inhaled deeply. “You know I’m not good at these things.”

“But you know me.”

“You were out with West earlier, what was I supposed to think?”

You woke up at noon after staying up late binge-watching a TV show, took a shower, and texted him because you missed him.

“The photo isn’t from today. And if you had swiped, you would have seen photos where you appear. I uploaded them randomly, in the order they appeared on my phone from newest to oldest.”

It was a photo dump, the caption said so. It had to, you remembered typing just that, no emoji or anything that suggested something was going on between you and Wally.

“I wasn’t tagged,” he defended himself.

“I didn’t tag anybody.”

You showed him the post, every single photo. He looked better than any of your other friends, as if the camera just knew how to capture him. Or maybe you did.

“So you don’t like him?”

You shook your head. “Not in that way.” With a sad smile, you admitted, “Maybe I should.”

Damian didn’t take it well. “He isn’t right for you.”

“And who is?” You wanted him to say he was more than anything you had ever wanted.

He only stared at you, as though the answer was obvious. And it was, deep within you, the answer had always been the same.

“Seeing you in a different light...” You avoided his eyes. “It’s scary.”

“Tell me about it,” he sighed. Standing up, he inquired, “So you never went out with him?”

“No,” you reassured him. “Were you jealous?”

“Shut up.”

“No,” you defied him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me.”

He shook his head, borderline pouting.

“Dami,” you pressed.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” he admitted. “You are... attractive, everybody can see it. I don’t like that.”

“You don’t like thinking I’m attractive?”

He exhaled softly, hesitating before resting a hand on your shoulder too. “I don’t like that other people think so too.”

“At least you know how it feels.”

“It’s different. People like you for you, they like me because of my father.”

“I like you for you,” you told him. “I always have.”

People thought you to be weird when you put up with his brattiness and brashness – perhaps you were, but it was worth it in the end.

A gust of cold wind brought shivers down your entire body. Damian slipped his arm to curl around the back of your head. Slowly, he brought you close to him.

You wrapped both arms around his middle, inhaling his scent as he attempted to protect you from the cold that was getting cruder as the minutes passed.

“Is there any film you would like to see at the cinema?”

“No, not really,” you admitted through a laugh. “We should probably just find a warm place to hang out.”

“Is that what you want to do for our date?”

Oh, so it was a date now. “Do you have a better idea?”

You heard the smile in his voice as he said, “No. I can improvise if you wish.”

But you didn’t. Not this time. You could watch paint dry with him and find yourself having an amazing time.

[nat-20s]

8 for jmart?

#8- constantly cheacking their messages for words from the other

what else was I gonna do? here's some classic ol' season 3 pining babey

Hello Martin. This is Jon. I have gotten a new phone after losing my last one, please put in the new number.

It's a simple message. Straightforward, factual, and utilitarian. There is no reason that pressing send should make his heart race. There's especially no reason that the second he sends it off, he's tempted to lie on the deeply uncomfortable, likely bedbug infested motel mattress staring at his screen until he gets a response. Sure, he's sick of being overseas, and he's sick of being so isolated, and he's sick of running, but he's not...desperate for what little companionship can even be provided by words on a screen.

He does miss Martin, though. He misses Tim as well, but in a manner that's significantly more complex and knotted than the simple desire to be around him.

God, when did he start wanting to just be around Martin? He started being aware of that want when he was at Georgie's, but he has no idea when the want itself actually started. That was probably something he should examine. Technically speaking, that is something that he has time to examine, but he doesn't want to examine right now. Right now, he wants the comfort of perhaps one of the only people out there that doesn't want to kill him, or use him, or both.

Martin, whether through somehow sensing Jon's discontent from nearly 4000 miles away or, more likely, through a general dutifulness inherent to his character, only takes a few minutes to reply. Oh good! it'd been a little bit since hearing from you, we were somewhat worried. putting you in my contacts as we speak :)!

Saying that "we" were worried is almost certainly generous on Martin's part, but Jon feels no need to point that out. Instead he turns on his side and stares at the phone. He particularly focuses on the smiley face, ridiculously charmed by the fact that, despite everything, Martin hasn't lost his predilection for emojis. Two years ago, he would've rolled his eyes, maybe thought something snide about professionalism. It wouldn't have been fair, as Tim used to do the same thing and he thought nothing of it, but he wasn't fair back then. Now, he simply wonders if he can get away with sending one back.

Before he can respond, Martin sends another message. Are you actually alright? I realized I was kind of assuming that losing your phone was the only reason you were MIA, but is anything else going on?

Damn. He tends to forget how perceptive Martin can be. What, exactly, Martin had perceived in that first message, Jon couldn't be sure, but apparently there was something that tipped him off to the..eventful last week he'd had. He really, really doesn't feel like getting into all of that right now, especially not over text, so instead he replies a mostly truthful I'm fine.

Then, squinting at the screen and realizing that might come across as a dismissal, he adds, Well, other than trying not to contemplate the general sanitation practices of a motel that clearly hasn't updated it's decor since the 70s. I'm suspecting the sheets are much the same.

He doesn't know how Martin will react to the message. He can't see the face he'll make, won't know the tone of his voice. However, he likes to imagine that Martin will at least smile. Maybe he'll even give that breath of a laugh, the one that sometimes happens when Jon's being lightly acerbic and it's not directed at him. He doesn't know, but he does hope for it. Martin texts back Oof. Maybe sleep on top of the covers tonight, yeah?, and Jon thinks that he might have guessed Martin's reaction correctly.

Christ, who knew all it took was a combination of jetlag and threats to turn him into a sap. He needs to sleep. He really needs a deep, proper, uninterrupted sleep, one lasting a minimum of eight hours and ideally closer to fifteen. Checking the time, it would be a fairly reasonable time to sleep, especially with the early start he has tomorrow. He considers sending off a quick good night message, but then has the realization that as reasonable as it is for him to be asleep right now, it's just as unreasonable for Martin to be awake. Are you alright? Good lord, Martin, it's almost 4am over there. Did I wake you?

Barely 30 seconds pass before he gets back no, you're good!

A beat, then a follow up message. I've had a irregular sleep schedule since I was like 16. A lot of evening and night shifts had a lasting impact u know? Working at the institute made it a bit more consistent but it's still p rare that i sleep the same eight hours night to night.

Jon's starts to text back something sympathetic; he's had his own struggles with both in- and hyper- somnia, but his phone buzzes in his hand before he can finish it.

Sorry! That was uh probably more information than you wanted.

Well, that just won't do. Even if there wasn't a part of his brain that had recently started collecting facts about Martin like they were precious jewels instead of mostly mundane stories, he doesn't want Martin to think he can't talk to him about things outside of the standard bounds of coworkers. Not at all. We're friends, Martin, I enjoy learning about you.

His brain wants to catastrophize the second he presses send. For the first minute that Martin doesn't reply, he doesn't let it. After the second minute, he allows the minor worry to become more severe. Had it been too much? Were they friends? Jon certainly thought so, but what if Martin wasn't in the same boat? Their interactions had been entirely friendly for months now, but what if that was just Martin being polite? God, what if Martin still thought of Jon as his boss, nothing more?

Ten minutes. It takes ten minutes for Martin to finally respond, and Jon has almost called him four times to explain himself. Ten minutes, and the first response is only Oh!

Then: Cool

Well, that's not a "piss off and die", but it's not exactly comforting. Jon doesn't know how to reply, staring at the words on his screen and not entirely sure if he's fucked up or not. Fortunately, Martin's not done responding, and the next message is much, much better.

Hey uh. Feel free to say no I know it's getting late over there but. Im not getting back to sleep for the rest of the day and itd be nice to actually hear you. Would you be okay with a call?

Without a moment's hesitation, he texts back Yes!, exclamation and all, because he's become someone he barely recognizes. The phone rings just as immediately, and he feels his entire body relax at Martin's first "Hello?"

Things are difficult right now. Things have been difficult ever since the promotion that was a curse in disguise. The world is filled with monsters he barely understands. He wishes he was home despite the fact that he barely recognizes it, as filled with tension and strife as it is. There's so much to discuss, so many things they should be hammering out. But right now, the threats are not pressing. Right now, he can hear about the bad true crime documentary Martin half-watched before he got Jon's texts, and Jon can bitch about the three different "pip pip cheerio" comments he's gotten since coming over seas. Right now, and for the hour before Jon drifts off, breathing slow and deep, he can pretend that this is an ordinary phone call, in an ordinary world, between two people who simply miss each other an extraordinary amount.

[randompurplepanthergorl]

EW Mains x the Neighbors incorrect quotes because someone needs to keep the quote generator away from me lol

Yeah, this has Edd x Eduardo, Tom x Jon, Matt x Mark and Tord x Todd (My Todd, they're compatible enough) and I stuck their names in a quote generator and copy-pasted the results while tweaking some text

-

Eduardo: My future partner must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized.

Edd: *steps on Ringo's tail by accident and proceeds to drop to his knees and sob while apologizing profusely*

Eduardo: That one. I want that one.

-

Eduardo: You are the love of my life and I would do anything within reason to make you happy.

Edd: I would be happy if you ate, stayed hydrated and got a reasonable amount of sleep.

Eduardo: I said within reason, Edd. How about I murder that guy?

Edd: So murder is in reason but proper self care isn't?

Eduardo: Well, duh. What kind of question is that?

-

Jon: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Tom: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

-

Tom: Valentine’s day is just a consumerist holiday that holds no real value other than drive people insane buying heart shaped chocolates for their significant others and pos-

Jon: I wrote you a poem.

Tom, already crying: You did?

-

Jon: Hey random, what are your favorite flowers?

Tom: Peonies, why?

Jon:

Tom: Were you going to get me flowers?

Jon:

Tom:

Jon: ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᵃ ᵖᵒˢˢᶦᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ

-

Jon: Wait, what's going on? Are we all talking about how hot Tom is? Because Tom is a straight up sexual fox riding a red-hot nuclear bombshell right toward the yowza plaza in the heart of Babe City, Assachusetts, U S A. The last A just stands for more ass.

-

Mark: That was so hot, Matt.

Matt: I literally called the person who just flirted with you a degenterate dog and told them I hope they get dragged through the streets.

Mark: I'm so in love with you.

-

Matt: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out~?

Mark: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

-

Mark: I fell—

Matt: From heaven?

Mark: No, I literally fell—

Matt: In love with me the moment you saw me?

Mark: MY ARM IS BROKEN!

Matt: Okay, but do you think I'm pretty? Be honest.

-

Tord: Can I have 2 straws with that milkshake?

Todd: Aww-

Tord: With 2 straws, I can drink it double as fast!

-

Tord: Let’s watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

Todd: Okay.

Tord: And make out during the scary parts.

Todd: Th-

Todd: The scary parts.

Todd: Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

-

Todd: Sorry I’m late, I was doing things.

Tord: Hi, I’m ‘things’.

-

Tord: Do you want to know your gay name?

Todd: My... my gay name?

Tord: Yeah, it's your first name-

Todd: Haha. Very funny Tord-

Tord: *gets down on one knee* And my last name.

Todd: Oh- oh my god.

-

Todd: Are you sure Tord's even omni? They barely even looked at me.

-

Tord, wearing one of Todd's over shirts which looks like a dress on him: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Todd: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

-

Mark: *is wearing silk pants* How does this look?

Matt: Like its slips on and off really easily.

Mark:

Matt: No, I didn't mean it like that-

Tom: We know what you meant.

-

Jon: Just a minute. I need to go take out the trash.

Tom: Oh. We're going out?

Jon: Wh...

-

Edd: From now on we will be using code names.

Edd: You can address me as Eagle One.

Edd: Matt is “been there done that”.

Edd: Mark is “currently doing that”.

Edd: Jon is “it happened once in a dream”.

Edd: Tom is “if I had to pick a dude”.

Edd: And Eduardo is..

Edd: Eagle Two

Eduardo: Oh thank god.

-

Eduardo: Edd kissed me!

Jon: Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

Eduardo: It was unbelievable!

Person B: Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

Mark: Okay, we wanna hear everything. Todd, get the wine and unplug the phone. Edu, does this end well or do we need tissues?

Eduardo: Oh, it ended very well.

Jon: Do not start without me! Do not start without me!

Mark: Okay, alright, let’s hear about the kiss. Was it a soft brush against your lips or was it like a, you know, “I gotta have you now” kind of thing?

Eduardo: Well, at first it was really intense, you know? And then, oh God, and then we just sort of sunk into it.

Mark: Ohh... So, okay, was he holding you? Or was his hands on your back?

Eduardo: First they started out on my waist and then they slid up and then they were in my hair.

Todd, Mark and Jon: Ohhh.

*meanwhile*

Edd eating pizza in his, Tom, Matt and Tord's house: And, uh, and then I kissed him.

Tom: Tongue?

Edd: Yeah.

Matt and Tord: Cool.

-

Tord: My boyfriend is too tall for me to kiss them on the lips. What should I do?

Eduardo: Punch him in the stomach. Then, when he doubles over in pain, kiss him.

Matt: Tackle xem!

Tom: Dump them.

Jon: Kick them in the shin!

Edd: Jump!

Mark: Ghost him

Todd: No to all of those! Just ask me to lean down!!

-

Mark and Matt: Ah, yes. Here we have a beautiful couple...

Tom: I really care about your feelings!

Jon: I really care about YOUR feelings!

Todd and Tord: ...and then there's the disaster couple...

Eduardo: YOU NEED TO PAY MORE ATTENTION TO ME INSTEAD OF BEING AT THE HOSPITAL!

Edd: I WOULDN'T HAVE TO SPEND SO MUCH TIME AT THE HOSPITAL IF YOU STOPPED INSISTING ON FIGHTING EVERYONE WHO COMES WITHIN A FIVE FOOT RADIUS OF YOU!

-

Edd: What are you getting Mark for the holidays?

Matt: I don't know. It's kind of hard buying a gift for your husband when he already got everything he could've ever wanted when he married you. So I'm not sure yet.

Eduardo: I'm getting Mark a divorce lawyer.

-

Eduardo: Edd! I can't do this stupid math!

Edd: What’s the math problem?

Eduardo: Well, we have to add the bed, subtract the clothes divide the legs, and hope we don’t multiply~

Todd, covering Jon's ears, annoyed, while Edd smacks Eduardo upside the head: Not going to lie that was hella smooth.

-

Jon: How is the most beautiful person in the world?

Tom: *blushing* I—

Mark, butting into the conversation: Matt is perfect, thanks for asking.

-

Eduardo: I sleep with a gun under my pillow.

Matt: I sleep with a knife.

Tord: Both of you are pathetic.

Eduardo: Oh yeah? What do you sleep with?

Tord: Todd. :)

[bluejayblueskies]

For the Touches Ask Game, if you can, a little Jonmartin with Touching/9?

Thank you so much, I love your writing!!! 😭💕

touches prompt list

9 - holding hands across the table

i did a season two lunch dinner date fic! cw for mentions of paranoia/stalking and murder (in typical s2 fashion)

.

They’ve been having lunch together for two months when Martin asks, with enough stuttering that it takes Jon a moment to process his words, if Jon would like to get dinner with him.

Jon hesitates only briefly before agreeing. Between finding out about Martin’s CV and the newly delivered CCTV footage, he’s almost entirely convinced that Martin did not, in fact, murder Gertrude Robinson and that his various attempts to make sure Jon eats and sleeps and drinks tea are simply a result of Martin being… well. Being nice, he supposes. If overbearingly so.

Why Martin feels the need to coddle Jon, he doesn’t quite know. But if he’s being honest with himself, he’s… not complaining. His frequent skipping of meals often isn’t an intentional thing, born instead of his tendency to get so wrapped up in his work that hours fly by without him noticing, and while sometimes he’s irritated when his flow is interrupted by Martin’s cheery greeting, more often than not it’s… a relief. To step out of the Archives, away from the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and pretend like he isn’t working alongside a murderer.

Maybe a murderer. He… he doesn’t know. According to the CCTV footage, Tim and Sasha and Martin and Elias all have alibis. But he still can’t shake the feeling that he gets, sitting in his office or walking down the corridors or reading through statements, that something isn’t right.

That there’s something in the Archives that’s not supposed to be there.

So, it’s… nice to get outside. And as much as Tim may joke about it—or… used to joke about it, at least—Jon does, in fact, try to eat three square meals a day if he can remember to do so. Try being the operative word. He’s been… caught up in work lately, and often he glances at the clock to see that it’s well past ten and he’s accidentally skipped dinner entirely. He hadn’t thought Martin had noticed, given that the man doesn’t live in the Archives anymore and typically leaves promptly at five along with Tim and Sasha, but evidently, he was wrong.

As Jon sits across the table from Martin at the small café they’ve chosen for lunch, he has the fleeting thought that Martin’s been sneaking back and watching him work and that’s how he knows that Jon has been missing dinner. He lets himself feel it, takes a deep breath, and pushes it away with considerable effort. No, that’s not… he trusts Martin. He does. Or he… he wants to. He’s trying.

“Jon?”

“Hm?” Jon blinks up at Martin, who’s clearly waiting for a response. “Sorry, I-I didn’t catch that.”

Martin’s cheeks are dusted a rosy red. He fiddles nervously with the black ring on his finger—a bit thicker in width than Jon’s, the metal smooth and bright where it reflects the sunlight. “Is—is this Friday okay? At—at seven? I-I can, um, meet you at the Institute. U-Unless you’d like to meet there! That’s, er. That’s fine with me too.”

“The Institute is fine,” Jon says, picking at his sandwich with a frown. The bread is damp and squishes under his fingers. “Perhaps we can go somewhere a bit less… soggy.”

“R-Right, yeah. I, um. I was actually thinking… you know that new bistro o-over in Clapham? M-Maybe not, it’s, er. It’s new. But I-I heard it has good South Asian food, which, um. I know you like.”

Martin’s face is fully crimson by this point. Maybe we should sit inside next time, Jon thinks. Or at least in the shade. The sun is rather intense. Martin picks up his mug of tea and takes a long sip, staring resolutely down at the table once he’s done. Jon waits, but it appears that Martin is done rambling, so he says, “Yes, that sounds fine.” Then, because it’s polite (and not untrue): “I am… looking forward to it.”

“O-Oh? Oh!” Martin looks at him, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Y-Yeah, um. M-Me too.”

We should definitely sit inside next time, Jon thinks as the back of his neck grows warm, the tips of his ears surely darkening. Good lord.

He doesn’t think the heat is responsible for the way Martin’s smile makes something in his stomach flutter. He decides to blame that on the atrocious sandwich because… well. It’s as convenient an excuse as any.

Because Martin is just looking out for Jon’s wellbeing. This is no different than him bringing mugs of tea when Jon is recording statements or accompanying him to A&E to get stitches after Michael or inviting him to lunch in the first place. This is not, he tells his ridiculous, over-zealous, butterfly-filled stomach, a date.

Because it’s not. Martin is simply a coworker—an employee—and a friend. Who he trusts. Maybe. Probably. And thinks about sometimes when he’s unoccupied. His hands, mostly, which look very soft and very capable. His smiles as well, each one like a gift meant just for Jon. The way he carries the heavier boxes that Jon can’t quite manage and can reach the top shelves to retrieve statements without even having to clamber up onto the bottom ones.

All completely normal thoughts to be having about a friend

So, when Jon wears the soft maroon button-down on Friday that he’s been told brings out his eyes and takes care to arrange his hair into something other than the haphazard braid he’s been managing lately and digs a bottle of peach nail varnish out of the bottom of his drawer the night before to coat his fingernails with, it’s just because he feels like it. Not because this is a date. Because it’s not a date. It’s just dinner. With Martin.

Who shows up to the Institute at quarter to seven wearing a nicer jumper than usual—cable-knit and mustard yellow, looking incredibly soft to the touch—and with small black studs decorating the lobes of his ears. He smiles widely when he sees Jon, also standing outside earlier than agreed upon, and Jon almost turns around to see if someone’s behind him. But there isn’t. That smile, unfettered and full of joy—it’s… it’s for him.

Surely, Martin is just… happy to see him leaving the office while it’s still light out for once. He’s certainly chided Jon enough times for his habit of falling asleep at his desk. (Which he’s been trying to do less lately, if only because it would be easy for someone to sneak up on him while he’s unconscious and slip a knife into his back or poison his tea or shoot him three times in the chest or—)

“R-Ready to head out?” Martin says, abruptly halting Jon’s train of thought. He tries not to look like he’d just been theorizing about his own inevitable demise as he mumbles his assent and follows Martin away from the Institute and into the still-bustling streets of London.

And if he presses close to Martin’s side while they walk, well. It’s just because every brush of unfamiliar contact against him feels overwhelming, enough so to make him flinch away. And if he takes Martin’s hand for a small period of time, well. It’s just because the crowd has thickened and he doesn’t want them to get separated. And if he feels particularly warm in his jacket when Martin laughs awkwardly at his own joke and rubs at the back of his neck, well. That’s just from exertion. It is quite a far walk to the restaurant.

The bistro is lovely. Jon typically doesn’t go for places like this—tucked between two nondescript buildings with a glass front that reveals soft, intimate lighting within and flowers planted in boxes outside—but once they’re inside and seated at their table, it’s… oddly charming. Jon shrugs out of his jacket, and even though it’s the same shirt he’s been wearing all day, Martin compliments him on it with a flush. The change from frigid winter air to the warmth of the bistro brings heat to Jon’s face as well, and he rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves to just below his elbows. Martin makes a choking sound, but when Jon looks up with a frown, he has his glass of water pressed to his lips.

“Sorry,” Martin says once he’s placed the glass back on the table. “Just, um. Uh. Tickle in my throat. A-Allergies, you know.”

Martin’s face pinches in what looks like a repressed wince, and Jon tries to be reassuring. After all, Martin is taking time out of his schedule to be here with Jon, and Jon doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. His grandmother taught him proper manners, and besides, he is… rather glad to be here.

His commiseration about his own experiences with seasonal allergies turns into a mini-lecture on the species of pollen-producing plants in their area. He only realizes he’s doing it when the waiter comes by with a cheery smile and asks if they’re ready to order.

Jon’s mouth snaps shut mid-sentence. He has not even opened his menu.

“I. Um.” Jon is about to ask for more time—which he strongly dislikes doing, as he’s had the waiting staff forget more than once about his table and he’s had to go through the mortifying ordeal of hailing them down like a-a bloody taxi—when Martin tilts his own menu toward Jon and points to an item in the middle of the page.

“They have chicken karahi and naan. I, er. I heard it’s good if you’re… interested.”

Jon blinks at the menu in surprise. “That… sounds great, actually. Er, medium spice, please.”

Martin orders his own squash curry, and the waiter takes their menus when he departs, leaving the spot in front of Jon oddly empty. Jon taps his fingers on the newly barren tabletop a few times, trying and failing to remember where he’d left off in his lecture. Ultimately, he gives up, deciding that Martin isn’t going to be interested in hearing about all of that and he’s already said enough on the subject.

Then, Martin says, “So, you were saying—about the pollen?” and something in Jon’s chest squeezes, an emotion he doesn’t know the name of. Relief, maybe, as Martin’s words manage to spark his memory and he picks up his train of thought again easily enough. Yes, that’s… that’s probably it.

The first few times they’d gone to lunch, Jon had made an effort to stop himself from rambling, as he was prone to do any time someone gave him the opportunity. He’d engrossed himself in his sandwiches and rice bowls and mediocre Chinese takeaway in order to keep from launching into an explanation of the origins of said folding takeaway containers or the documentary he’d watched recently about the Zhou dynasty. And the first few lunches had been… awkward. It wasn’t because Jon thought Martin was a murderer—he doesn’t think he’d have agreed to go for lunch if he truly believed that Martin might harm him. It was just… how things like this went when Jon was involved. He knows he struggles with casual conversation, and he’s never understood the purpose or execution of ‘small talk.’ He would be perfectly content to eat and exist in silence, except all too often he feels expected to provide some sort of conversation or entertainment, upon which point the silence becomes horribly oppressive and stress-inducing.

But he also knows that talking too much can be just as bad as not talking enough. His grandmother had always told him so. So he suffered through the awkward silences for the first few days, and Martin had let him, clearly assuming that if Jon wasn’t speaking, he shouldn’t either.

Then, around their fourth or fifth lunch together, Martin had begun to ask him questions. They were casual, genuine, and so clearly targeted at Jon’s interests that Jon was convinced that Martin was somehow following him home or searching through his computer history or—or something. On their eighth lunch together, Martin asked Jon about the newest exhibit at the museum—it had been about sharks, if Jon remembers correctly—and Jon couldn’t help asking how Martin knew that he’d gone to see it. He hadn’t explicitly asked if Martin had been following him, but he’s sure the sentiment was clear in his eyes.

The tips of Martin’s cheeks had grown red, and he’d said that Jon had mentioned a few days prior that he was planning on going. All traces of fear and paranoia had left Jon’s mind then, replaced by surprise and, beneath it, something warm and bubbly. Martin had remembered.

Their conversations had gotten a lot easier after that.

Despite how Martin seems to enjoy Jon’s long-winded tangents, he… does still make an effort not to hold a completely one-sided conversation. So, a few minutes into the continuation of his pollen discussion, he finds a natural stopping point and says, “So, er. You… like being outside?”

Not the most… articulated question Jon has ever asked. But Martin doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers curl around the bottom of his water glass, his palms smudging the condensation. “Yeah, w-when I can find the time, I suppose. I-I try to go for walks around my neighborhood if I can, if it’s not too dark by the time I get home, and there’s this park in—”

Martin cuts off with a small cough. He lifts his glass and takes a long sip, while Jon sits and drums his fingers against the table and tries not to bounce his leg too noticeably. “Sorry,” Martin says as soon as the glass leaves his lips, giving Jon an apologetic smile that somehow seems… artificial. Like it’s been plastered atop another, heavier expression. “S-Something in my throat again.” He hesitates, then continues, “There’s a park in Devon that I-I like, whenever I’m in that area.”

Devon’s quite a trip away, Jon thinks but doesn’t say. Why do you go to Devon? he doesn’t say. Is that where you go on Saturdays? he doesn’t say, because—well. It’s rather embarrassing, among other things, to admit to the fact that you’ve gone through your employee’s desk calendar because you thought he might have shot an old woman three times in the chest and had plans to do the same to you. Particularly when you are having dinner with said employee.

Ugh. Probably best not to think about the fact that he is technically Martin’s boss when he’s sitting three feet away from him at a candlelit table on what, to an outside observer, might look startlingly similar to a date.

But it’s not a date. Because Martin didn’t say it was a date, and he’s just trying to care for Jon, in that… over-the-top way that he does. Jon tries to muster up some irritation at the reminder that he’s likely being coddled, just for habit’s sake, but comes up empty.

He hasn’t been truly irritated with Martin in quite some time. He… doesn’t really know when that changed. When Martin became a source of comfort, rather than of annoyance.

“Jon?” Martin says. Right. Martin is still sitting across from him.

“Right,” Jon says, trying to sound like he hasn’t been drifting off in a hundred different directions. “That sounds… nice.”

Martin’s lips curl up into a small smile. “Yeah. I-It is. It, um. It makes the trip worth it, to be able to sit on one of the benches and just… write poetry.”

Jon has read some of Martin’s poetry, though Martin doesn’t know that. Jon doesn’t like poetry. Jon liked Martin’s poetry. These are, apparently, two truths that can and do coexist.

Jon does not mean to say, “Could I hear one?” But it appears that he is weary enough and relaxed enough and distracted enough that his verbal filter has small, critical holes in it. Damn.

Martin sputters. “U-Um, well, I-I suppose… I could, I-I do have a few, er. M-Memorized, if you—you really…” He trails off uncertainly. “You’re. Um. You’re sure?”

Well. Nothing to do but lean into it, Jon supposes. “I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t sure, Martin,” he says, a bit snippier than he intends. The tips of his ears are hot, and he is deeply thankful that the dimness of the bistro hides the way they’re surely darkening.

“R-Right.” Martin clears his throat, looks down at the table. “I-I suppose I’ll just… do a short one?”

He proceeds to recite, in quiet, surprisingly stutterless lines, one of the poems that Jon already knows from the notebooks he’d left behind in the Archives. It’s… his favorite, if he were forced to pick one. But there is something different—something more—about hearing Martin speak the words aloud rather than simply reading them on a page. Martin pauses in places Jon hadn’t thought to pause, lingers on words he hadn’t thought to linger on, and adds a softness to the ends of lines and phrases that Jon finds himself enraptured by.

Logically, he knows that it’s not good poetry. He’d begrudgingly taken a poetry class during uni, had hated every minute of it, and had donated all of his books to charity shops the moment he wasn’t in need of them anymore. He’s read Dickens and Poe and Whitman—all the works that are considered great representations of their art form.

Martin’s poetry is nothing like theirs. His lines don’t follow the same rhythms; his words are clumsier, his images less profound. But still, even though Jon knows that it is technically not good poetry, he… he likes it.

He tries not to analyze that feeling too closely.

“So, um. Yeah,” Martin says after he finishes, rubbing his thumb over his ring. “I-It’s not really… great work, heh, you know, s-sorry.”

Jon is not the comforting sort. He’s been told that he’s too sharp at the edges, skin too full of spines and thorns. So he surprises himself, and probably his grandmother from beyond the grave, when he reaches across the table and takes Martin’s hand in his. It’s soft and big, the pads of Martin’s fingers lightly calloused from a past history of manual labor, and Jon thinks just for a moment how small his own hands look in Martin’s. He surprises himself even more when he says, honestly, “I enjoyed it, Martin.”

Martin blinks at him, eyes wide and owlish. His hand is rigid in Jon’s, like he’s afraid that if he moves, he’ll frighten Jon away like a skittish cat. “O-Oh.” It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Jon thinks Martin might be blushing. “Well. T-Thanks.”

Jon nods once stiffly. He does not retract his hand. At first, it’s because he doesn’t think to do so, too wrapped up in the feeling of his skin against Martin’s. Then, it’s because it’s been long enough that doing so would be more awkward than keeping his hand there. He asks Martin about the inspiration behind the poem, for want of another conversation topic, and Martin talks about the trip he took to the countryside once and how it stuck with him, and Jon’s hand remains atop Martin’s. Martin takes a drink from his glass, and Jon takes a drink from his, but both of them use their free hands, as if in unspoken agreement that this is just how things are now. Jon’s hand is resting atop Martin’s and it will be until he has just cause to move it and that is just the way of the universe. Nothing to be done about it.

Their food comes, and looking extremely regretful about the fact, Martin extracts his hand from underneath Jon’s and reaches for his fork. They don’t mention the loss, and it’s quiet for a period of time while Jon eats his chicken karahi and Martin eats his squash curry and Jon tries not to openly moan at how good the food is.

Something must show on his face, because Martin smiles warmly at him and says, “Well? Was that Yelp reviewer correct when they said that the chicken karahi is ‘literally the best food they’ve ever eaten in their entire life’?”

Jon swallows a bite of admittedly very good chicken. “Well. I don’t know that I would quite go to that extreme, but it is rather enjoyable.” Reminds me of the way my grandmother used to make it, he doesn’t say. That feels like a date conversation, and this isn’t a date.

(It feels very much like a date.)

(It isn’t a date.)

“Good,” Martin says. Then, he smiles, wide and unabashed and like a ray of sunlight, and Jon quickly buries himself in his food again so he doesn’t say something foolish like I really like it when you smile at me like that or Is this a date? or I would very much like this to be a date.

They finish eating, and the waiter takes away their plates with the promise of bringing the check soon. Jon’s hands rest on the table, index finger fiddling with the edge of the cloth placemat in front of him. He’s in the middle of trying to convince himself that yes, it would be ridiculous to take Martin’s hand again, you should definitely not do that on this very much not-a-date, when Martin reaches out and takes Jon’s hand in his. Properly takes it, pressing their palms together and slotting his fingers easily between Jon’s and knocking their rings together as he squeezes gently.

“Um,” Jon says eloquently. He should very much not ask if this is a date. “What are you doing?”

Nope, that’s worse. That’s definitely worse.

“Oh!” Martin lets go of Jon’s hand immediately, and Jon does not try to chase Martin’s hand as it retracts, thank you very much. He’s more dignified than that. “S-Sorry, I thought… I, um. Never mind. I-I shouldn’t have… sorry. Again.”

“It’s fine,” Jon finds himself saying. Then, in an effort to do damage control: “I… didn’t mind.”

“You… didn’t?” Martin seems confused, which is understandable. If Georgie were here, she’d tell him that he’s giving, quote, ‘mixed signals.’ He’d never quite understood what counts as ‘mixed signals,’ and he doesn’t know that he ever will.

“I did not,” Jon confirms. “I just… I suppose I…”

He should not ask if this is a date. He really, really shouldn’t.

“Is this a-a date?”

It appears he’s found another one of the holes in his verbal filter. Lovely.

Martin’s eyes grow impossibly wider. He makes a series of sputtering sounds as Jon waits and tries not to bounce a hole through the floor with the heel of his foot. “You—you didn’t…” Martin seems to have a miniature internal debate with himself, his face cycling through a dozen different expressions over the next few seconds. Finally, he sighs and says, eyes fixated on the table between them, “I had… intended it to be. Though I suppose if—if you didn’t know it was a date, that. Um. Kind of defeats the purpose.”

“Does it?” Jon’s mouth says without his permission.

“I-I mean… you can’t really have a one-sided date,” Martin says with an awkward laugh. The waiter is nowhere to be seen, which Jon is grateful for and disheartened by in equal measure. This situation would certainly be easier with a convenient escape.

“I… suppose.” Jon worries at the edge of the placemat, pulling on a loose thread. “Though, it’s… if this were a date—or, I suppose, if I-I’d known it was meant to be a date—I… wouldn’t have acted much differently.” He pulls harder at the thread, feeling a bit bad for the way the fabric bunches around it. “I… would not have been… that is to say, I would have liked it if�� rather, to say that I didn’t think about it would be, er… well, incorrect.”

Martin stares at him, clearly unable to make sense of Jon’s admittedly disjointed, half-finished sentences. Jon sighs and says, under his breath, “I am not opposed to considering tonight a date.”

Martin’s cheeks are red enough now that Jon can see the flush, even in the dim light. “U-Um. What?”

“I am not opposed,” Jon repeats, louder, “to considering tonight a date.” Lord, that’s mortifying to say out loud. How do people do this? To emphasize his point, he sticks his hand out, palm-up on the table. It’s stiff and awkward and he probably looks like a cat with its hackles raised. He focuses on the cable knit of Martin’s jumper so he doesn’t have to see whatever amused or mocking or disappointed expression is on Martin’s face as he realizes just how bad Jon is at all of this.

Martin is quiet for a moment. Then, just as Jon is about to pull his hand away and flee for the exit, he feels a touch against his palm. Martin’s hand settles tentatively atop his—not weaving their fingers together, not even properly holding it, just… pressing together, palm to palm. Jon can feel Martin’s heartbeat faintly against the tips of his fingers where they press against the inside of Martin’s wrist. “Okay,” Martin says softly, like Jon has just given him a precious gift. “Then it’s a date.”

It’s a date. Jon’s skin has absolutely no reason to prickle at those words, nor does his stomach have any reason to squeeze and sprout butterflies. He nods, a bit brusquely, and opens his mouth to say something—god knows what—when the waiter appears next to their table, somehow having both comically bad and impossibly good timing.

Martin pays, despite Jon’s insistence that he can cover his own share, and then they’re back out in the cool night air, making their way toward the tube station. The first few minutes are quiet. There’s a tension between them that feels more anticipatory than awkward. Their hands brush once, twice. Then, on the third time, Martin hooks his fingers around Jon’s and clasps his hand in his, and Jon lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

They hold hands all the way to the tube station, up until they have to part ways to take separate lines. Jon runs through all the things that he thinks he’s supposed to say in a situation like this—I had fun tonight or We should do this again sometime or… something—but ends up saying instead, “How long have you…?”

He trails off, squeezing Martin’s hand a few times thoughtlessly, like a warm, bony stress ball. Martin seems to infer the rest of his question, however, because he squeezes Jon’s hand in return and says, “It’s… new for me too, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jon nods and squeezes Martin’s hand again. He thinks that’s going to become quite a habit if they keep this up. “Right.”

Martin hesitates, before letting his grip on Jon’s hand loosen slightly. “We… we don’t have to do this again if you don’t want to. I-I know things are complicated right now, and I…” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to do this again, for… for what it’s worth. But I get it. If you don’t, that is. For—for any reason.”

“I do,” Jon says, surprising himself with his conviction. “I-I don’t… you’re right. Things are… complicated.” That’s certainly a word for it. “But I… I trust you, Martin. O-Or… I want to trust you.” He takes a deep breath. “I am making the decision to trust you.” It’s hard and it’s terrifying and there’s an animal instinct deep within Jon that’s telling him not to expose his vulnerable side, but… somehow, despite all of that, Martin makes him feel… well. Not safe, but as close to safe as he can get right now. Which is an accomplishment in its own right.

Martin exhales slowly and gives Jon a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you. I-I know that’s difficult, and I…” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand, just once. “I-I’m happy.”

And Jon finds that he means it when he says softly, “I’m happy too.”

Martin gets on his train, and Jon gets on his. And despite the ever-present itching beneath his skin and the persistent belief that something isn’t right and the knowledge that he is likely a hunted man, from the moment he lets go of Martin’s hand to the moment he closes his eyes and curls onto his side in bed, that happiness remains.

[batarangsoundsdumb]

yet another ask dump yeehaw!

do you ever think that jay's mother was one of those bitch who believes in horoscope and tarots and things like that and so he believes in these things too, or it is just me projecting?

sheila haywood took one look at jason's birthchart said 'nah this won't do' and left.

Wait, but what happens when the justice league does find out that Bruce and John fucked? Lmao it sounds like it would be hilarious, really, I don’t want a justice league that doesn’t make fun of Bruce for like his entire life.

barry runs out of the meeting immediately and comes back with an entire sti testing kit. diana fully seriously wants bruce to get tested while bruce is sitting there like 'come on guys, you're being ridiculous, i already checked twice'

john is standing in the corner clearly offended while bruce is just like 'don't even say anything, constantine, you fucked a shark'

tim was like "i'm drake now" and everyone was like ahh so your fursona is a dragon and tim was like pffffft no. ducks.

on the one hand, good for him, on the other hand, bro, how do you still have a secret identity when your superhero name is just your last name,,,,

Your fic on ao3 was GOLD PLEASE CONTINUE I loved Dinah's cameo btw ( @purple-vixen

thanks so much! i already continued but this ask is like 10 years old because i'm a notorious procrastinator (also yes! i love dinah so much aahhhhhhhhhhhh)

I've FINALLY been watching the Batman animated series and I gotta say, after watching "the gray ghost" I am CONVINCED that Batman is a closeted super hero geek who was 100% freaking out the first time he met Superman and is just REALLY good at hiding it.

bruce internally: holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit bruce externally: get out of my city, alien

AHHH ur multimedia fic is the only thing that brings me happiness anymore continue it forever pls

uhh thanks, but can't continue it forever because my attention span is that of a toddler on crack on a good day and i can't function without at least 10 things going on at the same time and music in the background

Oi, so I'm getting into dc and watching batman the animated series, and they use fruitcake a lot. Which I thought was very funny and wanted to share w you - Denilla

wait like fruitcake (food) or fruitcake (derogatory) ?

young justice 🤝 teen titans slut shaming batman

tim drake and dick grayson to their respective teams 'you guys stop it, that's my dad'

Happyhoganon: If an eighty year old Batman had fought crime in Gotham City for decades and the only threats to him and the city lately are a wheel chair bounded Penguin, your usual purse snatchers and a few con artists popping up every now and then, how well could the Dark Knight do in maintaining the peace in Gotham despite him being just somewhat fit to do that as an elderly man (which says A LOT given how old he is)

uhh he'll probably do what my grandpa does and that is ruthlessly prank them until they die of shame.

in the death in the family interactive movie there's an ending where Jason is tasked with raising Damian and he decides he's gonna raise Damian to take down the waynes and al ghuls which uh maybe isn't great BUT the idea of Jason raising Damian... PRICELESS. CHAOTIC. I just need more people to know about this :)

yes i saw that wow holy shit but jason would accidentally drop damian on his head one (1) hour in and jason just yeets him into the lazarus pit.

Headcanon: The Penguin has a really hard time fighting any of the Robins because of his avian obsession means there's always a small part of his mind that's like "Birb. Child. Protect" ( @subspacecadet )

as soon as dick becomes nightwing the penguin is like 'you know what, fuck this dude' and shoots at him.

Y'all talking about King Shark dating Constantine, let's not forget about John literally hooking up with Satan

listen there's a clear difference between monsterfucker and satanfucker in that king shark is literally a shark and satan still looks like a normal dude

Does everyone in Gotham think Batman is a teen dad?

everyone in gotham thinks batman has been around since gotham was founded, but they do think that bruce wayne is actually a teen father and dick grayson's biological dad.

why. why would you do that fancast when you know it will only hurt people

what? i loved my fancast it was really well done. i did it with good representation in mind and i really managed that with alfred pennyworth being ✨italian✨

Seeing james charles a jason gave me psychic damage how dare you i need to wash my eyes

well that's a you problem isn't it?

do you think dick grayson thirst tweets about nightwing just to annoy his family/cause problems on purpose in general?

he thinks nightwing is hot, next question.

holy jiminy cricket batman, its as cold as the good lords ass crack in here!!

i- what? this is why i don't fuck with english expressions it's way too goddamn weird

Brooooooo, your teen dad!Bruce au is soooo good. I've got brainrot.

Honestly if you ever write anymore, I'd read that shit twice. Sign me the fuck up. Good stuff, Good Stuff.

uh yeah i'm thinking about writing a fic, but i have exams coming up and i don't wanna fail because that would suck. but after i'll certainly be writing more tho

your teen dad AU is so great! bruce acting like a big brother for all of like a week before he's telling everyone about his son. what if in the AU dick meets the JL because they need to rescue him? maybe he's in trouble/kidnapped at a gala and bruce starts calling for JL. clark finds him and has to fly with dick to bring him home - that's how dick and clark meet and superman becomes dick's fave hero. he goes around the manor thinking he can fly with a red blanket draped around him like a cape.

actually- if you want a young dad! bruce fic with like that kinda stuff(just with damian) go check uhh- in for a penny by cdelphiki. it's really good and bruce is like 24/25-ish. (and dick's there!!!)

This account has solely convinced me that Tim is a trash goblin ( @hamilcat-and-magic-turtle )

because he is. that boy has slept in dumpsters on multiple occasions even if he is the son of a billionaire.

Okay but when you said victory dance I did think of the whole justice league defeating the big bad and then they all start flossing

well that's exactly what hal jordan does and that's why batman uses a gun now. no but the victory dance in my opinion is like the 'we're all in this together' dance from high school musical.

The horrors in Invincible s1 was nothing compared to the comics, I cant wait for s2

oh well okay, i mean i personally react to horror and violence by laughing awkwardly so i can't wait to be called a monster for accidentally laughing at a mass murder.

I'm currently watching Batman: The Brave and The Bold and- Bruce is just talking about Oliver like he's an old love (@nightwings-kid)

okay im going to watch that lmao that's totally and completely in character for him tho.

The invincible comic is like super gratuitous with its violence so much so I'm shocked the show was able to adapt it in a faithful way! Anyway had the show been live action it absolutely wouldn't have the same impact as it does as an animated show and I'm so glad so many people agree with me on that

also because a live action casting would've been like uhh amanda stenberg for amber, the dude- the guy from the supernatural but with a mustache for omni-man, and scarlet johanssen for debbie grayson

Debbie grayson is a milf, yes. You're welcome for the invincible propoganda, now you can questions your life. Bruce def seems like the perfect father next to Omni-man. Like they really took a rip off justice league and I was like well, now I'm attached even tho I was like hah I know who they're supposed to be. And then bam- death gore death gore gore gore sad Mark grayson just had to have daddy issues. Why does every character have daddy issues. I'm sick of the attacks

because daddy issues make a person arguably funnier, that's why i'm not even remotely funny (haha good dad flex). i liked that it was dark contextually, but not in the colouring, bc i hate when it's like 'uh yeah graphic murder and now a shot so dark you have to sit in a dark room and squint at the screen to faintly see the characters. (like dcau ugh)

About the Wayne insurance, for a moment I thought you would put the video with moans over the waves.

i mean- i could've done that, but rick rolling seemed more family friendly.

Its the first time in forever that im surpise rickrolled, i usually expect it. Congratulations (i really should know better this is tumblr)

i get rickrolled so often but i actually like the song so i dont really give a fuck

Actually, my information about Damian and John's kids is outdated because it was revealed that the old men telling the kids stories about the Supersons were actually Jon and Damian the whole time. I was blinded by my thirst for Grandpa!Bruce Wayne but I was wrong... I liked my version better, tbh (@artemisa97)

fair enough. but i'd honestly like to see damian and jon getting together, just because it's a really fun dynamic and their friendship was really cute when they were kids. (also idk maybe it would be nice to have one (1) main batfam/superfam character that's not cishet)

How am i JUST finding your blog skdskfkd you're so fucking funny and ur takes are hot

i thought u were calling me hot :( but youre not :( crime detected (but lmao thanks)

So I have depression and I swear that your memes are one of the few things that have made me laugh so thank you 💛🥺 (@katekanebadass)

aw you're welcome, and i hope you're doing okay!

The metropolis memes are so funny, I love them 💀😌

i think metropolis is also so fucking funny it deserves more attention imagine having your entire police force being upstaged by an alien from kansas and his kids

as an american i feel your complete lack of knowledge of us geography is just so sexy (platonic) ❤️

thanks so much (i also don't know any other geography, i'm not kidding, like you can tell me you're from hungary and it will just blank, there will be nothing that comes to mind)

In the DC universe they don't say "Can't have shit in Detroit" they say "Can't have shit in Gotham"

this just reminds me of that guy whose porch got stolen like the steps to his door, and i'm thinking of people living in gotham and waking up without a front door and going "can't have shit in gotham"

honestly all i know about chicago is the bean, so. what would gotham's famous sculpture be?

gigantic gargoyle statue in front of one of the police precincts because a villain thought it was a smart way to keep the police inside, but it's too heavy to move.

why tf do people go on about how batman "works alone" or how he's the "lone wolf" when he like 38290202 members in his family

bc people think it's cool that a grown man in his 30s has no friends or family instead of calling it what it is (sad)

Bruce is gotham's sugar daddy

why would say something so controversial yet so brave.

my favorite batfamily fanfictions are the ones where they use their shitty codenames, unironically, in any context

dick: gerard way are you in position, gerard way are you in position

tim: for the last fucking time, my codename is 'totally not count olaf' this week, abbafan 3000

dick: shut up my codename isn't 'abbafan 3000'

dick: it's 'abbafan number 1' and you know it

I have a feeling Tim drake is ur favourite batfamily member but okay u don't have favs if u say so ok

i mean he is, i won't deny it. but i love each and every one of the batfam just the same, i just have a weak spot for short dumbass nerds, because i'm a short dumbass nerd.

Omg i fuckin love boy meets world too fam shsjkfk

bro boy meets world was the shit!!! it was just fire and awesome and so fucking great like bro. it was so good im not even going to be accepting criticism

you know I find the whole "joker completes batman" thing a bit disgusting considering the horrendous stuff the batfamily went through because of the joker and let's not get started on the "joker has a point" thing like yeah he's this cool complex villain but he's absolutely batshit crazy

like yes! i get what you mean the joker just fucking sucks man he doesn't do shit for batman's character or the batfam he's literally just annoying as fuck. like the joker has a point' shit is so stupid. i will accept 'magneto was right' because he fucking was and i think he didn't do anything wrong, but joker? he's just like that. he's not even cool and complex he's just a weirdo with a bleach kink at this point.

ALSO YOUR RACISM POST- SO TRUE BESTIE

thanks bestie, i'm glad you agree.

in today's essay of why I think cass should become batman- I was thinking Tim would probably be the most efficient batman in many ways but I also think he wouldn't want to be batman tbh none of the batfamily members would want to be batman because they're trying to outgrow him but cass is the one who wants to represent the symbol that is batman

absofuckinglutely i will say it again and again that cass represents the batsymbol more than anyone in the batfam, in batgirl (2000) she literally didn't care about anything else than bruce's oath to not kill, she thought the batsymbol was more important than anything in gotham. she's just an excellent character because her motivation to not kill is not 'i'm scared i can't come back from it' or 'well my dad says no murder so i'll go along with it' but that she's killed somebody as a young child and she never wants to kill a human ever again and that's so fucking beautiful for a new batman like yes.

need more cass, duke and tim inclusion in gothamite memes

yes yes, a tall order of cass, duke and tim coming up in 1-14 business days

oldest to youngest batfam members cus I'm confused as shit

okay order of being taken in: dick, jason, tim, cass, damian, duke order of age: alfred, bruce, dick, cass, jason, tim, duke, damian (though cass and jason are around the same age general consensus is that cass is a little older)

I'm so confused Steph is a redhead?? like how was it that hard to get this right? the source material is literally right there and free

cw is jared, 19

do you receive anon hate? if so, how do you deal with it

uh no, i'm not remotely popular enough to get anon hate and i also don't say a lot of things that would attract anon hate, but i do send anon hate to @the-real-peter-parker because he forgot about the specialists from winx club

Wait how many languages do you speak??

uhh- 5 if you include latin, but that's a dead language and i'm really bad at it. but english, my native language, german, and french also, tho german and french not fluently.

You can mix aguaepanela with aguardiente 😈 and is tasty

okay but now i'm curious if the liquor deserves the 😈 emoji or if that's a you problem. but i googled it and it looks like something you'd take one sip of and then not remember the rest of your evening.

[friggsdc]

Title: little delinquent pt ii

part i | part ii | part iii

Warnings: Female!reader (bat!sis), mostly family fluff, AU, hurt/comfort, language

word count: 4000~

It had Bruce and Dick sharing a look for a moment before the latter spoke up, “It’s not like I’m against continuing to expand the family, but…” he eyed the child you held nervously, “please don’t start bringing home every child you find…” he tilted his head, “he’s bad enough.” Bruce settled a light glare at his first son (that definitely wasn’t what Bruce was thinking), though Dick was stilled by the way your eyes narrowed at him instead.

“His name is Terrence,” that was all you said, brushing past as they were suddenly on guard at the inherited Wayne-scowl on your face.

-

a/n:  still no jaybird lmao I’m sorry, but I brought in mamabat duke, because he’s the best at being a mamabat without smothering you like your other siblings. Steph too because she’s your sweet bean partner in crime u v u)9 For my sanity, Metropolis is in Deleware across the bay from Jersey (tho Gotham is still north of Atlantic City).

-

He wasn’t certain if he should be proud or upset at how quickly you’d turned Tim against him, the two of you now working in unison, playing ‘keep away from big papa Bruce.’ No matter when he tried to approach you, something always seemed to happen or come up, and it was actually starting to get on his nerves. Worse was Damian seemed to be joining in, his rebellious nature being nurtured by the influence of both Tim and yourself.

He knew it would be difficult to deal with you and your ability to hide anything, just like you could hide yourself, but… Now he had to deal with more than just you, and Tim wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. Oh no, this was going to be a headache with you two. And Damian… He couldn’t trust that his son wouldn’t give away anything he did to you, his loyalties giving out to the growing childish nature he was developing. Bruce was again at a loss, should he be happy Damian was acting his age, or upset that he was more interested in working with the ‘opposition?.’ 

“It’s not a mission,” Damian had commented, so it was “fair game.”

He rested his head in his hands, fingers lightly massaging his temples as his elbows supported him, propping him up on the ornate desk in his study.  Fucking hell, he had to outsmart both the tech sleuth and the stealth agent of the family. Information was literally their game. Rather than giving into the growing frustration in his stomach, he stood up, now a bat on a mission as he quickly headed down to the cave. He thanked his moody bat heart that it was just two of his kids (he wasn’t certain of Damian yet, the wild card), and not… more…

The League computers would definitely come in handy right about now.

He was gonna go full fucking vigilante detective bat mode on his kids.

Again.

He groaned.

-

[bigR] Dad took off for the League, bet you can guess why.

Flipping your personal phone closed with a light snort, you refocused your attention on buckling the toddler into the hand-me-down car seat. You’d definitely have to get him a new one on your shopping trip, you just hoped Duke’s car could fit everything…

Damian was securing his sword between him and the kid before he crawled in, closing the door and putting on his safety belt. You grinned at him as he avoided your smile, looking away instead, “hurry up.” Shaking your head, you leaned in to rub your nose against Terrence’s own, his chubby fingers coming up to grab at your face, hair, clothes, ears, and earrings ohgodstop. Having cooed at him enough, and having been assaulted by his little nails, scratches now on your chin, you leaned back and out of his reach, closing the door softly.

“Are you sure it’s okay to shirk off for the day? You’re the one usually patrolling at this time…” you headed to the passenger side, “Big guy said it was fine, besides…” Duke smiled and nodded his head towards the car with a wink, “wouldn’t want to leave you alone with a bunch of kids.” It’s not like he was wrong, but you were skilled enough to handle your brother and… son… ah… that was going to get some getting used to. A smile and spread on your face with a light laugh as you climbed in, settling, and closed the door behind you, “ready to get going?” Damian glared at you before refocusing his attention on Terrence, ignoring your obviously dumb question, “Pennyworth mentioned Todd having finally gotten back before I left.”

Duke had started up the car and checked over everything before heading down the manor drive, now officially on the road. Meanwhile, you hummed happily, “guess I’ll have to go see him when we get back.” Damian made a face, “gross.” You rolled your eyes in amusement, “you knew what my reaction was gonna be.”

The two were ridiculous in how they treated each other, honestly.

“It’s still gross.”

The ride down the ocean side drive was calming, the windows lowered to let the cool ocean breeze in. Damian was back to his “poking the toddler’s nose” game, having gotten used to the sound of a baby, and no longer acting like it wasn’t his fault when he made the toddler laugh.

Meanwhile,

“So, who made you the baby-sitter?” Duke kept his eyes on the road, the ever-responsible budding adult that he was, “Bruce, actually.” He grinned at the way you looked at him, catching sight from the corner of his eye, “surprising, I know. Woulda thunk Tim’d have asked, huh?”

Nodding, you leaned back, “well, I mean, yeah. He’s been pretty upset since the other day, he won’t leave Terrence and I alone at the manor. He’s been staying over...” You might have felt bad for lying to Duke, but the truth was that you were lying to everyone but Tim at this point. Not that it was the first time you’d lied to them. You told the truth so often that they took you at your word, never catching on when you did fib, but you were pretty certain this would blow up in your face.

They’d catch you eventually.

This wasn’t one of those easy to digest lies either, that was the complicated part. It terrified you how they’d react once they learned the truth.

Then…

Before that happened, you made the silent determination that you’d make your… son a part of the family. They won’t be able to decide anything for him then, they’d be in too deep, you’d make certain.

Yeah, you could be a little… manipulative sometimes.

Probably something you got from your father.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, sorry, nothing. My mind was just wandering,” Duke frowned a little, flipping on his blinker while coming to a slow crawl, “not believing you.”

Turning your head to him, your grin was a bit scary, “okay, so, I was just thinking about if your car can fit everything I’m going to want to buy.” It was enough to distract him, a groan finding its way out as he pulled into the ticketing line for the ferry.

“If..??”

Now, to really drive it home, you pulled something from your purse and waved it at him, “Is… is that…” he eyed it nervously. “Yes, yes it is, dear brother.” His ears burned as he turned his eyes from you, hand now outstretched in your direction.

“You’re paying the ferry, then…” he muttered.

You put your dad’s credit card on his palm,

“Rich little daddy’s girl.”

This time the snort came from the back seat, “I have one as well, Thomas. You need only ask father.”

Duke sputtered and refused to acknowledge either of you till after having crossed the Deleware Bay.

Rich kids. Honestly.

-

Metropolis always amazed you, honestly, the bright skies overhead and the amount of people without a care in the world was enviable. Still, it just wasn’t… home. By now you’d developed some serious Stockholm for the cesspit that is Gotham. Even so, you preferred to go shopping here, their selection of high-quality stores mixed with less people recognizing you, and your family, were boons.

As you stared up at the towering high rise in front of you, Damian having disappeared inside minutes before, there was one other reason for coming to Metropolis…

“You’re always so slow! I told you to hurry up!!”

“Who’s slow?! You’re the slow one!!”

“Boys, please—”

The loud sound of twin crashes echo’d out the opened lobby door, the two boys in question bounding out with plenty of energy and two very red chins. “That… looks painful…” you smiled, walking over to check Damian’s face for actual injury.

“Tt, I’m fine.” He smacked your hand away, glaring at the super next to him, rubbing his own, already healing chin. “Hey Jon, enjoying Metropolis?” The bright-eyed boy, sans cape, grinned at you from ear to ear, “There’s so much to do here!” he almost lifted off the ground in his excitement, “but I miss the farm.” A chuckle came from the entrance to the building, deep and warm and just as kind as the child now sticking his tongue out at your youngest brother. On the man’s broad shoulder was an overnight bag, and a sheepish smile on his face as if he felt guilty. 

He probably did, the two boys were a handful.

Duke was leaning against the roof of the car with a huge dopey smile on his face, waving at the man approaching, “Hello, you must be the chaperone, Duke Thomas?” your newest brother nodded enthusiastically, almost at a loss for words, “Yup! I-I mean y-yes, it’s nice to meet you, sir!” Clark only chuckled, far too used to such formalities, “Clark is fine, our families are… close, after all.” He watched the boys pull at each other’s faces in mock battle.

“Ah, Clark! It’s been a while!” the older male smiled as he stopped a few feet from you and the car, hands resting on his hips, “Miss Wayne.” Near immediately, his eyes shifted to the backseat of the car and he leaned against the door, looking in.

“Bruce has another kid? He looks like how I always imagined him to look as a kid, suspiciously innocent,” you froze, and he would have laughed at the thought of Bruce with more secret kids, but he straightened. Looking at you in concern instead, he started, “I know he’s not… the most affectionate father, but…” you quickly shook your head, attempting damage control. “It… no, he’s not dad’s…” You laughed nervously at the look on his face, his hand raising to point at you as his mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to process.

“Yup. He’s… His name is Terrence, and he’s… my… son…” your tone turned warm and kind, and your eyes settled on the babe in the car with all the grace of a mother, just like Lois when Jon had been born, the older super nodded thoughtfully. “I’m glad it’s you, then. If anyone in that family can raise a good kid, it’ll be you.” The two of you shared an understanding smile, though yours was accompanied by a twitch or two, swearing he enjoyed his little joke, before he turned his head painfully in surprise, as if an enemy had suddenly appeared.

Following his sight, you had to laugh at the dark glare on Damian’s face directed at Clark, “well, I think it’s time I take my leave, then.” He scratched the back of his head, avoiding the kid’s gaze. He wanted to inquire more about the new addition to the family, but it would have to wait. Jon gave his dad a huge hug, getting his hair ruffled in the process as Clark waved at Duke, chucking the overnight bag into the car.

With a last good-bye to you, he turned high-tail and ran, as if he were almost eager to get away. Watching him jog slowly inside the building, you almost swore his steps were far lighter than his build, “probably prefers to float…” looking away, you missed him trip.

“Alright, c’mon you two. Get in.” when you’d opened the door, the two boys stared in horror, “I’m not sitting in the middle.” Damian ground out before Jon pushed him with more force than Damian could resist, “HE’S YOUR BROTHER!!! YOU SIT IN THE MIDDLE!”

“STUPID! HE’S MY NEPHEW!”

“Still, you sit next to him…” Jon pouted, and combined with your stare, Damian crawled in with a grumble, “Stupid super.” Jon ignored him without issue, and you’d have to ask Damian about it later, curious as to why his best friend was so used to his insults like it was a common occurrence? Then he climbed in after, shutting the door behind him.

“Nerves of steel, that one,” you mumbled, getting back in the car as Duke laughed lightly, starting the car up before heading a bit further into the city. After a few minutes and a few stop lights, Duke gave in to the side-glances you kept giving him, having caught them from the corner of his own eyes, “what now?” The growing devious grin on your face had him on edge, “speaking of nerves of steel…” a shiver hit the back of his neck, “please don’t.” His begging stopped nothing, “fanboy,” but of course you would, and he did his best to pay attention to the road, “don’t make me ignore you all day.”

“I thought it was cute though? Haha, Izzy would be jealous.”

“It’s… I mean, he was…” his ears were burning, especially at the mention of Isabella’s name, and he pouted worse than Jon had.

“I know, but still. You know you’ve met him before, right?” Duke looked like he wanted to disappear in his seat, “just… in costume…” you hummed in amusement.

It didn’t take long for Duke to pull into the parking lot at one of the high-end furniture stores, resting his head on the steering wheel for a moment after parking. The two boys were already out of the car, bickering and racing into the store, “you have no taste! It’s all dark! You can’t put a baby in a depressing room!”

“YOU WANT TO BLIND HIM WITH BRIGHT COLORS!”

“YOU WANT TO SCARE HIM WITH DOOM AND GLOOM!”

The two were practically racing at this point, shoving each other back and forth, though Jon often made Damian stumble through raw strength, and Damian often made Jon trip through dirty tricks.

“Aaaaand there they go.” You were already out of the car as you said it, heading to the driver’s backside door. Duke stepped out before stilling, his face falling at the straps in your hand, outstretched towards him, “you have got to be kidding.”

“Nope, you’re the babysitter today, Papa Duke.”

He took the child carrier from you, strapping the pack on with a depressed aura of resignation, “this so doesn’t look cool.” You snickered as you transferred Terrence over to the pack on Duke’s front, “yeah, but people won’t mess with a big guy like you. Besides, I can handle Damian better than you, can you take care of our son?” you teased him.

“Yeah, I can take care of… him…” Duke eyed the child looking around at everything he could, taking in every sight with silent baby contemplation skills, thumb in his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Izzy about us,” you thought for a moment as he ignored your comments, switching tactics. Eyeing him before patting him on the shoulder, you began heading after the two boys, “when you get back, tell Izzy you think she looks like a piece of candy.”

He had a confused look as he followed after you, catching up in a speed walk, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Not only did his ears turn red, but his entire face and neck burned hot at the suggestive smile on your face, “Oh… wait, w-why out of nowhere though?!”

“You forget, I live with nothing but men. Harper’s not around often and Steph is the only female I see on a regular basis.”

“Get some friends,” he groaned.

“That’s what family is for.”

Ugh.

-

Shopping actually went a lot better than expected, and you were able to get a new car seat at the behest of Damian, “no way you’re using a hand-me-down,” he all but threatened. There were some smaller things you could easily fit into the car, a few boxes, one for a mobile, one for a few bed sets, a giant pregnancy pillow -- regardless that you weren’t pregnant, you wanted the giant horseshoe pillow. Jon was jealous of it, now wanting one of his own, as you picked up some non-essentials.

The bigger things would have to be shipped, a crib for a few months till he was big enough, small bed with side bars so he wouldn’t fall out when ready to swap out the crib. They even had a huge rocking chair! It was probably one of the most comfortable things you had ever sat in, its ability to “rock” you back and forth on its slides without losing much momentum was heaven.

And you could curl up in it.

Somewhere in all the chaos, just as expected, you’d gone and lost both the boys. Or, well, more like they lost you. Duke was still dutiful with Terrence, and he was also really amazing at looking at details and knowing what item was better than the next. Sure, you’d been taught the same skills, but you were preoccupied with Damian and Jon (until you weren’t).

“Hum… hey, I’m gonna go check out next door, okay?” Duke turned to you from the different curtains in his hand, having taken to looking at a few general things for the room; curtains, bookshelves, a desk or two.

Unlike your father and most of your family, you had far more free time to do these small things yourself, never needing to hire an assistant to do all the work. You only needed some help with moving things, of course. It was something you’d picked up from both Alfred and the Kents, the equally uneasy and comforting feeling of being humble.

“Sure, which one?”

“The clothing store, I think there’s a dedicated kid store a bit further down the mall strip, I’ll probably make my way towards that.” Duke pouted, “leaving me alone with the kids?”

“Just one.” To emphasis your point, Terrence decided to start pulling on the same curtain as Duke, though Duke swatted his hands away quickly. A one-sided glaring contest began as the kid kept his frown on Duke, not looking away.

Duke looked around ignoring him, “that’s… true…”

“Thanks Papa Duke!” you gave him a hug, burying your face in Terrence’s and pelting him with kisses, pulling back only when his laughter echoed around the three of you. Duke refused to look at you as you cooed at the child strapped to his chest, awkward, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

He snorted and went back to picking out curtains, “and don’t you forget it.”

“You have my card still, right?” He nodded, not even bothering to ask if you needed it. He knew you didn’t carry paper notes around, having seen you use your phone to pay for things physically too often.

Taking that as your cue, you turned to leave, “text if you need anything, and keep an eye out for the boys, I’ll… look, too,” and a moment later you were outside the store, stretching in the sun with a big breath of fresh air. Dang you loved Gotham, but also? Dang you loved Metropolis, too.

-

[steph] hey, herd u like

[steph] have a baby now???!

[steph] ;)))))

The buzzing of your personal phone caught your attention,

[you] tim? also, switching over for a bit.

You switched recipients,

[you] ready.

Turning the phone off and flipping it closed, you began walking in the opposite direction that Duke had been told, popping the back of the case off and pulling out the battery.

You’d asked Tim to redirect a dummy signal for your phone, keeping it within a five-foot radius of Duke for the next forty minutes or so. He’d given you the thumbs up, your telling him everything when you got back being his payment for helping.

He was very curious as to why you were breaking in to the LexCorp building.

The rather fast-paced walk (almost a light jog) to the building wasn’t that long, you’d made certain the stores you chose were close on purpose. Taking out your business phone, you opened it to another text as you started up a rather… illegal app. Your phone’d been rooted from the moment you had it, and it was hooked up to a very specific closed network.

This outing was one of the only chances you’d get, having lucked out with the more lenient Duke, as your other siblings were far more vigilant. Damian meanwhile was distracted by Jon, the two acting more like brawling siblings than best friends. Though Damian preferred the term rivals, but Jon was just happy to have a close friend he could be himself with.

[splr] he couldn’t contain himself

[splr] was vibin’ like flash lol

There were very few people who had access to this phone, and unfortunately for Tim, it was a hazard for both of you to have any kind of connection to him on your work phone. Stephanie however was one of the very few people who got to have that privilege.

[you] remind me to thank him for stealing my thundr

The family had the Bat-computer, Batman had the League’s Womb mainframe, the Robins had their Nest, and you? You had access to something older, reborn too many times, and set up and now maintained by some genius mastermind you’d never heard of. 

It was a mostly defunct information network by this point.

You’d met some really interesting people when you used to tail your father, and through repeated encounters, you’d met even more interesting uh... “friends.” Eventually you weren’t stalking your dad, instead, you were learning to do what you did best: Spy-games and recon.

And you’d impressed the wrong people.

But you didn’t mind, you liked the constant link to “their” information hubs.

[splr] lol

[splr] coffee tmrrw?

The Society’s Networks.

You knew your dad suspected some of your activities, but he never approached you about them. Probably because Batman enjoyed your access to these networks often when they were online, having come to you on multiple occasions to see if you could help with his detective work. 

You were playing double agent, compiling what you could from the chatter picked up from specific phones hooked into the closed channels. Sure, they weren’t always active and so sometimes you had to go with information from recon, but you did what you could, your bias for your bats, and birds, too strong. For your family.

[you] the same-same

[splr] c u tmrw then ;)

[splr] don’t forget the kid lol

Not that you’d ever shown him, if Batman knew what kind of information the Society had in their databases, well… you were pretty certain the world would burn. 

He once said it was best he didn’t know, something about helping to keep a balance between the good and the bad, causing both sides to stay in check.

The database’s app held all kinds of information, and as you downloaded the LexCorp building plans (sans recent modifications), you stared at the towering complex in front of you. Before you went further, you made certain the matrix encryption program was running, after all, “no reason to let anyone know I’m here.”

“Done this tons of times, can totally do this again,” but LexCorp was terrifying, Lex Luthor was terrifying, almost as much as Wayne Enterprises. Here’s to hoping your dad’s technology and Tim’s brain were smarter than anything Lex could cook up.

Besides, wasn’t he under house arrest right now?

It did nothing to calm your nerves.

“Nerves of steel, totally.”

You had to be fast.

[radiosandrecordings]

Ace fic request if ya feel: Jmart taking a bath together at Upton, w some nonsexual nudity/intimacy? Thank u!!

“Ahaha, I’ll ask for some ace fic prompts and do drabbles for it!” I said, naively. 3K words later. Thank you Gwyn for reading over this and fixing my typos because it is. now coming up to 5am because I decided to write 3K in one sitting

CWs for talk of nudity but no one ever gets full nakey. Jon also has a brief panic about not being able to protect Martin without the Eye.

Ao3 version too 

They’d probably been awake for an hour or so by the time the feeling of grime coating his skin became intolerable. 

It felt wrong, really, the juxtaposition of the soft, clean cotton under his head and the greasy knots his hair had woven itself into over the course of their journey. Like it was insulting to the pillow, the case of which, Jon guessed absently, was worth more than his entire bed back in his flat, if it was still standing.

And wasn’t that something? To have to guess that and not just be aware. As it normally was, the Beholding would inform him that that wasn’t quite true, as while the sheets on this bed were certainly nice they were more chosen for display purposes than with the intent of anyone truly sleeping in them. The house was a museum. The curators had not supposed upon the current scenario. 

The current scenario being that there were two men lying in it, half asleep, lying still and just staring at each other with an eye-watering fondness. They had spoken, when they first awoke. Got out all the words they wanted to say. The “Where are we” and the “How long were we asleep?” and the “Is it finally safe to rest?” and the “I love you so, so much.” 

Now the thing to break the silence was the sound of Martin’s stomach making its discontent known. This, of course, sent them both into peals of laughter, because when was the last time they’d felt mundane hunger? 

“Do you think they even have food here?” Martin asks, still buried up to his neck in duvet. 

“Perhaps? Salesa surely has to eat, if we do.” 

“Yeah, but Annabelle though,” Martin chews his lip in mock contemplation. “What if we go downstairs and open up all the cupboards and it’s just… Flies as far as the eye can see, all wrapped up for eating. There’s one in the fridge all done up on a platter like a Christmas ham. Cloves spiked into it and all.” 

Jon winces. “I’d really rather not picture that right now, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, course,” Martin says, looking slightly sheepish as they lapse into silence again. “Should probably go check though. Don’t exactly want to have gotten through all that just to starve. Though I’d happily let this be my death bed, honestly. Don’t think I’ve slept that well in… Ever.” 

“Mmh, now that you mention it, I’m quite peckish as well… Odd, that. Had almost forgotten what it felt like.” Jon heaves himself into a sitting position, and takes stock of the door to his left. “Probably the bathroom. Ensuite. Very nice.” 

“You want to get cleaned up before we go scavenging?” Martin asks, prying the duvet away like he’s pulling teeth. Jon feels bad that they can’t just stay in bed all day. He hadn’t been able to sleep, in the safe house, but Martin had chosen to dream. He might be biased, but Jon figures that that was probably worse. Martin seemed now to be relishing the opportunity to relax.

“I think we rather need it. Not keen to embarrass ourselves in front of our hosts a second time, so I’d rather not appear downstairs looking like something the cat dragged in.” Jon shoves the duvet away and gets, somewhat shakily, to his feet. Damn. No Beholding means the pain from- Where- The wound… His leg hurts. It means his leg hurts something fierce. He hopes he can stand in the shower. 

When he makes his way over to the door and swings it open, it turns out not to be a concern. The bathroom, in the fashion of the rest of the house, has no shower. Instead, a comically beautiful bathtub sits against the opposing wall. It’s a clawfoot, gold varnish painted over its feet where porcelain turns to antique wood. 

“You want to go first then?” Martin asks, slowly pulling the duvet around himself again. 

Jon rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’ll go on ahead. You enjoy the extra time.” 

Martin gives him a smug look and burrows down again. God, Jon really, really loves him. Which is why, when he puts his hand on the door handle to close it behind him, he freezes. 

Statement readings aside, this will be the first time Martin has been out of his sight in… However you choose to categorize the indefinite amount of time they spent roaming the hellscape. And even then, Jon had his powers. If anything threatened Martin he’d be there to help him. To save him. The Eye offers no such comfort now. Jon doesn’t want to close the door. He doesn’t want Martin out of his line of sight. Not with Annabelle here. He won't leave him alone, not now. 

“... Jon? You okay?”

Jon realises he’s been standing in the doorway for at least a minute now, hand frozen in indecision. He blinks a few times, trying to bring his eyes back into focus. He opens his mouth, and finds himself gaping slightly, looking for the words. 

Martin shifts, sitting back up again. “Jon, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

It comes out like a croak. “I- I don’t Know.”

Martin’s tone is gentle, placating, two hands gently offered out in Jon’s direction. “You don’t know what’s wrong?”

“No, I don’t Know,” he can feel tears beading at the corners of his eyes and tries to push down the lump in his throat. He’s gone this long without crying, why does he have to go and do it now, ruin the peaceful moment that he’d watch Martin lapse into like a drowning man with air. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Martin hushes, sliding out of bed and walking round from his side. He brings his arms around Jon and just lets them stay there, not pulling him against his chest in a restrictive grasp, but just laying his hands against his back, letting him know he’s there. 

Despite his best attempts, Jon lets out a hiccup. “And- And that should be a good thing. It should. I don’t want to Know. But it’s… I’ve spent so long with this constant presence at the back of my skull and now it feels… It’s raw and it’s vulnerable. Annabelle Cane could be a wall away and I’m vulnerable and that means you are too. If I’m in another room, I can’t Know if something is wrong, and more importantly, if something does go wrong I can’t save you.”

The right wrapped around to hold Jon’s left hip, Martin’s free hand has been tracing soothing patterns into his back through his shirt. It stills when Jon finishes. He takes a moment, before breathing out heavily through his nose. He leans back slightly so he can look down and match eye levels. 

“Jon,” he says, and his voice is as soft as that duvet felt. “I can’t imagine what that’s like. I’m so sorry. I thought being free of the Eye would be a good thing, I didn’t even consider how it would feel for you. I can’t promise nothing will go wrong, because… Well, our track record speaks for itself. But I can try and ease your fears.” He brushes Jon’s fringe out of the way, and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “Tub seems pretty big. How do you feel about taking a bath together?” 

Jon feels his face, flushed from tears, pale. And oh what a relief, to feel a fear so comparatively… Mundane. To not be afraid of the cosmic monstrosity in the back of your brain, or the spiders with motives that scuttle across the ceiling, or the fact that you are responsible for the suffering of billions. Oh to be afraid of… Intimacy. 

Martin must feel him tense, because the hand on his back drops away, and the one at his hip loosens its grip. “I’m sorry, if that’s too much, we can just-”

“No,” Jon cuts him off, and is surprised at his own voice. “No, I… I would like that. That sounds nice.”

He knows it’s from his earlier anxieties, but Martin must still be able to feel Jon trembling slightly under his hand, because he continues to give Jon a sceptical look. 

“Forgive me for being blunt, but you really don’t seem up for that. If that’s not in your… Intimacy wheelhouse, I get it.” 

“I’m just a little shaken, is all,” Jon says, but he knows there’s a truth to Martin’s words. He knows Martin respects him and his orientation, they’d had long discussions about it in the safe house, about boundaries and desires and how Jon wanted to spend his days glued to Martin’s side but he under no circumstances wished to have sex with him. He knows that this isn’t what that is, that Martin means it in the most innocent fashion imaginable, but there’s still something about the idea of close, physical proximity while naked that makes the hairs on his arm stand on end and his stomach churn. 

It’s not that he was bashful about it. He’d seen Martin naked before, gotten changed in the same room most mornings and evenings in the safe house, but that was just a symptom of existing in the same space, never something actively done with the intent to exhibit. It had, predictably, stirred no feelings in him. The idea of them so close while not clothed… No, that wouldn’t be happening. 

“I- Can I make one request, though?” Jon asks, tilting his no longer watery eyes up to meet Martin’s. 

“Anything,” Martin replies, no hesitation to be found. 

Jon feels his face flush again, and the rapid pooling and draining of blood from his face must be doing terrible things to his circulation. “Can- Can we keep our underwear on? Please? God, sorry, that must sound horribly childish-” 

“No, no that’s okay. Whatever you need to feel comfortable,” Martin says and his voice is not so much laced with sincerity as built from bricks of it. 

They break apart and Martin ambles through the doorway and over to the bath, turning the water on. It sputters, clearly struggling after years of disuse, but after a few seconds it flows clear. Martin waits for the brackish residue to be cleaned away before popping the plug into place.

Jon preoccupies himself with looking over the shelves. They were well stocked, likely by Salesa, as Jon has a hard time believing that plastic bottles full of opalescent purple liquid were considered period appropriate set dressing. He pops the lid open on one and is met by a strong whiff of lavender. He tucks it under his arm before swiping a shampoo and matching conditioner. 

“Find something you like?” Martin asks, leaning against the edge of the tub. Jon hums a response before joining him. The tub was filling up quickly now, almost half way full and the water is pleasantly warm when he drags his fingers through it. Jon deposits two of the bottles where they can be grabbed when needed, before taking the lavender body wash and drawing swirls into the water until a layer of foam and bubbles begin to build on the surface. 

When Jon turns back to face Martin, his fingers are twitching at the hem of his t-shirt. Whoever was responsible for transferring them from cold marble floor to warm bed had also seen to it that their shoes were removed, as well as their bags and coats, which Jon had seen folded and placed over a chair in the corner of the bedroom. They were both down to their now ripped, muddied and bloodied trousers, and two v-neck t-shirts from the same set, Jon’s of which was tucked into his jeans to disguise the fact that it was several sizes too large. What possible conclusion could be drawn from that?

Martin cleared his throat. “Do you mind, then, if I…?”

“Yes, of course, go ahead.” 

Martin pulled his shirt over his head. 

It’s not that Jon didn’t find him attractive. He did, very much so, just in the romantic sense. So seeing Martin shirtless was similar to seeing him in a particularly flattering outfit. It didn’t change the way he felt about him, just intensified it. He was very handsome and Jon enjoyed getting to look at him. 

He pulls his own shirt over his head, before turning back to trail his hands through the water again, trying to gage the temperature and encourage more bubbles. When he turns back to face Martin again, he’s fiddling with his belt, eventually getting it undone and letting his trousers drop. Jon does the same. And then nothing more happens, and Jon breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not that he hadn’t trusted Martin to keep his word and not fully strip on him, it was just.. It was a relief. 

“Shall we?” Martin asks, gesturing towards the water. 

“Let’s,” Jon responds, hooking one leg over the edge before stepping fully into the bath, and letting himself sink below the water. 

He’s just about acclimated when suddenly the water is rising slightly as Martin joins him, placing himself at the other end of the tub. There’s not enough room for his legs, so he ends up with his knees close to his chest, sticking out of the water. Jon’s just about fit, stretching down to the other end of the bath and bracketing each side of Martin’s hips. 

If the bed was heaven, this is absolutely blissful. The warm water surrounds his aching joints, slowly massaging them as it laps around him. The water, just seconds earlier clean and pure, is already starting to take on a stale quality as the dirt begins to slough off of the two of them, but Jon can’t bring himself to care for relief that it’s no longer coating his skin. He thinks the lavender may have been a bad choice, because between it and the warmth he’s finding it hard not to fall asleep again. 

“This okay?” Martin asks, because he’s still worried about Jon and his comfort and that makes his heart ache with affection, that someone would care that much about him and his boundaries. 

“Far more than okay,” he responds, dragging one hand down the other arm in an attempt to get some stubborn filth off. Martin is doing the same, except he’s wisely taken a sponge from somewhere and is scrubbing at a spot on his ankle where his trouser and boot hadn’t quite met and the Buried had decided to leave a crusted circle in its wake. 

They sit in silence for quite a while, each taking care of their own needs before Jon reaches one arm out of the bath to make a swipe at the bottle of shampoo. 

“Here, let me,” Martin says, breaking the quiet. He shifts forward slightly, on instinct, before pausing and rocking back slightly. “If you want, that is. Do you?” 

“Do I what?” 

“Do you want me to do your hair? It’s just- It’s probably easier, y’know, than you trying to do it yourself.” 

“And far more romantic,” Jon adds, smiling as he leans over to press a kiss to Martin’s freshly cleaned cheek. 

“That too. Do you want to turn around?” 

Jon answers wordlessly by shifting until he’s facing away from Martin. He’s surprised, but not unpleasantly so, when Martin’s arms wrap around him and gently pull him backwards until his back is just shy of flush with Martin’s chest. It’s very intimate. It’s very nice. 

“That okay?” Martin asks again, and more than ‘I love you’, that’s a phrase Jon will never grow tired of hearing because it means Martin truly cares for his comfort. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Good,” Martin says, as he uncaps the shampoo and pours a small puddle of it into his hands. Even turned away, Jon can smell the wafts of artificial apple scenting in the stuff. 

When Martin starts to gently drag his fingers against Jon’s scalp, he can feel himself almost melt under the touch. His spine loses all tension and he lets himself fall back entirely against Martin’s chest, and it’s only the knowledge that he needs to keep still for Martin to actually do his job that stops him from turning and burrowing his face there. 

“I really hope that was a positive thing and you haven’t just fainted on me. Like, literally on me,” Martin says from behind him and this close, pressed up against him Jon can feel it reverberating in Martin’s chest. 

“Still conscious, don’t worry. That’s just… Very nice.” 

“Oh! Well… Good.” 

This continues for a few minutes, Martin slowly making his way from the scalp down to the roots of Jon’s hair, untangling it with his fingers and then repeating the process with the conditioner until his hair ran smooth under Martin’s hands. Even when Jon knows he’s long finished any actual hair care, Martin continues to run his fingers through the hair, just because. Jon loved him for it.

Eventually, both of Martin’s hands come to rest against Jon’s torso. “This okay?” 

“Yes. I don’t mind any of the touching, as long as it’s… Nowhere previously established to be out of bounds.” 

“Gotcha,” Martin says, pressing a kiss to Jon’s shoulder that makes his brain fizzle like fireworks. 

It takes Jon a minute to fully realise what Martin is doing. Two hands trace lines along his ribcage, one on each side, thumbs gently drawing and redrawing a pattern. His scars. 

Then, the hands travel upwards. Again, two lines along his chest, traced with as much tender care, and Jon’s brain has gone a little fuzzy. He’s unused to such casual touching. There is nothing hurried about it, no urgency, no purpose other than to make him feel good. To make him feel loved and cherished, and if he’s being honest, it’s working. No ulterior motive. This isn’t the lead up to anything. It just exists on it’s own as an experience he gets to have without worrying about what comes after, because he knows the answer is nothing. 

After, Martin shifts slightly, leaning forward. One hand cups Jon’s elbow, raising that arm out of the water as one by one, from shoulder to palm, Martin makes his way down pressing a soft kiss to each and every circular scar. He repeats the process with the other arm. As if to finish it off, he presses a slow, soft, close mouthed kiss to the line that stretches across the front of Jon’s neck.

He’s perfect. Martin Blackwood is perfect and Jon doesn’t know what he did to deserve… This. This quiet barrage of love, the consideration and care poured into it something Jon never thought he would be worthy of, let alone have become a reality.

Jon twists to lie sideways, pressed against Martin with his head tucked under Martin’s chin. Martin’s knees bracket his shoulders on either side and he feels safe. He is in the eye of the storm, a brief respite from the dreadful horrors that ravage the world outside their bubble, but with Martin Blackwood he is safe.

[nocteverbascio]

hi can u do “Is that my shirt?” or “You look really tired” for sansaery pls

Sansa rubs her eyes and looks at the clock. It’s 3:14am. She curses at herself because she’s got an 8am with one of the strictest TAs in the world. Perhaps the entire universe. She really needs to sleep if she’s going to make it through the hour of recitation without falling dead asleep. Jon’s fallen asleep in class with her and she’s narrowly missed the marker being thrown at him. The marker would definitely hit her. 

Ugh. She groans and pulls herself out of her chair. Half of her calculus homework isn’t even done yet. Her weakest subject that keeps her up at night, literally and figuratively. It’s not even due in the morning, but it takes her so long that getting a start on it early eases her anxiety. 

She stumbles out of her room to a bright living room. Her eyes shrink into squints at the light of the suite dorm. She winces audibly. 

“You look really tired.” 

The voice is unmistakably her roommate’s and it’s annoying. How can anyone sound so awake at 3 in the morning? 

“Why are you up so late?” Sansa groans as her eyes readjust to the light brighter than the desk lamp in her room. 

Margaery stands in the kitchenette with a glass of juice looking awake and beautiful. How in the world? She’s wearing a pantsuit, black ankle trousers and a black blazer with a crisp baby blue button up. Her immaculate brown hair is half up with waves down her back. 

“Mock trial practice,” Margaery sighs as she takes a big swig of her juice. “I didn’t think you’d be up this late.” 

Sansa groans. “It’s because of calculus.” 

“The big assignment?”

“Yeah.” Sansa moves to the fridge for something to drink. She wishes she could enjoy Margaery’s beautiful looks right now, but she’s too tired. 

Margaery moves aside before saying, “Oh, I have the last of the juice. Sorry didn’t think you were going to be up,” she apologizes, knowing that Sansa likes to drink something before bed. “The milk was expired.”

Sansa frowns at the unfortunate turn of events. She opens up the fridge anyway, wondering what else there is. “It’s okay,” she absently says. “Water isn’t a bad idea either.” 

Margaery touches Sansa’s shoulder to get her attention. “Here, take the rest. I can get some more after class tomorrow.” If Sansa wasn’t so tired, she’d refuse, feeling shy to share a drink with her roommate, but at this hour and the need to sleep trumps her shyness. 

“Thank you,” Sansa says tiredly as she takes the glass from Margaery. 

“If you need a tutor, I can ask Lancel if he has a slot open for his tutoring session,” Margaery offers. She tucks a stray hair behind Sansa’s ear. She strokes the rest of her hair tenderly. 

Sansa doesn’t fight it. In fact, this time around she revels in it. Thankful that she decided to room with the senior because she takes care of her well. “I’d appreciate that.”

Margaery smiles at the younger girl. “I’ll let him know. I have to go. We have to run the trial one more time.” She strokes Sansa’s hair once more. “Get some rest. Don’t get hit by Joffrey’s markers tomorrow.” 

Sansa nods, enjoying Margaery’s touch as she finishes the juice. Margaery gives her a small smile before leaving. It’s only when the door closes that Sansa leans back against the fridge, staring after Margaery, missing her already. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.” She says to the empty dorm. Maybe tomorrow she’ll say it to Margaery.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 46: Martin

Having Melanie definitely helps, in ways Martin hasn’t been expecting.

In the first place, having someone new in the Archives who needs to learn the ropes—never mind that they’re still basically making it up as they go in a lot of ways—gives him a new project to focus on, and one that he doesn’t have to stress about hiding from Elias. He suspects Melanie catches on a lot quicker than she lets on, and really there’s not that much to pick up on, but she plays it a bit stupid and asks a lot of questions. On Thursday, when Elias is distracted by his weekly meeting with the library staff (which goes on longer now that Diana is gone, especially since he doesn’t seem to be telling them oh, yeah, she’s been dead for at least a year and got replaced by a monster and I let it happen to torture the Archivist), she points out that if he thinks they’re spending time trying to get her up to speed, he’ll leave them alone a bit longer. Martin isn’t sure about that, but he lets it go.

Besides that, while he doesn’t want to admit it aloud, Martin likes having someone around who’s more on his level. Melanie might have a degree, but it’s what a lot of the people up in the Library would have disparagingly called a “fluff” degree, one where she didn’t have to do the same level of intense research or the same types of papers. It means that, like Martin, she doesn’t have the same precision and academic style that Sasha and Tim do to their research and notes. At the same time, she’s been running her own thing for so long that, unlike Martin (or at least unlike Martin when he started), she isn’t afraid of operating on a hunch and a load of guesswork.

She fits in well. She’s got a bit of a bite to her, but her sense of humor is close to Martin’s, and they have similar enough tastes that they can have decent discussions but differing enough tastes that they can have spirited but ultimately friendly debates. They’ve also discovered an ability to riff off of one another. Melanie even installed a little widget on her computer that keeps track of how long she and Martin can toss jokes back and forth with a straight face before one of the others begs them to stop or laughs so hard they can’t breathe. So far their record is forty-seven minutes, but it’s only been a few days.

It’s enough to keep him distracted while he’s at work, at least. Same with Tim, or so he says. And when they’re actually focusing on the research and filing and recording of statements, it’s hard to focus on anything else. The problem is that they really can’t let themselves get too deep into it and risk falling deeper into the Eye’s thrall, so they have to pace themselves. Martin’s pretty sure it’s harder for him than it is for Tim, at least at first, but when he sees Tim’s hands shaking as he tries to resist picking up a statement, he reevaluates that a bit.

Weirdly, it’s harder to resist without Sasha there—she takes Jon Prime’s suggestion and skips out for the rest of the week—which tells Martin she’s absorbing a lot of the Beholder’s power. He ends up enlisting Melanie to make sure he and Tim don’t take work home on Friday. She practically frog-marches them down the block, then hugs them both and tells them to take care before peeling off to do whatever it is she’s planning to do for the weekend.

The weekend is the hardest part. Martin and Tim try to distract themselves, and each other, but so much of what they do reminds them that Jon isn’t there and they haven’t heard from him, except occasional texts. In sheer desperation, they collect Charlie—who misses Jon almost as much as they do—and take him to the London Zoo on Saturday. It takes a little bit for all of them to relax, but soon they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and eagerly talking about the animals and exploring the exhibits. Martin’s phone isn’t going to have enough space for all the pictures he’s taking, but he decides it’s worth it.

“You have a lovely family,” a zoo worker tells Martin with a grin as he’s snapping a photo of Tim lifting Charlie up so he can high-five a monkey through the glass of the enclosure, and Martin thanks him for the compliment without thinking twice about it. It’s not until they’re halfway home, Charlie worn out from excitement and exertion and sound asleep against Tim’s shoulder, that it catches up to him and he realizes that people they encounter out in public lump them together as a family—that people weren’t seeing him and Tim as babysitters or even uncles, but as a couple and Charlie’s fathers.

What surprises him is that he doesn’t start panicking over it. He just thinks well, that’s a thing and moves on.

Sunday they take Charlie to the St. Patrick’s Day parade; none of them have any interest in it, it’s just something to do to keep their minds occupied. Tim gets into a chat with a woman whose son is a little bit older than Charlie and seems thoughtful afterward, but won’t say anything. He’s a lot clingier that night, though, not that Martin minds.

Sasha’s back on Monday, seeming none the worse for the wear, and they settle into the usual business of things. Tim and Sasha do their usual weekly lunch; when they get back, Melanie offers to buy Martin lunch and they end up talking about the weekend. It turns out she was at the parade herself, with Georgie, and they have a decent laugh about not having run into each other. She’s curious about Charlie, though, and Martin ends up showing her the pictures he took over the weekend.

“So when are you going to adopt this kid?” Melanie asks as they head back to the Institute. It’s the first day of spring, but you wouldn’t know it from the grey and gloomy weather. It’s also started raining—shocker—and they’re huddled into their jackets with the hoods pulled up because both of them are too stubborn to carry umbrellas unless it’s pouring buckets. “I mean, you said he’s an orphan, and his grandmother doesn’t seem to care much about him. And it’s obvious he adores you all. Could do worse than having the three of you as dads.”

Martin nearly misses his step, but manages to recover. “It’s not really something we’ve talked about. But…hypothetically, if we were going to try and convince Mrs. Calloway to let us take him off her hands, we’d probably want to wait until after we’re sure it’s safe, you know? He’s a little kid. He doesn’t need to be mixed up in…all of this.”

“Fair. Meanwhile, you can just keep spoiling the hell out of him and rescuing him when you can.”

“That’s the plan.” Martin holds the Archives door open for her.

Elias is unusually present all afternoon, which puts all of them on edge. It’s not until they’re home and making dinner that Tim says quietly to Martin, “I think something’s wrong with Jon.”

Fear lances through Martin’s chest. “What makes you think that?”

Tim shrugs and hands him the lettuce. “We haven’t really heard from him since he left, except in texts. Sasha says he got in touch with her over the weekend and asked her to look into something for him—apparently Gertrude got arrested while she was in America—and she said he sounded kind of off. And now Elias is lurking about? I don’t doubt for a minute that something’s gone wrong and Elias is trying to either make things worse or find out if we know.”

“Surprised he didn’t say anything,” Martin mutters. He bites his lower lip hard enough that he feels it split and forces himself to stop. “U-unless, unless he was trying to see whether or not we could See across the ocean or whatever.”

“I’d like to think we would. Know if he was in danger, I mean. But…God. We didn’t know he’d been kidnapped or threatened or any of it. Anything could be happening and we’re not there to help.” Tim’s voice breaks on the last words.

“He’ll be okay,” Martin says, less because he actually believes it and more because he needs to believe it. “He promised.”

“Yeah.” Tim leans into Martin for a minute, then goes back to cooking.

Somehow they make it through dinner, and a couple games of backgammon after, but Martin can tell they’re both still tense and he’s already resigning himself to a restless night for both of them as they start to settle in. Melanie’s going to give them hell in the morning, he can feel it…

As the thought passes through his mind, his phone rings. A phone call this late at night is never good news, and Martin’s anxiety goes into overdrive. Something’s happened to Jon, or to Charlie, or to Sasha or Melanie…or else it’s the home calling about his mum.

He grabs for the phone and answers without looking at the display. “Hello?”

“Martin?”

Just his name, but the soft draw of the first syllable is as familiar to Martin as his own heartbeat, and he sits up straighter. “Jon? Jon, are—h-hang on.” He makes eye contact with Tim, whose head jerked up as Martin said Jon’s name, and fumbles with the phone for a minute before activating the speaker button and holding it out in front of him. “Can you still hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you just fine.” Jon’s voice is a little tinny but perfectly clear.

Tim gives a near-silent sigh and sinks down onto the side of the bed next to Martin. “Jon, thank God. We were starting to worry about you.”

“Tim?” Jon’s sigh is far more audible. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—i-it’s been a rough week. How—is everything all right with you?”

“We’re fine. No problems.” Martin puts the arm not occupied with his phone around Tim’s shoulders, and Tim slides an arm around his waist. “Are you—how’s the—did you find anything?”

“I—I don’t know. The address Gertrude gave Zhang Xiaoling to forward anything to didn’t really pan out; it’s a short-term rental place, there must have been a dozen people through there since she and Gerard Keay stayed. The owner said he heard calliope music from West Pullman park a few nights when they were staying here, but nothing more than that.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’m in Pittsburgh now. The records you found—that’s where Gerard Keay died, so I just…wanted to check up on that. The hospital—I could only find one nurse who remembered him being admitted. His cancer was pretty far advanced…he’d had a seizure, and they did their best, but he had another one and they couldn’t save him. The nurse was the one who told me Gertrude had been arrested—did Sasha tell you about that?”

“She did,” Tim says. “She also said you sounded…off.”

Jon’s silent for a moment. “I—was. I wasn’t feeling well. It took me far too long to realize, but—th-there was a statement I read while I was at Pu Songling, I thought I’d be okay, but a-apparently things have…progressed faster than I expected. I was—hungry, I suppose. I hadn’t thought to bring a statement. I was dizzy and weak and close to passing out, and—I opened the front pocket of my bag and found a statement in there. Was that—was it one of you?”

“Martin thought of it,” Tim says. “Right before you left, while you were showering, he asked if you’d brought a statement with you.”

“Tim’s the one who put it in your bag, though,” Martin adds.

“I should have thought of it. I should have—I really didn’t expect to be gone this long.” Jon sighs heavily. “Thank you both. Seriously. I—I might have been in actual danger if you hadn’t. But I’m okay now. I promise. I read the statement and…well, I’ve been asleep most of the day, honestly. I think I needed it.”

“Jesus,” Martin mutters. He has to close his eyes for a moment, and he feels Tim press closer to him. “The—did you, um, did you find out anything else about Gertrude?”

“Oh. Yes. She was arrested for trespassing—they found her in the morgue stood over Gerard Keay’s body, reading from a large, strangely-shaped book. Apparently his body was…mutilated, though they didn’t know if she did it, and she managed to talk them out of pressing charges somehow. The officer I spoke to doesn’t remember how. I—I may not have been able to draw as much power, being as drained as I was, but it’s also possible, even probable, that he really doesn’t remember.”

Martin looks at Tim, whose eyes reflect the worry Martin’s feeling himself. “So now what?”

Jon is silent again, but before Martin can repeat the question, he says, quietly but firmly, “I think it’s just another dead end, and I’ve decided it’s the last one. I’ve booked a ticket on a Greyhound to Washington, DC tomorrow. I’m going to stop in at the Usher Foundation, just in case they have anything that might be helpful, and then I’m coming home.”

Martin relaxes, and he feels a lot of the tension bleed out of Tim as well. “So you should be back…”

“Well, the bus doesn’t get into Washington until…hold on.” There’s the sound of fumbling and clicking. “I’d be there around five o’clock in the evening, so I likely won’t be able to even stop by the Usher Foundation until Wednesday morning. My intention is to be there as soon as they open. I don’t anticipate them having anything useful, honestly, so…if I’m fortunate, I’ll be home by Wednesday night. Worst-case scenario, early Thursday morning.”

“Call us when you know,” Tim says. “We’ll pick you up.”

“If it’s too early in the morning—”

“We’ll know enough in advance that we can set alarms. Come on, Jon, we’re not making you take the Underground home—or worse, a taxi. You’ve been away long enough. We’ll come and get you.”

“Okay. Okay,” Jon says softly. He clears his throat and adds, “How are you doing? How are—is Elias leaving you all alone?”

“For the most part. He was hovering today,” Martin answers. “We think he’s been watching you a bit, and…maybe just leaving us be to see what happens. He, um—we’ve got a new Archival Assistant.”

“We do? Who? Oh, God, did he transfer someone in?”

“Nope.” Tim pops the P hard. “He intercepted Melanie when she came by on Tuesday to read the Ivy Meadows file. Suggested she might want the job.”

“And she accepted?” Jon sounds horrified. “We warned her!”

“I know, but she’s good at this,” Martin tells him. “The researching and all. And…well, at least she knew what she was getting into. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, Jon.”

Jon sighs. “I trust your judgment. Other than that��outside of work. Are you two okay? You’re not…overloading yourselves or—or overworking or anything, right?”

“No. We’re taking it easy,” Tim promises. “Checking each other. Sasha did a bit much, got a bit close, but she took a long weekend and she’s fine. And Melanie stopped us from bringing anything home over the weekend. We actually spent it with Charlie. Took him to the zoo, the parade, that sort of thing.”

“The p—right, right, it’s St. Patrick’s Day weekend. How was it?”

They take turns telling Jon about the weekend. Martin’s already transferred the photos off his phone and onto his laptop to save space, but he promises to show Jon when he gets home. Jon laughs in all the right places.

“It sounds like you had fun,” he says, and there’s a definite wistful note to his voice. “It sounds like Charlie did, too.”

“He did,” Martin says. “He kept saying how much he wished you were there, though. He misses you. A lot.”

“I miss him, too.” Jon sighs. “And I miss both of you. Badly. I-it’s not…this hasn’t been an easy trip. Not just the, the usual issues of travel. Airport food and customs and layovers. Mechanical issues and weather delays and people who don’t seem to have grasped the concept of deodorant. Hotels and taxis and…all of that is bad enough. Open-ended travel is bad. But…then there’s the issue of just being me. Of being the Archivist.” He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s a lot harder to resist using these abilities when I’m alone. When I don’t have you two there to—counterbalance me, I suppose. It’s like I’m constantly balancing on a tightrope, and I know I have to keep walking the line, I know it’s what I’m supposed to do, but…”

“But?” Tim prompts when Jon trails off and doesn’t continue.

“The rope is only a few inches off the ground,” Jon says in a low voice. “Or that’s what it looks like. When I, when I look to one side or the other…it doesn’t look like I have so far to fall. I could so easily step off and be on the ground, and it wouldn’t hurt at all. I don’t have to balance so carefully. There’s a voice just over my shoulder, whispering for me to step off, to save my feet, that there’s more to life than this narrow back and forth…”

A chill runs up Martin’s spine. He recognizes the description, actually. What they’re doing, the way they’re all trying to avoid overusing their abilities…it does feel a bit like walking a high wire. Martin keeps telling himself not to look down, to take it slow, to put one foot in front of the other, because he knows if he loses his concentration for even a second, he’ll fall. In his mind, there’s a platform at either end of the wire, and Tim stands at one end and Jon stands at the other, so no matter which way he turns, one of them is there, reaching for him, waiting for him when he’s done. He’s safe as long as he focuses on them.

Somehow, he doesn’t think that metaphor will help Jon.

“Are you sure, though?” he asks. “A-about…the rope not being so high.”

“No,” Jon whispers. “If I look at my feet…if I look straight down, I know how deep the chasm goes, so deep I can’t see the bottom. It’s just—it’s so tempting, Martin. I d-don’t want to put the burden of my humanity on the two of you. I need to be able to do it on my own. But it’s hard. It’s so much harder when I’m alone. And the worst of it is that there’s a part of me, a tiny voice, telling me that it’s just me, that I’m alone, that no one will ever know if I give in to temptation, just for a moment. Just to try.”

Tim huffs. “That tiny voice sounds an awful lot like Elias to me, boss.”

“I know. A-and I know I’d…I don’t want to let you down.”

Martin can’t really explain what those words mean to him, but from the way Tim leans into him, he feels the same way. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and tries to sound practical. “We’ll talk about it when you’re home. But it’s okay, Jon. I promise it’s okay. You’re—you’re stronger than Elias wants you to be.”

“It’s so much easier to believe these things when you say them.” Jon laughs softly, but there’s a genuine lightness to it—like some of the dark dread has lifted from his mind. “It’s—God, what time is it? Five o’clock? You’re not still at work, are you?”

“Time difference,” Tim reminds him. “It’s ten here.”

“For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me? You both need sleep,” Jon scolds. “You have work in the morning.”

“Fine, but only if you promise to go get food,” Martin retorts. “Actual food. You’ve been asleep all day, you probably need it. Get some food and take it easy.”

“All right. All right. I think there’s a restaurant attached to the hotel.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’ll call you when I’m on the bus.”

“You do that,” Tim says.

“Please be careful, Jon,” Martin says softly. “We can’t lose you.”

“I promise,” Jon says, his voice solemn. “Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you both.”

He ends the call before Martin can respond, or actually process what Jon’s just said. The stunned look on Tim’s face indicates he feels the same. For just a second, Martin lets himself hope…but no, that can’t be. And even if it is, it’s a conversation all three of them need to have, not just him and Tim. They can’t make decisions like that without getting Jon’s input.

“Come on,” he says instead, reaching for the charging cable to plug his phone in. “Jon’s right, we need sleep.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, sounding a bit dazed. “Sounds good.”

They crawl under the blankets and turn off the light. Tim rests his head on Martin’s shoulder, and Martin runs a hand through Tim’s hair without conscious thought. For a long time, there’s no sound but their breathing. Martin assumes Tim has fallen asleep, but as relieved as he is to have heard from Jon, his mind is buzzing too hard to actually let him rest.

Suddenly, Tim murmurs, “She’d seen us before.”

“Who?” Martin is instantly on the alert, wondering who he needs to be worried about, who might be set to hurt them.

“The woman at the parade. She’d seen us before, when we took Charlie to the fireworks. She was asking where Jon was.” Tim’s head shifts restlessly. “She thought Jon was Charlie’s bio-dad and…”

Martin nods slowly. “One of the zookeepers complimented me on my ‘lovely family.’ I—I think a lot of people just…assume we are one.”

“I’m not upset by that.” Tim’s voice is drowsy. It’s like this is the last thing he had to get out to keep him from sleeping.

“No,” Martin agrees. There’s another lump in his throat and he has to swallow around it before finishing. “Me, neither.”

And maybe that is what’s blocking him from sleeping, because the next thing he knows the alarm is going off and sunlight is poking through the gap in the curtains and Tim is still warm and safe in his arms, and they’re one day closer to having Jon home.

[puckngrind]

What’s in a Name: 13 - J. Toews

Chapter 13.

Where we left off: Christmas in Chicago where Bekah finds a hidden present in the tree.

Warnings: smut, language

Word Count: 4,102

Series Masterlist ) Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

Bekah had never felt more nervous than she did prepping for the team Christmas party. FaceTiming Brynn while going over details and watching Jon on television.

“Bekah, breathe! Sit, let’s chat. The party will be amazing tomorrow. They will all be drinking and they don’t care if it’s perfect they just want to hang out together. Plus, maybe lock your bedroom door and change your guest sheets.” Brynn turned on her mothering voice and Bekah stopped and looked at the phone propped up on the counter.

“Rin, this is my first big thing with the team, first. I don’t want to fuck it up! Also, did you just suggest that? No? Really! Here?” Bekah made a face trying to not think about what Brynn was insinuating as she leans against the counter and her new necklace dangles into view.

“Oh, my eyes! My eyes! It’s so, so bright!” Brynn jokingly yells shielding her eyes from the light bouncing off the diamond.

“Funny, Rin.”’ Bekah rocks the necklace between her fingers remembering when she opened the box a few days prior.

“Let’s talk about that fine piece of jewelry and what you thought it was, shall we?” This made Bekah scoop up the phone and crash on the couch. She didn’t answer Brynn. “Ok, I’ll start. That box was smallish from the picture you sent so I’m sure you thought it was something else, am I wrong?” Bekah’s face contorts and starts to speak but words don’t form. “Yeah, so, Bekah, what if it was a ring? Would you go all Bekah on him or say yes without question because you are madly in love with that man?”

“Rin, we’ve only been dating since April.” Bekah fiddles with the necklace. Her fingers tracing the platinum script T holding a diamond. She was sure Jon custom made for her but he wouldn’t answer her questions about it.

“Bekah, friend, love you but...” Bekah inhaled sharply and Brynn laughs. “But, you two have been together for almost four years. F-O-U-R! Four. Don’t give me this undefined horse shit. You are in love with each other. You are so so very good for each other. And when that man does propose in some ridiculously amazing romantic way, you my friend better say yes.”

“Yes, there you go baby!” Bekah’s attention went to the overtime game and Jon’s assist to win it.

“I mean that answer would work. Maybe leave out the last part. Just the first word will do.” Brynn laughs out and Bekah joins her.

“I better head to bed. Busy few days.” Bekah yawns.

“Oh yes, enjoy watching the Winter Classic at Notre Dame! We won’t talk about how jealous my husband still is.” Brynn whispers.

“Speaking of, tell him I said hello. I’ll talk to you soon.” With that the friends ended the call and Bekah headed to bed.

The next few days were jam packed with Blackhawks events. The Christmas party went well and then they all headed to South Bend for New Years. Jon and Bekah had team dinner where Jon mispronounced his own last name for the security guard just like Bekah thought it was pronounced back when they met.  He was relaxed both Bekah and the team took notice.  The two didn’t stay late and headed back to their hotel room before midnight. Jon kisses Bekah hard as the clock struck midnight. “I’m so glad I got to ring in 2019 with you, Beks.” He whispered with the sound of the New York City ball drop coverage on the television of their hotel room.

“Me too, Tae. Now we need to sleep. You have a big game tomorrow. I mean today.” Bekah kisses him again.

“2018 might have been the best year yet but I cannot wait to see what 2019 holds for us, you know?” He pulls at her leg to bring it up onto his hip. Jon’s other hand holding her head as their lips crash into one another.

“Agreed, Jon, but you need to sleep.” Bekah whimpers as they break for air.

“We will but I would like to see if 2019 sex is different.” Jon laughs as he pulls Bekah’s shirt off her body.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the same that it was this morning.” Bekah chirps as she takes his shirt off too.

“Well, let’s find out. Shall we?” His voice was low as he lowered both their bodies to the bed. “I mean we had a whole day of media and skating and it’s a new year.” He hovers over her body kissing down her jaw and sucking at the base of her neck.

“Yeah,”’ Bekah breathes out. “I’m just glad I didn’t fall on national television that’s all.” This makes Jon laugh into her skin.

“Me too, Baby. I’m sure they would have a field day with it too. Someone would mention that you were my girlfriend as you were flat on the ice.” Jon snakes down her body and back up to pull her nipples in between his teeth and fingers. Bekah’s body jolts up at the sensation. Her fingers run through Jon’s hair.

“Tae...” Bekah moans out as Jon drops further down her body to rid both of them of the rest of their clothing. His fingers slip through her folds and pump a few times.

“So ready for me aren’t you Baby?” Bekah nods as Jon replaces his fingers with the tip of cock then slides himself into Bekah while moving his body over hers as he bottoms out. She wraps her legs and arms around him pulling their bodies together and with all her might she rolls their bodies over. “Oh!” Jon’s voice sounds shocked as his back hits the mattress and Bekah sits up.

“This okay?” Bekah questions taking in Jon’s look. She runs her hands down his abs and repositions her body before rocking her hips.

“Fuck yes, it feels amazing.” Jon’s hips jolt up into Bekah and she grinds herself into him. Each movement elicits sounds of pleasure that escapes from their lips. Jon’s hands move from Bekah’s hips to cup her breasts. Running his thumbs over her peaks causing a jolt to pulsate through her body and she clinches around him. “Merde. Beks. Fuck.” Jon feels himself close. Bekah lowers her body flush with his and kisses him hard. His hands return to her hips and pulls her with the small rolling of his hips. He shutters and releases. Bekah’s body shakes and his arms wrap around her to keep her body attached to his. Both panting trying to catch their breath from that high.

“Well...” Bekah attempts to speak but cannot control her breath.

“Agreed.” Jon huffs out as he rolls their bodies to the side and runs his fingers through Bekah’s hair and down spine.

“Sleep. Tae. Sleep.” Bekah whispers as she cuddles up into him.

The experience of the Winter Classic was cold but fun. Brynn blew up her phone when she saw the coverage from family skate. Bekah was loved the look of pure joy on Jon’s face from the picture Brynn sent of the screen. That look was not mirrored in the game itself. The team didn’t do well but as Jon told the media, the experience was one he’d never forget. Bekah listened and wondered if he meant playing at the historic stadium or having her with him for the whole event. Maybe he meant both.

Bekah braced herself after the overtime loss to Nashville a few days later. This meant that her birthday might be spent with an uptight Jon focused on game tape and skating late. She instead woke up to the smell of coffee and breakfast in bed. “Joyeux anniversaire mon amour.” Jon leans over and kisses her lips.

“Merci Tae! But why does birthday sound like anniversary?” Bekah questions the French as Jon slides in front of her on the bed.

“It is the anniversary of your birth, Beks. Speaking of, you make 31 look damn sexy, Baby.” Jon takes the piece of bacon he was eating and waves it like a wand in her direction. “So beautiful.” Bekah feels the blush coming to her cheeks as she sips on her coffee.

“Don’t you have morning skate?” She looks at the clock puzzled.

“I took the day off.” Jon smirks. “I think they will call it a maintenance day. Wanted to spend the whole day with you.”

“We are celebrating my birthday at home before heading to Miami on break. We discussed this. Brynn is having my parents over and everything.” Bekah kicks her foot at Jon under the breakfast tray.

“We are. I just wanted to spend the day with you that’s all. Nothing big. We can lay in bed all day if you want.” His face lights up so his eyes are lost in his smile.

“Promise? No hidden presents? No surprises at dinner? Nothing?” Bekah’s eyebrows narrow.

“Dinner with Brandon and Alyssa only as promised.” Jon winks and crosses his heart with his finger.

“I saw that.” Bekah sips her coffee again.

“Swear. Just the four of us. Official birthday celebrations happening only in Ohio. Well, maybe a cake a dinner but that’s it.” Jon shifts and leans to kiss her lips. His promise held true. Dinner with the Saad’s only was different by the added cake the restaurant placed sparklers in and a small gift from Alyssa.

“You really didn’t need to get me anything.” Bekah looked at the gift bag Alyssa slid across the table.

“Nothing big, promise!” Alyssa motioned for Bekah to open it. Inside a tub of candy buckeyes and a kitchen flour sack towel that made Bekah laugh.

“What’s it say?” Jon leans over to read. “We’re a little nuts in this house.” The words flanked by a buckeye with it’s leaf and an outline of Ohio. “Hey!” Jon’s fake offend voice makes the table laugh.

“Thank you.” Bekah grabs Alyssa’s hand and squeezes.

“Saw it and thought of you. Plus the buckeyes are delicious and that company is from Columbus.” Alyssa smiles as the four resume dinner and discuss plans for break and upcoming home games.

Bekah sat nervously with her Winter Classic hat and new Toews jersey on as the Blackhawks took the ice after a five game losing streak. She knew if the next two games added to the streak that vacation would not be as relaxing as they both needed it to be. Jon’s goal in the first gave them a lead then he scored again in the third. Bekah was on the edge of her seat when she sees the pass to Jon and he redirects the puck into the back of the net. Bekah jumped with everyone in the arena. Hats start flying and she rips her hat off her head and tosses it towards glass. Jon skates by and blows her a kiss before heading back to the bench so the hats can be cleared. After the game, Bekah practically ran into his arms. He picked her up spun her around. “Seven!” She squeals as his lips press to hers.

“I’ll have to replace your hat but here, maybe this will make up for it.” Jon places her back on the ground and fishes the puck out of his coat pocket.

“Tae, that’s yours.” She realizes it his hat trick puck.

“I have plenty. This is your first. You called it way back when we met. Remember?” His hand brushes the hair that fell out of her bun she put her hair in after the loss of the hat. Bekah nods. “One more game then home and vacation.” Jon kisses her and leads her to the car.

Bekah was practically dancing as their plane landed Wednesday evening in Columbus. She was excited to have Jon back in her hometown even if it was only for a few days. Brynn was tasked to plan a small get together Friday evening for Bekah’s birthday but Jon told Bekah he wanted to explore her city just the two of them on Thursday. With everyone working and Jon not having hockey the thought of just meandering around Columbus was exciting.

“I want to go down to the river and walk.” Jon rounds the corner of their hotel room.

“Tae, it’s freezing outside! I thought we could do some of the inside things. You know, Art Museum or the Conservatory.” Bekah has a puzzled look plastered on her face.

“Come on, bundle up. We can do all the indoor things you want after lunch.” He kissed her lips and shuffled her towards the luggage.

“Maybe I should just wear my beach wear!” Bekah chuckles while looking over how ridiculous her luggage looked.

“I mean, I would love it but you might get frostbite in some interesting places.” Jon answers while Bekah comes out dressed in layers, her peacoat and knit hat already on.

“My gloves are missing.” Bekah shoves her hands in her pockets again.

“I’ll buy you new ones today and I’ll keep you warm on our walk. Promise!” Jon wraps her up and they head out to the street and towards the river. “This really is a beautiful area.” Jon breathes in the cold air and looks from the river to the buildings.

“I love it but don’t miss it as much as I thought I would.” Bekah snuggles into Jon’s side as he pulls her shoulder into him.

“I’m glad you said that. I never thought I’d get you to leave honestly. I dropped so many hints.” Jon shifts his weight and clears his throat.

“I remember. Every time you would say anything about Chicago I would doubt how someone like you would want me. I still sometimes don’t know how I got so lucky.” Bekah looks up at Jon. “You okay, Tae?” He stops walking and looks deep into Bekah’s hazel eyes the light hitting just right that the gold flecks dance.

“I’m the lucky one Beks. Something drew me to you in those tunnels like a magnet.” Jon whispers and places his forehead on Bekah’s. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had to know more about you. Every time we were together I fell a little more for you. I counted down the weeks and months until the next time we could find our way back to each other.” Jon holds Bekah’s hips and she turns her head to take in his expression.

“Me too, Tae. What’s this about? You okay?” She removes her hand from her pocket and runs her thumb over his cheek. Jon places his hand over hers and breaths in deep.

“I’m more than okay. I love you Beks. I’ll love you forever if you let me. Always will. I, uh, I asked your dad a question in Chicago when they were there for Christmas.” Jon moves from their close embrace and drops to one knee. Bekah brings her hand right hand over her mouth since Jon hadn’t let go of her left.

“Are you... Tae?” Bekah whispers through her fingers and Jon looks up at her with all the love they share and tears forming.

“Rebekah Marie Pierce, will you do me the honor and become my wife?” Jon pulls out a box from his pocket and opens it with his fingers. Bekah gasps. “Beks, will you marry me?” Jon gulps.

“Yes.” Bekah nods her head, a happy tear breaks free from her eye as she whispers. Jon jolts to his feet and pulls her body into his, kissing her deeply. He breaks away and takes the ring out of the box.

“May I?” He smiles down at her and she nods her head. Jon slips the ring on her finger and breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Tae, this ring is perfect.” Bekah wiggles her cold fingers taking in the spectacular ring. Round diamond set in a vintage style halo rose gold band.

“I created it just for you.” Jon huffs and Bekah looks up at him.

“Were you holding your breath?” She questions and kisses him tenderly.

“Yeah. I know we love each other but that proposal could go one or two ways. You freaking out on me or just saying yes because you know this love we have will last a lifetime.” Bekah giggles at Jon’s admission.

“Well Brynn and I did discuss it and she reminded me that we have been together for awhile even without naming it.” Jon dips down and kisses her. Bekah’s hands come up to cup his face.

“Damn, your hands are cold. Maybe I shouldn’t have stolen your gloves.” Jon laughs.

“You stole my gloves?” Bekah pulls her hands to her lips and blows on them.

“Well I was nervous and didn’t want to fumble and lose the ring. Plus you won’t need them after our appointment.” Jon looks at his watch.

“Appointment?” Bekah’s voice raises.

“We have pedicures and you have a manicure after lunch. Figured there will be some pictures and showing off of the ring at dinner tomorrow.” Jon pulls her hand to his lips and kisses it. “So where does my fiancée want to go for lunch? I didn’t plan that.”

“Fiancée... whelp. Yup. You are my fiancé aren’t ya?” Bekah feels her cheeks flood with heat.

“Yes, fiancée and soon my wife. I think Mrs. Toews might become my favorite name for you... for now.” Jon runs his cold thumb over Bekah’s warm cheek making her shutter. “So Beks, lunch?” He brushes his lips against hers and starts walking back towards their hotel. Bekah decided on the same tiny cafe she took Jon to in 2015. He of course remembered their conversation about mind blowing sex and couple’s laugher bounced off the walls once more.

“I’ve never had a pedicure with a man.” Bekah’s hand slides into Jon’s as they dip their feet in the water. Jon’s fingers spinning the engagement ring around her finger.

“We should do it more often back home. I enjoy them and they are good for me feet after being in skates so much.” Jon brings their joined hands up to his lips. “This ring looks perfect on you.” Jon whispers and Bekah nods. “Are we telling anyone today or waiting until your birthday dinner tomorrow?”

“Let’s wait. Surprise them all.” Bekah giggles. “Maybe FaceTime your parents in? David?”

“They know already. Mom has been hounding me thinking I was proposing on Christmas then she thought I’d do it at the Winter Classic but when I told her I wanted to propose where we met she got all excited and told me she cannot wait to have you officially in the family.”

“So that’s why she asked me if there was anything new going on at Christmas and I went on and on about the foundation stuff.” Jon laughs.

“I’m assuming she may have thought you didn’t want to wear the ring.” He spins it again.

“I don’t want to take it off ever!” Bekah smiles as the Jon finishes his pedicure and walks across the street to grab coffees while Bekah moves to her manicure.

“He looks familiar.” The girl doing her nails says while working.

“Oh really?” Bekah smiles sweetly.

“Yeah, I cannot place why but something about him. He from here?” She looks up and Bekah tries to hide her amusement.

“No, Canada actually.” This stops the line of question and Jon reenters to pay and the two head to the car.

“Where to now Beks?” Jon asks after starting the car.

“Hotel is good. Curious...” Bekah bites her lip and Jon’s foot hits the gas making them laugh.

“I thought we were exploring today?” Jon turns toward their hotel.

“Tomorrow. We need to celebrate.” Bekah scratches at the back of his neck.

Jon quickly found his way to the hotel and pins Bekah to the side of the car. “You know, after all this time I’m still not a posed to taking you right here. It’s no longer your home or where you work.” Jon bites at Bekah’s ear.

“Or you can take me upstairs and not get out of bed until noon tomorrow?” Bekah nibbles at his lips. Jon stands and interlaces his fingers in Bekah’s. They make their way into the lobby and here Jon’s name. Some guy in a White Sox hat nods and Bekah shoves her left hand in her pocket. After stopping for a picture the couple was off again. Jon barely had the door latched before his lips were pressed against Bekah’s and her back against the wall. His hands reach down to cup her ass the lift her up. Bekah’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. They wasted no time disrobing. Jon hovering over Bekah with his hardened cock. Bekah lifts her hips to rub the tip on her click. She exhaled with the sensation then Jon pressed in. His rhythm intentional hitting every spot he knows would elicit filthy sounds from Bekah’s mouth.

“Come on Beks. I’m there. Come with me.” Jon lifts his body from her’s to change the angle. Bekah slides her finger between their bodies and rubs her clit. “Fuck that’s hot.” Jon presses hard into Bekah sending their orgasms crashing over them. “Fuck. Damn. Fuck.” Jon grunts out as Bekah moves her hand before he crashes into her. Rolling off his hand reaches right in the center of his v line.

“What are you doing?” Bekah questions with a deep breath.

“Checking for blood. I’m good!” Bekah props up and looks to where Jon’s hand was. Fresh scratches had turned his skin pink.

“Fuck. Tae. Did I do that? I’m sorry.” Her fingers tenderly touch the scratches.

“Technically self inflicted since I gave you the ring. Learning curve. Plus you’ve seen some of my injuries. A little scratch is nothing.” Jon pulls her body on top of his and kisses her sweetly. “Round two in a minute there future Mrs. Toews?”

“Rebekah Toews. That doesn’t sound horrible.” Bekah starts to laugh and Jon catches her lips.

“Sounds fucking amazing.” He kisses her again. “I’m so glad you said yes.” Jon kisses her again and roll their bodies for more.

The sun woke both Jon and Bekah up the next morning. The evening of celebrating evident on their tired faces. How about we have breakfast, go do something then nap before dinner?” Jon whispers into his fiancée’s hair.

“Sounds amazing Babe.” Bekah starts to move and Jon pulls her back into his chest.

“I know I keep saying it but I’m so glad you said yes.” Jon kisses her temple.

“I really worried you didn’t I?” Bekah looks up at him and he nods. “Well I’m sorry. I never want you to question that I love you.” Bekah’s heart bings.

“That’s not it, Beks, I know you love me but nine months together and four years is a big difference.”

“I know and I freaked out for most of those four years and looking back I wonder what would have happened if I just let it happen.” Bekah whispers.

“I wonder all the time what would have happened if I met you back in Chicago in my rookie year.” Jon admits.

“I would have never met Rin.” Bekah realizes and Jon opens his mouth then closes it. “Speaking of, we need to get going to do something touristy before dinner.” Bekah pulls Jon’s tired body out of bed and to the shower. The two made their way around Columbus. Jon decided he wanted to see things she loved growing up. Bekah took him by her schools, the playground a boy kissed her on when they were five, her grandparents’ house she spent every Christmas at until he passed and Grandma moved. Jon pictured Bekah in every step. Every piece that made her, her. Before they knew it they were sitting in front of Derek and Brynn’s house. Bekah’s parents car sitting in the drive way. The two looked at each other.

“Ready?” Jon asked.

“Ready!” Bekah answered popping out of the car and into his embrace. The couple walked through the door and Brynn was the first to catch the ring on Bekah’s finger.

“Is that.... eeeeeeekkkkkkk?!?!” Brynn squeals with delight and rushes her best friend. Jon nods at Jim and Marie comes over to gush over the ring.

“So when’s the wedding?” Bekah hears her Grandmother’s voice from the couch.

“We haven’t...” Bekah starts.

“I was hoping this summer.” Jon matter of factly states and looks over at Bekah’s stunned face.

“Oh that soon. Would there be a reason?” Bekah’s grandmother questions and all heads snap in her direction then at Bekah’s. She feels the heat rising in her cheeks and her mouth goes dry.

[phoebehalliwell]

!!!! Piper finding out she's pregnant with Kyle's baby!!!!

okay no but see i’ve been thinking about an au where like we go like balls to the fall canon with piper and kyle still a slowburn obvi but. season six still remains pretty much intact expect for the fact that, while chris knows he’s piper’s son, he has no idea who his father is bc, in the dark future variant of the piper/kyle timeline kyle would definitely end up sacrificing himself to save piper fully not knowing that she was pregnant (odds are she didn’t even know) which would probably be a breaking point for piper okay let’s go into detail.

chris (khris? lmao? wait should i remain him after kyle’s dad? jon hamm? jack. shure we’ll call him jack to differentiate even tho u gotta admit. kyle!chris would basically be the same as canon!chris bc like. look at him. like he is very much Not like leo. but like. could ever easily be kyle’s son. but, to differentiate, here’s jack halliwell, the bastard of the charmed line.) bc wyatt is the son of a piper halliwell and leo wyatt this is a known fact especially because leo remains one of the last pillars of the elders in said dark future and everyone begs him to do some grand act to stop wyatt but he never does that’s his son that is his son he can’t he cannot kill him he still believes there’s some good in wyatt there has to be some good in wyatt we’ll say jack even had an opportunity to kill wyatt after killed piper and leo intervened and saved wyatt’s life which is why, if chris hates leo, it’s nothing compared to jack’s beef. and like. quite frankly. okay here me out this timeline is about to get real weird. leo becomes and elder at the end of s5, jack’s doing as he steps into his place as the charmed ones whitelighter, seeing as he’s still a witchlighter. kyle takes the place of sheridan in the sense that he enters the narrative in s6. jack, for the record, has no idea this is his father. kyle works kinda parallel to the story, jack is trying to find out exactly what’s going on with wyatt becoming evil to no avail, kyle’s like idk doing something they have interacted a couple times they don’t like each other. we push forward the avatars narrative, giving gideon pause. evil wyatt isn’t possible in utopia, the avatars would neutralize him before he became a threat. gideon actively advocates for the avatars. kyle becomes more integrated as the avatars become more relevant, jack continues his digging on the wyatt situation, somehow finds out that gideon was the one who turned wyatt evil by attempting to murder him, which immediately brings into question the avatars, since gideon is such a big fan of theirs. does a bit more digging, finds out that utopia comes at the cost of free will, anyone who isn’t perfect is eliminated. he’s about to blow the cover on the whole thing when either gideon or the avatars kill him. piper is devastated bc like we’ll say she still knew that was her son. like he’s been there a while phoebe’s a psychic and at some point he’s kinda gotta fess up as to how and why he knows so much about the family. and his death has been pinned on somebody else in a play to get piper’s support behind the avatars. kyle becomes more integral here as, up until this point, he’s assisted on a couple cases (i.e. a styx feet under situation, but his main focus has always been the avatars) but piper’s like listen they just killed my son i need everything in my arsenal to get revenge and i mean if there’s one language he speaks it’s revenge. kyle and piper together are actually amazing at deciphering jack’s notes because it like walks immediately down the middle road of how their brains works which for the record they literally never piece together the part where jack’s their son, but, in all fairness, jack didn’t know that either. issue being jack had multiple theories so there are a lot of one off demon adventures to further strengthen their bond and like. piper still doesn’t fully trust kyle. also jack was her son, so there’s a personal element here too, but the main reason piper has the most interaction with kyle is because she’s protecting her sisters from him because she still does not trust him for shit, and she wants to keep him distant from her family which is undeniably her vulnerabile spot. and like, kyle is 100% aware she’s doing this, but he doesn’t really care because, again, his primary motivation is stopping the avatars. everything he does is just to get him closer to that goal. he just has to get piper to trust him because he’s feeling like the power of three is crucial to that goal. catch-22 tho, because it is the feeling that he needs the power of three that makes piper so untrusting of him. the jack cases are their bonding era where they start to steer away from their previous mindsets. we see kyle do something entirely selfless, without ulterior motive. we knows he did this, piper does not. blah blah blah, they get to the meat of the matter with jack’s notes and find out the whole avatars/gideon thing just in time to stop utopia, kyle dies in the process. as he saved the world, they make him a whitelighter, and, as an act of good faith because after learning gideon’s plans for evil wyatt, piper is very very against the elder, and then also because the charmed ones have been without whitelighter since jack, they assign kyle as their new whitelighter. blah blah blah something something something again. slowburn. this time added, because piper has done the forbidden love thing once before and she’s not gonna do it again. and kyle’s like that’s my coworker. whatever respect i have for piper is professional. and paige and phoebe are also there like. like piper and kyle are drift compatible (in a sense, piper hates his moral compass and yells at him a lot, but they understand how the other thinks) phoebe thinks kyle is weird and paige thinks kyle has a major stick up his ass (which he does!!) also. fuck it. kyle keeps his job at the fbi like how are they gonna know he died. and sinces he’s a newly minted whitelighter it’s not like he’s got other charges. it’s just the charmed ones and then working at his job. so blah blah blah piper will bring cases to him he will bring cases to piper so on and so forth again. slowburn. he’s literally their whitelighter piper’s still like. don’t trust him. sometimes kyle says this is how you should do that and piper chews him out because like. fuck you!! and then maybe ends up doing it that way anyways which kyle will be really smug about he’ll never bring it up in conversation but again piper and kyle’s communication is unspoken so she knows when he’s invoking it and he knows that she knows. and phoebe and paige both have two insanely different views to their relationship piper and kyle are talking strategy while paige scrys (scries?) and piper’s brewing potion and her and kyle are like. they’re in disagreement meaning it’s a lot of silence a long of prolonged, bitter stares, stubbornness, speaking in low and controlled voices in an attempt to sound like the more rational one when it’s very obvious both of them wanna be yelling their points but they’re not it’s all in a very low register it ends with kyle yielding grabbing the final potion ingredient getting unnecessarily close to piper and saying i guess you know best dropping the ingredient in and orbing out in the puff of smoke from the potion and piper just keeping her gaze level even after he’s gone with just steel in her eyes like you’re goddamn right i do  like the energy doesn’t dissipate she’s still buzzing from it and paige just over in the corner of the attic like ...............................so um. have you guys fucked about it yet? and piper’s like have we what (yes.) and paige is like yeah there’s a lot of unresolved tension there it’s getting pretty weird to be in a room with the two of you so you should probably um. fuck about it. Versus. piper phoebe and kyle being all out on some excursion kinda akin to the things w the guardian angels where there’s press everywhere and they’ve saved the day and are trying to get the hell out of dodge and there are press cameras and kyle sees them first and immediately positions himself in between them and piper piper notices the cameras and tenses up kyle puts his hand on piper’s lower back to steer the two of them out of the maze of a media frenzy and phoebe’s like Oh. you two are In Love in love. which piper is absolutely against like absolutely not no and phoebe’s like oh come on you told him about your fear of the press after the prue thing i can tell the way he moved to get you out of that situation and piper’s like i’ve literally never told him that and phoebe like okay well. he knows regardless, which actually speaks volumes more than if you had told him. so congrats!! and piper’s like no. absolutely not. paige and phoebe compared notes after they find out they have bold made bold statements about piper and kyle and then realize that not only have they definitely slept together they are also definitely in love and Do Not Realize It

[queenaryastark]

Why do think Jon can't or won't have any romances if he died and is resurrected? Like uh... erh you think he physically won't be able to uh get it up again so he'll never have a sexual relationship again or do u mean that you think he won't be able to emotionally form romantic attachments or...? I deff think Jon is going to be darker after and all that but i think him inhabiting Ghost might result in him being slighty different than Beric and Stoneheart. Idk what is ur speculation on it? Thanks!

I agree that if Jon is dead, his experience will be slightly different from Beric and Stoneheart since his consciousness has probably already transferred into ghost. But even there, the mind of the human starts to fade. That’s the beauty of GRRM’s work. There are always consequences, even with magic involved. Or especially when magic is involved. We don’t know how long he will remain in Ghost or what shape his body will be in when he returns to it. So while Jon might not lose as much of his personality as his predecessors, he will still be a fire wight. Though, tbh, with Jon being the third fire wight, it doesn’t seem like GRRM’s style to have him be in better shape than the other two. If anything, just as Stoneheart is worse than Beric, it seems like Jon would be even worse. Here are GRRM’s words on this element of his series:

GRRM: “Part of it was also, it’s the dialogue that I was talking about. And here I’ve got to get back to Tolkien again. And I’m going to seem like I’m criticizing him, which I guess I am. It’s always bothered me that Gandalf comes back from the dead. The Red Wedding for me in Lord of the Rings is the mines of Moria, and when Gandalf falls — it’s a devastating moment! I didn’t see it coming at 13 years old, it just totally took me by surprise. Gandalf can’t die! He’s the guy that knows all of the things that are happening! He’s one of the main heroes here! Oh god, what are they going to do without Gandalf? Now it’s just the hobbits?! And Boromir, and Aragorn? Well, maybe Aragorn will do, but it’s just a huge moment. A huge emotional investment.

And then in the next book, he shows up again, and it was six months between the American publications of those books, which seemed like a million years to me. So all that time I thought Gandalf was dead, and now he’s back and now he’s Gandalf the White. And, ehh, he’s more or less the same as always, except he’s more powerful. It always felt a little bit like a cheat to me. And as I got older and considered it more, it also seemed to me that death doesn’t make you more powerful. That’s, in some ways, me talking to Tolkien in the dialogue, saying, “Yeah, if someone comes back from being dead, especially if they suffer a violent, traumatic death, they’re not going to come back as nice as ever.” That’s what I was trying to do, and am still trying to do, with the Lady Stoneheart character.”

Interviewer: “And Jon Snow, too, is drained by the experience of coming back from the dead on the show.”

GRRM: “Right. And poor Beric Dondarrion, who was set up as the foreshadowing of all this, every time he’s a little less Beric. His memories are fading, he’s got all these scars, he’s becoming more and more physically hideous, because he’s not a living human being anymore. His heart isn’t beating, his blood isn’t flowing in his veins, he’s a wight, but a wight animated by fire instead of by ice, now we’re getting back to the whole fire and ice thing.” -- Time

So based on GRRM’s words, we can rule out Jon having an experience anything close to show!Jon where his death was only a benefit. He essentially used it as a “Get out of the Night’s Watch Free” card, even though that line of reasoning makes no sense. Him dying and being reanimated as a zombie would not result in him being physically and mentally the same, nor would it lead to everyone being fine with what he is. He would either be killed as a deserter or burned as a wight.

So as for Jon not having a chance for romance in my opinion, I would rule it out both emotionally and physically. 

As an animated corpse who has lost a degree of consciousness, I have my doubts about him being able to form new meaningful relationships. Beric and Catelyn have become hyper focused on the last goals they had before dying. Since Beric’s goal didn’t include his fiance, he barely remembers that he has a fiance, let alone anything about her. Nor does he remember where his home is. All he is about is carrying out his last orders which were to enforce justice on the Mountain and stop the Lannister’s terrorist acts on the common people of the Riverlands. So that’s it for him. Catelyn seems to be in a similar situation where her last act was to kill a Frey while also thinking of her lost children. So she is looking for Arya while murdering every Frey she can find and extending that vengeance to Jaime since Roose delivered his regards as he stabbed Robb. Stoneheart has lost a great deal of who she was to the point that she can’t hear reason, not even with Brienne. 

Jon’s situation has to be similar. His dying thoughts were of Arya and planning to meet Ramsay Bolton in battle. It stands to reason that his diminished mind would center on that, unless his time in Ghost allows him to focus on something or someone else. 

As far as physically goes, based on Beric and Stoneheart, Jon’s heart wouldn’t be beating so no blood flow would be going through his body, he wouldn’t need food since his digestive system wouldn’t be working, and he wouldn’t even need to sleep. Essentially, he is not alive and has no normal bodily functions. Unless he dies with a permanent terminal erection, a part of physical intimacy is out. He could probably still give oral if he’s able to keep hydrated for that purpose. Sorry, TMI. In short, in my opinion, if Jon is dead emotional and physical romance are out. But JMO.

That’s one of the reasons I’m still open to the possibility that Jon isn’t dead. Before the show killed and resurrected the show version as Gandolf the White 2.0, his status was up for debate. There were many who steadfastly believed he was alive. GRRM even said in an interview that whether Jon was dead or alive was up for debate until the next installment. Since he essentially brushed off the interviewer’s attempt in the quote above to redirect the discussion to undead!Jon and went on to discuss Beric, that suggests that canon Jon’s status is still undetermined. And there are a lot more possibilities for him if he’s alive. 

[nat-20s]

PROMPT! the first time the s1 archive gang hangs out outside of work (any variation of the group, doesn’t have to be All of them)

This is only the Archive Assistant sqaud, bc I’m sorry Jon, but no bosses allowed. Also it’s VERY silly and soft bc sometimes u just wanna write nice things u know

(also also fuck I lovecompletely missed that this said “first time” they hang out but uhh. I hope u like it anyway.)

Tim Stoker like to think that, sometimes, not to toot his own horn, but he can be something of a genius. When a cousin’s cousin had offered to let him use their cozy little cabin for a night or two in exchange for help with moving, he had been struck with what could only be humbly described as “inspiration of the most divine nature”. For, as nice as a Friday evening away from it all by himself sounds, it’s so much nicer for a Friday evening away from it all to serve as Archival Assistants Bonding Time™. Or well, more like Tim and Sasha, Who Are Already Best Friends Forever, Figure Out What Martin’s Deal Is, Because For A Guy So Chatty, He Sure Is Mysterious Time™, but that’s not nearly as catchy. Truly, his plan was brilliant, bringing two compatriots and an excessive amount of food and drink to a spot away from the prying eyes of the world and bosses, and feast in the openness and silliness that comes from having a great fucking time.

His plan, and his genius, were tragically derailed. While he knew on their drive up that the air was rapidly getting cooler, Tim couldn’t have even pretended to predict that an hour into their stay would bring a freak blizzard that means they’re snowed in for the next three days, which was 3 times longer than he had accounted on spending with his coworkers/friends. There was more than enough food to last them, and almost enough alcohol, but as Sasha so kindly put it:

“First you make us reenact the first scene of every bad teen slasher movie, now there’s a fucking white out. If we lose power, I’m telling you, there is absolutely going to be a murder.”

“Pfft, no way. The guy who owns this place is one of those weird ass prepper types, there’s a back up generator for the back up generator. And even if we did lose power, we’re all much more the “huddle for warmth under a shared blanket in front of the roaring fire” types than the “get panicked and stab someone in darkness” types, right? Back me up here, Marto.”

Martin, who at three shots in is both hilarious and mean, directs his response to Sasha. “in the event of a black-out I vote we kill Tim. I can take him down and you can finish the job.”

Sasha tips her cup at him, saying, “I like the way you think,” at the same time that Tim yells out, “Hey! Why am I the one dying?!”

Sasha tells him, “Duh. This whole thing was your idea, which makes you the Dr. Black* of this situation. Any good mansion murder mystery dictates the the host dies first. Then, in a moment of entirely unplanned synchronization, her and Martin start chanting, “Host dies first! Host dies first!”

“Okay, you know what? Fuck both of y’all, it’s not my fault that you’re both thoroughbred city slickers that can’t handle being in a cabin with plumbing and running water and electricity. Didn’t either of you go camping as kids?”

Sasha replies “No I’m far too pretty for that,” while Martin bursts out laughing. It takes about 20 seconds for him to settle down. Wiping away a tear, he elaborates, “Sorry, sorry, just. Can not imagine my mother on a camping trip.  I mean, sure, she probably hoped at one point or another that I’d be lost in the woods as a child, or maybe even now, but I think that’s a bit different.”

Tim leans over the kitchen counter, placing his chin in his hands as he says, “Oh shit, Martin lore. Spill the deets.”

Sasha, who’s loyalties tend to sway towards whatever’s most interesting in the moment, piles on with, “You called her your mother, not your mum. That’s means she’s pretty much a right bastard, or a member of the aristocracy, which is just another term for right bastard but you got to grow up as a rich kid. Am I right?”

It’s clear the the two of them have made a grave mistake. All joviality flees Martin’s expression, and he shrinks down both his physical presence and his voice to something that could easily be overlooked if someone wasn’t paying attention. “Oh, um, well, I definitely didn’t grow up as a rich kid. And, it terms of the ‘right bastard’ thing, she’s not- er. That’s to say, she’s- she’s sick and. She’s doing the best she can, given, given everything.”

Martin pointedly looks at his hands while Tim and Sasha panickedly look at each other. They go to either side of him, and when he doesn’t flinch away, they each place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Tim immediately feels the itch to fill the heavy quiet, and he happens to know he has quite the talent for blazing on ahead after these kinds of moments. It’s how he’s survived basically party for the past decade. “Ooookay, I’m gonna go ahead and say that all depressing familial reveals shall be held off until at least the second night of being trapped. While Sasha may have irritatingly few skeletons in her closet in that regard-”

“I have Tory grandparents?”

“We all have Tory grandparents Sash, that’s absolutely nothing. As I was saying, while Sash’s family is boring and semi functional, you and me are gonna do some fuckin’ commiserating on our journey from work friends to friend friends. However, I’m going to have to be 40% drunker, go through a decently strong hangover, and then once again get hair of the dog drunk before I can even start to consider heading down that path. And in that spirit, I think it’s time to start up the drinking games. Truth or dare might end up a bit too heavy for our needs, but Never Have I Ever should suit us just fine. I know I’m gonna regret saying this considering Sasha is 100% going to target my ass, but I think we should establish that whoever puts all ten fingers down first has to chug the rest of the box wine.”

Sasha pipes up with, “Ugh, no, not drinking games, that’s such twenty-something bullshit. I expected better from you.”

“Hey, Martin is a twenty-something, so that still works fine actually-”

“Tim!”

“What?”

Martin’s directing wide, bordering on frantic, eyes at him, and Tim is almost certainly missing something, though he can’t for the life of him figure it out. Sasha’s head is bobbing slightly between the two of them, and shes apparently able to parse what Tim has not. “Oh! Martin, uh, I already know that you’re 2, and it’s cool.”

“Did..did Tim tell you or?”

Tim scoffs out an “I wouldn’t!” even though there’s a distinct possibility that, entirely on accident, he would, and Sasha makes a reassuring coo. “No, no, babe, nothing like that. It’s just that, uh, the Magnus Institute is kind of notorious for not doing any background checks pretty much ever, so when I get a new coworker, I..do it myself.”

Martin’s face blanches, and his eyes somehow get even wider. “Oh god, please don’t tell Jon or Elias, I know I don’t have the credentials, but I really need-”

“Woah, woah, I’m not gonna do that. First of all, archival assistant squad, we ride together we die together in a snowed in god forsaken log cabin, secondly, it’d be hypocritical as fuck if I got up your ass about qualifications. Not a single one of us is qualified for our jobs, not even Jon. Maybe especially not Jon. It’s like, raise your hand if you have a degree in library sciences. No one? Okay, cool, that’s not weird at all for an archive. Actually, maybe bring that up next time he gives you shit. He’ll be all like ‘bluh bluh, you didn’t document this spooky bullshit well enough, it’s not up to the High Standards here at Spooky Bullshit Emporium’ and you can be like ‘whatever buddy, you’re an English major, what do you fuckin’ know?’. It’ll be devastating. He’ll be devastated.”

Martin laughs in the manner of someone who knows that they shouldn’t be, and his shoulders relax into  a lower position. “Why would you want me to devastate him? I thought you guys were friends?”

“We are, which is why we all collectively need to get back at Jon for acting like such a prick. He’s always been a bit temperamental, but I honestly don’t get what his deal is, especially with you. I mean, c’mon, you’re great, being mean to you is like kicking a puppy.”

“Thanks? I think?”

Tim pipes up with, “Oooo, since drinking games are apparently too childish for Sasha, what if instead we play ‘What’s Jon’s Deal Anyway, Featuring, Seriously, Why Target Martin, The Baby of The Archives’-”

“-That feels a bit reductive of who I am and I also I think I’m technically older than Jon?-”

“-Whoever comes up with the best explanation, and by best obviously I mean most entertaining, gets an all expense paid trip from the other two to one of the charity shops I know we all frequent.”

Sasha snorts, “Wow, a whole twenty quid, who could resist such temptation. But also, I’m in, I think I have a winner and I have a violent need to out-cardigan Jon.”

Martin’s relaxation is gone again, which Tim thinks need to be fixed through aggressively passing a glass of wine towards him. He takes it without protest, takes a long drink, and says, “This seems more like 3 am conversation than a 9 pm one.”

Sasha gives an encouraging nudge, prompting another drink, and replies, “Yeah, well, I am not gonna make it to 3 am. I’ve got about an hour until the Alcohol Sleepiness sets in, and I know Tim will be right behind me.”

“Sashaaaaaa, you’re ruining my reputation as a young-at-heart, party-all-night kind of guy.”

“Babe, you’ve complained about your bones aching often enough that you’ve never had that reputation.”

“Surrounded by mean drunks, that’s what I am. I should be pitied.”

Martin shoots a glance towards Sasha, then replies, “You’d be more pitiable if this entire thing wasn’t, you know, entirely your own fault.”

Sasha nods sagely, “It’s true. If you were pitiable then maybe you wouldn’t have to die first.”

“You know what? I am uncomfortable with the energy that’s been created in this room, how about we divert some of that towards complaining about our bosses, as coworkers who are hanging out and having a good time and not bullying me are supposed to do.”

Sasha giggles slightly as she leans down and presses a kiss to Tim’s cheek. “Aw, sorry, Tim. I promise to double cross Martin when if becomes killing time.”

Tim melts a little, even as he’s replying, “Wait, when?” Martin takes another sip and says, “Whatever. I could take you both.”

How the hell are you supposed to resist a set up like that? With an over the top wink and cheesy grin, Tim says, “I bet you could, big guy.”

He’s expecting a slightly flustered reaction, maybe a higher pitched voice and a blush, if he’s lucky. He gets all of those things, but it’s Sasha saying, “Oh my god.” Martin only gives him a raised eyebrow and level stare, and Tim makes a mental note to reevaluate his dedication to only considering Martin in a strictly platonic fashion. Sasha continues talking, cutting through the..tension? with, “Okay, now I am uncomfortable with the energy that’s been created in this room. Tim, tell the studio audience what you think is up with Jon.”

Tim blinks, hard, gives a shake of his head, and says, “Oh, obviously the Jon we know is dead. His ‘promotion’ to Head Archivist was actually Elias killing him off and replacing him with a robot that has the command If: see Martin Then: be dick. Don’t worry Marto, now that Sasha is aware of the issue, she’ll surely be able to reprogram him.”

Sasha hums a bit, then says, “I buy it. I think my explanation’s better, but Elias does seem the “kill a dude and replace him” type. Like if I was gonna suspect any particular person of murder he’s in the top five.”

“Seriously? Elias? Somehow has middle manager vibes even though he’s the head honcho Elias? Mr. ‘I probably wore boat shoes and khaki shorts for the entirety of university’ Bouchard? Voted most likely to put a thin layer of mayo in between two pieces of white bread and claim it’s a sandwich Elias? The area man that’s almost certainly gone on record as saying that golf and networking are his favorite hobbies Elias? He’s far too boring to have committed a murder.”

Tim’s looking at Martin with shock and delight, and he knows Sasha is wearing the exact same expression. “More of this. Please describe more of the things that Elias is.”

“I mean, sure? Uhh, guy that would pay $80 for a dime bag because you told him it’s a premium strain. Person that ironically says things like “kids these days” and “the youths” and you know he’s talking about people well into their 30s. Genuinely believes that if you can afford a cell phone then you shouldn’t be complaining about being  poor, because apparently a one time purchase of around a hundred bucks is the same as trying to pay monthly rent. Tells people to haul themselves up by their bootstraps. Thinks he got to where he was ‘without anybody’s handouts’ even though he’s had a trust fund since he was 15. Writes weekly editorials to the local newspaper complaining about the liberalization of media, and they’re like ‘sir, please stop submitting to us, we’re just trying to talk about Lisa’s gardening club’ because they can’t professionally tell him to fuck off. Thinks salt and pepper are the only spices one could ever possibly need, everything else is simply excessive. Somehow gay and homophobic. Like, yes, he’s taken a male lover, but he’s also seconds away from calling you a slur at any one time. Actually, no, that’s too interesting, and I refuse to believe he’s had a lover. Legally, he cannot have a lover, I’ve decided, so just gay and homophobic, both in theory alone. Has said that Boris Johnson is “a bit much, but really not so bad, and much better than any of the alternatives, really.” All of the cousins in his family banded together and officially got him banned from any sort of major holiday dinners. Basically every shitty boss you’ve ever had, especially if you’ve worked retail, rolled into one.”

Tim lets out a low whistle. “Damn, all right. Get fucked Elias.”

Sasha emphatically agrees, “Get fucked Elias.”

They all clink their glasses together, and then there’s a beat of silence before Martin says, “I’m pretty sure robots can’t get eye bags.”

Tim and Sasha let out a “huh” and “hmm?” respectively, so Martin elaborates. “You posited that Jon had been replaced with a robot. Pretty sure robots aren’t able to look that tired.”

Tim snaps. “Drat, you’ve pointed out the one flaw in my impeccable logic. So what d’you think is up with him? I know you don’t have the Before The Archives comparison, but I think you could provide a fresh perspective.”

“Oh, fuck, I don’t know. Two months ago, I might have had some choice words, but first off, you all genuinely got on, so it didn’t really make sense for him to be awful all the time, and secondly ever since the, um, worm thing, he’s actually been pretty nice? I haven’t heard any snide comments, and whenever I mess something up he’s a lot more, um, gentle about explaining what wrong. He actually complimented my work the other day so. I guess I think Jon’s deal was that he was stressed out and I was very nervous and not very good at my job and he picked up on that?”

“So you think he’s like a horse.”

“Explain.”

“He sensed your fear and he became skittish and irritable in kind.”

“Horses can sense fear?”

“Horses can sense everything.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Right?”

“Guys, we’ve gone on like four different tangents in one conversation. Martin, I’m very glad to hear that Jon’s changed his behavior towards, because it means I don’t have to yell at him on your behalf, you’re getting to see the person that me and Tim both know who is actually pretty cool, and also mostly because it feeds perfectly into my winning theory.”

“What, you’ve got something better than Martin’s ‘accurate but boring’ reasoning or my ‘super cool but now that I think about it for .5 seconds actually kind of a bummer robot’ knowledge?”

Sasha’s incredibly self-assured when she says, “I sure fuckin’ do. Jon’s secretly been in love with Martin the whole time, and he’s been previously overcompensating by acting like he hates him.” which makes Tim choke on air and Martin emphatically reply, “Fuck off, he is not.”

“No, no, hear me out, I have, I have receipts, as the kids say. First point of evidence: Martin’s stupid hot, and there’s no way that Jon is straight, so obviously he’s not gonna be impervious to that.”

“What?”

“Oh come off it Martin, it’s just a fact. Like, me personally? I don’t even do the whole romance thing, but the first time I ever saw you I blacked out slightly and thought ‘Now there’s a man I could raise some ferrets with.’.”

“I, um, I, well. Is that...supposed to be a euphemism for something?”

“What? No, I’ve just always wanted ferrets, and asking someone to raise pets with you is like the height of romance, I’m pretty sure. Back me up here Tim.”

“On the ferret thing or the Martin hot thing?”

“Either? Both.”

“Aight. Yes, asking someone to raise ferrets with you is basically a marriage proposal if that someone is Sasha, and I hate to break it to you Martin, but you’re incredibly good-looking. We’re all incredibly good-looking, to the point where I think the only qualification for the archives staff is being a straight up hottie. OH! We should name the group chat “straight up hottie squad”. Anyway, yep, point for Sasha.”

“Not a point for Sasha, even if I believe you about about my, em, physical attractiveness,-”

“-Don’t have to put belief in a fact, Marto-”

“-that doesn’t mean anything. By that logic, he’s equally as likely to be in love with either of you, and my money would be on Sasha if it was anyone, because you’re clearly his favorite.”

“Ah, but that’s exactly why it isn’t me, but thank you for the transition into my second point which is: Jon is the kind of person that sees anything that might make him vulnerable and starts aggressively defending himself against it, and what’s more vulnerable than a crush? He’s not crushing on Tim, because Tim’s fucking great, but sometimes he’s also the walking, talking embodiment of sensory overload, and while I myself I love that, Jon clearly gets a bit overwhelmed by it at times. He’s not into me, because he knows better than that, and overall I’m pretty non-threatening to his whole thing, so of course he’s going to be the most relaxed around me. You, on the other hand, are single, hot, kind to animals and people alike, and make a great cup of tea. Incredibly crush worthy, thus incredibly threatening, thus Jon acting like That.”

“Hmm, this still seems like something that comes from watching one too many corny rom coms, and that’ s coming from someone who loves corny rom coms.”

“I also love corny rom coms, but that’s completely beside the point. Because, okay, sure, if Jon had just been a weird asshole to you, I wouldn’t be like ‘oh, yeah, that’s a classic case of covering for something’ but you’re right about him being nicer since the worm thing. So nice, in fact, I shall be bringing in Timothy as my star witness that’s going to blow this whole case wide open. Martin, you may not have heard how Jon has started to talk about you, but me and Tim sure have.”

“God, yeah. Like if we thought he wouldn’t shut up about you before-

“-which he wouldn’t-”

“it’s gotten way worse now.”

“I think the whole life threatening worm woman flipped a switch for him and now he’s all fuckin. ‘Oh, Martin should stay in the archives, let me give him the place that I sleep.”

“Oh, Martin, I don’t think he should go out on too many research trips anymore, I’d much prefer for him to be ~nice and close~”

“Oh, Martin, good lord, did you know that his tea is quite good? I’m think it might actually be the best I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, Martin, his work’s rather improved, don’t you think? It’s really quite impressive, especially considering all the stress he’s had to endure.”

“Oh, Martin, I just want him to take me into his big, strong arms and whisk me away from all of this.”

“He did not fucking say that last one.”

Sasha throws her arms up in the air. “He may as well have!”

Nodding sagely, Tim replies, “This whole thing holds water. I vote Sasha gets the shopping trip. Martin?”

Martin stares at his drink as if it has any ability to give him any sort of answers, then lets out a sigh with his entire body. “You know what? It’s probably nicer than whatever the fuck is the truth, so sure, why not? Let’s get Sasha her cardigans.”

Sasha lets out a whoop. “Hell yeah! Can’t wait for spree, assuming all three of us get out of this cabin alive.”

“Okay, nope, clearly Sasha needs another distraction. Got any suggestions, Martin?”

“Uh, wasn’t a karaoke machine part of the sales pitch for this place?”

“Martey babey, yes! I wouldn’t have thought you’d spring for that sort of thing!”

“If this were a public bar or something where I’d have to listen to drunk strangers and they’d have to listen to me, then no, I’d rather have my brain pulled through my nose a la mummification. But with only you guys and fourish drinks in? I’m down to clown.”

“Sash, you with us?”

“Dunno, what songs are there?”

Tim shrugs, and heads to the storage closet that contains all the various entertainment equipment. It takes a bit of searching, and a bit more digging, but he’s able to unearth the ancient portable karaoke machine. He also grabs some of the jigsaws, mostly on the thought that sometimes a bitch just wants to hang out with their friends and do a puzzle. Also because in light of the fact that they’re stuck inside with no sort of access to the outside world for two days longer than planned, there’s pretty much no way that they’re not going to reach a point where they all say fuck it let’s do a puzzle.

Plugging in the machine, it takes a solid several minutes to boot up, which is the perfect length of time to take it upon himself to take one for the team and chug the box wine himself, with Sasha and Martin chanting in the background. When he finishes, they cheer, and then Martin immediately shoves a glass of water for him to down as well, muttering something about how he wants him to be alive in the morning. Tim can tell he’s well inebriated by now, because the simple thoughtful gesture is enough to make him a little bit misty-eyed, and Sasha can attest to alcohol turning him into the world’s biggest sap. In order to avoid prevent himself from becoming the kind of person who says “I love you” in a gradually more sloppy repeat, he starts flipping through the discography of the now running machine. “Alright y’all, it looks like we got 80s songs or...80s songs. Ooo, they have the Grease 2 soundtrack.”

That gets him a well deserved “No!” from both parties, with Sasha adding on, “Not even if it was Grease 1. I’m putting an embargo on musical theater in general.”

“Oh come on, some musicals are better than other. Right, Marto?”

“I’m with Sasha on this one.”

“Boo. But fine, what do you want?”

Martin and Sasha glance at each other, and Tim’s amazed at how well the bonding night-turned-long-weekend has gone so far, considering they seem to have already mastered the art of silent communication. Martin speaks first, with, “They got Dolly Parton?”

The process of scrolling through individual letters to type is achingly slow, but luckily all he needs to get through is “DO” before she shows up. “They do.”

Sasha says, “Do they got 9 to 5, by Dolly Parton?”

Tim’s eyes light up with realization as he says, “They do,” and in a moment of spontaneous understanding, all three of them know that they’re not simply going to sing 9 to 5. No, they’re going to do a  full blown music video for the benefit for nobody but themselves, because why the fuck not.

The next hour is spent in a very silly fashion. They figure out how to use the cabin’s layout to their advantage, assign various parts of the song to each person, and practice their inexpert choreography a few times with the song tinnily blasting from Sasha’s phone. The final result is hardly of professional quality, but it is of making them all giggle quality. It starts off in a relay like manner, each of them in a different area to coordinate with “Tumble of out bed and stumble to the kitchen” (Sasha on the couch), “Pour myself a cup of ambition”, (Tim at the coffemaker), and “Yawn and stretch and try to come to life” (Martin at the fridge), with them finally crowding around the karaoke machine together to scream sing the chorus. Despite their practice, they quickly go off key, and while they might end up with low points for accuracy, they get full marks on enthusiasm.

When the song ends, it takes them a few minutes to settle down into something less giddy. As they do, Sasha, out of breath, says, “Fuck me, I’m sleepy now. What the hell?”

Tim hums in affirmation. “Goddammit, I’m tired too. Let me guess, Martin, you’re young enough that you could go all night?”

“No? I’ve never pulled an all-nighter in my life. Actually, I know that it was supposed to be in case the power went out, but huddling together under a blanket in front of a fire sounds really nice? I mean, um, if you guys were down.”

Sasha leans her head against Martin’s shoulder and takes on the expression of a deeply content cat. “Mmm, I call Martin, he’s warm.”

“Absolutely not, I also want to leech Martin’s warmth. You good with being in the middle?”

Martin’s practically beaming, but his voice manages to almost fake being put upon. “I suppose it’s a sacrifice I could make.”

With Sasha already half asleep, Martin brings her over to the couch, while Tim gets them all set up. He manages to find the kind of big, fluffy blanket that all cabins should contain and wraps it around their shoulders. Luckily for them, the fireplace is gas lit and can be put on a timer. He sets it for 30 minutes, even though all three of them are going to be long passed out before them. Sasha is already softly snoring away, and Martin’s head keeps drifting down and snapping back up. Tim curls up against Martin’s other side, and even though all three of them are going to wake up with aching backs and worse heads, he thinks he really just might be a genius after all.

*Why is Mr. Boddy’s name Dr. Black in the UK. I hate that. Why would you not have the dumb joke of  naming the victim “boddy”. Hey brits explain your crimes.