#only to come back to find them kissing outside their door when tim is dropping lucy off after one of their dates

[leslieseveride]

i feel like if any one person had the privilege of knowing about chenfords secret relationship it no doubt would have been jackson. i mean, there’s honestly no hiding it from him, not with the way lucy comes home smiling like a lovesick puppy after every date she has with tim.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Mine Again - Harry Styles

a/n: this is something i just thought about after my nap today lol, so enjoy this treat, a classic exlovers to lovers fic!

pairing: Harry x Famous!Reader

word count: 3.4k

masterlist

Seeing an ex is never easy. Whether it’s by your choice or not. Working together with an ex is even harder and now you brought a situation on yourself where this is your reality.

Arriving to the studio of The Late Late show you immediately get escorted to your designated dressing room where a hair and makeup artist are already waiting for you. Today you are here to promote your new movie, Don’t Worry Darling with your onscreen lover, Harry Styles, however, what no one else in the building knows is that once the two of you were real life lovers.

Your romance blossomed during filming, having spent so much time together on set, it didn’t take long for a relationship to form between you and him, the chemistry you shared was immense and undeniable, anyone could see that and you felt like you were burning in a bonfire of the most intense feelings you’ve felt for any man. It was passionate and intoxicating, it felt like something that could only happen in movies, but it was your reality.

However filming ended and you were forced to go your separate ways, you both tried hard to keep what you had and though your feelings never changed, distance brought the worst out of the both of you. Six months after you became an item, you mutually agreed to break it off.

You haven’t seen him since then, meaning that it’s been five torturous months without having any contact with him and now that promo has officially kicked in, you are forced to travel around and make appearances with the man you love, yes, still love more than anyone on this Earth. Not even five months and absolutely no contact could change your feelings for him, however he might already be over you at this point, having forgotten about feelings and memories you still hold close to your heart.

How has he been doing? What is he like now? Has he been thinking about you? Does he miss you? What is it going to be like to see him for the first time?

The questions flood your mind as you sit in the chair and let the professionals work their magic on you, covering up the dark circles under your eyes that formed due to the sleepless night you had the day before, nonstop thinking about Harry and what it’ll be like to see him for the first time again.

After careful elimination, you choose a dress for the appearance, it’s tight and short, the fabric is covered in glittering sequins down your body and the long sleeves as well and while the dress covers a lot up from the waist, it makes up in the lack of length on your legs as the end of it barely reaches the upper part of your thighs, ending it black feathers that tickle your freshly shaven legs. The nude heels add even more to them, making you appear like you could hit the runway any moment when in reality you are not high enough to be a model.

There’s still some time until the taping starts, James drops by to say hello and tell you how excited he is to have you and Harry on tonight and you chit-chat for a little before you go to take a quick business call outside. When you’re done with that, you head back to your dressing room to take a few quick photos to post later, but right as you near your destination, a door swings open down the hallway and Harry steps out, wearing a black suit, of course, head to toe Gucci. The crispy grey shirt’s first few buttons are left undone, allowing you a glimpse of his toned chest and his necklace with the tiny cross pendant on it.

He looks good. No, he looks absolutely stunning, just like he always does and just the sight of him takes your breath away, forcing you to stop in your tracks when you lay your eyes at him. He spots you as well, stopping to take a look at you before you see a small smile on his perfect pink lips.

“Y/N, hi! You look… gorgeous,” he speaks up lowly, his eyes raking your body up and down.

“I, uhh—Thanks!” you breathe out, feeling already flustered. How are you gonna survive the interview, sitting next to him, talking about what it was like to play a married couple?!

His hand moves a bit and there’s a moment of awkwardness, neither of you really knowing what to do, last time you saw each other you kissed as your hellos, but now it’s not an option, obviously. At last, he moves forward and goes for a hug.

He envelopes you in his arms as you wrap yours around his neck, the warmth of his body bringing you a sense of home and it hits you hard how much you’ve missed him in these five months.

You swear he holds you just a second longer than what would be appropriate before his arms fall from around your frame and you force yourself to let go of him, though every fiber in you is protesting against it.

“How—How have you been?” he asks, his beautiful green eyes finding yours.

“I’m good. I’m good,” you nod. “What about you?”

“Same. Just the… usual stuff.”

“Writing music?” you ask with a soft smile. You still vividly remember those nights you spent together after a long day of filming, crashing at either his or your place and you often found him strumming his guitar in a corner, scribbling words down into his notebook. Sometimes he sang you the songs he came up with, sometimes he kept them to himself.

“Yeah, I’ve been writing a lot lately,” he admits with a shy smile.

Someone calls his name down the hallway and his head snaps up before looking back at you.

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you soon, right?”

“Yeah,” you nod, stepping aside so he can walk past.

“And you really look amazing, Y/N,” he calls after you one last time before jogging down the hallway.

You walk into your dressing room and shutting the door you lean your back against it, huffing heavily as you try to recollect yourself. Somehow, this encounter went really well, because the two of you were civil and respectful, but it was also a painful shock to see him in the flesh again. It was one thing to see pictures of him here and there, but actually meeting him, hugging him, talking to him… you need time to process it all.

Unfortunately, you don’t have much of that. Twenty minutes later you are walked to your spot behind the curtains from where you’ll walk out when James calls your name. Just as you arrive Harry appears as well, casually talking with one of the camera guys, having a laugh and just as he sees you, his eyes fall down your body again and you swear you see him gulp hard before turning his attention back to the man.

“Ready?” he asks upon walking up to you, a hand coming to rest on your lower back. Glancing over your shoulder you look down at his hand, lips parted at the feeling of his welcoming touch. He sees your glance and pulls his hand back quickly. “Sorry, it’s a habit, I guess,” he mumbles, blushing softly.

“It’s fine,” you smile. Of course it’s fine, for what you care, he could throw you over his shoulder like a cave man and run out of the building, you wouldn’t say a word. You want his touch on your body, you’ve been craving it since the moment you last saw him, but are you even allowed to admit it? You have no idea what he is thinking or feeling, you can’t just come right at him like that.

Harry fixes the lapels of his suit jacket, but what he doesn’t see is that the collar of his shirt is kind of stuck under the jacket.

“Your shirt is… let me fix it,” you breathe out and he turns to face you, letting your delicate hands fix his outfit, perfecting the look to the tiniest bit. “There, you look great,” you smile, your hands sliding down his chest before they fall to your sides again.

“Thank you,” he nods smiling back at you before offering an arm that you take gladly. He knows how much you hate high heels and that you are always scared of tripping and falling and being the gentleman that he is, he’ll be the support you need.

The taping soon starts and the two of you stand patiently behind the curtain as James introduces you.

“And now, please welcome the stars of the upcoming hit movie, Don’t Worry Darling! Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles!”

The crowd starts clapping and cheering as the curtain moves and the two of you walk in, arms linked and Harry makes sure to slow down when you walk down the few little stairs. James welcomes the both of you with two kisses before everyone takes their place, James behind his desk, you and Harry sitting on the couch.

“Thank you so much for dropping by tonight, guys!” James smiles at the two of you.

“Thank you for having us,” Harry nods with a soft smile.

“You both have been guests on the show separately, but tonight you are here as a pair, since your latest movie, Don’t Worry Darling is hitting the theaters this weekend. How are you feeling about that, excited to see the film finally?”

“Very excited,” you nod with a smile. “I can’t wait to see the final version, because obviously we only know the version we envisioned while filming, but the actual movie is going to be something else.”

“Y/N, your role in the movie was originally handed to Florence Pugh who had to step back because she broke her arm,” James points out and you nod.

“Yes, I stepped in her place just about a week before production started and if I’m being honest I was scared that people would prefer to see her in the role, but I had a talk with her actually and she said she helped Olivia, the director to pick out the person to take her place and she said she instantly knew I would be perfect for it, so I trust her.”

“That’s amazing to hear, that the two of you didn’t have any rivalry going on,” James enthuses.

“She actually visited set a few times,” Harry chimes in and you nod.

“Yeah, we had a great time together.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun, the three of you together,” James chuckles. “So, the two of you play a married couple in the film and if I’m not mistaken you didn’t know each other beforehand. Was it hard to get into the roles with not much background on each other?”

“We met up a few times before filming started to get to know each other more and I think we hit it off right away, so it wasn’t hard for me,” Harry speaks up and you nod along.

“It was obviously a little different situation than when you meet someone and become friends, because as we got to know each other more, we had to go through scenes that were meant for a couple that was already years into their relationship, but I think it strengthened our friendship,” you answer, hands laid flat on your bare thighs.

No lie has been told, everything you said was the truth. You just left out the part where you become real life lovers and started dating a month into production.

“Y/N, you’ve been acting for a while now, have quite a few roles under your belt, what did you think of Harry’s acting?”

“I think that he is a wonderful actor and I hope people will give him his much deserved credit for it. He is often still seen as just a silly singer from a former boy band and they don’t take him seriously when he really is a very talented man. You’ll see in the movie as well, his role was a tough one, needed a lot of work and a wide range of emotions, but I think he did an amazing job.”

You dare to glance at him at the end of your little speech and for a moment you forget about the audience, James and the cameras. He is looking at you with so much gratitude and thankfulness. You remember every talk you had where he opened up to you about wanting to be taken seriously in the acting business, that he is not trying to be just a joke and another failed attempt of a singer to try himself out in movies. He told you how scared he is of not being good enough when you saw him every day on set and you were blown by his eternal talent and special take on his role. He deserves to be praised, he deserves every bit of it.

“It was easy, I had a great partner to learn from,” he smiles softly and you feel the heat crawling up your neck.

“You two really have the chemistry we’ve heard so much about, I can’t wait to see it on the big screen!” James sighs. “Tell me a little about what it was like to film? You guys spent a lot of time together, must have made a lot of memories.”

You take a deep breath as all those memories mentioned flood your mind. You had the best time of your life not just with Harry, but with the whole crew. Leaving after production was wrapped really broke your heart.

“It didn’t even feel like working,” Harry starts. “We always joked around, had lunch or dinner together, we were like a big family. It was so nice to have so many amazing, talented and hard-working people around you all day.”

“The jokes never stopped,” you add chuckling.

“I wish I could have been on set!” James laughs wholeheartedly. “That didn’t happen, but we have a little something. The crew has put together a short BTS video of the filming, so let’s have a look at that,” he announces and the video starts playing on every screen in the studio.

It’s a short little montage, but it captures the vibes of filming just perfectly. Clips shown from set are not just of you and Harry, but all the other cast and crew members. Goofing around, having lots and lots of laughs, dancing on set, which happened quite often and just all of you having a great time. Some of the slips however pain your chest, the ones of you and Harry.

This was very early into your relationship, no one on set even knew you were together, but seeing yourself on the screen you can’t deny the sparkles in your eyes every time you were around him.

A clip shows the two of you between two takes, doing a goofy dance in the kitchen of the home that was used as the set of the house of your characters, you are both wearing your costumes, Harry looks great in his suit and your long retro dress is flowing around you with every movement you make. He grabs you by your waist and spins you before you end up in his arms laughing crazily, you were so happy, so carefree. You wish you could go back to that moment…

Another footage was taken in your trailer when Harry took the place of Clare, your makeup artist and tried to do your eyeliner but miserably failed. In the video, he is gently clasping your chin, angling your face for himself as his other hand is working on the line, but it’s wobbly and way too thick, so you both end up just laughing when you check yourself in the mirror.

And there are some small moments of the two of you, moving around on set, lying in bed between takes, sitting in your chairs while eating, just tiny memories you still cherish so much and wish to live through again, but it’s the past. And it wouldn’t hurt this much if you knew Harry from the video was still yours.

When the video ends you need to blink a few times as your eyes have watered a little. You catch Harry’s gaze and he looks worried, he clearly wants to ask if you’re okay, make sure it was just the sentimentality of the moment, but he doesn’t have the chance, the cameras are still rolling.

“That looked like so much fun! Next time make sure to invite me on set too!” James jokes and you force a laugh out of yourself.

A few questions are asked about future plans and just generally about your careers before the taping finally ends. You thank James for the invite again and a photo is taken of the three of you, you standing in the middle with the two men on your sides. When everything is settled, you head to your dressing room, using the chance to slip away silently while Harry is still chit-chatting on the set.

In the comfort and silence of the dressing room, you lean onto the vanity, staring at yourself in the mirror, finding it ironic that on the outside, you look perfectly fine, healthy and pretty, but on the inside… you could scream. You miss Harry so much, you hoped that your feelings for him have toned down a little over these five months, but it was just the same if not even worse.

A faint knock is heard on the door and you quickly fix yourself before calling out to the person outside. The door opens and for your surprise, Harry steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“Hey, you disappeared so fast,” he softly says.

“Yeah, I’m just… a little tired,” you lie, though you know exactly he can see right through you.

“Y/N, I saw that look in your eyes after the video…”

“What look?” you ask with a huff. “What do you want me to say, Harry?”

“The truth,” he answers. “I’m not James, don’t bullshit me.”

“You want the truth? I’ll give it to you, but don’t blame me if it’s uncomfortable for you,” you chuckle bitterly, throwing your hands into the air. “I’ve been miserable, Harry. I miss you so fucking much, seeing you today was like Hell. I really thought it would be easier, but now I’m stuck with going from one interview to the other with red carpet events all around the world, seeing you every day when I terribly miss you and it fucking sucks, because you might not even feel the sa—“

You don’t get to finish, because Harry crosses the distance between the two of you, his hands grab your face and pulls you into a hard and passionate kiss. His lips move perfectly against yours and it feels like he is trying to squeeze every missed moment from the past five months into the kiss, making you melt into his arms completely.

He is everywhere. He is all you can taste, you breathe him in, his hands are everywhere on your body and your chest is pressed tight against his as you wrap your arms around his neck, locking him into your embrace. Your tongues dance, teeth tugging and pulling on lips, it’s a whole mess, but it’s the most perfect mess you’ve ever been. He takes your breath away completely and you don’t even want it back if it means you can’t have him.

Harry pulls away first, both your chests heaving wildly from the heavy make-out session and he looks down at you with hooded eyes.

“If you think I haven’t missed you like crazy… you can’t be more wrong, baby. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I wanted to call you a thousand times and beg for you to come back to me, but I thought you already moved on.”

“Moving on?!” you huff with a tired smile. “Harry, I could never…”

“Alright, then I’m not letting you go again. No way you are walking out of this building without being mine again.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words as you pull him down for another kiss, needing to feel his lips on yours.

“I never stopped being yours,” you whisper against his lips and he moans weakly before crashing his lips against yours again. 

-

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[toosicktoocare]

Okay, I’m very much obsessed with the web comic “Batman: Wayne Family Adventures,” and I want to write little one-shots for it. 

If you’d like to see something written, drop a prompt in my inbox! 

Also found on AO3!

1: Better Than Dick Grayson

Jason’s beat by the time he guides his bike through an underground entrance to the Bat Cave. Patrol wasn’t hard – more annoying than anything else. There’s been an increase in copy-cat villains lurking the shadows of Crime Alley, all who can’t even follow through with a napkin-scribbled plan properly.

“Nice work tonight, Hood.”

Jason slips off his bike, boots heavy against the steel floor below him. He taps the comm nestled in his ear. “Thanks, O. Time to sign off? I’m sure you have an absolutely riveting day at the library tomorrow.” A cheeky smile plays at his lips as he slips his helmet off, huffing around a laugh at Barbara’s drawn-out sigh in his ear.

“I honestly don’t know why I help you every night.”

“Come on, O. You know you look forward to our quick-witted banter every day. That’s our thing – our trademark, if you will.” His smile widens when Barbara chuckles in his ear.

“You’re ridiculous, Hood.”

Jason slips into a changing room, grimacing as he cards his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “Please, O. You know you love me.” His suit is damp against him, an uncomfortable testament to just how much he’s done on patrol in the few hours he was out.

“Maybe a little.”  

Smirking, he shrugs his jacket off and reaches to the back of his neck, working his damp suit off until it’s hanging low at his waist. “You flirting with me, Babs? I’ll tattle to Dick.” He barks out a laugh at the low, impressive string of curse words that echo from his comm.

“I retract my previous statement. My tolerable feelings toward you stem from obligation alone.”

“Babs,” Jason whines, slamming a hand to his chest, “you wound me! Now I’m really going to tell Dick!”

“Well, you’re out of luck. He left for Bludhaven an hour ago.”

Jason pushes down on his suit until he’s stepping out of it, kicking it to the corner of the changing room with the notion that he’ll deal with it later. Tomorrow. He sighs – eventually.

“Detective Grayson summoned for an assignment?” He turns on his heel, snagging a towel that he drapes over his shoulders, using one corner to mop the sweat dripping from his hair.

“Something like that.”

Barbara’s voice goes soft on the other line, and Jason stops, frowning smally. “What’s up, Babs?”

“Damian and Bruce are still out, so I need to get back to them. Can you check in on Tim for me? Steph said he’s been quieter than usual all day.”

“Pump the kid up with coffee, then? I can do that.”

“Jason.”

Jason holds his hand’s up in mock defense out of habit, sighing between his teeth. “Fine, yes. I’ll follow in golden child Dick’s footsteps and take my role as the dutiful big brother.”

“Good. Also, I have that on recording now for the next time you try to sarcastically remove yourself from a family affair.”

“Barbara!”

“Later, Jason!”

There’s a crackle in Jason’s ear, and then the line goes dead. Rolling his eyes, he pulls the comm free, dropping it beside a large monitor in the cave before padding upstairs, eager to shower Crime Alley’s discount villains away.

He swings by Tim’s room first, finding him at his desk, eyes soft and cast toward the window. His expression is somber albeit a tad thoughtful, and Jason promptly pulls him out of whatever muted stupor he’s currently lost in.

“Well,” he starts, nudging the door open wider, eyes flicking to the textbook open at the desk. “You’re doing better than I did. Studying wasn’t really my forte.”

Tim twists around and cocks his head to the side. “You were a straight-A student.”

Scoffing, Jason drops against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Hey. I didn’t say I wasn’t smart.” He nods to the book. “And you’re essentially a boy genius, so do you really need to do that?”

“It’s a good distraction,” Tim sighs, turning back to the window and dropping his cheek against his fist.

“A distraction from what?” Jason’s eyes narrow into sharp slits, watching a small line of tension take to Tim’s shoulders.

“Dick left.”

Jason’s taken aback. Dick comes and goes all the time – they all do. He can’t imagine Tim will be here long, and he, himself, is only staying the night before he heads back to the safe house he’s been frequenting by himself in the morning. Now that he thinks of it, he’s sure he overheard Steph mentioning packing for a trip with Barbara in a few days.

“He’ll come back,” Jason responds, and Tim spins around in his desk chair with a sigh that’s far too long and heavy for a kid his age.

“I know that. It’s just,” Tim pauses, waving one hand around, “too quiet without him here.”

“That’s a bad thing?” Jason cocks a brow, and Tim huffs.

“You know what I mean – Dick’s all energy and smiles, and everything just feels better when he’s here. When we’re all here together.”

This, Jason thinks, is edging a delicate territory he’s not adept to handle. His vocabulary rivals Alfred’s, and yet, piecing together words into a sentence that’s both optimistic and comforting is not something he feels he’s capable of. Instead, he steps into the room, dropping his palm to Tim’s head, and the silence that follows is sharper than Bruce’s best batarang.

“Jason,” Tim finally mutters, voice flat.

“Is this comforting?”

“No, it’s weird.”

Jason rips his hand away, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips. “Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.” He turns toward the door, muscles faintly aching, his reminder that he really wants to shower and sleep. “Night, Timmy. Dick will come back soon.”

He opts not to look behind him lest he wants to feel a big-brother spark of guilt he’s just too exhausted to handle. Instead, he slips out of the room without so much of an over-the-shoulder glance.

---

Jason’s alarm starts softly from his phone, and he slams his hand against it with a low groan, trained to wake at the quietest of sounds. Outside, the sun’s not quite made it up and over the horizon, still casting the manor in a soft glow – a view that Dick swears by. Jason shuffles over to his window and takes in the view for roughly four seconds before he decides he’d rather see it through the visor of his bike’s helmet.

Still, before he can leave, he’s got one more thing he needs to do at the manor – a rather brilliant idea, if you ask him, he came up with in a sleep-ridden mind right before he conked out for the night.

He’s not Dick. He’s better than Dick.

He changes and perks an ear to the sounds down the hall, hearing the others waking. Once he hears Tim’s bedroom Keurig stop running, he acts, plastering a triple-watt smile to his face and storming out of his room.

“Ugh, Jason,” Cass mutters, rubbing her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Jason doesn’t respond, waiting, instead, for Tim to open his bedroom door, and the moment he does, Jason sucks in a long, swelling breath.

“Good morning!” He shouts, dragging out each word, making his voice as loud as possible, a bright bellow that sinks into every crevice of the manor.

Beside him, Cass cups both hands over her ears, and Damian merely turns back into his room, slamming the door behind him. Duke can’t get to his phone fast enough, and Tim promptly jumps out of his skin, his coffee splashing from his mug to burn against his hand and stain the floor. There are footsteps pounding up the stairs, and Jason smiles even wider, his cheeks stretched and tight, and he sucks in another large breath.

“Jason, what the hell—”

Jason cartwheels down the hall, narrowly avoiding a puddle of coffee to stop upright before Tim. He ruffles Tim’s hair, his forced smile fading to something softer, more genuine. “Morning, Timmers!”

“What in the world is going on?”

Bruce is breathless at the end of the hall, and Alfred’s trying, and horribly failing, to hide a laugh behind a cough.

“I’m telling my family good morning,” Jason shouts, arms outstretched. He offers Tim a wink and leans in close. “Grayson’s got nothing on me,” he whispers, tone devious, before he presses a kiss to Tim’s cheek and claps a hand to Tim’s shoulder.

When he pulls away, he slips past Bruce and Alfred, maneuvering around them with a practiced grace that could rival Dick Grayson. “Something smells incredible down here!” He adds from the stairs.

“Oh, Dick’s going to love this,” Duke mutters, ending the video recording on his phone.

“Should I call Leslie?” Bruce asks, worried, his attention torn between the startled and amused faces before him, and the echoing sound of Jason singing Broadway showtunes from the kitchen downstairs.

Tim looks down to his coffee mug, his hand faintly burning and sticky, and he smiles warmly. “Nah, Jason’s fine.”

[theskywaslookingback]

I prithee do tell us of your Tim gets kidnapped as well AU

*kisses you gently on the forehead* ive been in a jonmartim mood lately so pardon that but—

‘Just talk to him,’ Martin had said imploringly, his hand outstretched in supplication, his eyes wide and sad and practically begging.

Tim has never had an easy time saying no to Martin, least of all when he’s being looked at like that.

So Tim had agreed, under the condition that Martin come to play mediator and that Tim could walk away the second Jon tried to turn on a bloody tape recorder.

He should have said no. He should have told Martin to drop it, to leave it alone. He should have stayed home, texted Martin that he wouldn’t be able to make it.

Instead, Tim finds himself sipping coffee outside a cafe with Martin beside him picking at a blueberry muffin and waiting for the one person in the world he wants to see the least.

Martin glances at his phone again, foot bouncing restlessly against the pavement, fingers tapping on the small metal table they’ve managed to snag. Tim drops his hand on top of Martin’s, if only to still his fidgeting for a moment.

“He’s late.” Martin says.

Tim hums in acknowledgment, though truthfully he doesn’t know exactly what time Jon had said he’d meet with them in the first place.

“What if something’s wrong?”

“Like what?” Tim asks flatly.

“I don’t know. What if— what if he’s hurt or something? You saw what he looked like when he came back to the Institute. His hand—“ Martin’s foot thumps frantically against the ground, “I don’t like it.” He says more insistently.

“He’s fine. He probably just got caught up on the tube or something.”

Martin makes a sound of derision and checks his phone again.

“What? You think he’s going to text you if he’s in trouble? ‘Oh Martin please help I’m being kidnapped.’”

“I wish he would,” Martin says sharply, pulling his hand out from under Tim’s, “I would probably worry less.”

“You wouldn’t.” Tim leans back in his chair, swiveling his head to the side so he doesn’t have to look at the pointed glare Martin sends him. After a moment he sees a figure a short ways down the street. A bedraggled fence post of a man wearing a shirt a size too big for him and a jacket that swamps even that. Tim nudges Martin with his foot and jerks his head to the side, “See, I told you-“

Martin looks up from his phone and then his eyes widen and he stands so quickly that it knocks his chair out from under him.

“Martin, what-“

Tim forgets that for as big as Martin is, as gentle and prone to taking his time as he was, that he can move very quickly when he needs to. Martin sprints from the table with a startled cry and Tim whips back around.

Tim can’t see Jon anymore, but he can see the van pulled up in the spot he’d just been standing. Tim barely registers the first word ‘Breekon’ before he’s out of his seat and running after Martin.

There’s a moment where Tim sees Jon struggling between two very large men, a rough looking bag being forced over his head, and then Martin barrels into them.

He hears Martin shout “Jon!” before one of the men recovers and takes a swing at Martin.

He hits him squarely in the stomach, and Tim sees Martin slump, before Tim is there at his side and he takes a swing of his own.

When Tim had been 14 he’d punched a hole in the drywall of his bedroom. He remembers the way the plaster had cracked and yielded under his fist, the solid crack of it under his knuckles. This feels nothing like that, except in the way that it had felt so solid and Tim’s fist had swollen almost immediately, blood vessels in his hand bursting at the impact.

Tim swears and draws his hand back.

He feels something hard and sharp hit the back of his head, and then Tim feels nothing at all.

When Tim wakes again he has no idea where he is. His wrists are tied together so tightly that he can’t feel his fingers and his shoulders scream in pain at the angle he’s been slumped in. He can hear voices, sharp and feminine and grating then low and gruff. Something muffled and angry.

It takes time before Tim’s mind stops spinning enough to make sense of any of it.

There is...something...dressed as a ring mistress. It’s tall, at least seven or eight feet, with long, solid white arms and garish red clothing. It speaks into a whirling tape recorder with no mouth at all, and it laughs a dizzying laugh.

Next to it is Jon, feet bound to the legs of a wooden chair, arms bound behind his back, and a thick gag tied around his mouth. He looks furious and terrified, spitting objections and expletives as this thing drones one about skin and lotion and peeling.

‘No’ Tim thinks sharply, the image of his brother inserting itself into the forefront of his mind. That awful clown, dragging itself along the floor and reaching out so playfully to pull of his brother’s skin.

The thing turns, and Tim realizes he must have said it aloud.

Beside him Martin inhales a sharp breath and starts to breathe a prayer.

“Ah, both awake then I see.” It trills, dropping down unnaturally to stick its head in between where Tim and Martin have been bound.

Tim recoils and feels his shoulder bump into Martin’s.

“Unexpected, but not necessarily a bad thing.” It says, and then turns to address Jon, “always good to have a back up I think! They’ll make some lovely frocks regardless.”

Jon makes a noise of alarm, looking to Tim and Martin.

Tim makes a noise low in his throat.

It reaches out to tap Jon on the nose before it leaves, humming, pulling a heavy door shut behind it.

Silence hangs in the air like dense fog, heavy and thick. It is broken at once by a soft noise from Martin. It’s almost a sob, but not really. A desperate, hopeless noise that cuts off almost before it can begin. “I’m so sorry Tim, Jon, I—“

Jon makes a startled noise from behind his gag and shakes his head so rapidly it’s a wonder it doesn’t detach from his neck. He tries to say something but the gag is too thick and tied too tightly. He repeats it a few times. It sounds like ‘sorry’ and ‘my fault’.

“Yeah,” Tim says numbly, “it is your fault.”

“Tim!”

“What?” Tim shoots back, “You think we’re here because they planned to take all three of us? And now—“ He cuts himself off, biting his tongue. He can’t look at Martin. He refuses to look at Jon.

Jon just makes those muffled noises into his gag again.

“Just— shut up, Jon. Just stop.”

The silence that descends again is sharp and biting. It eats at Tim, the anger in him boils and boils until it dies all at once under an ocean of shame and stark terror. They are all going to die here and there will be no one to mourn them.

“Don’t.” Martin says very softly after a long time. “Don’t let the last things we say to each other be said out of anger.” He leans into Tim’s side, hesitantly.

Tim goes limp, letting Martin take his weight, his head falling to his chest. “Okay...” he says after a long time, his voice cracking, “...okay...”

Jon makes a soft sound again, almost a whimper, and for the first time in a very long time Tim wishes he could hold him in his arms again.

It would be a very long time before he would be able to do so.

[nat-20s]

fill of @jonmartinweek day 6 prompt- flirting AND jealousy, though much heavier on the jealousy than the flirting. Set in a classic “season 5 jmart time travel bac to season 1″ au

~*~

“Mr. Blackwood-Sims, if I didn’t know any better, I would assume you’re trying to proposition me.”

“Mr. Sims-Blackwood, I would never. For one, neither of us are inclined towards those sorts of activities, for second, we’re both married men. What would my husband say?”

“I believe your husband would say he never specified exactly what you were propositioning, and he would be more than amenable to kissing, preferably sometime in the next few seconds.”

“Mmm, suppose I’ll have to find him and take him up on that, then. If that’s really how he feels.”

“Trust me, it most certainly is.”

Christ, would those two shut up already? Granted, it’s late enough that they probably think they’re alone in the archives, but, still. This is, technically, a work place, and Jon would’ve preferred not to have accidentally gotten an eyeful as he made his way past the open door in the breakroom. Now, the image of (supposedly) a future version of himself sitting on the couch, with (supposedly) a future version of Martin straddling his legs, using one hand to cup his face, and the other to run his hands through that Jon’s longer hair, was seared into his mind, and he hated it. Look, contrary to what people who don’t know him very well seemed to believe, he’s hardly a prude. He’s more than fine with descriptions of physical intimacy, as well as public displays of affection. If he’s being honest with himself, deep down, he doesn’t even care all that much about professionalism, especially considering it is after hours.

But of course, he’s not being honest with himself, because then he’d have to admit that it bothers him that it’s them. He doesn’t know what to call the acrid burning in the pit of his stomach, the too tight ache in his chest, that’s present whenever the fun house mirror versions of himself and Martin are besotted with each other, but he knows it’s there. It doesn’t help that he’s the only one that seems to be bothered by it, the only one that frowns at the flash of wedding rings or the orbit those two always seem to occupy around each other.

Or, no, he’s not the only one. Occasionally, while witnessing the two of them being...the Two of Them, he can’t help glancing over to Martin. Lo and behold, Martin also doesn’t look thrilled about all of this, usually skewing more towards confusion or, oddly enough, resignation. At least, that’s what Jon thinks he sees there, it’s one of the few times where he can’t fully get a read on Martin.

Still, as much as Martin might share in being somewhat perturbed, as anyone who meets their “future selves” should be, Martin doesn’t seem nearly as upset as Jon is. That brings him back to his current predicament of feeling that level of upset, but not being able to determine the root cause of it.

It is not that he’s jealous. It’s not! He does not feel a pang of envy at seeing someone who looks extremely similar to himself loving openly, and being openly loved in return. He doesn’t find his thoughts drifting to the imagined feeling of lips pressed to his temple or arms around his waist or fingers running through his hair. He certainly hasn’t looked down at his left hand and been disappointed by the fact that its bare. He doesn’t even want those things, as he’s been telling himself for a number of many lonely years. One of these days he might even believe it.

Fine. Fine. Maybe, but only maybe, there’s a part of him that’s jealous. Maybe there’s even a part of him that despairs, because try as he might he can’t connect point A to point B, can’t see the steps he would have to take to be like that other version of himself, and he knows his Martin (well, not his Martin, but..) will never look at him like that, will never see him in that light. And, damn it all, it hurts, so if they could kindly stop ru-

Oh. Wait. He can’t hear them outside his office door anymore. Huh, perhaps they-

“Knock knock.”

Startled out of his...contemplation, Jon looks up to find himself looking back. Sims is leaning against the door-frame, with mussed hair, swollen lips, and pupils blown wide. Jon loathes him and wishes to be him in equal measure. In a move he usually would’ve thought more characteristic of Tim, Sims doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting himself across from Jon and saying, “Figured you’d still be here.”

Trying not to sound too much like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, Jon asks, “Did you now?”

Sims gives a lackadaisical shrug. “With any luck, you’re not going to become me. I not sure you can become me, at this point, diverging paths and all that. However, we do share the first 28 years of our lives, and I certainly didn’t believe in the concept of a work life balance, so why would you?”

“Is there something you wanted?”

“Yes, actually. I want you to ask out Martin, your moping is getting insufferable, and considering how much of our misery has been entirely outside of our control, you shouldn’t put up with what is in your power to fix.”

Jon blinks. Jon processes. Jon stammers. “I-what?! I am not, you can’t just-. Martin doesn’t even like me, and if you really were the same person as me, you know I’m not all that keen on him either.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you can’t stop thinking about his hands?”

“I do no-”

Sims puts a hand up in surrender, though the smirk doesn’t entirely drop. “Sorry, sorry, I know that’s rather unhelpful. What I mean is, you’re already loved, right now, as you are. No, that love is not coming from Martin, but it could be,t because he doesn’t dislike you.  He doesn’t know you, because you have done everything in your power to make sure he doesn’t. You also don’t know him, even though you’re interested in him, because you’ve been trying not to be. It’s stupid. Get to know each other. It’ll probably work out.”

“I...is that how you did it? Because this seems like an objectively terrible idea.”

Sims snorts. “God, no. It took a coma before I was able to untangle my own feelings. The whole point is that you won’t have to take the same looping, painful path that I did.”

Jon wants to reject it outright, almost does, and yet. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Why?’

“Nothing, just. We’re usually a more stubborn on these sorts of things. I was expecting more of a fight.”

“Mm. Normally, I would be, but I’ve been forced to watch two rather obvious proof of concepts waltzing around in front of me, and agreeing will hopefully get you the hell out of my office.”

Sims studies him for a moment, then a surprised smile spreads on his face. “All right then.”

Jon makes a dismissive hand wave, and Sims obliges, and he spends the rest of the night trying not to think about what he’s agreed to.

~*~

The next day, about half an hour before the end of the work day, Jon calls Martin into his office. From his tight shoulders and carefully blank expression, it’s clear Martin very much does not want to be there. Great. This is going to go so well.

Jon gestures for him to sit, Martin does, and he dives in. “As we both now know, I don’t have the ability to fire you. In all reality, even though I am, on paper, your boss, I truly don’t have any power or authority over you.”

Martin leans back in his seat, letting a heavy pause fall between them before saying a stilted, “Okay?”

“So, I want you to know that I am about to ask you a question, and you have complete freedom and choice over your response, without fear of any negative consequences. Alright?”

“Um. Sure.”

Jon takes a breath, slowly lets it out, and bites the bullet. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?”

Martin stares. Then he squints. Then he studies. “Oh. Jon, you...we’re not them, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“So..why?”

Jon lets out a sigh, and tries to gather his thoughts in a way that makes sense to either of them. “Well, though I myself have some trouble with the concept, they’re not..entirely removed from who we are, and there’s enough foundation there that I have reason to believe we might...get on? Maybe we don’t, maybe we end up being friends, maybe we end up like them. That’s already enough to pique my own curiosity, but, alternate future versions of us aside, I mostly would just like to get to know more about you, and I’m hoping you might like to get to know me better as well.”

Martin’s shoulders relax, and he chews on his bottom lip for a moment before replying, “Okay. Yeah, why not?”

“Oh. Oh! Great! Does this Saturday work for you?”

“Works perfectly. Let’s give a shot.”

The first date is..fine. A Bit of a mess, but fine. The second date, however, is the best Jon’s ever been on. It’s so wonderful, in fact, that he doesn’t even mind when he catches Blackwood passing a fiver to Sims the day he can’t stop smiling at work.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

A Heartbeat Away | Damian Wayne

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

✦ word count — 2.7k

✦ based off the song I Should’ve Kissed You by One Direction

✦ summary — Damian is haunted by the fact that he only said good night when he should have kissed you.

✦ warnings — light angst, mentions of pregnancy (a minor character is pregnant), mentions of food and beverages, fluff.

✦ author's note i — randomly remembered my obsession with this song and couldn’t get it out of my head.

✦ author's note ii — the parts in italics are flashbacks.

════════════════════════

Ever since he started living with Jason, Damian found himself straying away from the things that held him back.

His life would never be normal, but in hindsight, he could admit things weren’t as bad.

The fallout with his father came crashing down in the worst moment possible — Dick was dead and his relationship with Tim wasn’t the best.

As little as he knew Jason, he was sure he could trust him so he asked for his help instead of somebody else’s.

And Jason didn’t say no. Whether he had the heart to do it or not was irrelevant because he still took Damian in and helped him find a job.

He hated said job.

‘It’s a job,’ you had told him, ‘you’re not supposed to like it.’

You.

Damian rarely stopped thinking about you. Calling it infatuation felt like an understatement, and yet he couldn’t find a better word to describe the whirlwind of emotions you gave him.

He still remembered the day he met you for the first time.

Jason paced in the living room, perking up every time he heard a noise outside the apartment.

You’re driving me insane,” Damian said from the small dining table.

”Roy’s late.”

”Why are you surprised?”

Jason glared at him.

Both of them heard somebody stand on the other side of the door. Their steps didn’t sound like Roy’s.

Pulling the door open, Jason was ready to snap at whoever had knocked.

“You ordered something and gave my apartment number instead of yours. Again.”

Damian didn’t recognize the voice so he slanted his body to the side to see who it was. He couldn’t stop staring.

”I’ll make it up to you.”

”Jay,” you sighed. “I’ve told you before, you just need to tell me beforehand if you don’t want things to arrive to your apartment. My roommate could have opened it.”

Damian chuckled, a single elbow resting on the table.

Jason craned his neck. “You think this is funny?”

”I think you’re a moron.”

”Shut up and come meet our neighbor.”

Damian didn’t have to be told twice. He stood up with an eagerness he hadn’t felt since Jason texted him to let him know he had found the materials so he could build a suit and go back to patrol.

”This is my brother Damian.” Jason turned around to place the package under the table next to the door.

He knew you’d either seen him before or heard about him the moment his eyes landed on you. People always had a visceral reaction when they met him, some found him attractive, others attempted to ask for favors, and some recoiled in fear.

But you didn’t. You held his gaze and stood in the same spot you had been since you knocked on the door.

And whether it had been in a newspaper or a gossip forum, he was glad you knew something about him. There was something about the way you stared at him that screamed for him to trust you. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Nice to meet you,” you politely said, smiling at him.

Stunned by the fact that you hadn’t mocked him, and now assuming it wasn’t wishful thinking after all, he tilted his head. Most people did mock now that he wasn’t under his father’s wing.

Still, he said, “Likewise.”

Your smile became warmer. “I live three doors down the hallway in case you need anything.”

He felt a pang in his chest at the gesture. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Weird sensations in his chest were normal when he was around you. Befriending you was easier than he’d ever admit and talking to you became the highlight of his day.

The pangs in his chest turned into a fluttering sensation in a heartbeat. You’d make him feel breathless when you did the smallest things — when you smiled at him, when you complained about other neighbors with him, when you asked about his day.

He felt special. For once in his life for being the closest he had ever been to resemble a normal person.

And he also remembered, quite painfully, that night he let you walk away without mustering the courage to tell you —or show you— the way you made him feel.

The deserted hallway was yet another proof of how easy it was to lose track of time around you.

Damian hadn’t expected to get back home past midnight or to skip patrol, but 1:00 AM turned into 2:00 and he couldn’t part from you no matter how many times he tried to remind himself to do it.

He hadn’t even expected to enjoy the state fair as an adult, yet he couldn’t remember a time he had more fun than that evening.

You gazed up at him, waiting for him to either do or say something. Anything other than stare at you in the middle of the hallway.

You had already thanked him for making you company, there was no way you’d say anything. And he froze.

“Good night,” he sputtered.

Your brow twitched. “Night.”

He watched you unlock your door and get inside your apartment with a heavy heart.

You moved out a couple months ago and he hadn’t seen you since then. The texts the two of you exchanged were sporadic and they bordered in formal.

He should have kissed you, he was aware of that. And to make matters worse, Jason chewed him out when he found out.

He still looked for you every morning he left the apartment as though you’d remember you had forgotten something. That you had forgotten him.

Jon said it was for the best, that somebody as sweet as you didn’t deserve to carry with his baggage.

Damian knew his best friend to be right, but how could he let go of you that easily when you made him see he was more than his mistakes and regrets?

He didn’t need anybody to carry him, he could drag himself anywhere if needed.

He simply hated the hole in the pit of his stomach every time he entertained the possibility of having to see you one day with somebody else because he wasn’t brave enough to say what he needed to let out.

The idea of being out of time was killing him slowly, so naturally, he’d sought a quick death.

════════════════════════

You gasped upon opening the door. You weren’t expecting anybody to be outside — much less Damian Wayne.

“Oh!”

“Hi,” he softly greeted.

You blinked rapidly. “Did you need anything?”

“I wanted to... Are you on your way out?”

“I’m just dropping this off for my mom.” You momentarily lifted the bags you were carrying in one hand. “She lives nearby.”

He spared a look to the reusable bags in your grasp. “Is she sick?”

“Pregnant,” you explained, playing with your keys. “It’s high risk due to her age so we take as much care of her as we can.”

Damian walked backward, allowing you to come out of the apartment and lock the door.

As you pushed the door to make sure it was locked, he asked, “Would you care for some company?”

Turning around, you gave him a small smile. “That would be lovely.”

He reached over. “Let me help.”

“They’re not heavy.”

“I insist.”

”Okay.” You handed him the bags and took the initiative to lead the way.

He reached your side immediately.

Not knowing what else to do, aware you’d let something slip if you didn’t find something, you made small talk. “How’s Jason?”

“As annoying as always.”

You still remembered when he meant those words, when he complained about Jason and how often they butted heads. His tone was different now, lighter, almost playful.

“Good to know some things never change.”

You walked the streets with an ease you hadn’t been able to in years. Growing up in that neighborhood meant which streets to avoid, and sadly, most of them were unsafe.

There were many things you could have asked or said, perhaps apologize for being cold while texting.

You were in your right to be cold and you could have just not answered, but you wanted to keep contact even though you were hurt.

Damian was great company. It was a shame you misread the entire situation and couldn’t go back to chat with him like before.

It took you a few attempts to get them to talk comfortably, but once he was able to, he didn’t look back. He even gossiped with you.

Stopping in front of the house, you looked around to make sure your mom had the windows open. Once sure, you walked up the front steps.

You withdrew a single key from your back pocket and extended your other hand so Damian would give you the bags.

The floors were recently mopped which meant your aunt had visited that day.

“It’s me,” you yelled so your mom wouldn’t get up. It was her time to be watching TV in the living room.

Carrying the bags towards the kitchen, you caught the jingle from a commercial.

You filled a glass with water and added a couple of ice cubes.

Your mom was comfortably sat on a recliner, feet up and remote control on her thigh. “Hurry back before it gets dark.”

“Don’t worry, a friend of mine walked me here.” You handed her the glass. “Do you need anything else?”

She ignored your question as she took the glass. “Who is it?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Him?” She lifted an eyebrow.

You hadn’t mentioned a guy to her in almost two years now, her surprise was understandable. “Not now.”

“Oh, so it is like that?”

Maybe it was and maybe that was the issue. She wouldn’t blame you if she knew him like you did, if she heard him laugh or saw him change his demeanor to accommodate to somebody else’s sensibilities.

You didn’t think you’d witness anything remotely close to that when you met him for the first time, but you learned really quickly that Damian was full of surprises.

“I’ll call in the morning in case you need something. I’m working ’til 3:00 PM tomorrow.”

“It’s okay.” She took a sip of water. “Did you bring anything sweet?”

“Homemade muffins and a few chocolate bars. Do you want one now?”

She shook her head. “I’ll wait after dinner.”

You kissed her cheek. “Call me, please.”

“Go, go.” She ushered you to go with a gesture of her hand. “Don’t make your friend wait.”

It was your time to ignore her comment.

Damian was sat on the front steps when you came out, looking up at the darkening sky.

“Is everything alright?” you asked in a whisper as to not scare him.

“No.” He shook his head and stood up. “I mean, yes. How’s your mother?”

“She’s good. Having fun watching reality TV.”

Damian squinted. “Is reality TV really that entertaining?”

“It’s mindless stuff, but it’s fun sometimes. You get to judge other people’s lives without feeling remorse because it’s most likely fake.”

The walk back was way shorter and you didn’t want to part. It was time to swallow your pride and your feelings for him.

He didn’t part ways with you at the building entrance. He walked beside you until you reached the elevator — Damian extended his arm to keep the doors open and allowed you to get in first. He followed suit.

You turned the lights on with Damian on your tail. He did wait for you to invite him in, but you were sure both of you knew there was no way you wouldn’t.

“I made muffins. Do you want one?”

Damian nodded.

You guided him to the dining table where a trippy vase in pastel colors rested with flowers.

He looked around the apartment as he walked towards the table. As he sat down, he fixed his eyes on the vase.

“Green or black?”

“Mmh?”

“Your tea.”

You could swear you saw him smile to himself.

“Black.” He placed his cellphone on the table. “You still have that thing,” he said, referring to the trippy vase.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He huffed a laugh. “Jason said it was ugly.”

“Jason doesn’t have the best taste in the world,” you lightheartedly retorted.

The vase was precious to you, a gift from Damian who spooked you in the middle of a rainy night and made you knock your favorite vase.

You set a plate in front of him and placed the muffin there. “Your tea’s almost ready.”

“No roommate this time?”

“Nope. I miss Lou, but I don’t miss having a roommate that much.”

“I thought the move was temporary just so you could be close to your mother...”

“It is, but there’s still a long way to go. The baby should be here next month and she’ll need help around the house.” You disappeared for a moment as you looked for a mug.

Having found one, you dropped the teabag and poured the boiling water in.

“Sugar.” You put the sugar bowl down just in front of the mug. Feeling his eyes on the side of your face, you gazed at him. “It’s brown, don’t worry.”

He relaxed and uncovered the sugar bowl. “Is the father of your mother’s child around?”

“Yeah.” You sat down on the chair closest to his. “She remarried last year and her husband tries to help, but you know, work gets in the way.”

“Tell me if I can help with anything.”

“Don’t worry, you have enough things to juggle with already.”

“What’s one more? At least let me make you company or walk you home. These streets are dangerous.”

You softly nodded. From the day you met him you knew you would never be able to tell him no — and having his company after a long day sounded nice.

“So...”

“So,” you encouraged him to go on.

“Are you seeing anybody?”

“No. I thought I was a little while ago, but...” You hoped he’d understand what you were getting at. “I guess something got lost in translation.”

“Did it? Or was he too much of a coward to show the way he felt?”

“Don’t.” You hated hearing him talk like that about himself.

“You don’t know how much I regret not kissing you that night. I—“ He sighed, twisting his mouth as he frowned. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“At least now I know you did think about doing it.”

“I did. Many times throughout the night.” He turned to the side to fully look at you. “I wanted to find the perfect moment and became overwhelmed. Sounds like a bad excuse, but I swear it’s the truth.”

“I believe you.”

Damian scooted closer and reached over to place his hand on your face. Softly, he caressed your cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

You leaned onto his touch, tilting your head. “Me too. Sorry for being such an ass.”

“It’s fine. I would have reacted similarly.”

“Similarly or worse?”

“Worse.”

You laughed, making him smile.

“May I?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Damian leaned in, placing his free hand on the back of your chair as his nose brushed yours.

His lips softly connected with yours, but the slow pace didn’t last. The two of you had wasted too much time, thrown away too many opportunities to be this close —or closer— and patience wasn’t a virtue Damian possessed.

The chair was now balancing itself in two legs, making you interrupt the kiss with a squeal.

Damian then made you stand up and wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips were immediately back on yours.

Your hands went up to rest on his biceps as he kissed you again. His arms tightened around you as he deepened the kiss and you melted.

You melted into the kiss, onto his warmth, due to the fact that he wanted this as much as you did.

Kissing him had become a mere fantasy for you, and there he was, not only making it a reality but exceeding your expectations.

Grabbing him by the neck, you broke the kiss in search of air. His breath was barely ragged and you remembered he told you he could hold it in for a long time.

You needed him to teach you just to be able to kiss him for longer.

“That was nice,” you said, still breathless.

“Yeah, really nice. We should do it more often.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“I’m telling you I want you to be mine.”

All in or nothing, of course. Jason had warned you that Damian didn’t take things lightly.

But you were okay with that.

[intercoursefluids]

Marry Me Part 1

Dick cracks the kitchen door open and takes a picture of the scene.

Marinette kneading dough with a focused look on her face, Damian sitting at the counter occasionally looking up at Marinette before continuing to sketch.

Dick turns to the side, noticing Alfred coming his way and scrambles to hide the evidence of his snooping.

Alfred looks at him, raising an eyebrow before walking in the door.

Dick waits around 6 minutes for Alfred to walk out and away before creeping back over to the door.

Soft instrumental music now fills the air, Marinette humming along as Damian watches her with a soft smile.

Marinette's soft humming fills the air accompanied by Damian's pencil strokes.

Dick pulls out his phone taking a small video and posting it to his personal twitter with the caption “It’s so Domestic!” followed with a crying emoji.

Marinette finishes kneading the dough and starts to form them into little rolls, placing them on the pan as she sways to the music.

Jason arrives just as she finishes.

Dick waves like crazy, signaling him to be quiet, and for once Jason listens.

He comes over peeking through the door with Dick before breaking out into a wide grin, pulling his phone out as Marinette places the pan in the oven, turning on the timer before washing her hands of the flour.

They watch as she hums swaying to the music as she dries her hand with a dish towel when the unexpected happens.

Now to understand their shock, you’ll need some background information.

Damian Wayne would rather gouge out his own eyes before dancing with someone.

So imagine their surprise when their little brother stands up and walks over to an oblivious Marinette, humming softly with her.

He taps her on the shoulder to get her attention before bowing at the waist and holding out his hand to her.

“May I have this dance?”

Marinette smiles blindingly bright before placing her hand in his.

He guides her around the room, spinning her periodically with the softest look any of them have ever seen on his face.

He starts to hum louder than before as he spins her before pulling her close again with a hand on her face.

Dick has to put a hand over his mouth and pass his phone to Jason because he's shaking so much. Tears stream freely down his face as he stifles his sobs.

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Neither brother even jumps at Selinas sudden voice, instead mutely nodding their agreements.

Dick leans back against his step-mom, sniffling at the display of affection playing out in front of them.

“It’s okay Dick, me and Selina are crying too.”

One look at Jason and Selina confirms that they are both in fact crying as they record. Well in Jason's case his eyes are a little shiny.

The song comes to an end as a timer rings.

They break away and Dick takes back his phone, stopping the video as Marinette checks and something in a pot on the stove.

Dick is about to step away when he notices Selina still filming and Tim walking towards them.

“What are you all doing? And why is Selina recording?”

Thankfully Tim seems to notice the secretive atmosphere and whispers not giving away their position to the two inside the kitchen.

“Your little brother is being sweet and I have a feeling that he’s not done being affectionate yet.”

Tim raises an eyebrow crouching down next to the rest of them and pulls out his phone before pointing it through the gap.

“Blackmail kinda sweet or make me cry kinda sweet?”

He turns back to the rest and sees Dicks face before pulling out a handkerchief that Marinette made him.

“Nevermind.”

They turn back in time to see Marinette finish stirring whatever is in the pot and move it off the heat before turning back to Damian.

Hugging him she rests her head on his chest with a smile as a new song starts up.

“Do you want to dance?”

Marinette looks up at Damian with a confused smile on her face.

“I thought we already did, mon chou?”

Damian chuckles softly tucking some of the hair that fell from her bun behind her ear.

“That we did, Habibiti. But against my better judgment I can’t help but find that dancing with you is one of the finer things in life.”

Marinette smirks at him, her hand coming up to grasp the wrist of the hand still cupping her cheek.

“Well then maybe we shouldn’t dance, afterall too much of something you enjoy can lead to an addiction.”

Damian smiles, swooping down to kiss her softly before pulling away.

“Indulge me just this once?”

Marinette sighs heavily, before speaking.

“Oh alright, but just this once.”

Behind the door there isn’t a dry eye in sight, even Jason shed a tear or two.

They start dancing again but not quite how they were before.

Before they were doing proper ballroom dances, now they just hold each other close and sway. Marinette's arms around his neck and her head resting on his chest, meanwhile Damians arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against him with his chin resting on top of her head, both of their eyes closed. The perfect picture of contentment.

Dick snaps a picture before immediately posting it to his twitter with an attempt at a caption that looks more like a keyboard smash since he can’t see very well through his tears.

They sway together for a long while before a second timer sounds.

They break apart, albeit reluctantly, and Marinette pulls the tray from the oven before carrying it over to the counter and switching the now golden brown buns to a cooling rack.

Since she is now facing the door the brothers plus Selina have a perfect view of Damians face from where he stands behind her.

Dick, now coherent enough to take pictures without them being blurry, lets the others film as he takes another picture. Posting it again to his private twitter so the rest of the family can see.

His face is full of pure adoration and love for the girl working in front of him.

“Mon Chou? Can you grab the glaze from the fridge? I need it.”

Damian immediately snaps out of his daze to do as she asks. He places the bowl by her hand before wrapping her up in a hug from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you, Marinette.”

Dick immediately takes two pictures, one with just the hug and Marinette working and another of her smiling after he says he loves her. And just like the rest, he immediately uploads them.

She smiles, stepping away to untie her apron and walking away. Effectively breaking the hug much to their 4 spectators disappointment.

“I love you too, Damian.”

She walks around the counter to hang up her apron, leaving only a few feet between her and the people who are filming them.

She doesn’t make it.

“I think I want to marry you.”

The 4 sharp inhales go unnoticed by the two teens as Marinette drops her apron, spinning around to face Damian with a bright blush.

“What?”

Marinette's voice is barely a whisper, as Damian rounds the island to come stand next to her, taking her hands and accidentally angling them in the perfect view to show both of their faces to the cameras.

“Let me reword that. Marinette, I know I want to marry you.”

Tears start to form in her eyes as Damian gets down on one knee, pressing a kiss to each of her hands before he starts to speak again.

“Marinette, you are so incredibly phenomenal. Ever since the first day I met you I knew I was doomed to fall for you, I just wasn’t prepared for how hard I would actually fall.”

Dick snaps another picture managing to type out a simple “OMFG” before posting.

“You are the only one I have ever been able to see myself spending the rest of my life with, the only one I have ever wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

Tears stream down Marinette's face as Damian looks into her eyes.

“I know that you have been hurt by the people you trusted most, you’ve told me how the people who were supposed to stay by your side turned you back on you.”

Damian sighs, turning her hands up and kissing her palms.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I vow from this day forward that in any way I may accidentally hurt you, even when I try my damndest to prevent it, that I will allow it to be done onto myself tenfold. I will stand by your side but I will never force you to remain by mine. When you want to take the lead I will cover your blind spots and protect you from those who try to blindside you. When you can’t think of a plan right away, or are too overwhelmed to take the lead I will stand front and center to cover you till we make it to safety. My sword arm, my strength, and my knowledge are at your disposal. And my heart and love are yours to take.”

Selina reaches over dick to Jason and Tim, putting her hands on their shoulders as they both cry freely.

“I know I’m not the best at expressing or even understanding my emotions.”

Marinette opens her mouth at his self deprecating tone, but Damian rushes to catch her off guard.

“Even so, the one thing I am sure of is that there will never be enough words to tell you just how much I love you. I will happily spend everyday for the rest of my life, trying to show you just how much you mean to me. And even then it won’t be enough.”

Damian pauses giving Marinette time to let out her thoughts before he continues.

“Oh Damian, I-, but what will everyone think? We’re 16! No one even knows I am with you outside of friends and family. What will we do when people call me a gold digger? I- people in France already don’t like me. I don’t want to drag you through the mud with me by agreeing to marry you Damian.”

Marinette winces, slowly pulling her hands away from Damians. He just grips them tighter.

“Marinette.” His serious tone makes everything go quiet, silencing even his brothers and stepmom's soft sobs.

“There are only two things in existence that could stop me from marrying you and one of them is if you say ‘No’. If the people in France believe that they have any say in what you do or don’t do just because they believe the words of a liar over you, it just proves that they are even dumber than I thought. As for our age? We can be engaged for the two years it takes us to turn 18, or if you want, we can wait longer. I don’t mind. And I’m pretty sure that if someone called you a ‘gold digger’ Jason, Dick, and Tim would put a stop to it before word even got to us.”

He gently pulls her hands back again, kissing her palms as she speaks.

“What's the other thing?”

He hums in question, meeting her eyes.

“You said that there were only two things that could stop you from marrying me, one was me saying ‘No’. What’s the other?”

Damian straightens slightly making sure she knows just how serious he is.

“Death.”

It's silent for a minute, no one daring to breathe.

“Yes.”

It's barely a whisper, hardly more than a breath, and yet it holds more worth than anything else in the world.

“Yes I will marry you, Damian.”

Damian immediately jumps up wrapping Marinette in a hug and spinning around with the before dropping to the ground again.

“I can’t believe you said yes.”

Marinette laughs at Damian, happy tears flowing down her face.

“You asked me!”

“I didn’t think that I was lucky enough for you to actually say yes!”

Marinette giggles again pulling Damian into a kiss that he happily returns, at least before he groans loudly and breaks, instead resting his forehead against hers.

“What's wrong?”

Damian sighs his shoulders lumping before answering.

“I have to tell my brothers and Selina by tomorrow. At least Dick and Selina so they can help me-”

He cuts off, paling severely.

“Dicks gonna kill me. I proposed to you without a ring, and he will skin me alive for it.”

Marinette laughs again.

“I’ll ask him to spare you. Besides, he can’t have me as his sister-in-law if he kills my husband.”

Marinette blushes at him as he smiles.

“Tomorrow, I’ll get the ring tomorrow. I don’t think I could wait any longer than that to finally put a ring on your finger.”

They cuddle up together, relishing in each other's presence.

Dick is the first to stand up, followed by Jason, Tim, and then Selina.

They walk down to the cave, all staying silent as their phones save the videos they were lucky enough to take.

Once they make it the tears start up again, full volume wails coming from dick and sniffles from Jason.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Dick cries into his stepmother's hair. His brothers following suit.

All of a sudden Dicks phone starts going off like crazy.

He pulls it out annoyed ready to tell whoever is on the other end off for interrupting his cry sesh.

467 notifications and climbing from twitter.

He opens it to the picture he snapped when Damian started swinging Marinette through the air with the caption ‘She said yes! BRB gonna go cry my eyes out’.

He looks at his username with horror, paling considerably as he looks at his family.

“I fucked up.”

[bluejayblueskies]

53 + Jon for kiss prompts <3

kiss prompt list!

53 - against a wall kiss

i went with jontim! cw for mentions of ghosts, hauntings, and demons, mentions of decay and rot, bats (the animal), and mentions of alcohol

.

Jon looks up from the small scrap of paper he’s holding, squints suspiciously at the building in front of them, and looks back down at the paper with a frown. “This can’t be right.”

 “Huh,” Tim says, peering over Jon's shoulder at the paper. It’s barely illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlamps, small pinpricks of light against the night sky. “This was supposed to be a haunting, right? Some lady kept seeing a shadowy figure out of the corner of her eye, and her lights kept burning out.”

 “Alleged haunting,” Jon says tersely. “You know as well as I do that the ‘ghost’ statements are usually absolute rubbish.”

 “Yeah, but this one’s got zest,” Tim says with a grin, swiping the paper from Jon’s hands and ignoring Jon’s noise of protest. “Usually it’s all oh, there’s a cold spot and I came home to find the telly on or whatever. But shadowy figures of darkness and deceit—”

 Tim gasps dramatically. “Jon, we could be dealing with a demon.”

 Jon fixes Tim with an unimpressed look. “It’s more likely that we’ve driven two hours outside of London just to waste our time staring at a house that looks like it hasn’t been lived in for thirty years.”

 “Yeah,” Tim says with a grimace, “the place could really use a paint job. And, uh. Some actual glass in the windows.”

 Jon sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters something under his breath about don’t get paid enough to—

 Tim couldn’t agree more.

“Fine,” Jon says, sounding resigned. He rifles through his satchel for a few moments before retrieving a small black torch. He clicks it experimentally on and off a few times. “We might as well get this over with.”

 “As much as I love your enthusiasm,” Tim says, “the place is very clearly condemned, Jon. The chains across the door don’t exactly scream hey, come in, it’s completely safe!”

 Not to mention that, technically, they’d have to break and enter. But Tim had learned long ago that the only problem Jon had with that was the physical effort it took to lift himself through broken windows and over chain-link fences. He’d decided, the first time he’d seen Jon pull a lockpick set out of his pocket and pick a lock in less than a minute, that he did, in fact, have a bit of a predilection toward delinquency. Particularly when said delinquent dressed like a college professor and used words like ‘ostentatious’ and ‘salient.’

 The being a little bit in love with him bit had come later. But it wasn’t like Tim hadn’t seen it coming.

 “I don’t think there will be any demons,” Jon says flatly, and before Tim can explain that he was actually talking about things like asbestos and rotten floorboards, Jon’s crossing the street at a quick pace and approaching the house.

 “Christ,” Tim mutters under his breath, scooping his backpack up from the ground and swinging it over his shoulder as he jogs after Jon. “Forget safety, let’s- let’s just run right into an abandoned building. Great.”

 By the time Tim’s wriggled his way through one of the ground-floor windows, Jon’s already scanning the inside of the house with his torch, an expression of intense concentration on his face as he maps the walls, ceilings, and floor. “Forget thirty years,” Jon says under his breath. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s ever lived here.”

 Jon’s right; beneath all the rot and decay and dust, the house itself is threadbare and hollow, walls a dull white and floor still an unfinished wood. Somehow, that more than anything makes Tim’s stomach turn with unease. “Right, well. This has been fun, but I think we’ve established that the statement belongs solidly in the discredited section so maybe we should… go?”

 Jon makes a noncommittal noise. “Why? It’s just gotten interesting.”

 “Right,” Tim says under his breath, hating how fond he sounds. “If this house collapses on top of us and we die, I am never going to forgive you.”

 Jon scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing’s going to happen.”

 .

 “Nothing’s going to happen?” Tim demands, having just sprinted halfway down the street and into a small side alley with Jon’s hand firmly grasped in his, practically pulling him along.

 A bit breathlessly, Jon says, “Well, I- I was right. The house is still very much intact.”

 Tim affixes Jon with the strongest glare he can muster, his heart still threatening to jump straight out of his chest. “Jonathan.”

 Jon throws his hands up in the air, dragging Tim’s hand with them. “How was I supposed to know that there was something living in there?”

 “Because it was condemned, Jon! Of course there were things living there.”

 Jon lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a laugh.  “They were just bats, Tim. I would think that would be a significant improvement from demons.”

 “Hey, at least I get paid to deal with demons!” At Jon’s raised eyebrow, Tim amends, “Alleged demons. I can handle the monster-under-the-bed stories, but—”

 Tim shudders. “Bats. I hate bats.”

 Jon’s mouth curves into a smile, and this time the noise he makes falls squarely into the realm of a chuckle. “Yes, I noticed. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make a noise quite like that.”

 “Hey, if you were getting assaulted by God’s most abhorrent creation on this Earth, you also would have screamed. I feel no shame.”

 Jon seems to realize that he’s still holding Tim’s hand at the same time Tim does. But instead of letting go, Jon squeezes Tim’s hand tighter and says, “I am sorry. I… may have gotten a bit carried away.”

 “Mm, a bit,” Tim agrees pleasantly. He squeezes Jon’s hand back reflexively, and Jon’s intake of breath is audible.

 Huh.

 Maybe it’s the adrenaline making him bold, or maybe Tim’s just gotten tired of waiting, but he finds it surprisingly easy to take a step closer, bracketing Jon between him and the brick wall of the alleyway, and say, “Jon, if I’m being completely honest: running away from a swarm of bats after breaking into a half-rotted building isn’t the worst way I pictured this evening going.”

 “Oh?” Jon says, voice pitched slightly higher.

 “I mean,” Tim says with a barely-concealed grin, “running from danger, hand in hand, catching our breath in a very narrow alley?” He shifts a bit closer to Jon, just to prove his point. “Could be worse.”

 Jon looks down at their still-joined hands, then back up at Tim with a small frown. “Are you…?” He cuts off with a small sound and a shake of his head. “Ah. Never mind.”

 God help him. Tim opts for bluntness, because if he’s going to show a few cards he may as well turn over his entire hand. “Jon, there is nowhere I’d rather be right now than holding your hand in a dingy alleyway.” He pauses, considering, then says, teasingly, “Well, almost nowhere. I hear the Canary Islands are nice this time of year.”

 Jon just stares at him for a long moment. Then, just as nerves start to creep up the back of Tim’s throat, Jon lets out a small, breathy laugh and says, “Well, until we get a statement about the Canary Islands, I suppose this will have to do.”

 Tim scoffs. “Have to do. You flatter me.”

 The smile Jon gives him warms him from the inside out. Carefully, Tim lifts his free hand and settles it on the bricks next to Jon’s head. Jon inhales sharply, and his eyes when they meet Tim’s are wide. Suddenly unsure, Tim says quietly, “Is… is this okay?”

 The noise Jon lets out is startlingly close to a whine, and he nods once before saying, in a small voice, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

 Oh, Christ.

 Jon’s barely finished speaking when Tim leans in, tangles his fingers more firmly with Jon’s, and captures Jon’s lips with his. Jon lets out a contented sigh and relaxes back against the brick wall, and god, Tim’s never going to get that sound out of his mind. He presses closer and deepens the kiss, documenting every one of Jon’s little noises and sighs and storing them away for later, so he can relive this moment again and again and again.

 Tim’s not sure how long they stand there, Jon’s back against the wall and Tim’s hand splayed flat on the brick next to Jon’s head, before a bright flash of car headlights startles them apart. As the light fades, Jon lets out a sound suspiciously close to a giggle before pressing his free hand to his mouth to hide his smile. “Sorry,” he says, his voice muffled by his hand. “I just… all the times I imagined kissing you, I really didn’t have this in mind.”

 Tim’s brain, for a brief moment, bluescreens. “All the times?” he says in disbelief. “Jon, all the times?”

 Jon drops his hand, looking sheepish. “Yes, well. In my defense, I thought you weren’t interested.”

 “Not—” Tim cuts off with an exasperated noise. He reaches down and takes Jon’s hand in his, threading their fingers together and squeezing once. “Let it go on record that I have wanted to kiss you for a long time now and that I am very much interested.”

 “Yes,” Jon says, amused. “I know that now.”

 Tim groans. Under his breath, he mutters, “Not interested. Ridiculous.”

 Jon laughs softly before leaning forward and pressing another chaste kiss to Tim’s lips. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m glad that I was wrong.”

 “Jonathan Sims, admitting that he was wrong? I thought I’d never see the day.”

 Jon gives him a glare without any heat. “Yes, yes, all right.”

 I love you, Tim wants to say. But it’s entirely too early for that, and he’s certainly not going to give his heartfelt love confession in an alleyway that he’s starting to realize smells something awful. So instead, he pulls lightly on Jon’s hand and says, “Well, I’m definitely not working any more today. Fancy a pint?”

 “Only if you don’t ridicule my taste in beer.”

 “One time, Jon! That was one time.”

[athenadione]

‘you are mine (and I am yours)’

In which you can find out the hard way that demons don't like sharing. @vi-la-vi

AthenaDione and I did a thing! Everyone loves jealous Damian, but hear us out....jealous Raven? Hope you enjoy! -Vi

I’m so incredibly honored to participate in this collab. Vi practically paved the way for me to give you all the delicious demon Raven smut that ensues and did a superb job writing the majority of this piece, as always. If you enjoy and feel so inclined, you can leave a kudos HERE on A03. Vi— thank you for allowing me to be a part of your writing process. You’re such a talented writer and I’m happy to have found you :) -AD

She couldn’t stop staring at him. Not just because it had been years since she last saw him, but because ever since she met him, Anna Vandergilt had thought of little else. 

Damian Wayne. 

They’d met at a benefit when both were sixteen years old, and it had been love at first sight. The elusive heir finally returned to Gotham after five years abroad, doing god knows what. She’d collected every bit of information she could about him, academic transcripts, tabloids, medical and legal records. Vandergilt influence ran deep and she had no compunction about using it to fuel her obsession. Securing an internship at Wayne Enterprises as Tim Drake’s assistant was just the latest step.

And now he’s here, and I won’t let him get away again. 

Damian had to remember her, the spark when their eyes met, the unbreakable connection they’d made. He didn’t acknowledge it when they were introduced, but that was fine. He was an intense, secretive man and likely just didn’t want to make a scene. 

Green eyes flashed to hers and narrowed, catching her staring. She willed herself to keep it together, sitting up straighter and crossing her legs in an attempt to draw his attention to the slit in her pencil skirt. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and leggy, she knew how to make men stare.

Or so she thought. Damian had turned his attention back to Tim’s presentation, arms crossed and expression impatient. So serious. She planned ways she might be able to get him alone, with no one and nothing to distract him from her. After today, I’ll have more than just fantasies. She’d been looking for an opening to approach him all day and was sure she couldn’t wait much longer.

They broke for lunch, but just as she moved towards him she was intercepted by Tim. 

“Hey Anna, can you run up to my office and grab my blue flash drive? I forgot to bring it down earlier.”

Get it yourself! she wanted to snap. An assistant position was well beneath her pedigree, and she hated taking instructions from common-born Tim Drake. Swallowing her irritation, she smiled and nodded. 

When she finally returned, Damian had already gone, apparently having had a lunch appointment with someone else. Anna sighed. I’ll speak to him after work, I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to dinner and drinks. No man had ever refused her.

She spied him later as she was returning to the conference room, speaking to a dark-haired woman she didn’t know outside of his office. She took a moment to admire him in his suit, noting curiously that the girl with him was only casually dressed in black jeans and an off-shoulder top with a band logo. Unprofessional much? He’s probably scolding her about the dress code.

Just as the thought solidified, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to the underside of Damian’s jaw, tugging his tie playfully as she did so.  

It was as though a bucket of freezing water had been dumped over her head. Anna stood stock-still, mouth falling open in horror. Who the fuck...how dare…?

The woman whispered something in his ear, kissing his jaw again as Damian rolled his eyes and smirked. She continued to stare, waiting for him to shove her away, glare, do something. She heard someone approach from behind. 

“Ugh, those two,” Tim groaned. 

“Who is that?” Her voice was tight and strained, and the man next to her gave her a curious glance. 

“That’s Rachel, Damian’s girlfriend.”

“Oh,” she said, at a loss for anything else. 

It’s not fair. I planned...I’ve been waiting…

She shook her head, determination moving in. A minor setback. He just needs to know there’s something better on the market. Vandergilts were practically royalty, after all. Her beauty and breeding were no doubt superior. She bit back her anger as Damian dropped a kiss on the other woman’s forehead before walking away.

Just a minor setback, she mentally repeated.

-

Tim’s assistant had a serious staring problem, and Damian was relieved when he was finally able to retire to his office. Annoying. The older man had joked earlier that Damian’s constant absence in Gotham and avoidance of the public eye elevated him to mythical status among some of his father’s employees. He longed for this week to end, eager to be back in Jump and away from the Wayne gawkers. 

His phone buzzed, distracting him from the revenue charts in front of him. 

“Stephanie is insane.”

Damian smiled, eyes darting to his watch to see how much longer he’d be stuck in this office. As necessary as it was that he be here for the audit, he felt bad abandoning Raven to his siblings. Next time they came to Gotham he’d make sure it was purely recreational and personally show her the sights.

“A half hour more, then I will come rescue you.”

Then two days more, and they would be home. 

A knock on the door called his attention. “Mr. Wayne? Could I borrow you for a moment. I need a second pair of eyes on this file.”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow at the worshipful expression on her face. The scent of expensive perfume assailed him and Damian fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. She looked at him hopefully, blinking rapidly.

“Ask Drake.”

She shifted, reaching up to toy with her platinum blonde hair. “Oh...he just has so much on his plate. I wanted to avoid bothering him,” she replied, voice high and lilting. 

Strange woman. Damian wondered where his older brother had found this one. He hadn’t really been paying attention when they were introduced, Vander-something or other.

He sighed. “Fine.”

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed.

She circled around the desk to stand next to him, laying the file in front of him and bending low. A fall of blonde hair brushed his shoulder and Damian shifted slightly to put some distance between them. He spent so little time in normal society it was easy to forget how bad most people were with personal space. 

“What exactly did you need help with?”

“This.”

Without warning, she sat on his lap and pressed her lips forcefully against his, throwing one arm around his neck for good measure. Damian completely froze, protests firing rapidly through his mind. She tugged on the waistband of his pants and it was enough to break his paralysis. He shoved her off of him violently and she caught herself on the desk, shifting it several inches back.

“What are you doing?!”

The alarm on her face lasted only a second before being replaced with a coy smile. “Don’t be shy, I know you remember me. It’s been years, but you’re all I’ve thought about, Damian. I swear.”

“I - don’t…” Damian felt uncharacteristically frazzled. “I have - no. I’m not interested,” he finally managed.

“Please, Damian.” She tried to take a step forward and he instinctively backed away. He hated the way she said his name, he realized distantly.

“I have a girlfriend,” he said, hard edge in his voice. One who would kill you and probably me if she was here right now. Raven did not share.

The woman sniffed. “Her. Don’t be ridiculous, you’re a Wayne. She can’t possibly-”

“Enough.”

He glared fiercely, daring her to try and continue. Tears swam in her blue eyes and Damian felt a touch of relief that he finally managed to get through.

“I...hmph, fine. Keep her on the side if you must. My father had a mistress. Just keep her out of my sight.”

She’s insane. What the fuck kind of vetting process do you have, Drake?

He closed his eyes and exhaled before meeting her watery gaze once again. 

“Listen very carefully. I. Am. Not. Interested. I want you out of this building in the next five minutes or I’ll call security.”

“I - but - we…” She straightened, eyes glassy with disbelief as she tried to compose herself. “I see.”

Damian kept his glare on as she left the room, feeling a headache build behind his eyes. He grabbed his phone again, feeling a pang of guilt when he saw Raven's name, and called his brother.

"I fired your assistant. You're welcome."

"What? Damian, you can't just show up and start firing people!"

"I'll...explain later." Vaguely, and with as few details as I can manage.

The hint of discomfort in his voice must have given him away. "Seriously? No wonder she was staring at you all day.”

"Drop it."

"Alright, alright. Her dad's going to be pissed though, he pushed Bruce for months to take her on here. Sounds like you got your very first stalker."

Well that was a disturbing thought. Damian shook it off. "Just tell him it didn't work out." He didn't want any rumors getting back to Raven if he could help it. 

-

Lying to an empath is easier said than done.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

"I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She snorted disbelievingly, eyes glued on the book in her hand. “Why do you feel so guilty?”

“It was a long day. I felt bad for you.” Half-truths were the only semi-effective way he’d found of getting around her lie detector. Normally Damian would smother inconvenient questions with lips, hands, and other parts of him that Raven was always deliciously responsive to, but touching her would have felt wrong right now. She deserved to know the truth before she decided how near she wanted him.

She rolled onto her side then, burrowing down against her pillow and studying him curiously. “You don’t have to spend every second with me, Damian. I’m pretty self-sufficient, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He shrugged, laying back and closing his eyes. “I’ll just be glad to get out of here. People in Gotham are a different breed.”

Raven hummed. “Fine, don’t tell me what’s actually bothering you.” 

With that, she leaned over to kiss him goodnight. Damian flinched at the contact before responding in kind, and pretended he didn’t see the confused look in her eyes. 

“I love you,” he said, focusing the emotion to make sure she felt it as well. 

She closed her eyes, slightly mollified. “I love you, too.”

I'll tell her when we get home, he promised himself. As much as he hated keeping secrets, he knew she was going to be upset and preferred a controlled setting. Damian remembered an incident shortly after they began dating when the ticket-taker at the theater had slipped him her phone number. Raven said nothing at first, but the night ended in a supply closet instead of a screening room.

"I don't share," she whispered dangerously, legs tightening around his hips to draw him in deeper. Red flickered across her purple irises. “You’re mine.”

He smirked at the memory. We never did get to see that movie.

Definitely safer for all involved to wait until they'd left Gotham.

-

Anna stared at her discreetly from the park bench. He’s loyal, that’s all. And I wouldn’t have him any other way.

She grudgingly admitted to herself that the other woman was pretty, if unconventional. Pale purple eyes and dark purple hair - hadn’t anyone told her the punk rock look was out of date? She had nothing on the blonde’s classical beauty.

A hefty bribe to the Wayne's chauffeur had given her knowledge of the woman's - Rachel's - movements throughout the day. She was ordinarily accompanied by Tim's banshee of a girlfriend and one of Bruce's orphans, but had separated from them earlier in the day to visit Gotham’s Arts District. Anna waited until she saw her enter the nearly empty arboretum before making her move. If Damian couldn’t be persuaded to break things off, this one could. An affair with the office hottie - tale as old as time.

“Pardon me?” She adopted a nervous affect as she approached, eyes downcast. “You’re Rachel, right?”

The other woman tore her gaze from the plaque in front of her, violet eyes locking on baby blue. “Do I know you?”

“Anna. I work - worked at Wayne Enterprises. I’m really sorry to do this, but...there’s something you need to know.”

She regarded her silently and the blonde fought the urge to fidget. There's something off about her. What were you thinking, Damian? Finally, Rachel nodded once, crossing her arms. Anna smiled internally and fiddled anxiously with her hands, doing her best to look miserable.

“I was Tim’s assistant until Damian fired me yesterday,” she began, voice weepy. “Tim’s the one who told me about you, I swear I didn’t know before.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed, something dark and inscrutable flashing in and out of her gaze. “...Excuse me?”

Anna took the low anger in her voice as an encouraging sign and continued. She dropped her eyes again and let out a harsh sob. “I’m not the kind of person who fools around with other women’s boyfriends, and-"

A massive burst of black and red interrupted her thoughtfully planned speech, demolishing the stone plaque next to them and knocking her to the ground. She screamed, covering her head  with her arms. A bomb? What’s happening?

Before she could get her bearings, something hauled her up by the throat, slamming her painfully against a tree. She blinked against the white spots in her vision and the dust in the air, squinting to see what held her. 

Four slitted golden eyes met her own, radiating fury so thick she could almost taste it. I’m seeing things. I hit my head and I’m seeing things. The devil tightened its hold on her neck and stepped closer, heat pouring off its red skin. Terrified beyond anything she’d ever felt, Anna felt her bladder let go. 

“Did you fuck Damian?” it - she - asked in a deadly calm voice.

“Wh-what?” she croaked. No way...what the fuck is she?!

“Answer, mortal.”

She sobbed in her grasp, all her carefully crafted lies flying away in the wake of her terror. “No! I just kissed him!”

The claws (claws?!) around her neck tightened and she felt warm trickles of blood start to seep down into her collar. 

“That - that’s all! That’s all I did! I’m sorry!” she cried, “I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again!”

“I know.”

Shadows wrapped around the two of them and she screamed.

-

Stupid, stupid woman, Damian thought furiously, raising his eyes from the weeping figure on the floor. He’d put it together fairly quickly after walking in the door, and was currently kicking himself for not considering this possibility. She’s clearly deranged, I shouldn’t be surprised she approached Raven.

The woman in question sat in a nearby armchair, looking every bit the queen of hell she was. Her demonic appearance and the regal way she carried herself in this form lent their mundane bedroom at Wayne Manor the feel of some macabre court.

“Something to confess?” his demoness asked lowly. 

“I was going to tell you when we returned home. This is the exact situation I was trying to avoid.” Sparks of black and red magic at her fingertips told him that was the wrong thing to say. 

“You think a couple hundred miles would have saved her from me when I found out? I would cross entire universes.”

The woman before her seemed to curl in further on herself, as if trying to become a smaller target. Prayers fell from her lips, whispered and unintelligible.

 “She’s not worth it. I would have made you see that.”

“That’s not your decision to make. You are mine, this was a challenge to me. A proper demon would have brought just the head.”

A loud wail met her words and golden eyes flicked downwards, oozing contempt. Damian felt a thrill race down his spine. He'd never seen her this angry - possessive. The idea that he was the catalyst, that his composed, serene Raven was burning so brightly over a stolen kiss made his blood tingle. 

Apparently feeling the weight of the demon’s stare, she covered her head with her hands and tried to choke back her cries. A prey-like instinct to hide taking root. 

He swallowed before speaking, mindful of the thin ice he was on. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t kill her.”

An amused sound escaped her, and Damian wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret it. “Beloved?”

She finally met his eyes again, clearly unhappy with the situation. “Fine. But if I ever see or sense this creature near you again, I will tear her apart slowly. Testor ego eam.”

With that, she waved a hand and the other woman vanished in a rush of black. He didn’t bother to ask where, not wanting to push his luck with Raven right now. Hysterical as the other woman was, no one would believe anything she had to say anyways. 

The demoness crossed her arms, studying him silently. She seemed to have no intention of changing back to her human form. Oh. 

“I suppose I’m in trouble as well?”

“Lies deserve punishment. And you need to be reminded who you belong to.”

“You, habibti. Always.”

Her smile offered nothing but trouble and his heart started to pick up. "That’s a start."

“Oh?” he asked her, not moving from the spot where he stood. It seemed that court was still in session, and her final judgement on his own transgressions had not yet passed. 

She picked at a claw unhurriedly, hooded eyes flicking over his figure. Not one to back down, he met her appraising stare inch for inch.

“Did you know that demons mate for life?” she asked without warning. 

“No, beloved,” he breathed. The information was new but it hardly mattered. He had already decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her long before they ended up together. He just wondered why she felt it necessary to mention now. 

“It’s a sacred bond. Actually sacred, unlike human marriages. Challenging it is the worst insult one demon can deal to another.” Her eyes narrowed, and her claws seemed to sharpen before his eyes.

“She wasn’t a-”

“No one will threaten our bond. Do you understand, mate?”

Dear gods. 

He resisted the urge to lick his lips, instead pressing them firmly together. “You should know that you will never be at risk of losing me, beloved.” 

“I know. I also know you will never lie to me again.” The demoness waved a clawed hand before resting it underneath her chin. She was waiting for him. He swallowed again.

“What can I do to make amends?” 

Her grin widened, boarding on malevolent, as if she finally found the answer she was looking for. Lifting effortlessly from her chair, she began to stride across the room to him with measured steps. 

“I have a few ideas.” She purred. 

“Oh?” he asked again, displeased at how out of breath he sounded. 

Golden eyes held his own, and she didn’t speak again until she was just an arm's length away from him. 

Then she pointed at her feet. “Kneel.” 

He felt his jaw go slack. She wants me to do what? 

She cocked her head at his hesitation. “You will not kneel for your demoness?” She clicked her tongue in distaste. “Don’t you want to remedy your indiscretions?”

He set his jaw, barely suppressing a wince.  When she put it that way, there was no reason not to kneel before her, even if the thought of doing so went against every instinct in his body. He did, after all, lie to her, and if this was what she wanted from him then who was he to deny her?

Besides, there would be an opportunity for her to return the favor. I’ll make sure of it. 

Revealing nothing, he stared at her impassively and slowly dropped to one knee, biting back a scowl as her smirk grew. 

Then, he watched as a slender leg poked out from the slit of the dress she was wearing, and a strappy, black heel. He gave her a simmering look, then took it in his hands without a word, and pressed a kiss to her ankle, trailing up the side of her calf. 

“That’s very nice, mate.” She murmured, resting a clawed hand onto this shoulder. “What else are you willing to do for me?” 

A light smirk replaced his features. She was asking him to seduce her. To fuck her. That was something he would be more than willing to oblige. 

He promptly stood to his feet and grabbed her wrist, pulling him into his chest. To his amused delight, she went pliant in his arms— nearly purring as he captured her lips with his. He kissed her thoroughly, drowning out the memory of the other gods-awful kiss that’d been forced upon him. 

Then a clawed hand traveled his cheek lightly, moving its way to the back of his head. She suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged downwards, tearing his lips from hers. He hissed when sharpened teeth latched themselves on his neck, nipping at the exposed flesh there before soothing it with her tongue. 

Then she began to walk forward, forcing him to step with her— until the back of his knees touched the mattress of their bed. 

“Meus es tu.” She said lowly, and she pushed at his chest, sending him backwards.

It turned into a battle for assertion. One that he admitted he thoroughly enjoyed— and intended on winning. 

He took her with him, grabbing her waist to position her underneath. His smile was smug when he peered down into four golden slits, obviously dissatisfied at the turn of events. 

Ignoring her bared teeth, he nudged open her legs with one knee before settling between them, then rolled against her in one swift movement, taking pleasure in the way she threw her head back with a growl. 

He continued his ministrations, trailing hot kisses down her neck, just as she did to his moments before. One hand reached up to graze her breast as his kisses went farther down the middle of her chest, while his other hand roamed over the swell of her hips. 

Raven in turn, was growing more frustrated with every second he kept her distracted with his teasing, light touches. 

“Enough.” It was a command.

By the time he managed to blink he found himself on his back and she was straddling his waist. 

Her hands encased with her dark magic. “Alliges duplicia.”

His arms lit up with her magic and they were forced above his head. When he tried to bring them back down he was met with resistance. What the hell? When he looked up his eyes widened with realization. She bound my fucking hands to the headboard. 

“Raven.” He snarled in warning, tugging on his bonds. The demoness was unperturbed by his outburst. 

“You will submit to me, mate.” A dangerous red swirled in those golden irises, and he clenched his jaw in response, then bit back a groan when she brushed against his length. 

“Let me go.” He glared. 

“I will not. This is your punishment. You will stay like this until you beg for me.”

“Tch.” 

He detested how painfully hard he was. His erection strained against his trousers, and he couldn’t contain his next groan when she palmed him. 

It didn’t matter how much he wished she’d slip her hand underneath his belt. He would not beg. 

She began to strip slowly, until she was completely bare before him, and then she peeled off his pants carefully— and then his shirt. His full erection was on display for her, and he released a strangled noise in the back of his throat when she settled her heated core against him.

She chuckled darkly when he twitched underneath her. “Say please.” 

“No.” he gritted out, breath hitching when her mouth latched onto one of his nipples, nipping roughly. Her tongue flicked it right after, mixing the pain she had caused with pleasure. 

“No?” Her claws wrapped around his throat, squeezing in warning. “You are in no position to deny me, mate.” 

He just glowered.

“Fine.” She relented, retracting her claws. “You will break eventually.” 

Her fingers lifted to her full breasts, reddened from her true form, and her fingers began to tease one darkened nipple into a tight peak. The bonds went taut when he pulled at them roughly in an attempt to reach out to her. She noticed this and smirked as she teased her other nipple, then rocked against him. They groaned together.

He watched as she then slipped one hand down to her core and began to tease herself, parting her folds before slipping a finger inside while grazing against his cock. 

She moaned, mouth parting slightly and he growled again in protest. That should be his fingers inside of her. 

“If you insist on not obeying me, then I will use you for my own pleasure.” She sunk down onto his cock and his head hit the wall with his groan. Fuck, she felt so damned good and the pace she was setting set him on a steady course towards an impending orgasm, regardless of how much he despised not being in control. 

“Beloved.” He growled when she brought him to the brink all too soon, then slowed back down while teasing her clit with her own fingers. Quick, circling motions that revealed her own need to him— that she was nearing her own orgasm. 

He caught her hitched breath. She was losing resolve, caught in her own wave of pleasure. 

“Release me.” He tugged on his bonds again and bucked his hips into her for good measure. “I want to be the one to fuck you when you come.” 

She gasped and clenched around him, drawing him even deeper. “I will come soon. If you want to fuck me, you must beg now.” 

He cursed. Goddamn her. 

“Please, habibti. I am yours.” 

With a victorious smirk, she waved a hand. That smirk was short-lived however, because as soon as the bonds disappeared he lunged for his little demoness, twisting them both before pulling out of her to roll her onto her stomach. 

“You are mine too, Beloved. I will also make sure of that,” he snarled into her ear, teasing his cock at her entrance. His hands held her pressed against the bed. 

The demoness laughed, then inhaled sharply when he pushed into her with one swift movement. They were both right at the edge, only a few more thrusts was all it would take to throw them both over.

“I can feel how close you are,” He reached a hand underneath her to press his thumb directly against her clit, “Come with me, now.” 

She cried out— a sound that was more animalistic than human, and she fluttered around him. He fell shortly after, nearly seeing stars. He continued to thrust languidly, drawing out their orgasms. Vaguely, he watched as Raven’s skin turned from red to flushed ivory. One pair of eyes turned to peer up at him instead of two, and the color of her irises receded to lavender. 

For a moment he watched her transform, breathless. 

She smiled up at him as her breathing returned to normal and he returned it before dropping his face to her neck. “I’m going to have to make you jealous more often,” Damian murmured into her skin. 

Raven snorted, lifting a hand to run through his sweat-soaked hair. “Unwise. Not only will I definitely kill the next one, it will hurt the entire time she is dying.”

“Green is a good color on you, habibti.”

She said nothing, but he could feel her contentment in the gentle run of her fingers across his hair and skin. As post-orgasmic clarity continued to take hold a question popped into his mind and he leaned up to regard her.

“When were you planning on telling me we were essentially demon-married?”

She flushed. “Eventually. Are you...did you not want…?”

He silenced her with a kiss, letting his actions and strength of his emotions answer her question. As though he could ever give this up, or stomach the idea of either of them being with someone else. 

After all, Damian didn’t share either.

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

If Glee did a Taylor Swift Tribute Episode...

Just my opinions, feel free to add on to them. I know I have some fellow gleek swifties following me. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Obviously they have to do some of the hits but I think some people would have some out of the box picks.

*This post assumes all Taylor songs are available to choose from as of May 14th 2021 but focuses on Taylor’s first 6 albums (if you want more glee and Taylor I have fics with that; LOVER and FOLKLORE) and takes liberties with where this episode’s placement is in terms of canon. But since it’s all made up anyway who cares (but Blaine’s involved so I guess season 3 idk).*

Okay, trying to do a full plot here (completely inspired by @kurtdeservesbetter head canon posts. I hope this lives up to her fabulous posts). This will be my version of glee so everyone gets solos and Rachel can’t hog the spotlight. Also, this is about to be super long (both post wise and episode wise).

Let’s open the first episode with

...Ready For It because the New Directions are in their reputation era. Santana does the opening cough centerstage. Everyone in black and/or camo green outfits (can you just see Kurt in a dark green bedazzled snake jacket, Santana in a black leather dress, and Tina digging out some goth clothes for people to borrow?), snakes everywhere, but probably no Karyn (she just wouldn’t fit on the auditorium stage). Santana takes the first verse but we have Blaine step up for verse 2. (I just love their friendship in the Michael tribute, cute little badasses are BACK. Also him singing “Burton to this Taylor” is such a Klaine thing to do).

Everyone is still dressed in their rep outfits but we’re in the choir room now. Mr. Schue is talking about why Taylor had to disappear and clap back with rep, how rough the industry is for women and tries to uplift the ladies in the room and encourage them to not silence their voices (cue snarky comment from Santana about Rachel needing to be silent).

Then, Mr. Schue goes on about how you can only understand how Taylor got to her rep era by studying her earlier music. So we have a performance of Tim McGraw. Simple, front of the choir room performance, maybe Puck does guitar, and sitting on stools.

Everyone is surprised to find out how pumped Sam is for this assignment but he is all over it. “It's about time we did some country in this room.” Cue Sam and Quinn at her locker talking about their ‘date’ last night, Sam’s all cute and teasing and Quinn is not into it. She tells him it was fun but she was wrong, they shouldn’t do this again. In turn, he does a wonderful performance of Bye Bye Baby. He thought it was more but clearly he’s “a part of her past.”

Then, we’re in the empty choir room. Tina and Mike are there. (I love their cutesy duets) They sing Everything Has Changed and it’s utterly adorable. Can’t you hear Mike asking Tina if she’s “good to go” like Ed does? And while we’re on the subject of cute duets and RED, we flash to the courtyard to see Santana and Brittany. They turn Stay Stay Stay into a duet. “I’ve been loving you for quite some time,” “before you I only dated self-indulgent takers who took all their problems out on me,” “no one else is gonna love me when I’m mad, mad, mad,” and “it’s occurring to me that I’d like to hang out with you for my whole life” it’s perfect for them. Adorable ladies kisses are had.

Let’s toss in some boy drama for fun. Idk shit about football but somehow Puck is praised by their coach over Finn, which gets him all pissy, and Puck’s upset and jealous because Finn is back with Quinn now (this is why Quinn shut Sam now earlier, she changed her mind). Can we say duet of Bad Blood? “So if you’re coming my way...just don’t.”

After their dramatics, we have a Brittany solo in the choir room. It’s after school at this point (or whenever glee club is). Brittany does You’ll Always Find You Way Back Home.

When she finishes Mr. Schue tries to explain that it’s a Hannah Montana song. Britt injects that it’s confusing how she’s really Miley Cryus “like how can you be two people at once?”. Before Mr. Schue can continue, Kurt pipes up “you never specified that the songs had to be sung by Taylor Swift, just that they were her songs.” Mercedes adds, “yeah, Mr. Schue, Taylor wrote that song.” Mr. Schue concedes that he has once again been outwitted by Kurtcedes. The friends do their little hand shake thing.

With a sigh, Mr. Schue asks Mike if he’s ready to go and Mike asks to take things to the auditorium for some dancing room. Everyone’s on stage with him and it’s kind of a group number but Mike is the focus. It’s Shake It Off. All inspired by the music video. He’s tried to fit in elsewhere (i.e. football, with the smart kids, etc..) but he’s really himself in glee when he’s dancing.

Part 2 of Taylor Tribute Episodes

We begin with an ALL GIRL NUMBER of A Place In This World. Just because.

Glee is dismissed and we zoom in on Artie. He’s watching Tina with Mike and Brittany with Santana. Both Tina and Britt have broken his heart by this point. So, he’s rolling down the halls singing A Perfectly Good Heart. While Artie’s soloing, we cut to Rachel watching Finn and Quinn chatting. Artie’s song playing over this scene. Rachel is feeling similar to him at the moment.

She’s pretty sure Finn dumped her to be with Quinn again even though Kurt and Blaine told her they saw Quinn and Sam at the movies last night together making out in the back row. Fine, if that’s how he’s going to be, she doesn’t need him anyway. Cue Mr. Perfectly Fine. Uber dramatic solo performance walking around McKinley’s halls watching Finn and Quinn together ending in the auditorium alone. (see what I did there, both broken hearted peeps singing a song with Perfectly in it (this was not at all planned, actually, happy accident))

After some good old heartbreak, we have Kurt and Blaine on screen. Blaine walks into the auditorium to see Kurt sitting on the edge of the stage. “What’s all the fuss?” he asks from the door. Kurt had texted him “EMERGENCY.” The band starts to play and Kurt just starts singing, Enchanted. It’s time to profess their love for each other, just like they sing Perfect together in the car, this duet needs no audience. Blaine catches up and sings while walking towards his boyfriend. It’s very reminiscent of past New Directions competitions where they come in from the back and make their way to the stage. “Wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you?” Kurt and Blaine both know the answer to that question now but just a few months ago they were both wondering that exact thing.

They kiss before we cut to Kurt and Blaine walking hand in hand into the choir room where everyone else is already. Mr. Schue is praising the performances thus far and of course asks Rachel if she’s ready to solo (some practice for her completion solo). This causes an uproar from Mercedes and Santana. Another classic argument of how she gets too many solos. Mr. Schue tries to shut them both down but Santana tells Rachel to watch her back, and we get three very different reactions to this. 

All three girls storm out.

First, we visit Mercedes alone in the courtyard. This solo is all about being hurt over this great thing in her life (glee) and her being denied happiness within that club. Thus, Cold As You. (mostly to indulge myself because she’d blow us away with this song).

Next, Rachel in the auditorium. A huge bridge on stage (very Speak Now Tour of her), belting out Better Than Revenge. Santana’s dropped the last straw (the humiliation, name calling, Finn at one point and now solos,) it’s too much this time.

And finally, Santana walking around McKinley, showing us flashes of Rachel ‘outshining’ her and the rest of glee and Mr. Schue being unfair, while singing Look What You Made Me Do.

Tina walks out at the same time as Rachel, Mercedes, and Santana but no one seems to put two and two together. She feels just as underutilized as the latter two do. She ends up in an empty classroom and sings The Outside. “Nobody ever lets me in” and “on the outside looking in.”

Once the 3, err 4, divas have left the room, Finn sticks up for Rachel. Quinn, of course, has something to say about this along the lines of “you always defend her.” Finn, intimated by her ‘scary Quinn’ fumbles and blurts “because she’s my girlfriend” WHICH IS NOT TRUE AT THIS POINT. Quinn dumps him on the spot, cuts quickly to Blaine and Kurt sharing some ‘oh my god, can you believe this’ expressions, and vanishes from the room.

By this point, Rachel is long gone from the auditorium but the bridge is still there.

Here’s where we go way off script but imagine, Quinn has decided to just quit boys. They’ve all failed her anyway, she’s better off being alone. She walks up the bridge and thinks to herself “god Rachel’s so dramatic, where did this thing even come from” before it hits her “fuck, I’m as bad as Finn. I want her.” Then, she starts singing Clean to herself in the auditorium, likely tearing up throughout and ending with a good cry. (Because Dianna would DELIVER with Clean.)

While Quinn is having a sexuality crisis, the rest of glee is still happening. They’re discussing upcoming competition and debating solos and songs.

Kurt’s all: “Mr. Schue, if I may” and performs a lovely rendition of Call It What You Want. Those opening lines are too good. “My castle (ie McKinley) crumbled overnight, brought a knife to a gun fight (ie couldn’t fight off Dave Karofsky), “I’m doing better than I ever was ‘cause my baby’s fit like a daydream,” and “at least I did one thing right.” When he’s done, Blaine’s a mess in the back of the choir room, and Mr. Schue says: “not really what we’re looking for but very nice, Kurt” however, Kurt’s too busy sitting beside Blaine teasing him about blushing.  

Then, the missing girls return to the room having sung out their emotions. Quinn, having realized her feelings for Rachel, ends up soloing You Belong With Me to the New Directions in the choir room. Odd looks all around, no one knows what’s up with her and why does she keep glancing at Rachel? (Faberry just fit so well I had to add it, don’t know if I’m a shipper or not but it’s here now) (also thanks to @spicygemini for pointing out the obvious “Quinn would have ate YBWY”).

Mr. Schue wants to move the group to the audition to perform their final number of the Taylor Swift tribute well but Tina asks to sing first. He’s surprised but allows it, taking a seat with the rest of the New Directions.

Tina sings Beautiful Ghosts. “Watch from the dark, wait for my life to start” because New Directions is refusing to use her talents AGAIN. She’s singing this to Rachel and the girls who were in the Treble Tones. Because she absolutely SMASHES this number, the glee kids agree she gets solo for their next competition (and they deliver on that promise).

To conclude Part 2 of the Taylor tribute episode, we have a group performance of Long Live. “One day we will be remembered”, “all the years we stood there on the sidelines wishing for right now”, “for a moment a band of thrives in ripped up jeans got to rule the world” ie wining completions, “when they look at the pictures please tell them my name...”

[gunpowdville]

The Great Flesh-Eating Cake Incident of Year [REDACTED], Chapter 2

chapter: 2/2

relationships: Drumbot Brian-Raphaella la Cognizi (queerplatonic), Gunpowder Tim/Lyfrassir Edda/Marius Von Raum, Nastya Rasputina/the Aurora

Other things: genderfluid Tim, she/her Tim, he/fae Marius, temporary character death, possession, canon-typical violence. but mostly literally just silly self-indulgent fluff.

chapter 1

ao3

Read here below the cut >:}

The Rec Room: Tim, Lyf, Marius. All 10 still alive. (a few minutes before It is released)

Lazy days on Aurora are hard to come by, and when they do happen, they are spent most often by complaining about how boring lazy days are. Some, however, can find content in the slower days spent in relative peace and quiet. Case in point: the three currently buried in a pillow nest in the middle of the rec room floor.

The situation is this: the pillows and cushions from the furniture all stripped away and stolen to build a comfortable arrangement on the floor. Gunpowder Tim, in simply a loose blouse and leggings, hair braided elegantly over one shoulder. Lyfrassir Edda, in what is undeniably one of Tim’s waistcoats, perched in between the gunner’s legs, having their hair braided by her deft hands. Marius von Raum, sprawled across Lyf’s lap, waving his hands about animatedly as he talks.

“You left out the best part,” Tim says as Marius finishes relaying the story of how fae and Raph had joined the crew. “You forgot to mention the bit where Bri gave the two of you an actual job interview. And how, upon being asked your greatest strengths, you said, and I quote, ‘I’m hot.’”

“You did not,” Lyf looks utterly scandalized. “At a job interview?”

“You forget, love, that the job fae was applying for was being a Mechanism,” Tim points out, running her fingers through the former inspector’s hair. “The criteria is pretty much being able to play an instrument and willing to do crime.”

“Speaking of,” Marius says, batting aimlessly at Tim’s face where it peeks at him over Lyf’s shoulder. “It’s a shame that we only really have two or so songs together, Tim. We should get to sing together more.”

Tim nods in agreement. “We’re simply too powerful together.”

“I’ve been thinking of trying to get Jonny to let the three of us sing Blood & Whiskey,” Marius admits, then frowns. “Oh, wait, sorry Lyffers, I forgot you sound like a drowning cat when you sing.”

“I do not!” Lyf flushes scarlet, turning their face away from Tim’s raised eyebrow.

“You’re right, sorry, it’s more like a drowning cat playing a kazoo.”

Lyf makes an attempt to hit Marius lightly, but the violinist just catches their hand and kisses the back of it, grinning wickedly.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you sing,” Tim says slyly, tying off the braid and leaning forward so she can rest her chin on Lyf’s shoulder. “Would you sing for me?”

“Do you enjoy the sound of a drowning cat playing a kazoo?” Lyf asks her.

“Well, not exactly…”

“Then according to Mare, you do not want to hear me sing.”

Tim pouts, showing off her mastery of sad puppy dog eyes. The overhead lights glinting off the metal make them sparkle, creating a masterfully alluring wide gaze. “Please? Just a bit? For me?”

It is next to impossible to argue with those eyes, especially once you’ve already fallen hard for the person making them at you. With a sigh, Lyf squeezes their eyes tight shut and awkwardly sings a few lines of Blood & Whiskey. It sounds, as promised, like a drowning cat playing a kazoo.

Tim manages to hold a straight face for roughly three seconds before guffawing with laughter, burying her face in the spot between Lyf’s shoulder and neck to smother her cackles.

Lyf breaks off, turning their head slightly with a gently irritated eyebrow raised at their partner. “Are you finished?”

“Sorry,” Tim gasps between giggles, nuzzling further into their neck, failing miserably at trying to stifle her mirth. “I- I just- I didn’t expect it to actually sound- like that- I’m- I’m sorry-”

“I told you,” Marius crows, grinning up at Lyf and Tim with triumphant teasing fire in faer eyes. “Wasn’t I right?”

“You two are very rude to me,” Lyf huffs, sticking their nose in the air haughtily. Tim lifts her face from their shoulder and noses their jaw, murmuring something about drowning cats and how they have never sounded more attractive. Lyf pointedly ignores her.

“Aw, hey, don’t be like that, fairytale,” Marius heaves himself into a sitting position and catches the former inspector’s face in his hands. “Y’know we’re just teasing you ‘cuz we love you, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,”Lyf sighs, giving in and letting faer kiss them.

“Sappy,” Tim comments, earning a petulant finger from Marius. “Also, fairytale?”

“They’re my fairytale,” Marius declares proudly, and Tim pouts. “What am I, then?”

“You,” Lyf contemplates, turning their head to meet Tim’s metallic gaze with their own iridescent one. “You’re my battle cry. You’re the song I sing for strength when I can’t find it. You’re my declaration to the world that I will not stand still and break. You’re the inspiration that keeps me fighting. My battle cry.”

“Well,” Tim blinks, making a valiant attempt to keep her voice steady. “Hey now. You didn’t have to go and do that to me.”

Lyf’s brow furrows, concern instantly evident in their features. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, goddamnit, you said everything right, you- fuck.” without another word, Tim fists a hand in the front of their shirt and pulls them into a kiss. “I fucking love you.”

Lyf’s (no doubt sappy as all hell) response is cut off by Marius, who groans and rolls out of their lap with a huff. “If you two are going to be like that, I’m leaving.”

“You started it,” Tim points out, “but whatever, more Lyf time for me.”

Marius sticks faer tongue out at her as fae leaves. “Go see if Bri’s made me any munchies!” Tim calls after him, before turning back to her partner with a decidedly malicious smirk. “Now, where were we?”

They are interrupted not long after by Brian, who comes barging into the room without preamble, zeroes distractedly in on the pair of them, says “Oh. Hello, dears. Have either of you seen an unidentifiable mass of sentient ooze? Slightly larger than an octokitten? It ate Marius,” and then hurries out the opposite door.

Tim and Lyf glance at each other, attempting to register his words. “Wha- Brian, what?”

But the Drumbot has already disappeared down the corridor, leaving the two of them to scramble to their feet and race after him, their questions landing on ignorant ears.

Nastya, the corridors: 9 left alive, 1 eaten.

Nastya spends her lazy days with her girlfriend, most of the time. She enjoys the quieter hours when she can work on repairs, listening to Aurora tell her stories or complain about whatever is on her mind. This particular lazy day, the engineer is sitting cross-legged on the floor of one of the corridors, right outside Jonny’s room, her hands deftly working at the wires beneath one of the wall panels. Aurora is telling her about a new program she and Ivy are working on, a sort of virtual reality experience for the shooting range that will ‘revitalize the excitement of warfare’, in her words. Nastya listens intently, interjecting with questions when she has them and praise when it is deserved.

As she finishes up, carefully replacing the wall panel and smiling softly at Aurora’s petulant complaints, something drops from the air vent above her. She takes a smooth step back as the thing falls to the floor with a wet thwack. At first glance it resembles an octokitten, but as it unfurls it reveals itself as more of a dark glistening lump, tendrils of gooey flesh extending across the floor toward Nastya.

“Well, hello,” The engineer says, tilting her head to study it. “What are you?”

That is the cake our Drumbot and his science officer made, Aurora answers for her. Don’t touch it.

“This is a cake?”

I believe it was supposed to be.

“And what is it now?”

Decidedly not a cake.

It’s at that moment that Ivy comes racing into the corridor, breathless and looking faintly annoyed. “Ah. Nastya. Good. Have you seen-” her eyes drift to the thing at Nastya’s feet. “That.”

“I am certainly looking at it right now,” Nastya says in response, nudging a toe forward to poke at it. Ivy throws out an arm to stop her. “Do not. Unless you want to get eaten.”

Nastya raises an eyebrow and quickly steps back, just as an octokitten meanders into the area, approaching the blob with a curious ‘mrrp’. Ivy dives for it, but the creature is much faster, latching onto the octokitten in a second. But instead of eating it, the thing seems to melt into it, turning it a darker color.

“Hm,” Ivy hums curiously. “That’s new.”

The possessed octokitten zeroes in on Ivy and Nastya, yawning wide to show a lot more teeth than should be able to fit in its mouth.

“Run?” Nastya suggests, watching the kitten start forward on uneasy tentacles.

“Run,” Ivy agrees.

Jonny & Ashes, the shooting range: 9 left alive, 1 eaten.

The shooting range is one of the few rooms on Aurora that isn’t quiet on lazy days. This day is no different from any other in that regard, with the sounds of gunfire and cackling echoing from behind the wide open door. The quartermaster and the first mate are both in there, trapped in a pointless competition to outshoot each other. They have done this many times before, and who wins changes nearly every time. But it’s an excellent way to distract and relieve stress, and Jonny had noticed Ashes appearing down earlier, so he had suggested a shooting competition. He never said that he was doing it to cheer them up, but he’s pretty sure they’ve caught on to his intentions.

“I kicked your ass harder than Brian got his ass kicked in that sun,” Ashes remarks, standing over Jonny, who lies prone on the floor. Jonny groans and sits up, shoving his singed hair off of his forehead. “You cheated.”

“Says what rules?” Ashes snorts, reaching down to help him up.

“It was a shooting match, O’Reilly, not a goddamn grenade match.”

“Your screaming was hilarious, though.”

Jonny scowls and flips them off. Ashes laughs and slips another grenade into their pocket, a little something to save for later.

The trapdoor in the ceiling of the shooting range drops open, and Raphaella tumbles through, falling head over heels and landing neatly on her feet with a dancer’s grace. “We have something of a problem.”

“Yeah, Ashes just fucking blew me up,” Jonny complains, and Ashes rolls their eyes. “You’re fine.”

“You’re fine,” Raphaella says at exactly the same time, and Ashes shoots a grin at her. “Anyway, Bri and I may have done… something.”

“You may have done something,” Brian argues, breezing into the room with Tim and Lyf close on his heels. “I take no responsibility.”

“Can we please go back to the part where it ate my boyfriend?” Lyf demands, causing Jonny’s eyebrows to shoot up practically to his hairline. “Someone’s eating boyfriends?”

“The octokittens are possessed,” this is Nastya, squeezing past Brian through the door, tailed by Ivy.

“Possessed?”

“Possessed,” Ivy confirms, to Brian’s incredulous outburst.

“D’you mean those octokittens?” Jonny asks, pointing to the door. Sure enough, a gaggle of octokittens meanders through, moving a bit unsteadily, oily dark colors writhing beneath their skin.

“That looks like- that’s-” Lyf’s eyes go wide as they stare at the kittens. “What the fuck is that?”

“It was supposed to be a cake,” Brian says mournfully.

“It ate Marius!”

“It’s technically your child, Lyf,” Raphaella pipes up. “The compound I used to make it is based on your blood samples.”

Lyf just stares at her.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Ashes remarks. They crouch down and flip open their lighter, holding it in front of one of the kittens’ face. It flinches, then snarls and shoots toward them, latching onto their foot, its jaws opening far wider than they should be able to. They try to kick it off, but its tentacles appear to have melted onto their skin and are slowly eating through. With a squelch, the odd entity detaches fully from its octokitten host, who blinks and scuttles into the corner.

With a pained grunt, Ashes drops their lighter onto the thing on their foot, successfully setting the thing alight. It recoils and retreats to the center of the floor, squelching in a frantic circle. It leaves behind nothing left of the quartermaster’s foot, and Ashes stumbles and is caught by Jonny, who steadies them and shoots a murderous look at the flaming blob.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Ashes hisses through their teeth, pain evident on their features. “Goddamn. What the fuck, you two.”

“Again, I take no responsibility,” Brian insists. Raphaella sticks her tongue out at him. “You are a bastard and a traitor and I never loved you anyway.”

Brian blows her a kiss and a wink.

“Interesting,” Ivy interrupts, pulling out a notepad and writing something down. “It appears fire is ineffective.”

This gets everyone’s attention directed back to the creature, which is indeed decidedly not dead or incapacitated in any way. It isn’t even on fire anymore. And it looks angry.

“You’re kidding me,” Ashes growls, staring at the thing with disgusted fury.

“Run,” Tim suggests, pushing Lyf gently out of the way as the thing focuses on them and begins to move forward. “Split up and run. It can’t get all of us at once.”

Jonny nods and dutifully starts off out of the room, taking Ashes with him, holding them up as they limp and curse. Ivy and Nastya shoot off in another direction, Nastya scooping up the disgruntled left-behind octokitten as she goes. Raphaella grabs Lyf’s wrist and pulls them up through the ceiling trapdoor, ignoring their startled protests. That leaves Tim with Brian. She turns to him, poised to ask what the plan is, but hesitates when she sees Brian standing there, head cocked to one side, staring blankly at the empty floor. The bifrost cake-creature is nowhere to be seen.

“Brian?” Tim steps forward, reaching out and resting a concerned hand on his shoulder. “Bri? You good?”

Brian’s head lifts, slowly, in an uncharacteristically stilted motion. His eyes are… wrong. Something is moving in them, and if Tim looks closely she can see it oozing from the corners. Oh. Oh no.

“Fuck,” she breathes, stumbling backward and reaching for a pistol. “Not Brian not Brian not Brian.”

The thing in Brian’s body smiles, forcing the expression onto the Drumbot’s face. It takes a step forward. Of course, it’s at that moment that the Toy Soldier decides to make its first appearance.

“Sorry I’m late!” It announces as it steps into the shooting range. “I was in the middle of a delightful painting using the blood from that corpse Jonny dragged onto the ship the other day! I didn’t want to leave it for too long in case it was ruined! Anyway, I heard there was a crew meeting?”

“Oh, I’d love to see that painting,” Tim says, momentarily distracted. The Toy Soldier claps its hands together excitedly. “Of course! I’ll set up a viewing!”

Tim grins. “Lovely. Now, what do you know of possession?”

“Well, it depends on what kind!”

“Um,” Tim glances back at Brian and whatever is piloting him, who has stopped in its tracks and is watching the exchange curiously. “Well. Would you.. Happen to know anything about possession by.. Cake?”

In the brief pause that follows, the thing inside Brian appears to give up on its curiosity and steps forward, opening his mouth. Tim frowns at it for a moment, confused, and then she sees the soft glow building in the back of the Drumbot’s throat. “Oh shit.”

Tim & The Toy Soldier, just outside the shooting range, 9 left alive, 1 footless, 1 eaten

Tim grabs the Toy Soldier and pulls it with her as she bolts to the door, just as a jet of flame shoots out of Brian’s mouth.

“Since when can he do that?” she yelps, flattening herself against a wall to avoid being scorched.

“Oh, that is interesting!” TS declares, peeking around the doorframe. Tim nods. “So. To catch you up. There’s some sort of Bifrost related demon-creature loose on the ship, it is currently inside Brian’s body and appears to be controlling him. Fire can’t kill it. Oh, and it ate Mare.”

The Toy Soldier nods, bouncing on the balls of its feet. “So?”

Tim blinks, then shrugs. “We kill it, I suppose. At least get it out of Brian.”

“How do we do that?”

“That’s what I’m asking you!”

Another jet of flame shoots past them, followed by what sounded oddly like a frustrated grunt. The thing still hasn’t actually followed them into the hall, which is a good sign, if somewhat nonsensical. Tim flinches further back instinctively, feeling the heat in her eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” she confesses. “I don’t know how to get it out without opening Brian up, and he won’t like that. And I can’t even get close to it when it’s breathing fire at us like that.”

“Hmm,” the Toy Soldier hums a thoughtful note. Tim bites her lip, thinking, then lets out a soft laugh. “I’m glad I’m here with you and not Nastya,” she tells TS. “She’d probably suggest kissing it.”

There’s an awkward clank from the shooting range, followed by the sounds of a struggle. Tim glances at TS, who shrugs. “I could kiss it!”

“Could you?” Tim frowns again. “I mean.. I suppose it would just be kissing Brian, wouldn’t it, unless.. D’you think that would work? The kissing?”

“Possibly!” the Toy Soldier sounds positively thrilled about the prospect. “I’m very good at it, you know!”

“I feel like making out with the eldritch blob possessing our crewmate is a bit extreme,” Tim says, peeking around to corner to see what’s happening in the shooting range. What she sees gives her pause.

Brian seems to be fighting back against the thing holding his body hostage. He’s standing in the room where they left him, and every so often he takes a jerky, strained step forward, like he’s having to force himself to step. Although in this case its more likely that he’s trying to stop himself from taking a step. He looks pained, and Tim feels that familiar protective rage rising in her, that feeling of no he’s mine you can’t hurt him. All thoughts of kissing fade away, and she steps out, pistol in hand, and marches back into the shooting range.

“Brian,” she says, and the Drumbot’s head lifts slightly, his eyes still leaking sludgy iridescence. “Bri. Hey. I know you can hear me. Uh. I’m going to do something, and it might be.. A bit uncomfortable for you, but it will hopefully work out in the long run. So do me a favor and… stop fighting it for a moment? Just a moment.”

Brian gives her a wary look, but nods stiffly, clearly using every bit of control he has left. Then he lets go. His face goes blank, and his mouth opens, that glowing heat making another appearance. With a grimace, Tim lifts her pistol and fires.

The bullet flies true, carving straight through the flamethrower mechanism in the back of Brian’s throat and exiting out the back of his head. There’s an inhuman screeching sound, and Brian jerks once as the creature, with its main source of power destroyed, crawls out of the hole left behind.

Brian shudders once, then raises a hand to touch the new hole in his head.

“You alright?” Tim asks, stepping forward. “You.. you?”

“I’m fine,” Brian reassures her. “That could have obliterated my vocal cords, but I’m alright.”

“You’re welcome,” Tim says, tossing her braid back over her shoulder smugly.

“I don’t want to ruin the good mood,” TS says, peeking into the room curiously. “But, where did it go?”

Tim and Brian both freeze, locking terrified eyes. And then the lights go out.

Raphaella, Lyfrassir, Nastya, Ivy: In the dark. 9 left alive, 1 eaten, 1 footless

When the lights go out, someone screams. It’s Lyf. Raphaella shoots them a glare over her shoulder, aware of their ability to see in the dark.

“Sorry,” they whisper. Raphaella frowns. “Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know,” they admit. “It feels like the right thing to do.”

“Aurora?” That’s Nastya’s voice, coming from just ahead of them. She sounds worried. “Aurora, please say something. Please tell me if you’re hurt. Aurora?”

“Nas?” Raphaella moves forward, stretching a hand out until she bumps into the engineer’s shoulder. Nastya grabs her hand and gives it a quick squeeze, an indication that she’s here and she’s alright. “Raph, good. Is Lyfrassir still with you?”

“Right here,” Lyf says, still whispering. “Where’s Ivy?”

“Here as well,” the archivist pipes up from the other side of Nastya. “Everyone’s okay, as far as we can tell, Aurora simply.. Stopped.”

“Do you think it got to her?” Lyf asks, shifting nervously behind Raphaella.

“It better not have,” Nastya snaps, her concern for her girlfriend evident in her voice.

Raphaella squeezes Nastya’s shoulder and looks around, cursing the fact that she hasn’t given herself night vision yet. “Ives, can you get ahold of Bri?”

Ivy nods and closes her eyes, typing out a message to Brian in her brain. After a moment, she nods again and announces, “He’s alright. Tim and the Toy Soldier are with him. It took control of his body, but they got it out of him and he’s barely hurt.”

“That’s good!” Raphaella exclaims, giving Nastya’s shoulder another squeeze. “That means Aurora should be fine, once we get it out of her!”

Nastya nods, expression growing determined. “How do we get it out of her?”

“Um, I don’t mean to alarm anyone,” Lyf says, sounding a bit shaky. “But there is something wrapped around my leg.”

They sound afraid, but not panicked or in pain, which causes Raphaella to frown. They don’t even sound urgent. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I’m- I’m fine, it isn’t hurting me. It’s more… it’s like it’s hugging me.”

“Didn’t you say you made it out of their blood?” Ivy inquires, and Raphaella nods. “Perhaps it recognizes them as one of its own.”

“I don’t like the implications of that,” Lyf says quietly, then gives a determined shake of their head. “Right. Now is not the time for a Bifrost-related panic attack.”

“We can use this,” Raphaella perks up suddenly. “We can use your connection to it, Lyffy, to… something.”

Silence falls as the four of them think on it. And then Ivy speaks up. “I have something from Brian. He met up with Jonny and Ashes, and Jonny has an idea. He just needs us to lure it into something smaller and able to be picked up.”

“Can we do that?” Raphaella glances to Lyf, who nods. “Great. Let’s go.”

Lyfrassir, the kitchen. Same situation.

The kitchen is dark and eerie when Lyf enters, stepping carefully over the seething tendrils rising from the floor, grabbing at their legs. It’s almost possessive, the way it reaches for them, curling around them with its oozing tentacles. They can almost hear it talking to them, in their head, whispering mine mine mine. It terrifies that, but they shove it aside to think about later, once they’ve got this dealt with. Instead they focus on locating something small and liftable to lure the thing into. They find something almost instantly.

As they approach the object they’ve chosen, their Bifrost-enhanced eyes land on something in the middle of the floor, a moving shape.

“Hey, babe,” they say, stepping lightly over the half-formed Marius Von Raum to the counter.

“Hi,” fae groans, conscious enough for at least that. “Whatcha up to?”

“Oh, nothing,” Lyf replies, placing their hands gently on the object they want to bring the creature into, watching it curl up around their arms and moving down the walls toward them, chasing the contact. “And… there we are.”

In a flash, Jonny comes pelting into the room. He grabs Small Brian the electric mixer from Lyf’s hands, and as the lights come on he races down the corridor, and the sound of a door sliding open can be heard.

“What did you do?” Brian demands as the first mate reappears, smugly dusting off his hands.

“Tossed it out the airlock,” Jonny grins.

“Right, ‘cause throwing all our problems out an airlock always works,” Ashes snorts. Jonny frowns. “It does.”

Tim shakes her head. “Oh, you are so lucky I can’t roll my eyes too hard without fucking up my face, D’Ville.”

Brian looks gutted. “You- you threw- Small Brian?”

Jonny freezes. “Oh- oh shit, Bri- I didn’t- Shit shit shit.”

“We’re getting it back,” Brian says, folding his arms and glaring. “As soon as Aurora’s recovering, we’re getting it back.”

“How do we know that that thing will die out there and not just… devour a star system?” Lyf asks. Jonny shrugs. “That’s not our problem.”

“I… fair enough,” Lyf sighs, and casts a last look toward the airlock before going to help Marius up.

Brian & Raphaella: Everyone alive and well

They get everything on the ship back in order quickly. Marius is back, and is being regaled with the tales of what he missed by Lyf and Tim. As soon as Aurora is ready to move again, Brian takes her to pick up Small Brian, and he carries the mixer reverently back to its place in the kitchen. “You’re a hero,” he whispers to it, before kissing the top of it lightly. He then gathers all the ingredients to make another cake, a real one this time.

Just as he’s setting up to get everything made, Nastya comes marching out of the corridor from where she’s been checking up on Aurora, a flamethrower in hand.

“Right,” she says, firing up the weapon. “Where are the fuckers who got my girlfriend possessed?”

Raphaella and Brian glance at each other, knowing this was coming. With a grin, Raphaella runs over and grabs Brian’s hand, pulling him after her down the hall and away from the vengeful engineer.

Nastya curses and follows, and Raphaella lifts off the ground, sweeping Brian into her arms bridal-style to easier carry him. He yelps, and then laughs, twisting to look down and watch Nastya chase after them, looking furious.

Raphaella rounds into a tight corner and sets down, letting Brian back on his feet. They’re both giggling, and Brian buries his face in her shoulder, grinning widely. She kisses his hair and strokes it lightly, running her fingers around the edges of the hole in the back of his neck.

Nastya finds them like that, rounding the corner and hefting her flamethrower with a malicious glimmer in her eyes. “There you are,” she hisses, and this time there’s nowhere to run.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Raphaella murmurs to Brian as she pulls back, and he takes her hand.

“Love you always,” he replies, and she leans over to kiss his cheek. “See you soon.”

And together, they face their fate.

[thefallennightmare]

Vows [2/2]

Pairings: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: Angst, mention of death/suicide, alcoholism, and some swearing.

Summary: Could a weekend away be just what Sebastian and Y/N need or could it finally push them away for good? 

A/N: Here’s the long awaited second part! I’m not too sure how to feel about it but here it is! 

My heels clicked against the tiled floor of the hotel as I approached the check in desk, giving the lady behind it a small smile. 

“Hi. Reservation under Mr. Stan?”

Nails typed away on the computer and my heart dropped when I saw a look of slight fear appear on her face. “I’m sorry. Do you have a relation to Mr. Stan?”

“Yes, he’s my husband.” 

The word felt so foreign on my lips, not uttering it for months. 

“Can I see some ID please?” The lady hesitated. 

I cursed under my breath while reaching for my ID but groaned when I noticed it was missing. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I-uh-seemed to have forgotten it.” 

Running a hand through my hair, I tried to think of ways to prove who I was but suddenly, felt a presence behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I tried to stop the increase in heart beat as a small smile peaked through his beard. 

“She’s with me.” 

“Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Stan. How many key cards would you two like?” The lady questioned, her attitude changing once she realized that I was in fact with Seb. 

“Um, there should be two rooms under that reservation?” Sebastian informed her. 

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I see a reservation for our honeymoon suite.” 

I scoffed while looking towards Sebastian. “Honeymoon?!”

“Yes, ma’am. It comes with a king bed, Jacuzzi tub, and fireplace.” 

“You planned this, didn’t you? A way to torture me?” I seethed.

Sebastian raised his hands up, saying that his assistant made the reservation for him. 

“Can we book another room?” We both asked at the same time.

She shook her head once more. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stan. We’re all booked up. But if you don’t mind me asking, why do you two need separate rooms? You’re married.” 

I wasn't too comfortable with the flirtatious eyes she was sending Seb’s way. I snatched up the key card before pulling him along, muttering a quick thank you to the lady. 

“I cannot believe you booked the honeymoon suite,” I exasperated while we waited for the elevator. 

“I cannot believe you were jealous of Susan,” Seb chuckled. 

My eyes squinted in confusion and he nodded towards the front desk. 

“Oh.” 

We fell in silence as we rode the elevator up to the 6th floor where our honeymoon suite awaited us. I felt my anxiety start to take over when the thought of Sebastian and I sharing a bed clouded my mind. 

We haven’t shared a bed in so long that I forgot how he was a human heater in the way his arms would wrap around me, engulfing me. Or the way sometimes in the night, his lips would brush against my forehead in a soft kiss. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” I snapped from my thoughts and looked at Seb. 

He was standing outside our room with the door open. “You coming?” 

I nodded and followed him inside. If the situation was under different circumstances, I would have been floored with the room that he booked. 

The king bed was in the middle of the room covered with those pillows that you just knew felt like sleeping on a cloud. The balcony doors were opened, a soft California breeze flowing throughout the room. The smell of the ocean filled my senses and I made a mental note to take a walk on the beach later tonight. 

I took a quick peak in the bathroom and nearly gasped at the sight. The shower was double the size of the one in our brownstone, the tub could fit three people and was in front of a window that faced the ocean. 

“Okay, this room is amazing!” I gawked back to Seb. “Are you sure your assistant didn’t do this on purpose?” 

“I promise,” Seb smiled while crossing his heart. “She made this reservation so long ago she probably thought that we would appreciate this.” 

I mirrored my own smile and started going through my suitcases. “So the rehearsal dinner is at six right?”

Sebastian nodded. “Yeah. Tim said we don’t have to go but we’re invited. Free food and booze.”

My nose scrunched up. “I think I’ll pass on the booze.” 

For the next little while, we both unpacked our stuff deciding not to say a word. Things were still awkward between us and honestly, I wasn’t sure what to say. I could ask him how he’s been but was afraid of finding out the answer. 

“No fucking way.” 

Seb cursed while coming out of the bathroom, phone in hand. “Guess what?” 

I shrugged my shoulders. “What?” 

“Tim called off the wedding.” 

My mouth fell agape, surprised that our best friends had called off the wedding. We were friends with them for years, both traveling and spending time together when Seb and I were first married. Tim and Brianna would always say that they hoped they would be half as happy as Seb and I were. 

“What happened?” I sat on the edge of the bed. 

Seb ran a hand over his face and hesitated for a moment before answering. “He caught her in bed with someone else.” 

“Oh Tim,” I muttered, knowing the pain he was going through.  “What do we do now?”

Seb’s mouth opened to speak but a soft knock on the door interrupted his thought. I marveled in the way his back muscles tensed as he opened the door. Susan stood on the other side of the door and I couldn’t help the jealousy that ran through me when her eyes lit up when she noticed Sebastian opened the door. 

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Stan, but I wanted to let you know that your and Mrs. Stan’s dinner reservations for 7 pm are all set.” Her voice was professional but I could tell it was bitter to come off her lips. 

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted while standing next to Sebastian. “Dinner reservations?” 

Susan nodded. “Yes ma’am. These reservations were made when the hotel reservation was booked. It’s a private table right on the beach.” 

Bless Seb’s assistant's heart. She probably thought that she was doing this romantic thing for us at the time. 

“Can we cancel?” Sebastian asked. “Our friends called off their wedding so we’re probably going to head back home.” 

Susan shook her head. “I’m sorry Mr. Stan. Since it’s within two hours of your reservation you will have to pay a fee for canceling.” 

Seb ran a hand through his hair before nodding a thanks to Susan and shut the door. 

“What do you say? Dinner before we head home?” Seb suggested. 

“I don’t know, Sebastian. Isn’t this whole thing awkward and weird for you?” I played with my fingers while sitting on the edge of the bed again. 

He leaned against the dresser in the room that was directly in front of me and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s only weird if we make it.” 

“We’re getting divorced and you want us to have dinner like we’re still a couple?” I tried to make sense of this whole situation. 

“As friends,” he stated. “We used to be best friends before we got married, why can’t we go back to that?” 

“What would Alessandra think?” I wondered. 

“I’ll give you sometime to get ready and I’ll meet you on the beach at seven, okay?” Seb said, completely ignoring my question. 

Before I could protest even more, he left the room leaving me alone to my thoughts. 

How could we go to this romantic dinner and pretend that everything is normal when it wasn't? Sebastian made it clear months ago that he didn’t love me anymore and it took all this time to get used to it and understand that he and I would never be where we used to be. 

I fought with my inner self wondering if I had enough time to find a plane ride back home before Seb even noticed I was late to this dinner. 

My phone buzzed in my pocket and the text message on the screen made the decision final. 

Please do this with me. It will be our final dinner together before we say goodbye-Seb

My toes brushed through the sand as I made my way down towards the ocean side where I could see a table with candles surrounding it. My skirt blew in the wind and the sun setting warmed my bare arms as I opted in wearing my gold silk halter top that I knew Sebastian liked at one point. 

I halted when I noticed that even though I was a few moments later, Seb wasn’t here yet. Doubt clouded my mind, wondering if he decided against this whole thing and he had gone home. 

“Y/N.” 

Turning at the soft voice, I could help the small smile that played at my lips. 

Sebastian stood in front of me, dressed in a blue suit, and my heart soared at that vision. He knew how much I loved the way he looked in this baby blue suit. 

He pulled out my chair for me and after giving him a small smile of thanks, we were sitting across from one another. 

“I hope you don't mind but I already told the chef what we wanted,” Seb said sheepishly.

I shook my head. “No, not at all. You were always good at knowing what I liked.”

Someone had come up to the table, ready to pour some wine into my glass and before I could speak up, Seb was already pulling away the glass. “Could we actually get some water?”

The young man nodded before placing two cups of water in front of us and quietly walked away. 

“You can have a glass of wine, Seb. It’s fine,” I informed him. 

“I’m perfectly fine with the water. How is sobriety going?” 

“Really good,” I admitted with a small smile. “I haven't had a drink since the night of my brother's funeral. It’s been hard sometimes but I found a way to deal with the urge.”

“How?” Seb questioned. 

“I actually started keeping a journal. It has some poems and my thoughts of how I’m feeling. It’s kind of stupid,” I muttered. 

Sebastian immediately shook his head. “No it’s not, Y/N. Whatever helps you with the urge to drink is not stupid.” 

We fell into silence after that, our food being placed in front of us, and we ate quietly. The sound of the waves meshing together with the sound of our forks scraping along the plates. 

“You know,” Seb spoke softly, “I never asked how your family is doing. After everything.” 

I could tell he didn’t want to utter the words ‘brothers death’ so I nodded. “They’re doing okay. My dad took it really hard. You should have seen him at the funeral, Seb. I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there,” Sebastian apologized. 

A shaky breath fell from my lips. “I’ve tried too hard not to blame myself for not being there for him. Maybe if I tried to talk to him more, to figure out what was wrong with him. All he needed was someone to talk to, to listen to him, but we weren’t there; I wasn’t there.” 

Seb’s hand reached across the table and gently grabbed mine. “None of this is your fault, Y/N. Your brother was dealing with so many demons.”

I shook my head. “But I could have been there for him more. I was so wrapped up in our divorce and dealing with being alone that I didn’t even think of reaching out to my family because I was afraid of what they would say.” 

Hastily wiping a tear away with my free hand, my sad eyes looked at our tangled fingers and Sebastian hesitated before pulling away. 

Just the small touch of our hands together brought so much warmth. I had no idea how much I missed his touch until I felt it again. 

The sun was setting even lower and the golden rays brushed softly across his features, showering him in such a glow that made me want to climb into him, crashing our lips together. 

“I promised your mom I wouldn’t tell you this but she called me a few weeks ago,” Seb admitted. 

“She did?” My eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

He nodded. “She was wondering how you were doing and made me promise to look after you.” 

“Sorry, I haven’t told her about us. She still thinks we’re married.” 

“I promised her that I would make sure you were safe and happy. I wouldn’t let those same demons that your brother dealt with bring you down.” 

I let out a soft sob and averted my gaze from Sebastian, not wanting him to see how broken I actually was. 

It had been months since my brother's death and getting the divorce papers. No matter how hard I tried to bury away those memories and feelings of heartbreak, it still chipped away at my heart. I wasn’t happy anymore, the bright light behind my eyes was long gone. 

Sebastian was off with his girlfriend, happier than he ever was with me. He was living in the home we had built together, metaphorically, and I was the last thing on his mind.

I refused to show him that every night I cry myself to sleep, longing for the feeling of his arms around me, helping me deal with everything. I needed him so much but I couldn’t have him. He wasn’t mine anymore and it was so hard to accept. 

I wasn’t the same person I was when we met. Back then I was confident in myself and knew that I was enough for him. I trusted him when he would be gone for months at a time and knew that he would always come back to me. A few years into our marriage, however, everything changed. 

My self esteem dropped every time I saw Sebastian with his female co-stars. The thoughts of if I was pretty enough or if I was pleasing him enough flooded my thoughts constantly. Our shared moments of bliss started to disappear and after that one night, it had dissipated to nothing. 

‘Please Seb, don’t go.” I cried while reaching for his hand. 

He yanked his arm away from me before the look of hate pierced my soul. “Why should I stay, Y/N?! You clearly don’t need me third wheeling.” 

His stare landed on the man that stood frozen on our steps of the brownstone. 

“It’s not what you think,” I pleaded with a slight slur. “Please listen.” 

“Isn’t it?!” Sebastian's anger vibrated off the walls. “I thought I would surprise you by coming home early but end up finding you with some other guy in our home!” 

“If you would just listen to me,” I begged. “We weren’t doing anything. He was only making sure I made it home from the bar okay.” 

Seb scoffed. “Really? Then why were you half naked in front of him when I found you?” 

“Just let me explain, please.” 

I stumbled over my feet as I tried to follow him outside of our home. The alcohol was incredibly strong, making it difficult to see straight. 

“I’m done, Y/N. We’re through.” 

“Y/N?” 

Snapping back from my thoughts, I noticed that Seb was looking at me with a concerned face. 

“Are you alright?” 

The words stumbled from my lips before I could stop myself. “I never cheated, Seb. That night was a huge misunderstanding.” 

His body immediately tensed, being caught off guard by my words. 

“I’m not talking about this, Y/N. It’s done. It happened and that's it.” 

“Nothing happened!” I suddenly snapped. “I swear to God, you think you know what happened but you don’t!” 

“What is there to explain, Y/N?! I find you in your underwear with another guy!” Seb’s voice was now raised to match my own. 

“I thought he was you!” I admitted. “I got so drunk that I thought this nice guy that offered to walk me home was you! I know getting drunk was no excuse but I was so lonely that I drank that night away in a bar. You told me you weren’t coming back for another two weeks and I thought that guy was you. Turns out he was gay and was actually trying to get me into bed to sleep.” 

“Oh.” 

I scoffed. “Oh? That’s all you have to say?” 

“What else do you want me to say, Y/N?” Seb retorted back. 

“How about I’m sorry for assuming that you had an affair?” 

When he stayed silent, I shook my head with a look of disbelief. “This is why I didn’t want to have this stupid dinner. We can’t be together for more than an hour before screaming at each other!” 

I stood from the table but froze when Seb did the same. “Then why haven’t you signed the damn divorce papers?! You keep trying to keep me around and it’s selfish, Y/N. How can I move on if you won’t sign those papers?!”

“Because I still love you! I’m not ready to let you go. It’s not fair that Alessandra gets to spend time with you on those vacations and gets to see you so happy. It’s not fair that she gets to share the same bed with you, our bed. It’s not fucking fair that she gets your love when I don’t! So call me selfish, I don’t care. But if you want those papers signed so damn bad then I will sign them when I get back home.” 

I went to storm away, back to the hotel room, however the great feeling of finally being able to tell Sebastian my true feelings kept surging through me. 

“I’m not done yet,” I spoke while facing him again. 

He was standing a few feet away from me with his hands deep into his pockets. His eyes held confusion, trying to let the words ‘i still love you’ process in his mind. 

“In our wedding vows, you promised me that we would work through whatever issues we had. You would listen before assuming the worst. What changed?” 

Sebastian let out a deep breath. “Honestly, I knew we were growing apart and I was looking for an easy out.” 

Those words stung but I nodded, accepting it. “I know that I haven't signed the papers but you haven't either. Why?”

“I’m afraid,” Seb admitted. 

“Of what?” 

“Starting over, I guess. What we had was all I had ever known. A part of me knows that we were so in love and we had some amazing times together. We were passionate about everything together, our dreams were in sync and hell, even in the bedroom we were in sync.” 

My cheeks flushed at the thoughts of us in bed together but let Sebastian continue. 

“I think the reason why we grew apart was that we never had time to grow on our own. Y/N, I was the only guy you had ever been with and it put a lot of pressure on me to make sure you weren’t missing anything.” 

“You’re the only one I ever wanted, Seb.” I let the tears fall this time. “I had so much pressure on myself to keep you interested and happy. You knew all these beautiful girls and were around them all the time. Drinking was the only way I could deal with the jealousy. In the end, it only pushed you away.” 

“You were the only one I was thinking about when I was gone.” Sebastian coughed, trying to cover a sob. “I loved you so much, Y/N. I never wanted to be with anyone else.”

“What about now?,” I wondered. “How do you feel about me now? Do I still make your heart skip a beat when I walk into the room or does your stomach do those flips whenever I laugh?” 

I could tell that he was in deep thought, truly wondering what he felt for me. 

“Please be honest. I need to know the truth to move on.” I sobbed. “If you tell me that you never want to see me again and want me out of your life, then I will walk away from you right now. I’ll go back home tomorrow and deliver the divorce papers to your lawyer, signed. But if there is even a slight chance you want me, then please let me know.” 

For the first time in a very long time, I saw Seb break down and cry. His soft sobs broke me and I fought the urge to run into his arms. 

“I don’t know. I should have stayed away from you the moment I sent you the divorce papers but I couldn’t. I found myself making excuses to come see you, to be with you. I tried to move on, hoping being with someone else would make it easier to forget about you but it only made it worse.”

“Then why didn’t you stay with me?” I choked. 

“I was afraid,” Sebastian admitted. 

“Afraid of what?” I pressed on with the questions. 

However I noticed that Seb’s body tensed up, the topic suddenly coming to an immediate halt. 

“We should head back, it's getting dark.” He motioned towards our hotel room behind me. 

“Not until you answer the question. What were you afraid of?” I stood tall, arms crossed. 

Sebastian shook his head, the same sour scowl appeared on his face that I had become all too familiar with. 

“I need some space,” was all he said before leaving me alone. 

Yet again. 

My body thrashed against the bed sheets, tossing and turning, trying to let sleep take me. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore did nothing to calm my tired brain. Darkness engulfed the room, the only light casting on the wall opposite of my back from the moon outside. 

The throbbing knocking of a headache kept pressing against my skull and now matter what I could do, I couldn’t stop the tears from staining the pillow case. 

I had returned to the hotel room, alone, and after crying in the shower for over an hour, I mustered all of my strength to throw a tshirt and a pair of underwear on before crawling into bed. Seb hadn’t returned yet and the only thing that let me know he was still in town was that his bags were still neatly placed on the other side of the room, next to the mini bar. 

The mini bar that had called to me so many times since returning. I fought the urge, ignoring the temptation and only thinking of one thing that mattered to me anymore. 

My sobriety. 

Letting out a deep sigh, I clutched the pillow closer to me and as I heard the door click open behind me, my body tensed. 

Thinking I was asleep, Sebastian quietly undressed himself before softly climbing into bed not wanting to wake me. Our backs were to one another and the space between us was cold and alone. 

The space between us was a representation of how far away we had felt from one another, emotionally. 

It was made clear by me that I still selfishly loved him and refused to sign the papers because I had hope that we would work through this like we worked through all of our other problems. 

Sebastian made it clear that he was afraid of letting me go, he was comfortable with me and he wasn’t sure if love was the right word to express his feelings for me. He was afraid of telling me why. 

As the tears returned, I buried my face into my pillow to silence my cries, not wanting to let Sebastian know I was awake. 

There was a sudden shift in the bed, the mattress dipping low as Seb’s body rolled over towards me. Suddenly, I felt all the bad melt away as his arm wrapped around my stomach, pulling me into his bare chest. 

“Please stop crying. I can’t take it anymore knowing I’m the reason why,” he breathed into my hair. 

The familiar feeling of his chest against my back seemed to calm my sobs for a moment. 

“I know I need to move on and let you go but I can’t. I love you, Seb.” I cried. 

“I know sweetheart, I know.” Seb hushed my cries by pulling me closer to him. 

Turning to my side, I buried my face into him. The small hairs of his chest tickling my cheeks. My hands clutched his hips, afraid this was all a dream and that he would vanish at any second. His soft lips brushed against my forehead before I felt him take a deep breath. 

“I was afraid of not living up to the husband I vowed to be. I loved you so much, Y/N and I wanted to give you everything you deserved. That’s why I took as many jobs as I could, so I could provide for you and our future.” 

“I was afraid that you’d wake up one day and realize that I wasn’t worth fighting for. I thought that being away from you and causing you all this pain would make it easier for you to leave me but in the end it only brought us closer I think.” 

Pulling away from him, I looked into his eyes. “How so?” 

His soft fingers gently brush a stand of hair from my eyes. “We both needed time to grow and realize what we truly wanted.” 

Licking my lips, my gaze bounced from his plump lips towards the soft glow of love oozing from his eyes. 

“And what is it that you want?” I gulped. 

Our eyes locked and no words were spoken as Seb leaned down, his lips meeting mine for the first time in over a year. All the time apart meant nothing, both remembering the way our lips would move together in sync. His hand cupped my cheek, afraid that I would pull away, while my arms snaked around his neck, deepening the kiss. 

Unfortunately, we both needed to come up for air and reluctantly pulled away. Seb’s thumb brushed my cheek bone and I closed my eyes at the familiar touch. 

“What about-?”

Sebastian hushed the name from my lips with a soft kiss. “It’s been over for months. I tried to move on but nobody is you.” 

“I vow to remain sober and whenever I have issues with myself or I’m feeling myself pulling away from you, that I will talk to you about it. I vow that I will be the woman you fell in love with all those years ago. Just please don’t leave me. I need you so much more than you know.” I pressed my lips to his again, loving the way they tasted. 

Sebastian brushed his lips against my hairline, breathing in my scent. “I want you, all of you, now and for the rest of my life. This I vow to you.” 

“I love you, Sebastian Stan.” I breathed. 

“I love you too, Y/N Stan. More than you will ever know,” Sebastian mused. 

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 17/22 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary:  Tim joins everyone at Elias’s house and pressure builds.

Chapter 17 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read above at AO3 or read here below.

My tumblr master post with links to other chapters is here. 

***

The rest of the first full day ay Elias’s house passed in relative isolation; Martin had a feeling it wasn’t unintentional that Melanie, Georgie, and Sasha spent so long away from the house when they went to the store. Jon seemed intent on mulling over whatever thoughts their talk with Elias had put in his head that morning; Martin tried to break him out of with conversation a couple of times, but ultimately he felt like more of an annoyance than a help. He went back to their room and scrolled through social media until his brain couldn’t process posts anymore. When everyone came home from the store, he helped put the groceries away, but he couldn’t come up with much to say even when Sasha pulled him aside to ask him how he was. All right was the only thing he managed.

When it got late enough that he realized everyone was not likely to be eating dinner together, he made a sandwich for Jon and brought it to him in the great room. They were alone; he leaned over to set it on the table next to the armchair.

“Hey,” he said, lightly kissing the top of Jon’s head.

“Hm?” Jon looked up, and Martin redirected his attention to the sandwich. “Oh—thank you.”

“Take a bite, while I’m here.”

Jon did as Martin asked, still too distracted by his thoughts to make a fuss. “Did you eat already?”

“No,” Martin shook his head. “I’ll have something later. When I’m hungry.”

Jon gave him a look that Martin now understood well, but he simply squeezed Jon’s shoulder as he turned to leave.

“Wait, Martin—are you—” Jon grabbed his hand before it slid away. “I’m sorry. That I’ve been like this.”

“I get it,” Martin said, as reassuringly as he could. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“That isn’t the—” Jon sighed and let Martin’s hand drop, along with his thought. “What are you doing?”

Martin answered the question more generally than he knew Jon had intended it. “Waiting.”

“I think we all are,” Jon said. “But I was actually asking—”

“I know. And I don’t know what I’m doing. I was just going to head back to the bedroom, I guess.”

“All right. I’ll—I’ll be in before too long.”

Martin lay awake for a long time that night, even after Jon had fallen asleep.

***

When he woke in the morning, Jon was propped up on an elbow and looking at him.

“What’s going on?” Martin asked, slightly alarmed, trying to shake off the sleep.

“Nothing,” Jon said.

“Try again.”

“I just meant—nothing new.”

“Oh.” His eyes drifted closed, and he promised himself he wouldn’t let them stay that way very long. He felt Jon’s hand brush his cheek and travel gently up to his hairline; the feeling roused something in him.

“Wait,” he said. “Was I dreaming?” He had the vague impression he had been, although he couldn’t really remember it. He’d been looking for something, maybe. Trying to get somewhere, or find someone. Maybe someone had been lost. It was the kind of dream that made you feel like you hadn’t slept at all, and the more he tried to remember the more disquieted he felt.

“You were,” Jon said.

“But—wait, it wasn’t—”

“No,” Jon shook his head, pulling his hand back. “It was your dream.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” They both knew it wasn’t fine, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it. Martin closed his eyes one more time, but his mind wandered as he felt Jon breathing next to him, and he opened them again sharply. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about this before.

“Jon?”

“Hm?”

“Do you—you need the statements, right? You need to read them?”

“I—more or less.”

“So yes, then.”

Jon nodded reluctantly. “Yes.”

“And? How are you—doing that?”

“I brought a few with me when we left the archives.”

He sat up, prompting Jon to do the same. “I thought you were basically out of statements. I mean, they don’t really go back that far here.”

“There were—well, there were a few I’d just—skimmed before. I’m sure if I give them a proper read—”

“Jon.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“But what about when you’re not?”

Jon didn’t answer him.

“Jon.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Oh come on, you Martin me all the time.”

Silence fell between them again.

“Ok—what if—” Martin had to try several times to give voice to his thought. “If you need it—really need it—could you ask me to give you a—statement?”

To be fair, he hated the idea himself, and the pit he felt in his stomach was firmly reflected in Jon’s reply. “No.”

“Why not? You basically just asked Basira for one. I’ve given you one before. A few, depending on how you count. It—it wasn’t that bad.”

He ignored the part about Basira. “Absolutely not. That was—that was before. I don’t—I don’t even know that you can really give me a statement at this point.”

Jon was still a terrible liar.

“Look it’s—it’s not like I want to do it, ok? I really don’t. I just meant—what if you get really sick?”

“Then I get sick.”

“Jon—”

“It is not an option.”

“Look, I get that you don’t want—but we’re doing this together, and we need to weigh both—”

“No.” Jon slipped to the edge of the bed and was standing before Martin realized he was getting up.

“No what? We’re not doing this together?”

“Not that.” Jon pulled on the pants he’d worn yesterday, and grabbed a fresh shirt from the drawer he’d thrown them in.

“Oh,” Martin said, watching Jon head toward the bedroom door. “Good to know.”

Jon began to open the door, but then closed it. He did not turn to face Martin. “I realize that—” He stopped again.

“Go,” Martin said. He wished he was saying it for Jon—offering Jon time to gather his thoughts—but he knew he wasn’t. He knew was saying it out of hurt. Worse, Jon knew that was why he was saying it; he had to know. Either way, though, he supposed it achieved the same end.

After Jon left, he took a quick shower; Jon was not back when he was done, nor had he expected him to be. He got dressed and headed toward the kitchen. No one was in the hall or in the great room; Jon had probably gone for a walk, and it was just as well. He rummaged through a couple of cabinets and triumphantly emerged with a kettle. It wasn’t even electric, it was the kind that you set on the stove, and that was perfectly all right with Martin. It will boil water properly, he thought.

He had no intention of repeating the previous day; despite how big the house was, he had already started feeling claustrophobic. After his tea was ready, he left through the back door in the great room, walking across the relatively modest back porch to stepping down to the back lawn. Like the side lawn, it was expansive; unlike the side lawn, there were more than a few trees dotting the view. In fact, as Martin walked down and out on a dirt path cut into the lawn, he realized there was what amounted to a pretty legitimate wood behind the house. Not far in there was a small creek—so small that the little  bridge passing over it seemed ridiculous and unnecessary—but it was scenic, nonetheless. A wooden bench, upkept with enough frequency that it remained sturdy if not pristine, stood nearby.

I would have liked this, Martin thought, as he sat down on the bench. I would have written poems about this.

Spring was finally in effect. The trees weren’t green yet, but they were starting to sprout small leaves; a few had tiny buds with hints of pink and white protruding from their smaller twigs and branches. It wasn’t exactly warm outside, but it was comfortable as the light shown through the trees in a mottled pattern on the leaf-covered ground. He sipped his tea and watched how the sun hit the water in the little creek. In some parts it shone straight to the bottom, and he could see small rocks and pebbles and silt; in others, it seemed to dance as it reflected off the top of the water.

It helped, to sit and breathe. After a while, he started to notice birds chirping in the trees, and the sounds of small animals—probably squirrels—rustling in the leaves. It reminded him how when he and Jon had come here, the first sign that they were really somewhere, that there were things that mattered here, had been the sound of birds chirping.

He was glad they were here, he realized. He was glad they were here because they were alive—or more accurately, because Jon was alive, and Martin was with him. They were together. That was what Jon had given him when he’d told him how to end it, and despite himself and everything they had brought with them, he was still grateful for it. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t let himself think about it much further than that; he had a feeling there would be plenty of time for that when they all finally started talking. He could decide then what he’d be willing to do again, what he regretted. There would be plenty of time for regrets. It’s not like having a plan had really helped before. Jon had done what he had done; likewise, Martin had done what he had done.

At least now they knew what mattered to them.

He wasn’t sure if he dozed off or just got lost in his thoughts and the woods, but when he finally checked his phone he was taken back by how late it was. He’d come out mid-morning, and it was already mid-afternoon. He hadn’t meant to stay away for that long—what if Jon was—well, no, Jon could pretty much figure out where he was, and he supposed technically any of the rest of them could message him, but it just didn’t sit well with him that he’d stayed out there for so long.

When he got back in, he found Jon alone, on the sofa in front of the fireplace; like the day before, it seemed no one was particularly eager to tackle the big conversations yet. Martin was glad, for several reasons.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“If you’d like,” Jon answered, not looking at Martin.

Martin took him at his word and sat down next to him. The sofa was wider than he was used to, and he felt like he was just a little bit too far away; he moved closer to Jon, and awkwardly ended up straddling two cushions.

“I didn’t mean to push so hard this morning,” he said. “I’m not saying it’s settled, but—”

“Wait,” Jon said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I mean wait. I’ve been thinking of the words to explain.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Martin—”

“Ok. I’m listening. Take your time. Just didn’t want to push again.”

“I—” Jon paused. “It’s difficult.”

Martin started to tell him it was ok, but changed his mind. Instead, he reached for Jon’s hand. Jon looked down as he did, watched their fingers intertwine, and seemed to find the words—some words, anyway.

“I—like—the statements. Or I don’t, actually, but—I do. Does that—do you understand?”

“Not totally,” Martin said honestly. “But I guess I really can’t. I’ve seen how they affect you, though. I know they help. I know you feel better after you read them. You—like feeling people’s fear. But I mean, I know you don’t, too.”

“Do you know how I felt after we spoke with Elias yesterday?”

“I—you seemed upset.”

“I was. What he was saying was terrible, and wrong. But also there was that part of me that felt—it felt—”

Martin hadn’t realized that. “Jon—you don’t have to say. Please. I—I get it.” It’s not your fault, he wanted to add, but he stopped himself.

Jon nodded and cleared his throat. “I never want to feel—I never want to feel that because of you. And if I don’t—if we don’t—I can still tell myself I wouldn’t. I can tell myself that it’s not so bad. That I’m not so bad. That I can still be—”

Jon’s next words caught, and Martin automatically wrapped his arms around him, the gesture made clumsy by the empty mug he was still holding. “It’s—it’s all right. You still—you heard him, you know—ok, this isn’t about that, really, but—I’m sorry. This isn’t helping. Let me—” Flustered, he somehow managed to set his mug down on the coffee table without entirely letting go; he turned his head to kiss Jon’s mouth, then kissed him again.

“I’m all right,” Jon said. He did not look all right to Martin.

“If I—if I got you some tea, would that—would you like it?”

“I—yes.”

Martin stood up, grabbed his mug to bring back to the kitchen, and then bent down to kiss Jon one more time. “Wait, did you—were you done? I don’t want to—”

“Martin, tea. Please.”

“Ok. All right.” The coffee machine that didn’t really boil water would have to do; in his heart, Martin knew Jon couldn’t really tell the difference anyway. It was the fastest cup of tea he’d made in a while. The supply of coffee cups that had been on the counter had dwindled, and Martin simply rinsed out the one he’d used rather than go searching for a clean one. It wasn’t like that had never happened at home.

As he walked back through the breakfast room, he heard a voice that wasn’t Jon’s, and based on volume alone he was pretty sure they weren’t happy. Just before he turned the corner, he realized who it was.

“—and here’s Martin with the tea,” Tim said. “Are you all on holiday? Having a nice time out in the country? Where is everyone?”

“Tim?” Sasha, who must have been in her room, had also heard Tim and spared Martin from having to answer him. “You didn’t tell me you were coming out today. I could have warned everyone.”

“What is going on? I thought you’d be at least halfway to figuring this out by now, and here everyone’s hiding. What are you all even doing?”

“Coping, Tim. Adjusting to the situation. Which is exactly what you’ve been doing, if you don’t mind me pointing it out. Welcome, by the way.”

Tim took a deep breath, looking as if he were going to resume at full rant volume, but then let it out again. “Ok, fine. That’s fair. But I’m here now. Get everyone. Come on.”

“Tim—”

“Look, is there a reason not to?”

Sasha sighed. “Fine. Hold on. I’ll go get Melanie and Georgie.”

Tim dropped the oversize bag he was carrying right where he was, and walked back in the direction of Elias’s room. “You two—stay.”

“Where would—” Martin was pretty sure Tim wasn’t listening, since he was already shouting Elias’s name in the hallway. He turned to Jon and pressed the mug into his hands. “Here. Sorry, I was hoping—”

“It’s all right. This is—this is good.”

Within a couple of minutes, everyone had converged on the great room. They stood, ignoring the awkward furniture. Georgie and Melanie stood back from the group a little way, Georgie’s arm over Melanie’s shoulder; Elias, in a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, seemed much more relaxed than the last time Martin had seen him.

“All right, Tim. We’re all here.” Sasha crossed her arms and implied she was waiting for Tim to speak.

“Well—don’t look at me. What are we doing about this?” He turned to Jon and Martin.

“Tim.” Sasha’s voice was stern, but Martin realized Georgie and Melanie had also turned to look at them.

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like the rest of you don’t feel the same way. At least I’m being honest about it.”

Sasha snorted. “I don’t feel that way, Tim. I think I can honestly say—”

“Sasha,” Melanie interrupted. “Tim has a point.”

Sasha closed her mouth as she turned to face Melanie; Martin instinctively took a half step closer to Jon.

“I’m just saying—they brought this here. We didn’t have anything to do with it. And if they aren’t fixing it—”

“What Melanie is saying,” Georgie said, with a quick look at Melanie before she turned back to Jon, “is that the two of you are the most familiar with—this. And if you don’t have any suggestions to stop them—it’s not likely that the rest of us are going to come up with something on our own.”

Melanie frowned. “That’s not exactly what I was—”

“Melanie, please.” Georgie squeezed her arm, and Melanie stopped, although she didn’t look happy about it. “Jon, is there—is there a point to this?”

Jon took a breath before he answered. “I’m—I’m not sure there is.”

“A point?” Tim broke into the conversation again. “You all want a point? Ok, here it is. I just went to go visit my brother. I had every intention of telling him about this, right after I figured out how, and—you know what? I didn’t. I didn’t figure out how. And I’m not going to. I’m never going to tell him about this. We’re going to fix it. You want a point? Danny’s the point. And—and Sasha’s the point.”

Sasha face softened slightly as Tim gestured toward her. “Tim—”

“Jon, Martin’s the point. Surely you understand that.”

Martin started to protest. “Tim, you’re missing the—”

“I’m not missing anything. You are. You’ve given up. Both of you have given up. And at some level, I can understand that. You got beaten, really badly, and I’m sure it hurts. But I can’t give up. I am not going to give up as long as I have Danny—as long as we have Sasha. I understand that you’ve been through this, and maybe you want to be done. But we’re here too, and we haven’t had a chance. And I hate it, but Georgie’s right, we can’t do this without you. For better or worse, Jon is the only one with any real power in this situation. You can’t just sit back. Give us our chance.”

Martin did everything but literally jump in front of Jon. “Hey. No one is sitting back and—”

“Martin,” Jon said quietly, touching his arm.

Unable to silence himself, Martin turned to Jon instead. “He has no idea—”

“They deserve to feel like they’ve had a chance.”

Martin had more to say, much more—but he wasn’t prepared to say it in front of everyone. Tim seemed momentarily surprised, but quickly recovered. “Thank you.”

“Where do we start then?” Georgie asked.

“I have a proposal,” Sasha said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use an actual meal. So—I’ll go start putting something together, and maybe we can have an early dinner after everyone takes a break.”

Georgie nodded. “What are you going to make?”

“I—” Sasha sighed. “I have no idea.”

“That’s what I thought,” Georgie said. “I’ll help. Melanie, want to come sit in the kitchen?”

Melanie looked pained. “I—I guess?”

As the three of them headed in that direction, Elias, who had really only watched everyone else talk, started back toward his room.

“Nope,” said Tim, grabbing his arm in both hands and redirecting him. “We are headed outside for some fresh air.”

Elias shrugged. “You know, I don’t really remember my mother, but I imagine you—”

“Funny, boss,” Tim said. “Move it.”

Martin thought this was extremely strange, until the two of them passed by him. Martin wrinkled his nose after they were gone.

“That smell—was that—”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Everyone always has to tell me, I can never—never mind. Jon, what—what was that?”

“Um—weed? I though that’s what—”

“No. Back there. I know you don’t think we can stop the fears.”

“Oh. I don’t.”

“So then why—”

“What Tim was asking isn’t unreasonable. I wanted a chance—even if all I learned from it was that there never was one. Of course they want theirs.”

“And ok, I’m glad you’re considering them. I mean, I kind of asked you to. I just don’t like—I don’t want that pressure on you.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“You mean you don’t want them pushing me, because you’re afraid of how that will end.”

“It’s—” Martin swallowed. “It’s both, all right?”

Jon was quiet for a moment, then moved toward the couch. “Sit with me?”

“Yeah,” Martin said. “Yeah.”

***

They moved the chairs and the couch out of the way and spread out on the floor. Martin had to admit it was a better use of the space. Now that some of the tension in the group had been so forcefully broken, there was again a sort of comfort in the conversation, in the company, at least at first. It didn’t feel so empty and dark.

“So… I was thinking about where to start,” Sasha said, after everyone was settled. “And maybe—we should start with the options you talked about before—in that other place—for what to do. Talk about them together, so there’s no misunderstandings.”

“Ok, but it’s important to keep in mind that—that was different,” Jon said.

“How?”

“There was—there was an apocalypse.”

“What about before the apocalypse?” Georgie asked. “Did you ever think about destroying the entities then? Getting rid of them or whatever?”

“No. Not really.”

“That’s weird, honestly,” Melanie said. “I would think that would be the first thing you’d consider. Why not?”

“A lot of reasons, I suppose.” Jon considered. “Mostly, they were just the way it was. We were much more worried about the people and the—things they acted through. And once we really understood, we were simply trying to avoid an apocalypse.”

“Think about a bad storm,” Martin added. “You don’t stop the weather. You just try to make sure there aren’t any trees that are going to fall on your house.”

Jon turned to look at him.

“What?”

“That—that’s a good metaphor, actually.”

“Why does that always surprise you?”

“I—”

“So,” Melanie said, “one option is to deal with it and just try to avoid the worst.”

“Yeah,” said Martin.

“No,” said Tim. “Danny, Sasha, Elias—all of that—that all happened before the apocalypse.”

“And you,” Jon added, but Tim did not acknowledge it.                                        

“But they didn’t know about the—entities,” Sasha pointed out. “We do. That could change things.”

“But some people knew about them. Jonah Magnus knew about them,” Tim said. “I don’t think knowing about them is points in favor of dealing with it.”

Georgie spoke up again. “Jon, you also said you tried to avoid the apocalypse—objectively the worst part, if we’re trying to avoid the worst—and well, obviously it happened. So what about that? Could it be avoided this time?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think, though?”

“My belief is—no. No, I don’t believe it can be avoided.”

“But it could take a long time,” Martin said. “And people might—might figure something out that we don’t know now.”

“So you do think it could be avoided?” Georgie asked Martin.

“I, um—” he glanced at Jon, whose face did not change. “Maybe.”

“All right,” Sasha said, redirecting the conversation. “So option one, live with it and try for the best.”

“No,” Tim shook his head.

At least Tim and Jon can agree on that, Martin thought.

“It’s an option,” said Sasha. “We’re just laying out options. So after the apocalypse—that’s when you thought about destroying the fears themselves.”

“Destroying them?” Jon said. “No, not really. I don’t think that was ever a possibility.”

“Then—what?”

“There were, in essence, two options. Open the door to the other dimensions, let them go—or don’t.”

“We’ll come back the first one. If you hadn’t let them out—then what?”

“Then Jon became god,” Tim interjected.

“That isn’t fair,” Martin responded. “What you have to understand is—”

“Wait, I have been wondering about that,” Melanie said. “How exactly would that have worked?”

Jon replied before Martin could continue. “Well—first, to be clear, there was another choice. We could have let things go on. Just let the apocalypse continue as it was. That—seemed bad.”

“Ok.”

“Otherwise, I—we—could kill Jonah.” Martin’s stomach twisted in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and he set down his fork. “The Eye would then choose me as a replacement.”

“Because Jonah was in charge before that?” Melanie asked.

“In charge? No.” Martin thought he could hear a slight scoff in Jon’s voice, although he could have been imagining it. “It was never his place.”

“But it would have been yours?”

“Yes. More so, anyway. I—I couldn’t stop it, but I could have—changed it. Redirected the suffering.”

“So you would have actually been in charge of—torturing people. Choosing which people to torture?” Georgie frowned. “Forever?”

“Not forever. It would have ended eventually. Death is one of the fears.”

“Well, that’s messed up.” Melanie wiped at her mouth with a napkin. “If you were going to do that, it almost seems like it would have been a kindness to end it faster.”

Martin almost choked.

“Food goes down the other tube, Martin,” Tim said, unaware Martin hadn’t been eating.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Ok,” Sasha said, “so another option you considered was—taking over from Jonah. Making the apocalypse—better, I guess.”

“Is that what you heard?” Tim asked.

“In any case, that’s not something we need to consider,” said Sasha. “There’s no apocalypse.”

Martin’s chest tightened.

“So the last option—also after the apocalypse—was to let them out.”

“Right,” Jon said quietly.

“And ultimately, that’s what you chose.”

“Yes.”

“No,” Martin said. “It’s what the rest of us chose.”

“In the end, I chose it too.”

Silence fell over the group; Martin realized they were waiting for one of them to say more. He willed the tightness in his chest to dissipate.

“So the thing about that is—we didn’t really know. At the time, we’d only just learned there were other dimensions. And we still had no idea—what was in them. Or if there were other entities just like ours already out there, and maybe what we did didn’t matter so much. All we knew for certain was that we could end the apocalypse in our world. This—sending them here—we really didn’t know.”

Next to him, Jon remained silent.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Tim slowly, “and—given the options—if we could send them somewhere else again—that really doesn’t seem like the worst thing.”

“We’re not making any decisions right now, Tim.” Sasha was firm. “We’re just laying out options.”

“And if the options we are laying out are do nothing, Jon becomes god, or we get rid of them—getting rid of them seems reasonable. Why should we be the ones to live with them?”

“For one thing, as Jon said, this is a different situation. For another, we are not done with the options. There—there must be others. We’re just starting with what they considered before.”

“Sasha, that—that’s hopeful,” Melanie said, choosing her words carefully. “But I’m kind of wondering if Tim isn’t right.”

“Melanie.” Georgie sounded slightly reproachful. “Think about that, though. It’s not like they just disappear into the air. They—they go somewhere else. That’s how they got here.”

“But maybe they’d go somewhere—I don’t know, somewhere where they couldn’t really do any harm.”

“No.” Martin felt them all shift their attention to Jon when he spoke, but he continued to stare down at his plate. “They wouldn’t go somewhere next time. They would go everywhere. An infestation of fear, affecting thousands of worlds. I won’t allow that.”

“Now, how do you know that?” Tim asked.

“I just do.”

“Through your creepy monster powers?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess which option you want, Jon,” Melanie said.

Martin jerked his head up. “You really don’t get it, do you? I mean, of course you don’t, but—”

“Stop.” Sasha dropped her fork onto her plate with a deliberate clang. “All of you. We’re taking a break. Eat your food.”

Martin looked back down at his plate; his whole body was tense. He felt Jon touch his arm.

“Eat,” Jon said softly. “Come on.” He broke off a piece of a roll on his own plate, and chewed and swallowed in demonstration. Something about watching Jon do it helped, and he was able to relax enough to get down a few mouthfuls of the dinner that seemed to have turned to cardboard. He had been hungry when they had sat down.

Ten minutes passed in silence, except for the clinking of forks and glasses; eventually plates were emptied, and Sasha cleared her throat.

“Are we all—ready? Does anyone need a longer break?”

No one answered.

“All right. Then—I want to ask something. To Jon and Martin.”

Martin looked at Sasha and then at Jon.

“Go ahead,” Jon said.

“I think—I know a few of us have been—what actually happened? At the end?”

“Yeah,” said Tim. “I have been wondering about that.”

“Tim—”

“I’m being nice.”

“Good. Stay that way.”

Jon looked at Martin, asking permission with his eyes. Martin steeled himself and nodded.

“We—those of us who had survived—we talked. And it was decided that we would let them go. Martin would kill Jonah, severing the primary link between our world and the fears; Georgie, Melanie, and Basira would blow up the gas main underneath the panopticon, destroying the tower and what remained of the archives. That would release their power, and allow the fears to access the—the gateway to the other dimensions.”

“But it didn’t quite go like that,” Tim stated.

“Correct. I changed my mind.”

“Why?” Tim asked.

“Because I couldn’t live with it. It wasn’t right.” Martin was grateful he left out the part about his nightmares.

“So you snuck up by yourself, stabbed Jonah and—took over.”

“Yes.”

“But then you changed your mind again. Why?”

“I hadn’t accounted for everything. I didn’t realize that they could blow the gas main without my—help. There was—there was—” Jon stopped. “I don’t remember how they did it, honestly.”

Martin could never quite remember that part either. All he remembered was that he had told them to go ahead and do it. “It was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Ok—just—what happened?”

“I told them to do it,” Martin said, “and then I went up after him. I didn’t think he’d—I thought I could stop him. I thought—I thought we could still leave. But we couldn’t. He couldn’t. He was part of it.”

“So they blew it up, and you lost control?”

“No. I could have kept them there. I could have. I was strong enough. If—” Jon looked at Martin and stopped. “I changed my mind. I let them go.”

Tim ignored the finality of Jon’s tone. “But why? How? And why was there so much blood? You said it was yours. Granted, you also said you didn’t kill anyone and you very much did—”

“He didn’t count,” Jon said disdainfully.

“Agreed, but that—that didn’t all come from Jonah. What happened?”

Jon sat back. “That is between me and Martin.”

“It’s ok,” Martin said. “You can—you can tell them. I just—I have to—I need another break.” He felt dizzy as he stood up; there wasn’t enough air.

“Martin?” Sasha started to get up too. “It’s all right, we don’t have to—”

“It’s fine. You should know why things are like this.”

He meant to go to their bedroom, he really did, but somehow he found himself in the hallway bathroom instead. Tears began to fall as soon as he closed the door; he sat on the toilet, the only real seat available.

“Jesus,” he said out loud to no one, as he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, willing it to stop. For once he was glad that Jon knew how he felt; Jon would stay, and he would tell them.

You bastard. His own words. He understood now why Jon had done it, but it still hurt. Understanding didn’t undo the past and what he had felt then. The moment he had seen Elias’s body on the ground—the moments afterward as the realization had dawned on him—

You bastard. He still didn’t know how much of Jon had been left then, how much would be left again if it came down to it. Maybe less this time. Maybe none. How long could a person stand up to something like that?

You bastard. In his mind, he felt the pressure of a body giving way at the point of the knife, heard Jon gasp as it entered his chest. He was so tired of feeling it, so tired of hearing it, and it was always there—it was part of him now. He could ignore it sometimes, most of the time, even, but it was always there. It was always just below the surface, just waiting for a moment like this one. He would always know now what it felt like to take the life of a person, the person, who loved him. It was the only thing he had said he wouldn’t do, yet in the end it had been the only thing he could do.

It had just gone so wrong.

He breathed; he tried to breathe. Breathe in a square, he told himself. He didn’t know where he’d learned it—maybe the internet. Probably the internet. He breathed in, held it; breathed out; held it. In, hold; out, hold. Slowly, gradually, he was able to take full breaths. He almost had control again when there was a knock on the door.

“Hang—hang on,” he said. “Sorry, I should have—”

“Martin?” It was Melanie. “Can I—can I come in?”

“Um—”

“Please?”

“It’s unlocked.”

Melanie slipped in and closed the door behind her; she walked slowly to the edge of the tub and sat down. They looked at each other for a long moment.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

“I just—I didn’t know.”

“We didn’t tell.”

“But I should have known. I mean, not the details, but—of course it had to be terrible. I think maybe I didn’t want to think about it.”

“What do you mean? Think about what?”

“I think—I think it was easier to imagine that you were hiding things because—well, Georgie said Jon wasn’t like that, but—” She shook her head. “When it comes down to it, I just didn’t want to think about how bad it could be, how bad it could get. I wanted to think I’d already seen the worst. I can’t imagine if Georgie—god. I’m just so sorry.”

“Me too.” He went to take another deep breath, but this one hitched at the top.

“Wait—hang on. I’ll be right—just hang on.” Melanie slipped out again, but quickly reappeared, this time with a large ball of black and white fluff in her arms. “I know this might be a bit silly, but—I don’t know. He really helped me after I—I mean, it feels like nothing now, but at the time—”

“It wasn’t nothing. I mean, that’s kind of the thing. It’s all awful.” Martin watched as Melanie set the Admiral down on the bathroom floor. The cat was cautious for a moment; he sniffed at the edge of the tub where Melanie had resumed her seat, then at the cabinet under the sink. Then, with no warning at all, he plunged his face against Martin’s legs, running his whole body along them before turning around and doing it again.

Somehow, Martin smiled.

“See?”

“Yeah.” He reached out a hand, and the Admiral sniffed it before he began to rub his face against it furiously. “Is he—is he purring?”

“Yeah. He’s weird,” Melanie said. “It’s pretty great. I didn’t think I was a cat person before I moved in with Georgie, but—he’s changed my mind.”

“I can see that.” He dangled his fingers above the Admiral’s face, who swatted at them with a soft paw. “Is Jon—ok?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s fine. He had a moment, but—he was talking to Georgie when I came to look for you.”

“Good.” He pulled his hand back, and the Admiral quickly switched his attention to something in the corner of the room that Martin couldn’t see. “Listen—are they still—do you think I need to go back out?”

“Oh—no. Not if you don’t want to. I mean, they’re still talking, but I think everyone’s had enough of the serious issues for tonight. Even Tim.”

“I think—I think I might go to bed early. Do you mind excusing me to everyone?”

“Not at all,” Melanie said, gathering up the Admiral; he protested with a small squeak. “I think they’ll all understand.”

“Thanks, Melanie. Sorry for the trouble.”

“No trouble.” She opened the door, and they both stepped out into the hallway. “Goodnight, Martin.”

“Goodnight.”

He took one more deep breath, and headed back to their room. He was very, very tired.

[bibliocratic]

Been thinking about Martin being sad about/hating the way he looks bc he looks like his dad, and he tries to talk to Jon abt it, but he's Too Vague so Jon thinks he's worried that Jon doesn't like that he's fat and consequently comforts him about the wrong thing

This took so long, anon, sorry!

Because of the subject matter, there are content warnings in the tags

The first time Martin sees his own face, limp-eyed, flat and drained in the feeble straining light of the bathroom, he starts shaking. A stretching in his chest, like he's swallowed a swelling balloon that is pushing all the air out of him, bunging up his lungs and throat and mouth. That's how Jon finds him, tears sprung to his eyes as he sucks in scant and skittish breathes, his fingers clenching the lip of the sink and wondering why he can't be stronger than all this.  

After that, Martin takes to avoiding mirrors while he's in the safehouse.

It's not hard. He's had lots of practise recently. The Lonely had displayed many double-edged poisons in its folds disguised as furtive blessings. His reflection had been one of them. Martin had counted it as a grateful novelty, to walk past glass shop fronts and the over-stark bathroom mirrors in the staff toilets and see the refusal of light to grant his image returned to him. Even his exile to the seafront, the rock-pools vacant of crawling life or stubborn salt-encrusted fronds of lichen, had shown him only the eddy of tide, the ripples that his steps barely disturbed in the landscape.

It had been a kindness of sorts, to take his image from him. The mirror had never shown Martin anything but things he hadn't cared to see, his own neurosis writ large and backwards.

The morning is not unusual. The birds had woken him, piping shrill even through the double glazing, and Jon, still dozy and drooling his words into his pillow, had cursed and moaned indignant at the vocal wildlife. Martin had dropped back off for another twenty or so minutes, a smirk raising the sleep-dry corners of his lips, waking up when the bed creaked and Jon had stood and stretched and made all sorts of horrendous cracking noises like some sort of human castanet.

This morning though, Jon is in the bathroom, shaving, and making a worrying racket doing so, and Martin is still in that sort of headachy realm of not quite awake yet, where he still gathering the components than make him functional as he shuffles around in his boxers and waits for the shower to be free. Martin's not sure why today, but he finds himself opening the wardrobe. Inside, on the back of the left-hand side door, there's a full length mirror, pocked a little with age and smeared with dust.

Martin's not sure why he feels strong enough today to look.

The thing he expects to see first: his hair shorn down, just shy of a buzz cut. Martin's been doing it himself for years, every month or so hunching over the sink and bathroom mirror in his old flat in Stockwell and uniformly mowing his hair down to a prickly ginger fuzz.

His mum never liked his hair when he grew it out. Snapped and sniped about how long it was getting whenever it started to bend in a curl,  encroaching over his ears, and he'd not always had the money or time to go into town and go to the barber's. When he got his first job, scrimping aside the little he'd left over at the end of the month, he'd bought clippers from the nearest Boots, attached the first guard he'd picked up and ran it over his scalp until the up-scrub was spiky and even. The first time was a bit of a hack-job, lopsided and uneven, but he's improved his technique with time. The method and cut was cheap and basic and he wasn't fond of the way it made his ears look stuck out, but it was one less thing he had to worry about, one less thing his mum could disapprove of.

His hair now hangs, uninspired, slightly greasy and knotted over his ears. Shaggy-dog over his forehead until he swipes it back, a small curl down to the nape of his neck.

He looks like his dad. Sees the man he barely knew staring back, the image lost that Elias had so viciously returned. Studies his snubnose struck centre, a wide jaw that rounds out his face, ruddy cheeks with sparse and spotting freckles. Some of the hairs of his eyebrows are starting to grey. His eyes seem suspicious, washed out, unhappy. He wonders if this is what Jon sees, a man whose closed-off expression does not appear to trust the world nor its motives.

The sort of man who might just up and leave if the going gets tough.

Jon pads into the room, though Martin doesn't turn round.  He puts all his weight on the front of his feet, always has; even in the Archives, Martin could place Jon's footsteps next to Sasha's sturdier stride, Tim's faster tread.

Jon plants his face against Martin's back, grumbles through a good morning. He's smooth jawed again, his skin baking from the shower, his hair not quite towelled off properly, still dripping.

“Lookin' handsome,” Jon mumbles, throwing out a hand to gesture at the mirror, at the twin men standing awkward and self-conscious opposite each other.

Martin observes at his own hands cast back at him through the mirror. His thick arms, the round and pasty pale of them. He has big hands, he thinks to himself. Broad, weathered palms, the skin cracking dry, short and stubby fingers. Hair starts to grow sparse on the back of his hand close to his wrist and only gets thicker and denser up his arms. Jon slumped standing immediately behind him isn't visible in the reflection; Martin's body takes up too much room, wide and solid, even when he wants to secrete himself smaller. He's tall, like Dad was, he guesses, though he stoops and hunches in his shoulders to try and negate it. Martin thinks he looks like the sort of man that plays rugby and drinks too much. When he's walking home, trudging through the residential streets between the tube station and his flat, people passing him sometimes scrunch their body in away from him, and every time that hurts. In the dark, without his stumbling words and over-eager expression and his clumsiness, something about him looks like it could turn nasty, and Martin doesn't know how to take that.

He went drinking with Tim and Sasha once in Lambeth.  They'd had four or five and Sasha had bought them obnoxiously coloured and overpriced cocktails before dragging Tim over to the pool table, Martin sitting out to the side amiably, sipping his sugar-heavy drink and tapping his feet to the music someone put on the jukebox. Two men came over ten minutes later, drunker than them, arguing that they'd been there first, and Sasha had been fired up enough to snap back. It had looked like a scrap brewing, so Martin had put his drink down and stood up, anxiously ready and willing to urge Tim and Sasha away just to keep the peace. The two had looked at him, eyes roving up before they held up their hands, backing off, saying they'd come back when they'd finish.

“No bother, ey, big lad?” they'd slurred at Martin. “Didn't mean anything by it.”

Sasha had beamed as they left, and called Martin a lucky charm. He hadn't felt very lucky. He'd felt sick at the reminder.  

The problem as he sees it, is that everything about him is big.

Inside: too big heart and too raw-open soul. A great vast reservoir where he keeps every bubbling expression of fear and grief and rage that he's never expressed with his body.

Outside: big stocky arms, an over-hanging stomach matched with a tall spine and the sort of footsteps that announce his arrival well before he enters a room.

Martin's dad never hit his mum. He assumes that's something Elias would have glibly enjoyed sharing.  But sometimes he'd stood too close when they'd been fighting, looming, deliberately crowding in her space, and she'd noticed how much taller he was, how much stronger. She'd thought she saw something mean and nasty in his eyes, the way he clenched his fists that meant he wanted to.

She'd imagined she saw that look in her son sometimes too.

Martin worries about that. Worries what other poisoned legacies his dad left him with.

“Mart'n?” Jon says. He's encircled his arms as far as he can around him, though they don't link up, scratching his nails through the hair on his chest. His hands long-boned but smaller, slighter.

Jon is not a small man nor a tall one, average in appearance in most ways if not for the scars, if not for the way the composite of his image makes Martin's heart something stronger in his chest. But Martin is bigger than him when they lie together, Jon's side of the bed made less by default, shunting him further over to the corners. Martin is stronger than him, because Martin has lifted him bodily to hear Jon's laughing protestations as Martin manhandled him onto the sofa and kissed the veins down his throat, the blush risen in his cheeks.

And Martin's angrier than he used to be. Or angrier than he used to admit to being. His mood pinballing from flat to frustrated as everything the Lonely dulled ploughs back into him, all of Martin's mechanisms, the checks-and-balances he built within himself gone ruinous. Martin can be so angry these days, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

Martin doesn't like the way that worry fizzes under his tongue.

“My dad had big hands,” he says out of nowhere. “He wore some rings, I think, and he had to get them resized to fit his fingers.”

“You making plans to get us rings already?”

Jon's joke is shy and nudging, but Martin doesn't feel like raising the corners of his mouth in a smile.

Martin moves a hand to squeeze the flesh that bunches around his upper arms, pats his stomach.

“I've definitely got his belly,” he says. “His arms. Prob'ly end up with his hair to boot, he was receding a bit.”

Jon's hands stroke palm down over what stomach he can reach.

“I like your stomach,” he says, and it's not that Martin doesn't believe him, because he's getting better at not doubting people, at allowing himself to trust they might like something about him. It's that that wasn't the point.

“Hmm,” Martin says noncommittally, and glances at his own hands again. Square chewed nails and the small bumps of veins.

“You don't look happy,” Jon says.

“What? No, I mean, it – it's fine, it's...”

“Do you... not like looking in the mirror?”

Martin sighs.

“Not particularly.”

“Because you have a problem with how you look?”

“You don't have to spell it out like that, Jon.”

“Like what?”

“Like you're a – my therapist or something. I don't want to – to be questioned o-or psychoanalysed about it. I just, no – I don't like looking at myself. That's all.”

Jon's arms don't unhook from around him. Martin exhales and feels the frustration like sediment build up.

“I look exactly like my dad,” Martin says finally, bitterly.

“You don't,” Jon replies quietly, into the meat of Martin's shoulder.

“You can't know that,” Martin says, although the words are empty of meaning and they both know it. Jon both can and does, whether he means to or not.

Feeling his Adam's apple bob, he continues: “Elias, he showed me. When I was – er, when we needed him distracted.”

Jon's arms clench around him.

“Elias showed you what he wanted you to see,” he says after a careful moment.

Martin shakes his head, because he saw what he'd known already, what his mum had seen, the trickle of memory gushing torrential. That he has his dad's big fingers, big hands and big anger, and he is frightened of what sort of a man that makes him.

“I could....” Jon's fingers flex and skate over the skin where Martin's stretch marks root down to his hips. “I could look? If you wanted? Tell you if Elias was... if what he showed you was true.”

Martin thinks about it, but Jon feels the silence of his refusal and presses his nose against the freckled handful of skin where Martin's shoulder blades are.

“I'll tell you what I see then?”

“See see, you mean?”

“No. Normal seeing. With my own two eyeballs.”

“I am being blessed with the originals today, what a gift.”

Jon headbutts him with his forehead, and the small laugh and a 'Jon!' is pushed out of him as a scarred palm is held up near his face, an eyelid opening in the skin to leer at Martin.

“Put your bloody Pan's Labyrinth eyeball away,” Martin grouches, and he can feel Jon grinning mischievous as the disconcerting eyeball winks before being sunk closed back into the skin.

“Better?”

“I am never going to get used to that.”

Jon makes a noise of agreement. He unplasters himself from Martin's back, and takes a tugging hold of his wrist.

“Look at me?”

Martin lets himself be turned round. Weak-willed, soft-spined to the last wherever Jon is concerned.

Jon looking up at him now, fringed with damp locks seaweeding down his face. Martin brushes them back out of the way, and Jon captures his hand, meshes their fingers together slowly and precisely.

“Tell me?” he asks quietly. “What you've been thinking about? And I'll tell you what I see.”

“My hands,” Martin says after a moment and Jon nods and hums and holds Martin's captured palm in front of him.

“Bigger than mine,” Jon says, demonstrating, holding the two of them as imperfect reflections of each other.  “You've got short nails because you bite them. The cold's making the skin dry, but they're soft, usually. Sturdy. Even when – even when we were leaving the Lonely, I knew once you took my hand we wouldn't get separated.”

“My – er, my arms,” Martin says after a while, prodding with his free hand at the loose flesh at the undersides of his arms. “Well, my bingo wings.”

Jon frowns, reaches up to encircle his grip around them.

“You've got muscle under there,” he says. “You can lift me, no trouble. The first time you did, I, um, couldn't help but hope you'd do it again.”

Martin finds it in himself to meet Jon's gaze.

“Yeah?” he says, pleased.

Jon is starting to blotch with blush, but he carries on, fingers stroking Martin's upper arms.

“Even if you weren't strong,” he says. “You've got – your, um. Freckles. There's no pattern to them, of course, but I like seeing if I can find one anyway.”

“You're a big softie,” Martin chides roughly, dry-mouthed and watery eyed.

Jon doesn't deny it.

“What else?” he asks delicately.

“I'm – I'm heavy,” Martin says, the words shrivelling quiet on his tongue. “I-I don't mind – I'm not ashamed of being, you know, not the smallest guy, I've never had a-a problem with it, not exactly, but I-I'm bigger than you. I'm stronger than you and I take up more room and, my dad, I look so much like him s-s-so what if – ”

He trails off. Swallowing. Unable to finish.

Jon's arms embrace him and he allows himself to be bent down, the angle uncomfortable and Jon on tip-toe, his face mushed into the side of Jon's throat.

Jon rubs at the broad expanse of his back.

“You'd never hurt me,” Jon says, fiercely. “Whether you look like your father or not. You're not him, Martin. I can't, I know I can't convince you, but it doesn't matter if you've got his arms or his eyes or his hair. He's never been where you've been, or done what you've managed. I bet he doesn't – doesn't write poetry, or whistle the Archer's theme tune, or I dunno, is completely useless at catching things.” Martin gives a wet attempt at a laugh. Jon's hands move comfortingly up and down.

“You're not your dad,” Jon continues after a moment. “You aren't responsible for the man he was, or the man your mother thought she saw in you. That's not – it's not your burden to carry. Fuck whatever shadows Elias showed you. You're not him. It's – I can't make you like what you see in the mirror, but when I look at you, I don't see any of the things you're scared of.”

“You can really just, know all that, huh,” Martin says after a minute, lifting up his head, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

“I don't need to,” Jon replies.

Martin's hugs are crushing and enveloping but Jon clings back as tightly.

Martin pulls back after a minute, wiping his eyes again though he knows they've gone red and puffy, already feeling the crimping heat of self-consciousness in his chest. Jon leans back in to kiss him, first his lips, and then his cheek, quick and affirming, as he trails his fingers through his hair.

“You'll be wanting this cut soon,” Jon says, although he seems disappointed at the thought, combing his fingers through the tangle self-indulgently.

“I might try growing it out.” Martin tests the water of the idea, and Jon looks approving at this, nods and hums and runs his fingers through again.

It's been a long time since his hair was longer. Martin thinks he might suit it.

“What would you say to a beard?” Martin follows up,  just to see Jon try to valiantly quash his dissatisfaction and keep a neutral expression. He almost succeeds.

“If you... If you think it best,” Jon manages stiffly. 

Martin's laugh is a free and booming thing in his chest.

[sgtbradfords]

Could you write a Chenford prompt with this “You’re always number one.” ? Thank you!

Ok anon, this one was so much fun to write! Thank you for sending me this prompt! I hope you enjoy :) Send me a prompt from this list!

The sounds of car doors slamming filled the parking lot, the hot California sun bearing down onto the asphalt.  “Someone please remind me why we’re doing this again?” said Nyla Harper as she and Lila met the growing crowd in front of the building.

“Because Nolan said it’d be fun and none of us disagreed.”

“It’s also a bonding experience.” Piped in John Nolan.

Tim Bradford rolled his eyes. “As if we don’t spend enough time out of work as it is.”

“Alright,” said Angela Lopez, gathering the groups attention as she walked out of the building. “We’ve got 2 hours booked for us to play as many rounds as possible with a twenty-minute break after an hour. Wesley and I took the liberty last night of dividing everyone into teams already. Should someone feel as though it’s unfair after the first game then we will redo the teams. Alpha squad will be Wesley, Jackson, Tim, Lila and John. Bravo squad will be Sterling, Lucy, Nyla, Henry and myself.”

“Question, can we change our team names?”

“No.”

“What are the rules?” asked Jackson.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Their rules or our rules?”

“Ours of course.”

“No removing your sensor to avoid being shot. Keep physical contact to a minimum. Climbing is allowed as long as you don’t get shot. If you are shot, then your vest will reset after thirty seconds. We have the room to ourselves so no worries about outsiders. An alarm will go off in an hour to signal the break. Most importantly, have fun. Everyone ready?” Angela told the group before moving towards the building.

“You’re going down Bradford.” Lucy gloated as they walked through the door.

“Is that what you think boot?”

Lucy scoffed “Think? I know. Remind me again who was Mid-Wilshire’s shooting champ this year?”

“There was a scuba diver!” Cried John.

“We know.” Voiced the group.

The group divided up into their teams, going into separate rooms to get their gear.

“Game starts in five.” Nyla said as she slipped back into her teams’ room after helping Lila into her gear. “The amount of trash talk coming from them… Don’t be shocked to see Lila and Nolan team up.” She told them as she began gearing up herself.

An alarm through their room, giving off the one-minute warning. Both teams lining up outside of their doors that led to the complex.

The next alarm sounded as the doors opened, the lights off and blacklight’s on making the place glow.

“Yippie ki yay Mother-“

“NOLAN SO HELP ME, DON’T YOU DARE FINISH THAT SENTENCE.” Nyla yelled as she entered the room.

“-theresa!”

Each person began strategizing, Sterling being the first shot as Wesley rounded a corner.

Lucy was able to shoot John, who was helping Lila sneak under a platform, “Not fair Lucy!” he yelled as she ran away.

The first round went quick, the score almost even as the alarm blared, signaling their break, they congregated in one room, huddled around the TV screen showing points.

“How are they winning?” Cried Angela. “I know I shot Nolan at least five times!”

“It’s only by a few points honey.” Wesley smirked as he told his wife, taking a sip of water.

Angela glared, covertly flipping her husband the middle finger as Sterling wondered aloud. “How does a nine-year-old have more kills than me?”

Jackson laughed. “Because you play a cop on TV, Ster. Where as her mother probably gave her the good aim in her genes.”

“Wait, this says Tim and Lucy are tied as the top shooters.” Henry pointed out. “How is that possible?”

Everyone turned staring at the two as Lucy shrugged. “I told you, champion. Besides, I rarely win anything. Now Tim on the other hand, you’re always number one.” She said pointing a finger.

“Come on boot, Antonio won that one time!” he defended before explaining. “We do paintball once a month. Besides, Chen practically lives at the shooting range.”

“Only because you make me!” Lucy snorted before defending herself. “And I do have a life outside of work I’ll have you know.”

“Is that what you’re calling him? Because if I remember correctly, I had to buzz you in the other day at six in the morning wearing yesterday’s clothes because you ‘lost’ your keys.” Jackson pointed out causing her to blush. “And it wasn’t the first time either.”

Nolan propped his head on the fist of the elbow leaning on the table. “Tell me more tell me more did you get very far.” He sung.

“Shut up Nolan.” The group voiced as he raised his hands in defense.

The five-minute bell rang, half the group standing to head back to their room, Angela and Nyla moving to Lucy’s side as she began to put her device back on, shooting the test target in the room to check her gun.

“Is he a decent guy?” asked Angela.

Lucy smiled. “He is.”

“Have you done a background check on him?”

“I haven’t but I don't need to, he’s told me a lot.”

Nyla watched Lucy, her arms crossed over her chest. “You love him.”

“I do.”

Angela looked at Nyla before looking back at Lucy “Does he make you happy?”

Lucy looked at the two, her smile growing. “He does.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Angela said. “If he hurts you, I hope he knows your family will help you kill him.”

Lucy laughed, “Not if I kill him first.”

The one-minute alarm sounded as each team re-assumed their entry positions.

Team Bravo was the first to strike in round two, Nyla taking Lila and Jackson down ten seconds apart.

Lucy quickly made her way to the second floor, finding the perfect corner that was dark enough to stay hidden with the help of her jacket hiding the glow of her target. She crouched down, keeping an eye out, watching the walkway that ran across the second floor, she knew Jackson was up here, having seen his white shirt go by in a blur as she made her way up from the first floor.

“Boo.” A voice whispered in her ear.

Lucy jumped to her feet, startled as she whipped around, pointing her gun at the person that was crouched beside her on the floor. “Didn’t your T.O ever teach you not to sneak up on someone with a gun?”

“It’s fake. And didn’t your T.O teach you to always stay aware of your surroundings boot?” retorted Tim as he stood, backing her further into the corner.

“How did you get there and how long have you been there?”

“Army crawled.” He said shrugging. “And not that long. So, who’s the guys ass I need to be kicking?”

“None of your business. But,” She told him, her tone playful as Tim stepped closer. “he’s about six foot four, blond hair, killer eyes.”

“Yeah? He sounds like a loser.”

“Well, someone has to counter his inner nerdiness.”

“Wanna play dirty?” he asked, as he moved closer, each hand grabbing for the belt loops of her pants as Lucy’s back hit the wall.

“Looks like we already are.”

“We are but,” he dragged out. “what if we teamed up to take down both sides?” he asked, leaning his body into hers.

Lucy bit her lip as she tilted her head back. “Conspiring to commit treason are we Sergeant Bradford?”

Tim moved his head down, his lips grazing hers as he whispered. "Conspiring to do something Officer Chen.” He said as he acted first, his lips capturing hers harshly, eliciting a moan from deep within as her body reacted to his touch. His fingers let go of the denim loops, hands slowly grazing the exposed skin where her shirt was riding up, causing her to shiver as she moved a leg, wrapping it around his backside.

“We’re going to get caught.” She said as someone yelled from the first floor. Tim moved his lips down her neck, his nose pushing her hair back as he sucked on the skin, a gasp escaping her lips.

“They won’t even know we’re missing.” He mumbled against her neck as his hands slid into the back pockets of her jeans, lifting her, pressing her harder into the wall as she wrapped her other leg around him.

“They’ll know when they see neither of us getting points.”

“We’re getting points.” He smirked, pulling back. “Just none they need to know about.”

Lucy fisted his shirt, pulling him into her in a hungry kiss, returning his earlier kiss with equal fervor before letting go, running her nails over his scalp as she grinded into him.

“Lucy!” Jackson yelled from the first floor, causing them to break apart. “I know you’re waiting for me!”

Lucy dropped down as Tim let her go. “How the hell did he get down there?” she asked, catching her breath as she grabbed her gun that was swinging by its tether.

“I guess you were distracted.” He told her, his tone light and playful.

Lucy moved around him, making the move to go after her friend.

“Wait.” he said as he pulled her back by the arm, twirling her into him as his lips found hers in the darkness, leaving her breathless.

Lucy moaned as she forced herself to pull away. “Later, we will finish this later.” She promised, retracting his hands from his waist as she stepped back. “And babe?”

“Yeah?” he asked stepping closer to her.

“Payback’s a bitch.” She told him as she pressed the trigger on her gun, the laser hitting the target on Tim’s chest.

Tim stood shocked as Lucy ran away. “What the hell Chen!”

Lucy’s laugh echoed off the walls as she ran down the stairs, taking out Wesley who was running up the steps “Oh Jackson.” She sung. “Wanna play a game?”

Fifteen minutes later the final alarm blared, signaling the end of the game.

“Alright, which team is ready to buy the brews?” Angela asked the group who stood waiting outside. “Drum roll please!” Lucy, Nyla and Lila, began beating their hands on their thighs.

“With 3400 points the winner is… Team Bravo!”

“In your face Bradford! Break out the money clip old man!”

Tim rolled his eyes at his girlfriend’s antics before stepping closer, “Twenty bucks says Jackson will be wasted by the end of the night.”

Lucy looked at Jackson who was pouting. “Make it loser pays for ice cream after paintball next week and you’ve got a deal.” She told him sticking out her hand.

“Deal.” He told her accepting her hand, lingering for what was probably too long for ‘coworkers.’

The next week Lucy smiled, handing a twenty-dollar bill over to the cashier before glancing back at Tim who was trying to stop the topping avalanche that was sliding down his double scope of Oreo ice cream. “You ready?” she asked as she pocketed her change, holding out the hand that held no ice cream.

Tim smiled, hints of ice cream on his lips as he took her hand, walking out the door. “With you? Always.

[pricetagofficial]

Winter Wonderland -KK

Warnings: Language, and lots and lots of fluff

Word Count: 2.6K

Tag List: @kishony-the-geek @idkmanicantenglish @unknowntoanyone @subtleappreciation 

A/N: So this was my Secret Santa gift to @birdy-bat-writes​, and I finally had the time to post it on here for the rest of you to see it!

Rolling to the other side of the bed, you felt for the sleeping form of your boyfriend only to find out he wasn’t there. With a groan, you slowly sat up and saw that you were in the bed alone. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you got up and slipped on a pair of slippers before slowly making your way to the kitchen.

Entering the room, you heard music blasting and saw that Kon was standing there with his back to you. No doubt he had heard you get up, the guy had super hearing. The windows were all frosted over from the cold weather outside so you could barely see out them. Taking sleepy steps, you wrapped your arms around him from behind and took in the warmth that radiated from his body.

“Good morning beautiful.” He said, placing a hand on yours that rested on his stomach.

“Morning.” You mumbled, nuzzling into his back. “Why are you up so early?”

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed.” He smiled, turning ever so slightly to look down at you.

Kon had the biggest smile on his face, your hair was a mess, and sleep still present in your beautiful eyes. But his favorite thing was that you were in one of his shirts, he was so big that it went down to your knees. Turning the heat down to low, he turned fully and wrapped you into a tight hug pulling you fully against him.

Burying your face in his chest, you let out a sigh of content. Kon always gave you the best hugs, he was the perfect height to just scoop you up into one and hold you close. He played with the straying hairs on your head and placed a small kiss on the top making your face heat up.

“I hope you’re hungry, I made pancakes.” He smiled, tilting your head up to look at him as his blue eyes shone down at you. You gave him a smile of your own and ran your fingers through his dark hair, making him chuckle softly and lead you to the table.

The way your apartment was set up, you could get a clear view of Metropolis and all you could see was white. The entire city was covered in a blanket of pure white snow as the sun reflected off of it like tiny crystals illuminating the ground.

Kon stepped into the room and smiled at the sight of you staring at the snow, if he wanted he could watch you for hours and never get bored. Setting the plates down, he placed a cup of coffee in your hands as you turned to look at him once more.

“You’re perfect, you know that right?” you asked, watching him take his seat across from you.

He let out a laugh, "Nowhere near as perfect as you Sunshine. Now, eat up it is the first time we both have the day off in a while and I am taking advantage of it."

Giving him a side-glance, you took a bite of the fluffy pancakes a soft moan leaving your lips at the taste on your tongue. It seemed like Ma Kent had taught Kon how to cook because these tasted exactly like the ones she made the last time you and Kon had visited them.

“These are so good.” You murmured, eating more of the fluffy delicious-ness on your plate until it was gone. The idle conversation the two of you held we sweet as he asked you about how work was going with the upcoming winter break. The Titans were on a break at the moment with half of the team going home for the time being, but the two of you got to see Tim and Bart often.

The second your plate was empty, Kon picked you up and carried you back to your room.

“Conner Kent put me down!” you laughed, trying to wiggle out of his hold.

"No can do beautiful, I have a busy day planned as I said. Now get dressed for the cold, and do not come out until you are." He chuckled as he set you down, shutting the door behind him as he left.

Giggling, you quickly changed out of your pajamas and dressed yourself in normal winter attire. You had no idea what Kon had planned for the two of you today but you were excited none the less. It didn’t take you long to get ready, leaving the confines of your room to see Kon waiting for you in the living room with his thick coat on and a scarf that was a deep blue and red.

The second you left your room; he walked over and placed a loving kiss on your lips making you smile even more.

“My lady.” He grinned, holding out your coat for you to slip into.

“You are such a dork Conner Kent.” You teased, buttoning the coat up and wrapping the scarf around your neck.

Kon’s blue eyes shone down at you with amusement, “Yes, but I am your dork sunshine.” He grinned. Grabbing your hat, he pushed it down onto your head, making it go over your eyes as you stood there with your arms crossed and tapping your foot.

Flipping it up over your eyes, he pecked your lips once more before he took your hand and led you out the door, and locked it behind you. Keeping his grip on your hand, Kon led you down the stairs and out the front door of your apartment building as the bright sun and cold air greeted you both.

Taking a deep breath, the wonderful feeling of winter filled you as you gripped his hand tighter. “So, where are we going?” you asked.

"You'll see, now stop asking questions." Kon chuckled, pulling you closer and starting to walk down the street. The stores were all decorated for Christmas with garland, lights, and ribbons galore. The street lights all had wreaths on them that had candy canes on them and people were out and about doing their holiday shopping.

Kon had his arm wrapped around your waist as the two of you walked in a comfortable silence. There was nothing you enjoyed more than just his company; you didn’t have to anything special but just be together. His body radiated heat as he warmed your figure from the cold, keeping you pressed to his side.

As you both walked, you tried to figure out where he was leading you only to be surprised when he led you towards Metropolis Park which was almost blinding from all the snow. What on earth was he going to do here? Looking up at him to try and gauge his feelings, you couldn’t tell anything. Kon had his signature smile on his face, the one he always had when he was with you.

“What are we doing at the park?” you asked, trying to get him to answer.

“Didn’t I say it was a surprise?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes and let him lead you into the park as you followed the path. The first thing the two of you came across was a stand selling hot chocolate. Without saying a word, Kon had walked over and bought you both a steaming cup handing you yours with a big grin on his face.

“Is this what you dragged me out here for?” You asked. “Hot chocolate? We have plenty at home.”

“This is only part of our day; the other part should be here in about thirty seconds.” He answered winking at you.

Counting to thirty in your head, you heard something in the distance that sounded like bells? Slowly you turned to see what was coming and your jaw dropped to see a horse-drawn sleigh stop right in front of you. Quickly you looked up at Kon who was smiling down at you.

“Your sleigh awaits milady.” He said with the cheesiest grin on his face.

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as he helped you into the sleigh, sitting down beside you and placing the blanket over your laps. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you close to him as you leaned into his touch.

The driver whipped the reigns and the horses started to trot down the path that led deeper into the park as you smiled brightly at the sights around you. Metropolis Park was a winter wonderland, and who better to share it with than your boyfriend.

“So, how do you like your surprise so far?” he asked, kissing the top of your head.

"It's amazing!" You beamed up at him, "I've never been on a horse-drawn sleigh before, and this is absolutely perfect."

Kon smiled down at you, tilting your head up so he could kiss your frozen lips. “I’m glad, just wait until we get to our next stop.”

You kept a confused look on your face as you sipped your hot chocolate, enjoying the cold with him. The sounds of the sleigh-bells ringing filled the air as bluebirds sung their happy tune. The city looked like it came straight out of a Holiday card, with the evergreens covered in fresh snow and the sky blue as could be.

Soon, the sleigh pulled to a stop at the end of the path where a crowd of people was waiting for something. Before you could speak, Kon was up and helping you out of the sleigh, holding your empty cups as you stepped down. Your foot slid out from under you, and Kon was there in a second to catch you in his arms, his baby-blue glistening down at you in amusement.

“After all this time, you’re still falling for me.” He grinned.

He set you on your feet as you hit him on the shoulder with a laugh. “You can’t go five minutes without being cheesy, can you?” you teased.  

"You should really know me better than that, sunshine." He grinned and took your hand, leading you down the walking path towards the large group of people. What you didn't notice, was where the group was gathered.

Stopping at the edge of the crowd, you noticed that there was a large skating rink in the middle of the park and people were trying to force their way through to pay for skates and tickets. Of course, Kon being the gentleman he is had bought your tickets online so you did not have to wait in line.

He came back to you holding two pairs of skates, with the biggest smile on his face. Kon had never been ice skating, and he was excited to try it. Having done it yourself, he knew that you would enjoy this for sure. If all else fails, he would enjoy getting to hold you close as you helped him around the rink.

The two of you walked your way around to the entrance and sat on a bench to change into the skates. You had managed to lace yours up easily and helped Kon lace his. It was obvious he was struggling but did not mind the assistance from you.

Keeping your balance, you slowly walked your way through the gate with Kon right behind you and slid onto the ice letting out a content sigh. Turning around, you saw Kon struggling a little to keep his balance as his feet slid around on the ice.

Who would have thought that a Kryptonian clone could not keep balance on ice skates?

With a giggle, you skated closer to him and gripped his hands. “Look at me, not the ground.” His hands gripped yours tightly and looked up at your face with his signature smirk.

“I would totally fly and make myself look balance, but then I wouldn’t have an excuse to hold you close.” He teased, leaning over to peck your lips.

You gave him an amused smile, Kon had a point but you still thought it was entertaining that he did not have good balance naturally. The two of you skated around the rink, Kon holding you close in his arms while you helped him balance. The cold tickled your faces, as flecks of snow sprung up with the wind landing on your lashes and hair.

Kon had a hard time paying attention to where he was going, he was more occupied with watching you have the time of your life as you skated around the rink. After a bit, he decided to stand off to the side and watch you skate around with the breeze brushing your scarf and hair in different directions.

The way you looked had him mesmerized as he watched you turn and skate backward with your eyes closed. He had no idea what led him to do this, but before either of you knew it Kon had stepped away from the wall and held his arms out to catch you forgetting that he had terrible balance.

You collided into his chest and the both of you fell over onto the ice with a yell of surprise. Kon was sprawled on his back with you on top of him. He let out a laugh and pushed your hat up that had fallen over your eyes.

“Conner Kent, what the fuck were you thinking?” you asked, hitting him on the chest.

“I was thinking that I wanted to be cute and romantic, and catch my girl.” He responded looking around seeing the looks you got from other people. “I can see now that was a bad idea.”

You shook your head with a laugh and slowly got up off the ice and helped him up. The two of you decided that it was time to start heading back, the sky was growing dark and it was starting to get colder. With the fall, your clothes were now slightly damp and cold. That only made the way back less exciting than the trip to the park.

The second the two of you were in the safety of your apartment, you made a dash for the shower peeling off your clothes as you went. Nothing sounded more comforting than a hot shower to wash away the cold. It didn't take long for you to get in and out, drying off with the freshly dried towel Kon must have left for you along with some thermal leggings and a shirt of his that was also warm.

With a smile, you dried off and dressed in the clothes he left for you complete with fuzzy socks. Stepping out, you heard clattering noises coming from the kitchen once again.

“Kon, what are you doing baby?” you asked, walking in to see him hunched over the stove again.

He turned to look at you holding up two cups and a plate full of cookies and other wintery treats. "I was thinking of a movie to finish off the night with some hot chocolate and cookies. This is Ma's recipe so you know it's a good one." He chuckled and let you take the plate of goodies before you retired to the couch and popping in a favorite holiday movie.

As the movie played out, you curled into his side with your cup warming your hands. The cookies were long gone and you felt sleep start to overcome you, but didn't let it ruin the moment. No matter where you went, you just wanted to be held in Kon's arms and that was how you were going to end the amazing day you had with him.