#this turned out way sappier than I though it would

[asimplearchivist]

𝓢𝓪𝓭 𝓔𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you and jake enjoy having movie nights, but he has the habit of spoiling the endings for you. this time is different, though. pairing(s) ☽ jake lockley/reader-centric | constellations!verse word count ☾ 1.9k a/n ☽ ⤏ my fifth entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events. I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for constellations on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters. this takes place post-chapter iii. ⤏ this one derailed from me as well. I swear these guys have minds of their own. this ended up being a lot sappier than I intended, but...c'est la vie. I love one jake lockley. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS ENTRY ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY ☽

“I’ll never forgive you for this.”

“Come on, querida. You should’ve had some idea that this would happen.”

“No, I absolutely did not!” You lifted your face from your hands, twisting to the side with your elbows still planted on your knees in order to glare up at your smirking fellow historical drama critic. “It’s not my fault that I don’t have a sixth sense for figuring out plot lines in the first ten minutes like you do!”

“Says the writer,” he chuckled, eyes glittering. “If it makes you feel any better, Steven wasn’t expecting it, either.”

That did, actually. You and Steven had long since developed the practice of conducting ongoing commentaries and speculations on the potential plotline based on the details revealed in whatever media you’d enjoy together—be it TV shows, movies, or books (print or audio)—whereas Jake was more the type to verbalize his predictions as they came to him, disregarding any suspension of disbelief. At least Marc only remarked on the glaring inaccuracies regarding combat, weapons, or injuries that Hollywood lauded for exaggerated effect.

On one hand, it used to drive you crazy—you preferred to experience things as they unfolded and let the story tell itself, following along for the ride…but, on the other hand, the knowing gleam in Jake’s eyes, the smug tilt of his close-lipped grin, and the way he’d start to pay more attention to you instead of the film (particularly with his hands—rubbing his palm over the line of your, at times, tense shoulders, grasping the nape of your neck and stroking the pad of his thumb along your hairline and under the shell of your ear, or petting your head like one would a beloved pet—about which you could never truly complain) eroded your exasperation over time. Now you almost looked forward to it—even if you still gave him a hard time about the inevitable spoilers involved.

Tonight, it would seem, however, that he’d decided to bide his time in order to see your unprepared reaction without dropping an obvious statement that would have indicated the plot twist to you ahead of time. For once, admittedly, you would’ve appreciated the warning.

“How could they say that about her?” you bemoaned, eyes returning to the screen with prolific lamentation. “She’s literally done nothing to them—she doesn’t even want to marry him, they didn’t have to drag her reputation through the mud!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, querida,” Jake chuckled, “it was visible from miles away.”

You huffed and turned away from him, refocusing your attention on the television screen. You watched the protagonist’s subsequent emotional breakdown with trepidation, frowning as she was scorned and criticized by the people that should have been her allies and had claimed to have been her friends. The only people that believed she was innocent in the matter were her sister and, fortunately, her love interest. He arrived late the next rainy night on a raven-black horse that shivered and bellowed mist from his nostrils as the man, drenched and pensive, dismounted to greet the distressed young woman at the door of her family’s home.

“Hey,” Jake murmured, nudging your side with his elbow. “It’ll turn out fine.”

You glanced up at him, relaxing slightly. You’d been teased in the past by several people for being so emotionally invested in fictional characters and their plight—your ex included—and while you weren’t ashamed of the fact you had the ability to extend so much empathy (even in hypothetical situations), you were sensitive to what others might think. Steven didn’t mind—he was much the same as you, honestly, and that was such a relief. Marc didn’t seem to mind one way or the other, thankfully. But Jake was a notorious tease and found a lot of joy in flustering you, and you were still getting used to gauging his personality since you hadn’t known him as long as the other two—so that he wasn’t poking fun at you about this was a monumental relief.

“I know,” you breathed, sinking into his side. He coiled his arm around your shoulders in response. “He’ll save the day with his money and marry her silly. These things never have sad endings.”

Jake hummed and drummed his fingertips on your upper arm. “It’s a good thing. Wouldn’t want you to be sad, chaparrita. Might have to pay that studio a stern visit otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart squeezed at the sentiment—as aggressive as it was. There was one thing that you had learned for certain since meeting him: Jake showed his love through protectiveness as opposed to the gentler means of the other two men. You’d never want him to hurt someone for you, necessarily (unless they deserved it, of course), but the thought that he would be willing to go up to bat for you, that he had your back no matter what, was far more reassuring than you had ever expected it to be. (Something, something, scary guard dog privileges.)

“Some movies need them, though,” you pointed out. “Sometimes that’s the whole point of the story—something out of the characters’ control happens, and they have to decide how they’ll react. Other times it’s pointless, serves no greater purpose to enhance the plot.”

“Shit happens in real life for no reason, though,” Jake pointed out, voice low as the music onscreen swelled. The love interest was embracing the weeping protagonist, having informed her that he had, in fact, solved the issue. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.”

You nodded, dropping your head onto his shoulder. “Some people are fortunate enough to have happy endings, though,” you murmured. “It’s a dangerous thing to claim, because things could always go wrong, but…” You swallowed, tucking your nose under the lapel of his shirt. “...I’m glad I met you guys. It was worth everything I’ve gone through.”

Jake stilled, falling silent. You had also learned that such intimate proclamations tended to throw him for a loop—he was not accustomed to revealing his inner emotions, since he’d repressed them (and himself) for so long. He was getting better at communicating in general, thanks to Steven’s long-suffering patience and gentle coaxing, but you could tell anything ‘mushy’ made him slightly uncomfortable. (Having noticed this, you’d asked him early on if he wanted you to slow down on giving him affection—but he’d visibly recoiled at that suggestion, more demanding than asking you not to stop. You could only really speculate since he didn’t talk about it much, but you knew that if you were in his position, even if such attention was new, you’d be famished for it. You’d decided he was just embracing his adjustment period instead of avoiding it, like Marc had tended to do at first.)

He shifted, angling his body closer to yours, and tucked the end of his nose behind the shell of your ear. “...We’re glad we met you, too, querida,” he finally murmured, his free hand slipping down to curl around the knob of your knee. He pressed his face into your neck, and you wondered if he could feel your pounding pulse against his lips. “You’ve done us a whole lot of good.”

Chest tightening, you focused resolutely on the television despite the warring urge to arm him up and press a litany of kisses all over his face and head—any affection he felt comfortable doling out was precious indeed, and you would grant him the privacy of tucking himself out of sight, even if it was under your chin. Marc struggled the most with letting himself be seen as any semblance of vulnerable—and while Jake was more inclined and apt to it, he was still learning to trust you in particular, so allow himself to lower his guard and be himself with you (while, simultaneously, discovering and determining exactly who he was).

To receive a compliment of such caliber from Jake, though, was the highest bestowment of honor anyone could receive. He was picky, you’d learned, extremely so—especially regarding people with whom he associated. He had high standards, given the fact that his top priority had always been protecting the system first and foremost. Allowing anyone with dangerous intentions close enough to potentially hurt them was simply unacceptable, and thus he kept most everyone at arm’s length. That was why he’d acted in such a way towards you when he’d been forced to intervene for Marc’s sake, leading to your first ‘official’ meeting—he never gave anyone the benefit of a doubt until they proved themselves worthy of his extremely loyal regard (and his protection).

“I’m glad,” you responded softly. “I always try my best.”

“It’s all we could ever have asked for.”

You caved, but just slightly. You tilted your head down to press a lingering kiss to the crown of his head, nestling your nose into the neatly combed curls and inhaling the complimentary scents of their shampoo and hair gel. You curled an arm around his back and rubbed your palm in a series of circles between his shoulder blades, forgoing the movie for the sensation of his breath hitching against your throat.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For letting me have my happy ending.”

He swallowed roughly, and when his muscles went rigid you almost expected one of the others to surface—Jake had a habit of retreating when emotions got to be too much for him, which you’d never taken offense to (only had ever worried, but it wasn’t usually very long before he slipped back into the driver’s seat to reassure you by diverting the topic to let you know he was okay)—but instead of Steven’s falsetto lilt or Marc’s flat baritone emerging to notify you of the switch, Jake’s rumbling rasp vibrated your skin via his scruffy lips brushing your artery. “It’s I who should be thanking you, chaparrita, for not running for the hills when you had the chance. You’ve…been there for them when I couldn’t be. And you didn’t…you stuck around for me.” He cleared his throat quietly. “Gracias.”

“De nada,” you returned, kissing his head again and reaching up to play with the errant locks at the nape of his neck. “Eres precioso a mi.”

He let out a breathless, if slightly wet, chuckle, and snuggled in closer. You counted it precious. You counted them precious.

“Tengo hambre,” you commented after a while, sensing he might like to have an out. “¿Qué tenemos qué podemos comer?”

Jake retracted, but it was slow and borderline reluctant, if you didn’t know any better. “Let’s order something, chaparrita. I don’t feel like futzing around in the kitchen this late.”

You smiled and reached for your phone. “Sounds good to me. Asian or…?”

“Thai.” To your surprise, Jake tugged at your arms as he reclined, coaxing you to recline on top of him, your back to his chest. He wrapped you up in an unyielding, tight embrace, smothering his face into your neck once more to mumble against your ear. “Those glass noodles Marc’s gotten before are good. With the chicken.”

You tried your best to bite back your smile, but you couldn’t help the heat building beneath your cheeks. You raised your phone over your face to pull up the corresponding delivery app. “Anything for you, handsome. Anything for you.”

[masterwords]

I’m back!

I was thinking about Derek and Aaron having to put together some kind of toy or project for Jack (you know kids always do it the night before it’s due). I’m just picturing some sweet and sarcastic time together doing something for Jack that should be easier but is probably harder than they thought.

Super excited for May now!

Starting May off with this one! And yeah, it got a LOT sappier than I meant for it to...that happens I suppose.

Summary: Jack needs to build a rocket and he has two dads who can help him out. Lucky kid.

Warnings: mention of Derek's dad's death and financial troubles after

Words: 1.3k

Read below the cut or on AO3!

**

** Blast Off **

“You're doing it wrong,” Derek says from the floor. He's on his second set of one hundred pushups, maybe the third, Hotch has lost count. Up and down up and down.

“The directions said...”

“Read them again.”

He can't. Jack lost them about an hour before when Hotch told him to clean up all of the mess he'd made that didn't have anything to do with the damn rocket so they could focus. He can manage chaos on a grand scale, but in his own home it's just a little too much. The sad truth is, those instructions are probably in the trash can beneath the scraps from dinner.

In other words, long gone. He's not digging through the trash to figure this little thing out.

He doesn't think it should matter. There are not that many pieces. They're all laid out, side by side, just like he would set it up if he was taking apart one of his guns to be cleaned. It looks so simple, and it probably is it's just that he's afraid to commit and make a mistake. They don't have time to go buy another kit, they waited until the last minute. Not because anyone forgot, just because Hotch had been a little extra busy at work. Story of his life.

Derek finishes his push-ups and spends almost a full minute drinking every drop from his water bottle. Hotch envies his dedication to fitness, the way he always manages to get these things in without excuse. Hotch hasn't done push-ups in days even though they entered into this monthly challenge some of the guys at the Academy started together. This month is push-ups, next month is running. He'll make them up, no way he's going to come in last or just give up, but he's definitely not making it easy on himself.

“This part goes here,” Derek says, pointing. “I watched my dad and Sarah make one of these.”

“I made one when I was a kid but not from a kit. My dad almost cut his hand off helping me with mine. He wasn't much of an engineer...” In other words, his rocket had looked pretty cool but had been an epic fail. It blew to bits when it hit the ground.

Derek's mom didn't have the money to buy him a kit when it was his turn. It wasn't that expensive, but it would have over drafted her account. If it had been a week later maybe she could have been able to swing it, pinch a few pennies, but things were just tight. Her job didn't pay much and the hospital and funeral expenses were still weighing her down so he was home sick on rocket day to save face. Being the only kid who showed up empty handed would have killed him and Fran knew it. He already had to be the kid whose dad died, he didn't need that too. Things were hard enough on him.

Derek doesn't bring it up but Hotch can see it on his face, he can see it written in the lines on his forehead. He doesn't dwell on these things but they still sting when confronted with them.

“Do you want to take my place?” Hotch asks without a hint of frustration. He thinks maybe Derek might like a do-over. “I could use a few minutes to get some push-ups in before I'm at the bottom of the pile.”

Derek doesn't need the instructions. He can reconstruct a bomb from scraps, he can see the way the pieces fit together and instinctively knows what each of them does. Hotch knows that even if it's not exactly the way the instructions say to do it, Jack's rocket will probably win.

The only thing Derek can think is that this feels huge. This is a father son project, Jack has been talking about it for weeks. The fact that Hotch isn't home often and Jack was worried he'd have to build it with aunt Jessica had been at the forefront of his mind. Not that he would hate that, he just...it was all Jack wanted. Building a rocket with daddy. It's a whole thing. After they build the rockets his whole class will go to a field and launch them, there are even prizes for the winners. Highest, farthest, best paint job. There are about a million categories, enough that each kid in the class will probably get something for their trouble. But Jack just wants to build it with Hotch. And after launch day, to further the experience, they get to go to the air and space museum. It's not the sort of thing some random guy just gets to jump in on. He knows he isn't just some random guy, but until this moment he wasn't really sure where he fit. Jack likes him, or at least tolerates him, and he's careful not to infringe on Jack's precious time with his dad.

This makes him feel like part of the family in a way he hasn't before.

“You sure?”

He expects Jack to politely refuse. He wouldn't mind it. If he could have done this with his father...

“YEAH! PLEASE DEREK!”

Jack's enthusiasm nearly makes him cry. It's all he can do to hold himself together as he takes a seat beside the kid and starts rearranging the pieces into an order that makes sense to him. No hesitation. If Jack wants him to do it, then he's going to do it and he's going to do it right. He thinks about that stupid Inside Out movie that makes him cry every time Jack wants to watch it and he knows this is a core memory.

Maybe for both of them.

They work all evening, laughing and making a mess while Hotch makes up for lost time on his damn push-ups. His arms feel like jelly, his elbows are creaking, but he's back in the running again. He pops a few Tylenol PM so the ache in his arms doesn't keep him up that night but he feels good otherwise. Could probably do more if he wanted but he didn't want. It's late and all he wants to do is read Jack a chapter from their bedtime story and go to bed.

By the time he comes to the table to check on things, they've got it painted with the wildest set of tiger stripes he's ever seen. It looks fast and mean. And the most shocking part? The table is mostly cleaned up.

“Will it fly?” Hotch asks in awe. Derek and Jack laugh in unison and he can't get over how good that sound is.

“Not only will it fly,” Derek starts, standing and arching his sore back. He hates sitting so long. “It's gonna win.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

Hotch takes Jack to get ready for bed while Derek finishes shutting down the apartment, checking locks, turning off lights. He gives the glue a test, tugs at the fins, pulls the nose off and checks that the parachute is intact. It all looks good. He knows the engine is solid, it's in there, it's going places. Once he's satisfied with the work they put in, he heads off toward Hotch's room to wait for him to finish, but hears his name called from Jack's room.

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning in the doorway. Jack is tucked into his bed, Hotch kneeling on the floor beside him with the book in his hand.

“Would you come with me tomorrow?” Jack asks with a hopeful smile. “Since you helped me build it.”

Derek can't stop the tears this time. They obscure his vision and for a moment he's speechless. Hotch nods and smiles.

“Yeah, buddy. If the boss says I can have the morning off, I'd love to.”

“Can he dad? Please?”

“I'll think about it.” He's posturing. It's a done deal. Derek already knows it.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddddddddddddddddddddddd...”

Hotch smiles in a way that lights his eyes up and he nods. “Of course. But only if he brings me lunch.”

“Deal.”

[fangedfaefreak]

So, you want to know how I really feel about you? Are you sure you do?

Alright. I’ve got time. Fair warning for mutuals, this is for a specific person and that person knows who he is so I suggest not reading unless you want insight onto the stupor this man has me in.

You have me in a fucking chokehold, and not in a fun and sexy way. Not even in a rough and dominating way, though you know I would love that from you. I would welcome it. No, the thought of you makes me mad, and not in an angry way. In an absolutely fucking insane way. In a really awful, stupid, psychotic way. In a way that I know is probably unhealthy and I know I should stop, but you are a drug to me. I see your name on my phone and it fills me with a cocktail of joy, serenity, obsession, and the most whacked out form of love I can imagine, which is probably pretty “on brand” for me.

Is this turning into a love letter? Ew, feelings😅 Gross, kill it with fire. (We’ll get to those later.)

The amount of times I have fantasized about you bending me over is more than anyone can count, much less me, someone who is so delirious with desire they can barely think. The thought of my hair caught in your fist or your bite marks on my skin keeps me up at night. I want your hands to grip me so hard I bruise, I want your mouth on mine, I want to claw your skin until it’s raw, I want you to fuck me until I can’t see straight, I want you to make me yours, and I want to make you mine. I want I want I want. I want you.

And you know it, you fucking bastard. I say that with as much love as my damaged heart can muster. I say it with as much feeling as my shattered soul can carry. I scream it over and over in my head until I can’t take it anymore. You have me in this beautiful and damning chokehold. I love you, and you know it. And I know this is futile, I know these words will never be able to be uttered aloud, I know I know I know I am making a mistake by making this REAL and I know I shouldn’t POST THIS and I know that the thought of being with you is the only thing that keeps me wanting to live and I know that the latter will never happen so I have to find different reasons to live, and I have to find something tangible that makes me as happy as you do, and I wonder if that will ever happen. Perhaps it will, someday. And maybe, someday, you will find something that makes you happy instead of me.

For now I will let myself revel in the madness and the beauty of it all, and let myself grip onto the thought of you as tightly as I wish I could in reality, and let myself understand that there is something in me worth loving that isn’t my sex appeal. You see it in me, which means it’s real. You would never lie to me, would you?

I’m afraid that’s all, sweet prince, perhaps the next time I get drunk I’ll write another love letter. Maybe it’ll be sexier. Maybe it’ll be sappier. Maybe a bit of both.

I love you even though I shouldn’t.

-Vi

[sweetlittlevampire]

So.

Since I’ve been yelling and crying and whining so much about The Girlfriend Situation, I might as well update you on The Girlfriend Situation, as it stands now.

Mentions of suicide and mental health issues under the Read More (we’re both fine; I won’t mention anything graphic, but just - do what’s best for you. If reading about this topic isn’t doing you any good, then please, feel free to step away. I’ll be adding a  tl;dr at the end of the post in case you’re still interested in what the status quo is.)

First things first: The Girlfriend is still the Girlfriend. 

Not too long ago, my father-in-law tried to take his own life. I knew that he had suffered a major burn out years ago. I had no idea that he is suffering from depression and bouts of psychosis, and that this was the second time he had tried. He did so many years ago for the first time.

The girlfriend never told me about it, because she thinks that it should be his decision as to whom he talks to about this to. Either he never wanted to talk to me about it - which is absolutely fine - or it just never came up.

I don’t know his exact diagnosis. He lives in Switzerland. With what is going on in the world right now with COVID, there’s no way we would be even able to cross the Swiss border to go visit. But I gathered that he was lucid enough to call an ambulance and a psychiatrist for himself, and that he is now being taken good care of. He loves trains and photography, and there have already been new photos popping up on his social media, depicting his favourite hobby. He seems to be doing better; I really hope he is.

The girlfriend...she’s a rational thinker. After his first attempt at suicide, she knew that there was a chance he could try again. Even the doctors said so, she told me, and it must have been at the back of her mind ever since. Logically, she knows that there is not much she could have done. There’s the spacial distance between her and her father’s living places, for one. She did make an effort to visit whenever she could, which wasn’t as often as she would have liked, with work and general life interfering. Sometimes I went with her, sometimes her grandmother did. Sometimes he came over to us to stay with his mother for a few days. When the virus eventually gets eradicated (which might still take a good while, but I’m optimistic that it will, one day), we will resume doing so. In between visits, she kept up with him via phone calls and video calls. They do have a good relationship with one another.

He always seemed well, she says. “I should have noticed something,” she thought. “I should have done something,” she mused.

- even though she knew very well that she couldn’t have done much, or even anything to prevent this, realistically speaking.

She didn’t cry when she delivered the news to me, but I’ve known this woman since she was thirteen years old. I heard instantly that something was wrong. And so I offered up my support, as gently as I could. Because frankly? I had no idea how to react properly. I was overwhelmed and scared and sad. I really like my father-in-law. I care about him, and I care about my girlfriend. 

So I reached out, as gently as I could, and said:  “I’m here, if you wanna talk. Or not talk.” In return I got a  “I’d rather not have you around anymore. Not for a while, at least.” And - gotta be honest, that hurt. I didn’t understand, I had no idea what to do, or how to react. I’ve been dropped by people before, cast out, chased away, but never by someone who means the entire world to me, and who, I thought, cared about me, too.

Still, I know firsthand that people grieve differently, and said: “Okay. Reach out whenever you’re ready”, and tried to give her space.

And proceeded to panic. Because “for a while” - and I also know this firsthand - can easily stretch into infinity. And because I’ve been dropped by people before, cast out, chased away - I was so scared this was going to happen now, too.

It might seem like an unhealthy dependence upon another human being, and maybe it is, but - she’s someone I have in mind when I think about the future. And not just the foreseeable future, but about the “growing old and getting grey hair and dentures” kind of future. I can live without her. I can make my life without her. Meet friends. Do happy things. Laugh. I’ve done this the past few weeks. I know I can do it.

I don’t want to do it ever again. Not this way.

I’ve loved this woman for almost eighteen years, and as it stands now, it feels like I will be doing so for a very long time still, maybe - hopefully - even for the rest of my life. We’ve been through so much together that we shaped our lives around each other. We grew and developed with each other, around each other, alongside each other. It feels as if my heart was molded to fit hers to its side, and that the beating of hers reflects mine.

So this not knowing what to do, not knowing how to help, or when - or even if - I’d be allowed back in her space, was agony. I genuinely was afraid of losing her.

She was the one who reached out to me, as she had promised. Gently, tentatively, by replying to one of my last texts, what feels like countless days after I had sent it. We texted a bit every day. She cracked a small joke. Then asked:

“Hey. My mother’s not here on Thursday. Wanna come over? We could play Animal Crossing...and talk.”

So I went there yesterday.

We did play Animal Crossing. And we talked.

She needed to think. About her own way of thinking, about her own feelings regarding this whole situation with her father, and she needed to do so on her own. She acknowledged that the way in which she had pushed me away had been less than friendly, and she could only explain it by being too suffocated by her own conflicted feelings of guilt that she did not find the right words to let me know what was up. So she got emotional and lashed out.

She said that she regretted her words almost instantly, but was scared that I’d be angry or hurt. So she decided to wait until her mind was clearer, and the storm of emotions had calmed down.

She apologised. I said that I had been hurt, but more because it was so uncharacteristic for her, and because me being scared had worsened it all, but that I was absolutely willing to forgive her.

She said she was scared too, because me being so silent iwa uncharacteristic for me...I told her she had wanted me to step back, and I was to insecure as to what to do that I went completely still. So it was not just me freaking out, it seems.

She’s okay now. It’s still hard, but she’s okay. 

Yesterday was filled with fingers worrying at each other. With avoided gazes, trembling lips. A whole ocean of tears. Hand holding. But also hugs, and eventually, kisses, and laughter.

If I can, I will stay with her for two, three days very soon. Just the two of us, and the calmness of everyday life. She would like me to, and I would love to. Turns out we missed each other dearly.

I’m...emotionally tired. Exhausted, even, but also happy. So so relieved. So thankful that the gift that she is, the love she so graciously decided to give to me, has not been taken from me. And if she’ll have me, if she’ll allow me, I will give it back to her tenfold, and gladly so.

.....

tl;dr : Learned that father-in-law has tried to end his life. His daughter struggled with feelings of guilt, and needed space, which she communicated to me a bit too harshly. We both proceeded to freak out about it. Talked things through and made up.  (That sounds super underwhelming put like that, not gonna lie. XD)

[classickook]

salvation | sinister strange

pairing: sinister strange x fem!reader

summary: in an alternate universe, stephen strange remains stranded in a forgotten corner of the multiverse, that is, until you came along; however, now he’s wondering if you’re truly happy with him or if you wished things had been different.

warnings: hurt/comfort, slight angst

word count: 1.1k

a/n: this turned out way sappier (and ooc) than i had intended lol but i think sinister strange deserves more love! **can be read as a stand-alone or as a blurb within my paper hearts series**

“dove?”

“hm?” you hummed distractedly as you flipped through the pages of a book you hadn’t gotten around to reading yet.

“are you happy here?”

you frowned at the question. “where’d that come from, doc?”

“i’ve been thinking about it… and i just,” he paused as if unsure of his question. “do you feel lonely here?”

you couldn’t remember how long it had been since you fell into this deserted universe; it was as if you had been ripped from one reality and dropped into another in the mere blink of an eye. you had no recollection of your life before now, but that didn’t matter for you had built a new life for yourself here that was far more suitable to your tastes.

you truly felt at home here where a sense of calm stillness resonated throughout the air despite the ferocious clouds that loomed about in the distance, and yet no harm had ever come to you. it seemed as though everything in this world was at a standstill, only slowly creeping its way along its own timeline separate from the countless others out there somewhere in the vast multiverse.

time was a particularly messy concept here, after all, but every day, you fell more in love with stephen strange.

he had been so lost, so lonely in this isolation of his own making when you first stumbled upon him, and you couldn’t fathom how he had lasted this long in solitude. if it weren’t for you, he didn’t know where his life would have taken him.

“lonely? not really, no,” you replied honestly. “why would i be lonely when i have you?”

he smiled sadly. “besides me,” he clarified, “don’t you wish you had someone else? friends? family? anyone?”

“where is this all coming from?” you asked again, tone soft as down, but you were only met with deafening silence.

marking your page and setting the book aside, you crossed the room and kneeled in front of him as he sat dejectedly in his armchair. you gently held his hands in yours, thumbs tracing along the thin white scars lining his pale skin.

“stephen,” you called softly, tilting his chin up to you, “you are my friend. you are my family. i don’t need anyone else. i’m happy with my life here. i’m happy with you.”

“doesn’t it feel gloomy? cold? there’s no greenery or sunlight or life of any kind.”

“that may be true,” you agreed, “but i like it, actually. gloomy days were always my favorite. it’s so quiet and peaceful here, and i feel more calm than i’ve ever felt before.”

“but there’s nothing to do here,” he argued. “i have nothing to offer you in regards to spending your time. aren’t you bored?”

you tsked softly, “i have you to keep me company, stephen. plus, you have so many books and the music room and an entire sanctum to run around in. i could never get bored here with you. not to mention i have a literal sorcerer at my beck and call who can give me anything i want and entertain me for hours,” you said with an easy grin.

regardless of your constant reassurances as to just how happy you were with him in this forgotten corner of the multiverse, he continued to list off reasons why you should hate it—hate him—and it broke your heart.

“stephen,” you said softly, squeezing his hands as if you were transferring every ounce of strength and love you had for the man into his very being. “i love you and i love being here with you. i don’t care what we do, as long as i have you by my side. i get to fall asleep next to you every night and wake up to you every morning—and that’s good enough for me. you care for me and protect me, and i feel so safe with you. i couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with someone else in some other universe. so, yes,” you admitted, “this might be an unconventional way of living compared to others throughout the multiverse, but who cares? why shouldn’t we be allowed to relish in our own little world together, just you and me? isn’t that enough?”

you watched him as your words sunk in—as you confirmed your unshakable dedication to the man in front of you. tears lined his eyes, now red-rimmed and vulnerable. he seemed so broken, so desperate for love and acceptance, and you were giving exactly that to him. “so don’t doubt for a single second my love for you, stephen strange,” you said firmly. “i would do this all over again if i could.”

you cupped his jaw in your palm and lightly brushed your lips against his in a whisper of a kiss before pulling away to meet his gaze. “do you believe me yet?” you whispered.

he brought a shaky hand to rest against your cheek and you leaned into the caress, loving the feeling of his skin on yours, the immediate sense of comfort and relief flooding through you with the lightest touch. “my little dove,” he whispered, voice dripping with adoration, exposing his heart to you with every word, every glance, every touch. in that moment, you realized just how much stephen loved you and just how much you meant to him.

“are you happy, doc?” you asked, turning the question back on him, “here with me? do i make you happy?”

“undeniably so,” he replied vehemently. “you are my hope, my solace, my salvation, and the very reason this old heart of mine still beats,” he said, bringing your joined hands to rest against his chest. “i would be lost without you.”

“and i without you,” you returned, kissing the palm that was still cupping your cheek. “the grand mystery of this endless multiverse brought us together for a reason, i’m sure of it.”

“i suppose you’re right,” he said, a slow smile stretching onto his face as he brushed his thumb along your cheekbone, “as you oftentimes are.”

“exactly,” you murmured, mirroring his smile. you returned to your full height and a flash of dejection flashed across his features until you came back to him and sat yourself onto his lap. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in close as if trying to merge your two bodies into one. you curled into him completely and smiled to yourself as he tucked your head beneath his chin, allowing you to hear the steady heartbeat thudding beneath his dark robes while the world outside remained quiet and still.

“thank you, dove,” he whispered into your hair and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head, rubbing your back in soothing motions. “i am indebted to you for your love and kindness.”

“you don’t have to thank me for that,” you replied, kissing the exposed skin of his neck as you nuzzled into him. “you’re my salvation, too.”

[laurenairay]

watermelon sugar high - JT Compher

Summary: after three years together, it’s finally your turn – the day of your wedding to JT Compher.

Word Count: 4.5 words

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, kissing, wedding day, anxiety

A/N: we made it! The end of this little story series – I sincerely hope you’ve all enjoyed reading these as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them! I’d love to know your thoughts 💛

Third, and final, part in the watermelon sugar series, sequel to breathe me in, breathe me out and strawberries on a summer evening.

Tagging: @fallinallincurls @suitandtys @sorryjustafangirl​ @jostystyles​ @starshine-hockey-girl​ @xsyntheticsensation​ @senditcolton​ @hockeylvr59​ @corneliaskates @tysojost​

*"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." – Dr. Seuss

Sometimes it can be scary how fast time flies.

The longer you dated JT, the more romantic he became. It was all the little things – he brought you flowers every time he saw you, he started keeping your favourite tea in his kitchen for when you stayed overnight, he always gave you little kisses in passing, he never failed to hold your hand whenever the two of you were out in public, and he spent ages shopping for the perfect Christmas decorations that first Christmas together. And those things were only the tip of the iceberg. He only grew softer, sweeter, sappier when you moved in with him too, two years into your relationship. This was your JT, the sweet gentleman; it was a side of him he never let show in public, and you got to be the person to see the real him, more and more each day.

Before you knew it, three years had passed since that fateful summer, reuniting with JT after so long, starting up that change from childhood friends to more, and you couldn’t imagine your life without him. Not that you would have to, with JT proposing only three months after you’d moved in with him a year ago.

You hadn’t thought much of the walk JT had invited you on one Sunday morning through your old Northbrook neighbourhood, the two of you just talking softly in the early morning quiet, hand-in-hand, until you reached a clearing in the local park with dozens of bouquets of flowers. Before you’d even been able to ask him what the hell, JT had dropped down on one knee and pulled out a ring that still made your stomach fill with butterflies – there was no way you were going to say no.

(and when Jesse and Morgan had both appeared from behind trees, one filming and one snapping photos, you knew they’d played a big part in the planning, which didn’t surprise you in the slightest).

So much of JT’s season had been filled with the wedding planning, both of his sisters and your moms more than willing to help out while JT was off on roadtrips, and somehow within all the chaos and all the differing opinions (and with JT chiming in over facetime), you’d manage to figure out a wedding that would be perfect for the two of you.

Finally though, the time had come for you to marry JT, to become his wife. And you couldn’t wait. This was a day you’d dreamed about since you were a little kid – innocent fantasies then, but now it was the reality that you were giddy to be able to live.

The venue you’d chosen was an all-in-one ceremony and reception site – the ceremony was going to outside in the middle of a beautiful gardens, full of wildflowers and trees lining the outside of the clearing, with the reception hall in a giant converted barn complex, with multiple rooms for changing and food storage & preparation. It was intimate and rustic and stunning, and the moment that the two of you had seen it (because it was actually one that JT had been able to go with in person), you’d fallen in love. And by the look on JT’s face, you knew that he felt the same way. You were getting ready in the largest room right at the back with all your bridesmaids, far away from all the final decorations, and even when people started arriving they wouldn’t be able to see you. It was perfect, for the both of you, and you knew the photos would preserve the memories of your special day exactly how you’d envisioned it.

Waking up early for the hair and make-up stylists was no more fun as a bride than all the times you’d done it as a bridesmaid, but at least this time you weren’t the one running around to make sure things were ready – you left that to your mom and your bridesmaids (JT had claimed Jesse as his best ‘man’ so you’d quickly claimed Morgan as your sane bridesmaid, which she was living up to with tissues and glasses of water). All through getting ready, the light breakfast, the jewellery, sliding into your gorgeous wedding dress, you could hear the photographer snapping photos but it was something you were trying to let fade into the background, just trying to enjoy the peaceful time you had while it lasted. This was something you were only going to experience once (hopefully?) and the only thing you wanted to do was live in the moment, to make the memories rather than let everything pass in a blur.

The one thing that JT had specifically asked for was a moment just for the two of you before the ceremony. Not a first look – no, he wanted to be surprised – but a moment where everyone else left the room so he could hold your hand.

He really had become such a romantic.

When that time came, when your group of people filed out of the room, murmuring their coos of encouragement to JT, you couldn’t help but smile as you heard JT breathe out shakily, the door open less than a foot, just enough for JT’s hand to slip through. You knew he was standing with his back to the door, to not risk seeing you, so you did the same, clasping your hand in his in the ever-familiar motion. The moment that his hand squeezed yours, you felt tension leaving your body that you hadn’t even realised was there.

And with a final click of a camera before the photographer slipped out of the room too, the two of you were finally alone.

“Hey JT,” you murmured.

“God it’s good to hear your voice,” JT groaned.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the desperation in his words, imaging the exasperated look on his face.

“We’ve only been apart for one night, it can’t be that bad,” you giggled.

“I’ve had Jesse and Josty competing all morning to take my mind off how nervous I am,” he said dryly.

What an image – you knew he’d gotten ready in his parent’s home that morning, travelling all together to this venue when they were all ready, and you could only imagine the chaos. There was something that caught your notice though.

“You’re nervous?” you asked, frowning slightly.

“Not nervous to marry you, not that,” he said quickly, “I’m nervous that I’ll do something stupid, like trip over my own feet, or tread on your dress, or forget my words, or just, I don’t know, make an ass out of myself and ruin the day.”

One of the things you loved most about JT was his emotional honesty – drunk or sober, he always told you what was going on in his head and you were so grateful for it. Not just because it was hard to read him sometimes, but because it meant that he wasn’t bottling things up inside. Even if he did worry way too much.

“There’s not a single thing you could do to ruin today. We’re getting married, baby. There’s nothing to be nervous about at all,” you said firmly.

“You called me baby.”

There he was. The happiness in his voice sent butterflies soaring through your stomach, and you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your lips. He really was so sweet.

“I’ll get to call you baby for the rest of our lives now,” you teased.

The happy noise he made only made you laugh softly in return.

“I can’t wait,” JT said softly, “are you ready to be Mrs Compher then?”

As if that wasn’t the one thing you’d wanted for years.

“I’m ready. Let’s do this,” you nodded.

“Let’s do this,” he echoed, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I would kiss your hand but that would bend your arm in a weird angle and I’m not sure these pants are squat proof.”

The very thought of him splitting the ass of his wedding suit just to be able to bend down enough to kiss your hand had you busting out in laughter, JT laughing as well, taking the final fizzle of nerves away.

“Rain check?” you offered, still laughing.

“Rain check. I love you,” he said.

“I love you too. Now get out of here so I can meet you at the end of the aisle,” you mused.

JT squeezed your hand again, knocking twice on the door in goodbye before letting go. You clenched your fist briefly, clinging onto the phantom feeling of his hand in yours, before trying to compose yourself as you heard footsteps approaching. The whirlwind of last-minute preparations continued, giving JT enough time to get to the ceremony venue outside, enough time for another round of hugging and almost-tears before it was your time too. Your mom shuffled off to get your dad, ready to walk you down the aisle, and your bridesmaids all lined up in the order you’d discussed, although Morgan stepped up next to you and rested a hand on your forearm.

“I’m so glad you’re going to be my sister,” Morgan said, smiling widely, “my brother is a lucky man.”

It was all you could do to choke out a laugh, hugging her tightly in turn, trying not to cry all over again.

The ceremony setting outside was stunning. The clearing in the trees on the venue grounds was lined with all colours of wildflowers, complementing the olive green of the bridesmaids’ dresses perfectly, with white chairs laid out for the multitude of guests, the mix of rustic nature and wedding blending perfectly just liked you’d hoped. You saw your wedding planner signal to one of the venue staff, and the sound of the wedding march started immediately, making your stomach fill with butterflies, even more so as everybody stood up from their seats.

Here goes nothing.

At the end of the aisle stood your bridesmaids, the groomsmen, and most importantly, JT. He was framed by a beautiful wooden arch that his dad Bob had made as a surprise for the two of you, more of the wildflowers threaded through it, and to be honest you didn’t think you’d ever seen anything looking better.

The tears JT wiped away from his cheeks were just the icing on the cake.

You paused only briefly to pass your small bouquet to a bridesmaid, Morgan straightening your dress out behind you, before you stepped those final steps towards your soon-to-be husband, the smile on his face as wide as you knew yours was.

“Hey,” you murmured.

“Hey,” he said, laughing softly.

You were ready.

The officiant started his speech, welcoming everyone to your wedding, but all you could focus on was JT’s smiling face, both of his hands holding yours, full of so much love. Time stretched out into a blur, everything feeling like a floating magical dream, until Jesse stepped forward with the rings. You knew you were smiling like an idiot as you exchanged I Do’s and slid the rings onto each other’s fingers, but you didn’t care. He was yours, and you were his, and nothing else mattered.

“I now pronounce you as married in the eyes of the law in the state of Illinois! You may now kiss your bride.”

The grin JT shot you made you laugh, and you wasted no time in clutching at his lapels as he pressed a soft slow kiss to your lips, one of his hands cupping your face with the other resting on your waist. Cheers and applause and whoops filled the air, JT slowing the kiss down to a few pecks before pulling away, the sappiest look on his face.

“Wanna get out of here for a moment?” he murmured.

“Hell yes,” you laughed, taking his hand and threading your fingers together.

As you took your bouquet back from your bridesmaid, you murmured to her that you just needed a moment, to have a breather alone with your husband (husband!) and to change out of your heels, and she promised to let everyone know, letting you focus on enjoying walking back down the aisle, flowers in one hand and JT in the others, that giddy rush hitting you harder than it ever had before.

You were married.

You were married.

JT Compher was finally your husband and you couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. And why should you stop? You were so unbelievably irrevocably happy, so much so that you felt like you were about to explode, JT’s hand in yours being the only anchor. He led you into the room you’d gotten ready in that morning, and the moment that he closed the door behind the two of you, he let out a laugh of disbelief.

“Did that really just happen? Did we really just get married?” he grinned.

“Fuck yeah baby, you put a ring on it,” you teased, holding up your left hand to display the beautiful wedding band.

“Baby,” he cooed, sliding his arms around your waist, you sliding yours around his neck, “I get to call you mine for the rest of my life. I like the sound of that.”

And with that, he pressed another soft kiss to your lips, barely grazing his tongue over your bottom lip before he broke the embrace.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look?” he asked softly.

He thought you were beautiful?

“Not even once,” you fake-pouted, trying to ignore your racing heart.

“Well I’m going to have to make up for that, aren’t I?”

A kiss to your neck. You’re beautiful. A kiss behind your ear. You’re beautiful. A kiss to your cheek. You’re beautiful. A kiss to your lips. You’re beautiful. Over and over and over again he murmured those sweet words between kisses until you couldn’t take it anymore. You took his lips in a firm kiss, tangling a hand in his hair to keep him in place, earning a soft laugh from your husband before he returned the kiss eagerly, JT sliding his tongue against yours in an instant.

That was more like it.

You lost yourself in his kisses, your blood swirling heatedly through your body, even more so as JT backed you against the wall, his hands like a hot brand even through your dress. And to think, this man was yours for life. Whew.

“Baby, everyone’s waiting on us,” you said with a groan, breaking the kiss reluctantly.

“They can wait,” JT muttered, pressing wet kisses down your neck, making you moan softly.

As much as you’d rather stay alone with him right now…

“Baby, we gotta, come on,” you giggled.

JT nipped your neck, making you gasp before batting at his shoulder, and he just laughed before nodding reluctantly.

“Baby,” he grinned, “Alright, I guess we should go say hi to our guests.”

“And take official photos, and eat, and dance, and actually sit down,” you added.

“And then we can have some alone time,” he smirked.

The dark heated look in his eyes made you shiver and bat at his shoulder again with a laugh, JT letting you out of his arms. If you started thinking about how excited you were for your wedding night, then you knew you wouldn’t be leaving this room any time soon. There were some things that your elderly relatives didn’t need to know. JT sat down next to you as you quickly topped up your lipstick and changed out of your heels into sneakers that your brother had customised for you, Mrs Compher, his eyes lighting up like it hadn’t really sunk in yet. To be honest, it hadn’t really sunk in for you yet either, that you were really actually finally married, that you were JT’s wife, that you were starting this new chapter together – but those were things you didn’t have to think about right now. All of that could come later, because right now all you wanted to do was head back out to your family and friends, and have some fun.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

You’d already asked for photos to be taken in as many combinations as possible, wanting a ton of just yourself and JT (and you couldn’t wait to display them in your home because you knew they were going to turn out amazing), as well as both of your families and your wedding parties. You wanted to remember this day for the rest of your life, to capture every detail as much as possible, and you knew JT felt the same way.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t getting a little grumpy by the time that it was time to head in for the reception.

“JT’s looking a little hangry – do you want me to sneak him a snack?”

Jesse’s whisper made you giggle, glad you weren’t the only one who noticed. “Absolutely – I’ll flag down a waiter to get us drinks too.”

“Teamwork! 1, 2, 3, break!” Jesse grinned.

JT looked over his shoulder from where he was standing with his mom, frowning at Jesse’s whoop.

“I don’t want to know, do I?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I promise it’s nothing bad?” you said, smiling innocently.

JT snorted, but rolled his eyes fondly. “I suppose I just signed up for you conspiring with my sisters for the rest of my life.”

Hearing him say that, for the rest of my life, wasn’t going to get old any time soon, you knew that much by the way it made your heart beat just that little bit faster.

“That’s the spirit baby,” you grinned.

You watched a happy glint pass over his eyes briefly, making you smile to yourself as he seemed to settle into himself a little more. Baby. You loved how much he loved that.

“They’re ready for your entrance now!”

Snapping out of your thoughts at your wedding planner’s words, you took the hand that JT held out to you with a smile, that giddy buzz filling your body again. He tilted his head towards the door in a silent question, ready?, and you smiled even wider, nodding. You were more than ready.

“I give you, Mr and Mrs Compher!”

The double doors of the venue hall opened, and you were immediately hit with a wave of cheers and whistles and applause and whoop’s, JT grinning widely and proudly down at you before he squeezed your hand. You squeezed his back, grin just as wide on your own face, and with that, the two of you walked into the packed room. There were strings of fairy lights everywhere, just as you’d asked, with clean white tablecloths on every table, rustic wood centerpieces with more of the bright wildflowers from outside decorating as far as your eyes could see. It was exactly how you’d envisioned, exactly what you’d hoped for, and you couldn’t stop the tears that stung at your eyes.

“Shit, it’s perfect,” JT murmured, eyes wide as he took in the room.

Good to know he felt the same as you did. By the time the two of you were sitting at the table at the other end of the room, Jesse had snuck a little bundle of snacks onto JT’s plate, the waiter that you’d nodded to having brought over a glass of prosecco each already too. Teamwork indeed.

“This feels surreal,” JT said softly, voice full of disbelief.

It really, really did. But it was your reality, your dream that you’d built together, and you were going to savour it while it lasted. “Better believe it baby. This is all for us,” you grinned.

“Cheers to that,” JT laughed, lifting his glass in salute.

First came the speeches – JT went first, making your eyes fill with happy tears as he openly declared his love for you in front of all the most important people in your lives, saying how lucky he was to finally be your husband. Then came your dad, as father of the bride, who had everyone in sappy tears, welcoming JT to your family officially, asking him to take care of his little girl. And then came Jesse, as best ‘man’, who had everyone in tears of laughter with embarrassing stories of JT, as well as a few of you too.

“Before I finish up and let JT’s flaming cheeks cool down, I’ll tell you one last story. On JT’s cup day back in summer 2022, my new sister came along even though she wasn’t sure she should, seeing as they’d only been on three actual dates by that point. But I told her, as did everyone else that day, that JT was smitten and that she was already family, so she belonged as much as the rest of us did. But it was on the way home that night that I knew they were going to last. JT was sloppy drunken mess, as we all know-”

Your husband’s face scrunched up in a sarcastic thanks, Jesse just beaming at him.

“-and he basically had to be poured into the taxi by the two of us. And then, she called him baby…and you should’ve seen his face. It was like he’d seen the moon and the stars and the sun all at once. The love on his face, so open and so pure, was like nothing I’d ever seen him show before, and it was then that I knew for sure that I’d get to call her my sister one day.”

Oh god. Oh wow, that was when she knew? That sweet little passing drunken moment? You heard JT let out a soft laugh next to you, a little wet like he had tears in his eyes, and just a glance over at him showed you that he was indeed more than a little emotional. That day had been so early in your relationship, before he’d even asked you to be his girlfriend, before you’d even moved to Denver to be with him for good, and that’s when she knew?

“Clearly I was right, because here we are. Everyone knew long before they even did, how perfect they are for each other, and I’m honoured to be able to welcome you officially to our family. So everyone raise your glasses, and let’s toast to the new Mr and Mrs Compher! Cheers!”

You took a big mouthful of your own drink as your guests drank too, applause immediately filling the room while tears filled your eyes all over again. JT glanced at you, smiling widely, before he stood up to pull his sister into a firm hug, both of them holding on for a little longer than usual, before Jesse let go of him to pull you into a hug too.

“Thank you, so much,” you murmured to her.

“No, thank you. For bring out the best in him, always,” she murmured back.

You pressed your lips together in an attempt to compose yourself, Jesse just grinning as she stepped away to move back to her own seat. JT saw the storm of emotions on your face as you sat back down, and slid his hand into yours with a word, squeezing that silent show of affection he always did.

“Everything okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah, just a little overwhelmed. That was…whew, that was all so much,” you admitted, “in a good way though.”

“As long as it’s all in a good way,” he nodded, eyes serious.

Your sweet overprotective man. It was all you could do to lean over and press a soft kiss to his lips, pouring all your emotions into the embrace, JT just sighing happily as he raised a hand to cup your face. Just a slow, soft, sweet kiss, but it was everything you needed to steady yourself, and when you felt a little less shaky you pulled away, JT just smiling at you. You knew you were smiling like an idiot back at him, but you couldn’t help it. This happiness, this genuine unparalleled joy, was unlike anything you’d ever felt, and you wanted to savour it.

The rest of the evening was smooth riding from there on it. All the food courses were brought out, JT making sure you ate between talking with guests, as well as mason jars being brought around with your favourite cocktails in, polaroid cameras at every table to capture those candid moments, and so so many sweet little kisses with JT. It was perfect. So undeniably perfect. There was just one thing left to do – to open up the dancefloor.

“Here with their first dance, let’s hear it for the bride and groom!”

You grinned up at JT as he led you to the middle of the dancefloor, resting one hand on your waist then clasping the other with one of yours up by your shoulders, you just resting your free hand on his chest. He’d been worried about looking like a fool in the first dance, seeing as it wasn’t something he usually did in public, so the two of you had actually practiced swaying together in a little two-step in your kitchen a few times, just to ease him into the motions of it all. It was those kinds of sweet little moments that let you know you were right in choosing him to spend the rest of your life with, and to be honest, you couldn’t wait to get started.

“Stars shining bright above you, Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you", Birds singing in a sycamore tree, Dream a little dream of me. Say nighty night and kiss me, Just hold me tight and tell me you miss me, While I'm alone and blue as can be, Dream a little dream of me.”

As Ella Fitzgerald’s voice filled the room, you lost yourself in the feeling of JT’s arms, his eyes locked with yours like he didn’t want to miss a moment of it either. This moment, this was the one you wanted to remember the most, this little pocket of time that was just yours. Nothing would ever match up to this, ever, and you could only hope he felt the same.

“Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you, Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you, But in your dreams whatever they be, Dream a little dream of me.”

Cheers and applause filled the room as the song faded to a finish, JT capturing your lips in a soft kiss that left your heart racing, whoops and catcalls adding themselves to the chorus around you too. JT broke the kiss with a laugh, shaking his head fondly at his teammates, before looking back down at you.

“I love you, Mrs Compher, so much,” he murmured, eyes shining as he said your new name.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, smile spreading across your lips.

JT just kissed you slowly again, hand cupping your face, his tongue lightly brushing along your bottom lip briefly before he pulled away once more. There would be more time to explore that later, to explore his body all over again to start this new chapter of yours lives together, when the two of you eventually retreated to your hotel room. But for now, you just looked up at his smiling face full of adoration and let him sway you from side to side amongst the other couples who’d joined you. For now, this was all you needed, just him. And it was everything.

[readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure]

X Y 7 19 Have fun 😋

Thanks for the prompt, Anon. I have been having fun. 💕

I had to take some liberties with this one I'm afraid. The prompt game was only supposed to be for one letter and one number, and try as I might, I just couldn't get prompts X and Y to work together. So, I chose letter X and number 19. I hope that's okay. Also, I am assuming this prompt is for Billy Russo.

This one turned out a lot sappier than intended, and ended up being smut-lite. Probably still not safe for work though.

X. Wedding night 19. 'I wasn't expecting this.'

--------------------------------------

You and Billy couldn’t keep your hands off each other – so much so that you had almost given the hotel receptionist quite a show. Thankfully you both managed to restrain yourselves until you got to your room.

Though, opening the door with Billy’s arms around your waist and his lips on your neck was a bit of a challenge.

‘Billy,’ you giggled as you finally got the key card in the slot. Billy was unrepentant, but he did back off as you pushed the door open… only to suddenly scoop you up into a bridal carry.

Which made sense, seeing as you were his bride and all.

You kissed him sweetly as he carried you over the threshold. And then you kissed him not so sweetly. Billy groaned into the kiss, and you heard the door slam as he kicked it shut behind you both.

He carried you into the bedroom and laid you gently down onto the bed. It was covered in rose petals and you giggled again as you ran your hands through them.

‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ said Billy, hovering over you, an adoring look in his eyes.

‘You didn’t ask for rose petals?’ you asked, confused. He had been the one to book the room.

Billy shook his head fondly. ‘No, I asked for those. I meant this.’ He took your left hand in his and ran his thumb over the ring he had put there mere hours ago. ‘I never expected to get married – never wanted it… but then you came along.’ He smiled, his eyes shining with love and unshed tears that he would never admit to. ‘I never expected to love someone the way I love you.’

Well, after that declaration, you just had to kiss him again.

‘I love you, too,’ you said against his lips as your kisses started to go from short and sweet to heated and messy. ‘Now get this dress of me, Mr Russo. I think it’s time we consummate our marriage.’

Billy chuckled and slid his hand around your back to reach the zip. ‘As you wish, Mrs Russo.’

[talesofstyles]

Reconcile

happy christmas eve, you lot! i’ve got a little present for you. enjoy this 10,5k of nearly divorced harry trying to win his wife and bitter nine year old daughter back. oh and i threw in a little baby goat in the mix too since it’s set in the peak district and i just couldn’t resist 🥳

“Penny for your thoughts.”

He turned to look at her, who was giggling as she leaned closer to him. She was most definitely not a giggler sober, but he found out that a copious amount of alcohol could turn her into one. He felt slightly guilty knowing that she was going to be hungover as hell in the morning, but she was having a great time.

And so was he.

“I was just thinking about how great you are, how lucky I am to be sitting next to you right now and that you need to drink more water because otherwise, you’d be miserable tomorrow,” he says with a smile as he twisted the cap and handed her the bottle of water.

That goofy smile of hers turned into a gooey smile of affection. “That’s so sweet,” she murmured, taking a gulp of water and handed the bottle back to him so he could take some too. She then tilted her head, giving him a doe-eyed look and asked, “what else do you like about me?”

“Let’s see,” he put a finger to his chin and tapped. “Well, I love how kind and inclusive you are, how you always care about people and that you always see the good in everyone.” 

Her smile grew sappier.

“Oh,” he gave her a sly grin. “I also love that thing you do with your tongue on the underside of my cock.”

She burst out laughing. But then she leaned even closer to him and whispered huskily in his ear, “I’ll do that very thing when we get back to the hotel.”

His eyes widened and he wanted nothing more than just to drag her back to their hotel suite and take up on her offer. But he’d promised her that he’d show her around Vegas since she’d never been before, and he wanted to keep that promise.

“Wanna know what I like about you?” She turned to him, still with a gooey smile on her face.

“Do I ever,” he smirked.

“I like that you’re hands down the kindest human I’ve ever met,” she began. “You’re genuine, and grounded. Funny too. I truly hit the jackpot with you. I’m the luckiest girl on earth.”

“Oh,” she added as an afterthought. “And you’re really good with your tongue.”

He wanted to laugh, because she always made him laugh. But he was still stuck on the fact that she thought she was lucky to be with him. He felt exactly the same way about her, like this was always meant to be. 

“I wasn’t looking for this,” he admitted honestly. “I know it’s only been six weeks, but I really can’t imagine never having met you.”

“Me too,” her eyes were bright, shining with excitement. “It’s weird, right? Because I swear I’ve never felt such a deep connection with someone this quick.”

“Do you believe in soulmates?” He murmured. “That there’s a perfect person for everyone out there?”

She tilted her head. “Do you think that’s us?”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “I do think that might be us.”

“I think so too,” she said with a tender smile.

This was real.

He was overwhelmed with the understanding that she was his, and he never wanted to let her go. 

So he suggested what any sane, semi-drunk man would at that moment. “We’re in Vegas. We should get married.”

***

Harry

Pulling into the drive of what used to be our holiday cottage, but is now where my wife and children live full-time without me, feels strange to me. There’s that moment of what feels like a homecoming—that sense of belonging somewhere where I feel safe, and I know my happiness is inside.

But now, for the first time in ten years, there’s a sense of detachment that I know I’ve got to put in place. It is why I need to take a moment or two in the car before I walk inside to sort myself out and put on a shield. A shield which lets me walk inside, and be okay with the fact that I don’t live there anymore even just for the holidays. 

This charming little cottage, which can’t exactly be called little since it is quite spacious and has three bedrooms, has always been more of a second home rather than a holiday home for us. We used to come here often, sometimes even only for the weekends. I’ve always loved this place. Now, looking back, I realised that many of the happiest times during our marriage were spent in this home. 

It was where we spent the first few weeks soaking in newlywed bliss after that whirlwind of a trip to Las Vegas when we decided out of nowhere to tie the knot. Then there were the sleepless nights with a wailing newborn, because even though both of our babies were born in London, we always whisked them off here to Bakewell shortly after so we were close enough that both sets of their grandparents could dote on them during the first few weeks of their lives.

After I exit the car, I walk up to the front door and ring the doorbell. I don’t feel comfortable walking in as I respect that this is YN’s sanctuary now. The wait isn’t long, because in just a few seconds, the door is opened and there’s my wife, looking like a breath of fresh air.

It had been eight long months since the last time I saw her. Last time was the night when she asked me to leave our marital home, and I fled to LA first thing the next morning. I talked daily with the kids on the phone, but I didn’t really recall ever getting the chance to talk to her aside from the quick polite greetings before she handed her phone to the kids.

“Hey,” she says, her expression a bit guarded. I’ve missed her so much that it takes everything in me to keep myself from pulling her into my arms and kiss the fuck out of her. “Come in.”

“You alright?” I ask her as I follow her into the house. This may sound like I’m just making a small talk, but I’m not. I’m genuinely curious and I want to know how she’s doing. 

But she doesn’t even respond to my question. All I get is a head-tilt motioning towards the kitchen. “They’re in the kitchen.”

My gaze immediately lands on the accent table that holds a lot of photos and a key bowl. I silently let out a sigh of relief seeing YN hasn’t removed all of the family photos with me in it. It’s a good sign, but I don’t have much hope behind that. Maybe that’s just her trying to keep everything as normal as possible at home for the kids. 

My wife and I never had a big fight when we separated. It had been somewhat rational, but still emotional, discussion. She wasn’t angry, she was just done. And I didn’t fight for her. Instead, yours truly here walked away the next morning and didn’t look back.

I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my life. But nothing ever compares to that. That was pretty fucking stupid on my part, and I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

I’ve accepted that maybe this is my punishment for being a shit husband to a wonderful woman who doesn’t deserve to be treated like a second best. She did the right thing by kicking me to the curb, and I’d never resent her for it. If I could turn back time and change everything, I would in a heartbeat. I’d try harder to be a better husband, a better father, put my family first. But I can’t. Now all I can do is just try not to be a dickhead and make things harder for her than it already is. It’s too late for me to try to be a better husband, but it isn’t for me to try to be the best father that my children deserve. 

I follow my wife through the living room and into the kitchen, and I’d be dead not to check out her arse in those leggings. It’s something I quickly avert my eyes from, though, as I realise both of my children are sitting at the kitchen island, eating scones with their tea. 

George, my six-year-old, is the first to turn his head and hop off from the island stool to jump into my arms. “Daddeeeeee!”

“My Booger Butt,” I greet my little lad with a smile as I squat down to be on his level before scooping him up into my arms. Booger Butt is one of the countless nicknames I have for him, and one that never fails to make him double over in laughter whenever he hears it. He’s also Mr Tadpole Climbing a Beanpole sometimes, and he used to be Sir Screams-a-Lot when he was a baby. He thinks they’re hilarious, and he’d always respond by calling me Baddy Daddy. 

“I‘ve missed you so much, Baddy Daddy,” he says sweetly as he nuzzles his head into the crook of my neck and I swear if I don’t pull myself together right this second, I’m going to cry. 

“I’ve missed you more, mate,” I say as I ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek. “I love you.” 

My daughter doesn’t seem fazed by the father and son reunion behind her and continues munching on her scone without even giving me a glance. With my left arm full of my son, I walk up to her and ruffle her hair just like I did with her little brother. “Hey Silly Putty Pudding Pie,” I greet her with one of her nicknames, hoping to get her to laugh. But she ignores me, taking a sip of her brew instead. 

I don’t want to give up, so I lean to the side and bend to put my face close to hers. I try again, “hello to you too, poppet.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles around a mouthful of scone. 

“Minnie,” YN growls, her tone filled with warning.

This is why I respect YN so much. I hurt her badly, broke her heart, and it would’ve been so easy for her to use Minnie as a pawn and turn my child against me. But every time, even on the phone, whenever she is present, she never let Minnie be disrespectful to me in any way.

My gaze moves to my wife—yes I’m still going to refer to her as my wife since she still is, albeit only on paper—and she gives me an apologetic look. I give a slight shake of my head, telling her silently to let it go. 

She takes the last bite of her scone and puts the dish in the sink, before walking to the staircase without giving me a second glance. I can see YN trying to hold her tongue from further rebuking our daughter, and I give her a small smile, my silent way of telling her ‘it’s okay.’

“Sorry about that,” she mutters, referring to Minnie’s attitude. She grabs a mug from the cupboard, then holds it up in silent invitation. I nod, and she turns to the pot. “I can’t keep up with her mood shifts anymore.”

“It’s alright,” I tell her, willing to take my share of the blame. “I’m sure the shift has everything to do with me.”

“Not true,” she replies as she pours the coffee into our mugs, adding a splash of milk to hers but keeping mine just like that because she knows I take my coffee black. “She’s been like that with me as well and I’m not sure why. She’s only nine but she acts as if she’s thirteen already.”

I can’t help but laugh and turn to my little lad. “Can you be six forever?”

“No,” he says immediately without even taking a second to think.

“Just no?”

“No,” he gives me a toothy grin. “I want a lego city set but mummy said it’s for eight-year-olds. So I cannot wait to be eight.”

I set him on the counter and give him a conspiratorial smirk before I whisper to him. It’s a little too loud to be considered a whisper, but I want my wife to hear it. “Tell you what, we’ll get one of those sets tomorrow on our day out.”

His eyes light up instantly and my wife rolls her eyes jokingly, “I hear that.” Jokingly, because I know for sure she doesn’t mind me spoiling our children. She does it too. 

“Where are you taking them tomorrow?”

“To your mum’s pudding shop for breakfast, then probably fishing, and the toys shop now apparently,” I tell her our itinerary. I have the kids for the whole day tomorrow since it’s Saturday. It’s bittersweet because I’ve missed my children and I can’t wait to spend time with them, but I’m also sad because what I wouldn’t give to turn tomorrow into a family day out instead. I know she would most likely decline, but I can’t help offer her, “would you like to come with us?”

She gives me a subtle shake of her head. “No thanks. Enjoy it, it’s your time with them.”

***

I’m renting a room above The Old Nags Head during my stay here. I plan to stay for a week before I have to go back to London, and even though the thought of having to leave my children again is killing me, I’m trying to cheer myself up by reminding myself that it’ll be Christmas soon enough and I’ll get to visit again.

But then I’ll have to leave again. 

And visit again, but knowing in just a week or two, I would have to say goodbye to them again.

Fuck, this is killing me. I’m a family man through and through, and not being with them physically hurts. I shouldn’t be in this room sulking alone. I should be there in that home with my wife and children, probably helping Minnie and George with their homework or making dinner for all of us.

I was prepared to sulk some more, but then I heard a knock on the door. I was not expecting company so I’ve got no idea who it is, and I’m quite surprised when I see Jamie, YN’s brother as I open the door. 

We were quite close, but now that I broke his little sister’s heart, I can’t tell if this is a pleasant visit or if he’s just here to knock me square on my arse. 

“Got time for tea downstairs?” He asks

Honestly, I haven’t got any appetite. But I could use a few pints so I nod and lock the door behind me, following him downstairs to the pub. 

The Old Nags Head is the oldest and most famous pub in Bakewell. The pub itself is a former smithy dating back to the 16th century, and certainly looks the part; thick stone walls, low ceilings, welcoming log fires and dark timber beams. The pub remains at the centre of the community, as it has been for hundreds of years. It offers the best classic pub grubs, and even has its own ale called the Nags 1577. 

It’s the perfect place to drown my sorrows. 

Except, the current owner of that very pub happens to be none other than my wife’s granddad whom everyone here calls Pop. Out of all members of her family, she is the closest to Pop, so I know for sure that I’m the last person he wants to see. 

We sit at the bar table facing the window, which is good because Pop is behind the main bar, and this way I don’t have to actually talk to him. 

“Ya want owt?” Jamie asks as he does a quick perusal of the menu. I’m not even sure why he bothers, because even I know what he’s going to order. It’s Pop’s signature steak and ale pie. Ten years of being his brother in law, not once I ever saw him order something else. 

“Just a pint,” I tell him. 

It doesn’t take long after Jamie orders his food and our drinks before two pints are placed before us, and we each take a savouring sip.

And then Jamie point-blank asks me, “so what did you do?”

I really can’t tell anything from his expression, because he keeps his face blank. But I give him a bark of mirthless laughter. “It’s what I didn’t do, mate. She didn’t say anything?”

“Not a word,” he shakes his head, “what didn’t you do?”

“I stopped paying attention to my wife. Got caught up in my career. The travelling for tours she understood, but it was when I was home and hanging out more with my bandmates than with my family that she couldn’t forgive. And what little time I had left, I gave to Minnie and George. I think I just stupidly assumed she would always be there for me, no matter what.”

“Was there any infidelity?” He asks.

“God, no,” I shake my head hard. “You know I’d never do that to your sister. I love her, and she’s more than enough for me.”

Obviously, I’m not going to tell him this, but ironically, our sex life didn’t diminish. We were combustible in bed, and my mistake was in thinking that was enough for her. 

I look at the pudding shop right across the street as I take another sip, and I nearly choke on my beer when I see a familiar face walking out of the shop. 

“What in the ever-loving fuck?” I growl. 

That’s my wife, walking out of her mum’s pudding shop. She is not alone. There’s a guy with his hand pressed to her lower back while her head is tipped back, laughing at something he’s saying. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach when the bastard’s palm drops from my wife’s back to take her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. She smiles, all doe-eyed, as they walk to God knows where. 

“What?” Jamie looks at me confused for a second, but then he follows my gaze and he finally sees what’s causing me distress. “Oh, that.”

“You knew about that?”

He nods. “She’s been seeing him for about three weeks now.”

“Fuck,” I mutter and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“She didn’t tell you?” Jamie asks and I shake my head. 

“Three weeks you said?”

Jamie nods again. “He makes her happy.”

“I’m her husband,” I can’t help but say bitterly. “I should be the one making her happy.”

“Look, I’m sorry mate,” he offers, I know he’s trying his best to keep his tone neutral. “Maybe you need to get back in the dating game too. It’ll distract you.”

“I don’t want to fucking date anyone else,” I growl.

“I know it’s hard to get back in the saddle,” he adds sympathetically.

“I don’t want to get out of my current saddle,” I grumble. “I want to keep my current saddle with my wife in it.”

Jamie blinks in surprise, hell I’m even surprised at what I’ve just said out loud because I’ve never admitted this since we split. When YN asked me to leave, I assumed right away that my marriage was over. I didn’t want it to, but I thought there was nothing I could do. 

But now, seeing her laughing at another man’s joke and his hand holding hers, I just know that I can’t let her go without a fight. 

“Have you told her this?” He asks curiously.

I shake my head again. “We haven’t got the chance to have a civil conversation these days.”

“Then I suggest you stop being such a bloody whinge bucket and have a civil conversation with your wife.”

My shoulders immediately sag in defeat. “I know. I need to sit down with her and tell her how I feel.”

“Which is?” He presses.

“That I want her back,” I mutter.

“You’ve got to have a better plan than that,” he points out. “I mean… I’m not a marriage therapist, but I’m pretty sure that you’ve got to be prepared to fix the shit first.”

I can’t help but tilt my head towards the pudding shop where my wife had just walked out the door. “She’s moved on. You said it yourself that he makes her happy. Tell me how to compete with that.”

“Make her happier,” he says simply. I can only let out a heavy sigh, but I know that's solid advice. “Listen, if you really want to save your marriage, you need to make it work. Romance her again. Lots of flowers, nice romantic dinners out. Compliments, chocolates. All that sort of thing.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “But I do know that you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t do anything about it.”

***

My emotions are a mixed bag this morning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to spend the whole day with my kids, but the fact that I have just learnt last night that my wife is currently seeing another man doesn’t sit right with me.

I know Jamie was right. If I want to save my marriage, I need to get my head out of my arse and do something to win my wife back. Sure, I don’t even know where to start since she doesn’t give me the time of day. But I do know that starting today, I’m a man on a mission. It’s Operation Conquer YN: day 1. 

It’s currently 8:40am, which means I’m twenty minutes early. I hope the kids won’t be ready yet, so I’ll get a chance to talk for a little bit to my wife.

When I ring the doorbell, I can hear George pounding down the stairs, yelling, “I got it!”

The door flies open and he jumps into my arms right away. My little lad truly misses me, and it really does warm my heart. Now, I love my children equally, but before I got here yesterday, I thought Minnie would be the one to jump all over me since she’s a daddy’s girl through and through, while George has always been a mummy’s boy since the day he was born. 

But again, I should’ve known. Since YN and I split, Minnie sort of puts herself in her mum’s corner. Every time I actually got the chance to talk to her on the phone when I was still in LA, it was always extremely short before she quickly handed her mum’s phone to her little brother. I try not to take her behaviour to heart, because I guess it’s what nine-year-olds do when they don’t quite understand why their parents aren’t together. They just need someone to blame, and my daughter is way more mature than her age. She’s bloody smart too, which she definitely takes after her mum, and I know that she knows it’s my fault that her mum and I separated.

Now that I think of it, it’s not just my wife that I desperately need to win back. But also my daughter.

“Daddy!” George chirps. He’s got a milk moustache and the sight never fails to get me to chuckle. “You’re early.”

“I know,” I reply with a tender smile. “I just can’t wait to spend the day with you lot.” 

“I’m going to get ready!” He announces excitedly as he squirms in my arms wanting to be put down, and he runs up the stairs before I can even reply.

I look around, and my gaze lands on the sofa, a hazel leather sofa that YN picked out. It’s so comfy and I could nap there forever.

Then there’s the coffee table, where YN, Minnie, George and I sat around and played board games. Catan is our family’s favourite, followed closely by Monopoly. 

The corner where we always put the Christmas tree, right next to the fireplace. And every year it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I could never get the bloody thing to stay straight. 

I miss this little cottage. Sure, the house in South Kensington is our marital house, but this cosy little cottage in the middle of nowhere feels more like home to me. And now I truly get why YN was so adamant to move here permanently after we separated, didn't matter how hard I tried to persuade her to stay in London.

“You’re early,” my wife blinks in surprise, but quickly masks it. “Minnie darling, go and get ready.”

“Do I really have to go?” My nine-year-old whines and I feel a pang. She really doesn’t want to spend time with me.

“Minnie, that’s not nice,” YN reprimands her before I can stop her.

“I’ve missed you, poppet,” I say, wanting to look at her in the eyes but she refuses to meet my gaze. Which hurts, but it’s fine. I know it’ll take some time for her to warm up to me. “I want to spend the day with you and your brother. I promise I’ll try to make it fun for you both.”

“Fine,” she replies, before marching up the stairs to her room. There’s still a hint of sulkiness in her tone, but at least I didn’t get a heavy sigh. I know it’s a small win but honestly, it’s better than none.

“Coffee’s in the pot,” she tells me politely from where she’s sitting at the island. She has her laptop open before her, and I can see her writing an email. I bet she’s working today, even if it’s Saturday, because my wife is such a hard-worker. She works remotely for a consulting firm and I’m beyond proud of her.

I nod and pour the coffee, and I let the silence carry on for a bit before saying, “saw you getting cosy with your new boyfriend last night.”

She instantly looks up from her laptop, giving me a death glare. Her tone is defensive when she says, “that’s none of your business.”

“You could’ve at least told me that you were seeing someone,” I tell her, making elaborate gestures with my coffee mug.

“Why would I do that?” She retorts defensively. “Last time I checked, you didn’t give a shit about me when we were married. Why on earth would I assume you do now?”

Hearing that, it feels like Chuck Norris himself just kicked me in the nuts. I can only mutter, “we’re still married.”

“Not for long,” she replies faintly.

“Don’t say that,” I say, my breath a little jagged. “We can still fix this, darling. I know we can.”

“Are you mad?” She snaps, but then she takes a deep breath, and her tone is a lot calmer when she adds, “Harry, it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not. It’s never too late to get our marriage back on track,” I plead desperately. “Would you at least give me a shot?”

“What do you mean?” She frowns. 

“You can continue to see Mr Wife-stealer-”

“He’s not a wife-stealer,” she snaps, cutting me off. “He’s got a name.”

“Well, he’s stealing my wife,” I grumble like a stroppy child.

“You’re being such a child,” she retorts. “His name is Luke, he’s a decent guy, and he makes me happy.”

“I’m not afraid to go head to head with him,” I say defiantly. 

“Fuck’s sake, Harry, we’re not on a bloody Love Island,” she says in exasperation. “Two children are involved here, this isn’t a game.”

“I know it isn’t,” I reply with a sigh. “Just please give me another shot, darling. Let me remind you how great we were together.”

“You mean the sex?” She demands, one side of her upper lip curls in a sneer.  

I bend my head and murmur, “we were dynamite in the sack, weren’t we?”

I see the flash in her eyes as she remembers, and it makes me want to beat my chest in victory. But the euphoric feeling is short-lived when she says, “a relationship is so much more than just sex. If you don’t understand it then-”

“I do, fuck, I do know that,” I cut her off in a strangled, desperate voice. “At least let me try, darling. Fuck if I’m letting you go without a fight.”

We lapse into silence as she gives me a sceptical look, and I know in this moment that my biggest challenge is to regain her trust, as well as accepting the fact that she has someone else fighting for her attention. 

I know this will be tough, because I let her down over and over again. And worse, I let my children down too, because I was never quite able to make my family my highest priority. It was all my fault, I knew it then, still do now. That’s why when she asked me to leave, I couldn’t even argue. I was a shit husband and father, and I deserved that.

Trying to win Minnie is probably going to be the easiest because beneath this ‘tweenage’ attitude going on, I know she is a sweet girl who loves her daddy. I need to devote more attention to her, maybe take her on some daddy-daughter dates. I know it’ll work because I’ve never given her enough on a consistent basis. 

YN is going to be the most difficult, because I really broke her heart. I’ve been married to her for ten years, so I can say with confidence that I know for sure she would never fall for things like flowers or gifts. I have to show her that I genuinely want to fix our marriage, and that my interest in her is real. It’ll be like starting all over again. 

And on top of that, she’s seeing someone else and she said it herself that he does make her happy. I know she’s not lying about it, as Jamie also told me the same thing last night and I saw with my own eyes how she laughed with him last night. Seeing that killed me, because I don’t have the ability to make her laugh like that anymore, but I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that was happy for her.

She may have sneered when I insinuated I’d be glad to remind her of the good times, but I saw it in her eyes. There was still a slight burn, and that might just have to be my angle. 

But then I remember our last time together. It was only two days before she asked me to leave and I remember coming home mid-morning after a meeting with my manager and publicist to find her lying in our bed, clad in sexy lingerie. I had my mouth on every inch of her, a good deal of time between her legs, and after she reciprocated by taking me into her mouth.

The kids were in school, and apparently, she took a sick day because I had told her the night before that I only had one meeting in the morning that day. After, she cuddled in close, and we talked for a while. She seemed happy, but then there was a hint of hesitation in her voice when she suggested, “fancy just spending all day in bed until school pick-ups?”

I mean, what man in his right mind would say no to that? The kids were gone for at least another five hours, I had a gorgeous wife naked and wanting more of what we just did… 

Yet, I’d said no. “Sorry, doll. I’m meeting the lads at the studio in about an hour.”

I didn’t see it then, but I do now and it’s clear as day. The look on her face had been blank, and there wasn’t even disappointment like she would usually show me. She hadn’t tried to get me to change my mind. There hadn’t been a guilt-laden frown to give me pause.

I realise now what it was.

It was the moment my wife finally gave up on me.

My chest constricts as it finally dawns on me the pain she must have been feeling. I’m not just talking about that day. That had been our life for several years.

No wonder she asked me to leave.

No wonder she’s moving on with Mr Wife-stealer.

No wonder that, at this moment, I realise I’ve got tons of work to do because sex isn’t going to be the answer in winning my wife back.

***

“Will the baby just eat when you give it the bottle?” Minnie asks her uncle Jamie as the four of us gaze at the baby goat in front of us. For the first time since yesterday, I actually see the slight curve up of lips that form a fond smile. Seeing that smile on my daughter’s face, I’m glad we didn’t go fishing and end up going to the barn instead. We were actually already on our way, but Jamie texted me that the mother goat had given birth this morning, and he wanted me to tell Minnie and George. The goats are a new addition to the farm, so they have been so excited to see baby goats. I knew from the look in their eyes that they would have a much better time seeing baby goats rather than fishing. 

It turns out that there’s only one baby goat, because the other one sadly didn’t make it. And the dam isn’t producing milk, so the kid needs to be bottle-fed until the mother is producing again. I can’t help but smile fondly at the baby goat too because it’s adorable. It’s a soft little white goat with a pink nose and ears. The dam is a Pygmy but since it has blue eyes, Jamie thinks she must have Nigerian Dwarf genes somewhere in her.

“It’s a female… a doeling,” Jamie tells her. “And she will if she’s hungry. You want to try to feed her? Look, she’s hungry again.”

We watch for a moment as the baby goat walks on wobbly legs, bleating in hunger. Jamie mixes the powdered formula and makes a bottle for her, then he hands the bottle to Minnie.

But Minnie shakes her head. “Maybe next time. I want to see you do it first.”

“Alright then,” Jamie nods, then turns towards my little lad. “How about you, mate? Wanna feed her?”

“No thank you,” says George as he shakes his head, and then he giggles, “she smells funny.”

“Can I do it?” I ask and Jamie nods as he hands me the bottle. 

I sit down against the wall with my children sitting on either side of me. And as if the goat can sense that I hold the key to filling her empty belly, the doeling starts to prance in excitement and falls over a few times due to what I assume is clumsiness. I love that she can walk normally but still choose chaos—honestly, she could’ve been my third child. There’s no stopping the surge of fondness that swells within me as I watch her little antics. 

“Come here little crumpet,” I coo at the goat.

The little goat scrambles right onto my lap, bleating hungrily. I wrap my arm around her and tip the bottle. She latches on instantly, and Minnie and George are aww-ing and ooh-ing over the way the baby goat’s little tail swishes back and forth so fast in ecstatic happiness as she drinks her milk. 

“You’re a hungry little thing, aren’t you?” Minnie murmurs and the little tail swishes faster as she pushes at the bottle to suck the milk down faster. “What’s her name, uncle Jamie?”

“I haven’t named her yet,” Jamie says. “What do you lot think we should call her?”

“Blue,” George suggests instantly, without looking away from the baby goat on my lap. 

“Ooh, I like it,” Minnie adds. “Like her eyes.”

“Blue it is, then,” Jamie grins. “Now, even though the dam is still not producing milk, we still need to train her to at least try to nurse, so she’ll do it right away when the dam is finally producing milk. Let’s see if we can get her to try to eat from the dam.”

He plucks the baby from my arms, and a series of yearning bleats come from the kid as he carries her to her mother. He places her near the dam’s udders and gives the baby a gentle push.

Much to our surprise, Blue spins away from Jamie and her mother and runs back to me. Although in all fairness, I am holding the bottle she was just drinking from. Jamie attempts three more times to get the baby to try to nurse from her mother, but she’s having none of it. 

Finally, he takes the bottle from me and walks across to the opposite wall. He sits down, holds the bottle out, and calls to the doeling. “Come here, baby. Come eat.”

Blue’s tail gives a few nervous twitches, but she doesn’t move towards Jamie. In fact, she takes a few hesitant steps backwards until she bumps into my legs. I’m amazed as I watch her stare hungrily at the bottle, bleating hungrily, but refusing to go to Jamie.

“Daddy, she thinks you’re her mummy,” says George and both my children burst in laughter.

“What?” I say in astonishment.

“I don’t think that doeling is going to feed from anyone but you,” Jamie adds with a chuckle as he stands up. He walks over and hands me the bottle. Blue jumps directly into my lap.

On autopilot, I offer the goat the nipple but look up to Jamie in panic. “What should we do?”

“Dunno, I’ll just try and do it when she’s hungry again in a few hours,” he shrugs. “But if she still doesn’t wanna eat, I’ll bring her to you.”

Any last vestiges of humour, happiness and downright giddiness over the cuteness of a baby goat fades as I realise I might or might not have just added another task to my list. Heavens help me.

***

“Let’s have a daddy and daughter date tomorrow.”

It’s a solid suggestion, and I really hope she’d say yes. Her little brother has his classmate’s birthday party to go to, so I know it’d be perfect for a little one-on-one time. 

We’re on our way back home after spending a whole day together. It was great, and even though I didn’t have happy-go-lucky Minnie, George had a great time, and it was enough for me. And at least she didn’t ask to go home early, so I’d call that a win.

“No, thanks,” she replies. There’s still not a hint of sulkiness in her tone, but it doesn’t sound technically warm either. 

I glance over through the rear-view mirror as she stares out the window with her arms folded. Her brother is sleeping next to her, and I figured this might be a good time to talk since she’s trapped in the car with me.

Everyone always says that Minnie is a mini-me, while George is a carbon-copy of his mum. Minnie has my nose, eyebrows, chin, even my smile; which is slightly lopsided and has a dimple on one side. I know I’m biased, but she truly is the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen.

Where Minnie shines, though, is her personality, which is a combination of her mum and me. She has her mum’s sunny disposition—aside from the days where she’s got a bag on—and always sees the good in everyone. She’s our little ray of sunshine, tender and caring and always trying to make others feel good.

From me, she gets her stubbornness, which even though I know is a good trait to have when she’s older, it made things so much harder when she was a toddler. She also has my terrible sense of humour, but the thing I’m most proud of is her work ethic. I can’t take full credit for that though, because her mother is a hard worker as well.

Ever since she started distancing herself from me, I know which subjects are safe, and which are not. School always falls in the safe category, because she enjoys it and excels. So I figure now that’s where I should start. “How’s school going?”

“Alright,” she replies, still looking out the window. 

Now, this really doesn’t sound at all like my daughter.

“Come on, Min,” I say desperately. “Tell daddy what’s been eating you. I can’t help if I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she says absently.

“Do you want to go and get some ice cream with me tomorrow?” That was our thing at least once every two weeks and she loved it.

“No, thank you.”

“Ice skating?”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh I know,” I say excitedly. “I’ve got a show in London in a couple of weeks, Jingle Ball. Do you want to come with me?”

Minnie has always been my biggest fan, clapping the hardest and yelling the loudest for her daddy. So it really takes me by surprise when she mutters, “shows, shows, shows… that’s all you care about, dad.”

I twist to peer out my window so she doesn’t see the wince that comes unbidden to my face if she looks through the mirror. That was a direct slam against me. 

That really does hurt, and I rub at the throb of pain behind my breastbone.

“That’s not true,” I reply faintly. 

“Did you care about my last ballet recital?”

Early this year, Minnie had a ballet recital. She was so excited about it because I had just finished my tour in December last year, and I’d already told my management that I would like a couple of months off. There was no reason for me not to attend, so I promised her I’d be there.

Except at the last moment, I realised I had forgot to switch an important meeting I had with the team from the new Manchester Arena. Since I invested in it, we had a meeting every few months because I said right from the beginning that I would take more than just a capital interest. I wanted to be involved in the development, because that was a huge project and I was really proud of it. 

YN was in charge of our schedule and when she reminded me about the recital, which conflicted directly with my meeting, we ended up getting in the worst row we’ve ever had throughout our marriage.

“You’re going to let our daughter down in a way she won’t forgive,” she stated.

I refused to believe that, brushing off her comment with “I’ll take her out for something special later.” But my wife turned and stalked away from me. 

That day, the meeting went great and the construction was almost done a few weeks earlier than intended, so there was an option if we wanted to open sooner. YN sent me a text with a video of Minnie’s performance, and it was beautiful. I was such a proud dad that I showed the video to everyone in that room. 

When I got home, my wife and children cuddled on the sofa, watching a film. George was snoozing with his head on his mum’s lap on the far end, so I plopped myself down beside Minnie. I tugged on her hair playfully, and asked if she wanted to go out to a special daddy-daughter dinner to celebrate her recital.

“No, thank you,” she replied quietly, not taking her eyes off the telly. 

“Come on, poppet,” I coaxed, trying to tickle her in the ribs a little. She only squirmed closer to her mum, not laughing from the tickle but grimacing like she didn’t want to be touched.

YN stared over Minnie with sorrow in her eyes. She gave a tiny shake of her head, but I wasn’t ready to give up. 

“The Ivy?” I tried to tempt her because my kid loves chips, and she’s obsessed with their truffle and parmesan chips.

“No, thank you,” she muttered again, her head resting on her mum’s shoulder and her arm crossed over her middle. YN cuddled her with an arm around her shoulder. It had been clear that they were a unit, and I hadn’t been included.

“Minnie decided she wants to stop ballet lessons, so that was her last recital.”

“Oh,” I’d replied dumbly.

I couldn’t think of another damn thing to say because to do so would be disingenuous. There’s no doubt I killed my daughter’s potential love of ballet by not coming to her recital. I knew that because of YN’s expression of disappointment and Minnie’s dull dismissal. 

Later that night, I walked by Minnie’s room and glanced in as the door was slightly open. I had bought her a bouquet of flowers that I gave her before I left for my meeting, and I saw that they’d been stuffed into the bin beside her desk.

I blink out of that memory, feeling the heavy weight of guilt. “Of course I did, my love. If I knew-”

“But not enough to come,” she replies dully. “And what about my debate competition? George’s piano recital? You showed up to none of them.”

I sigh heavily. “Minnie, a lot of parents have demanding jobs where they’re required to work or travel more than others. Sometimes A&E doctors have to work on Christmas and cannot see their children open the presents. Sometimes, a firefighter has to leave their house at night and can’t tuck their kids in bed.”

“I understand that,” she whirls and looks at me through the rear-view mirror. “Except you’re not saving lives or fighting fires, are you? You just get up on a stage and sing.”

“I’m a terrible dad, aren’t I?” I concede. “I know I’ve done things wrong in the past, but I’m trying to make it up to you, poppet. But I can’t do it if you won’t let me.”

She doesn’t say anything and it’s killing me. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” she rushes to assure me and I feel a little lighter. My daughter may act like a tween and have some bitter feelings towards me, but she loves me. 

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” I continue. “Tell me how to make it up to you and I’ll do it. I want things to be good between us again.”

Her eyes flare with shock, and then they dart away as if she’s considering something. I wait expectantly. Maybe she’s going to finally open up and pour out her feelings for me. I’m ready for it.

I’m ready to listen, and validate, and reassure her that she, along with her mum and brother, are the loves of my life. 

Her gaze comes back to me, her expression serious, and I brace.

“Can we get a puppy?”

What? 

There’s no stopping the unlocking of my jaw and the dropping of my mouth because this was the last thing I expected her to say. 

I’m so caught off guard that I can’t even think to immediately tell her ‘no’, which gives her time to launch into all the reasons why we should have a dog.

“Minnie, puppies are a lot of work. You’ve got to potty train them, teach them manners, and they get up for hours at night.” 

“I promise I’ll do all that,” she exclaims.

“Like how you were supposed to take care of Fishy?” I can’t help but remind her. Fishy was her goldfish that we had to throw a funeral for a few years ago because she forgot to feed him. That poor sod died of hunger.

Minnie rolls her eyes. “I was six.”

She’s got a point.

Still, it’s obvious part of her request is manipulation because she threw it at me when I opened myself up to vulnerability. She knows I’m trying, and she’s throwing me a clear bone.

Get her a puppy, and all will be forgiven.

“Tell you what,” I look over my shoulder after I parked the car since we’ve reached home. “I promise to think about it, and I’ll talk to mummy.” 

“Really?” She bounces in her seat in excitement.

“We’ll talk about it,” I reiterate in a calm, even voice. But there’s no stopping her excitement. The fact that I’m willing to consider is a huge victory for her because she knows that when I make my mind up about something, I never change it. 

I open the door for her, and she is quick to unbuckle herself and throws herself at me. 

I’m so surprised at the spontaneous act of affection that I almost don’t hug her back. It’s been so long since she’s shown this to me, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

I squeeze her tight, and I can only hope that my darling girl will always love her daddy the way she does right now. 

George doesn’t even stir as I pick him up, and I tuck him in his bed straight away since I don’t want to wake him up. He must be tired, and good thing I’ve fed them both dinner.

Minnie even gives me another hug before she gets ready for bed, and that results in me having a permanent smile on my face even as I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen to see my wife. 

“She’s chirpy,” YN comments when she sees me walking into the kitchen. “What did you do?”

“Got her to talk to me,” I smirk. 

She looks surprised, and well, I can’t blame her. “Did she?”

“She did,” I nod. “Pointed out all my flaws, and when I asked her how I could make it up to her, she asked for a puppy.”

“What?”

“Exactly my reaction,” I chuckle. 

“Boy, if she’s this good at emotional blackmailing at nine, we’d probably be in deep shit in a couple of years,” she jokes and I can’t help but laugh. 

I’ve missed this.

“Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. 

“I can’t.”

“What? Got a hot date already?” I ask teasingly, but her silence tells me what I don’t want to know. “Oh, you’re going out with him.”

“Mr Wife- I mean Luke asked me out first and I already said yes.”

I shouldn’t be laughing because the fact that my wife going on a date with another man is not funny at all, but it’s hard to hide my smirk when she almost calls him by the nickname I’ve given him, Mr Wife-stealer. 

“Well, fair enough. He asked you first,” I say nonchalantly. “What does he do?”

“He’s an A&E doctor at the Northern General,” she says, her tone lightens a little.

“Smart then isn’t he,” I mutter. 

“Yes. He’s smart, attentive, caring and generous with his time.” 

I keep my expression and tone bland, but she landed a direct blow there and it fucking hurts. “All the things I’m not,” I state, voicing the conclusion she was aiming at.

“Well,” she drawls with a tiny bit of sympathy. “I do think you’re smart.”

I give her a side eye-roll before I decide to be downright nosy and ask, “you can’t have been on many dates then?”

“True,” she chirps, a gleam in her eye as she sticks the knife in. “He is busy and his schedules are unpredictable. But when he’s gone, he makes sure I know I’m always on his mind. He sends me flowers for absolutely no reason other than because he wants to, calls me every day and we text all the time.”

Well, sodding fucking bollocking shit wank. I didn’t think YN would fall for that crap. And I realise… I never thought to do that stuff for her. I was the self-absorbed type of person who figured that my wife knew I thought about her all the time when I was away. I mean we were married, so I just assumed she knew.

I’m a shit head. 

“What else does he do for you?” I ask and she blinks in surprise.

“Why?” She asks suspiciously.

“I told you I want our marriage to work.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, trying to read my tone and see whether I’m being genuine or it’s just bollocks. Finally, she replies primly, “I’m not giving away his secrets.”

What the fuck does that mean? Have they shagged? I would bet a million pounds they had not though, because I know YN and she wouldn’t enter into that deep of a relationship lightly.

Without even thinking twice, I make a sudden step into her. My arm goes around her waist and I pull her body into me. Not a single inch of space between us. Her mouth opens in a gasp of surprise, and I use the opportunity to kiss her.

I kiss the fuck out of my wife.

Her hands slap against my upper arms, and her fingers dig into my sleeves. Even as she’s pushing me away, her mouth opens, and her tongue touches mine briefly. 

When I pull back, I ask, “did he kiss you like this?”

She shakes her head, breathlessly admitting, “we haven’t-”

My jaw drops. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not,” she murmurs.

“How long exactly have you been seeing him?” 

“About four weeks.”

“Honey, he’s rooting for the other team,” I tell her and she slaps my arm. 

“Sod off, he’s not,” she counters.

“Four weeks with the hottest, most gorgeous, shaggable woman and he hasn’t tried to kiss you? I mean not that I’m not grateful because, fuck, I am. But wow.”

“Of course he did try,” she rolls her eyes. “But I’m not ready for that, and he’s okay with us taking it slow.” 

For a second I don’t say anything in response. Instead, I loosen my hold, bringing my hand to her lower back, and cupping her intimately from behind. Moaning, she leans into me. “I’m guessing he hasn’t touched you like this then.”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she lets her eyelids flutter closed as her teeth bite into her lower lip.

Fuck. I could drag her to the floor right now, and we could go at it.

But then she comes to her senses, blinking rapidly, and I release her immediately when she gives me a tiny shove backwards. 

“You’re not playing fair,” she accuses. 

Damn right I’m not. I grab her upper arms, pull her back into me for one last kiss before I let her go just as quickly. “I’m playing to win.”

She takes a step back, brushes a wisp of hair from her temple, and puts on a cool expression. “That’s not going to make me take you back.”

I smirk.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re great with your hands and your mouth, but a lot of men know how to please a woman.”

She’s got a bonus point for trying to make me jealous, but I’m not falling for it. Instead, I give her a devilish smile and dip my head towards her. 

“That’s true, but no one will ever please you the way I can.”

I’m enjoying our banter, and I expect her to come up with a snappy retort that might make me kiss her again.

Instead, her expression is sad when she says, “I wish I could be happy with that.”

My heart squeezes, and I lift a hand to palm the side of her neck. I wait until she meets my gaze. “We’re more than just sex, darling. I know you need and deserve more. I’m ready to prove that to you.”

I lean in, pressing my lips to her forehead. 

She doesn’t respond as I pivot and head through the living room, letting myself out the door. 

All in all, I think that went very well.

***

I’m back at my wife’s cottage, waiting for my kids as they get ready upstairs. Minnie has finally agreed to go on a daddy-daughter date and George is going to an overnight sleepover birthday party, and I’ll drop him off at his classmate’s house before I take his sister out to dinner. I’ll make sure to make it up to him by taking him on a special one on one date too next week. 

There’s a light rap on the door, and my head swings that way. I have no doubt that it’s Mr Wife-stealer who’s going to take my wife out on a date.

I glance towards the master suite, but the door is closed. YN is probably putting on the finishing touches of her makeup. And the kids are still upstairs.

Nothing left to do but let him in.

Forcing a smile, I open the front door. He blinks in surprise to see me standing there, and I know I’ve got two options here; I could either easily dispel the awkwardness by being cool, welcoming and explaining our schedules happened to overlap.

Or… I could use whatever amount of alone time I have with him to instill some doubt inside his head.

That would be a dirty play, but as I have told my wife, I play to win.

Broadening my smile, I stick my hand out. “You must be Luke. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Harry.”

He seems momentarily frozen, but then basic manners take over. When he shakes my hand, it’s a bit limp, perhaps denoting a lack of confidence. After I release him, I bid him entrance with a sweep of my hand. “YN is in the bedroom. She’s still getting ready.”

Luke frowns over the fact that I know YN is in the bedroom. Probably over me even being here to talk to him. But I don’t dispel any innuendo he might glean from that.

I loop an arm around his shoulders, clamp down, and start guiding him to the kitchen. “Come on in and sit for a bit while she’s finishing up. Want a beer?”

Luke moves to one of the island stools, looking completely frazzled. “Uh… no, thank you.”

I shrug, moving to the fridge and opening it. Grabbing a bottle, I say with a sly grin as I close it. “So glad YN still stocks my favourite beer.”

I am so going to hell.

But that’s the truth. It’s my wife’s favourite beer, too, but I don't tell him that. Instead, I let the implication that I come over and have beers often. Luke’s frown deepens.

“YN tells me you work at the Northern General?” I take a sip of my beer, then lean my forearms on the island directly across from him so we’re eye level.

“Yeah… uh, that’s right.” Poor Luke. He seems incapable of carrying on a polite conversation with the husband of the woman he’s dating. 

But I’m going to give him a pass. Setting my beer down, I straighten. “Let me go tell YN you’re here.”

“Um… you don’t have-” he starts to say, but I move past him without a backward glance. Through the living room, down the small hall, and a hard left takes me to the master suite. The door’s closed. I don’t bother knocking because I know YN is dressed.

I find her in the ensuite, her makeup drawer open and she’s huddled over it, touching something inside. 

“Your date’s here,” I announce.

She lets out a yip of fright, shoving whatever it was in her hand to the back and slamming the drawer closed. 

“Damn it, Harry,” she snaps, her palm pressed against her heart. “You scared the hell out of me. And what are you doing in my room?”

“Just running an errand for you. Wanted to let you know your date is here,” I say casually and I give her a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, I welcomed him in, offered him a drink, and made small talk.”

She rolls her eyes, rising from her vanity chair and moves past me without another word. I start to follow, but then I hesitate and turn back to the drawer of her vanity. Quietly, I pull it open as far as it will go, spotting a picture of YN and me stuffed in the back.

I recognise it. It’s from a trip we took to Anguilla a few years back, just the two of us, and fuck if we didn’t look happy and deeply in love.

Was that what she was looking at when I walked in?

That could be good or bad, but either way, no way to know the answer. I shut the drawer, then catch up to her as she’s moving through the living room. Luke sees her, sliding off the stool. When she holds out her hands, he takes them and leans in to kiss her on the cheek.

Lame.

I sit on the armrest of the sofa, watching. Luke glances over YN’s shoulder at me as he pulls back, smiling victoriously. 

I just smirk back. Because he’d probably lose it if he knew the type of kiss I gave my wife just last night. But I’ll keep that information to myself, though.

YN grabs her handbag off the accent table near the staircase before addressing me. “Make sure Minnie locks up when you leave, and remind George I’ll pick him up at ten tomorrow morning.” 

I give her a jaunty salute. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

In return, I get another eye roll. 

Luke puts his hand on my wife’s back, shooting me a look that says, ‘she’s mine tonight’, and I want to punch his teeth down the back of his throat. I just smile blandly, because, in just a few minutes of talking to him and watching how they interact, I can tell he’s getting nothing more than a friendly kiss when he brings her home.

YN might want to keep pushing at that relationship, but I am willing to bet that it’s not going to go anywhere. I know this, because I’m sure that my wife is still in love with me. 

-

Read part II here!

[dreamkidddream]

MC Doing the Peeling Glue Skin Prank on the Bros (Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan)

Hoorayyy my first post! I don’t know if any of you have seen the tiktok where they rub glue to look like their skin is peeling off but it’s both funny and horrifying. Also, this got a lot longer and fluffier/sappier than what I thought, but I’m not complaining. This will be done in headcannon format, and I think I’m going to split it up into 2 parts (Lucifer, Mammon, and Levi in the first part and the rest in the second) and I hope you enjoy! Also slight spoiler for lesson 16 (but it’s a blink and you miss it kind of thing in Mammon’s). Reader is gender neutral.

The Build Up:

Ever since you came back to the Devildom after the exchange program, things have been great! It was obvious that you were missing the demon lords, and even more obvious that they were missing you too. Things weren’t different, not at all. But the one day that you were bored out of your mind and they all had different things to handle, you turned to the one thing that could cure your boredom: the Devildom’s version of TikTok. Oh how the boys will forever regret showing you that app, as it had let to their current downfall... 

Lucifer

So unfortunately this man is ALWAYS busy

It doesn’t matter what time of day or night it is, he’s always filling out paperwork. Whether it’s for Diavolo, credit card bills that Mammon racked up, Asmo’s impromptu fashion trips, Beel’s black hole of a stomach, etc.

And he doesn’t like to be disturbed at all unless it’s an emergency

So when you burst into his office out of nowhere, he was slightly irritated (but not that angry, since it was you and your presence was hardly a nuisance)

But that quickly changed whenever he heard you moaning his name in pain and looked up to see what looked like your flesh flaking off by the second

His eyes widen and he is instantly panicking. He’s trying to keep it on the inside but you start to “panic” which makes him shoot out of his seat

Instantly is by your side, trying to delicately hold you and also trying to figure out what the hell is going on

“MC! Are you in pain? What happened? Did someone put a curse on you?!”

Now, you weren’t putting on a Oscar worthy performance but you think you were selling it pretty good. And everything was working out until he grabbed your arm and inspected it closer that he realized he got played

First, he realized that your flesh wasn’t falling in chunks on the ground. Then, he realized that these flakes were awfully thin, and that parts of your arm felt sticky

He fully realized that he got pranked when he peeled off your “skin” off your neck and you giggled, then covered your mouth to realized that your cover was blown

Needless to say, he was not a happy demon

And you basically just signed your death warrant

Before you could even think about running, he grabbed you again and “asked” that you have a seat

Cue another long Lucifer lecture, with him explaining how this wasn’t a funny prank (even for human standards) and that you need to understand how serious this is

Which is his way of saying that he cares about you and was actually panicked and scared. You knew his pride made it hard for him to openly express himself. And while he is getting better slowly but surely, it’s still hard for him to do so. Which made you feel guilty, so you did genuinely apologized

“You’re right, Lucifer, I’m sorry. This wasn’t my greatest idea, as you can see. I didn’t realize how severely this affected you, and it wasn’t right for me to take advantage of that. I know how hard it is to express how you feel because of your pride, but I know how much you care for me even without saying it. It shows in how hard you work, and how you still manage to be there for everyone despite how stress you are. I shouldn’t be adding on to that stress, and I really am sorry for that. You really are a good person, Lucifer, and even though you can be very strict- wait! Let me finish,- you mean well because you care for us. And you don’t get enough credit for that. So, thank you for all that you do. I love you, truly and deeply.”

Despite being a little skeptical in the beginning (he thought you were trying to get out of a punishment, ha! Good luck with that) and ending with a flustered look that he tried to cover with his hand (which was obviously too late to do, you already saw), he did appreciate and accepted the apology.

“I love you too, MC. Truly and deeply.”

So that was your cue to get your hug (and maybe a little kiss) and he pushed you away! You were offended for a second, but you saw the disgusted look on your face and forgot that you were covered in dried glue. Oh yeahhhh...ew

So while you were back in his good graces, you still got punished. A 15 page essay on why doing horrific pranks like that on your loved ones is harmful and no HellTok for your remaining stay?! You know you deserve some type of consequence but geez, overkill much?!

But, he did hint to you that you could make him feel better by spending the night with him in bed

After you take a much needed shower of course

Mammon

As much as this tsundere tried to say he was “too busy” for you, we all know that’s a lie

Granted when you went to go bother him, he was busy

Busy with planning out new scams counting out whatever Grimm he had left, what items to sell and for what price: “maybe I could sell Levi’s golden Ruri-Chan vendor ring thing for some Grimm? He’ll flip but if I just “borrow” it for a little bit, he won’t know what hit ‘im!”

Seeing how focused he was, it was your time to shine

“M-Mamooon! Help me! Something’s w-wrong!”

That immediately got his attention

His head shot up and he rushed to you, panic clearing showing on his face and in his movements

“MC! What’s going on?! WHAT IS THIS!”

When you could physically see him shaking, sweating and on the brink of tears, you knew that it was time to stop while you were ahead

“Mammon wait-“

“We need to go to Lucifer NOW.”

And when he went to pick you up gently, and saw with his own two eyes the flakes slowly fall to the ground, was when hell broke loose

You have never heard him scream so loud before, and you were pretty sure everyone both in and out the house heard him

He lifted you up and you were pretty sure he was in his demon form when you both ran and/or flew (you couldn’t tell, that’s how fast you were moving) to Lucifer’s

Sometimes it was so easy to forget that you lived with actual demons, 7 of the strongest to be exact

When you both reached your destination (ie. barged into Lucifer’s room unprovoked) he was not pleased, but Mammon did not care.

You were one of (if not) the most important person in his life and he would be damned if anything happened to you again. He was your first man, your protector! And he was not going to fail. Not again. He would and will protect you with his life. At any costs

When you saw how serious he was , you tried to wiggle out of his arms, but all he did was just tighten up and say, “MC, quit squirmin’! I don’t want you to make this worse.”

“No, Mammon wait-“

“We’re going to fix this. I’m going to fix this and I’m not lettin’ anything happen to you again. Now stop moving! Lucifer, somethin’s wrong with MC! Look at how their skin is-“

“ITS A PRANK!”

It’s just a prank bro

“Wh-what?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m sorry!”

While you were explaining the whole process (with Lucifer staring on in building irritation), you were still in his arms

You already felt like a terrible being, but the guilt was steady skyrocketing when you were looking at his face

He looked like a kicked puppy left in the rain with a broken paw

You just kept apologizing over and over, until you heard a certain someone clear their throat.

“If you two are done interrupting me, I would like to get back to work. MC, stay behind, it seems like we need to have a little chat about your so called prank.”

Mammon put you down and walked out the room, head hanging and eyes covered.

You knew you screwed up big time. Forget about the incoming lecture, you felt absolutely terrible about pranking Mammon. Especially after hearing the “again” comment.

Once you finally got released (ie. punished), you all had dinner, which Mammon skipped out on

Geez, this was not suppose to happen and you needed to make it up to him ASAP

So here you were, standing outside his door (after you cleaned up) with two Hell Fire noodle cups, knocking timidly

“Hey, Mammon? Is it okay if I come in?”

Silence

“You weren’t down for dinner and I know that you’re hungry, so I brought us-you some noodles.”

Again, silence

You sighed, you knew you messed up big time and you were going to fix it, no matter what. 

“I’m sorry, Mammon. I’m so sorry. What started out as a joke turned into something serious, and it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have did that. Hurting you was never my intention, I care about you too much to do that. When I heard you say that you weren’t going to let anything happen to me again, I knew that I messed up. I know that you will always protect me, and I don’t have any doubt that you won’t. You’re my first man, remember? I know that you’ll always have my back, and I hope you know that I’ll always have yours too. You’re not just the Avatar of Greed to me Mammon, you’re my first guy that I’ll love forever. I won’t ever mess with you like this again, and if you don’t want to talk now that’s fine too, just know that I’ll always love and care for you, okay?”

Ughh and now you were crying!

You sighed. You understood if he didn’t want to talk to you. I mean, he thought you were dying again. It’s easy to forget the events that happened with Belphie, since everyone is communicating and acting like a real family, but you can see now that it left a deep emotional wound in Mammon. He believed that it was his fault that you weren’t saved, and he still carried the burden all this time.

You put the cup down outside the door and started to head back to your room. You would give him as much time as he needed. You just hate that you made him feel this way, that you rose those feelings out of him. And you hated yourself for it.

You barely stepped a foot away from the door when he saw it swing out and a big blob tackle-hugged you

Here was Mammon, sniffling and tearing up, hugging you

“*sniff* You stupid human.”

When he pulled away, you saw the tears in his eyes, which he tried to rub away before you could notice (sidenote: you already noticed)

“Ya-Ya really love me?”

“Of course, Mammon! How could I not? You stayed by my side through thick and thin, through everything. You protected me, and I will forever be grateful for that. I wouldn’t be here without you. You’re not a selfish scum bag like everyone tries to make you out to be, Mammon, and I won’t let you believe that you are. You are my first man, the man that has constantly looked out for me, that has supported and cared for me, and most of all that has never failed to show how much love you have to give. I love you Mammon, always.”

Cue the blushing and cheeky grin

“Now come on the Great Mammon, our noodles are getting cold.”

It felt great to see that smile back on his face

And it felt even better to hear him say, “I love ya too, MC”

Leviathan

Levi was in his room, nothing new

He told you he had some sort of campaign that he absolutely could not afford to miss. Which he said about the other campaigns too but whatever

So when you knocked into his room, and he didn’t ask for the secret phrase, you knew he was in too deep to even pay attention to his surroundings

And the door was UNLOCKED

So you went in, ready to give him the scare of the decade, and-

He turned around in his gaming chair, raging and in his demon form

“UGH! How was that normie of a demon able to kill me with that move?! He has to be cheating! How is it that I’m one of the best players in the entire Devildom and I’m one of the first dead?! It’s not fair! It’s not fair, it’s not fair IT’S NOT FAI- huh? MC, why are you covered in *squints* dried up glue?”

You were honestly shook

Because 1: the third strongest brother was obviously furious and in his demon form which is not a good combination (your mind flashing back to the TSL quiz and whew was that not the best memory) and 2: how the hell was he able to know that this was glue?!

Okay, you weren’t scared of Levi, not at all! But you, just like everyone else, knew how serious he took his gaming

And you all knew how he could be when he was raging about it too

Not saying that he would ever harm or attack you, oh no. What happened at the beginning was just a...fluke! Yeah, just a little hiccup in your now longstanding relationship

But you were still just a tad bit hesitant to be caught in the crossfire of his rage

Really everyone was (except maybe Beel, but even he had his moments)

“LOL you look like one of the rotten magical zombie students from the anime “OMG I’m Just A Magical Girl in Training and Somehow I Turned the Whole School Into Zombies and Have to Fall in Love with a Demon to Reverse It!””

Okay, this was not the reaction you were looking for

“What the- but how-?

Then you remembered

Levi is a renowned cosplayer, the best in the game. It was obvious he knew what the dried up glue looked like considering how much he’s worked with it

You were of course disappointed, but oh well, you could always scheme to get him another way

And then it happened. Another devious idea popped into your head

“So you said I looked like a rotten zombie student huh?”

“Rotten magical zombie student . LOL don’t tell me that you don’t think you do- W-what are you doing MC?”

“Ughhh I’m a rotten magical school girl, and I’m not just hungry for brains, I’m hungry for love.”

“L-love?”

“Gughhh that’s right and only kisses can satiate my hunger. Demon kisses.”

Oh boy 

The way that you turned red so quick was always a surprising sight for you to see

“M-MC WAIT-”

“I want my kisses, Levi!”, you said it in your best zombie/monster voice

Cue his famous “WOOAHHHH”

“MC WAIT- YOU’RE COVERED IN GROSS DRIED GLUE OMG” 

The campaign was quickly forgotten when you tackled him to the ground, glue and all

Then you remembered how sensitive he was with physical contact, and tried to get up

“Oh Levi, I’m sorry! I forgot you don’t li-”

Something was still holding you against him

Specifically, that something was his tail

His tail was currently wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly against the red-faced otaku

“Levi, you okay?”

“Y-y-yeah, I’m okay.” he said it in the tiniest voice you have ever heard.

“Do you want me to get-”

“NO! I-I mean yes! I mean no! N-no I don’t want you to get up. I’m okay.”

Today was just surprising you left and right huh?

But you weren’t complaining now

“But now we’re covered in nasty, peely glue. And what about your campaign?”

He looked at the screen, and then back at you

“It’s okay. It’s not worth it like I thought it was. It’s just a bunch of normies who either button mash or spam the same attack over and over. And I already got majority of the rewards anyway. Besides, now that another normie has me covered in icky cheap glue, I need to get it off.”

Whoops

“Sorry about that, Levi. I was just trying to prank you but looks like that failed. I could do your laundry for you since it was my bad. Is that okay?”

“O-or you could m-make it up to me by having by binge watching some anime? If you want, even though I’m a nasty, icky, worthless ot-”

“Levi. Look at me.”

You gently grabbed and held his face in your hands

“You’re not worthless or nasty okay? And I love to spend time with you. We can definitely have an anime marathon. I’ll always be by your side, I wouldn’t be your Henry if I wasn’t.”

“R-really?”, the way his eyes light up every time you praise or show him love will never get old

“Of course. But I do have to say that you are icky.”

“WHAT”

“But we both are. I mean I did kinda cover you in the flaky glue, and it’s starting to feel a little gross to be honest.”

“O-oh yeah. I-it’s your fault normie!”

“Yeah, yeah I know.”, you laughed. 

Atleast you somewhat pranked him

“So let’s get cleaned up, and I can bring some more snacks when I’m done. You wanna do the pillow fort like usual?”

“O-of course, normie!”

“Alright. I’ll see you in a few then!”, and you began walking out the room

He watched your trailing form, and honestly he didn’t want you to leave yet. That was apparent when his tail wrapped itself around you. I mean, how embarrassing was that?! But he couldn’t help it.

Levi cares about you immensely. You’re his best friend, his Henry! He didn’t know what you saw in someone like him, I mean damn, he was the Avatar of Envy! What’s attractive about someone being jealous 24/7?

He wasn’t outgoing like Asmo or Mammon, didn’t have the confidence like Lucifer or Satan, and he wasn’t good at building bonds like the twins (or at least like Beel)

What a human like you saw in him was still mind boggling, and he thought you were just tolerating him, just being nice. But, he saw how genuine you were as time went on. He saw you as someone special to him, you were his favorite real living person, his best friend, and honestly he wanted you to become more-

“Oh, Levi, one more thing.”

You quickly ran up to him and kissed him on the cheek

“I finally got my demon kiss, ughhh. My hunger has been satisfied!”

And ran right back out 

He blushed 100x more now, and he realized that maybe he wasn’t ready to take it to the next step just yet, but he was willing to be patient and work towards it

He was willing to make the effort because you’re worth it

[peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology]

ahh im obsessed with the summer prompts. Can I request Lifeguard Tom with prompt 36 please? preferably fluffy ending but its all up to you thanks!

This became very long sorry bestie. I hope you still enjoy it tho! Love you so much, thank you for the request love!

Reminder to everyone else that the Summer of Love is still going on and I'll be accepting requests for it until September 22nd! You can find the prompt list here!

Let’s Give It a Shot

36 - It’s the last day of summer, and your last day together

Pairing: Lifeguard! Tom x Reader

Summary: Tom shows you exactly why you love him so much

Warnings: angst, crying, fighting

Masterlist

Summer of Love

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Tom peaked at the bed as he pulled his shirt over his head, a smile came over his face at the sight.

“Good morning angel,” he cooed, “Like what you see?”

“I liked it better when you had your shirt off,” she teased, her voice still raspy and tired, “Remind me why we agreed to work today?”

“It’s only till noon,” he reminded as he bent to kiss her. He laughed as she attempted to pull him into bed, “I’ve got to get going, swim class starts at 7.”

She rolled onto her back and groaned, “Who the fuck takes their kids to swim class at 7?”

“Their toddlers angel, most of them have been up since 5,” he pecked her lips one final time before standing up, “I’ll see you at 8?”

She hummed, nodding once before she closed her eyes again, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” he watched her settle back into bed before leaving, closing the bedroom door as quietly as he could behind him.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Bye bye,” Tom waved to the kids as they padded through the lobby.

“We’ll see you all Thursday,” Harrison added.

“Well I really appreciate it,” Tom smiled in response, falling into the spinning chair that she usually sat in, “Seriously, I owe you.”

The kids filed out, being ushered away by their parents while the boys hung around the front desk.

“I can’t believe I agreed to take you shift,” Harrison yawned, stretching his arms above his head, “You’re such a dick.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the best,” he glanced towards the door, just in time to spot (y/n), “Oh shit, fun’s over Tom, time to get back to work.”

“Ha ha,” she rolled her eyes, “What are you two doing at my desk huh?”

“You’re desk?” Tom smirked, “This is my desk today angel.”

“Oh and I suppose you want me to save the drowning children?”

“No,” he stood and grabbed her by the waist, “Haz is going to watch the pool today and I’m going to help you up front.”

She raised a brow and turned to Harrison, “Really?”

He nodded, “Course sweetheart, happy to give you a little extra time together.”

“Aw, thank you Haz,” she cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You’re welcome,” he gave her a squeeze before dropping her, “Alright, I’ve got to go clean up, you two just make sure everything is done. I don’t want to get in trouble because you two were making out instead of working.”

“We will, don’t worry,” she laughed, “Thank you guys, I couldn’t have dreamed up a better last day.”

“You’re welcome,” Tom hummed, pressing his lips to hers as she tried to reach for the computer behind him, “We could do this everyday if you stayed, I could switch to the front.”

“Tom you know I can’t,” she sighed, “I don’t think we should be having this discussion at work either, it’s just gonna make us both emotional.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow morning so I’m gonna be emotional no matter what,” he sighed, “You never want to talk about this.”

“Because I don’t like thinking about leaving. I don’t like the idea of being far away anymore than you do.”

“Then don’t leave,” he grabbed her hands, preventing her from getting to her job, “Just stay here. You can move in with us, Haz adores you, he won’t mind.”

“Tom I can’t. I have to go back to school, and right now I have to open, so can we please save this for later?”

He sighed and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, we can talk about it later.”

“Thank you,” she kissed his cheek before pushing across the floor.

He laughed as the chair spun away from her, “I don’t know how you expect me to help from all the way over here.”

“I expect you to go make sure the bathrooms are stocked,” she flashed him a cheeky smile while she popped open the register, “And I’m gonna count the cash.”

He sighed and dragged his feet towards the closet, “Fine, fine, I wouldn’t do it for anyone else though.”

The day continued as normal, despite Tom’s best attempts to distract (y/n) from work. Tom had surprised her by doing most of the work throughout the day, insisting she simply sit and handle the register. It was a nice change, normally when Tom hung out in the front it was just to steal drinks and tease. Tom busted through all of her tasks, seeming impossibly determined to get them home as soon as possible. He’d managed to do it too, Harry arrived at exactly noon and he’d rushed (y/n) right out the door.

“Hurry,” Tom shook her shoulders while she gathered her things.

“I am, I am, sheesh,” she shoved her phone into her purse and stood, “What’s the big rush?”

“I’ve just got a lot planned for today,” he beamed at her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, “Now come on, our first stop is this way.”

“Our first stop?” she knit her brow as he led her towards the pool, “Wait why are we going to the pool?”

“Because it’s our first stop,” he repeated, stopping just outside the doors, “See that?” he pointed to one of the lifeguard’s chairs.

She nodded, trying to imagine where he might be taking the conversation, “I do see the chair Tom.”

“It’s the most important chair in the world,” he kissed the top of her head with a smile, “Because I was sitting in that chair the first time I saw you.”

She flushed, biting her cheek to try and fight off her smile, “Stop.”

“I remember it exactly. You walked out of there and I just couldn’t take my eyes off you, you wouldn’t believe how disappointed I was when they said you were gonna be up front.”

“I thought you were pretty cute too.”

He laughed, “Thank God you did.”

“Did you bring me out here just for that?” she raised a brow, “You’re not trying to throw me into the pool?”

He shook his head, “No, just wanted to be a little sappy. Now I’m gonna take you on that date and be even sappier.”

“Lucky me,” she chuckled, “So, where are you taking me now?”

“Minx,” he smirked, “Alright darling, just get ready for the best date of your life.”

“Back home, I can’t parade around the town dressed like this,” he motioned to his swim trunks with a smile, “As much as you might like that.”

“I’d rather save that for tonight,” she teased back, “When I’ve got you all to myself.”

Tom took her home, refusing to reveal even the tiniest detail about their date as they both got ready. He claimed it would be long, that’d they’d be out until that night, but refused to give her any more details. He even went as far as to try and blindfold her when they got in the car, but he quickly dropped it when she refused. She expected he’d be taking her somewhere new or out of town because of this, she was completely in shock when he just drove her to a sandwich shop just up the street from the pool.

“Seriously? We eat here like everyday,” she rolled her eyes, “This cannot be it Tom.”

“It’s not,” he laughed, “Obviously I’ve got something more than this planned. I just thought we could stop here.”

“Why?”

“Because, if you remember,” he began to explain, a smile overtaking his features, “You stayed late to help me clean the pool and I took you to lunch as thanks. It was like our first half date.”

“Half date?” she laughed, “That is not a thing Tom.”

“Yes it is, it was the first time we hung out outside of work together, and it’s when I asked you out, it’s a half date.”

“Those are very specific circumstances that define a half date,” she pursed her lips, fighting her urge to smile.

“Whatever, the point is, this place is special because it reminds me of you,” he leaned over the middle console to press a kiss to her cheek, “And I just wanted to tell you that before we got to the real date.”

“Aw,” she cooed at him, “Don’t tell me it’s going to get even sappier than this.”

“Oh angel, just you wait, it’s only getting worse and worse from here.”

She watched out the windows as Tom drove her across town to another restaurant, though this time she knew exactly why he’d brought her there.

“Tom,” she bit her lip as she spoke, “This is incredibly cute.”

“Ah not here angel,” he grabbed her hands as she tried to open the door, “Just being sappy again. Remember what happened here?”

“Our first date, how could I ever forget that?” she smiled as she reminisced on the happy memories, “We got all dressed up and you brought me flowers. Then we talked until they closed, and we still couldn’t get enough of each other so you drove me up to that cliff side and talked all night.”

“No, no, it was nothing like that,” he rolled his eyes, “I picked you up and you looked so fucking gouregous I could barely speak. Then I took you to this restaurant and I tried so desperately and to seem interesting enough to keep your attention. For some reason you put up with me, and we talked and talked and talked. I thought you’d want to go home at the end of the night but you still weren’t sick of me so we drove up to that little lookout point and I fell madly and deeply in love with you while we talked the night away.”

“You did not fall in love with you on our first date,” she rolled her eyes, “You’re just trying to make me emotional.”

“I fell in love with you the first time I laid my eyes on you, it just took me a little while to realize it.”

She sighed, letting her head fall onto his shoulder, “I fell in love with you the first time we kissed. I’ve never felt like that with anyone else.”

“Mine was cuter,” Tom hummed as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Oh whatever,” she rolled her eyes, “Alright, are we going to the real date now?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see,” he shushed her, driving just a few parking lots over to the local bowling alley, “Remember here?”

“Another one?” she sighed, “Alright, you took me here to introduce me to your brothers. I found out that I majorly suck at bowling that night.”

“Yeah you do,” he laughed, “But my brothers adore you, they treat you like a sister and it totally melts my heart.”

“Yeah, I think they’re cool too,” she chuckled, “So, is there an actual date or are you just taking me on a victory lap of the city?”

“There is a date, at the end of the victory lap,” he admitted, “There’s just a couple more things I want you to see first.”

“You’ll see, just give it a second,” he hummed.

Tom drove her all over the city, stopping anywhere with even the tiniest amount of significance. He took her to the club where they’d spent Harrison’s birthday, the fairgrounds where they spent way too much money on rigged games, even the local park, where her and Harry had gotten way too competitive with a game of frisbee golf. He took her to more sentimental spots too, like where they’d had their first kiss, the hill where they’d fallen asleep watching a meteor shower, the place where they’d first said I love you, where they’d had their first time. It was like a montage of their greatest hits, that had her falling in love with Tom, and the city, all over again. She was almost in tears when Tom finally declared that the tour was over, and it was really time for their date.

“Okay, where are we really going then?” she pressed, her eyes glued to the window for any clues, “I mean we’ve pretty much been everywhere already…”

“Looks like we’re heading to your place, or work,” she knit her brow.

“Does it?”

“Does it?” she mocked, “We have to get out of this car soon or I’m gonna pee myself.”

“Well,” he flicked his blinker on and turned into the pool parking lot, “Good thing we’re here.”

“Tom I swear to god I-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughed, “But you can run inside real quick and use the restroom before we go.”

“They’re closed.”

“I have my keys,” he flicked off the car, grinning as he waved for her to follow, “Hurry up angel.”

She followed him inside, suspicious that he had some kind of ulterior motive, “We are not fooling around in there Tom.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he hummed as he opened the front door, “Go on, take care of your business.”

“Thanks,” she scampered off to the bathroom, only to find Tom was missing when she returned, “Tom?” she peaked around the lobby but found nothing. She got no response when she knocked on the men's locker room door, and the employee lobby was empty. “Tom?” she called again, peeking at her phone for any hints, “Come on,” she sighed and headed for the pool.

“Surprise!”

Out jumped everyone she’d spent the summer with, Tom, Harrison, his brothers, everyone they’d worked with at the pool, all the friends she’s made across town. The pool was all lit up, lined with tables full of food and drinks. (y/n) was in shock, her jaw hung open as she took it all in.

“So,” Tom’s arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, “What do you think?”

“This is amazing,” she squeezed his hands, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” he kissed her cheek again before stepping away, “We all wanted to make your last night really special.”

“It’s perfect,” she confirmed, “Seriously, I couldn’t imagine anything better than this.”

“Glad to hear it love,” Harrison wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug, “Come on though, you’ve got lots of people to say goodbye too.”

She was led around to say hi to everyone, progressively becoming more and more emotional as the night went on. Tom stuck right to her side, doing his best to comfort her as the night went on. It was nice, she appreciated the gesture and everyone being there, but the realization that this was her goodbye just kept creeping back up. Tom could tell she was drained by the end of the night, obviously ready to just curl up in bed.

“Angel, are you ready to go home?” he hummed.

“No, no, I’m okay,” she insisted, “We should stay and help clean up.”

“You can’t clean up your own party,” Harry rolled his eyes, “We’ll stay back and clean it up. If you’re ready to go you and Tom can head out.”

“Are you guys sure?” she wrung her hands nervously, “We can stay and help.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, it’s not very much anyway, we’ve got this.”

“Thanks guys,” Tom squeezed her side, “Let’s get you home then yeah?”

She nodded, “Thanks guys.”

She moved to give each of them a hug, mumbling a quick goodbye, hoping to escape to the car as quickly as possible. Harry seemed to have other ideas in mind though.

“I love you,” he squeezed her tight.

“Aw, I love you too,” she chuckled.

“I’m gonna miss you so much sis,” he patted her back as she pulled away.

She forced a smile as she stepped away, waving to them while her and Tom slipped away.

“Are you alright?” Tom squeezed her waist.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she insisted as she climbed into the passenger seat, “I just wanna go home.”

“Alright, we’ll go.”

“He called me sis.”

“What?”

“Harry called me sis.”

Tom chuckled, “Well yeah, I told you earlier, they think of you like a sister.”

“But it’s different when he says it,” she sniffled, her facade finally crumbling, “I don’t wanna go Tom.”

He moved to her side as quick as he could and pulled her into him, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to angel. If you want to stay you can, Haz and I would be more than happy to have you.”

“But I can’t! I can’t just ditch everything for a summer fling! I have to go back to school and my family and I have to go home! But I don’t want to go back there! I want this to be home, I don’t want to leave!”

Tom took a deep breath and kissed the top of her head before scooting back to his seat, “I know we went a lot of places today angel, but I’ve got one more thing to show you alright?”

“No I don’t wanna go fucking see anything else Tom! I just want to go home…”

“We will, I just want to show you one thing angel, it’ll make you feel better,” he promised, slipping a hand over hers, “It’ll be quick.”

“Okay…”

She was quiet the rest of the short drive, he’d taken her to a small cafe, they’d only been there once before.

“Come on angel,” he waved for her to follow him.

“Why would you bring me here?” she scoffed.

“Just come on,” he insisted, smiling as she slammed the door behind her, “Come sit with me,” he patted his lap.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms before falling into his lap, “Why are we here?”

“Do you remember what happened here?” he hummed.

She nodded, “Yeah, we had our first fight here, and it seems like you’re trying to have our second too.”

“No, I’m making a point,” he corrected with a smile, “We had our first fight here, and then we never came back here again. But that is not why I brought you here, I brought you here because that fight made me think about us, and the fact that you had to leave at the end of summer. I kept trying to think of ways around it or ways for us to minimize our time apart, but you know what thought never crossed my mind?”

“What?” she sank into her chair.

“That when summer came to an end we would break up, because we aren’t a summer fling. We never were, not even for a second, and the sacrifices we make are not for a summer fling, they’re for a real relationship that both of us treasure. If you really, really don’t want to go then you can stay, and I mean we’ve got a Uni nearby and you’ve always got somewhere to stay here. But if I’m the only reason you don’t want to go then you need to go, and we’ll suffer through the long distance until my lease with Haz is up and then I’ll move to you.”

She shook her head, “It’s not just you, I love this town, and the friends I’ve made here, it’s everything about this place. I just feel like I belong here, and I’ve never felt like that back home.”

“Obviously I’m biased here,” he chuckled, “But you could always just give it a semester out here, transfer back if you hate it, or vice versa. Just remember this long distance thing is going to be temporary no matter what, and even then we’re only a couple hours apart.”

She was silent as she tried to sort out her thoughts, “Yeah, school’s a little cheaper out here too, that’d be nice. A-And I haven't paid for anything yet this year so I’m not really obligated to go…”

“You don’t have to justify anything to me angel, obviously I want you to stay” he kissed her shoulder with a frown, “If you wanna give it a shot then I think you should, but if you don’t, we’re still gonna make this work, because I love you.”

“I love you too,” she sniffled while he wiped her eyes, “Thanks Tommy.”

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Taglist:

@niallberry @namoreno @spideyssunshine @thevery-firstpage @outshineallthestars @roseke @zspideyy @tomsirishgirlx @emistrash @andreagf956 @peachyafshawn @spideyspeaches

[robinrequiems]

hey any1 want some superman jon and batman Damian hcs? too bad cause you’re getting them

• damian realized why no one wanted to be batman when he turned 18 and Bruce decided to give him batman when he was 22.

• jon realized why jon didn’t want to be superman when he also turned 18

• oh and right, by gave, I mean bruce sorta can’t be batman anymore. medical reasons…

• damian sorta uh. persuaded clark into giving jon superman.

Damian: look. I don’t wanna be worlds finest with you, old man.

Clark: im- im not old—

Damian: listen here, jon and i? we are gonna surpass you and my dad. so give it to jon and let me prove it.

Clark: this doesn’t seem like a good idea— you aren’t ready— neither is jon

Damian: wait- wait, you don’t believe in your son and i??? wow. WOOOW. okay. i see.

Clark: that’s not it!-

Damian: sure. sure. don’t worry. I see now.

Clark: wait I do!

Damian: no, no you don’t.. it’s— it’s okay, I get it, it’s me, huh?

Clark: no!

Damian: I get it

Clark: please i do! I’ll - oh my rao, you’re playing me

Damian: i am. i cant do this without jon though. please, Clark.

Clark: *sigh, how did he get manipulated by a kid he used to babysit* okay.

• okay so now jon may be a little overwhelmed because one day he’s flamebird, the next, he’s becoming superman? huH. it’s extremely uh. worrying. and really just? wow.

• does Damian feel bad? oh yeah. he does. so bad. but he really can’t do it alone. they always dreamed of being their parents. or being better than them. but they grew up and realized that they really didn’t want to be their parents.

• but here they were, getting fitted for their suits and adding their own details to it.

jon: hey, you look hot

damian: please. shut up.

• they could do this. they could do this. shoot they can’t do this.

• damians own anxiety was going 50 mph. look, okay? remember before heretic when Bruce thought that Damian would become a satanic batman and basically rain hell all over gotham? yeah. that’s what is going on in damians mind.

• he doesn’t want to be that. ( “you won’t be like that, cmon, d, we’re gonna be better.” ) and how Damian wants to believe jon so bad..

• he doesn’t want to become obsessed with Batman like his father did, he still wants to have a life. he doesn’t want to isolate himself away and adopt kids as a coping mechanism. that’s why he needs jon to be superman. jon helps him, he helps him not go off into his own little world and stay there. he believes that with Jon, he’ll be okay. he has to be. maybe he uses jon as his own coping mechanism, but that isn’t the point.

• together, they will outshine their parents. the supersons can do this. they are the next generation, and it’s not like they are alone. they have so many other people to help them. they’ll be okay.

• they have been preparing for this their whole life, but they both feel like they got it too soon. they thought they had more time. Damian does feel guilty when he hears jon talking about how stressed he is about superman and not living up to whatever the hell he has to live up to, but Damian does fear what would. or could. have happened if he didn’t have jon with him. becoming batman took a lot out of him, more than he would like to admit. he just got constant flashbacks to heretic and that whole fiasco he thought he put behind him a loong time ago.

Jon: are you sure you’re okay?

Damian: yes idiot, quit worrying.

Jon: I’ll always worry about, d.

• jon somehow becomes MORE sappier when he becomes superman.

• okay, also, funny story. ( Clark and Bruce don’t find it funny AT ALL ) superman and batman? yeah they sorta kissed after an almost alien invasion. in their suits. uh. in front of an alien who they were arresting for the green lanterns. most people believe that when people say it, it’s a lie, kidding. no they don’t. there were pictures.

bruce: you want to explain this?

damian: not really, no.

• the public knows there’s a new Batman and Superman since yk. Jon’s face is public and was seen as superboy flamebird and now superman, and batman was slightly smaller and had some different moves

• but here’s their main line up: batman ( dami wamie, obvi ), superman ( jonnyboy kent ), nobody ( maya:)) ), green lantern ( tai pham, my baby boy ), lace ( wallace west 2, he goes by lace instead of flash because i said so. ), and shazam ( billy b ).

• fun fact, they have a den mother even though they are all in their 20s. poor dinah.. yeah black canary is their den mother. ( stole it from from yj )

• dinah makes sure they get their injuries checked out, train regularly, and you know. don’t blow up a building.

• again.

• ( when damian and jon were younger, in their teen years, they stupidly accidentally blowed up a building. in their defense, the building was owned by the penguin. and there were no civilians in the area. but they also got a lot of men sent after them.. oops. )

• they are very chaotic. they are the definition of dumbass energy sometimes.

• damian tries to keep the pda down whenever he’s batman, BUT JON DOESNT KNOW HOW TO DO THAT

• hence the amount of photos of jon hugging Damian or kissing him

• damian has never once initiated one in suits

• ( that one time jon almost died does not count )

Damian: thought you were gonna be batman.

Tim: nah, i don’t wanna be bruce. i saw what it did to dick. I would’ve became just like him.

Damian: am i like him??

Tim: god no, bruce would never kiss superman or date him or spray paint the new justice league logo— nice logo, by the way— onto villains bases

Damian: is that a good or bad thing?

Tim; good, that means you probably won’t be a total emotional stunted person using crime fighting as an outlet for unresolved childhood trauma.

Damian: you do realize why i became Robin right

Tim: .. not the point im trying to make. I mean now, brat.

• sometimes you can see some of the heroes dropping by to surprise kids, they heard that their old mentors used to go to children’s hospitals to visit sick kids, so they did that too. on a rare day where there isn’t any crime, which is really rare, they go to a school and talk if it’s a weekday, or they drop by an orphanage to hang out with kids.

• they have gotten into a lot of trouble though. they’re still learning how to work as a team. jon and damian are used to being solo and working with each other, Tai had tagged along a few times when they were younger and knows how they work, along with maya, but billy and Wallace do not.

• they often all get into arguments.

• damian lacks a filter and will criticize everyone if they mess up. and he often goes off alone or is too blunt.

• it takes a long time before they all realize that Damian is just: Damian, he doesnt mean to be mean. ( surprisingly )

• billy is used to being the big kid stuck at the kids table, it’s funny that he’s actually the second oldest when he used to be the youngest. ( lace is like.. 27? shazam is 25.. nobody 24. & the supersons 22. pulled all those ages outta my ass. you’re welcome. )

• dinah is also their therapist. poor dinah.

• like really giving pity to dinah. but dinah loves those kids, she has known some since they were kids. she used to take damian out for ice cream and train with him, and also babysit him. ( AUNT DINAH IS MY FAVORITE GOODBYE ). and she did the same with Jon.

• dinah actually does help a lot of them get over their trauma, not completely, but most have finally spoken about it. they began talking after they all got hit with fear gas.

• that was a bad night.

• they had almost disbanded before when they thought lace had died by the hands of captain cold. they had been arguing all day, and if they didn’t, they might’ve saved him:

• but turns out he wasn’t dead.

• but the argument was still there, and it was strong. it took a while for them to actually work together without dinah forcing them.

• then soon came another new member after maya left to go do some undercover mission for the justice league regarding some alien tech being distributed some place. it was a sad goodbye, but she would be back and she would have a place here.

• welcoming: yara flor. yara was a bit headstrong and wild. damian has screamed at her a lot and almost got into a fist fight with her before being dragged off by his boyfriend 💋

• but she settled in fine. minus the fact damian really wanted to shove a batarang up— anyways. she just had to learn teamwork and shit, she was used to being a solo and she was somewhat new. so they helped her out and she became a solid member of the team.

• sometimes damian and jon just go and sit on a rooftop like they did as kids togeyher. just alone with each other. thinking about how their life changed so quickly.

Damian: i thought we’d ruin our fathers’ legacies and plummet to the ground.

Jon: *he coughed* ..what?

Damian: yeah. i didn’t think we’d get this far, but here we are.

Jon: of course we got this far, and we’re gonna get further.

Damian: i know.

• oh yeah. so. superman. fucking proposed after they defeated darkseid. ( the battle was long, so many people were left injured and on the brick of death, Damian and jon had been separated when it all started. Damian had stayed on earth at first before going to apokolips. Damn he hadn’t seen it since he got resurrected.

Darkseid: oh. I remember you.

Damian: mhm?

Darkseid: ah yes, the little boy who was resurrected here.. the chaos share, your father used it on you.

Damian: i know. i remember what happened. I was there afterall.

Darkseid: I wonder if you are as smart as the original batman.

Damian: i am.

• damian was buying time. he was waiting for reinforcements, namely the people who had powers and could take him down. damian wasn’t stupid. he realized darkseid liked to talk. his friends were fighting off the female furys or whatever they were called. he just had to wait and entertain.

Darkseid: quite the ego there.

Damian: i saved the justice league when i was 13, i deserve to have an ego.

Darkseid: oh, you are by far more talkative than the original.

Damian: thanks.

Darkseid: not a compliment, you fool.

• yeah so. darkseid tried to kill damian, with a beam thing. Damian was about to flip away like the baddie he is, but. jon. went out and yk. took the hit. dumbass.

Damian: you have such a big hero complex.

Jon: wow I just saved you and that’s what you say?????

Damian: yes.

• anyways, after they defeat darkseid, jon pops out a ring from his pocket and asks damian to marry him on apokolips.

Damian: you seriously couldn’t wait til we got on earth?

Jon: dames you almost died. what if- what if something happens, I’ve been putting this off for so long. cmon please?

Damian: you’re seriously asking me to marry you here where, I’m pretty sure, a lot of shit happened to our parents here.

Jon: no time like the present.

Damian: fair. okay.

Jon: just okay???

Damian: im sorry, do you want me to cry or something?

Jon: ughh, you can be so extra and petty sometimes.

Damian: i am not being petty.

Jon: just because I ask you to marry me here you wanna be like “okay” and that’s it

Damian: you’re so dramatic. I’ll marry you. I wanna marry you. Better?

Jon: yeah:)

[yelenasdog]

something like “i know” (ben hardy x fem reader)

genre: FLUFF FINALLYY

summary: sometimes making tiktoks with ben doesn’t always turn out the way you plan, but by no means is that a negative.

words: 1.4k

warnings: age gap (not dramatic, reader is like, idk, 23 maybe?), kissing, i think that’s it but lmk!

a/n: hi! so i’ve had this idea for ages and wanted to write it so here it is! the end of it is far sappier than i planned but meh whatevs. also ty to cici and eva for helping me pick the moodbard hehe. k enjoy!

☆❂✧

Having an age gap was never something that put a large damper on their relationship. The conflicting personalities of the two balanced out quite nicely, and the similarities that drew the two of them together in the first place (apart from the aforementioned) made sure they never had a lack of interesting things to talk about that weren’t generational.

Until TikTok, that was.

Now of course, there were some other millennials on the application, but Ben just for some reason couldn’t get it.

“Yes, I know that, babe, but why do they do dances?”

“They lip sync too!”

“But what is the point?”

And that’s how the conversation would end. Every single time. So Ben would sit on the sofa, watching as she danced about in front of the small screen, occasionally playing some cruel (ok, that’s a large exaggeration, they’re somewhat mean, at best) joke on him, claiming it was a trend on TikTok? That just did not sit right with him.

He didn’t remember hearing “mean pranks” in the initial description of the app when she had described it to him all of those times.

Ben tried to tune it out, he really did. He would wear his headphones, blasting Zeppelin as loud as he could while reading scripts or a book. But somehow, those catchy little tunes always managed to worm their way into his ear, being stuck in there for days and days on end.

He would waltz around the house humming Megan Thee Stallion, the occasional Flo Milli or underground indie artist also making an appearance often.

He was pouring a cup of coffee for himself one Tuesday morning in the kitchen before going on a run, Y/n watching fondly from afar. Rain was softly rolling down the windows, barely coming to a cease. The air was chilly, and fog floated through the early morning sky, a sense of calm washing over their shared South London home.

The room was kept somewhat warm, though, from the fireplace that she had insisted the house had to have, which Ben ended up being grateful for on more than one occasion. He looked over his shoulder briefly, smiling at the sight of his beloved wrapped up in his seafoam jumper, watching him move about contently.

As he turned back to where he was working on filling the two mugs in front of him, he began to oh so quietly sing the lyrics to what sounded like a familiar tune off of the app. Watermelon Sugar, maybe?

“Ben? Baby?”

He turned, his eyes growing wide and his hands flying to his hips as he leaned against the countertop behind him.

“Mhhm, yeah, w-what’s up, babe?”

She couldn’t hold in her giggle at the sight of her boyfriend’s red face and disgruntled appearance, one of his hands now scratching casually at his gold locks.

“What’re you singin’, pretty boy?”

His blush only increased at the nickname, eliciting another laugh from his girl.

“Y’know, just somethin’ I heard on the radio the other day.”

She immediately recognized his lie, he refused to listen to the radio, only using either Bluetooth or the aux cord, his music taste too pretentious for mainstream stations. She didn’t mind, though, always finding it quite funny how much of a music snob he was.  

But rather than call him out, she only nodded and smirked, standing up and bringing her phone with her over to the windowsill where she usually filmed her TikToks, pulling Ben along with her.

He sipped from his mug, eyes slanted as she scrolled through something on her phone, various sounds emitting from the speaker.

A little smile showed up on her face when she (apparently) found what she was looking for, leaving her to set the phone down, allowing a video under the sound to play on repeat.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” He asked, ever so cautiously, taking a step towards her. She walked towards him, engulfing him in a hug which he (yet again) cautiously reciprocated.

“I am going to teach you a TikTok dance.”

He had to do a double take.

“Come again?”

She pulled on the elastic waistband of her sweats, grabbing Ben by the arm.

“Come on, I know you wanna. And if nothing else you’ll do it to make me happy.”

He rolled his eyes, slightly irritated at her confidence and that she was so incredibly correct, he would do mostly anything to put a smile on her face.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He grumbled, moving to stand next to her.

She clapped once in excitement, joy flooding her entire body. The music started up again, but this time, she began to dance along to it.

“Ok, so just try to do what I’m doing, alright?”

“No! Not alright, can I just stand here, I think I should just stand here-“

“Ben, it's literally not that hard, 8 year olds can do it!”

“Well, I’m an extremely confused 29 year old man, thank you very much!”

And that’s basically how the next 15 minutes went until she finally gave in, allowing Ben to stand behind her, occasionally doing a little move of sorts. The two were in a fit of giggles now, struggling to keep enough composure for long enough to get even one successful video.

“Benjamin Jones! This is the last one, okay?”

He put a hand on his stomach, both of the pair attempting to catch their breath.

“Yes, yes, right okay, got it, last one.”

The little timer button counted down, the sound echoing throughout the property. 

The music then started, and she could barely keep a straight face for the 15 seconds. Bored of the routine, but never of her, Ben decided he would grab her and throw her onto the sofa, as payback for all the “TikTok pranks” she would pull on him. He waited for the perfect time to strike (one where she wouldn’t hopefully be too infuriated), restlessly shifting from foot to foot.

Nearing the last few seconds, he made his move. He swooped forward, a high pitched shriek falling from her lips as he wrapped his strong arms around her waist, running and jumping onto the couch, crushing her. He rolled off quickly, and she moved to be on top of him, her hair wildly astray. She sat up, straddling his thighs with a bright smile plastered on her face.

“You little jerk.”

He only smiled boyishly in response, a lovesick gaze set in his eyes.

The song was still playing on repeat as she leaned down, positioning her hands on either side of his head in order to place her lips gently upon his.

“That’s your reward for putting up with me today, Jones.”

He scoffed, taking her by the shoulders and bringing her to his chest. She looked up from where she was now comfortably lying, meeting his homey emerald gaze, his eyes like sea glass that had washed up on white sands, waiting to be rediscovered.

“I feel as if I deserve something more for all of that.”

“Oh, do you?”

He hummed and nodded, closing his eyes. She reached up, placing another peck on his plump lips, before scurrying away to retrieve the phone. He sat up rather quickly at the sudden loss of her body weight, smiling at the sound of her laughter coming towards him.

“Ben, look, it turned out so well.” She managed to slip out before basically throwing him the phone. A grin erupted on his own face soon after, along with the hearty chuckles to match. 

He made some commentary on how wonderful it was, before handing her back the device. She moved so she was once more essentially laying on top of Ben, the screen in both of their views. 

After sharing a few more laughs over the video, she captioned it and posted it, throwing her phone to get lost in the couch cushions as the likes and comments began to roll in.

She looked up at him once more, and he met her gaze, as he always would, bringing a hand up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. 

It didn’t leave her cheek, resting there and lightly caressing her skin. The two were most serene then, almost appearing as two felines that had decided to nap during the morning showers, most comforted by each other and the steady sound of the droplets as they pattered.

He was whispering now, the rambunctious energy of the room fading into a much more tranquil and stolid vibe, wrapping the two up like a warm embrace.

“Y’know I really would do anything to make you happy, my love.”

She closed her eyes, taking hold of one of his hands.

He then heard her mutter something like “I know”, and all was well.

☆❂✧

it was fitting for the theme. but anyway i hope u enjoyed, pls reblog and like if u did :) go drink some water, eat some protein, and take an electronics break!

love you bunches! xx hj

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 25

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger

Nothing to do but talk.

Martin and Jon settle in for a movie night.

The documentary, if it could be called that, was absolute bunk.

Littered throughout were vague interviews and wild assumptions on the part of the very on-screen director, all tied together with a final push for people to purchase a very specific brand of smoke detector. And the low quality of the video couldn’t be blamed solely on Martin’s internet.

They watched the thing from start to finish, though, and by the end of its 70-minute runtime (“I should’ve guessed by how short it was,” Jon had grumbled partway through) their viewing had turned primarily to Jon taking the piss out of it. Academically, of course.

On Martin’s end the film itself was bad in an enjoyable way, and while he didn’t have the context for all of Jon’s complaints it was easy for him to listen. He’d even made some jokes that got Jon to snort.

He did have to sit uncomfortably straight to keep from leaning against each other. Jon had turned it a bit so they could both see, but when viewed from too hard an angle the picture looked even worse. So, Martin did his best to give Jon space and not let the effort distract him from the screen.

All of this being true, Martin was grateful for the horrible film. Nothing filled silence better than movies and television, so the nights following they settled into a routine. Someone would make dinner (with no further… outbursts) and then they would find something to watch. Afterwards they would say goodnight and Martin would escape upstairs to decompress with his little notebook.

Jon’s original idea had been to find something related to their goals. However, after another let down on night two involving a very old retrospective on the mid-century fishing industry (“Wrong century,” Martin had said about five minutes in), Jon dropped the idea, thus opening up a whole new world of cable television and old vhs tapes on night three.

“You bought yourself a laptop but never had a dvd player?” Jon yawned, getting comfortable on his side of the couch. 

“We sort of… skipped it?” Martin dug through a box of tapes for something worth watching, sifting through sappier options and 80s action flicks alike. “Dunno how, but we never got one. The laptop ended up being the first thing I ever had to play dvds, but the telly is too old to be hooked up to it. S’fine, though. I like tapes.”

“And you never get bored of it? Flipping between tapes and whatever’s on at a given time?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I have a phone for other stuff, obviously. To be honest I don’t watch a lot to begin with, nothing new anyway.”

“Hmph. Same for me,” Jon conceded, sinking further into the couch. “Feels like there are other things I could be doing.”

“Except for now?”

A wry smile. “Special case.”

Martin’s stomach did a flip. He didn’t feel guilty, per se, but he wished he had something for Jon to work on to stave off the boredom. Everything had been so quiet with Peter gone and Simon’s waiting that no new leads had popped up. It wasn’t fair that Jon had to sit around doing nothing after wandering about in the sea for weeks. The least he could do was provide some entertainment.

“Hm. Right, how about this one?” Martin looked back and waved a vhs set. It was some old fantasy series with a group of children on the cover standing in a hallway. “Haven’t watched it since I was a kid, but I remember liking it.”

“Two tapes’ worth?” Jon glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s in episodes, right?”

“Yeah, though if you’d rather find something else…?”

Jon waved his hand. "No, I can’t spend the whole evening making up my mind. If we don’t like it, then we can find something else.”

With that settled Martin popped the tape in and took up his seat. On the other end, Jon sat with the blanket pulled to his chest. He wore a new set of pyjamas Martin had picked up at the shop along with a few other things to save Jon from having to wear the same clothes day and night. 

The show was a simple series meant for children, easy enough to follow in plot that some side chatter didn’t interrupt things too much. Honestly, Martin was glad they weren’t paying a whole lot of attention. He hadn’t watched it in years and wasn’t looking to be embarrassed.

A few minutes in, the children from the cover were running up the stairs to explore a large house. “Safe to assume you don’t have siblings?” Jon asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me. You?”

He snorted. “Even if my grandmother wanted another child running around, I was enough to deal with.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “What, were you a terror?”

“I’d use the word ‘adventurous’, but she would’ve agreed with that description. If we’d been in that house,” Jon gestured toward the screen, “she would’ve been in trouble. Until it ate me or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes?” 

Jon frowned. “That’s- No, I mean if it were real it would probably mean harm. Supernatural houses aren’t trustworthy entities outside of fiction. In fiction they’re mischievous at the least.”

“Can’t imagine that, a building that likes to mess with you,” Martin said, grimacing. He really didn’t remember much about this story. Maybe that was how it went? “I’m sure they’ll be fine. I wasn’t into spooky things back then.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I’m not letting my guard down,” Jon said. He watched as the children walked up a spiral staircase. “Would you have wanted siblings?”

Martin considered this. “I can’t imagine having them? But an older sibling would’ve been nice. Someone to know better and help me with things.”

“I think any other child would’ve found me irritating, older or younger. Best to keep to myself,” Jon said dryly. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes, you can imagine the additional worry of raising a child who could explore the ocean like it was the woods. It’s not like she could follow me in.”

“I bet… She wasn’t like you, then?”

Turning back to the television, Jon said, “No. She was from my father’s side.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t tell if the question was wrong to ask, so looked back to the show. It was luck of the draw, then, whether someone was born with a selkie skin. Perhaps there was nothing to do with genetics in circumstances like this.

Back on the screen, one of the children had chosen to wander outside into the beginnings of a snowstorm with no thought to the cold. Outside the real world window it had begun to hail, and Martin realized how frigid it had become both outdoors and in.

“Well, at least this story is right for the season,” Martin said, standing up. “I’m gonna grab another blanket.”

With a start, Jon looked at him and held up the one he was under. “Do you want this one? I don’t-”

“N-no, that’s fine!” He walked briskly out of the room, feeling rude and stupid. All Jon had offered was for him to use the damned thing, not share it. And it wouldn’t have fit both of them even if he had meant it that way!

Opening the hall closet, he tried to calm down. He peered at the pile of folded sheets and blankets, lifting each layer to search for one he liked. There was a flannel one somewhere, deceptively warm for how thin it was-

Oh.

Tucked far down into the pile, far back enough so it was hidden if the one above wasn’t lifted, Martin saw something dappled and grey and out of place amongst the linen. Jon had left it to dry completely beforehand, so the surrounding fabric was unwrinkled. Considerate. And in a decent hiding place all things considered. It was a shame Martin had gone and ruined it.

He sighed, grabbing one of the blankets at the top that he’d initially passed on. Once he reached the doorway to the living room, he stopped and stared at Jon who was doing his best to seem unperturbed.

“So, I saw it,” he started, squeezing the blanket in his arms into his chest. “I use that closet a lot, if you want to put it somewhere else.”

Jon winced and stood. As Martin let him pass, he mumbled, “Right. I’ll just-” 

And then Martin was left to sit back on the couch and wait, pausing the tape out of courtesy. 

When the skin had disappeared from the shower that first morning he hadn’t considered anything but Jon hiding it, and there was an awful satisfaction in knowing he was right. He rubbed his arm and stared at the blanket in his lap, still neat and folded. 

After a couple of minutes, Jon returned empty handed and resumed his seat. Pulling his blanket back up, he said, “It’s nothing… personal.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath and pressed play on the old remote, letting the child continue their new solo adventure. “I figured you hid it.”

“I appreciate that you told me.” His voice was stilted and unsure. “That you found it.”

“Sure, whatever helps.” Unfolding the blanket, he pulled it up to his shoulders and leaned on the arm rest. He could feel Jon fidgeting in place, turning the blanket so it faced the right way and making it tuck under him in the right places. Martin kept his eyes ahead.

Finally giving up on any further adjustments, Jon slouched into place. “It does help. I know my caution can come off as distrust, but genuinely I just… I need to keep it hidden. I need to know where it is and to be the only one who does. For now.”

“You… don’t need to justify anything.” Martin sighed and had to fight back a yawn. “It’s your coat.”

A grunt of frustration. “No, you don’t- It’s not a rational thing. I trusted you enough to tell you the truth, and yet I was barely into my first night here before I panicked and stowed it away.” He sat upright and let the blanket fall to his lap, quiet distress written across the lines of his forehead.

Grasping for words, Martin said, “You still haven’t known me that long. It’s not wrong to be careful.”

“That’s not the point,” Jon replied quietly, resting elbows on knees. “It hasn’t been all that long in the grand scheme of things, but a lot has happened. I consider you a friend. And yet I can’t stop feeling like everything is about to go wrong if I’m not careful.”

The hail continued to slam against the window, almost overpowering the sound of the television and the faun describing the witch’s plans. On the far side of the couch, Jon remained hunched over his own knees with his face bent in irritation. 

A wave of shame broke against him, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Carefully, Martin scooted over just enough to reach out a hand. His trembling fingers hovered just an inch away, brushing against the fabric of Jon’s shirt before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered, massaging around his eyes with his fingers. He reached his free hand up to tentatively cover Martin’s, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Do you… want to keep watching?”

Jon nodded, shaking himself out a little. Martin released the gentle grip on his shoulder, though he didn’t move away. They both settled into the back of the couch and watched.

The child had gone back inside with the shivers, but no one was to be found. Around the halls she wandered, calling her siblings’ names with indignation that slowly turned to concern and then to fear. Eventually she was running, and it wasn’t until she was on the upper floor that one of her brothers popped out to scare the living daylights out of her. 

Deep down he remembered this part making him cry. Perhaps siblings weren’t worth it with how cruel children could be. 

Martin coughed. “You explored the sea as a kid, then?”

Jumping slightly, Jon said, “O-only a couple of times. And not far from the land. And it’s not as fun when you can only grab one thing at a time, with your mouth. I sorely missed my pockets and picking up sticks.” As he spoke, he resumed the more casual tone from before with modest success. 

“You thought checking out the sea with no real limits was too much of a hassle?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jon said, “It wasn’t entirely that. Eventually my grandmother warned me away from it. Told me about dangerous animals that absolutely weren’t native to the coast where we lived.” 

“Great white sharks?”

“Surrounding our seaside village on every watery side, ready to eat hapless little seal boys who didn’t listen to their nans.”

Martin chuckled, relaxing further into his seat and listening to Jon go on about all the ways his grandmother had tried and failed to reign him in. He could see it, a younger, scrappier version of the man next to him stomping around the woods and climbing fences. 

The instinct wasn’t all that relatable to someone like Martin who’d kept to the front porch on nice days, but it sounded like an adventure. Maybe it meant he was less likely to get eaten by an evil wardrobe out of the two of them. In his position he could only hope that was the case.

They called it for the night when, out of nowhere, a man suddenly appeared at half opacity screen and let out a screeching noise to close out an episode, making Jon laugh in a way that only could’ve been from exhaustion. 

Martin lingered downstairs for a while after they shut the television off. It was Friday, after all. For many reasons they couldn’t go out to a pub, but without the need to get up early he could afford to stay up a little longer and listen to a sleepy Jon talk over the tapping on the window panes.

--

Tim: not next weekend, but the one after i think. finally time to call it on preparation and get down to business, if this is something we can be prepared for

Martin: encouraging

Tim: look its been rough over here, alright? 

Martin: i know, sorry. itll be easier to talk once we’re all in one place 

Tim: yeah

Tim: things are ok over there, then? youre sounding better

Martin: ?

Tim: it was starting to get scary if im honest, how quiet you were

Martin: oh, sorry. things are fine, just didnt have a lot to say

Tim: yeah, i get it. its hard to fill the space. dont be a stranger though. in a few weeks we’ll be there to get you out of this mess

Martin: looking forward to it

Sighing, Martin looked from the private chat to Jon, who was ignoring his breakfast to type away at the laptop. “Sounds like the others are making plans to get here.”

Jon looked up briefly. “Good. It will be… nice to see them.”

“And show them you’re not dead?”

Ignoring this, Jon said, “How is Tim doing?”

He glanced back at his phone. “Worried. About a lot of things, I think.”

“Thinking of how he’s going to break my disappearance to you, no doubt,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. He avoided Martin’s eyes. “That’ll be resolved soon enough.”

Martin poked at the eggs on his plate. “He… lost someone, didn’t he?”

It was only for a moment, but Jon froze in the middle of setting his mug down. He seemed to struggle with an answer.

“It’s fine if you can’t say, but he implied as much,” Martin said gently.

With a frown, Jon shut the laptop. “Sasha knows more than I do, but yes. His brother, a few years ago.”

“Oh. That’s… really sad.” He leaned back in his chair. “He seems like he’d be a good brother.”

“I’m sure he was. He certainly looks out for us.” Jon took a bite of his toast.

“As best as he can,” Martin added sheepishly. 

“Once this is all finished he’s earned a vacation.”

Yes, they’d all given poor Tim their share of heart attacks. Martin had managed to several times in the last month. But at least when the time came Tim would see that both of them were alive and themselves and able to apologize for making his and Sasha’s lives just a bit harder than they needed to be.

Once it was all finished.

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: The process(es) of resigning from a terrible, no good, very bad assistant position.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 22: discussions of eye-gouging/eye horror (not graphic); brief mentions of spiders/arachnophobia; anxiety/panic symptoms; lots of dissociation/dpdr; Peter Lukas being a manipulative shit; Lonely-typical content (including fear of abandonment & some abysmal self-esteem on Martin’s part); allusions to police violence & Hunt-related themes (re: Daisy’s past actions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 22: Resignation

Georgie paces in a slow circle, alternating between biting her nails and picking at her bottom lip – entirely immersed in her own thoughts, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. Jon hasn’t seen her this overwrought since the last depressive episode he witnessed. Just watching her is enough to make his chest tighten with vicarious unrest.

Wary of contributing to a vicious feedback loop between the two of them with his own customary pacing and handwringing, he forces himself to keep his knees locked and hands at his sides. Still, he can’t help rubbing his fingertips together and rocking minutely on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t we sit?” Jon finally interjects, wincing when it comes out more curtly than he intended – more like a command than a suggestion, but luckily without any accompanying static.

Be mindful, he silently chides himself: being on edge like this only makes him more susceptible to accidental compulsion.

“What if something goes wrong?” Georgie whispers. Jon doubts she even heard him beneath her nervous refrain. “What if –”

“Georgie?” Jon tries again. No response. He steps into her path and places a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie.”

“What?” Georgie raises her head, but she isn’t looking at him so much as she’s looking through him.

“I think you should sit down?”

“What?” Georgie says again, sounding utterly lost. Her eyes are darting around the room now, as if she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

How the tables have turned, Jon thinks grimly.

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her to the nearest chair. She offers no resistance, trailing behind him like a flagging balloon. When he presses on her shoulder to coax her into a sitting position, she goes easily. Keeping hold of her hand, he drags another chair closer to her and takes a seat.

Okay. Now what?

Jon jiggles his leg as he wracks his brain for the right thing to say. She deserves more than handholding and awkward silence, but soothing words have never come naturally to him.

“Do you, ah… do you want to talk about it?” Jon cringes at his faltering delivery. “I’m sorry, I’m – I’m still not very good at this,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh – then immediately shuts his eyes, kicking himself. Why are his attempts to relate to others always so clumsy and – and weirdly self-centered? “I mean –”

“I’m scared,” Georgie blurts out.

“You… what?” Jon tilts his head. “But I thought – you don’t feel –”

“Fear?” Her clipped, brittle laugh dies in her throat. “No, I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

Jon strokes the back of her hand with one thumb, but remains silent. She always elaborates on her own time, given some space to order her thoughts.

“I don’t feel… terror,” she says slowly. “After I had my… encounter, I did a lot of research on how the brain works. Trying to understand what was happening to me, you know?”

Jon nods. He’s intimately familiar with that urge. As a child, he went through a spider phase, as his grandmother called it, obsessively seeking out any information he could on them, hoping even then that he could conquer his fear if only he could see the world through a detached, academic lens. There were plenty of academic odes to the spider to be found; no shortage of enamored arachnologists waxing poetic about the wonders of evolution and the vital role that arachnids play in their particular ecological niches.

Unfortunately, a phobia – especially one arising from acute trauma – tends to be resistant to reason and reality. His obsession only ever yielded heart palpitations and lucid nightmares. Despite that failure, he never stopped clinging to that idea that if only he could know everything there was to know about a thing, he could finally scrape together some semblance of control over his fear.

In many ways, that fixation is exactly what drew him to the Magnus Institute.

Unless the Spider really was pulling the strings all along, he thinks, and then: No, we are not going there.

“As far as I can tell,” Georgie continues, “my sympathetic nervous system still functions. I can still experience all the physiological aspects of sympathetic arousal – and fear is only one possible trigger for those sorts of responses. What’s missing is my capacity to interpret those responses through the lens of fear. To emotionally process or identify them as fear.

“I can still experience anxiety, to an extent – or something close to it. But mostly in the context of worrying about others, being scared for them. I mean, I can feel apprehensive about the possibility of experiencing pain or loss or failure myself, I have a stake in my continued existence, I can recognize danger, but sometimes it feels… I don’t know – mechanical, almost? There’s just always the feeling of something missing. Something important. And there are times when I feel that void more acutely.”

“Like now.”

“Yeah.” Georgie looks away, chewing her lip in silence.

“I’m listening,” Jon coaxes, sensing that there’s more she’s holding back.

“It’s just… hard to feel like a full person sometimes, you know?” Georgie says helplessly. “I worry sometimes that it – I don’t know, does a disservice, I guess, to the people I care about? Like no matter how much I love someone, it isn’t… complete? Or – genuine, in the right way? It’s – hard to find words that actually describe it. There are times when it feels like I’ve lost something vital that made me human, that made me me, and it’s… difficult to reconcile who I was – who I could have been – with who I am now.”

“That I understand,” Jon says softly.

“I know.” Jon wishes he was less familiar with the sad smile she gives him just then. “It’s just… I remember a time when I would have been terrified of all this. Not just worried, or upset about someone I care about being hurt, or devastated by the prospect of losing someone I love. Terrified. And knowing what I should be feeling – what I would have felt at some point – is… it’s unnerving. There’s a void there that shouldn’t be there. It’s like… having part of you gouged out and left hollow. An absence that’s so present it’s almost visceral.” She frowns. “Does that make any sense?”

“In my future I had a Flesh Avatar reach into my chest and wrench out two of my ribs, so… yes, actually.”

Georgie blinks several times, then laughs breathlessly. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Jon returns a cautious smile, but the levity evaporates after a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you don’t have to have access to the full spectrum of human emotion in order to count as human. And I don’t think any of this makes your concern for others any less heartfelt, or – or comforting. You might not be the same person you were before you were marked, but that doesn’t make you any lesser as a person.”

“You should try applying that metric to yourself sometime,” she replies, not unkindly.

“It’s –”

“Don’t say it’s different,” she cuts in. “Just… keep it in mind, okay?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try.” Georgie nods, but says nothing. Jon grips her hand a little tighter. “Listen, I – I know you’re worried for Melanie, but I think it’s going to be alright? I can’t predict the future –well, I have knowledge of one possible future, but that’s because I lived it. I don’t have any precognitive abilities, or anything like that. But… it turned out okay last time.”

Until I jump-started an apocalypse –

Jon reins in the thought before it can gain momentum. Georgie doesn’t need his brooding right now.

“Melanie is a fighter,” he says instead, offering a tentative smile. “And she has you.”

Georgie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came out of the apocalypse sappier than you were when you went in.”

“Side effect of traversing a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a hopeless romantic, I think.” That gets another little chuckle out of Georgie. “I mean it, though. I think Melanie will be okay, especially with you looking out for her. Not to mention, the Admiral is a perpetual serotonin generator.”

“You really miss him, huh?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve pet a cat, Georgie?” Jon practically whines, playfully dramatic. It manages to keep the amused smile on Georgie’s face, he’s pleased to note.

“Maybe I should bring him by sometime.”

“Absolutely not. This place doesn’t deserve him.” Georgie snorts. Although Jon is reluctant to ruin the temporary shift in mood, this is as good a time as any to broach a subject he’s been dreading. “Also, I, ah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue visiting here.”

“What?” Georgie says, eyes narrowed.

“If you have to take a step back,” Jon says carefully, “I’ll understand.”

“I mean, I might not be able to come by as often as I have been, especially while Melanie is still recovering, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be around at all.” Georgie’s frown deepens. “I’m not about to cut you out of my life, Jon.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to. But – no, listen,” Jon insists, seeing Georgie about to protest. “What I’m trying to say is – I know Melanie wants to put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible. If it turns out that you staying involved in all of this is too close to home, then… well, I don’t want her to feel like she’s still trapped in the Institute’s orbit, is all.”

Or mine, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be a reason for Melanie to feel unsafe. In the past, he has been – and that’s not who he wants to be.

These days, Melanie has come to view him more as a fellow captive than a complicit enemy. Lingering resentment still sparks to life from time to time; she still struggles with her anger, and once or twice, she’s had to leave a room for fear of that rage boiling over. Overall, though, she no longer directs the majority of her ire towards him. When they do butt heads, it hasn’t gone much further than bickering – and even that feels comforting in its familiarity and mundanity. Almost companionable, in its own way.

Most significantly, ever since their talk, Melanie hasn’t once likened him to Jonah Magnus. Jon doesn’t know if that’s because it’s no longer an automatic association at the forefront of her mind, or because she’s consciously watching her words around him, actively taking care to avoid tripping that perpetual trigger. Either way, Jon is grateful.

But Jon also knows that he’s inseparable from the Institute. Despite his intentions, and regardless of whether or to what degree the others hold him personally responsible, the fact remains: he’s embroiled in something unspeakably evil, and that poses a danger to anyone who stands too close to him.

Georgie doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking the time to seriously consider his words. He’s always appreciated that about her, as uneasy as these moments of silent suspense can make him.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” she says eventually, “once she’s recovered enough to have that discussion. I don’t know how she’ll feel about staying in direct contact herself, especially at first, but… I doubt she expects me to cut you off. And I imagine she’ll still want to know how everyone is doing, even if she doesn’t want the details.” She glances up to meet his eyes. “Anyway, regardless of how often I visit in person, I’m still going to be checking in with you, so answer your damn phone, will you?”

“I do answer my phone,” he says defensively. “I just… forget to answer texts sometimes. And I don’t get service in the tunnels –”

“Well, come up for air and cell service from time to time.” She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tolerate being down here for hours on end –”

Jon startles slightly as the trapdoor creaks open above their heads. Georgie stands as Melanie makes her way down the ladder, hurrying over to fold her into her arms. Basira follows behind, closing the trapdoor behind her as she goes.

“Mission successful, I take it?” Jon says quietly as Basira approaches him, giving Georgie and Melanie a moment to themselves.

“Uneventful,” Basira says with a shrug. “A few sidelong glances, but otherwise, none of the library staff even acknowledged us. Definitely didn’t seem keen on asking why we were rummaging in the repair supplies.”

“They probably didn’t want to know.”

“Yeah.” A small, rueful smile crosses her face. “Some of them used to talk to me, you know. Nothing personal – we weren’t close – but… when I returned a book, they’d ask what I thought of it, give me recommendations, that sort of thing. Now, though…”

These days she prefers to wait until everyone has gone home for the day before visiting the library, Jon Knows. He also Knows that the library staff are well aware that she’s the one pilfering research materials in the dead of night – and that they have no plans on confronting her about it. She never leaves a mess, after all, and always returns items to their proper places once she’s finished with them, which is more than can be said for many of the students who make use of the library’s resources.

“You know, I don’t think any of them have looked me in the eye for months.” There’s a distinct note of regret in Basira’s voice. “They just watch me out of the corners of their eyes when they think I’m not looking. I don’t know if that’s because they’re afraid of Lukas disappearing them for fraternizing, or because everyone is leery of the Archives these days, or because I’ve just become less approachable. Maybe all three. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

Jon knows the feeling well. Before he can answer, though, Melanie clears her throat. Jon looks over to see her facing his direction, one hand clasping Georgie’s tight enough to blanch her knuckles.

“This is it, then,” Basira says solemnly.

“Yeah.” Melanie closes her eyes and breathes a long, shaky exhale. “It’s time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me there?” Georgie asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see that.”

“But –”

“She won’t be alone,” Basira says. “I’ll be right outside the room.”

Melanie faces Georgie fully, taking her other hand as well. “The plan hasn’t changed. Basira will call 999. I’ll make it quick, and – once it’s done, Basira will come in and sit with me until the ambulance gets here.”

“I have a general idea of what the response time should be like,” Basira adds, looking at Georgie. “If we time it right, Melanie will have medical assistance within minutes. I can come get you when the paramedics get here, if you want to ride in the ambulance.”

Georgie nods and tightens her grip on Melanie’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Only if you want,” Melanie says haltingly. “But – maybe try to avoid looking too close, if my eyes are uncovered? It’s just – it probably won’t be pretty.” A stressed laugh claws its way out of her throat. “Potential trauma fodder, you know? I don’t want to worry about you remembering me like that every time you see me, even after I’ve healed.”

“Okay,” Georgie replies softly.

“It shouldn’t take long. Just – wait here with Jon until then, okay?” Georgie nods again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Speaking of which –” Melanie glances at Jon, as if just now remembering his presence. Startled by the sudden direct eye contact, he reflexively straightens his spine and stands at attention. “I guess this is goodbye, huh? For a while, anyway.”

“I, uh. I suppose it is.”

“Right. So, um… good luck, I guess?”

No disclaimers or ill will tacked on this time, Jon notes privately.

“You too.” He forces a smile, but he suspects that it comes off as awkward rather than reassuring.

“Try not to die.”

“Yes, ‘not dying’ is relatively close to the top of my to-do list.”

“If I come to find out that you’ve gotten yourself killed and broken the eldritch employment contract binding us all to this place after I’ve gone and gouged my eyes out, I’m going to be livid.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon says wryly.

“Seriously, though.” Melanie’s smirk melts away, taken over by a somber, quiet sort of intensity. “Either beat Elias at his own game, or get the fuck away from this place the instant you find an out. Whichever comes first. Preferably without any of the self-sacrificial bullshit.”

Fractious as its delivery is, the demand is oddly touching, coming from Melanie.

“I, uh… I’ll do my best?”

“You’d better.” Melanie nods – a curt but cordial dismissal – and turns her attention back to Georgie. “Hey,” she says, her voice going measurably softer, releasing one of Georgie’s hands to reach up and cup her face. Her watery smile belies her mental state: resolve warring with trepidation. “Look at me?”

For a long minute, she studies Georgie’s face, clearly enraptured. Jon forcefully tears his gaze away from the intimacy of the moment.

“Okay.” Melanie takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “I’m ready. I’ll see you soon, okay? Or – well, I won’t see you, but – you’ll see me, and I’ll…” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, whatever – you know what I mean.”

Georgie lets out a tearful chuckle, and Melanie relaxes marginally.

“I’m sure about this,” she says. “I promise. This is what I want – a life with you, away from all of this. And if this is the price I have to pay, then… I’m okay with that. Really, I am.” She stands on tiptoe to give Georgie a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie says, leaning down for a return kiss, smiling weakly against Melanie’s lips. “See you soon.”

When Martin first heard the bustle outside his door – coworkers venturing outside their solitary offices to trade whispered questions and eager gossip as word of paramedics in the archives made its way upstairs – his stomach gave a little lurch: a combination of horror and wonder. He hadn’t expected Melanie to change her mind – he knows how determined she can be once she’s settled on a course of action; how desperate she was to extricate herself from Elias’ – Jonah’s – schemes. Still, though, faced with the reality of it, he found himself in awe of her nerve.

That was yesterday. Martin didn’t get much work done, preoccupied as he was. He isn’t having an easier time of it today: his attention keeps slipping away to linger in remembrances of sterile hospital rooms and muted hallways, thoughts drowned out by the ghosts of sirens and beeping machinery.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Martin jolts in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. It only takes an instant longer for his alarm to mutate into aggravation.

“Peter!” Martin spins around to glower at the man. “How many times do I have to–”

Peter flaps a dismissive hand. “To be honest, Martin, the drop in temperature tends to tip most people off. The only reason you continue to be surprised by my arrival is because you’ve become acclimated to the Forsaken.”

The revelation is slow to sink in, a stark chill blooming in Martin’s chest and snaking its roots outwards. Only now that it’s been brought to his attention can he feel the nip in the air.

“Here I was certain you were becoming estranged from our patron, but it seems I needn’t have worried.” Peter’s smile is laced with malice. “Or should I?”

Martin says nothing, eyes wide and stinging from the now-conspicuous cold. Peter sighs, folds his hands behind his back, and begins a meandering back-and-forth pace.

“Our success is dependent on your voluntary isolation, Martin.”

“Yeah.” The word turns to fog as it touches the air, and Martin finds himself transfixed by the sight. “You’ve said.”

“It seems you need a reminder.”

The condescension dripping from the words is enough to drag Martin back into the present moment. Heat rises in his cheeks, contrasting with the temperature in the room and making the chill that much more noticeable.

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” he snaps. “You keep expecting me to just – go along with whatever you’re scheming, no questions asked.”

“You ask many questions, Martin –”

“Yeah, and you never answer them! You’re so – so bloody cryptic about all of this.”

“Martin, Martin,” Peter says, placating in the most patronizing way possible. Martin bristles: he hates the way Peter says his name. “There’s no need to get so worked up –”

“If you want me to be a partner in – in whatever it is you’re planning, you can’t expect me to go on blind trust!”

“I’m still conducting my own research,” Peter says mildly. “I would rather not confuse you with extraneous details before I have all the kinks worked out.”

“I’m not an idiot –”

“Rest assured,” Peter interrupts, “if I was capable of stopping the Extinction alone, I would. Unfortunately, it will require someone touched by the Beholding.”

“Why?”

“Because it requires this place, and this place” – Peter’s lip curls in distaste – “is the Eye’s seat of power. The One Alone has no dominion here.” Martin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You are the only one who can do this, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin repeats.

Judging from the muscle ticking in Peter’s jaw, his limited supply of patience for conversation is precipitously depleting.

“No, really,” Martin presses, “why me? I mean” – he spreads his arms out with a scornful chuckle – “look at me. I’m not exactly hero material, am I?”

“That really depends on you. I can’t force you to cooperate. It won’t even work unless you’re a willing participant.”

“And what makes you think that your plan is the only way? You – you keep going on about how it’s my choice. Well – what if I choose to work with the others? It can’t hurt to have more eyes on the problem –” Martin rolls his eyes at Peter’s unconcealed revulsion. “Yeah, I know. No one would ever accuse you of being a team player, obviously. But I can be the liaison; you don’t have to interact with anyone at all.” Would prefer you don’t interact with anyone at all, Martin thinks. “I mean, that’s already my role, isn’t it? Dealing with people so you don’t have to?”

“Martin,” Peter says, low and dangerous.

“I’ll do it off the clock, even. I’ll isolate myself in my office during the workday, or whatever” – Martin gives a flippant wave of his hand – “and continue researching the Extinction.” And practically running the whole damn place on an assistant’s salary, he grouses silently. “After hours I’ll pursue my own research with the others.”

“Part-time isolation will not suffice to equip you with the power you’ll need.” Peter presses his lips into a pale, rigid line. “Be reasonable. Are you really willing to risk an apocalypse, just because you can’t appreciate solitude?”

“If it starts to look like there’s no other option, I’ll reconsider.”

“And if the Extinction emerges while you’re wasting time searching for an alternative that doesn’t exist?”

“Based on the limited information you’ve given me, I don’t think the Extinction is going to just… emerge overnight. I’m still not even convinced it’s going to be worse than any other Fear. I mean, the Flesh is relatively new, isn’t it? And it didn’t… leave the fear economy in shambles, or whatever.”

“It isn’t about competition, Martin.” Peter releases a slow plume of fog through his nose before continuing, voice cool but simmering with pique just under the surface. “The Extinction is different from the other Powers. It is defined by widescale eradication. The other Powers may seek to change the world, but none of them strive for a world without us.”

“But what makes you so sure the Extinction would?”

Peter’s eyes narrow. Ignoring him, Martin runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he replays Jon’s impassioned conjectures on the matter: It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one.

“What’s to say it wouldn’t be just fine with the world as it is, like the End?” Martin says, more confidently now. “People have been prophesying about the end of the world for – all of human history, probably. I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon. Maybe at its core the Extinction is just… the fear of an uncertain future. And a particular future doesn’t have to be realized in order to inspire fear, as long as the potential is always there. It’s about the suspense – the ‘what ifs’, the unknown, the – the lack of control in it all.” Martin laughs. “In a way, that’s… that’s what most fears boil down to, isn’t it?”

“The stakes are rather high to gamble on a thought experiment, don’t you think?” The temperature plunges a few more degrees as Peter speaks. “I think that the most important ‘what if’ you should concern yourself with is what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not?” Martin counters. “You act so authoritative, but aren’t you also just speculating? When I agreed to work with you, you told me you would provide me with evidence to support your theory. So far, I’m not convinced. You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ I mean – if it’s between trusting you and – and trusting Jon, and the others? You can’t really be surprised if I choose them over you.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter tuts, shaking his head with derisive, disingenuous pity. “Since when has the trust you’ve placed in others ever been reciprocated?”

“I trust him,” Martin says defiantly.

“But does he trust you?” Peter pauses for effect. “Of all the times you’ve allowed yourself to form attachments, has anyone even once genuinely returned those affections?”

Jon did.

Whatever expression Martin is wearing brings a sneer to Peter’s face. Martin clenches his teeth and ignores him.

Jon does, he corrects. Present tense. He said as much.

Martin still can’t fathom what Jon could possibly see in him, but Jon wouldn’t lie about something like that, right? He wouldn’t.

…would he?

No, he wouldn’t, Martin chides. You know he wouldn’t. Trust him.

“Sure,” Peter persists, “you may open yourself up to the potential for something more, but you know as well as I do that it won’t last. Is the inevitable loss really worth the risk?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says. He tries to ignore the slight quaver that insinuates itself into the declaration. “But if I never take the risk, I’ll never know, will I?”

“I think you already know the answer.” Peter’s pale eyes glitter with spite. “Remember what it felt like, languishing at the Archivist’s deathbed. Recall the state you were in when you first came to me.”

The words are incisive, sliding under Martin’s skin and lodging there like shrapnel. He can feel his confidence waver, the conviction he stood fast on only seconds ago splintering underneath him like thin ice.

“How many times do you think he can court death and survive? He all but died stopping the last apocalypse; he was willing to bury himself alive for a woman who tried to kill him. How do you think he’ll react if you tell him about any of this? You think he’ll listen to reason? Trust in your judgment?” Peter fixes Martin with a smug, hungry look. “Or will he throw himself in front of the first bullet he sees?”

He already knows about all of this, Martin reminds himself. Jon isn’t about to sacrifice himself on account of the Extinction. Moreover, he seems to be genuinely committed to working as a team rather than striking out on his own.

But he also sees himself as a cataclysm waiting to happen, says the nagging doubt skulking in the far corners of Martin’s mind. As much as Jon insists that he doesn’t want to die, he’s already lived through one apocalypse. Martin has no doubt that Jon would sacrifice himself to prevent another, if it came down to it.

Jon is a powder keg of fear and guilt, and there is no shortage of potential ignition sources waiting in the wings. It only takes one untimely spark to set an archive ablaze.

“I trust him,” Martin repeats to himself, but the statement is rendered feeble by the leaden, frozen knot unfurling in his chest.

“Can you really weather another round of grief?” Peter continues, triumphant. He knows he’s found a gap in Martin’s defenses; all he needs to do now is twist the knife. “You’ve already done your mourning, cut the infection off at the source. Let him back in, and you only open yourself up to more pain. Better a numbed scar than a wound that never heals, don’t you think?”

“No.” There’s something off about Martin’s voice – as if it doesn’t belong to him; as if it’s originating from outside of himself, faint and frail and faraway, smothered by the cold, empty fog clogging his lungs. “N-no, I…”

“Connection is a fleeting, fickle thing,” Peter persists. “It’s a lie people tell themselves. The truth is that we are all alone. In the end, all we have is ourselves. Think about it.”

Unthinkingly, Martin shrinks away as Peter steps closer.

“You asked for more evidence.” Peter slides a few statement folders onto the desk. “Take some time to yourself. Consider whether you’re willing to wager on the fate of the world.”

When Martin looks up, he is alone.

“It’s so loud,” Daisy mutters heatedly, stalking to and fro like a panther in a cage. She scratches furiously at her forearms as she goes, blunt fingernails leaving faint red stripes on pale skin.

“Daisy,” Jon says evenly, “I think maybe you should –”

“Itch I can’t scratch.” She pivots on her heel, retracing her short path in the opposite direction. “Feels like fire under my skin.”

“I don’t think clawing your skin off is going to help.”

Daisy barks a laugh. “With what claws?” She stops short and brandishes the backs of her trembling hands, fingers splayed to highlight nails gnawed to the quick, ragged cuticles stained rust-brown with dried blood. “Dull now.” Her eyes go unfocused, staring vaguely at her hands as if she doesn’t recognize them. “Too dull.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he means it.

It never gets easier to witness her like this, frenetic and fraying in the throes of the Hunt’s compulsion. These spells have a way of making her features look sharper, her mannerisms more animalistic. She’s all protruding bones and sallow skin, but that seeming frailty does nothing to tame the violence thrumming in her veins. If anything, that all-consuming hunger only makes her more fearsome.

Jon’s strict rations have given him an underfed, pinched look as well, but at least he has something. Not enough to put meat on his bones, so to speak, but enough to stave off starvation. Daisy, though…

When Jon takes a step forward, she rounds on him with teeth bared and a snarl in her throat. Jon flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re afraid of me.” Daisy exhales an exhausted rattle of a laugh, as if vindicated. “Good. You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jon says. “I have an overactive startle reflex. Always have, really.”

“You’re lying.” Daisy breathes heavily through her nose, fists clenched at her sides now. “Admit it.”

Jon knows what she’s trying to do. She wants him to lash out, to bite back, to make her bleed. He’s uncomfortably familiar with that craving. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he reiterates.

“Liar,” Daisy hisses, fixing him with a baleful glare.

He’s seen her like this many times before, hunger-ravaged and swamped by bloodlust. She’ll doggedly bash herself against the nearest witness to her shame like a ship crashed against a jetty, driven forward again and again by cresting waves of guilt and self-loathing until she’s free-floating wreckage. Every time, it gets more and more difficult to gather up all the debris and repair the damage. Jon fears that one of these days, the storm will pass and there won’t be enough pieces left to put her back together.

“I’m not a knife you can cut yourself on, Daisy,” he says patiently.

Daisy looks positively mutinous, mouth opening and closing several times before erupting: “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I used to be,” Jon admits, leaning back against the tunnel wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Before the Buried. I was terrified of you. Dreaded every moment I had to be alone with you. Thought it was only a matter of time before you finished the job.”

“It was,” she rasps out – and with that, her shoulders slump and her fists relax to hang limply at her sides, fingers jumping and twitching with the last dregs of her agitation.

“I know. But then you changed. You were different, after the Buried. As afraid of yourself as I used to be of you. As afraid of yourself as I was of myself.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks. “I looked at you and saw my own fear reflected back at me. There are so many things to be afraid of. You were – you are trying very hard not to be one of them.”

“If I’m afraid of me, you should be, too.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Jon asks, shaping each word carefully to keep the compulsion at bay.

She pauses, considering the question.

“No,” she says eventually. “Afraid for you, sometimes.”

“As I am for you.” Jon’s tentative smile fades after a moment. “I’ll admit, I do have… reflexive reactions, sometimes. There were a few incidents where I walked into the breakroom and you were holding a knife, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in before my conscious brain could catch up with reality.”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, the look on her face isn’t pleading so much as it is resigned. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. Jon doubts she ever will.

It’s just one more thing they have in common.

“I know,” he says quietly. “To be clear, I don’t feel unsafe with you, as you are now. It’s just… flashbacks. They can be – unpredictable. And if I’m already feeling on edge, or – or not quite present, it doesn’t take much to set me off. But,” he adds, giving her a serious look, “I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. That only puts me more on edge.”

“Fine. But will you tell me if I do something to scare you?”

“Yes.” She made the same request last time. “But I’ve never had to. You could always feel when I was afraid. From a few rooms away, even.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a choked laugh. “Your blood is – very loud sometimes.”

“And now?”

These episodes tend to be capricious. Sometimes, what seems to be the calm after the storm proves to be only a lull before a second wind. If the way she’s wobbling on her feet and favoring one leg is any indication, Jon suspects that the worst of the flare-up has passed for now, taking her adrenaline surge with it. Still, he waits for her confirmation. Daisy takes a minute to mull over the question, head cocked slightly to the side as if listening.

“Quieter,” she says.

With that, Jon lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back against the wall, beckoning her over to take a seat. She hesitates for a moment longer before following his lead, slumping down next to him with a labored sigh.

“Sorry for growling at you,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Daisy tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You said I ended up going back to the Hunt last time.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“September. But – but that doesn’t mean it has to happen again,” he adds hurriedly when he sees her face fall in a mixture of anguish and resignation. “It was – sort of a perfect storm of extenuating circumstances. Like I said before, if you didn’t let the Hunt back in, you and Basira would likely have been killed. But I think you knew you wouldn’t be coming back from it. Before you changed, you made Basira promise to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And did she?”

“She lost track of you in the chaos. You gave chase after one of the Hunters. Once you killed her, the other Hunter started hunting you. For revenge.” Jon’s voice drops to a low murmur. “A few weeks later, the world ended.”

Which makes it sound far more passive than it actually was, but Jon isn’t in the mood for a scolding should he opt for an ‘I’ statement.

“And then what?”

“You were a full-fledged Hunter in a – a perpetual fear generator of a world,” Jon says grimly. “Do you really need to hear the details?”

“Tell me,” Daisy says. “Please.”

Jon understands the need, but recounting the apocalypse never gets any easier. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I opened the door and let all the Fears into this reality,” he begins, “the world was divvied up into thousands of different domains, each belonging to a different shade of terror. With few exceptions, most people were confined to one domain – usually whatever aligned with their deepest fears. Avatars and monsters were subject to the Ceaseless Watcher, but otherwise able to exercise control over the humans in the domains of their patrons. Most seemed to stake out territory and settle in one place – customizing their own little spheres of influence, creating playgrounds of their own making. But some got around. You were one of the ones that traveled.”

“What was –” Daisy grimaces. “Who was I hunting?”

“Well… in that place, no one got what they deserved, only what would hurt the most. And people are rarely afraid of just one thing. Most were magnets for multiple fears. The more nomadic Avatars and monsters would gravitate towards whatever individuals were most susceptible to their power, so to speak.” He bites his lip. There’s really no tactful way to phrase this next part. “In your case, you had a roster of specific targets that you were tracking. Former prey. Whether you were drawn to them because of their own fear of you, or because some part of you judged them to have ‘gotten away,’ so to speak… I’m not entirely certain. It may have been a bit of both.”

“I see,” Daisy murmurs. “Guess it makes sense that I would rank high among some people’s greatest fears.”

“Basira was tracking you when we ran into her. We were with her when we found you.”

“And was I… still me?”

“Yes and no,” Jon says hesitantly. “You were you, in a way, but only a small part of you. The Hunter. Everything else was buried too deep. Drowned. Even if I could have brought you back, it would have killed you. You – you didn’t even recognize me, or Martin. You recognized Basira – saw her as pack, wanted her to join you in the Hunt – but…”

“You were prey,” Daisy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You never did manage to grow a self-preservation instinct, did you?” Daisy squints at him. “I went full monster on you, and you still want me to sit next to you now.”

“You had sharper teeth then,” Jon says drily. Daisy scoffs and nudges his shoulder with hers. She doesn’t draw back after making contact, and when Jon doesn’t pull away either, she leans into him.

“Basira kept her promise?” Daisy asks after a minute.

“Yes. She didn’t want to, but…” Jon swallows thickly, the memory of Basira’s heartbreak bringing to mind his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

Daisy rubs at her chest with one hand, as if to soothe an ache. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of her, was it?”

“Maybe not,” Jon sighs. “It seems fair choices are hard to come by, for most of us.”

“I… I don’t want her to have to make that choice this time.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s never going to stop, is it?” Daisy glances at him, allowing her head to rest lightly on his shoulder. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“Melanie got away,” Daisy says, a tinge of bargaining in her tone. “She managed to purge the Slaughter. And break away from the Eye.”

“Her situation was… different from ours. She wasn’t as far gone as we are. The Slaughter hadn’t fully claimed her, and the Eye never took her as an Avatar. But you’ve been living with the Hunt for most of your life; I signed myself over to the Beholding the moment I became the Archivist. We’ve become… attached to our patrons, dependent on them for survival. Symbiotic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“You really don’t think there’s a way back, then.”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen it before, in my future, but – the world was different then. During the apocalypse, I was able to, uh… shift a person’s status from Watched to Watcher. I – I mean, technically everyone was Watched – the Eye had dominion over everything – but I could give someone control over one of the smaller domains. Create new Avatars, for lack of a better term.

“But turn a Watcher into solely the Watched, and they would typically unravel. I don’t know if that’s because the full focus of the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze just happens to be lethal – particularly for Avatars aligned with other Powers – or if an Avatar is simply unable to survive being cut off from their patron regardless of the means of separation. I do Know that I wouldn’t have been able to survive being cut off from the Eye unscathed. I was… too much a part of the Eye in that reality. Not sure about now. For either of us.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘no.’”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I don’t know. Supposedly escaping the Buried was impossible, and here we are.”

“Apples and oranges,” Daisy says sullenly.

“Maybe. I think it’s all too complex for clear-cut categories. Even the hard-and-fast ‘rules’ are only as strong as our collective belief in them. Almost like our expectations shore them up. I’ve witnessed all of reality being rewritten – all physical laws and supposed universal constants reshaped to center the Eye.” He reaches one hand up to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. “After all I’ve Seen, it’s difficult to conceive of anything being categorically impossible. Between all the dream logic and reality bending, there’s plenty of space for firsts and exceptions to the rules.”

‘I don’t knows’ are where the hope lives, Martin said once. At the time, Jon teased him for being a hopeless romantic, but truthfully, Jon was just as hopelessly endeared by Martin’s belief in such things.

“Have you talked to Georgie yet today?” Daisy asks, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Oh, uh – yes. This morning.”

“And?”

“Melanie was out of surgery and stable, but she wasn’t awake yet. Georgie promised to call tonight with an update.” Assuming nothing major comes up before then, a worried voice in Jon’s head supplies. He shakes his head to jog the thought loose. “Speaking of Georgie… have you given any thought to her suggestion?”

“What,” Daisy says, drolly skeptical, “playing a video game?”

“I realize it’s… somewhat out of the box, but it might be worth a try. Like Georgie said, there are multiplayer games where you can, uh… hunt down other players.”

Daisy plucks absently at her collar, glowering at the opposite wall as if the bricks there committed a personal offense. “It’s not the same.”

“A simulation might not come close to a real hunt, no, but – you might still get something out of it? Maybe?” Daisy directs her scowl up at the ceiling. Jon only digs his heels in, undeterred. “There are even some that have a survival horror theme. An aesthetic that already puts players in the mindset to be frightened, you know?”

“People play those games for fun, Sims.” She finally looks at him, eyes narrowed. “It’s about thrills, not mortal fear.”

“Sometimes genuine fear can sneak through. Haven’t you ever been so creeped out by a horror story that it stayed with you after nightfall?”

“Not really?”

“O-oh. Well, some people have that experience.” Jon gives an awkward little cough. “Anyway, under the right circumstances, a game can get the adrenaline pumping as well as a chase can. A fight-or-flight response doesn’t necessarily require a real physical threat.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, transparently cynical. “Do you really think the Hunt is going to be satisfied with jump scares and – and low-stakes adrenaline rushes filtered through a screen?”

“No,” Jon admits. “But it might take the edge off. Sort of like reading old statements does for me. Not enough to stop you starving, but maybe enough to distract from the hunger pangs. At least temporarily. If nothing else, you did say you need a new hobby, and it’s not like this place is overflowing with viable entertainment options.”

“I guess,” Daisy sighs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m paying rent. May as well squander my paycheck.”

“If that’s the case, you should see if that eBay listing for that vintage The Archers board game is still up,” Jon says drily. “Last I checked, it was £2 with no bidders.”

“Yeah, and £30 shipping.”

“Sounds like £32 well spent, if you ask me.”

Daisy snorts and bumps her shoulder against his. ��You, Jonathan Sims, are an absolute menace.”

Adrift and thoroughly divorced from the concept of time, end of the workday passes Martin by without his notice. Once again, he wonders whether Peter deliberately assigned him an office with no external window, not only to put another wall between him and the rest of the world, but to make it easier for him to lose track of time.

For an interminable stretch of time he sits catatonic, mind peppered with sporadic sensory input: Dead-weight limbs, listless and foreign-feeling. The brush of fabric resting against bare skin, every point of weightless contact a violation. The distant ticking of clockwork, rote and irrevocable.

Stand up, comes the thought, detached and intrusive: an instruction he cannot parse; empty phonemes wafted into a vacant mind, abandoned there to echo and disperse until they lose all meaning. A fragment of a signal from brain to nerves to fingers presses numb fingertips to thumbs, a cautious test yielding no sensation but for the vague, spongey give of flesh.

Then the body ostensibly belonging to him is on its feet, the connection between floor and soles disturbingly incongruent with unreality. Walking now, every footfall jarring in its impact; every step stretched and blurred like a botched time-lapse photograph; every molasses-sluggish forward motion met with invisible resistance, like swimming against a sludgy current.

He does not remember how or when or under whose direction he arrives in the Archives, swaying at the threshold of the Head Archivist’s office. Empty and still. Silence so pervasive it’s almost tangible. Viscous and inexorable. Trapping him like a fly in honey. Drowning.

When next he becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s wavering at the bottom of a ladder. Walls curving up and over his head, a brickwork warren stretching on and out into the murk.

Standing in place. Hovering like an afterimage. Rootless and incorporeal. Searching for… staring at… calling to…

There: something real.

“Martin?” Jon’s breath fogs the air as he speaks, but the way he says the name… his voice seems to cradle the word, shielding it against the cold. He sits up straighter, keen gaze sweeping the area like a lighthouse beacon. “Martin, is that you?”

That’s me, Martin thinks, and then, wonderingly: He says your name like it’s something precious.

At that thought, Jon’s eyes land on him like a searchlight.

“There you are.” His soft smile immediately falters, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

He’s sat on the floor with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest, and Daisy pressed up against his side in a mirrored position, sharing a pair of corded earphones. Daisy is already thumbing at the screen of her phone, presumably pausing whatever it is they’re listening to, as Jon removes his earbud.

Martin opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs has turned to viscid fog and the confused tangle of half-formed thoughts in his mind refuse to coalesce into actual words. Jon exchanges a glance with Daisy, who is already moving to stand. Martin wants to object – she doesn’t have to leave on his account; he can see that they’re busy; he’s fine; he’s just overreacting – but before he can cobble together a protest, she’s halfway to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

“I’m alright now,” Martin can hear her say.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks in a low murmur.

“Yeah.” She winces as she straightens her spine. “Knowing Basira, she’s still pouring over the same statements as she was this morning. She could do with an interruption.”

“Can you manage the ladder?”

Daisy stretches her leg out, testing her mobility. “Think so.”

They give each other another long look, a shared nod, and without another word, Daisy staggers her way to the exit and mounts the ladder.

As it does every time he witnesses these displays of unspoken understanding between them, an ugly pang of jealousy burns in Martin’s chest – some combination of envy, inadequacy, longing, and loneliness. Possessiveness, almost – and an instant later, the shame sets in.

But then the trapdoor closes, Jon looks Martin in the eye again, and the sincere, tender warmth sheltering there is enough to leave Martin reeling. It’s hard to comprehend anyone – let alone Jonathan Sims – looking at him like that; difficult to reconcile requited affection with a lifetime of fruitless want. Martin can’t shake the feeling that it will always be this way – and that his inability to trust in unconditional love is precisely what makes him so unlovable in the first place.

Jon clears his throat and pats the floor beside him. He’s seated on a blanket, Martin just now notices, folded over several times to cushion the hard ground.

He’d better not be napping down here, Martin thinks to himself.

“Martin,” Jon says, in that impossibly soft tone he’s taken to using around Martin these days, “I’d like you to come sit, if you’re amenable.”

It’s such a Jon way of phrasing the invitation, and the familiarity it engenders has Martin accepting without a conscious thought. He settles himself beside Jon, close but not touching. Those few inches of distance manage to be simultaneously loathsome and assuring. Martin lets his hand rest in that vacant space, fingers clenching around a fistful of blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand twitch, as if fighting back the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he starts to rub the fabric of his trouser leg between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you need right now?” Jon asks.

“I…” Martin pauses, unsettled by the sound of his own voice, grating and almost unfamiliar to his ears.

“Take your time.”

It takes a minute for Martin to wrap his mouth around more than one syllable.

“Nothing,” he says, the weight of the word nearly pinning his tongue in place.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Several more minutes pass before Martin is able to construct a full sentence.

“I’m just being stupid.” The words seem to echo faintly in the tunnel, despite how quietly he says them.

“What do you need?” Jon asks again.

“Nothing,” Martin repeats dully. He doesn’t need anything.

Jon doesn’t immediately respond. Martin can feel himself go rigid, anticipating… what – aggravation, impatience, disengagement? But Jon only runs a thumb along his jawline, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “what do you want, then? What would – what would help you feel better right now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin says in a voice so feeble it’s nearly inaudible. He flexes his fingers uncertainly, chasing after any physical sensation at all, only to find them numb and deathlike. The helpless sigh that shudders out of him wants to be a whimper. “I just – didn’t – don’t – feel real. Feels like I’m not really here.”

“Hmm.” Jon looks at him – really looks at him, taking his time to study Martin’s face. “Well, I can confirm that you are here.”

“You… you can see me?” Martin asks meekly, pleadingly, dreading the answer.

“Yes.” Jon pauses. “And if you’re agonizing over being a bother, don’t, because you aren’t. I always like seeing you.”

He should trust Jon – he does trust Jon – but it’s still a constant struggle to drown out that Lonely part of him that insists that isolation is safer, more dependable, and far more habitable. Unthinkingly, Martin reaches over, hand trembling in the air above Jon’s, fingertips just barely ghosting across scarred skin.

“Would you like me to hold your hand…?” Jon ventures.

Martin’s fingers curve inward as he pulls back slightly. “I, um.”

“You can say no,” Jon reminds him.

“I… I want it, but I – I – I don’t know if I can handle it right now, and I –” Martin draws back entirely, flapping both hands in frustration, trying to relieve the pins-and-needles sensation prickling through his veins. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”

Martin grimaces at the outburst, but Jon doesn’t seem to be judging him. Instead, he’s looking off to the side, a crease between his eyebrows now, as if he’s working through a problem.

“No skin-to-skin contact,” he says to himself, and then he looks to Martin. “Pressure helps me sometimes, when I feel like I’m not real. You could… lean against me? If you want.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to,” Jon rushes to reassure him.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to. I guess I’m just…” Martin can feel himself flush with embarrassment. “It’s daft, but I’m worried that I’ll be – I don’t know, incorporeal, or something.”

“I distinctly recall you telling me that you’re not a ghost.”

It takes a few seconds for Jon’s deadpan humor to sink in. When it does, Martin nearly chokes on a surprised laugh.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was a ghost,” he says, cracking a smile. The tight, bitter-cold knot in his chest yields just a little, like ice disintegrating under a spring thaw.

“In my defense, I was quite distraught at the time.” Jon’s eyes wrinkle at the corners and Martin is struck by overwhelming fondness. He doesn’t pull away when Jon reaches out, open palm hovering just above his shoulder. “May I?”

Cautiously, Martin nods.

“Hmm.” Jon applies the lightest touch at first, watching Martin’s face carefully. He waits until Martin nods for him to continue before he presses down more firmly. Before long, Martin can feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through his jumper. That warmth carries over into Jon’s smile. “Feels solid to me.”

The confirmation comes as a relief, as foolish as that makes Martin feel. He braces himself and leans against Jon’s side, releasing his held breath when his body meets with tangible resistance. At first he worries that Jon, scrawny as he is, won’t be able to support the weight, but he doesn’t budge when Martin melts against him. After that, it’s a struggle for Martin to keep his eyes open.

Jon must notice, because he whispers, “You can rest. I’ll be here.”

Martin doesn’t even have the strength to nod, let alone the energy to argue. He allows the steady rise and fall of Jon’s chest to lull him into an almost meditative state, his mind still floating somewhere outside of himself, but now tethered to the ground.

Then the silence starts nipping at his heels.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Did you know that highland cattle have a double coat?” Jon says after a minute of consideration. “It insulates them against the cold. The outer layer is long – the longest hair of any cattle breed, in fact – and oily, which helps ward off the rain. Underneath is softer, almost woolly hair.”

Once Jon gets started, those little scraps of trivia soon progress to a nearly encyclopedic lecture. It doesn’t take long for Martin to lose himself in the rich timbre of Jon’s voice as he goes on about various Scottish breeds of cattle. Although he doesn’t fall fully asleep, Martin manages to drift in and out of consciousness enough that he loses track of time once more. This time, though, it’s a comfortable daze: there’s someone to keep him from straying too far.

At some point, he unthinkingly seeks out Jon’s hand. Jon presses his thumb into the center of Martin’s palm, rubbing small circles there, coaxing Martin further into peaceful relaxation.

“Sorry for interrupting you and Daisy earlier,” Martin murmurs groggily into Jon’s shoulder.

“Oh, we were just listening to The Archers.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Martin asks, opening one eye to scrutinize Jon’s expression.

“Unfortunately not.”

“You like The Archers.”

“Good lord, no. Blame Daisy.”

“Daisy likes The Archers,” Martin says, even more dubiously, sitting up now to squint at Jon.

“There are stranger things.”

Martin snorts and nestles into Jon’s side again. “If you say so.”

“Feeling better now?” Martin reflexively snuggles closer. Jon laughs softly, a little puff of a breath that rustles Martin’s hair. “I’m not going to deny you cuddles if the answer is ‘yes,’ you know.”

“Cuddles,” Martin whispers, the word dissolving into a clipped giggle.

“What?” Jon tilts his head. There’s a puzzled scowl on his face, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should take offense. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Cuddles,” Martin repeats, in a poor approximation of Jon’s voice this time. “Not a word I ever expected to hear from you.”

“Quiet, you,” Jon huffs, but he can’t disguise the way his indignant pout cracks into a smile under the weight of his own amusement. He almost seems to preen, as if pulling a laugh from Martin is a victory on which to pride himself. He reaches up with his free hand, pausing just above the top of Martin’s head. “May I?”

At Martin’s affirmative, Jon begins to comb his fingers through Martin’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. For the briefest of moments, some primal fragment of him recoils from the contact, instinctively unnerved by the vulnerability inherent to such closeness. Martin spurns that voice, breathes through its fit of angst and panic, and leans into the touch.

Little by little, step by step, he’s acclimating. He just wishes that it wasn’t such a process each and every time he lets his guard down like this.

“Bad day?” Jon asks once Martin settles.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Martin groans. “But I should.”

“Only if you want to.”

“No, you should know, I just…” Martin heaves a wearied sigh. “Peter’s back.”

Jon gasps like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. The hand stroking Martin’s hair abruptly stills; the other, still clasped in Martin’s, constricts like a death-grip.

“Did he hurt you?” The question is steeped in an artificial, fragile sort of calm, but Jon can’t quite mask the intensity buzzing just under the surface: fear, protectiveness, and desperation all intermingled and reinforced by that ominous inkling of power that, despite his intentions, lurks behind every word.

“He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just… trying to get me to recommit to the Lonely.” Martin scoffs. “And of course he was trying to do it in a way that would make me feel like it was my idea. Get me to convince myself that it was what I wanted, rather than something he was pressuring me into.”

“Of all the Powers, the Lonely is one of the most insidious, I think,” Jon says quietly. “It seeks out victims who already have one foot in the Lonely, reinforces those fears, promises kinship – a paradoxical form of it, anyway – and then it just… waits. Spend enough time disconnected from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take long to start telling yourself the lie that it’s for the best. That it’s what you are; that it’s all you’re meant to be.”

“And I fell for it,” Martin mutters.

“Anyone would, subjected to the right conditions.” Jon waits until he catches Martin’s eye before he continues. “It isn’t your fault. This is what the Fears do. It’s what they are. They find an opening, they sink their hooks in, and they pull you under. They don’t let go until either you drown or you learn to breathe fear. The only way out is for someone to throw you a lifeline, and even then, the odds aren’t great. And the Lonely in particular – one of the first things it does is make it difficult to even conceive of a lifeline. It’s hard to catch hold of one if you never think to look for it.”

“I thought you hated convoluted metaphors.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately the Powers That Be tend to elude any sort of straightforward, concrete discussion,” Jon grouses. “Just one more reason to begrudge them, really. My point is, the Lonely is an insufferable liar and so is Peter.”

“What do you know, they’re perfect for each other.” The remark succeeds in putting a lopsided smirk on Jon’s face, much to Martin’s delight. “Anyway, Peter said his plan won’t work unless I’m voluntarily Lonely.”

“He’s right, although his plan has nothing to do with the Extinction. He needs you to choose the Lonely because those were the terms of his bet with Jonah. He poaches you out from under the Eye – gets you to pledge yourself to the Forsaken – and he wins, with the Institute as a prize. He fails to convert you, he loses, and he does what Jonah wants, which is for me to be marked by the Lonely.”

Jon says that last part so nonchalantly. As if it’s a foregone conclusion; as if he’s become so accustomed to dehumanization that it doesn’t even give him pause. Martin grits his teeth, biting back a surge of anger on Jon’s behalf.

“Yeah, well,” he says tightly, “Peter bet on the wrong horse.”

A sharp intake of breath leaves Jon sounding strangled when he says, eyes wide and lips parted, “Oh?”

“I mean, he can’t just sic the Lonely on me like he would any other victim, right? That wouldn’t count as a win. He needs me to choose it. And I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah?” The expression of unguarded, cautious hope dawning on Jon’s face makes him look years younger.

“Yeah,” Martin says, feeling increasingly emboldened. “The funny thing is, I don’t – I don’t think I ever chose loneliness. I never wanted it – that was just a lie I told myself, and the Lonely just – echoed it back to me. S-so Peter’s out of luck, because if there are other options, then the Lonely will always be involuntary. Because it’s not what I want.”

“You – you mean it?” Jon brightens, leaning forward.

Martin’s heart skips a beat and flutters hummingbird-quick against his ribs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jon smile – not like this, that is, beaming and uninhibited and altogether breathtaking. Immediately, Martin decides that he wants more. It seems wrong for something so exhilarating to be so rare.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, and it doesn’t matter, because Jon is in his lap, and Jon is nuzzling into his shoulder, and Jon is here and solid and so, so alive in Martin’s arms, breathing warm and steady into his neck, smiling against his skin, hands scrabbling at his back to cling to his jumper. Martin’s fingers seek purchase of their own, and then something clicks.

“Jon,” he says, leaning back just far enough to confirm his suspicion, “is this mine?”

“Are you just now noticing?” Jon asks, devastatingly fond. “Martin, I’ve been wearing this jumper off and on for the last several weeks.”

“You have?” Martin all but squeaks, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “No. No, you –” Jon’s grin is widening, leaving Martin increasingly flustered. “I – I mean, yes, you have, obviously, I know that, but I – I – I –” Martin gulps, mortified, as Jon finally fails to contain his suppressed laughter. “Look, I didn’t recognize it until just now, alright?”

“Well,” Jon says, ducking his head to chuckle softly against Martin’s throat, “it’s mine now, and you can’t have it back.”

Which is fine with Martin, really, because he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t helplessly charmed by the newfound knowledge that not only is Jon an unrepentant clothes-thief, but apparently also an insatiable cuddler.

End Notes:

To address Martin’s concern: Jon does, in fact, nap in the tunnels sometimes. Listen, with Jurgen Leitner (derogatory) in absentia, there was an opening for the position of Beleaguered Tunnel-Haunting Hermit and Jon has all the necessary qualifications.

So anyways, who else thinks Peter’s bio on a dating app would probably just be that “every living creature on this earth dies alone” quote from Donnie Darko? I bet he thinks 'survival of the fittest' means 'every man for himself'. What an insufferable clown.

No Archive-speak in this chapter to cite.

I wanted to make a joke about a The Archers-themed Monopoly, so I asked duckduckgo if it was a thing. Sadly, it is not. There IS, however, a 1960s The Archers board game, and yes, there ARE eBay listings for it.

The first section of this chapter was written before eps 190-192 dropped. I think it still lines up well enough with what we saw of Melanie & Georgie’s characterization in these most recent episodes, with the qualifier that things have gone very differently in this AU compared with canon. (Also, I took some liberties wrt Georgie’s not-feeling-fear thing, obvi. Some of it matches with the most recent episodes, some of it not so much, but I decided to keep it anyways.)

Oh and I think I might have given myself cavities with the last section of this chapter. (I’m aro-spec; it’s hard to tell when I’m going over the top, but hopefully it’s fluffy without being overly cloying.)

[klmeri]

Imagine an unknown cloudlike space entity finds it way onto the Enterprise, except this particular entity is quite benign, mayhap more so leaning towards benevolent if one considers - in hindsight, of course - the lingering effect of its unannounced visit.  The entity is a rather intelligent creature and, like many similar to its kind, has some empathetic ability regarding others, most especially it seems to the solid, strange and interesting beings who comprise the Enterprise’s crew.  In order to best communicate its intentions, it often changes shape while mind-speaking.  Thus, upon a cursory scan at arrival (not far from its initial entry point via an unmanned hatch near to one of the more private - and popular - amorous rendezvous spots on the ship), it notes one of the strongest emotions it has ever experienced since the beginning of its lifecycle.  So, using superior powers to read from those minds in that alcove an image which symbolizes this new emotion, it transforms to a shape which seems satisfactory for first contact and begins its pursuit of the ones who will speak to it.  

Floating along an oddly empty corridor, it lets the strongest mind it can sense pull it in a specific direction - and soon enough, it arrives outside a closed door and hovers there.  A moment later, a computerized whistling can be heard as the door slides back, revealing the quarry which the entity felt, a tall, looming figure who stands upon the threshold as if summoned in kind by the mind of new visitor.  Seconds of stillness pass, neither the being moving nor the entity doing more than gently hovering close by.  His scrutiny complete, the being arches an eyebrow, states, “Fascinating”, and proceeds to enter the corridor and walk away.  The entity bobs a second longer, and of course follows him.

Elsewhere, two men are pretending not to be deeply interested in each other while in fact the fluttering of their lashes and long looks have fooled no one else on the Bridge.  

“Spock’s never late,” one of them says to the other.  “Yet here I am, and here he’s not.  What do you make of that, Jim?”

“He’s on the way,” Jim says firmly, though no report has been given to the captain to confirm this matter-of-fact statement.  Then the man lowers his voice, teasing, “Bones, am I to believe you’re early on purpose?  Simply to antagonize my first officer?”

Leonard harrumphs as an answer and glances away, although quickly enough his gaze returns to catch on Jim’s.  

Their mild smolder of a stare is broken only the tell-tale ding of someone’s arrival by turbolift.  As one, the pair turns to greet their errant third.  McCoy immediately bursts out happily, “Mr. Spock!  You’re late!”

The captain is seen tamping down on a grin, but in the next moment his amused expression changes to first confusion, then a hint of delight as he rises from his chair.  “Mr. Spock,” he tuts, “what is this?”

McCoy’s eyes have widened in surprise alongside everyone else’s, but unlike the rest, his shock is accompanied by a deepening red hue to his face.  “Why, Spock,” he begins to drawl slowly, flustered by his own surprise and no doubt by some other sweeter emotion as well.

Mr. Spock, hands tucked at his back, merely looks back at the captain and the doctor a moment before stepping aside, allowing the object suspended in the air next to him to be fully viewed by a rapt Bridge crew.  It is bright red and heart-shaped, rather reminiscent of the helium balloons once widely used during celebrations of the long-ago Earth holiday known as Valentine’s Day.  Naturally one such as Jim Kirk recognized it straight away, being a man who prefers older, sappier traditions.

“Mr. Spock,” he says with a smile, moving to the upper platform, McCoy on his heels, “you shouldn’t have!”

The Vulcan raises both eyebrows this time, querying, “Sir?”

“Who’s it for?” Leonard chimes in, looking like he’s simply waiting for confirmation of what he already knows.

Spock blinks once, placidly, and says, “I see,” as if he is now in fact aware of the unfortunate misunderstanding taking place.  “Captain,” he starts, only to quickly step forward and lock a hand around the wrist of the man in question who is reaching for what he considers a beautiful gift (all-the-while murmuring appreciation for his officer’s unexpectedly romantic nature).  

“That would be highly inappropriate,” Spock remarks sharply.

Jim looks at him, surprised.  “It would?”

“But it’s for us!” Leonard argues, pursuing his mouth in consternation.

“I believe the creature is here to visit,” Spock informs them both, and the heart-shaped entity bobs in response.

Jim and Leonard snap their mouths closed as the entity proceeds to shimmer and sparkle with eagerness, signifying a strong desire to meet and learn about each of these beings so very unlike itself.

The men consider the newcomer a few seconds longer, share a look, and then return silently to the center of the Bridge.  Never has an encounter by a friendly creature inspired such abject disappointment, the remaining audience - barring one oblivious Vulcan commander - can mutually agree.  And it will be awhile before Dr. McCoy and Captain Kirk hold a conversation with said curious visitor without simultaneously sending very long, very sad looks toward their mutual crush.

The entity has understood one defining characteristic of humankind, at least.  Love is, above all else, their greatest preoccupation!

[amberskywrites]

Soulmarks and Surprises

First fic for this fandom! A bit iffy on how well it turned out- but! Hopefully as I write more for this fandom the more comfortable I can become with the characters and writing fics with them! Anywho- enjoy!

Masterpost

Pairing: Zukka

Fandom / Genre: Avatar the Last Airbender /  Fluff

Summary: Soulmarks and soulmates were something that was pushed to the back of people's minds once the fire nation attacked... Suddenly, it was no longer a priority to find the one you were supposedly destined to be with, all according to black images somewhere on your body. 

Well, Sokka at least doesn't have to look too far to find his soulmate.

-------------------

Sokka had noticed the mark a long time ago, when they were staying in Ozai's old house. He was watching Zuko teach Aang firebending one day, and couldn't help searching the prince's torso for that telling mark. He was curious if Zuko even had a soulmark.

He never usually thought much of soulmarks. They were common, but often overlooked at this point. It was difficult for most to find their soulmate after the fire nation started trying to take over the world, and suddenly soulmates weren't the most important thing in cultures anymore. But with the war hopefully ending soon… Sokka wondered if people would become more determined to find their soulmate.

Suki wasn't his, he knew that. The two had compared their marks late one night when they had become curious, and although they looked kind of similar, it was clear they weren't the same. Sokka's was a wave that crashed and turned into flames, and Suki's were flames being blown into a night sky by a fan.

Sokka had never seen Katara's soulmark, and Aang… Aang didn't seem to have one. Sokka assumed it was because he was the Avatar, so maybe he just wouldn't ever have a soulmate. And Sokka hadn't tried seeing Toph's.

But he was curious about Zuko's soulmark. And so, watching him train Sokka observed and searched until he spotted it. It was on the same side his scar was on, on his lower back, easy to hide if he wanted. And Sokka's heart stopped beating for a few moments as he stared at the mirror image of his own mark.

Sokka had trouble sleeping that night, but with the comet arriving soon, Sokka decided that he could bring up the soulmark another time.

-

The day before Sozin's comet, Sokka finally pulled Zuko aside. He couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of one of them dying and Zuko not at least knowing that they were soulmates. Sokka thought he had a right to know, so that if Sokka did die and Zuko lived Zuko could at least not spend years hoping to find his soulmate. 

Zuko tilted his head at Sokka, frowning slightly. "What's going on with you?" he asked. "You're more jittery than usual."

Sokka let go of Zuko's arm, instead folding his own arms over his chest. "I… I really need to talk with you about something, something that I've known for a bit now." Sokka didn't meet Zuko's eyes as he spoke, trying to gather his thoughts.

Zuko waited patiently, watching as his friend worried at his bottom lip. He'd never seen Sokka appear this nervous before, really. "It's about soulmarks, specifically yours."

Zuko stiffened slightly at that, frown deepening. He thought no one cared about those anymore… he certainly didn't like them, especially knowing he had one and that some poor soul was quite possibly destined to be with him. As a child, because of the water mixing with flames in his soulmark, Azula would tease him because his soulmate would probably be a waterbender, or from one of the water tribes at least, something not really sought after in his family.

"Yeah?"

Sokka nodded.

Zuko also really didn't like the idea that a stupid mark told him who he would end up loving, if they ever met at all-

"I um, I have the same one."

Zuko blinked at Sokka in confusion, his thoughts having come to a sudden halt. It took a moment for Zuko to process what Sokka had said, and he was shaking his head at the water tribe boy.

"No, you don't."

Spirits, Sokka had to be lying. Zuko couldn't think of why Sokka would lie about being his soulmate, but there was no way Sokka was Zuko's. Zuko knew Sokka was destined to be with someone much greater.

"I can show you if you don't believe me." Before Zuko could say anything, Sokka was moving his tunic aside and turned slightly, showing the back of his shoulder. Black swirled together in a pattern Zuko very easily recognized, and he felt his throat closed as he stared at the mark. Sokka took a deep breath as he shifted his clothes back in place. Zuko shook his head again, trying to catch up with his thoughts. "This was probably the worst time to tell you- I should have when I first found out but I couldn't cause I wasn't sure how to bring it up or how you would react or even feel about that, but you deserved to know, especially if things go south and something happens."

The silence was worse than any rejection Sokka could have imagined, it just felt so tense and Zuko looked blank, and Sokka needed just some sort of reaction.

"Zuko, say something, please," Sokka didn't speak loudly, taking a hesitant step towards Zuko. Zuko didn't move away from him, instead, he glanced towards where the others had all made camp. When he returned his gaze back to Sokka, something seemed to switch and he reached out for the young warrior and embraced him tightly.

Sokka was frozen for a moment before he returned the hug, feeling Zuko bury his face in the crook of Sokka's neck. "Don't you dare let things go south," Zuko mumbled, pressing closer. "I want to be able to properly talk about this when we aren't gonna go end this war in about a day."

Relief washed over Sokka for a moment, and his arms tightened around Zuko. "Will definitely try."

-

Things luckily worked out in the end. They talked in the infirmary of the palace and had agreed to try dating, see if they were actually a good match, but they also wanted to take it slow. Things were already moving so quickly in their lives, they didn't need another thing to pile on.

That was roughly three years ago, though. Zuko had been crowned Firelord, and after Sokka healed he returned to the southern water tribe to help rebuild and to also help improve his tribe's home. They exchanged letters for those two years, each letter growing sappier the longer they were apart.

Zuko was reading over a document, one he was planning on proposing to the school administrators soon to change curriculums. He was so focused he barely registered the loud knocking on his door. It was fairly late, he realized as he rose from his desk, back stiff and aching, and he wondered who would even be up at this hour besides some guards.

The knocking continued until he finally opened his door, sighing, about to scold whoever for possibly disrupting some visiting ambassador's sleep. Zuko snapped his mouth shut though at the grinning face in front of him, and the smile was infectious.

"I thought you weren't going to be able to make it for another week?"

Sokka shrugged. "I couldn't help myself from making a surprise visit," and he nodded towards Zuko's room, a silent question. Zuko moved out of the way, letting Sokka inside and Zuko thanked the guard who had escorted him before closing the door.

Sokka was already settled on Zuko's bed and he reached out, beckoning his boyfriend over. Zuko rolled his eyes as Sokka started making grabby hands instead, and he shrugged off his formal robes. He had started wearing more comfortable clothes underneath them so he could feel a bit more relaxed in meetings. Zuko put the robes in a hamper, knowing the servants would come and retrieve them by morning, and he accepted Sokka's embrace, practically melting into the water tribe boy's arms.

"You've been working too hard," Sokka muses as he kicks off his shoes before shifting them both under Zuko's blankets. He did it with ease, Zuko curled up on his lap basically made it easier for him to move and lie down. Zuko nestled into his chest, and felt Sokka remove his hair from the bun he always kept it in. The crown was also taken out, set on the nightstand near Zuko's bed.

"I've gotta if I want to keep improving the fire nation," Zuko says, listening to Sokka's steady heartbeat. Sokka hummed knowingly, fingers combing through Zuko's hair. Zuko sighed at the touch and relaxed further.

"Missed you," Sokka mumbled, and Zuko nodded slightly in agreement. "I can stay longer than I did last time, too."

Zuko glanced up at him, curious. "How long, exactly?" Last time, Sokka was able to stay for about a month. But that was last year. Sokka grins down at him, hand not in Zuko's hair moving down Zuko's back and slipping under Zuko's shirt, tracing the soulmark there.

"As long as I want, if you'll let me."

Zuko returned to his previous position, and he nodded slightly. "Of course, you could stay forever if you truly wanted."

Sokka laughs at that, and he presses a kiss to the top of Zuko's head. "I'll keep that in mind. You look tired though, so how about we sleep, and tomorrow over breakfast you can complain about the boring meetings like you do in your letters."

Zuko huffs, but doesn't object to sleeping and he falls asleep faster than Sokka thought he would. Sokka doesn't mention the pendant he made, that's something he could bring up after he caught up with his soulmate.