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forjongseong · 11 months

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the reward // jay (ENHYPEN)

pairing: student!jay x tutor!fem!reader

genre: campus!au, smut (minors dni) // warning: older reader, they call reader "Noona", profanity, mentions of studying (lol), Heeseung makes an appearance, the rest of hyung-line are mentioned, making out, a lot of making out, just making out, fingering, protected sex (because Jay is responsible) // wc: ~9.5k

summary: you teach for a living, and you had been picking up tutoring since the extra money wasn't that bad. most of your meetings consist of essay-writing, mock tests, and speaking exercises; so when Jay became your student, you weren't expecting the lessons to include rewards.

author’s note: what?? two fics in the span of three days? with this I announce my retirement...

just kidding I STILL HAVE the secretary!Jay series to finish so I won't be retiring soon. this one is based on the rimless glasses series which is like, a random note I made for my wips, and believe it or not, while I made Bite Me sit and marinate on the shelf for so long, I finished this fic below within seven hours. yes, sometimes I am very motivated.

ANYWAY since I kept getting ideas for this one, I decided to sit down and write everything in one go, because if I pause to pick it up later I end up feeling not that confident with my work.

with that being said, I totally loved this one, so I hope you guys will enjoy it AS MUCH AS I DID writing it.

special mention to @excusememissiloveyou who was there the whole time virtually giving me mental support and good reactions

taglist: @thots4hee @end-hyphen @nyanggk @yoursjaeyun @maggstar @bucketofhiros @dimplejaehyuncutie @shinkenprincess-oh @mochimchimo @jongseonglogy @strawberrification12 @xiaoderrrr

You took the last sip of your latte as you tried to hold in your laughter. You then carefully swallowed your drink before chuckling and putting your cup back on the table, and then swatting the guy in front of you for cracking a joke and deliberately trying to make you laugh and choke at the same time.

“No, but seriously, thank you,” Heeseung said, tapping his fingers on the table. “I reached my target score.”

“What was it again?” You asked, at the same time unlocking your phone to check the time.

“7.5,” he answered.

You frowned. “That’s literally the same score you had before you took lessons with me, is it not?”

Heeseung nodded. “But without your help, I probably would have scored lower. Thanks for all the practice. And your time.”

You smiled and waved your hand, pretending to be humble. “Well, you’re welcome. I’m just doing what I get paid for.”

This time Heeseung was the one who chuckled, and before he could say another word you had to excuse yourself because it was time for your afternoon class.

“I’ll make the transfer tonight,” Heeseung said as he stood up, collecting the used napkins on the table. “Oh, by the way, Noona, I gave your number to my friend. He said he needs a tutor too. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Sure, you can broadcast my number to everyone who needs a tutor, to be honest. I’d love the extra money.”

Heeseung snickered and waited for you to start walking. He sped up and held the door open for you as you both exited the café.

“What’s his name? Or her, sorry, I just assumed.” You fixed your bag’s strap on your shoulder before taking out your phone again.

“Jay. He’s a med student too. We’re in the same class.” Heeseung started typing on his phone. “I’ve just let him know that you know he’s going to text you.”

“Awesome,” you said with a smile. “I’ll see you around, Heeseung. Good luck with the semester abroad.”

---

The waitress eyed the empty plates you had set aside before you started scrolling on your phone, and when you made eye contact with her you nodded, and she immediately took the plates away. You then placed an order for a cold drink since you were sure your new student was going to be running late.

“Punctuality,” you sighed to yourself, “should literally be counted in every single score…”

You heard the bell chiming as someone entered the restaurant, and your eyes immediately fell on him. The guy had his hair slicked back with a couple of strands hanging on his forehead, he was wearing a white button-down with a suede jacket on top, and the straight-cut pants he was wearing made you want to ask him where it was from.

“Y/N Noona,” he greeted you with confidence before you could even stand up, “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Hi, Jay,” you watched as he took his backpack off and set it on the chair beside him. He then sat down and looked at you with a huge smile.

The fuck? What is he so attractive for? You thought, smiling back.

“I didn’t know this place existed on campus,” he began, initiating small talk. His eyes were scanning the place, and as he looked around in wonder you thought for a second that he looked like a majestic black cat. And you love cats.

“Yeah,” you said before the silence became too loud. “It’s my favorite place to grab lunch or to hold private sessions like this. So, what do you need an IELTS score for?”

“Same as Heeseung,” Jay answered you only after he looked around for a waiter. He quickly placed his order and refocused his attention back on you. “Did you order yet?” He asked, sounding concerned as he looked around and saw nothing in front of you.

Your drink order arrived, and you thanked the waitress in a whisper and a smile, and you made an effort to explain yourself before Jay started to speculate.

“I already ate, and this is my dessert,” you said, turning the cup around and making sure it was the right order. “You can go ahead and eat while I answer any questions you might have about our lessons.”

“Right,” Jay shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “So, I want to get a higher score than Heeseung, but I’ve never taken the test before, so how many meetings do you think we should have so I can achieve that?”

Confident, curious, and ambitious, you thought. You could definitely work with him.

“Alright,” you began, clearing the space in front of you and taking out your notebook and a pen.

You spent the next two hours talking to Jay, mostly stuff regarding lesson plans, but after that, you asked him about his studies, and he also asked you about your experiences and your current work. He mentioned the names of the students you had previously tutored, Jake and Sunghoon, and only then did you learn that the four of them must have their own clique.

“Where do you usually have your lessons with them?” Jay asked, wiping his mouth with a clean napkin after he finally finished his meal.

“Since they’re only available in between my classes, I usually ask them to go to cafes around the campus,” you replied. “I literally just go where I am asked, though. You guys are the students, so.”

“Can I pick the place for our next meeting?” Jay asked, grabbing his phone. “I’ll match your schedule first.”

You opened your calendar on your bullet journal and started jotting down Jay’s availability while he typed in your schedule on his phone.

“Right, so on Tuesday, since you only have a morning class, let’s have lunch at this place, hold on,” Jay said, eyes glued to his phone as he pulled up a website of the place he was referring to. “Here.”

You craned your neck to look at Jay’s phone, and when you read the address, you tilted your head. “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like it’s walking distance from campus.”

“Oh, I’ll pick you up.” Jay blinked at you innocently. “I’ll drive you back to campus too. Or your home?”

“Campus is fine, I carpool with my brother,” you quickly replied. “Thank you.”

Jay shrugged and checked the time on his watch. “We’re done here, right?”

You nodded. “Unless you have more questions?”

He smiled and shook his head, and you hated the way you thought he was just so damn handsome. He then stood up and made his way to the booth, and you saw him take out his wallet while gesturing to your table. When he walked back to his seat, you leaned in and whispered.

“Did you just pay for my meal?” You asked, trying to be discreet.

“Why are you whispering? Of course, I did,” Jay replied, also whispering to match your energy.

You chuckled and mouthed a ‘thank you’ before you stood up, and you were slightly surprised at how fast he walked ahead of you just to hold the door open.

“I’ll see you Tuesday?” Jay asked, stretching out his hand.

You realized he was going for a handshake, so you took his hand. His fingers grabbed your hand firmly and you had to hold in a wince.

“Tuesday,” you replied, keeping your cool. “Bye, Jay.”

---

After a couple of meetings with Jay, you realized that the guy had grown on you and that he might be your favorite student ever if you were even allowed to have one. Skill-wise, he needed a lot of help, but he was a quick learner, and he took all your advice seriously, putting it into action almost immediately and showing up with instant results.

“Can I ask you what your thought process is like when you write an argumentative essay like this?” You said previously on your second meeting with him, at a café that he picked out.

“I look at the topic and begin writing, and I just… write as I go,” he answered truthfully.

You sighed and he took a quick glance at your face. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.”

You began explaining how outlining an essay was essential to make sure you can get your points across, and as you were speaking you kept looking at your notes, his hands, the window, and everything else except his face. But you can feel his eyes glued to yours. He attended every single meeting with the type of energy that you had never found before in any of your other students, and somehow, he just exudes positivity and passion.

During the meeting after that, he handed you over his homework, along with an extra essay that was written according to your input. He could not hide his stupid grin every time you complimented a sentence structure, and for the first time, you finally made him speechless.

“Thank you,” you said after ending your feedback.

Jay tilted his head and frowned. “What for?”

“For taking my input seriously,” you continued.

Jay became even more confused. “Isn’t that what students do?”

You scoffed and shook your head. “A lot of my students don’t.”

“Well, they’re just dumb, then.”

Your mouth hung open in shock at Jay’s sudden insult, and he found your face hilarious that he just had to cackle, his laugh echoing throughout the place. You covered your mouth and giggled silently, helplessly smacking his arm so he would quiet down.

On your fourth meeting, you requested to have the lesson at the campus café since you had to go home as soon as your session with him ended. This time, however, he was running late, and you had to spend a couple of minutes alone chugging down your latte to stay awake.

“Noona, I’m so sorry,” Jay said as soon as pulled the chair beside you. He sat down and started complaining. “My professor just announced this urgent assignment that we had to do, and…”

The annoyance that came with almost being stood up evaporated completely when you heard Jay yapping about what happened in his class. Maybe you were just too tired to be angry, or maybe you were just happy to see him.

“Shall we just practice Speaking then for now?” You asked after he finished his explanation.

Jay nodded quickly. “Anything you want. Do you want me to order another drink for you?”

“It’s fine, calm down,” you said, chuckling lightly. “Alright, let me look for a topic.”

You quickly browsed your phone and began asking him questions. You made a gesture and pointed to his phone, signaling him to record himself speaking, so he did so without breaking eye contact with you. For the next part, you picked a topic that required him to talk about a close friend, and as he began to elaborate on his answer, it was your turn to look at him intently.

“What I like about her is,” Jay spoke in the middle of his answer. He then paused as if he was searching for the right word to use, but you were feeling sleepy and goofy, so you interrupted him.

“Her smile?” You asked in a teasing tone before you started laughing.

Jay became flustered and quickly waved both his hands to deny your guess. “No, not that!”

He then joined you laughing, and you had to apologize for stretching the time limit he had. You then asked him to continue and wrap up, and after that you immediately gave feedback. However, when you were speaking you got tongue-tied a lot, and you kept saying the wrong words or taking too long to find one.

“Noona, if you’re really tired, we can end the class early, I don’t mind,” Jay said calmly, looking at you with concern but also smiling like he somehow found you adorable.

“No!” You said with an unreasonable tone of refusal. Jay flinched in his seat from how loud you spoke. “No, you already came late, so I’m not cutting this meeting even shorter.”

“Alright,” Jay chuckled to himself. He looked to the ground and saw that you had your shoes off.

Eventually, you gave him constructive feedback and even managed to pull up the previous essay he had written and gave him pointers on the spot. When it was time to wrap up, Jay cleared his throat before proposing an idea.

“Noona,” he began, “can we have the next meeting at my place?”

“Sure,” you replied without hesitation. “What’s the name of the café this time?”

Jay smiled and shook his head. “I meant my place, as in, my house.”

“Oh?” You paused and let your hand hover over your book, trying to formulate a response. “Uhm, I have never—”

“If you feel uncomfortable, it’s fine. We can go to another place. You can choose!” Jay quickly revised his statement, worried that he made the wrong decision of even voicing his idea.

“Well, where do you live?” You asked, genuinely curious.

“Not walking distance from campus,” Jay said with a smile. “But again, I’ll drive you there and back. I live alone, it’s my parents' house, but they’re currently living in another city to take care of their business, so they left the house to me. And we won’t be alone, I’ve got some workers who are doing renovations, so…”

You realized how flustered he became, and by now you already know that Jay tends to say a lot of words when he was nervous, so to save him from further embarrassment, you nodded. His eyes lit up when he finally got an answer from you.

“I’ll text you when you can pick me up,” you said. “Don’t be late.”

Jay licked his lips before grinning widely. “I won’t.”

---

You were lounging on a huge sofa, a couple of pillows under your head and between your legs, and you winced as you heard the sound of ongoing construction outside the house. You glanced over to Jay, who had his eyebrows knitted and his rimless bluelight filter glasses perched on his nose, studiously reading the questions on his laptop screen. The noise-canceling headphones you brought proved to be useful, as he seemed to stay focused really well, and you wondered why he did not own a pair.

After introducing the idea of taking mock tests online and reviewing them right away, you ended up staying for longer hours whenever your meetings were held at Jay’s place, and when you first came there, one of the workers mistook you for Jay’s girlfriend. You then began to wonder if he had brought home other girls as well.

“Noona,” Jay called for you, breaking your chain of thoughts. “There’s no way I can answer this one correctly.”

Jay pulled his headphones down and gestured for you to sit next to him, so you did, and he pushed his laptop to your side so you can see its screen better. He was complaining about the true-false-not given questions, and he was getting frustrated because he could not tell the difference between false and not-given.

As you began to explain, Jay pulled the laptop closer to his side again, and you wanted him to read but also listen at the same time, so instead of pulling it closer to you, you moved closer to him. You ended up sitting closer to the coffee table and closer to the screen, with Jay sitting right behind you.

“So, if you see this passage here, the third paragraph,” you said, pointing at the screen. You did not hear a reply. “Jay?”

“Sorry,” Jay quickly replied, shaking his head. “Sorry, I zoned out. You smell so good.”

You were not going to let Jay see you blush, so you merely chuckled and cleared your throat. “Okay, moving on.”

You continued explaining, and Jay kept responding to you with one-word answers or mere hums, and you thought as long as he was paying attention, you did not need to check on him.

Little did you know that as you were speaking, his eyes were scanning your whole body. He leaned in ever so slightly to take in your scent better, and he noticed how sheer the button-down you were wearing was. He could barely see the outline of your light blue bra strap, and as you adjusted your position, he realized he was leaning in too close, so he quickly backed away before he got caught.

“Do you get it now?” You asked, looking back at him.

Jay was leaning against the sofa, a fair distance from you, but his eyes were focused on your lips, and that was a hard thing not to notice. To be frank, you were fighting yourself and trying to regulate your heartbeat whenever it beat faster when he came a little too close to you, and now you were beginning to think that the feeling might be mutual.

“Jay?” You asked. You then waved your hand in front of his face. “You seem out of it—”

You could not finish your sentence as you were in shock from the way his hand grabbed your wrist. You froze instantly, and your heart was beating even faster than when he was up close.

“Sorry,” Jay said, clearing his throat. He lowered your hand and let go of your wrist. “Sorry about that.”

“We can end the session now if you don’t feel well—”

“Noona,” he interrupted, “don’t end it now.”

“Okay,” you replied as you shifted in your seat and turned to face him. “How can I help you understand this better?”

Jay licked his lips and looked at the screen before looking at you, and within a short moment, he was flipping coins in his head, trying to imagine the different possible outcomes that would happen if he suggested what he was thinking the whole time.

“If I get the answer right,” he began, “would you show me your boobs?”

The question came out of nowhere and your immediate response was to laugh out loud, but once you looked at his face you realized he was dead serious, and since he asked politely you decided to entertain the idea.

“Alright, why not? Nothing to lose here,” you replied, confident that he would get the answer wrong. It was one of the types of questions that you hated the most because of how tricky it was, so you were convinced that even he would not get it right.

You were glad that you were wrong, for the first time in your life.

“I got it right, didn’t I?” Jay asked minutes later as you leaned closer to look at the screen, scanning the answer key and looking at Jay’s answer.

“Goddamnit,” you muttered, mindlessly clicking the mouse all over the screen.

You heard Jay whisper a ‘yes’ triumphantly and you sighed to yourself before turning around to face him. You began pulling your button-down up from the tuck in your pants, and Jay’s eyes immediately widened.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He shouted, reaching his hands out to stop you. “What are you doing?”

“Flashing you?” You asked back, fingers frozen at the edges of your shirt.

Jay chuckled and fell back leaning his head on the sofa, taking his glasses off and covering his eyes with his forearm. “Noona, I was just joking.”

You felt disappointed, for some reason, and a little bit humiliated. Was he really just using you to feel motivated? And did that actually work? Were you secretly hoping for him to get the answer right?

“Really?” You asked again for confirmation. Jay nodded.

You paused for a second and then smiled. Jay thought you were going to say, ‘Good one’, but then you began scooting closer to him, and he immediately tensed up.

“So, when I sat down in front of you, and you got distracted, that was part of the act?” You asked, almost batting your eyelashes at him.

You could basically hear him gulp. “Yes,” he said, eyes on yours.

“You said I smelled good, was that just a joke too?”

“No,” Jay answered, chuckling this time. “You really do smell good.”

You reached a spot close enough to hear his thoughts, your breasts just inches apart from his chest.

“I really hope you’re not lying,” you whispered, your lips almost grazing his.

Jay let out a soft grunt before he pulled you by your wrist, and you yelped as he somehow managed to maneuver you to sit on his lap. You then kissed him first, pushing him back and letting his head rest on the seat cushion. Both his hands began riding up your thigh as you mercilessly dominated the kiss, quickly tangling your fingers in his gorgeous hair.

His hands moved to your ass to give it a squeeze and you moaned into his mouth, your body shaking and quickly succumbing to his touch. You began grinding on him, barely feeling his bulge, but as he began to dominate the kiss you heard feet shuffling right out the terrace.

“Jay?”

You jumped out of his lap at the sound and immediately made your way to the open kitchen, pretending to busy yourself. Jay cleared his throat and wiped away his saliva, or maybe yours, from his mouth. He stood up and walked over to one of the construction workers who called him, and you tried to observe them quietly as he spoke to him. He held himself with so much composure, almost like he did not even get caught making out with his tutor.

The worker then nodded, and Jay waved slightly at him, and you assumed that the man just gave Jay an update before excusing themselves for the day. You took a deep breath and held the empty glass you took in one hand while massaging your temple. You saw Jay making his way towards you with an apologetic smile on his face.

“Sorry again,” Jay said, standing on the opposite side of the counter. “I actually… don’t have anything else to say.”

You chuckled and looked down to avoid eye contact because you were sure that one more look from him would make you combust.

“Are you okay?” Jay asked, voice full of concern.

“I am, why?” You replied, confused.

Jay shook his head, unsure. “I just did not want to come off as a… I just hope you know that I’m not taking advantage of you, and I really don’t want you to feel—”

You began laughing softly and Jay had to stop speaking.

“Noona?”

“It’s fine,” you said as you began walking to him. You fixed a strand of his hair that was out of place from how much you were ruffling his hair earlier. “I’m okay.”

Jay kept his eyes on you, and you detected a different emotion. Before, you saw that it was lust, but now his eyes seemed hopeful.

“If you’re really okay with it,” Jay spoke, placing a hand behind his neck, “do you think it would be cool if we make it, like, a regular thing?”

“Elaborate, please.”

Jay chuckled softly. “I meant like, I think I could get motivated a lot if there was a reward waiting if I get a question right. Or if I reach a certain score in a mock test, don’t you think?”

You liked the idea very much that there was literally no reason to refuse. “I actually agree.”

“You do?” Jay started smiling widely. “Okay, cool, so the next meeting—”

“You’ll have to pick me up again after my class,” you interrupted, “and we’ll probably need some snacks here.”

Jay nodded firmly as if he had just negotiated a great deal. “Wait, Noona, you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

You shook your head. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Of course not,” Jay scoffed. “I just didn’t want to get in between of anything.”

You pouted and nodded, understanding. “Well, you’d probably be getting in between something.”

Jay tilted his head in confusion, and you brought your hand to your thigh, patting it. Jay closed his eyes and sighed. You giggled at his reaction.

“This session is over. You need to drive me back,” you demanded, placing the glass you were holding the whole time back on the counter.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Jay muttered before winking at you and turning around to go grab his car keys. You rolled your eyes before following him.

---

To say that you could not wait for your next session with Jay would be an understatement. You were literally counting the days, down to the minute, and you were checking your phone a ridiculous number of times just so you could respond to his chats in an instant. When he picked you up and you saw him getting out of the car to open the door for you, your heart was beating like a drum.

It was understandable, and pretty logical, actually. You had not been intimate with anyone in a long time, and Jay was, quite frankly, fucking hot. It did not help that he was intelligent as well, which was definitely your type. Your heart was racing, and your mind was imagining a thousand different scenarios that you did not even realize that you had arrived at Jay’s place.

You quickly noticed the absence of noise when you stepped out of the car. Jay walked up to the door and looked back at you, noticing how you were also silent.

“It’s a day off for the workers, today,” Jay explained, “it’s just you and me.”

“Thank God,” you muttered.

Jay chuckled. “What?”

“Did I just say that out loud?” You asked back in shock.

Jay laughed, genuinely finding you amusing. “You said it under your breath, but I heard it.”

“How embarrassing,” you said to yourself as you entered the house after him.

“On the contrary,” Jay responded, “I find it adorable.”

For this session, you decided to stay as farther away from Jay as possible, to let him focus and also to clear your mind. He was doing a mock test on his laptop after he received major feedback on his homework essay, and you took the time to wander around his kitchen and check his supplies.

“I can hear you opening the cabinets,” Jay spoke in a louder tone, all the way from the living room.

“Don’t mind me,” you shouted back. “Just focus if you want to get a good score.”

“What was the reward again?” Jay asked, smiling to himself as he scanned the question on his screen.

“A make out session if you reach 7,” you reminded him despite knowing full well that he just wanted you to recite it back to him. “And if you reach 8, I’ll give you a blowjob.”

“Fuck,” Jay muttered to himself.

You were unsure if it was because the thought made him unable to focus, or if he was actually struggling to answer the questions. After a few more minutes, he finally finished his Reading mock test, and you walked over to check his score.

“Noona, I present to you,” Jay began speaking, proudly, “a 7.5.”

Your eyebrows knitted as you observed the screen and scanned the page, checking Jay’s answers and matching them with the answer key. Meanwhile, Jay was leaning back and stretching his arms up, cracking his neck and basically doing preparations as if he was about to run a marathon.

“Good job,” you said, pushing the laptop towards the center of the table. You then turned around only to find him sitting comfortably on the sofa, arms to his side and his lap looking so inviting.

“Can I get my reward now?” He asked, eyes glowing and expecting.

“I’ll count it as a 7, since we never agreed on anything if you get a .5 score,” you said, taking the scrunchie from your wrist and tying your hair up in a messy bun.

“I’ll take anything,” Jay whispered, his arms welcoming you as you carefully straddled him.

You paused to place your hands on the sides of his face, and you bit your lower lip slightly before you leaned into him. His lips greeted yours warmly, and you could not help but sigh into his mouth once you felt his heat envelop you. Jay roamed his hands around your waist, up to your back, and lingering on your shoulders for a moment, pushing you even closer to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered into your lips. “You taste so good, Noona.”

You smiled and kissed him even harder, hoping it would translate into gratitude. You felt his fingers going under your shirt, grazing your skin and you shivered at his touch. He continued kissing you, licking your lips, tugging on your tongue, teeth slightly clashing with yours when the two of you got way too passionate. His fingers tugged your bra and he pulled away only to ask you a question.

“Can I?” He spoke, voice raspy from the lack of air. You wanted it just as much as him, so you nodded quietly.

He unhooked your bra with one hand and immediately moved his hand to the front, squeezing your tits as he continued to devour your lips. You began moaning helplessly, and you could feel him growing hard against your core.

“Jay,” you whined, “your reward is just a make out session.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, but doesn’t this feel so good?”

You felt him pinch your hard nipple slightly and you flinched before giggling, hiding your blushing face in the crook of his neck. You realized that he had a birthmark there, so you began kissing it, then licking it, then sucking on it, and only then did Jay let out a moan that sounded new to you.

“Noona,” he said, breathless. “We need to establish clearer rules and rewards.”

You kissed him all the way up to his jawline before meeting his lips again. “What do you mean?” You spoke against his lips.

“How about,” Jay said, pausing to groan since he felt his hard-on getting too restricted against his jeans. “For 7.5, I get to finger you?”

You pulled away from him to look him in the eyes and chuckled. “That sounds like more of a reward for me than it is for you.”

“But I really want it,” Jay confessed. “Please let me finger you.”

“Now?” You asked, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Jay nodded. “Aren’t you wet yet?”

He took the liberty to slide his hand under your pants, which happened to be elastic, thank God, and placed two fingers right along your slit. You elicited a whimper, and Jay could swear that you even shuddered at the sudden contact.

“You are,” Jay announced boldly. “Would you let me?”

His palm was right on your core anyway, and you thought that it would be stupid of you to refuse since he was already making you feel so good. Besides, his argument made sense.

“Okay,” you answered breathlessly, and within a second Jay was pulling your pants down to the floor.

“Seamless,” he commented as he eyed your panties. “Why am I not surprised?”

You shook your head and chuckled. “Why? Do you prefer a lacey thong?”

Jay stroked the inside of your thighs gently as he guided you by your waist to sit back down on the sofa, letting him hover his body over you.

“I would actually prefer nothing,” Jay whispered before closing the gap between your lips.

You felt his tongue enter your mouth and his fingers slipping inside of you almost at the same time, and the immense pleasure made you arch your back. His two fingers curled up inside you, making a ‘come hither’ motion that somehow felt gentle and harsh at the same time. He was moving his fingers at a slow pace, but the pressure he put on made you see stars.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, reaching for Jay’s arms to hold on to. “Jay…”

He loved the way you moaned his name, so he curled his fingers one more time and you whimpered, feeling your legs beginning to shake.

“Fuck,” you muttered again, tilting your head to the side, and letting Jay leave love bites along your neck. “Fuck, Jay, I’m gonna cum.”

“Please do,” he whispered into your ear, maintaining his pace the moment you told him so.

When you finally reached your high, your legs were shaking, and your body was spasming, and Jay had to wipe the sweat that formed on your forehead, tucking your hair behind your ear at the same time. His hand was drenched, and you could feel your cum trickling down onto the sofa.

“Oh my God, sorry,” you said in an instant.

Jay shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said calmly, waiting for you to catch your breath before he deemed it was time to pull his fingers out of you. When he did, you watched as he stared at them, two fingers glistening with your essence. He brought his hand up to his mouth and took a sniff before tasting it. The sight made you roll your eyes back.

“It’s unfair,” Jay began, “the way you taste as good as you smell.”

“God,” you said to yourself, and Jay laughed lowly, proud of how he was able to render you speechless. “What about you now?”

Jay tilted his head and then looked down at the obvious tent in his pants. “Oh, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it later.”

“In that case,” you said, pushing his chest slightly so he could move away from you. You tugged down your panties that had stayed on the whole time, and when you took them off your ankles you handed them to Jay.

“For later.”

You smiled as he took your panties in his hand, and you cackled the moment he took a sniff dramatically.

“Thanks, Noona,” Jay said, leaning in to leave a quick peck on your cheek. “Time to drive you back now.”

---

The next couple of meetings were spent in the same manner, more or less. Jay would try his best to get a score as high as he could, but he would never go over 7.5, so all you did was make out with him in his living room, in his bedroom, or even in his car on the ride back to campus. He took it like a champ, though, and he never insisted on taking things further than what you had previously agreed on.

You had one meeting left with him before his scheduled test, and you were dreading the day. Usually, you would be looking forward to meeting him, but all things come to an end, even private lessons, so you halfheartedly dolled yourself up in front of the mirror in your faculty’s restrooms, still determined to look your best for your favorite student.

The car ride to his house was spent in comfortable silence, and you did not mind the way his hand reached for your thigh, resting it there as he rubbed his thumb along your skin. You were wearing a short skirt for a change, and you loved the way it had caught his attention in an instant. Once you arrived, Jay took you by your hand and led you straight to his bedroom for privacy, since the workers were currently at his house.

“Noona,” he called for you before starting the mock test on his computer. You were halfway making yourself comfortable on his bed. “Can you sit with me while I do this?”

“Where?” You walked towards him.

He spun his chair towards you and patted his lap. “Here.”

You chuckled. “Why?”

“It’s our last meeting and I want to be close to you.”

You were underestimating the effects of his words and you felt like your stomach did a flip. You never shied away from his advances, though, so doing it now would be weird. And you did not want it to backfire and end up demotivating him.

“Okay,” you said, turning around before you carefully sat on his lap. You had to adjust your position several times to make sure he was comfortable, and he wrapped an arm around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder as he began the test.

“You can answer in your mind if you want,” Jay said, tilting his chin towards the screen.

You answered by reaching your hand back to stroke his hair, and he hummed in delight as he began answering the test. Eventually, you leaned your back towards his chest and sat comfortably, almost falling asleep from his warmth. You eyed the screen and noticed that he was about to answer a question wrong, so you placed your hand over his and moved the mouse to the right option.

“Isn’t this cheating?” He asked, genuinely unsure.

“I’m giving you a pass, Jay,” you answered calmly, patting his cheek.

After a while, he finished his mock test, and you saw the results come up as soon as he clicked next.

“You did it,” you said, staring at the screen. “That’s an 8.”

You noticed that Jay was silent for too long, and then you realized you had sat on his lap for too long, so you quickly stood up and stretched your legs, smoothing your skirt down.

“Are you ready for your reward?” You asked, eyes full of anticipation.

Jay licked his lips and shook his head. You immediately frowned.

“I feel like if you hadn’t corrected that one question, I would still get a 7.5,” Jay confessed. “It’s okay, I’ll skip the reward.”

“What?” You said, almost spitting your words out. You did not know why his refusal got you so worked up.

“Noona,” he began, reaching for your hands as he stood up from his seat. “I appreciate what you’ve been doing for me, but I also don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

You continued to frown, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I’ve loved the sessions we had, and I’m really thankful for all the rewards, but I need you to know that my goal remains the same, and it’s to get the highest score possible. The test is in a week, and I need to remain focused.”

He really did it, you thought. He used you to his advantage until he didn’t need you anymore.

But you knew that, deep inside. You knew that this way of giving him motivation would be dangerous, more for you than for him. You knew that Jay is a professional and that he takes his studies seriously, so you knew that catching feelings would be out of the picture for him.

Sadly, you forgot to set the boundaries for yourself.

You really thought that you could keep it casual, and you really thought that you were not going to start having feelings for him since it had been ages anyway since you had loved someone, so why does his professionalism hurt you? When in fact, you should be thankful that he respected you?

Your mind was running a mile a minute thinking of possible scenarios, and his face was becoming concerned. Eventually, you managed to fake a smile and you nodded before you said your response.

“As expected,” you began, “from the top student in class.”

Jay blinked, not expecting you to remember the one fun fact that Heeseung had told you about him.

“Your essays have improved so much since the first meeting. Your speaking is fine, just remember not to use fillers too much. You have no problem with the listening section, and for reading, I suggest you keep practicing during the few days before the test.”

Now, Jay was the one with a frown on his face. He was wondering why you were acting so formally again.

“I’ll text you good luck before the test, and when the results are out, tell me your score,” you continued.

“If I get over 7.5—”

“I’ll treat you to lunch.”

Jay scrunched his nose. “Pardon?”

“I’ll treat you to a nice lunch, okay? My pick this time,” you said with a smile so convincing that it was hard for him not to smile back.

“Okay,” Jay smiled back at you, trying to hide the tone of disappointment in his voice.

---

Days had passed by since Jay took his test, and even since the results of it came out. You held back from texting him first since he never responded to your good luck text on the day of his test. You then swallowed the bitter fact that, maybe, or most likely, Jay really was using you and your dumb self had consented to it.

But it could not be, you convinced yourself. He was a gentleman. Would he really do that?

You gave up trying to find answers that might make you feel better, so you decided to busy yourself with other freelance work that came your way. You felt bad turning down the other students that Heeseung had referred you to, and you had to come up with lame excuses like you had no time or you had way too much on your plate.

The real reason was that everything about the test prep now reminds you of Jay, and you would not want to take out your anger and disappointment on your new student. You thought it was best to stop tutoring for a while until you had completely moved on.

One of the latest gigs that got you a little too excited was speaking for a panel discussion in a workshop that was related to your teaching experience on campus. Previously, you attended these events as a participant, sitting in the audience and actively taking notes and recording the speakers, but now you get to see it from the other side of the stage, and you could not help but feel proud of yourself.

You dressed your best to impress, for once not dressing for yourself but for the audience, and when you sat in between the other speakers on stage you became so engrossed that you almost did not realize the familiar figure sitting on the front row but at the farthest chair from the stage.

Jay noticed you looking at him, so he threw you a soft smile and a tiny wave with his hand. You smiled and quickly turned towards the host who had called out your name to address a question. You answered the question and looked at the other speakers on your side, and you were glad that they were nodding along to your response, signaling that you had indeed answered the question correctly.

Surprisingly, it was not hard to stay focused on the rest of the discussion. Jay sat pretty far from your sight, so all you had to do was look anywhere except in his direction. You did look at him one more time, though, and you caught him looking at the huge screen that was focusing on your face as you were speaking. You almost sighed in relief a little too loudly when the session ended, and you gathered your belongings as well as your thoughts as the other people swarmed towards the outside of the hall.

You could feel someone approaching you from behind, and when you turned around Jay was looking at you with a soft gaze in his eyes.

“Noona,” he said.

“Hey, Jay,” you greeted him back.

“Listen, can I speak to you somewhere else private?” He asked before looking around and spotting several people still lingering inside the hall.

“This seems private enough,” you said as you looked around too. “I barely know anyone here.”

Jay became visibly uncomfortable, and you instantly felt bad.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I can drive you home and we can talk on the way, or—”

“Or, you can come up with me to my room,” you suggested.

Jay’s mouth was slightly open as he tried to process your words.

“I am staying here for the weekend. You don’t have to drive me anywhere,” you said with a smile, turning around to grab your bag. Your heart was beating a little too fast to your liking.

Jay tailed you and kept silent as you both waited for the elevator to open. Once it did, you entered and he followed behind you, waiting until the doors closed before he finally began to speak.

“I got an 8.5,” Jay said, looking down at the floor.

Your eyes widened. “Jay, that’s amazing!”

“I’m sorry,” he then said.

You were confused. “What?”

The elevator dinged and two people came inside. You decided to wait until you reached your floor to continue the conversation.

“I’ll explain once we’re inside, I promise,” Jay said as he matched your pace, walking beside you until you reach your door.

His face instantly switched from worried to wonder when he realized that you were walking all the way to the end of the hall.

“The event gave you a suite?” Jay asked, pure curiosity getting the best of him.

You could not help but chuckle. “No, I upgraded myself. Come in.”

As soon as you closed the door, you felt Jay pull your hand before he quickly trapped you between his body and the wall. You did not even have the time to be surprised because the next thing you knew his lips were latched onto yours, and your body betrayed you by reciprocating him and pulling him closer to you.

Jay quickly pulled away when he felt your fingers hooked on his belt. You licked your lips and let your eyes search for his.

“I’m sorry, I owe you an explanation,” Jay said, rubbing his hand on your waist. “I shouldn’t have lunged at you like this.”

You cleared your throat and fixed your hair, gently pushing him away from you before you made your way to the loveseat in the center of the room.

“Have a seat,” you replied, sitting on the sofa yourself and bringing your legs up to your chest.

Jay sat down and took his bag off, letting it fall to the floor as he let out a huge sigh.

“I don’t know where to start,” he confessed.

“Take your time,” you responded, stretching your arm and leaning your head on it. “Maybe start with why you didn’t reply to my texts?”

“I lost my phone,” Jay began. “Literally the night before the test. I had no time to get a new one, and I didn’t want to get distracted, so I just went on and took the test. Right after, though, my professor… that jackass…”

Your eyes widened at Jay’s frustrated insult, and you had to hold back a smile.

“It was just class after class, task after task, I really did not have the time or mental capacity to get back to you, and I don’t want you to think that I consider you as less of a priority, because I don’t, and I really tried to ask Heeseung for your number again, but it’s… you know what? These are excuses. I don’t want to give you excuses.”

You frowned but at the same time, an amused smile was slowly creeping up your face.

“I should have contacted you the minute I could, but I didn’t, and I let other stuff take up my time. That’s my mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Alright, apology accepted,” you said, tapping your fingers on the sofa.

Jay looked at you in confusion. “Really? That easy?”

You clicked your tongue and tilted your head. “That still does not explain why you kissed me a second ago, though.”

“Right,” Jay continued. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. “Right.”

You chuckled lightly and adjusted your position. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Because you’re so fucking gorgeous, and I have feelings for you but I’m not sure you have the same.”

You held a hand over your mouth in shock. “Jay,” you mumbled.

“You understood me wrongly,” he continued. “The day of our last meeting when I said I needed to remain focused. I was trying to confess to you.”

Your eyes were looking into his and you nodded once, telling him to continue.

“I really did not want you to think that I was taking advantage of you. I just grew to like you a lot, and you can’t even imagine how fucking relieved I was when you agreed to my proposal of rewards. Every single time I spent with you only deepened my feelings even more, and I…”

Jay paused to look at you, and you straightened your position.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Rambling when I’m nervous?” Jay said, almost stuttering towards the end of his sentence.

You smiled to yourself before you pushed your body up. You made your way to his side and sat close beside him, touching your thigh with his.

“Well, let me tell you that I’m fucking relieved that you’re here to straighten things out,” you stated, resting a hand on his thigh. “Because guess what?”

You ended your question by inching your face closer to his.

“What?” He muttered under his breath.

“I have feelings for you, too.”

Jay sighed out of relief and smiled before he leaned in to kiss you, and as his hands found their place on your waist, you moved to straddle him. You were both in a familiar position, taking you back to the hours you would spend at his house, making out with him as a reward.

“Noona,” he spoke against your lips in between kisses. “When I said if I get more than 7.5, I was going to say I wanted to eat you out.”

You broke down laughing against his lips and you had to move your face to his neck so he wouldn’t choke on your breaths.

“You just had to interrupt me and say that you were going to treat me to lunch,” Jay continued before bringing your face back up and devouring your lips again. “You kind of owe me.”

You hummed against his lips and guided his hands to go underneath your shirt. He unhooked your bra with ease before moving his hands to cup both your breasts.

“God,” you muttered, grinding your hips harder against his crotch.

“Noona,” Jay breathed, moving his hand to unbutton your shirt. “Can’t you moan my name instead?”

“Oh, Jay,” you whispered, chuckling when you see him smile as your hands cupped his face. “You sweet little thing.”

Jay had managed to take both your bra and your shirt off in an instant, and you brought his head closer to your breasts so he could fondle them with his mouth. You moaned louder as he nibbled on your nipple, grinding faster against his hips and placing your hands firmly on his head.

“Why don’t I treat you to lunch now?” You proposed, tugging his hair and making him look up at you.

Jay nodded and you moved away from his lap, standing up and bringing him to his feet too. You started unbuttoning his shirt as you walked backwards, leading him towards the bed. He placed his hands firmly on your waist, letting you do your thing. Once the back of your legs hit the bed, you sat down and took off your panties and trousers in one go. Jay immediately kneeled in front of you.

“I still have your panties, Noona,” he said as you rested your legs comfortably on his shoulder.

“What do you do with it?” You asked, challenging him.

“I touch myself with it and imagine doing this to you.”

His lips brushed against your folds without warning, and you immediately fell back to the bed, lying down. He kissed your clit before running his tongue along your slit, and the warmth and wetness of his mouth drove you crazy. You began pulling on his hair, determined to get him even closer, and he reacted by hooking his arm around your thighs, humming as he lapped up your arousal.

“Jay,” you whimpered. “You’re doing so good.”

He began making loud wet noises deliberately, knowing how it would make you moan louder, and when you were squirming under his touch he inserted a finger, all the while toying with your clit using his tongue.

“Fuck!” You hissed, arching your back and lifting your ass from the bed. “Don’t stop, Jay, please.”

You pressed the ball of your foot against Jay’s back as he continued to eat you out, taking you to your first high of the night and cumming against his mouth. You were breathing loudly, panting so much like the air was sucked out of you. Jay squeezed your thigh before unlatching his lips, then he gently caressed your folds with his fingers, collecting the remains of your cum before licking them dry.

“Come here,” you begged, your hands reaching out for nothing until he moved and placed himself between your legs.

Jay leaned down and began kissing your jaw, and you took the liberty of unbuckling his belt and tugging his pants down as he devoured your neck. You felt the bulge underneath his boxers and almost froze at the contact.

“What’s wrong?” Jay asked, noticing how you stopped moving for a split second.

“You’re…” You tried your best to look down at his crotch. “You’re fucking huge.”

Jay was the one with a breathy chuckle now, amused at your reaction.

“That’s because it’s hard, and that’s because of you, Noona.”

“Fuck me, then,” you replied, bringing one hand to squeeze his biceps. “Literally, please.”

“Wait, let me just…”

Jay moved away from you to reach inside the pockets of his pants before kicking it off then he pulled his boxers off completely, and only then you realized he was holding a condom.

“That condom was in your pocket this whole time?” You asked in disbelief. “Were you expecting this to happen?”

“Noona,” Jay looked at you with a smirk. “You know how driven I am.”

“Oh my God,” you retorted, chuckling and covering your eyes with your arm. “Can’t believe I fell for it.”

Jay unwrapped the condom and slid it down his length with ease.

“Staying safe, are we?” You asked with a smile as you welcomed him back into your embrace.

“Well, I’m a med student, so…”

“Okay, enough, let’s just fuck.”

Jay kissed your face a couple more times until it got annoying because he was clearly stalling. You grabbed his face and he chuckled, biting his lower lip.

“You’re really pretty,” he confessed all of a sudden.

“And you’re hot as fuck, so can you just fuck me please?”

Jay nodded and kissed you with a smile, aligning his tip with your slit. “Take a deep breath,” he whispered.

You did as he said, and you were glad you did. Jay filled you up and once again you had underestimated your own predictions. Back when you were still just making out and straddling him, you only had a faint idea of his size, and he was wearing loose pants all the time, so it was not like you were able to tell easily. Your breath became shaky as you felt him bottom out, and he brought his hand up to caress your face.

“Tell me if it’s okay to move,” he whispered ever so gently before kissing your nose.

You opened your eyes and found him staring at you. You were breathing from your mouth, so he tilted his head to kiss your cheek softly. After that, you reached your hands under his arms, latched them on his shoulders, and then you nodded.

He pulled out of you and thrusted back in gently, and the force already had you gasping for air. Once he found a steady rhythm, you began matching his pace, thrusting your hips upwards and meeting him halfway. It was impossible to hold back your moans, and if you weren’t moaning you were whimpering, or breathing his name with every stroke he made.

“I’m close, Noona,” he spoke against your lips.

You nodded and ran your fingers through his hair. “Me too.”

Jay began increasing his pace, thrusting into you with a little more force. He looked down and placed a hand under your thigh, keeping your leg secure beside him. He then looked up at you to check if you were still okay. You licked your lips and pulled him into a kiss. His thrusts soon began to grow sloppy, and after he finally released his seed, your walls clenched around his shaft, letting him know that you had reached your high too.

You slowly try to catch your breath, and Jay kissed you once more before pulling out of you, careful not to make a mess. He took the condom off and tied it before quickly chucking it in the bin, and he made himself comfortable lying beside you. Your hand was looking a little lonely, so he took it and intertwined his fingers with yours.

The two of you sat in silence as both your chests heaved up and down. You turned your head to look at Jay and he was closing his eyes as if he was savoring the moment. You scooted closer to him, taking your hand away but letting him wrap you in his arms.

“So, what are we?” You asked in the most straightforward manner.

Jay’s heavy breaths turned into a chuckle, and soon after you were both just laughing like idiots madly in love.

-END-

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roosterforme · 8 months

Text

Batting Practice Part 33 The Epilogue | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Some things never seem to change for Bradley. But maybe he worked at keeping them the same. Baseball, Everett and you.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Seventeen and a half years later...

"Happy birthday, Coach," you whispered, slowly coaxing Bradley awake. He could feel your warm breath on his cheek and the weight of your hand resting on his chest.

"Mmm, Kitten," he rasped, placing his bigger hand on top of yours as he cracked his eyes open. And there you were, fresh from sleep yourself, and so beautiful with the early morning sunlight catching on the angles of your face. "It's Sunday. Why won't you let me sleep in?"

"Because it's your birthday. And we get to see Ev."

Bradley stretched and rolled over so you were pinned deliciously underneath him. "We won't get to see Ev until later this afternoon. He's going to have a very busy day."

"I'm not so sure about that," you said with a smirk as you dragged your fingers through his hair. Bradley knew he was going gray, but you claimed you liked it, including the few stray strands that found their way into his mustache.

"You sound like you've got something up your sleeve. Wait, Molly's not coming over to break the stove again, is she?"

You started laughing as you wrapped your legs around his. "Not that I know of. But anything's possible with her."

"Poor Bob," he said, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "And the kids, too. She's an absolute menace."

Bradley pulled up your shirt and kissed his way along your breasts. If he was lucky, he'd get round one of birthday sex now and round two tonight after the game.

"Wait," he whined as you tugged your shirt back down. "What are you doing? It's my birthday."

"Yes," you agreed, kissing him once and then slipping right out of bed. "And I've been told I need to keep you on a very strict schedule. So come on. Get up."

"A strict schedule?" he mumbled. "Baby, I'm retired. My schedule revolves around making you breakfast, packing your lunch, coaching tee ball, and watching every single Phillies game."

"Well, I'll be making your breakfast today. And you can eat nachos or a hot dog for lunch even though you should be watching your sodium intake. And we will definitely catch the Phillies game," you said, reaching out to take his hand.

With one more groan, he let you lead him downstairs where you told him to sit at the kitchen counter. He passed his display case on the way and paused to look at his first Coach of the Year trophy and the baseball covered in little faded hearts that he used to propose to you. He smiled at the collection of other baseballs, including the one from the first time his son pitched a no hitter.

"Seriously, Bradley. We have a schedule to keep."

A few minutes later he had his World's Greatest Dad mug full of coffee in front of him. You kept checking the time as you pulled eggs and vegetables out of the refrigerator. Once 8:00 hit, you grabbed his phone from where it sat on the counter and entered his passcode as he sipped his coffee.

"Read this," you said, voice full of excitement.

"What is it?" he asked as you thrust the phone into his hands. It looked like he was going to have absolutely no say over what went on today, so he was just going to go with the flow.

"An article. In the Philadelphia Inquirer. It just got released two minutes ago."

"Okay," he muttered, setting down his coffee and as he started to read.

WILL SEASON FOUR BE AS LUCKY AS ONE, TWO, AND THREE?

by Harrison Boyd

June 27, 2039

From his draft day nearly four years ago to now, Everett Bradshaw has been turning heads. We had collectively wondered as baseball fans from the City of Brotherly Love if we would ever have a truly elite pitcher again after Ronson's career ending injury. But as soon as the franchise acquired Bradshaw, we were allowed to stop wondering. We have reached elite status once again. And Bradshaw shows no signs of stopping.

When I asked the freshly twenty five year old ace about the secret to his success, the first thing out of his mouth was, "My dad."

Bradley rubbed his eyes with his fingers and took a deep breath against the swell of emotions rising in his chest. "Kitten, what is this?"

You just shrugged as you cut up a green pepper for an omelette. "A feature article on Ev. Keep reading."

Bradley took a deep breath and picked up where he left off.

So I asked him, "Was your dad the one at your games who was cheering the loudest? The one who kept you motivated since you were a kid?"

"Not exactly," Bradshaw replied with a smile. "He was my very first coach. He actually still coaches tee ball in San Diego. He wins Coach of the Year so frequently, I think we've all lost count of how many of those little trophies he has at home. But anyway, I met my dad on the very first day I ever played ball. The very first time I swung a bat with instruction was from him. And he's the one who taught me how to pitch. His slider is still really hard to hit."

"You met your dad through tee ball? Through baseball? That's fascinating."

"Yes. I begged my mom to let me play. I was already obsessed with the Phillies by the time I was six. My mom took me to see them clobber the Padres at Petco Park, and I just thought they were the coolest team. So when she let me play tee ball, and I met my coach and learned he also loved the Phillies, I just wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. Turns out, they also wanted to spend time with each other. They got married a few months later. And then my dad adopted me."

While his birth name wasn't Bradshaw, Everett said he never had a close relationship with his biological father. "Really, he's not even worth mentioning. The only one I've ever considered to be my dad is Bradley. I can barely remember a time before he was taking me to the park to hit balls and teaching me how to keep stats. We did my homework together and collected baseball cards. He helped me apply to colleges. The video of him losing his mind when the Phillies drafted me went viral. My mom and my aunt and uncle are awesome, too. But my dad has always understood me in a way probably nobody else ever will."

During his four years at Vanderbilt, Everett earned a reputation as a fun loving, team oriented pitcher. But his stats were enough to catch the eye of every major league team. He pitched a no hitter against Stanford when he was nineteen, and he hit his first grand slam when he was twenty. And he's only cleaned up his form since then. For anyone not keeping track at home, Bradshaw already owns an incredible record in the MLB: he is the only player to pitch a no hitter as well as hit at least one grand slam for every year they played in the pros. His batting averages are practically unheard of for a pitcher.

It's no wonder he was heavily scouted. And he assures us that his dad was there with him every step of the way. "I didn't know anything about contracts. I just wanted to pitch. But I spent a lot of time talking things through with my dad before I made any decisions. And now everyone is making a huge fuss about my new 440 million dollar ten year extension with the Phils, but to be honest, I still just want to pitch as many games as I can."

The 'huge fuss' is being made, because Bradshaw is now the highest paid pitcher in league history. The Phillies went all in on him, however Bradshaw did adjust his deal to assure that the team would be able to keep top catcher Sanchez as well. "If Miguel Sanchez isn't catching for me and the other guys in the rotation, then that's a big problem. The team needed to retain him as well. And to be honest, Harrison, nobody needs 440 million dollars."

Bradley set his phone down, rubbed his eyes, and said, "I still can't believe our son is the highest paid pitcher ever."

"I can," you replied, adding cheese to the omelette. "He's incredible. Keep reading."

When I asked him what he plans to do with 44 million dollars per year, he kind of shied away from the answer at first. "Well my girlfriend runs a nonprofit organization back in San Diego. She helps fund underprivileged children and schools. So a lot of my income goes back to kids in the city where I grew up and beyond. But I've also been working on a bit of a project myself."

When I asked him for more details, he folded his hands on the table in front of him and took a few beats to answer. "We talked a lot about my dad and what he means to me personally, and how he has impacted my career. But I also think it's important to remember that I'm just one guy. I'm just one kid who went through tee ball and little league. There are thousands of kids across the country who benefit from those types of athletic programs every year. And some of them, just like me, really need the positive influence that the coaches bring. So my dad doesn't even know about this yet, but I'm starting the Bradley Bradshaw Foundation, which will help fund a handful of youth tee ball programs every year. This is something I've been thinking about for a long time. The coaches bring the love and dedication; they shouldn't have to worry about equipment costs and field rental fees."

Bradley dropped his phone onto the counter and tried to wipe his eyes as he sobbed. "I can't even finish reading it."

You slid his birthday breakfast onto a plate and set it in front of him. Then you wrapped your arms around his neck and let him cry against your shoulder.

"Why is he doing this?" Bradley asked you. "He knows how fucking emotional I get, Kitten."

You kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Yes, you're always very soft for us. But you're also soft and sweet for all the kids you've coached. Keep reading."

So he pushed his breakfast aside and picked up his phone once again. And once he blinked away most of his tears he read the last part.

When pressed about how he thinks his stats will pan out by the end of his fourth season, Everett 'Grand Slam' Bradshaw laughed and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just trying for consistency. I'm trying to be a good teammate. I'm trying to make the best of every game I get to start. I'm trying to spend as much time with my family as I can. But if you really have a specific question about my stats, you should call my dad. He probably knows better than I do."

Bradley stood up from the kitchen counter and walked away from you. "I need a minute," he said, raking his hands through his hair. The love Bradley felt for his son was just simply part of him. He never took the time to try to pinpoint it exactly, because it was just built into him at this point. But he supposed it really was quite simple to reach back in his mind and pull out the moments when he started to fall in love with you and Everett. And it really was just because of the Tiny Eagles tee ball team.

If he hadn't agreed to help Bob coach that first season, his life would be fundamentally incorrect right now. He didn't even like thinking about it. But it was because of his love for Everett, and you, and baseball that he stuck with coaching. He'd spent time with countless six and seven year olds over the last eighteen years. He'd missed some practices and games for deployments here and there, sure. But giving a little bit of his time and attention to a roster of kids each spring ended up changing his life. Because while his family owned his heart, Bradley found he had quite a lot of patience and love to share with more kids.

"Bradley?" you asked softly, standing next to his untouched breakfast. "We can go see Ev when you're ready."

"I'm ready."

Bradley took a quick shower and put on his favorite jeans and his Phillies jersey with Bradshaw and the number 1 on the back. You were dressed similarly in your own Everett Bradshaw jersey; it had taken until your son was playing for the team for you to have what Bradley considered an adequate amount of Phillies clothing in your drawers. Once Bradley added his backwards hat, he was ready to go.

You took his hand and led him out to the new Bronco, and Bradley handed you the keys. He still felt like he was on the verge of tears again. "I need you to drive."

"Okay, Coach."

When you turned onto the Private Parking Only ramp at Petco Park, Bradley chuckled. "I still can't believe Ev is playing the Padres in San Diego on my birthday."

"You screamed like a small child when the schedule came out," you reminded him as you parked near the players entrance where the three of you had entered on your ballpark tour eighteen years ago.

"Yeah, I know, but we hardly ever get to see Ev during the season unless we fly to Philly." He was already climbing out before you turned the engine off, and then he took your hand as you laughed. "Shit, Kitten... it's 10:00. The game doesn't start until 1:00. Are the gates even open?"

"We can get in," you assured him, and you pulled a lanyard out of your pocket with VIP printed all over it.

"How did we get that?" he asked, leaning down to kiss you as you approached the gate together. "Ev usually just sends us box tickets."

But before you had a chance to answer, the security guard looked at the VIP pass and asked, "Which player are you here to see?"

"Everett Bradshaw?" you replied. "He plays for the Phillies."

The guard's face lit up and he said, "He just autographed a ball for my kids about ten minutes ago! Nicest guy."

"He's our son," Bradley said with pride in his voice, and you squeezed his hand a little tighter.

"Come on in," the guard said with a bright smile, unlocking the gate and sliding it open. "You can wait in the VIP lounge right up this ramp to the right. Scan the pass to unlock the door. I'll call down to the locker rooms and let him know you're here."

"Thanks," Bradley replied, and you led the way up the ramp. "Baby, I'm still a little confused about why we're here so early."

"You'll see in a minute," you replied, scanning the badge. Bradley pulled the door open when it unlocked, and he followed you into the lounge full of plush seats, TV screens, and refreshments. And at the far end, perched on the edge of one of the long tables, was Everett. He was smiling as he tucked his phone in his jeans pocket, and Bradley thought he looked impossibly taller and stronger than he had two months ago when they visited him in Philadelphia.

Bradley's eyes filled with tears as he started closing the distance to his son. "Happy birthday, Dad," Everett said with a laugh in his deep voice, but Bradley was already wrapping him up in a tight hug. He just wanted to hold all six foot two inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of his son, and Everett let him.

Bradley had to fight the onslaught of tears as the familiar feel of Ev hugging him back filled his senses, and the words from the article he read earlier flooded his mind. When he finally released him, he patted him on the shoulder. "You look good, Kiddo. Did you eat enough for breakfast? Are you still starting today?"

Ev smiled at him and nodded, "Yeah, I'm feeling good, Dad. I could probably use some of your pancakes though."

"Well why didn't you say something? I could have brought some with us. Kitten, why didn't you say something?" he asked you as you walked over to join them.

As Everett gave you an enormous hug as well, he said, "I'm thinking about sleeping over at the house with you guys tonight, since I'm not starting tomorrow. You can make me about a dozen pancakes tomorrow morning. Hi, mom."

You kissed his cheek and adjusted his backward Phillies cap. "I like your hair this way. You look so handsome, Ev.

"Of course he does," Bradley agreed. "He looks like you." And then he was rewarded with the twin smiles that you and Everett bestowed on him at the same time. "Listen, if you're coming back to the house later, I need to stop and get groceries. You ate everything in the refrigerator and drank all my beer last time."

Everett just smiled at him. "Damn, I really do miss your pancakes."

"Ev, that's an adult word," you scolded.

"Mom. I am an adult," he scolded back playfully. But he was grinning when he turned toward Bradley. "Did mom make you read the article this morning? From the Inquirer?"

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding his head. "You didn't need to do that for me, Kiddo. But thank you."

His throat was tight with unshed tears as Everett gave him another hug. "I didn't do it just for you. I did it for the other coaches and kids, too. You were just my main inspiration. You always are, dad."

"Please, Ev," he said, sucking in a deep breath as he rubbed his son's back before releasing him. "I might never stop crying."

And he was once again met with Everett's smile and yours. "You're a softie, Coach," you told him, cupping his chin in your hand and kissing him.

"Always for the two of you." Bradley kissed your fingers and then laced them with his as he looked around the room. "How much longer can you hang out with us, Ev? You need to warm up soon?"

"Pretty soon," he replied. "I'll walk you up to the box to meet Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob and the cousins, but we need to stop and take care of something first."

"Take care of what?" Bradley asked, but Ev was already heading for the door past the tables and unlocking it with his own badge. Hand in hand, the two of you followed your son down a long hallway that ended near the locker rooms at a door that said PRESS AND PLAYERS ONLY. "Are we even allowed back here?"

"Well," Everett said, stopping in front of the door, "if you remember the tour we took when I was six years old, this is where we met some of the players."

"Of course I remember," Bradley said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "That was one of the best days of my life. I told your mom I loved her that day."

"He did," you confirmed for Everett.

"You two have always been sickening," Everett replied with a smile. "But yes, we're allowed in here. Actually dad, you're the man of the hour."

"Man of the hour?" he asked. "Kiddo, you're the star pitcher. It's just my fifty-fifth birthday."

But as soon as Everett pushed the door open and Bradley stepped inside, about twenty reporters and photographers started buzzing with excitement.

"Ev, I'm still confused," Bradley said as his son rested a hand on his shoulder. He watched you smile and head to an empty seat at the back of the room. "What's going on?"

Ev rubbed his shoulder before giving him another hug and releasing him. "Every interviewer asks me how I became successful. And my answer is always the same. It's because of you, Dad."

"Ev," Bradley choked out, his throat tight with tears once again.

"So you're in high demand, Coach. I told a few media outlets we would give an interview together. Nothing too crazy. As long as you want to."

Bradley glanced around the room, and as soon as he found you with a bright smile on your face, he said, "Okay."

So he sat down where the players sit, and Everett took the seat next to him. They had on matching jerseys and backward caps, and it didn't matter that he adopted Everett, this had always been his son. They were cut from the same cloth. They understood each other. They were a family.

Everett cleared his throat and announced, "Hey, everyone. This is my dad and my very first coach, retired naval Captain Bradley Bradshaw. He taught me literally everything I know about baseball. Everything I know about anything, really. He showed me how to pitch sliders and curveballs at Myers Park here in San Diego. He made sure I could lose a game with the same attitude as when I won a game. He and I met the first day I ever played tee ball and the very first day he ever coached. And he's been coaching the Tiny Eagles ever since. So I guess if you want to know more about me, then he's the man to talk to."

Bradley was still wiping tears from his eyes when the first interviewer raised her hand, smiled at him, and asked, "Can you tell us how proud you are of Everett?"

He turned to look at his son and smiled. "How much time do I have?"

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

Well, that's it! The tale of Coach Bradley! I can't thank you enough to everyone who has been lovely to me as I worked on and posted this fic. I can't get enough of these three. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32 (and thanks for the banner, Mak!)

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

Still want more? Read Draft Day!

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allwaswell16 · 5 months

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🔔 It's December! That means it's One Direction Advent fic season! Advent fics are generally posted daily from December 1 to December 24/25. Don't forget you can subscribe to the author to get a daily email reminder to read their Advent fic! 🔔

🌟 Baking In December by Itstilliswhatitis

Louis can't believe it! His sisters signed him up for a competition at some bakery and they won! Now he has to spend every day of December baking something with a random dude. Except, the random dude is named Harry and he's hot! Louis realises that this Christmas might be extra special!

🎁 Be Merry All by @justanothershadeofblue {Fic post}

there is a specific sort of oppression that comes with a miserable so-cal christmas, when it’s dark and dirty and rainy or else it's too hot and too bright and everyone’s hustling, and your family is all far away and the laundry machines in your building are broken and you’ve eaten too much take-out and all you want is two seconds of quiet and maybe a morsel of holiday joy.

🕯️ Can I Fly Home by @sadaveniren {Fic post}

“Nothing? A seventy-eight year old woman just gave birth. It’s clearly supernatural stuff at work. How could you say no?” “No.” “Come on, the mystery has to be getting to you just a little.” “Granny being horny isn’t a mystery, Lou. We’re supposed to be on a break until the new year. The real mystery is why you aren’t content to just stay in one place. We’ve hunted everything imaginable to hunt.” “And yet weird shit still ends up happening, fancy that.” He saw Louis change tactics, sticking out his lower lip, pleading. “Please? Check it out with me and then maybe we’ll come back here for Christmas.” AKA Louis and Harry have been hunting together since they were teenagers and it's beginning to take a toll. Harry wants to retire. Louis plans to die hunting. Maybe a "Christmas Miracle" is just what they need. An advent fic.

🦌 Christmas Advent Calendar by enchantedlandcoffee / @alarrylittlechristmas {Fic post}

A collection of holiday drabbles written and posted leading up to Christmas. One posted per day.

🥁 Heart Beat by @allwaswell16 {Fic post}

Hideaway Haven is the place that Louis has always called home. It's also the place that Harry had tried to leave behind him. When Harry returns to start a music academy in his hometown, he finds himself face to face with his high school crush—and his charming daughter who wants to learn to play the drums.

⛄ the holiday remix - choose ur adventure advent series by warmcuppatea / @hlplease {Fic post}

“I love you so much, yeah? And we’ve talked about moving in together when my lease ends. And we’ll be spending so much time together for the holidays, and you know, we get on so smashingly-” “Louis-” Harry laughed. “Spit it out!” “-So I was thinking,” Louis laughed, rubbing his face. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m so nervous!” He laughed. “I was thinking we should test-run living together this month.” Harry and Louis are very in love, but moving in together feels huge. So, naturally, Louis has the idea to do a holiday test-run.

🔔I'll Be Home For Christmas by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10 {Fic post}

Harry's life seems to be going well. He has a great job working at Festive Furnishings, he has an amazing three year old son called Danny, and his favourite time of the year is approaching. Just as Harry thinks everything is finally going to plan, he finds out that he is going to be losing his home just before Christmas. Louis Tomlinson is happy enough with his lot. He's the CEO of a company he started years ago, Festive Furnishings, he has great colleagues, especially his assistant Harry, and he has the best nephew in the world. But the thing is, Louis is lonely. He has a beautiful house but it's too quiet, especially at this time of year. Not that he'd admit that to anyone. While struggling to find somewhere warm and safe for himself and Danny to stay, Harry makes a decision that might just change the course of everything... and bring himself and Louis closer together as well...

🍪 I Really Like Your Styles: The Baking Advent-ure by @homosociallyyours {Fic post}

Louis isn't much for frills, and the coffee shop he co-owns with his best friend Liam is evidence of that. Yes, it's got a decent sized, well-kept industrial kitchen, but Louis insists that people come to coffee shops for coffee, not mediocre pastry and plastic wrapped cookies. When Liam's campaign for serving treats turns into watching a few baking accounts on whichever popular app he's on now, there's one that really gets on Louis' nerves: "I Like Your Styles." With his chipper demeanor and over the top descriptions of the food he makes, Louis is sure that the (unfortunately cute) baker is full of it. Nothing that adorable could possibly be worth the hype. It doesn't actually take much for him to eat his words...and some quality baked goods, while he's at it.

🎄 kay's 25 days of smutmas by shiptattou / @wecantalktomorrow {Fic post}

Starting on December 1st, I will be posting a new smut fic everyday until Christmas! These are all one shots of varying lengths and content. As they are posted, I will add the links to this post, summaries and lengths will be included under the break! All fics will be Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson.

💌 Lonely Cards Club by @hellolovers13 {Fic post}

Harry's life in Cardiff is rather uneventful. Until he receives a strange Christmas postcard. It gets even stranger when he finds another one the next day. An Advent story about missed opportunities and second chances.

❤️ Love Actually [L.S.] by @louisthiccsexyglitteryass {Fic post}

Louis Tomlinson has just became Prime Minister of the UK. Harry Styles is a housekeeper at 10 Downing Street. Louis can't help but be enthralled with Harry. But, unfortunately, love has a funny of fucking punching you in the gut.

🎅 Neondiamond's 2023 Christmas Ficlet Party {Fic post}

If you know me at all, you’ll know that two of the things I enjoy most are writing fluffy ficlets, and Christmas. This year, I decided to combine the two and create my own little Christmas ficlet party all throughout December! 8 ficlets, 4 different pairings, many different tropes—all short, fluffy and festive! Perfect for a quick reading break with a warm drink!

☃️ Snow In Love by @lululawrence {Fic post}

Harry and Louis are best friends and have been for basically as long as they can remember. For the first time since middle school, they are both single for the holidays leaving them with the brilliant idea to take each other as their dates to work events. To make things easier they will pretend like they’re dating. But then they learn something funny. People thought they were already dating. Weird. An advent fic featuring childhood friends, fake dating turned actual dating, really horrible secret keeping, and a winter weather surprise.

🌲 'tis the damn season by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf {Fic post}

Harry returns to her small hometown over the holiday season and starts to think about the road not taken.

🔔 they're singing 'deck the halls' (but it's not like christmas at all) by doesanyonehearrunningwotah

Louis Tomlinson is no fan of Christmas. Between his douchebag ex-husband/co-parent, his two teenage kids, and the awful fact of his torn-apart family, the holiday season isn't looking to be all that festive. But maybe a boy's trip with his closest friends will lead him to something that'll make the season a little more bearable. Or the one where Louis' a bit of a grinch, Harry's a gorgeous present, and there's more weight to the past than either of them would like.

❄️ We Can Roll in the Darkness by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 {Fic post}

Top and Bottom Construction Co. - “We’ll get the job done, however you prefer it!” Louis looks up from the flyer, and back at Niall. “You must be joking?” Niall shakes his head, his mischievous grin only going wider. “Nope! I already researched them. They have glowing reviews AND they’re affordable. It’s perfect!” He pauses then to give Louis a cheeky wink. “Besides their website says they’re full service.” (Or the one where Louis and his best mate Niall decide to take the plunge and open a pub. The goal is to open Christmas Day, but the building renovations are proving trickier than expected. Insert: a construction company with a questionable name, a certain curly haired builder who catches Louis’ attention, and a little festive chaos along the way).

✨ You Ain’t Gotta Feel Fear Just Mingle by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {Fic post}

Harry has been at his dream job for less than three months, and he knows two things for sure; first, his project manager doesn't know what he's doing, and second, someone in the office is apparently pure evil, and no one will tell Harry who it is. Oh, and the guy who works in conservation at the other end of the building is the most beautiful man Harry's ever seen, even when wielding a hot iron as a weapon. Happy Christmas, here's to many more.

#these are in alphabetical order because that's how I roll #adventfics #advent2023 #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghome #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #ficsfor4am

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thepenultimateword · 7 months

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please write some fluff hero x hero as they’re trying to retire to get married and settle down 🙏🙏

tbh retirement age for hero’s must be like 30 at the latest. I don’t think they last long.

“Noooo,” Hero groaned, slapping their palms over their eyes

Other Hero paused in the middle of their dark decor, fanged mask in hand. “What?”

“You’re not hanging that in our living room!”

“How’s that any different?” Other Hero said, pointing at the candy blue cape hung on the other wall.

“It pops! Brings some warmth to the room. People like warmth not…” they made a circular wave at the dark mask, “reminders of their fading mortality.”

“Oh, right, that would be bad, we’ll just give them a headache instead.”

Hero stomped their feet together and folded their arms. “You liked it!”

“I liked it better on you.” They stepped up to their angry newlywed, tucking a piece of honied hair behind their ear. “Too big for you. So adorable and bright. It brought out your eyes.”

Their fingers trailed down their jaw.

Hero leaned in on tiptoe, noses just brushing, voice lowered to a whisper. “I don’t want the mask over the hearth.”

“Curse it!”

“But. To make it fair I’ll move the cape as well. Oh! Maybe let’s just have a show room! Dedicated to our mementos! A Hero and Other Hero collection. People would pay to see that!”

Other Hero shrugged. “They’ll forget about us soon enough.”

Hero's bright grin faded and their petite form wilted. Retirement wasn't as simple as they'd thought. It all made sense in their head; they wanted to live comfortably with Other Hero. So many times in their career they'd thought it would never happen. That one of them would meet an untimely end before they made this far. The last month had been torture. They'd probably called Other Hero's mission comm over a hundred times, checking in on them. And no, they weren't so old, but their bodies couldn't take the strain of the job anymore. They deserved to take it easy. And yet. Was that it?

They'd dedicated their life to helping this city, time, relationships, their own well-being. And it was nothing more than a blip in history. Other Hero was right. New heroes would step up to replace them and soon no one would even remember the two of them or anything they'd done.

Strong arms wrapped around their waist, and Other Hero's chin rested in the crook of the shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Mm. Doesn't matter."

Other Hero traced the scars spattered over Hero's neck. "Yes, it does."

Hero turned around, sinking against their spouse's chest and reaching to cup their face in both hands. They roved the worn eyes, several-times-broken crooked nose, and the dark circles that still hadn't faded.

"More nightmares? You were tossing and turning last night."

"I guess I'm still getting used to not being on call."

Liar. That was one thing Hero wouldn't miss. They were going to spoil Other Hero rotten until all those inner scars faded away.

They looped their arms around Other Hero's neck. "Hey, remember when I used to sneak into your side of the agency?"

Other Hero snorted. "We got penalized at least a dozen times."

"Those dating rules were ridiculous. No relationships between departments?"

"To be fair, you were a TV hero," Other Hero said, rubbing circles into Hero's back. "You needed to be preserved. My training was to put the job above my life. They didn't want me getting attachments."

Another thing they wouldn't miss.

"I loved you from the moment I saw you." Hero grinned. "They didn't stand a chance."

The next thing they knew they were off the ground and in Other Hero's arm. "Everything is going to be ok," they murmured. "Yeah?"

Hero nodded, basking in the quiet warmth and the weight of their arms. After several moments, they said, "Should we start unpacking the kitchen? I'll make brownies. And this time we won't have to run out the door before they're done."

Other Hero kissed their forehead. "Sounds perfect."

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516 @tobeornottobeateacher @talesofurbania1 @sweetsigyn

#fluff #retirement #hero x hero #heroes and villains #hero x villain communities #heroes and villains community #creative writing #writing snippet #writblr #writeblr #fiction #sort of short #but hopefully still good

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jasntodds · 1 year

Text

Caving In [10]

Pairing: Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader, Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 17,220

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, fluff, canon typical things, canon violence, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, angst, there’s a mention of dissociation in a nonchalant manner, a mention of drug addiction, reader and jason share 1 braincell while gar gets to have his own, it’s the start of the deathstroke chapters so lol, kidnapping

Summary: ❝Tell me Atlas: What is heavier, The world or its people’s hearts?❞ You never expected your life to end up this way, turned upside down by an infamous Gotham villain. It’s been a living hell, every single day, until Dick Grayson brings you to Titans tower where you meet Gar Logan and Jason Todd.

A/N: Should I tell you guys who the endgame is? lol Because I do know that and have it all plotted out lol I am easily motivated to post more often when I get feedback 😂 You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

When Dick comes back to the tower, Rose is still with him. The four of you are collectively surprised until you find out it’s because there was a bomb in the jeep that almost killed the two of them. That’s a fair reason to have a second thought about staying at the tower. But, that brings up the perfect opportunity for you, Gar, and Jason to tell Dick about Deathstroke being Rose’s dad. Dick didn’t have a reaction you could read well but asked to see what you all found, completely choosing to ignore how you found out. That’s a discussion for another time.

In the comms lab, all of you gather around the computer where everything about Rose and Deathstroke is still pulled up for Dick to see.

“That’s Rose’s father?” Rachel asks.

“Yep. The one and only Deathstroke.” Jason’s voice has hints of amazement, the smallest of grins pulling at the left corner of his mouth. Of course, Jason would find it fascinating.

“Is that somebody you know?” Rachel asks, turning to look at Dick.

“Kind of, old Titans business.” Dick says, keeping a straight face and you raise your brows. Yeah, old Titans business as in he killed one of them.

“Check it,” Gar brings up another screen. “Former Delta Force Commando part of hive.” Gar says, the last part almost sounding like a question. “Select soldiers who underwent a series of experimental bio-enhancements.” Gar pauses for a second. “Huh, out of the thirty-five trial subjects, the only one to survive was Slade Wilson.” Gar pauses for another second reading the screen. “Interpol says he retired years ago after the death of his son, Jericho. I-I tried having the computer find something--”

“I’ll take it from here.” Dick cuts Gar off, walking over to him and exiting out of the screens with Rose and Slade.

All of the you watch him with suspension but before anyone can question him, the security alarm goes off. Dick pulls up the screen to the front door where three people are standing.

“So, I guess you changed the code.” The woman with dark hair says.

“Finally.” Rachel says, a large smile on display as she sounds relieved.

“Who’s here?” You ask, looking around the room, not able to see onto the smaller monitor in front of Dick.

“You’ll love them.” Rachel beams, walking over to you and grabbing your hand to pull you along. “Donna, Dawn, and Hank.” Rachel starts as the two of you walk down the hallway, the two boys right behind you. “Donna is Wondergirl.” Rachel starts.

“Sorry, what now? Wondergirl like THE Wondergirl?” Your voice raises, excitement flooding your tone.

“Yep! Dawn, the one with white hair, she’s Dove and Hank is Hawk.” Rachel explains.

“The original Titans, okay.” You nod your head and you are so excited.

The original Titans, that’s awesome, actually one of the coolest things that’s ever happened. They’re real superheroes and it’s Wondergirl. One of the coolest heroes ever. And to top it off, that means the tower is gaining two more women in the tower which is always a plus. Rachel and the boys, including Jason, actually seem really excited to see them which is all a good sign to you.

“You guys have no clue how much this place misses you.” Rachel says as she greets Dawn.

Dawn embraces her in a hug. “This place, huh?”

“Mostly just me.” Rachel says.

“And me, too.” Gar says before he gets his own hug from Dawn, you staying back and observing. It is weird that this is like a thing. They’re all…friends.

“Hey, you’re new.” Hank says from the back, looking behind Gar to you.

You nods. “I am.” You step forward awkwardly, Gar gesturing a hand out to introduce you.

“This is Y/n.” Gar beams.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.” Dawn’s voice is sweet and soft. “I’m Dawn, he’s Hank, and that’s Donna.” She says as she jerks her head towards Donna who’s just finished giving Rachel a hug.

“You, too. Original Titans.” You say, a gleaming smile coming to your face. You’re nearly bouncing with excitement while trying not to make it seems obvious how cool this is.

“That’s us.” Hank says, a little exasperation in his voice. “Got any…talents we should know about?” Hank asks.

You hold your hands up, as if to be surrendering before your palms start glowing. That catches everyone’s attention. “Acid generation.”

“And combat clairvoyance.” Jason says from his spot near the fireplace. He doesn’t do the whole ‘welcome back’, ‘glad to see you again’ reunions even if he is glad to have them around.

“Well, alright then.” Hank nods, seeming to approve.

“Did Dick find you?” Dawn asks.

“He did.” You keep it short, not wanting to go over the play-by-play yet again.

“He has a thing for strays.” Donna says, giving you a quick smile.

“Noticed.” You laugh softly.

“Where’s Kory?” Rachel asks, looking to Donna.

You look to Gar for clarification. "The cool alien that sounds like a badass?"

"Yeah," Gar chuckles. "That's Kory.

Dick walks up from behind you and Gar, gaining the entire room’s attention. He asks if they were followed but it doesn’t seem like they were. You, Gar, Jason, and Rachel look around, confused by the question but none of you have the nerve to ask.

“Can you guys give us a minute, please?” Dick asks the four of you.

None of you question him and just do as he asks, Jason hanging back a second wanting to be involved but Dick asks him to leave, too. The four of you go off to your rooms to change for training practice. That’s more than likely what Dick wants you to do while he talks to the older Titans anyway. And it’s a pretty easy way to waste time as you wait for further information. So, you all get changed and head to the training room.

You run through a few drills before agreeing to start a sparring session the way Dick wants you to train. Blindfolds and wooden swords, preparing for the day someone tries to take your other senses from you. You have specific instructions to try and ignore the throbbing in the back of your head while you spar because ‘one day it may not be there and you shouldn’t rely on it’. You just roll your eyes whenever Dick says that. It always sounds so dumb even if he might be right. Whatever Jerry did to you, there isn’t any telling if it’s actually permanent. So, you do your best to ignore it.

The four of you get your blindfolds on, taking positions on the mat with your wooden swords and arm pads to protect yourselves. You stretch your shoulders while Gar hunkers towards the floor, Rachel moving her neck side to side and Jason preparing to attack the three of you. It’s never on purpose, but you do tend to gang up on him a little. Jason is just a force when sparring. It’s like the three of you don’t stand a great chance unless you end up working together. It’s never planned but it seems to always play out that way in the end, with you still usually losing.

“Ready?” Jason asks.

“Yep.” You say.

“Ready.” Rachel confirms.

“Let’s go.” Gar says, Gar and Jason the most serious sounding of the four of you.

Gar lunges forward first, his sword almost hitting Jason as Jason swings at Rachel. You swing your sword near Gar, tapping his arm. And the sparring begins. The throbbing in your head is annoying. It’s not painful but annoying. One of the good things about sparring with three people is everyone is fighting for their lives at the same time. You have a harder time figuring out where the throbbing is pointing in a situation like this because ignoring it isn’t exactly that easy.

When you’re just sparring with Jason or Gar, the throbbing is specifically located wherever they are. If they’re behind you, it’s in the very back of your head right at the base. But if they’re to the side, the throbbing switches and leans closer to whatever side they’re on. This is different though because all three of the others are coming from all different directions and it actually forces you to figure out where they are based on movement and the sounds they make, the sounds of their feet, the wooshing of the air. It’s not easy. The throbbing is still distracting.

Jason hits Gar in the back, sending him forward and in a quick motion, he gets you in the stomach, sending you right into Gar as you both fall to the ground. Before even taking a breath, Jason smacks Rachel in the head, sending her to the ground.

“Houston, we have contact!” Jason yells as he rips his blindfold off.

“You okay?” Gar asks as he takes his blindfold off, still on the floor with you.

“Yeah, you?” You ask, taking your own blindfold off only for you to see a cloud of black stringy smoke coming out of Rachel.

The two of you get to your feet, watching with a sense of worry and a touch of horror. You’ve never seen Rachel’s powers before but now you consider yourself lucky for that. You knew it was a little strange and it is dangerous. Rachel doesn't have much control over it and she tried to explain it to you in a little more detail but seeing it is a completely different story. It's a bit terrifying to say the least.

“Are we still sparring?” Jason asks, getting the sense that Rachel is definitely not sparring.

“That doesn’t look good.” You mutter to Gar.

“Rachel?” Gar asks with caution but not daring to move toward her.

Rachel’s eyes glow red with the gem-like piece in the center of her forward while she gets to her feet and faces Jason. The slime-like sometimes surrounds her before she lunges forward and grabs Jason by the neck, levitating them both far above the ground. Gar and you watch in a sense of horror as the dark material circles Rachel and Jason.

“Rachel.” Jason chokes out.

Rachel looks to the side with the real swords, tilting them towards Jason. Your mouth falls open as you stand in a mix of panic and shock.

“What the fuck do we do? We have to do something!” You panic to Gar.

“I-I don’t know!” He says. “Um…shoot…acid at them, I guess?” The comment is more facetious than literal.

You narrow your eyes at him. “And make her more angry?!”

“Rachel stop!” Gar urges and that seemed to be all it takes.

Rachel’s eyes widen, the red fading immediately as she drops Jason to the floor. He lands hard on his back while Rachel lands easily on her feet. You immediately rushes over to Jason while Gar stands in the corner, almost too afraid to move from his spot. Jason brushes you off as he gets to his feet, storming over to Rachel.

“You stay away from me, you fucking freak.” Jason’s voice is ragged.

Rachel’s eyes are wide with the remark but you can’t exactly blame Jason. Rachel almost killed him. Just last night, the four of you were discussing if Rose should stay or she’d kill you all. But, Rachel, who does live here, actually did almost kill Jason. All you and Gar can do from your spots if give a wince.

“Everything okay?” Dick walks in just in time, seeing the four of you not looking so good.

Everyone looks to Dick but stays silent for a few seconds. Gar doesn’t wanna get Rachel in trouble or piss Jason off further so he stays silent. You’re right along with Gar, not wanting to make either one of them angrier. And you wouldn’t want them to tell Dick if you suddenly lost control.

“No, it’s not.” Jason breaks the silence walking over to Dick. “Look, I don’t like being left out of whatever plans you relics are cooking up out there, alright?” Jason’s voice raises as he points a finger at Dick.

Dick lets out a scoff, a humored grin pulling at his lips. “You didn’t miss anything.” Dick assures him. “Gar,” Dick jerks his head at Gar. “I need ya.”

“Hey, what about me?” Jason asks.

“Keep practicing.” Dick says before walking off, Gar giving the room an apologetic glance before following behind him.

Jason walks back over to Rachel, fire in his steps. “You need to have that shit looked at…by like a fucking priest.” Jason's words are venomous as he storms off.

Rachel stands there for a second before turning to look at you. You’re on your feet again, giving her an apologetic look. Jason might be your friend but he does hit below the belt sometimes. Of course, you get it. Rachel definitely could have killed him and that’s terrifying, you know from first-hand experience but he should know Gar and you would have found a way to step in if she were going to kill him. You would have shot acid at Rachel if you needed to. He was fine and he is fine, seemingly at least. He should cut Rachel some slack.

“You okay?” You ask walking over to Rachel.

“I didn’t mean to.” Rachel says, her voice filled of defeat.

“Yeah, I know.” You nod. “He was kind of mean.” You scrunch your nose. “I’m sorry about him.”

“It's not your fault. He’s just an asshole.” Rachel rolls her eyes.

“He is.” You agree. “He is my friend though so I feel I should apologize on his behalf.” You chuckle softly. “Seriously, are you okay though? I mean…with….whatever that was?”

“Yeah,” Rachel nods softly. “I try to control it but it just happens sometimes.”

“Like the scratches?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you tried meditating?” You question, Rachel furrowing her brows at you. “I mean, in theory, it should work, right? Calm you down, ease your mind of the bullshit. I guess…I don’t know. I didn’t meditate or anything but I dissociated enough that it worked, not that that’s a good example. But, maybe in the same sense that meditation could help you control it. It’s worth a shot, right?” You offer.

Rachel lets out a sigh. “Yeah, maybe.” Rachel nods softly. “Thank you.”

“‘Course.” You give her a soft smile. “I’m gonna go check on the little shit and make sure he’s not doing something fucking stupid.” You roll your eyes. “If you wanna talk more about it though, just lemme know.” You give Rachel a kind smile and Rachel nods.

You go to find Jason who’s made it to his room by the time you get there. He’s blaring his music, door shut. You roll your eyes as you make a fist, slamming it against the door so he can hear it over the music. You’ve come to figure out Jason listens to a lot of death metal a lot louder when he’s upset about something. It’s only a few seconds before Jason swings the door open, nearly pulling it from the hinges.

“What?” He asks, venom in his voice and jaw clenching.

Jason isn’t in the mood for talking about it. It’s a thing that happened and on top of that, Dick wants Gar’s help. Gar is his friend, but Jason has more experience with whatever the Titans are up to. He’s Robin, after all. He’s getting shoved to the side and every bit of it makes him want to scream and fight everyone in sight.

“Move.” You scoff at him, pushing past him and walking into his room. Jason stands there for a second as if to be processing what just happened like Internet Explorer.

“Sure, come in.” Jason huffs, shutting the door.

You pull the needle from the record, looking at him with wide eyes. “Death metal, really?” You cross your arms over your chest. “And this loud?”

“Maybe you just need better taste in music.” Jason quips, leaning against his door with a sutble grin but his stance is still rigged.

“Because the thespian would know better music.” You tease, gaining a smirk as you watches Jason’s grin fall, steam nearly coming out his ears. “I’m fucking joking, calm down. Fuck.” You groan with wide eyes. “I just came to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” Jason mutters, looking to the floor for just a second.

“Mhm, yeah, being fine is definitely a normal feeling after being lifted ten feet in the air by your neck with several sharp swords pointed at you.” You quip.

“I’m fine.” Jason grits his teeth.

“Well, in that case, you gotta cut Rachel some fucking slack, man.” You urge him, figuring if he’s not gonna talk about it, you might as well go on about Rachel. “It’s not her fault and I know that you know that.” You let out an exasperated sigh. Gar is normally the mediator between the two of them, on the account that you tend to take Jason's side a lot more than Rachel's. Gar is better at putting aside bias.

“She could have fucking killed me!” Jason pushes himself off of his door.

“I know.” You nod. “Which is fucked up, I’m not saying it’s not. It’s just…” You pause. “It’s different for people like us.”

“You don’t have any problems with it.” Jason huffs and he can’t believe of all people, you’re defending Rachel right now.

You pauses because yes you do but that’s not exactly easy to admit. But, this is Jason. “Okay,” You suck in a breath. “Promise not to tell anyone, especially Gar and Dick?” You ask.

Jason raises a brow at you. “Yeah? Okay.”

“Sometimes, I wake up from a nightmare with my hands glowing. I haven’t…burned or melted anything but they’re glowing and warm so…I don’t have nearly as much control as everyone thinks I do.” You chew on the inside of your cheek, dodging Jason’s eyes.

Jason seems to sit on that for a second. You’ve never almost burned any of them even when you get annoyed or angry. Your hands never even glowed once when you beat up Jerry, not once. Jason fully expected to have to deal with your powers but nothing. You seemed normal in that moment, no powers, no special abilities. He almost finds it hard to believe you can’t control your powers when you’re asleep. But, you also don’t lie to him.

“I also melted a mug my second day here by accident.” You clear your throat.

“How’d the hell you do that?” Jason chuckles this time, finding that more believable than the nightmares.

“I figured out Dick was Robin and Bruce was Batman. Long story short, I’ve got a bit of an issue with the two of them letting Joker fuck around and kill people, my mom included.” You shake your head, seeing Jason doing the math in his head trying to figure out if it was Dick at the time your mom was killed. “It was Dick, it wasn’t you. You took over, if my math is right, somewhere around six months to a year later.”

“Hadn’t thought of it like that.” Jason looks to his shoes before looking back at You. “Bruce not killing the Joker and shit, the consequences.” Jason clarifies.

He’s questioned Bruce’s methods, of course. He also thinks maybe some of those bad guys shouldn’t be allowed to escape Arkham. But, Bruce always said they’re there to protect people, not kill them. Killing the bad guys, makes them just as bad. It’s a line they can’t cross because it’ll be easier to cross the next time. But, at what point is enough enough when it comes to the Joker? How many people could be saved if it were just that one guy? Jason pushes the thought away though.

“Yeah, most don’t.” You clear your throat. “SO, I’m saying you should cool off and be upset about it, obviously, it looked scary from where I was standing, too but maybe don’t be a dick to her about it.”

Jason is stubborn but you bring up good points. Maybe, he could make an attempt to somewhat try and understand Rachel a little bit. Maybe.

“Whatever.” Jason huffs, caving in.

“Mhm, thank you, Jay.” Your voice waves as you walk over to him.

“Yeah.” Jason still looks displeased.

“Or pout about it.” You chuckle, getting a glare from Jason.

“I’m not pouting.” Jason huffs, but there’s a tint of smile coming to his face.

“Mhm.” You hum. “Well, I’m gonna wait for Gar, have fun being angry with your death metal.” You grin at him, see a full smile coming to Jason’s face.

“Yeah.” Jason shrug as you walk past him, leaving him alone.

You go back to your room, keeping the door open as you wait to find out what Dick needed Gar for. It still bugs you a bit that Dick picked Gar to help and not Jason but Jason was definitely not in a talking mood. You didn’t wanna push your luck with him. So, you hang out in your room and just wait with Ginny & Georgia playing on the TV.

As the second episode plays, a knock sounds on your door. You look over the back of the couch to see Gar walking into your room with a sappy smile on his lips. He walks over to the couch and plops down beside you.

“Whatcha watching?” He asks, chipper as usual.

“Ginny & Georgia, it was just added to Netflix.” You gesture towards the TV.

“How is it?” He asks.

“It’s good!” You say with enthusiasm. “I love Joe so much already. I hope he gets to stay happy.” You pout at Gar.

Gar chuckles softly. “Cool if I watch with you, then?” He asks, eyes filled of happiness and hope.

“Yeah! I’m only on episode two so you haven’t missed much. Georgia’s husband died and she doesn’t seem sad about it. They moved from Texas to Wellsbury which is on the east coast. Ginny and Austin are her kids and Ginny hooked up with her neighbor. That’s about it.” You laugh softly.

“Oh, well, okay then.” Gar nods along. “Is it….a comedy?”

“Eh,” You shrug a shoulder. “It’s more of drama. Like it has some comedy but it’s more dramatic.” You explain. “I think Georgia killed her husband so like there’s that.”

Gar’s eyes widen. “Definitely a drama.” He laughs.

“Oh, yeah.” You laugh in agreement.

The two of you focus your attention on the TV and you move closer to Gar, resting your legs over his lap. It makes Gar chuckle but he just goes with it, putting his hands on your shins and you watch together, making easy conversation about what’s going on in the show. This is a comfortable thing you’ve gotten into the habit of doing.

Gar will be playing video games so you sit next to him, usually always touching him in some way or Gar will come into your room where you’re watching TV and he’ll just plop down to watch whatever has your interest. You always moves to sit with your legs over him. And the two of you always make conversation about what’s going on and you get really dramatic and excited when you talk about your shows, it’s how Gar thinks he sounds but you’re not annoying. Sometimes, he thinks he just gets annoying about it but hearing you ramble about why you love a character or hate another, he could listen to that all day even if he has no idea what you’re talking about. It’s so comfortable for him.

After a few more episodes, you both realize no one has bothered you in a few hours. Neither of you even have a text from Dick about training. The older Titans must be keeping him occupied which is definitely nice. Training isn’t actually all that bad and it gives you all something to do. But, Dick doesn’t really give you a day to break. None of you have anything else to do, so Dick just makes sure you’re training all the time in one way or another. The four of you get it, you have to prepare for the big bads, but having a day off here and there would also be nice. And right now, it looks like you’re actually getting the night off and you’re enjoying it.

“Hey, want some popcorn?” You ask, peeling your eyes away from the TV to look at Gar.

“Yes, please.” Gar beams. “Want me to get it?”

“Nah,” You shake your head, sliding your legs off of Gar. “I got it.” You give him a smile. “Just pause it and make sure it doesn’t shut off.”

“Got it.” Gar gives you a nod, grabbing the remote from the coffee table in front of him.

You rush off to the kitchen where you find Rachel making herself a glass of sweet tea. You move around her, grabbing a bag of popcorn and popping it in the microwave before you grab a large bowl to pour it into. You sit on the counter, opposite Rachel, as you wait for the popcorn to start. Just as you get situated and Rachel finishes making her tea, Rose walks in. Instead of gauze, Rose is daunting an eyepatch over the eye that’s now missing.

“Don’t think we got introduced,” Rachel starts. “I’m Rachel.”

“Y/n.” You chime in, with a half-wave from your spot.

“I’m Rose.” Rose says.

“Pretty name.” Rachel says.

“Yeah, maybe too pretty now.” Rose says. “Patch has a nice ring to it.” Rose finishes as you let out a huff.

“I still think you’re really pretty.” You let out a scoff, giving Rose a smile. Rose’s brows furrow at you and Rachel rolls her eyes.

“You hang out with Jason too much.” Rachel states, getting a confused and offended look from you just as your popcorn starts to pop.

“I don’t get this.” Rose starts, ignoring the both of yours and Rachel’s comments to each other while she takes a seat in one of the chairs. “The whole living situation, this some kind of euro hostel or something?” Rose quips making you chortle.

Rachel lets out a huff. “No, we’re just friends.”

“Dick’s got a thing for plucking strays off the streets.” You add in.

"I'm not a stray." Rose defends, but her voice isn't stern or annoyed.

“We saw what happened.” Rachel looks between you and Rose.

“Saw what?” Rose inquires.

“Dick has access to the city’s surveillance cameras.” Rachel explains.

“We saw everything. You fighting and escaping, the whole thing.” You finish.

“Guy with the sword?” Rachel asks.

“My dad.” Rose gains a sarcastic grin.

You give her a yikes expression before hopping off the counter and going to the microwave as the popcorn starts to slow down its popping. Somehow, all of you have fucked up home lives. Seriously, is that a requirement to even be here?

“I’m sorry.” Rachel says.

“Dads suck.” You declare, opening the microwave.

“No dad of the year mug for him.” Rose quips before looking to Rachel. “That thing in your forehead, bold choice.” Rose nods her head.

You pour your popcorn into a bowl as you listen to Rachel, you actually don’t know the story behind it. You never asked.

“Not my choice.” Rachel shakes her head. “My dad put it there for me.”

“He did?” Your voice is filled of surprise and confusion.

“Yep.” Rachel holds out the word a little.

Now, that’s also weird. You figured it has to do with her powers since it lit up when she levitated her and Jason earlier. You have so many questions about it but Rachel’s singular word about it is probably a good indicator that she doesn’t like to talk about it. You can’t blame her there.

“Where’s he?” Rose asks.

“I got rid of him.” Rachel declares.

“Got rid of as in…? Killed him?” Rose asks.

“Yeah, kind of.” Rachel tries to brush it off as she scoffs.

“What about you?” Rose looks to you who’s standing on the other side of Rachel.

“Drug addict who bailed before I was born, foster dad almost beat me to death though.” You state, an almost sarcastic tone coats your words. “Ligature scars from the ordeal.” You lift your arms just slightly so your sleeves fall down enough to show the scars.

“Shit.” Rose states.

“Clearly, the tower is filled with people who had outstanding father figures.” You quips, getting a slight nudge from Rachel.

“Is that what you wanted to do to your father? Kill him?” Rachel asks.

“I did.” Rose nods. “But, uh, I thought everything would be different if he just went away.”

“Doesn’t always work.” Rachel takes a drink from her tea. “Right, Y/n?”

“I know you want me to agree with you but…” You pause. “I gotta say, I’m pretty content with my actual dad fucking off somewhere and me beating the shit out of Jerry now that it’s happened.”

Was that night a mess? Yes. But, talking with Jason about it has made you feel a lot better about it. He's told you countless times he deserved it and because of that, you did save that kid. You got your revenge and now he can't do that to anyone ever again. It didn't help that night, and maybe the act of beating him up didn't help, but preventing him from hurting anyone else did.

“Seriously?” Rachel voice is disapproving.

You shrug. “I’m not gonna lie.” You laugh softly.

“Guess we’re all members of the bad dads club.” Rose gives the two of you a genuine smile.

“Platinum members.” Rachel scoffs.

“With a discount in endless trauma.” You quip.

“Benefits kind of suck.” Rose states.

“Members are pretty cool.” Rachel smiles softly, Rose matching the smile.

“What do you guys do all day anyway?” Rose questions.

“Train.” Rachel’s voice is flat.

“Listen to everyone complain about training.” You let out a muttered scoff.

“As if you’re not enjoying the night off with Gar.” Rachel quips.

“I am having a lovely time.” You grin. “Which is why, I’m going back to my room where he’s waiting.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Rachel mocks.

“We are friends, Rachel.” You defend.

“Okay, Y/n.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Rachel.” You mock her before walking off back to your room where Gar is still sitting in the same position.

You think about the conversation you had with Rachel about the boys. There was so much you couldn’t tell Rachel about Jason. Jason would kill you and Rachel would definitely tease him about it, even if it just slipped. You don’t want that to happen. It’s your thing and you kind of like that no one knows about it. You can’t really explain it, but it’s just nice not having everyone know about it.

With Gar, everything is out in the open which is also fine because that’s just Gar. He doesn’t hide things from people, he wears his emotions on his sleeve. It’s something you actually admire about him and it’s one of the things you like about him. But, in a way, there’s this pressure you don’t like. Rachel knew you liked him and she thinks Gar likes you, too. Part of it is on you, sleeping in his room, making him pancakes. But, you just wish you were normal because then it would be this normal gossip thing where no one knows for sure. In the tower, surrounded by people all the time though, everything is so fucking transparent. The tower might as well be wrapped in cellophane. So, you take a seat next to Gar and don’t say anything about how you feel because you like him but you like Jason, too.

“Talked with Rose.” You start, resting your legs over Gar’s as you get comfortable, holding the bowl of popcorn on your lap but close enough so Gar can have some.

“Yeah? What’s she like?” Gar asks, his left hand resting on your shins as his right plucks a piece of popcorn from the bowl.

“Daddy issues like the rest of us.” You chortle, tossing a piece of popcorn into your mouth.

"We knew that, though." Gar chuckles with you, finding you amusing.

"Yeah," You shrug. "I don't know, didn't talk long but she seems cool. Rachel is still in the kitchen with her."

"Think she'll stay?" Gar raises a brow and it worked out with you staying. He's worried about her being Deathstroke's daughter, which might put all of you at risk. But, if she's really in danger. Gar hopes she'll stay. It's safe here.

You scrunch your face with uncertainty. "Ehh," You shrug. "She doesn't seem too pleased with the place. So, I dunno. I hope she does. It helped me." You give Gar a sweet smile.

"Yeah, I think it'd be nice. We'll have to keep Jason off of her though." Gar chuckles.

You brush the comment off. Maybe Jason will be into her and it'll make everything easier. Choosing between the boys sounds like an impossible decision.

"Yeah, right?" You nod your head, agreeing with him but keep it short. You look to the TV and change conversation. "Do teenagers actually get together and do that?" The teenagers in the show are in a basement, a few of them playing instruments while the others are smoking on a couch.

"That's where you're questioning the realism of the show?" Gar chortles next you, grabbing a few pieces of popcorn.

"I mean! Hey, women have poisoned their husbands! They're even called Black Widows! But, teenagers all getting together to drink and smoke in a basement? Like regularly? Do they do that?"

Gar shrugs, finding your thought process a bit comical. "I wouldn't know."

"Right." You nod and laugh. "Forgot, none of us had much of a normal teenager experience."

Gar shakes his head. "Fine with me, seems..."

"Not as fun as they make it seem in the show?” You laugh softly.

“Yeah, exactly.” Gar nods quickly. “I don’t think it’d always be so cool, calm, and collected.”

There's a knock on your door, interrupting your conversation. The two of you turn around to see Dick, standing halfway in your room and half in the hallway.

"Gar, need ya again." Dick jerks his head towards the hallway and your brows furrow. What the hell is that about? Gar gives you an apologetic look as you move your legs off of him.

You spin around, resting your forearms on the back of the couch. "Whatcha doing?" You ask Dick as Gar gets up from his comfortable place.

"Locating Dr. Light." Dick answers simply.

You hum. "Can I come?"

It's Dick's turn to narrow his eyes. "No, I just need Gar for now."

You groan. "Come on, Rachel is hanging out with Rose and Jason is in a pissy mood."

After the whole Jerry situation, Dick has been keeping a closer eye on you. He wants to trust you won't go rogue again but there is a part of him that worries about it. Dick went back and watched the security footage of everything, listened to the conversation. Jason did not try to stop you but it didn't seem as if you would have listened anyway. He doesn't need someone going rogue. But, if you’re with Gar, at least if you find Dr. Light, Dick can trust Gar to come and get him instead of you both trying to play the heroes.

"Okay, fine. Come on." Dick jerks his head and you beam, happy to be included.

You turn the TV off, practically leaping over the back of the couch and meeting the boys at the door. Gar's eyes widen and beam at the sight of your dramatics. Dick shakes his head but chuckles softly as the three of you head to the comms lab.

Gar slides into the chair and pulls up a map while Dick stands behind him and you stand off to the side, watching everything Gar is doing. You can only assume that with his time at Doom Manor, he had a lot of time to mess around with tech stuff. Maybe that's why Dick is asking for his help for this stuff instead of anyone else. Gar already has some background with computers and tech and he's a new Titan. Maybe it's a preparation thing. But, you’re also just happy to be included.

"Dr. Light will need to refuel if he's planning another attack." Dick starts. "He'll need a large electric power cell and a light source where he can absorb the energy."

Gar leans his elbows on the table in front of him, keeping his eyes on the screen. "So, monitor the power grids and keep an eye out for any unusual disturbances."

"We find where he's pulling the power from, we find him." Dick finishes before patting Gar on the back and heading for the hallway.

"Okay, got it." Gar's eyes scan over the computer screen.

"Oh, hey," Dick says, turning around before entering the hallway. "Everything okay with Rachel?" Dick looks between Gar and you. "She looked a little strange in training."

"She's fine." You answer quickly with the shrug of your shoulders.

Gar nods his head in agreement. "Yeah," He swivels in his chair to face Dick. "That was just...her..." Gar glances to you as if looking for help as he tries to think of something.

Neither of you are going to tell Dick Rachel almost killed Jason and then Jason called her a freak, then said she should be checked by a priest. Dick doesn't need to know everything that happens. You all can handle it.

"Training face." Gar gives Dick an awkward smile, spinning the chair slightly.

"Traning face?" Dick looks to Gar and then to you, completely not believing that at all.

"Yeah, she gets really focused and gets this look." You brush it off.

"Yeah, exactly." Gar agrees with you, the both of tyou lying through your teeth. You’re a bit better at it. "She just wants to be ready in case any of the old Titans wanna spar," Gar's eyes shift side to side for a second. "After, they settle in." He flashes the awkward smile again and you’re so sure Dick is going to call you out.

Note to self: Do not ask Gar to help you rob a bank.

"They're not gonna settle in." Dick states, this time his voice serious and stern. Your curiosity is piqued. Dick doesn't seem happy about them showing up which you find to be weird. Aren't they supposed to be friends? Is this because Deathstroke killed one of them? If it is, you can't say you blame Dick. It was probably really hard. "Hank and Dawn, Donna, they're not staying."

"I thought you guys were friends?" You ask.

"We are." Dick answers shortly. "But they aren't Titans anymore."

Gar's face twists in confusion. Everything was fine the last time they were all together, well, besides the whole Trigon thing. But, everyone got along afterward. "Did something happen between you guys?"

Dick's eyes go distant for a second before he drops it completely. "Keep looking." Dick states before walking off, down the hallway.

You look to Gar as he swivels to face you. "That was fucking weird." You say, shaking your head with wide eyes.

"Right?" Gar says dramatically. "What do you think that was about?"

"Uh...." You pause, shrugging your shoulders. "I mean, could be the death of that Titan, maybe it's like....a thing with them all being here?" You raise the question. "Everyone was there with Trigon, right?"

Gar nods before he turns back to the computer to get to work. "Yeah, I mean, besides....ya know." Gar jerks his head to the left with the quick raise of his brows as he starts searching the power grids. "But, I mean, after everything seemed fine. Dick was...actually in a good mood, actually."

You watch Gar carefully, taking mental notes of everything he's doing. "Maybe it's something with the tower then, everyone being here. I have no idea." You chuckle softly. "Bird boys make no fucking sense."

"Honestly," Gar shakes his head. "What do you think is up with that, anyway?" Gar glances to you.

You shrug. "Well, first full day here, I asked Dick about Bruce and he said that Bruce did the best he could which I always assume means that person sucks at parenting, without intending to." You chuckle softly. "So, could be Bruce."

"I think you just have a vendetta against him." Gar says honestly, giving you a slight wince.

You let out a sigh. "Yeah, a little bit." You move closer to Gar. "Can I sit?"

Gar's eyes widen as he freezes and you gain a smirk. A giggle escapes your lips and it's the cutest noise Gar has ever heard. He scoots back a bit and lets you sit on his lap, you mostly sitting on his right leg so Gar can see and maneuver around the keyboard easily.

"What do you think is up with bird boys?" You ask as Gar goes back to the power grids.

Gar shrugs. "I don't think they know how to handle their problems." Gar deadpans.

You let out a laugh. "Yeah, that's fair." You keep your head straight, watching the large screen. "How do you know how to do all this?" You decide to drop the conversation.

"Had a lot of free time at Caulder House." Gar states. "There wasn't much to do besides this and video games."

"Ah," You nod your head. "It's pretty cool, especially with how quickly tech changes and this is like...a Batcomputer." Your smile widens. Sure, you’ve got an issue with Batman but Wayne tech is cool nonetheless. Your problem is with his moral code about killing, not with much else. You don't even know the guy.

"Yeah, it's clearly coming in handy." Gar laughs softly.

Gar and you fall into a comfortable conversation as Gar explains what he's doing and how he knows what to look for. You follow everything he says, making sure you’re keeping up. The thing with Gar is that he's really good at explaining things without making your feel dumb. Sometimes, people have this habit of sounding condescending when they're explaining something they're good at even if they don't mean to. But, Gar explains it casually but in terms you understand since you don't know much about this tech. In fact, the way Gar explains everything, it makes you feel useful which is a really nice thing to feel right about now.

Over the next hour, you and Gar sit and look for signs of Dr. Light. You like seeing Gar here, doing this. It's clearly his environment, something he's good at and enjoys. He's also helping the older Titans by doing this and you can tell by how focused he is that it's something that also means a lot to him. He gets to be helpful with the thing he's good at.

The two of you share stolen glances here and there. There's something so warm and comfortable about it. While you’re more of a hands-on person, this is nice. You aren't really helping, rather than just keeping Gar company and learning from him. But, it's comfortable and if you’ve learned anything, it's that you should cherish the comfort while you have it.

Gar is so kind and soft and safe that feeling comfortable seems like it could be possible, every single day. He's energic and enthusiastic. You swear there's not a pessimistic bone in his body. And he has this smile that just put the sun to shame. You swear if he just gave you that open-mouthed toothy smile, you’d never get lost in the dark again. And sometimes he trips over his words if you get a little flirty and it make you so happy because he never knows what to do. It makes him that much cuter and softer. He is what you always imagined happiness would look like. If happiness were a person, it would be Garfield Logan. You wonder if you could ever offer him that same comfort and happiness. You wonder if you'd ever live up to that or if you'd just burn it all to the ground.

Gar finds something on the computer and goes to grab Dick. The two of them discuss, figuring the bundle of pings is actually Dr. Light. And then the power goes out as if to be on cue. You follow Gar and Dick out of the comms lab and into the living room. As you all reach the floor-to-ceiling windows, you see a stadium in the distance that's emitting light, indicating that's where Dr. Light is. You get the feeling that's probably not a good sign for whatever is to come next and by the look on Dick's face, he's got the same feeling.

Dick goes off to grab the rest of the Titans to hunt down Dr. Light while Gar figures the rest of you might as well hang out in the living room and watch something on someone's phone. You have gone almost entirely quiet since the power went out. He hasn't said anything, but he's kind of assumed you aren't a big fan of the dark. You usually have the TV on or the blinds pulled when you’re asleep so the room isn't so dark. Gar thinks maybe if he can get everyone in an open area, you'll feel a little better about it. So, you make your way to Jason's room first.

Gar’s assumption would be right. The dark wasn’t this big deal or anything before, but now it’s as if things are lurking in the shadows. You just feel so uneasy not being able to see in the dark. The great thing about the tower, usually, is there are always lights on. The hallway is always lit by small wall lamps so it’s never too dark. The rooms all have large windows that go from one wall to the other and the city does a good job of illuminating every room. But, the entire city is in a blackout and it’s almost completely dark in the tower. You hate it and with Gar’s offer to gather everyone up, you’re thankful you don’t need to explain it. He’s figured it out.

"What's up?" Jason asks as the two of you and Gar enter his room.

"The power's out." You quip, trying to not show you’re uneasy about the entire tower being dark.

"No shit." Jason shakes his head, his phone in his hand to use as a flashlight.

"I figured we'd all hang out together, just until it comes back on." Gar offers, his own phone’s light shining on the ground.

"All?" Jason questions, his brow quirked as he glances to you. Jason knows all does not mean all of the older Titans and he does not want to be around Rachel right about now.

"Well..." Gar pauses. "You, us, Rachel."

Jason lets out a groan before it turns into a dry laugh. "You think I wanna be around her right now?"

"She's sorry." Your voice is filled with frustration. "It was an accident."

"What about the other Titans?" Jason jerks his head up with the question.

"They're probably going to find Dr. Light. I found something on the computer." Gar brushes it off and Jason's eyes widen. You let out a sigh knowing Gar should not have said that.

"What? Why didn't you say so?" There's excitement in his voice as he runs over to his bed, getting on his hands and knees.

You eye Gar, as if telling him he should not have told Jason. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm going with 'em!" Jason says, pulling out the case that contains his suit.

Gar gets the look now. "Right..." Gar nods his head slowly. "I'm sure Dick will come get you if he needs you, man."

"Seriously?" Jason puts the case on his bed before turning to face you and Gar. "I gotta show him I'm ready for anything. I'm tired of sitting around." Jason reaches over his head, yanking his hoodie off, you getting the nonexistent hint to turn around.

"He knows what you're made of, Jason." Gar lets out a sigh as Jason changes into his suit.

"Obviously, not." Jason argues. "He didn't come to get me, did he?" Jason gets a little snippy and all Gar can do is sigh.

Jason finishes changing into his suit, making his way to you and Gar. You turn around, feeling him close to you. Jason's head is held high and there's a brightness in his eyes. His entire demeanor changes when he puts on the suit. He's, somehow, even more endearing when he's like this. Filled of so much joy and excitement and determination. You know Dick won't let him go with and it's gonna sting him a lot more than he'll ever admit.

"Well, be careful then, Batboy." You state, knowing there is no stopping Jason.

Jason eyes you up and down, not even realizing he's doing it. A smirk pulls at his lips and he almost has a quip, almost but Gar is standing there, a little too close to you. So, he bites it down like a shard of glass. "Always am." He nods at you before quickly exiting his room, the cape flowing behind him.

"He's a dork." You look to Gar, a smile pull at your lips.

"It's the cape, right?" Gar laughs.

You nod quickly. "Yeah, yeah, something about the cape on him. It's like it swallows him." You laugh again. "It is bulletproof and fireproof though."

"At least there's that." Gar chuckles. "Let's find Rach." He jerks his head towards Jason's door and the two of you head out.

The two of you head down the hall where you run into Rachel. She had been on her way to look for the two of you. The tower is on backup generators now but the power in the tower is limited. This surprises all of you. You all thought, surely, Bruce would have a better generator for the tower. But, none of you say anything about it and decide to head to the living room and find something to do while you wait for the power to come back on and for the other Titans to get back. When you reach the living space, Jason is standing there alone in the Robin suit, the rest of the Titans in the elevator.

Jason's jaw clenches as he sees the three of you standing there looking at him. Rachel isn't surprised and she's actually pleased with Jason being left behind. Rachel doesn't think Jason is ready to help the rest of the Titans, and it's not fair to let him go but not the rest of you. Gar and you, on the other hand, you feel bad for him. He just wants to help and he's your friend. You also know that Jason will probably be pissed about this for the next week and you'll be the ones who have to hear about it. Dick should just let him help, they have the same experience.

Jason pushes past the three of you, not saying a word.

"He's such a try-hard." Rachel mutters as the three of you walk over to the couches.

You furrow your brows as you and Gar sit side-by-side, his arm going behind you as if to be an instinct. "I mean...he is Robin, though?"

"Yeah, but why does he think he should be able to help when none of us are?" Rachel argues.

"He has experience?" Gar questions, his expression matching the confused and defensive one you have.

"Not you, too!" Rachel groans out in frustration. She doesn't get why you and Gar almost always side with Jason.

"What?" Gar asks, unamused over this conversation.

"You guys defending him."

"Well, because we get it." Gar's eyes widen slightly, a hint of annoyance in his voice. The petty arguing and hatred between Rachel and Jason actually drives him insane. Sure, Jason deserves it sometimes but he's not even around right now. Why does it matter?

"Yeah, I mean, it's like important to him." You state, your eyes still slightly narrowed. When you told Rachel to talk to Jason about this, you did in fact mean it. You, too, aren't a fan of the petty arguments either between the two of them or about each other.

"It's important to everyone." Rachel urges. "Why does he think it's the most important thing to him?"

You and Gar stare at each other, as if to be silently communicating 'what the fuck'. Rachel is clearly still upset by Jason's words from the morning. Of course, neither of you blame her but you are Jason’s friend. You both defend Rachel when Jason gets all pissy with her and you both defend Jason. But, this is just annoying. The Titans have gone off to find Dr. Light, you're trapped in the tower without any power. Who even cares?

"You're not friends with him so you don't get it." You brush her off. "And not to sound a bit bitchy, but it's not our job to explain it to you." You shrug and pull your phone from your pocket. "I'm gonna turn my show on, you're welcome to watch with us." You pull up Netflix on your phone before handing it to Gar as he puts in the password.

You rest the phone on the ottoman, using one of the random books from the table to stabilize your phone. Rachel huffs a bit but moves closer to you so she can watch the show. She decides to drop it and maybe she is being a bit unreasonable. She doesn't understand Jason and she probably never will. But, she also hasn't taken your advice about talking to him yet. So, Rachel bites back the other comments she has about Jason and listens to you and Gar explain what she's missed so far.

Only a few more minutes go by when Jason and Rose come into view, the two of them heading for the opposite hallway. You’re the first to notice, followed by Gar. Rachel is too busy watching the show to even care.

"What's going on?" Gar asks, cautiously seeing the two of them walking side-by-side.

Jason looks like he's doing a bit better. "Going to train, nothing else to do anyway."

"You training, too?" You quirk a brow at Rose.

Rose tilts her head just slightly to the side. "Nah," She shakes her head. "I'm gonna kick his ass."

"Fuck off." Jason huffs, but a smile is on his lips.

"Please, do. Someone's gotta kick him around now and again." You grin at Jason.

His eyes narrow at you. "Yeah, cause you never will."

"One day, Jay. One day." You wiggle your brows at him before looking back at your phone, trying to ignore the weird warmth in your stomach. That is not jealousy.

"When hell freezes over." Jason scoffs but you keep your eyes on the screen and there's a disappointment that bites Jason's bone. His smile falls and he thought you'd have some come back about beating his ass even when hell freezes over or something dumb. But, you say nothing and he's disappointed in that. "Whatever," He scoffs, jerking his head towards the hall. "Let's go." Jason and Rose leave the three of you to yourselves.

You think Gar doesn't notice the short banter that wasn't really banter. You think he doesn't notice the way your eyes narrowed and the way the grin turned stale. You think he doesn't notice how you are with Jason and it hurts Gar. He likes you but he thinks maybe you’re more into Jason than you'll ever be into him. Sure, you’re choosing to hang out with him more but you and Jason still do your flirty thing. It doesn't really make any sense to him if he's being honest.

After two hours, the power finally comes back on. Every light in the tower turns back on and the lights of the city start to shine through the floor-to-ceiling windows once again. The three of you breathe a sigh of relief, hoping that means the other Titans took down Dr. Light with success. You all move the show to the TV and wait on the edge of your seats for the other Titans to come back. Jason and Rose join the three of you just a few minutes later as if to also be waiting for the other Titans. Jason steals the remote and switches to the news.

"Well, you could have asked first, but sure." You quip but Jason brushes you off as he stands off to the side of Gar, arms crossed.

The news plays over footage of the Titans fighting Dr. Light and failing. Dick chooses to save a busload of people instead of stopping Dr. Light. Dr. Light takes off and he's completely out of sight. The news reports that he's nowhere to be seen but everyone on the bus is safe.

"And that's why they should have fucking let me go!" Jason complains, flinging one of his arms out.

All of you chooses not to argue or humor Jason. The rest of the Titans are probably going to be upset when they get back and Jason will have some sort of comment about it. It's not worth it for any of you to argue or agree with him. You'll leave that to Dick and the other Titans.

As soon as the rest of the Titans get back, you, Gar, Rachel, and Jason keep your places in the living area beside Rose who doesn't want any part of it, apparently. You all wait until Dawn and Hank head off toward the bedrooms, leaving just Dick in the living area. Jason takes the lead and gets up first, the rest of you following him

"Where's Dr. Light?" Jason taunts Dick as he walks closer to him.

"Jason." Rachel warns.

"A little stealth job on a guy who shoots what? Headlamps? I mean half the city's on fire and still no sign of Dr. Light." Jason is now about a foot away from Dick, Gar, you, and Rachel standing two feet behind Jason not liking where this is going.

"Not the time, Jason." Dick warns him.

Jason rushes Dick quickly, almost chest-to-chest with him. "Look, I don't take orders from you anymore, man. I do what I want when I want." Jason states, eying Dick with anger. You roll your eyes behind him and Gar sucks in a breath, knowing this is not going to end well.

Dick gets this smile that is almost his way of telling Jason how fucking stupid that is. He goes to walk past Jason but Jason puts his hand on his chest, stopping Dick in his tracks. Dick looks almost appalled. You thought Dick wasn't as great at hiding his emotions when you first got here but the more you watch him, the more you realize he's actually very good at it. He just has resting bitch face. But, it's obvious by the way his brows went up and his eyes widened just a little that he was shocked and appalled that Jason stopped him.

"Get out of my way." Dick's voice is stern and unwavering.

"I think you got it all wrong," Jason shakes his head at Dick, a little close to him for everyone's comfort. Jason hits Dick's chest again with an open palm. "You're in my way." The three of you behind Jason can feel this going south very quickly but none of you want to insert yourselves in it. You’re a bit interested to see where this will go and how Dick plans to de-escalate the situation. "Maybe you need a retirement package."

You and Gar glance between each other before turning back to Jason. You want to help break this up but how? This is not your battle and if you take Dick's side, you'll be hearing from Jason about it. So, you both stand back as Jason turns to look at you for just a second. He's got this determined look in his eye that makes you quirk a brow. He makes a fist and all three of you shake your heads slightly.

"Don't." Dick grits his teeth, his nose scrunching up. Yeah, tonight is not the night to pick a fight with Dick.

Jason tries to charge Dick but Dick is faster and takes an open palm to back of his head, pushing him to the ground. You let out a sigh, hanging your head and holding the bridge of your nose. Gar has resorted to looking down and running a hand through his hair, a look of exasperation across his face. Rachel leans forward, simply surprised.

Dick even looks a bit surprised. "Shit." Dick says softly as he reaches a hand towards Jason. "Here." His voice is flat.

Jason slaps Dick's hand away before getting up from the floor. Jason's heaving a few breaths as if the anger is consuming him from the pit of his lungs. He stands toe-to-toe with Dick but doesn't say anything. He pushes past him and heads off down the hallway. Dick looks at the three of you who all look like you're torn between second-hand embarrassment and yikes.

"What was that?" Dick asks, his eyes directly at you.

"Got me." You shrug. If Dick really can't figure out what Jason is upset about, he's actively choosing to be obvious or something because Dick isn't stupid.

Dick shakes his head and decides he'll deal with it later. "Gar, come on, need you again." Dick starts walking past all of you.

"I'll come to your room later." Gar gives you an apologetic look.

"I'm gonna check on Jason anyway." You roll your eyes and everyone goes their separate ways, leaving Rachel in the living room.

You head to Jason's room where his music is yet again blaring. You bang on the door and he doesn't answer at first. You suck in a breath and decide you’re just going to keep banging on the door until he answers it. It's a solid minute of knocking before the door swings open, Jason's cheeks red and his eyes wide, filled of rage.

"What the fuck?!"

"Move." You move past him and Jason wants to know why you do this? And why does he let you? You spin around. "What the fuck to you? What the fuck was that with Dick, dude?"

"Oh, this is about Dick, huh?" Jason yells, his face scrunching with anger as he shuts the door.

"You were going to fight him." You say through gritted teeth. "Why?"

"He thinks he fucking knows everything!" Jason swings his arm out. "But he got fucking beat by Dr. Light, a fucking dude whose power is a streetlamp." Jason scoffs, the very thought of this guy comical to him.

"Okay." You lower your voice. "So, why not let him wallow in his own mistakes then? Why do you gotta rub it in?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're taking his side?!" Jason’s voice goes up an octave.

"NO!" You yell at him. "I'll always take y0our side! Just..." You pause, letting yourself take a breath. "Just, fucking talk to me, Jay." You cave, chewing the inside of your cheek. He's never gone after Dick before. It's like all of them said, Jason gets mad and rants and raves, trains a bit, and that's it. He doesn't go after people, but tonight he did. You’re worried about him.

Jason shakes his head, looking to the ground and you have this way of calming him down. You’re just as hot-headed as he is but when he's screaming, you can just stay calm. It might take a minute, but you calming down and asking him such a simple question, gets him to cool off. It’s the way you call him Jay and it’s like it flips the switch. You call him that nickname, you’re the only one, and he knows he can talk.

"I just wanna fucking help." Jason scoffs, leaning against his door. "I feel fucking useless here and he won't let me fucking help. If I could show him what I can do..."

"Maybe he'll let you actually help." You finish for him.

"Yeah, Robin is like," Jason lets out a scoff. "It's the one thing I've been fucking good at. It feels like it's being taken away from me and there's nothing I can fucking do about it." There's a break in his voice and you feel for him.

It's the first time he's admitted any of that. The thing about Robin is Jason has always been a hothead. He's always liked attention. The world has been unfair to him his entire life. But, he puts on that suit and the hot-headedness actually comes in handy sometimes, dealing with these big bads like the Riddler and the Joker. The attention is on him because he's a hero with Batman. And he gets to level the playing field in the world that's treated him so poorly. He's so good at it, too and he knows it. But, it's all being ripped away from him. Sure, it’s his own doing but, maybe if Bruce or Dick offered him an ear every now and again, they would get why Jason does things like joyrides in the Batmobile and riding a motorcycle in the manor.

"Yeah, I get that." You nod and move to stand next to him, leaning against his door with him. "But, uh, for what's it worth, I would care to argue you're also a good friend. You're good at that."

Jason lets out a laugh. "Yeah, that's real fucking inspiring."

You shrug, laughing with him. "It's better than nothing, right? No, but you're a good reader and you are funny. You are a good Robin. You’re a better Robin than Dick was." You eye him, the laugh falling. "And I'm not just filling your ego." You give him a smirk.

"Aw, can't fill it even a little, babe?" Jason's brows knit together and he's got this half-cocked grin that makes your stomach twist.

The nickname makes your knees weak. "Absolutely not, shithead."

Jason lets out another laugh. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem. You know I'm always gonna be here for ya." You give him a wink. "I don't think Dick's worth it anyway." You let out a sigh.

"Back to having an issue with him?" Jason nods with understanding. He's in a constant state of flip-flopping on having an issue with him.

"Nah, I just mean I don't think he's worth it. If you're gonna fight a Titan, at least make it worth it, ya know? Like, it's Dick. He's whatever and it's like tragic in a pathetic kind of way to watch two Robins fight each other. I mean how fucking cliche. Fight Hank or some shit." You scoff. "Or prove yourself in a different way, one that doesn't involve tagging along where they shove you into a corner anyway."

"I'd obliterate Hank." Jason chortles, his head is high and his chest puffed out with confidence.

"See, exactly!" You cheer.

Jason pauses for a second and maybe you have a point. Maybe he could find a way to show Dick in a different way. He doesn't need to rely on Dick to invite him out onto the field. He could just do it himself.

"Hey," Jason's brows furrow as he looks to you, an idea popping into his head. "Gar still helping Dick?"

Your eyes narrow at him, not liking the question. "Assume so...why?"

"We could help." Jason proposes the idea and you just know he doesn't want to sit in front of a computer as a way to help. Jason is a hands-on kind of hero.

"Mmm." You hum. "What's your angle?"

"You said prove myself in a different way." Jason give you an eerily innocent smile.

"Mhm." You hum. "Yeah, he's probably in the comms lab trying to locate Dr. Light again." You tell him, trying to figure out what exactly he's getting at. Jason is anything but innocent.

Jason pushes himself from the door, gesturing for you to follow his lead. "So, let's help. An apology to Dick, offer my help here."

"Yeah, I don't believe your intentions are so pure if I'm being honest." You state, keeping your stance against his door.

Jason has a cocked grin, eyes devious. "You gonna stop me?"

You should but he didn't stop you. So, you roll your eyes and push off of the door. "Guess not."

Jason has this triumphant smile that makes your heart beat a little faster. Jason opens the door and you follow him. Something in you is saying Jason doesn't want to help with this. Not in this way. You worry he's going this to hunt Dr. Light down himself. But, he went with for Jerry. He never tried to talk you out of it because he knew he couldn't and you know you can't talk him out of this. You needed it and Jason needs this, too. Plus, you aren’t completely sure that’s what his plan is.

You get to the comms lab, Gar quickly typing away as Jason leans against the table, facing Gar. His hands grip the edge as he waits for Gar to look at him. You stand off to the side of Gar's chair.

"Hey?" Gar questions, looking between the two of you.

"Hey." Jason greets a little too kindly.

"You okay?" Gar asks, this time his voice has a little bit of concern. He takes a quick glance at you and then brings his eyes back to Jason.

"Yeah, yeah, I've been knocked down before." Jason nods his head, looking to you.

"Look, uh, Dick just reacted he didn't mean anything by it." Gar says, his voice soft and you want to melt. He's so kind and sweet and caring. He never wants anyone to hurt anyone, physically or mentally. He is so good.

"Yeah, he did." Jason keeps his voice level and honest. He gains this tired grin. "Look, I know what I am. I'm a dirty little favor to Bruce. And probably why they reopened this place." Jason looks around the room. "Scrap heap for rejects." You roll your eyes at the comment before you go back to eyeing him carefully.

"I'm not a reject." Gar shakes his head, his voice displeased and hurt by the remark.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean you." Jason shakes his head before looking at you. "Or you." He looks back to Gar.

"Look, you're not a reject, either, Jason. We're...we're Titans." Gar gets this huge smile, one of accomplishment and pride.

You keep your eyes narrowed as the smile falls from Jason's face. He's manipulating Gar. It's the way he spoke with ease. The way he smiled that wreaked of bad intentions. And that's when you know for certain. He wants to find Dr. Light so he can go after him. Jason wants to help in a different way, meaning he wants to do it all himself. That's the only reason why he walked in here the way he did, saying what he said and how he said it. If he came in here, immediately asking to help, a red flag would have been triggered for Gar.

Jason turns to look at the large screen. "Hey, can I help you?" Jason asks, gaining the smile back as he pushes off the table.

"Uh, sure?" Gar says, leaning forward and wheeling the chair closer to the controls. "You okay?" Gar asks, looking back to you. "You're really quiet."

"Oh, yeah." You nod, glancing between and Gar and Jason. "It's nothing, it's fine." You’re not gonna get in the middle of Jason trying to find Dr. Light and him going off to find him. Gar won’t let Jason help if you say anything.

Gar eyes you with a bit of suspicion but decides not to press. He moves back to the computer and looks at the large screen that Jason is now standing just inches from.

"I'm just looking for heat signatures. After Dr. Light absorbed all that energy, he's gotta be radiation hot." Gar explains.

"What's that?" Jason points to a blank spot on the map.

Gar zooms in. "Emergency exits on the Bayline train station. Underground, so impossible to read."

"Train tunnels must have underground heat sensors." Jason looks behind him to Gar.

"Good idea." Gar gets this interested smile as he wheels over to the right and starts typing. "I'm just gonna piggyback on the Bayline system." Gar says and just like that, where there was once a blank spot, it's now glowing red. A large smile comes to your face and this is why Dick should give him a chance. He is in fact clever. Jason lets out a single laugh, a large and proud smile on his face. "Holy shit." Gar beams as a similar laugh leaves his lips. Gar wheels back over to the center of the control panel. "You're amazing, Jason. I think we got him." Gar says, barely finishing his sentence before he pushes off the chair, immediately heading for the hallway.

"Woah, where ya going?" Jason calls after him, quickly catching up to Gar before he can leave.

"To tell Dick." Gar states as if Jason should have known.

"I got a better idea." Jason starts and you groan internally. This isn't good. "Look, why don't we go take a quick look to make sure." Jason offers and you’re shocked he isn't going off on his own. You definitely expected him to try and sneak out of here. "Cause if we're wrong, we'll look like assholes."

Gar nods his head, an unamused smile on his lips. "Yeah..." He stops nodding, snapping his eyes at Jason. "No." He quickly turns back around to the hallway.

"Gar! I need this." Jason pleads and Gar stops again. "To make things right with Dick, to show him what I can do. Okay? What we can do."

Gar walks back over to Jason. "He knows what you can do." Gar's voice is sympathetic as he shakes his head. "You're Batman's guy." Gar's voice is quieter this time but still drenched in the same sincerity.

"Was." Jason corrects him. You raise a brow. This is the first time he's thought of Robin in the past tense. "I'm not saying we go rogue." Jason explains. "We'll just do some visual verification, lay eyes on the guy and call Dick. Look, help me out Gar." Jason pleads with him and this time, it seems Jason is being sincere rather than manipulating him. But, you know Jason won't call Dick. "I could use a win."

Gar pauses and looks past Jason to you, your feet seeming to be glued to the floor. "What do you think?" Gar asks. "You haven't said anything."

You let out a sigh, Jason turning and his eyes boring into you. If you say Jason is right, that'll be it. The three of you will go and it could end poorly. If you say Gar is right, Jason will be mad and probably go anyway. At least, if all three of you are there, maybe something horrible won't happen. You kind of owe him anyway and you do kind of agree with Jason. But, you feel like you’re not choosing on if you should go after Dr. Light or tell Dick. Instead, you feel like you’re choosing between the boys with both of them looking at you and expecting you to agree with both of them.

"I dunno." Your voice holds reluctance. "I just..."

"Come on, Y/n." Jason pleads with you now. "You wanna prove it to Dick, too, right? You just said you're tired of being cooped up here. When we went after Jerry, as soon as you said we should call him, we did. It's the same thing."

You let out a sigh because you know that. "Stop kissing my ass." You roll your eyes. "I mean..." You look to Gar. "We could be heroes tonight." You raise your brow at him and there's a drop in Gar's expression but Jason's brightens. You don't want to sit around helping like this either. You want to do something and you do not want Jason to get himself killed tonight.

"Really?" Gar's voice is filled of disappointment. He thought you'd side with him, especially with how you were right after going after Jerry.

"I mean..." You pause. "I've fucked up with Dick, too and it does suck. If we could do this for him, maybe it'll prove that we're more than just those fuck ups. You haven't done anything, of course, but you're like...the responsible one." You state before looking to Jason. "No offense." You look back to Gar. "If we have you with us, maybe Dick will appreciate the three of us working together and being there for backup, ya know?"

Gar pauses and he's not winning this. He can tell by the looks in yours and Jason’s eyes, you're both a bit desperate to prove something. Jason just wants to prove that he is worth something. He's worth the time and the effort and the energy. He's meant to be Robin. You, Gar isn't really sure what you want to prove. But, it's the way your brows furrow and your voice quivers that he can tell it means something to you. Maybe you just want to prove you’re useful. You’re the only one no one who hasn’t been in some type of fight that isn't training. Everyone even saw Rose on the TV fighting. So, Gar caves despite his better judgment.

"Quick look, then we call Dick." Gar's voice is serious and stern, as if he's really taking the comment about being the responsible one to heart.

Jason smiles casually as he nods. "I promise."

"Let's get going then and hurry the fuck up." You walk past Jason.

"I'm gonna grab something real quick, I'll meet you guys outside." Jason says before walking past you, jogging down the hallway.

Gar gives you a look as the two of you head down the same hallway. "Siding with Jason?"

You let out a sigh. "I get it, ya know?" You shrug your shoulders. "Like...I dunno just wanting to be good enough." Your voice is quiet. "We all just want to be good enough for something, right? And I have these new powers and I'm going stir-crazy over it. I feel useless. I'm the only one who hasn't done anything. I beat up some basic ass psycho. He never even put up a fucking fight." You scoff. "I owe him, ya know?"

"You don't." Gar shakes his head. "And you are good enough. Dick knows you are." Gar urges and he doesn’t want you making bad decisions to prove something Dick already knows.

"It's different, Gar." You lick your lips. "Jason never tried to talk me out of going. He knew he couldn't do it. He knew I wouldn't listen to him. So, he came with to make sure I'd be okay and that I wouldn't kill him." You shake your head. "Uh....just...I don't want to get into the nitty-gritty of it all that night but," You look to the floor, watching as your shoes touch the floor. "He did a lot for me that night, like what you do." You nod at him and Gar gets it now.

Maybe you and Jason do flirt with each other and maybe there is something going on. He doesn't really know and a part of him would like to be left in ignorant bliss about it but ever since that night, something was different between you and Jason. Gar can't put his finger on it, but it seemed different. And now he knows why. You got to see a side of Jason no one else ever gets to see. Jason treats you like a person and you do him. Jason makes you feel like a person, an important person just like Gar does. It's just a little different.

Gar nods with understanding. "For the record," Gar lets out a sigh. "I think you're both good enough."

Heat creeps through your cheeks as your face softens. "Thank you, Gar." You feel the giddiness course through your veins. "You are also plenty good enough."

Gar chuckles softly. "Thanks, Y/n." Gar reaches his door, opening it. "Just grabbing my jacket."

"Yeah, I'm gonna grab a different hoodie." You jerk your head towards your room.

The two of you part ways to grab your different clothes. Gar goes with his red and white jacket while you grab a black athletic jacket. It's warm, jet-black, and it's a zip-up. You tie a belt around your waist, the belt lined with varying knives you’ve been given over the last few months from Dick. And you hide it under your hoodie. You know damn well this is going to get ugly and if Gar sees this, he'll back out and tell Dick. But, you aren't going to go unprepared. So, you hide it.

Once the three of you are outside, you head off to find Dr. Light. Jason, naturally showed up in his Robin suit. You and Gar aren’t even surprised. It's completely on brand. You think Jason would sleep in it if he could.

Once you reach the tunnels, that's when things start feeling a little off. You have a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something just doesn't feel quite right here. A part of you thinks you’re just anxious over facing a villain. You know Jason isn't going to call Dick. He's going to put up a fight because that's just Jason. He's going against all odds to prove himself and this is a perfect opportunity. So, maybe you’re just anxious about that. But, you try to brush it off because you’re with the two boys who would never let anything happen to you.

"I thought this was reconnaissance only." Gar states as the three of you head down the stairs into the tunnels. "You're overdressed." Gar sounds tired and like he's done dealing with Jason's shit.

Jason laughs. "Exactly reconnaissance on a homicidal psychopath." The three of you stop walking. Jason leans against the railing on his side, facing you and Gar. You stand right in the middle of them. "Safety first."

"Yeah...that's why you wore the suit." You quip as you cross your arms over your chest.

Gar looks at the two of you before shaking his head. "I'm calling Dick." He says, completely through with now the both of you as he goes to head up the stairs.

"Gar, wait." You call but you keep your footing where you are.

"Yeah, come on, man." Jason whines. "Okay, you agreed to help me out. Please?"

"It'll be fine." You assure Gar with the easy shrug of your shoulders.

"See, Y/n’s on board." Jason points at you with an open palm. "Let's go." Jason jerks his head down the stairs.

Gar is so fed up with this already. He just gestures lazily out in front of him for Jason to take the lead again. The three of you walk down the stairs together, Jason feeling fantastic about himself, Gar wants to go home, and you’re stuck in between the two of them, literally and figuratively.

"Alright," Jason says as you reach the bottom of the stairs, all of you coming to a stop. "Let's uh, let's split up."

"Huh?" Gar hums, his voice high-pitched.

You scrunch your entire face at Jason, appalled. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"What?" Jason scoffs.

"Bad idea!" You groan.

"Man," Gar puts a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Don't you remember any of the horror movies we've watched?" There's a bit of panic in his voice.

"One of the easiest rules to remember is to not split up, Jason." You explain dramatically.

"You both wanna get out here fast, right?" Jason nods his head slowly and dramatically. "The three of us will get the job done in half the time." Jason says as he starts walking off.

"One of us definitely needs to go with him." You let out a sigh.

Gar's face is panicked but he manages a frown at you. "No way."

"Hey, I'm not going alone and you and I both know Jason functions strictly on reckless abandon. One of us has to be with him for safety measures." You gesture an open hand down the tunnel. "He's already left us." Honestly, you’re not happy about the whole splitting up thing but Jason seemed to make that decision for the three of you.

Gar lets out a groan. "Fine, okay." He puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes softly. "I just, I got a bad feeling."

You nod but you choose not to put more worry into him. You don't like when he worries so much. "It'll be fine. You can turn into a tiger, I can melt people, Jason is very good at kicking ass and he does have the Robin suit which has weapons. We'll be fine." You rest a hand on Gar's shoulder and give him a gentle smile. The action was supposed to make him feel better but something about it doesn’t.

"Okay." He nods reluctantly.

"Meet you after." You give Gar a wink before turning and jogging down one of the tunnels to catch up with Jason.

You catch up with Jason, Jason hearing your pattering footsteps behind him. He knows it's you by the lightless of your steps.

"Can I fucking help you?" Jason quips.

"How-how did you know it was me?" You ask as you catch up to him, coming to a walking speed.

Jason lets out a laugh. "You're not fucking subtle." If anyone was going to follow him, it’d be you.

"Ha-ha." You mock him. "I came to make sure..." You pause as Jason looks at you, eyes narrowed and this is like when you went to beat up Jerry. Him in the Robin suit, you in street clothes, going to find a piece of shit. Maybe there's a bit of comfort in reckless abandon. "You don't kill him." You flash him a smirk.

There's a prideful smile across Jason's lips as he looks forward. He got the reference. He remembers telling you that that night.

"Gonna be able to pull me off him, huh?"

"Well," You shrug. "I was trained by the best, ya know?" You lift your hoodie so he can see the knives. "I, too, came a little overdressed for the occasion."

Jason lets out a laugh, his nose scrunching. "Yeah? And how's Gar feel about that?"

"Oh, well, he doesn't know." You let outa sigh, a guilty expression on your face. "He would have told Dick if he saw but I wasn't coming unprepared."

A triumphant smile pulls at Jason's lips as he boasts his chest. "Well, hey, I'm just glad you finally fucking admit I'm the best." Jason chortles.

"Oh, shut the fuck up." You roll your eyes. "Seriously, though," You let out a breath. "This is honestly stupid, like you know that, right?"

The smile falls. "No, he's a stupid fucking lightbulb."

"Uh-huh, yes, but the other Titans seem afraid of him. You don't think that's the least bit weird?" You raise.

"Could just be that Deathstroke is out there and his daughter is at the tower." Jason snarks.

"Fair." You let out a sigh, knowing that might be true. Everything you’ve heard about Dr. Light doesn’t sound too terrifying in terms of bad guys. "You don't seem to mind who Rose's dad is." You look to the ground for a split second, Jason catching it and a smirk comes to his face. Game time.

"Jealous?" He quips, looking at you and you think the mask makes him look a little goofy and he knows exactly what he's doing because you asked him the same thing last time.

"You fucking wish." You mock him and Jason lets out this laugh that bubbles your stomach. You wish he laughed more.

"If I did?" Jason continues and this time you look at him. He's looking straight ahead with a smirk that makes you want to kiss it right off his face. Shut him right up. But, you don't because you do like Gar.

You roll your eyes. "Alright, you fucking smartass."

"You always do that." Jason remarks, his voice drenched in confidence.

"Do what?" You glance to Jason.

"Deflect, backtrack. We go and back forth, and when you get stuck, you backtrack." Jason tilts his head to the right and then straights it back out with a shrug.

"Your point?" You raise, curious where he's going with this, but give him a teasing grin anyway.

Jason shrugs. "No point, just pointing it out." He is curious why you always do it. He wonders if it's because of Gar. Maybe you'd commit a bit more to the flirty banter, keep it going, if it weren't for Gar. Or maybe it's because it's him. He doesn't know but he definitely likes trying to figure you out.

"Mhm." You hum, not believing him. "Well? You and Rose?"

You don't even know why you’re pushing for an answer but you are. They've been hanging out a little more and you’re curious. Rose is cool and you like Rose. You swear it's not jealousy, that's not why you’re asking. You’re just curious.

"Why don't you tell me why you wanna know so bad?" Jason's brows are furrowed as he looks to you, his smirk turning taunting.

You wave a finger at him. "Why don't you tell me why you wanna know about Gar and me so bad?" You match the smirk with pride.

Jason's eyes narrow at you, a smile pulling up as he licks his bottom lip and turns forward again. He wants to know but only if it's the answer he wants. He'd rather not have to hear that you like him and he likes you. That you're some sort of couple or you want them to be. You are Jason’s friend so he'd suck it up for you, of course, but he doesn't want to actively hear it. The idea of rejection makes his mouth grow sour. But, he's not going to tell you that.

"You first." Jason states and decides to throw the ball in your court.

You shrug. The issue with the two boys for you is that Gar makes you feel stable and safe, secure. He makes you happy and you feel...content. You feel this weird feeling of peace with him that you can't quite explain. In a way, you feel kind of like your old self, but a more mature version of it. It's not about the games or jokes between you, it's just very soft. It is warmth like a fireplace in a brutal winter. You feel like nothing bad or dangerous could ever be happen with Gar because of the peace that just radiates from him. You can't even figure it out which is fun. He makes you feel comfortable, something you really miss. But, then there's Jason.

Jason makes you feel like you’re on fire. Every part of you is bursting into flames around him and it doesn't even hurt, it's just exhilarating. It feels like the two of you could burn an entire city down together. And yet, you feel safe with him, too. There is not a single doubt in your mind that Jason would protect you against anything in the world. And you'd do the same for him. Jason has this sort of recklessness about him that you find intriguing. You don't know what he's gonna do or what he's thinking, something about that is endearing. Jason makes you feel alive with the fire in your belly and that brings you this sense of comfort you have craved for years. And you don't have to hide anything from him, not any of the trauma because Jason has already seen it all and went through it all. He just gets you. But, then you come back to Gar again and the idea of just being soft. The two boys have pros and cons, every person does, and you know what you want but you’re not sure if what you want meets what you need. So, you shrug.

"I mean, she's pretty and you seemed into her." You let the words roll off your tongue as if it's not a bitter sting in your throat.

Jason nods once. "Yeah, she is." He chuckles softly, it's fake though. "Don't know." Jason huffs. "Don't really know her, ya know?"

"Mhm, yeah." You nod your head. "I get it."

"You seem into Gar. He's definitely into you." Jason lets out a breath, deciding to make something up, piggybacking off your reasoning.

"Yeah..." You let out a huff, a sad smile on your lips. "He does sometimes but I don't know."

Your lack of mention about your feelings doesn't go unnoticed by Jason. But, he doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to know. "Oh, no, he does." Jason's eyes widen. "Everyone can fucking see it." He chortles a little more bitterly than he intended.

"Not to me." You scoff. You look to the ground and back to Jason who hasn't taken his eyes off of you. You look forward and that's when you see a little bit of light from the end of the tunnel. "What's that?" You jerk your head forward, Jason shining the flashlight in that direction.

"Found him." Jason smirks, more to himself than to you.

"So, we're calling Dick, right?" You raise a brow at him as you both keep walking.

Jason just looks at you and he knows you’re being facetious. "You gonna call him? Or you gonna let me fucking do this?"

You sigh. "I'm not gonna stop you." You shake your head. "By the time I go call Dick, it'll be over. Go do your thing, I'll be here if you need help and to make sure you don't kill him." You flash him a smile.

"Thanks." Jason's voice is sincere as he walks further ahead of you, ready to take out the walking, talking lightbulb.

Dr. Light is using his energy or taking energy from the tunnels, Jason and you can't quite tell. But, while doing that, it sees he also sucks the energy from Jason's flashlight, it dying while Jason bangs it with his hand. This gets Dr. Light's attention.

"What? The big kids weren't available?" Dr. Light asks once he's on his feet. "They sent Junior Robin." The whole tunnel goes dark and suddenly you’re anxious. Maybe you should have gone with Gar. "Maybe you're just a fanboy."

Jason throws his flashlight off to the side, clearly not having whatever bullshit Dr. Light is going to keep throwing at him. The back of your head starts throbbing, the throbbing echoing to the front. Dr. Light starts firing light bursts, you and Jason dodging out of the way quickly. The throbbing in your head gets louder and more aggressive. Dr. Light lets out a sinister snicker as you move to Jason, grabbing his arm to try and help him up. Dr. Light towers over you both until you get to your feet. You let go and Jason lunges at Dr. Light, punching him in the face with a yell. Dr. Light puts up a good fight and overpowers Jason, throwing Jason right into the wall of the tunnel. He grabs Jason by the collar and throws him to the ground before moving to you.

Your hands glow at your sides, eying Dr. Light. You have no intentions of fighting him today. This isn't exactly what you signed up for but hey, if Jason and you get this guy, that's bonus points for you.

"Some competition." Dr. Light cackles before shooting a light burst at you but you’re faster because of the throbbing. You were out of the way before the light burst even left Dr. Light.

"Maybe for you," You snark, looking just past him where Jason is kneeling, getting to his feet. "Not for us though." You shoot acid at him, just missing as he dodges and he laughs but as he's turning around, you’re already throwing a knife, the knife grazing his arm.

Dr. Light glares at you, feeling the blood trickle down his arm. He's not going easy on either of you now, he will not be beaten up by two little Tikes. But, Jason is back on his feet now, a look of determination and stubbornness that you can make out even in the dark tunnel.

"Hey, Lightbulb." Jason snarks, getting his attention. "Pick on someone your own fucking size."

Dr. Light takes the opportunity to shoot light bursts at Jason but Jason is also quicker and dodges them and blocks them with his cape. You officially think the cape is the coolest part of his suit. The light didn't do anything to Jason or his cape. It's actually really cool.

"Is it light like light beer light?" Jason quips.

"Shut the fuck up." Dr. Light yells, shooting more light bursts at Jason. You stand behind Dr. Light, letting Jason do his thing as promised and you have to admit, this guy is a fucking idiot. Jason and you have him cornered and he can't even focus on both of you. The older Titans are so scared of him...because?

"Fuck you!" Jason yells before he storms Dr. Light.

Jason starts punching him and Dr. Light can't get a single hit in. You stand back and let him just go for it. He let you go after Jerry, so you let him go after Dr. Light. You do, however, stand with a knife in your hand, the other hand glowing faintly as if waiting for this to go south. If Dr. Light suddenly gets this burst of energy, you want to be prepared to step in and help Jason. But, by the look of Jason grabbing him and pining Dr. Light to the ground, you don't think he'll need it.

"This Titan's back bitch." Jason snarls before going in for more punches to Dr. Light's face.

You move closer anyway as Jason's punches get more erratic and aggressive, getting the sense you'll have to pull him off. As you watch, you get a glimpse of how Jason felt that night. Based on things Jason has said, you know he views Jerry like he views any other villain, a waste of space. There is not a single part of you that thinks he was ever against you beating him up. He only pulled you off so you wouldn't be a murderer and have to live with the repercussion of that. And you get it because while watching him is actually pretty badass and, albeit, very attractive, it is worrisome.

He's aggressive and filled of fire. It's like he could go through this for hours and not get tired. You don't want him to be so angry anymore. He doesn't deserve to have so much aggression in him. He's better than that, he's worth more than that. And you want to stop him because there's this throbbing starting again in the back of your head. Dr. Light is on the ground, Jason has him, someone is coming. The throbbing intensifies, right at the base of your head and you know.

You spin around, only to be met with Deathstroke, holding his sword out a centimeter from your face. Your heart stops, your breath caught in your throat while time freezes. This is so much worse than Dr. Light and it’s only going to get worse. Jason is going to turn around and probably lose it. And Dr. Light starts cackling underneath Jason as Jason pauses for a breath.

Jason thinks he's just a twisted fuck for a second. Surely, this guy isn’t crazy enough to think getting the shit beat out of him is funny. That's the only logical explanation except that you haven't said a single word and you’re not in his eyesight anymore.

"Jay?" You call and your voice is so small, Jason's heart sinks.

He turns around slowly and there's Deathstroke with a sword to your face. Jason's entire heart feels like it's been ripped from his chest. It's nearly paralyzed him. He didn't prepare for this and suddenly, he's drowning in his own regret. He should have known better.

"Drop the knife." Deathstroke says calmly.

You suck in a breath, eyes locked on Deathstroke. Jason watches as his eyes are filled with panic and you drop the knife, the metal clanking against the concrete beneath you. You both are so fucked. Dr. Light gets the upper hand now, grabbing Jason by the cape and punching him. Jason lets out a yell as Dr. Light attacks him.

On instinct, you take a step back, turning around to face Dr. Light. You don’t make any further movements, knowing Deathstroke could stab you and kill you at any point. But, you’re not going to face Deathstroke while Dr. Light decides he can target Jason now.

"Just stop!" You yell out. "What? Guys can't lay a hand on the other Titans so you target us?" You yell to try and distract Dr. Light but it's no use.

Jason gets knocked out with one of the punches, Dr. Light considering it a job well done and before you can even process anything else, there’s a harsh hit to your head, sending you unconscious as well.

Gar heard Jason scream and you yelling something incoherent from the tunnel he went down. His heart and stomach drop right to his feet. He immediately starts sprinting to where the two of you went. He knew this was a bad idea. He knew the second Jason brought up splitting up, it would be a bad idea. And he had a worse feeling when you remained silent. It's unlike you to be quiet and he thought maybe it was because you agreed with him, that you should tell Dick. You just didn't want to argue with Jason and only agreed to it because you feel you owe him. But, now, he's thinking maybe it really was just that you wanted this, too and Gar is kicking himself because he should have known. He should have known the two of you going off together would only end in a disaster and his thoughts are confirmed when he reaches the tunnel you were in.

He finds Jason’s tossed flashlight, one of your knives, and two streaks of blood on the pavement. Gar is about to lose his mind in a fit of panic. You and Jason have been kidnapped.

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one-piece-one-shots · 20 hours

Text

Roronoa Zoro X CisFem Reader NSFW

"Another." The greenette called turning his empty shot glass over adding to the small collection he'd started.

Drinking like this never worked. It was proven, no matter how many times he tested this theory it always ended the same. But it passed the time and helped numb the guilt.

Another night on the road chasing an assignment, a target that was especially elusive. This town was just a short stop on his way to that bounty. It was a long lonely trip, but the payoff would have him set for a few months adding to the savings he had built up for something special.

The bartender placed a full shot in front of him and asked if he needed anything else.

Maybe he should call it a night. There wasn't much else to do, and tomorrow was planned out. He'd head out of the inn early to the next city where he'd intercept his mark, cash in and head home.

Once retiring to the small hotel room, he flopped onto the stiff foreign mattress brandishing his phone and pressing it to his left ear.

"You have one saved voice message." the automated voice chimed, "To listen to your messages press one."

After choosing the desired option he sighed returning the phone to his ear.

"Roronoa," your voice, albeit tense and a little angry sent a flash of goosebumps across his tanned flesh, "I'm still pissed. And don't think I'll just cave and forgive you like last time." there was a long pause followed by a soft sigh as your demeanor shifted, "Be sure to come home in one piece so I can kick your ass." another pause while you chuckled, "I love you."

With that, the call ended. You never said goodbye while he was on the road and no matter how angry you were, every message ended with, ' I love you'.

Zoro groaned rolling over to stare at the ceiling.

It had been almost four months since you'd left that message knowing once a mission started he couldn't contact you and you felt guilty for quarreling over his choice to accept such a dangerous mark. The last things you said to him were bitter and hurtful. But for Zoro that voicemail erased it all. He didn't care if you were mad, you didn't know the motivation behind it. He understood your frustration but was sure to be forgiven once you saw what he had planned.

Bringing his phone back into view he scrolled through pictures stopping on one you weren't aware had been taken.

Sheet pulled taut between your exposed thighs just covering your torso under your crossed arms. The soft light of that afternoon filtered through the blinds giving your dewy skin a warm glow. Your hair slightly tussled from the passionate session that had recently taken place. He wasn't a sentimental man, nor was he a romantic by any means but you did something to him. He had remained still watching you nap in your afterglow and couldn't help but capture the moment. His index finger traced the curve of your hip in the photo craving the real thing. Soon he was panting your name into the darkness before finally drifting off to sleep.

Only a few hours later he awoke in the still dark room headache splitting his brain. Fumbling around he dumped a few advil into his palm and found an unfinished bottle of sake to wash them down. It was almost time to move so, quickly he packed his bag loaded his weapons into the rusty old pickup and checked out of the inn.

Following the GPS on his phone closely he made the two-hour drive to Way City. The target, a once notorious gang leader and current fugitive, Crocodile, would be arriving to reunite with The Company's double agent Robin. It was an arduous mission that required loads of planning and coordination. Zoro was just glad it would be coming to a close soon.

Parking on the top level of the empty garage adjacent to the rendezvous point, Zoro began unpacking his equipment. He checked his phone feeling a bit uneasy. Something seemed off. Peering through the scope on his rifle he watched the warehouse door slam open as Crocodile passed through dragging Robin by her waist, pistol pressed firmly to her temple.

"Shit." Zoro muttered adjusting the gun with his mark's quick movements.

"Shoot me and see what happens to your friend. I can't guarantee I won't squeeze the trigger." His smooth deep voice resonated through the alley as he glared up at the bounty hunter.

While Crocodile was distracted by Zoro's presence Robin calmly but swiftly raised her arm elbowing the gun from his hand. Her attempt to escape his grasp, however, failed turning into a scuffle as she ducked blows from his prosthetic hook.

"Fuck." Zoro breathed.

They were moving too quickly for a clean shot. There was no way he would risk taking out a colleague so, he scrambled into the pickup and drove down to the bottom floor. Abandoning the vehicle, he snatched up his weapon of choice and ran toward the warehouse.

"What trash fights an unarmed woman?" the greenette huffed unsheathing his katana.

Crocodile turned from Robin's slumped form, a smug grin bending his lips, "A sword? How old-fashioned."

In mere seconds metal clashed with metal as Zoro's sword swiped the crime boss' hook. It was newly acquired and recently sharpened. Zoro noted from the dossier to avoid gashes from the appendage as it was often filled with some sort of poison; though this one didn't appear to be hollow.

The men continued their dance landing a few blows here and there. In a miscalculated move Zoro had allowed the hook to make its way around his blade. A flick of his wrist and the sword was torn from the greenette's grasp clattering against the pavement. With brute force, his fist made contact with Crocodile's jaw sending him back arms flailing for balance allowing Zoro an open shot at his torso diving into the large man's body. Both fought for dominance, Zoro ultimately losing, shouting a string of curses as Crocodile's hook swiped down his left eye from brow to cheekbone.

He stood over the bounty hunter chuckling, hook smearing Zoro's own blood against his throat. Perhaps enjoying his taste of victory a bit too much the raven began to speak only to have his words stifled by the crack of the pistol in Robin's hands. Swaying backward Crocodile dropped to the ground sputtering something incoherent.

"I'll contact Trafalgar and update Buggy on the mark." She stated calmly tearing the hem of her shirt and handing it to Zoro to cover his afflicted eye.

__________________

It was storming out, thunder continuously rattled the windows throughout the afternoon. Much like any other day off you cleaned and prepared dinner early in hopes that your boyfriend would finally be arriving home. A few days before he'd sent a simple text that the mission was completed but debriefing would take a bit longer than usual. You'd discarded all of your anger just happy he was alive and well fully intending to apologize the moment he walked over the threshold.

The sound of keys clattering against the deck drew your attention to the door. Heart pounding furiously you ran to open it for him.

"Moss - y..." your breath caught in your now constricted throat at the sight before you.

Zoro stood over the entrance, soaked green hair matted to his face far longer than it was the day he left. A bandage placed over his left eye, the right looking sunken and tired. You raised your hand gently caressing his stubbled jaw.

"What happened?" you managed pulling him into the house.

Without answering you he bent down capturing your lips. The tension left his body as he kissed you harder with an urgency you'd never experienced before. You allowed him to do as he pleased clearly needing the contact. Pressing you against the wall his large hands slipped behind your thighs lifting you off the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist. Clinging to him now your fingers wrung out his drenched locks while his lips carved a burning trail down your throat.

"I'm sorry." you huffed embracing his head, nails grazing over his scalp while he continued to kiss, lick and bite at your chest, "I'm - so so-rry."

Zoro pulled back to look at you, lust glazing over his visible eye, now puffy chapped lips parted with his labored breaths.

"Shut up."

It wasn't an angry demand, he knew you were sorry, he was too. You didn't want him to take this job and he paid a price for it physically and mentally.

He began to devour you again with a sinfully deep kiss shoving your back further into the wall. You caved into the delicious haze of pheromones, moving with him rather than against. This was his time to take you as he pleased. Calloused fingers dug into your soft thighs, the right slipping into your shorts to cup your rear as he began to grind against you.

Sliding your hands over his shoulders instantly reminded of his soaked clothing.

"Z-zoro." You mewled trying to get your boyfriend's attention.

He grunted against the base of your throat acknowledging your flustered call but refusing to stop his assault.

"H-honey... Stop," you shivered, "you're soaked."

He pulled back lifting you away from the wall eliciting a yip as he carried you into your shared room depositing you on the mattress. Stepping back, he quietly tugged his wet clothes off before crawling over you. His right eye didn't leave your face as you took in the sight of his bare skin, rivulets of water still making their way down the valleys between muscles. You reached up to touch a deep bruise on his shoulder, but he caught your wrists pushing you back into the bed.

His hands roamed over your clothes with an intense need while he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. It seemed innocent enough, something teenagers do in the back of a car on a lakefront, but you were instantly a shuddering panting mess. You caught a glimpse of his smile as he lowered himself to grind against your clothed body.

Such a tease.

Slowly he pushed your shirt up tugging it off and discarding it with his own clothes. His stubble scraped against your skin as he placed soft kisses down your stomach before hooking his index fingers into your shorts and panties yanking them down your legs leaving you just as exposed as him, save for your knee-high striped socks. He ran his hand over your calf bending your knee as more kisses peppered your inner thigh. You squirmed trying to relieve the burning need the greenette incited. There was no need to prepare you further he could see that, and you hoped he'd end the teasing and give you what you so desperately wanted.

Done wasting time he gripped your hips and slowly pushed himself into your warmth watching your lips part to moan his name. His arms slipped under you as he lowered himself leaving no part of your torso untouched as he thrust unhurriedly into you. You panted, clawing at his broad back earning a growl against your shoulder. Now working in rhythm with each other it was getting harder to keep his cool. Your voice so close and desperate to keep him going drove him crazy.

Feeling his orgasm build he quickened his pace, pulling back slightly to press his thumb to your clit. There was no way he was going to cum first. Unaware of your competition, your needy whine at the loss of warmth ended in a loud moan.

"Fuck." You breathed reaching your limit and subsequently taking Zoro passed his.

He remained near pulling the sheets over both of you while you ran your fingers gently down the left side of his face. His body was littered with scars already, that you didn't mind, but the loss of one of his beautiful chestnut eyes had you in a pout.

"I hope he paid for that." You murmured.

He hummed brushing loose strands from your face. It was quiet as lightning flickered through the windows giving you a clearer view of his calm expression, which was much different than when he arrived. He watched you comfortably search his face a soft smile gracing your lips. Little things like this made his chest tight, never having thought he'd have someone look at him with such love and adoration.

Before he could stop himself to wait for a better moment, the words tumbled right out of his mouth, "Marry me."

#roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #Need #mdni #18+ only #one piece oneshots #one piece #crocodile one piece #sir crocodile #x reader #lemon

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dragonmuse · 1 year

Text

(In light of Ao3 being down I am posting the first chunk of a new fic that will eventually go up as a one shot. It’s a Lucius/Izzy modern au featuring non traditional student Izzy.)

The backroom of Jackie’s bar was startlingly quiet. Izzy was fairly sure she’d installed soundproofing at some point for her own reasons and he was steadfastly not asking about those reasons. What it meant, as far as he was concerned, was that he could sip pretty decent whiskey for free while he fixed her inevitably bookkeeping problems once a month without hearing the general cacophony of the front room

:readmore:

Her arrival was heralded by the sharp smell of cigar smoke,

“Find it yet?”

“Yeah,” he held a receipt out that was very wrinkled and had a mysterious brown crust stuck to the bottom. “Danny has been buying all your limes from the grocery store instead of the bulk order.”

“Why?”

She sat down beside him at the long table she used in lieu of a desk. It had a lot of nicks, scars and graffiti scrawled on it. Too many years being handled by too many careless people.

Izzy could relate.

“I don’t ask for reasons, just hunt down the money. You’ll have retrain him on the ordering system.”

“I’ll get Geraldo to do it,” she waved that away. “He and Danny get each other.”

One empty headed fool to another, that checked out.

“Organized the receipts, should be ready for the taxman next month,” he told her instead of risking his neck saying that out loud.

“Thank fuck. Honestly, Hands, why don’t you just get certified already and then I can just pay you proper to do the taxes and things. Make my life a fuckload easier.”

“And you know I do everything for your convenience,” he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe you should. What the fuck else are you doing?”

Izzy picked up his whiskey and took a long sip.

He had this waking nightmare, an anxiety dream that played on loop in his head while he stared sightlessly at his walls at the apartment. In it, he’s walking down a sidewalk with no where in particular to go. He sees Eddy across the street. She spots him and before he can hide, she’s waving, cheerful as anything. She looks happy, full of good news and good things that have happened since he was unceremoniously ejected from his life.

The worst part of it is that after telling him about every good thing, including every detail of Bonnet’s ass-ugly mansion and collection of gold appliances, she asks him sincerely,

“So what’ve you been up to?”

And Izzy will have to say ‘nothing’.

He doesn’t really need to work. The jobs they ran may have been questionable in their legality, but they’d paid in real money. If he lived frugally, he could be retired for all his days and he’d never really wanted for much. But he didn’t have hobbies, never had time to cultivate any, didn’t have any old friends to spend time with, most of them were dead or in jail or had taken Eddy’s side when things ended, and he wasn’t in the market for new friends which seemed complicated and kind of nauseating.

He’d spent the last six months fixing Jackie’s books because she’d never much liked Eddy and had always been his friend alone (and lonely in that job) and trying to get the feral tomcat that lived in the alley next to his brownstone to get close enough that he could nab it and have someone castrate the damn thing so it’d stop caterwauling at all hours of the night.

“You need a degree,” he said into his whiskey. “To get certified.”

“Didn’t you go to college?”

“Dropped out after two years. Started the business instead.”

“Bet they’d still take the credits,” she shrugged. “Throw in some ‘life experience’.

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Tell them I graduated from the school of hardknocks.”

Bonnet was a professor of something, he was pretty sure. He’d had a lot of books and talked about classes anyway. English, maybe? That sounded right. Eddy had liked how he spoke.

“Should be worth something to someone,” Jackie’s cigar smoke curled out of the corners of her mouth. “Can you imagine? I’d already have a degree in business if they took it out in years in.”

“And in matrimony,” he raised his glass to her and she laughed, fortunately. In a good mood.

“A full on masters in missus,” she grinned and he chuckled, the first time he’d even come close to a laugh in sometime.

Izzy walked home not much later. She’d stuck a cigar in his jacket pocket on his way out with a wink, so instead of going all the way inside, he sat down on his stoop and lit it. It was a mild summer night and he hadn’t actually sat out here in some time. It was a good cigar, but mostly it just made him miss cigarettes. He’d given them up fifteen years ago and sometimes he still craved the taste.

Mostly he craved how it had tasted bleeding into him through Eddy’s lips, but that wasn’t worth thinking about. Think about how the smoke reached for the cloudy night sky. Think about the warm air on his face. Think about how grocery shopping, meal planning, laundry, all the things that life required to keep the wheels rolling forward.

The tomcat padded up to the stoop, just out of reach. He was a big fellow, orange as anything with a ragged ear and proud bearing.

“You’re a son of a bitch,” he told the cat, even as he reached into his coat and pulled out the treats he’d started keeping on him as a bribe. He placed one on the bottom step then returned to his spot at the top.

The cat could clearly smell it, nose going and tail lashing, but he didn’t move from his spot until Izzy got up and opened the front door. Even then, he just darted in, nabbed the treat then ran off back into the alley. Figured.

He watched the news, barely taking it in. Went to bed and didn’t sleep.

In the wee hours, he got his laptop and opened up a website.

***

“Annnnd there we go!” His advisor beamed at him. The guy was maybe twenty-five and he said ‘nontraditional student’ like he meant ‘geriatric dumbass’. Izzy had had to draw on every minute of his ancient court-mandated anger management class tips to keep quiet.

“Yes,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “I know how to get into the system. Got myself set for the next semester, but I’m closed out of anything that satisfies the arts requirement.”

“Ooooh!” His advisor blinked wetly at him. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

Breath in. Breath out. I don’t want to go to prison, I don’t want to go to prison, I don’t want to go to prison. It probably wasn’t what Cindy, his anger management trainer, had meant by a mantra, but it had done him a lot of good over the years.

“What can I take that’s still open?” He said through only slightly gritted teeth and, more remarkably, without swearing.

“Let’s see! Ooooh there’s ceramics!” He said after some clicking. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

I don’t want to go to prison. I don’t want to go to prison.

“No.”

“It can be very therapeutic, my Nana loves making pots.”

I don’t want to go to prison. I don’t want to go to prison.

“What else is there?”

“Uh...closed...closed...” The bright smile started to dim a little. “Closed...wow, the arts are popular...mmm. There’s Drawing 1 still open. Do you want to learn how to draw?”

“Is quartering involved?” he muttered.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Great!”

Which was how Izzy found himself walking into an airy room filled with color-splotched surfaces, and the smell of paint hanging in the air. There were a few students milling around already, settling in front of easels. Some of them were chatting with each other or fussing over their supplies.

In the first semester, Izzy had attempted to gravitate toward the back as he would’ve with Ed back in the day, but quickly it became apparent that he needed to be closer to the front to read the slides and it was easier to pay attention that way anyway. If he wanted privacy, the front tended to be better for that anyway. No one wanted the very front. He usually had the entire space to himself.

Here it meant that everyone behind him would probably be able to see his work, but what the hell did he care about a bunch of kids knowing he couldn’t draw worth a damn? He just needed to get this class out from under him so he could fill his schedule with math and some of the engineering courses that he could begrudgingly acknowledge sounded interesting.

So up front it was. He set down the required sketchbook and pencils, tossed his much battered leather jacket over the back of the seat, set his travel mug to one side (just water, but he preferred it as cold as possible for as long as possible) and settled in with the expectation of suffering.

One of the students was buzzing around at the front of the class, clicking around on a laptop and then moving to shuffle papers. He was tall and dark-haired, dressed exactly like Izzy imagined a flighty art major would be: fashionably loose striped shirt, wide legged pants and a ridiculous silky bit of material tied around his throat. He was wearing an actual watch though which was unusual. The kids around Izzy seemed to either rely on their phones, smart watches or just not know what the hell time it was at any given moment.

“Hi,” the maybe-a-T.A. chirped right at him. “Thanks for sitting up front. I start to worry that I smell the way people avoid it.”

“I like to actually see shit,” Izzy shrugged.

“Important in any class, but doubly important in this one.”

“Think there’s a lot of powerpoint?” He asked, resigned.

“Nah,” the guy smiled brightly. “Why do you ask?”

“Something about the words on the screen gives me a headache.

Izzy waited for a comment about his age which seemed to be everyone’s go-to conversational topic, but the guy just nodded.

“Everyone needs a screen break sometimes. One of my friends uses these blue tinted glasses or something, swears by them to help screen headaches for what it’s worth.”

Before Izzy could ask a follow up question, a student ambled up to maybe-a-T.A.asking something about paper weights that Izzy didn’t care to follow. He checked his email on his phone, and then googled ‘blue tinted glasses’ they looked ugly as fuck.

“Okay!” maybe-a-T.A. said from the front of the class. “Nice to see a few familiar faces, but most of you are new to me. I’m Dr. Lucius Spriggs, welcome to Drawing 101. If this isn’t where you’re supposed to be, take the opportunity to find the exits located at the back of the room.”

Izzy closed his eyes for a second. This kid was the fucking professor. He had been fortunate enough in the first semester to at least be in the same age range (even once notably younger) than the teachers.

Maybe they handed out art degrees faster than ones in accounting. Izzy re-opened his eyes and accepted his fate. At least the syllabus made sense, set up practically as Dr. Spriggs went over it. He sat on the edge of a table as he did so, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle.

“So that’s the boring stuff,” Dr. Spriggs tossed his copy of the syllabus over his shoulder with an impish smile. “Here’s the important thing. Art is all about creativity and experimentation and I love all that. I encourage it in any of your free drawing assignments, but here and now, in this class, my job is to teach you some fundamentals. That means I’m going to give you bowls of fruit and all that jazz and I want you to draw bowls of fruit. You can’t experiment until you know what you’re experimenting with.”

Izzy sat up a little straighter. That seemed remarkably straight forward.

“Art isn’t just making beautiful things,” he went on. “It takes dedication and practice like anything in your life you want to be good at. This class focuses on that part of it for your benefit. You know all that stuff about learning outcomes? That matters to me. I want you to leave knowing you can draw....yes?”

A girl timidly put her hand back down, “What if we can’t? I’ve never been able to draw anything before.”

“Then I get to look particularly impressive,” he said with a grin. “You will draw something before you leave my class, okay? But only if you put the effort in. Promise?”

She nodded shyly, pinking up. Izzy’s initial hopefulness faded. He was going to die of boredom or of triteness here.

“Cool. Okay, we’re going to do attendance to make sure everyone is actually in the right place and so I can put faces to all your names. If I get the pronunciation wrong, please correct me. If your pronouns aren’t in the system or recently changed, let me know either during roll or shoot me an email if you’d prefer.”

And then it was the tedious listing off. When Dr. Spriggs said, “Israel Hands?” He just lifted his hand enough to be acknowledged.

He assumed that be it for today. Most of the professors seemed to prefer their setup classes to be short and sweet, but Dr. Spriggs put down his laptop and picked up a pencil.

“So for today, we’re going to start out humble. Let’s talk sitting and saving our wrists.”

Izzy hadn’t thought about his posture in a long time and how he held a pencil hadn’t been a conscious thought since kindergarten. It felt good to stretch a little though and then Dr. Spriggs went around the room as the made lines on an initial sheet of paper to guide them a little more.

“Oh, good,” Dr. Spriggs stopped by him last on his way back up to the front. “You’ve got a good natural hand position, but you can turn your paper to get a good angle instead of your wrist.”

Izzy frowned, but adjusted his page. “Yeah?”

“Great! Israel, right?”

“Izzy,” he corrected absently. Moving the paper was easier. Huh.

“Izzy,” Dr. Spriggs repeated. “Did you use a ruler?”

“No?”

“Wow,” the laugh was gentle. “You’ve got a good eye and a steady hand.”

The compliment landed like a worm in his gut, squirming and wriggling uncomfortably.

“Thanks,” he muttered and almost hunched his shoulders, catching himself at the last second. Thankfully, the professor moved back to the front of the room and started wrapping up, talking about their first assignment.

He escaped without further incident.

The tomcat didn’t show up when he sat on the stoop that night. He’d taken to doing that more, even as it got colder. Sometimes the cat would sit just a few steps beneath him now, waiting patiently for the mouthfuls that Izzy would provide.

Alone, he went through the homework for what the school called ‘Corporate Finance’ and Izzy had already mentally dubbed ‘Rich Fuckers Get Richer’’ class. Jackie would love it. It was now how he pictured himself at fifty, sitting on the stoop like his father used to, chewing on straw instead of smoking, doing homework like he was the obedient teenager that he’d never been.

Then again, he’d pictured himself in a grave at fifty for most of this life, so what the fuck did he know? This was probably better than that.

#Ofmd fanfic #izzy hands/lucius spriggs #Izzy hands #lucius spriggs

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villainsandcivilians · 2 years

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Villain x Civilian... Though Civilian is a supervillain in retirement and is way more powerful but the villain doesn't know that and tries to kidnap Civilian.

I love this idea so much!

Just a reminder that this is not a prompt and requests are open

**Warnings; breaking in, attempted kidnap, threats of violence

Masterlist

Villain checked the time on their watch; a minute to midnight. It was almost time to set their plan in motion. They were skulking outside the house of a wealthy civilian, waiting for the opportunity to break in and kidnap them. Villain had carefully turned off all of the alarms and CCTV cameras on the property, running over the building’s floor plan all the while. It had struck them as odd that a place as full of valuables as this only had one camera and one alarm, but they had to admit it made their job easier. That was the thing with civilians – they were either scared to death that they would be robbed of their worldly possessions and put their security up to the max, or, like this person, they were cocky and thought no one would dare try to break into their home. Villain grinned wide as the clock struck midnight. Time to go.

They slipped in through a large sash window once they had carefully worked the latch open, then began making their way down the first of a series of ornately decorated corridors. The carpet was a rich red colour, oak panelling stretched all along both walls and occasionally there was a decorative table housing some priceless piece of history. Villain didn’t take much time to look at any of it.

They had been watching Civilian for a while now, planning out their daily routine, deciding where they would be at which time and what they would be doing. Civilian was a part time ‘politician’, as far as Villain could tell. They spent most of their time at home, but when they were out, it was usually because they were discussing business affairs with the mayor. Mayor was the real target of this operation, given that it was them Villain wanted to rob. It wasn’t as easy as just breaking and entering when it came to them; there was around the clock security to deal with, umpteen cameras and silent alarm systems. Villain knew, because they’d already tried. Capturing someone close to the mayor and holding them hostage was a backup plan.

The further Villain crept through the house, the more they began to wonder if they should give up on the kidnapping and just rob Civilian. The entire place was dripping in wealth, though Civilian was still quite young given the vast riches in their possession. It must be family money, villain thought as they passed a series of priceless mounted portraits on their right. Either that or they got lucky. Villain froze to the spot, a faint nose catching their attention. By rights, Civilian should only be a few rooms over, so maybe they had just moved something. An antique book, perhaps, one of a massive collection housed in the library in which Villain was expecting them to be. Maybe they could lift a few books on their way out.

Villain could hardly believe their luck when they got to the right room. The door had been left ajar, just wide enough that they could slip through unnoticed. Civilian was standing with their back turned, leaning forwards and perusing a bookshelf with avid interest. They would never see it coming. Villain tiptoed their way across the room, silently drawing a chemical-soaked cloth from their pocket and raising their hand in front of them, preparing to press it over Civilian’s mouth. They were almost within touching distance, and then –

Villain frowned. Their hand had just stopped. Mid-air, like it had been frozen in place. They tugged backwards, but their hand wouldn’t budge. Neither would their arm. Villain could feel panic starting to rise in their chest as they tried to take a step backwards and found their legs wouldn’t comply. Their body trembled with the effort of trying to move, but their muscles just wouldn’t listen. Villain could feel adrenaline starting to slide through their veins, their heartbeat sounding in their ears. Then, they heard a low, confident chuckle. Coming from Civilian.

Villain directed their eyes forwards to look at the person in front of them, who was now slowly turning around. They had just one finger raised a fraction of an inch, a malicious glint in their eyes a grin that rivalled Villain’s own.

“Well hello, darling,” came their voice, honey smooth and full of vicious enjoyment. It was a voice Villain hadn’t heard for years, not since they had first been starting out. but surely, it couldn’t be… The owner of that voice had disappeared without a trace years ago, never to be seen or heard from again. Unless –

“Have you worked it out yet, sweetheart? I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t.” Supervillain. It was a cruel smile that stretched their lips as they stepped forward, giving a low hum of amusement. “Nothing to say? Why, surely you should at least be trying to do something by now. Are your powers not telekinetic? Do you have to move to be able to use them?” Villain visibly gulped.

“I’m – I’m not powered,” they whispered, surprised they were even able to move their lips to form the words. Supervillain’s mask broke for a moment, their eyebrows raising slightly in what seemed like genuine surprise before they leaned their head back and let out a disbelieving laugh.

“You actually thought you’d be able to kidnap me?” They said, still laughing in disbelief. “And you’re not even powered?” They let out another guffaw, dropping the hand which held Villain in place even at arm’s length. Only Villain still couldn’t move.

“How…”

“Sweetheart, please. You were so astounded that I could control you by just raising a finger – you can’t blame me for playing with you just a little bit.” A horrible nausea started rising in the back of Villain’s throat.

“Everyone thinks you’re dead.” A smirk this time, and an amused huff.

“Do they think that? Or do you all say it to one another just to make yourselves feel safer, lest there be a repeat of Slate Bridge.” Villain almost wanted to close their eyes at the memory. So many had died, so much razed to the ground – and for what? Villainy was one thing, kidnapping, stealing and even the occasional murder. But that? That had just been carnage. Purely for the twisted enjoyment of the brilliant mind stood before them. “Do try not to pass out on me. I know I’m a terrifying sight to behold but you unconscious is really just going to make my night a lot more complicated than it needs to be.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Supervillain leaned forwards into Villain’s space, eyes glinting in the warm light emitting from a nearby lamp.

“You sound scared. You should have thought about that before you broke into my house.” Without so much as lifting a hand, Supervillain levitated Villain off the ground and began striding down the hallway outside the library, Villain’s limp body following helplessly behind. “You won’t be telling anyone who I am, Villain, that’s for sure.”

Tag list - @booberryfunun @artshit2088 @talkingsperm @writing-on-the-wahl @call-it-what-you-want-people @watercolorfreckles @classicplesiosaur

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cleoselene · 24 days

Text

tagged by @emmaswanned

Last song: "BODYGUARD" by Beyonce is what is currently playing

Favorite color: green mostly but also like. Cubbie blue.

Currently Watching/Reading:

watching: it's baseball season so I'm back on that mostly. However I am watching Lost for the first time, but I need to pick it back up. Got delayed in continue for really uninteresting reasons, but i got Hulu and so I can pick it up. I watched nine episodes and I like it!

pretty much all I ever read is the news, and my subscription is to Washington Post, but my friend Slim (he of the "not in Fall Out Boy, but did do an freakin' amazing blues cover of Taylor Swift's 'Mean' you shoud listen to it" fame on my blog) wrote a poetry book and he hasn't gone to press yet but hesent me the pdf. It's beautiful. Slim is a beautiful soul. the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back if you asked. Don't know if I've ever known a more genuinely generous soul. And he's talented as fuck! Check out his two original EPs they're on all the streaming services, he is Slimtronic 5k. Here's his cover of Taylor's "Mean," everyone go listen! He asked me what Taylor song he should cover and I thought long and hard and decided this had to be it, because he is the type of person to say "why you gotta be so mean?" because he's all about the love and kindness. Like, Dude from Big Lebowski vibes.

youtube

been obsessively listening to COWBOY CARTER. DAUGHTER is the one that destroys me. When she goes into that fuckin operatic voice? I had NO clue Beyonce had that kind of high voice in her. her singing and speaking voice too has always been this throaty, deep voice. To hear her suddenly break into Italian on a totally different octave than we've ever heard from Beyonce was MIND BLOWING. I got all goose-bumpy. Plus I loooove the Willie Nelson cameos hahah he is so clearly stoned out of his gourd. "Go find yourself a jukebox, thank yoU!"

watched the 9 part Turning Point Cold War doc on netflix, it was excellent. Then I watched the 9/11 one made by the same people and i felt like that one actually skipped a ton of important events? It wasn't as good I didn't feel

Relationship status: i am retired

Sweet/savory/spicy: savory though as middle age happens and perimenopause continues... the sweet tooth my mother promised was coming has kind of hit

Current obsessions: my vinyl collection. New music the theme for March and April! I cannot wait for TTPD, I feel like it's going to be what I wanted Midnights to be ut who know? Just excited about it. Again, baseball started this week so the sheen hasn't worn off there.

Last thing you googled: 'Three Dog Night wiki' lol I have three dogs (little ones at least) sleeping in my room. it is a three dog night. Did you knwo the name of that band comes from olden days when inns used to rent out dogs to sleep with on cold nights? So a "three dog night" was an exceptionally cold one since you needed to rent three dogs to sleep with you and keep you warm

tagging @sylvieons @an-ivy-covered-summer

#memes #thanks for tagging miss swan #Youtube

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beauty-and-passion · 11 months

Text

What am I currently doing?

What am I even doing? Am I dead? Have I left the fandom?

The answers are writing, no and no.

The long answers are:

What am I doing?

First I collected all answers from the survey for the fanwriting of Sanders Sides Season 3 (aka Fanders Sides Season 3). I checked them all and planned what to do. I already wrote a post with all the details, so I won’t spoil too much here: everything will be explained in due time.

I also finished the analyses of the remaining episodes.

And in the last weeks, I’ve started writing Fanders Sides Season 3. Today I finished the first 9 episodes which ideally close my first “arc” of the season finale. One third (more or less) is done.

However, these things should still be reviewed and proofread and I can do it only after I finish writing the whole FSS3. So for now it’s just a good draft.

Am I dead?

Eurovision 2023 almost killed me and the aftermath left me crushed. It has been a couple of terrible weeks and I managed to get out of them, only after a while - and after the true winner got back on his feet.

In the meantime, my job contract ended and the company did not renew it. Why? Oh, no idea. They need a person and yet, they decided to fire one they spent 6 months training for that role. The bullshit they told me was “there is no money”, which is ridiculous coming from a growing gas and oil company.

The truth is probably that the heads of administration are complete idiots and have no idea about the situation. The place I worked for is a branch of the company and the administration center for the whole Italian division of said company.

When I started working there, the administration office was down to three people (they had retired) and they really, REALLY needed help. I did my best and, thanks to my and another person’s help, the workload was reduced.

So, since now things are somehow normal, they told me that hey, the problem is solved. Which proves they have no idea how an administration works, because reducing the workload now doesn’t mean the workload is reduced forever.

And even though they do not know that, my colleagues do. And they’re all pissed. They protested and did everything, so... who knows?

In the meantime, I decided to try another route, which means teaching. I am currently studying to take a few exams and, hopefully, get into a course. If a company calls me, I will ponder the decision, but in the meantime, I’m focusing on my studies.

And writing, of course. Always writing.

Heck, this sudden change in my life gave me somehow the idea I was looking for for 10 years. I don’t know how, but I just... thought about it, wrote down a couple of things and bam, in less than one hour I had a working plot. Just like that. As if I haven’t spent YEARS thinking about how to make that fucking plot work. But that’s another story I will probably explain one day.

Have I left the fandom?

Of course I haven’t left the fandom, I’m writing FSS3!

And even after that, I will still keep an eye on Sanders Sides, waiting for the faithful day in which Mr. Sanders will finally decide to work on the season 2 finale. I will post other stuff too and other analyses I’ve planned long ago, but one part of me will still wait for the next update.

However, since FSS3 might take a while, I would like to start posting the episode analyses. But I’m also on a writing spree for FSS3 and I don’t want to lose the momentum by shifting my attention to something else.

So the answer is that, for now, I probably won’t post anything. The analyses should be proofread first, but I’m writing now and I don’t want to lose the moment. I will keep going on with FSS3 until I’ve finished it, then I will start proofreading and once an analysis will be ready, I will post it.

So if you’re still following me, please wait a little bit longer. If I start something, I finish it. All you need is just a bit of patience.

In the meantime, of course, you can ask me for updates, details or anything else. It might take me some time to reply or I wouldn’t be able to tell you everything, but I will try my best as always.

And, of course, thank you all for your time and your patience 💖

#sanders sides #blog update #fss3 #thomas sanders #seriously thank you for dealing up with me #I hope my work will be appreciated!#<3

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jrob64 · 2 years

Text

Where Her Heart Belongs (my CSSNS story)

This is my first contribution to the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer event, and it wouldn’t be possible without many people.

First of all, thank you to the CSSNS 2022 mods for having this event.

I am beyond excited to be paired with @winterbythesea, who created not one, but FOUR absolutely gorgeous pieces of art for this story! Her banner is at the top, and the other three pieces are scattered throughout the story. I only hope it is worthy of her beautiful work!

Thank you to @hookedmom, who read over the story at least a dozen times to help me plot and make it as error free and enjoyable to read as possible. Thanks also to @winterbythesea and @snowbellewells, who read over it to give me suggestions and feedback. It has definitely come a long way since the first draft!

Story summary: In the Land Without Magic, Emma Swan is quietly living her solitary life. When she finds a unique storybook in the library, strange things begin to happen. A canon divergent story which started out based on the movie “Somewhere in Time”, but evolved into something else entirely.

Rating: T

Words: 9191

Also found on ffn and Ao3

*********

Emma Swan pushed through the doors of the Columbus Public Library and inhaled the familiar scent of paper and ink. She knew many people relied on various forms of technology to do their research and reading these days, but in her opinion, nothing was better than the feeling of having an actual book in her hands.

“Good morning!” greeted the man at the circulation desk.

“Good morning,” Emma returned, looking at him curiously as she placed the books she had finished reading in the return slot. In all the times she had come to the library, she’d never seen this man working before - he must be new.

“Looking for anything in particular today?”

“Umm…I’m not sure. I guess I’ll just follow wherever my mood takes me.”

“You should check out our new fairytales section on the second floor,” the man said, gesturing toward the staircase to his left.

“Oh, uh, thanks. I might check it out a little later,” Emma replied.

“Be sure you do. I think you’ll find something there that will spark your interest.” He threw her a warm, dimpled smile, before resuming his typing. Emma’s curiosity about the man was piqued even more when she noticed that instead of using a computer, he was using an old-fashioned, manual typewriter.

She walked through the adult non-fiction section and peeked into the periodicals corner, where several retired senior citizens were reading newspapers. When she reached the area containing adult fiction, she ran her finger across several of the bindings and pulled out a few books to read the summaries on the back cover. None of them drew her attention, so she decided to go upstairs to search for the area the librarian recommended.

Every now and then, she liked to check out picture books, graphic novels or books for younger readers. She rarely had the opportunity to visit libraries when she was growing up in the foster system, so she ignored the social conventions and selected whatever struck her fancy.

She preferred coming to the library in the late morning when it wasn’t very busy, since most young patrons were in school. The quiet solitude of being among her beloved books was a balm that renewed her soul, and restored the faith in the goodness of mankind that her job as a bail bondsperson often depleted.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she glanced around and didn’t immediately see the new section, but something instinctively told her to turn right and go around the corner at the end of the aisle. There, she saw two very realistic columns decorated to look like those that would belong inside a castle. As she stepped between them, she took in the dozens of books neatly stacked on the shelves.

After collecting a couple of books with gilded edges, she carried them to a nearby armchair to peruse them. Losing herself in the stories, she was unaware how much time had passed, until she pulled her attention away from one of the books and checked the display on her phone.

When she glanced around the perimeter of the area, her eyes were drawn to an oversized book sticking out over the edge of the top shelf. Rising from her chair, she approached the shelf and reached up with one hand to slide the book toward herself. Realizing too late she had misjudged its weight, she tried to grab it with her other hand, but failed to catch it. The book clattered to the floor, flipping open to a page which revealed a very detailed color illustration. She looked around in embarrassment before bending down to pick up the book. Upon getting a better look at the picture, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

The full-page image featured an extremely handsome, but dangerous-looking man. He was dressed in a black leather coat with a high collar, a black blousy shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, and wore a chain with numerous charms around his neck. He was holding the ship’s wheel and had a hook in the place of his left hand. Mesmerized by his cornflower blue eyes and his dark, wind-blown hair, Emma dropped down to her knees to get a closer look.

Scanning the words on the opposite page, she understood this was the story of Killian Jones, also known as Captain Hook. “Holy shit! That doesn’t look like any Captain Hook I’ve ever seen,” she commented under her breath.

She marked the place with the attached ribbon and closed the cover to see the title, Once Upon a Time, embossed in gold on the rich, brown leather cover. There was no author’s name, so she presumed it was a compilation of fairy tales, and saw more brightly colored illustrations as she skimmed through its pages. It seemed to be written as one ongoing story, which encompassed many well-known and lesser-known fairy tale characters including Snow White, Prince Charming, Pinocchio, and many others.

“Excuse me.”

Emma looked up to see a boy who appeared to be about twelve-years-old looking down at her. Her brows raised as she said, “Do you need something?”

A brief flash of disappointment flitted across his face, before he gestured to the storybook on the floor in front of where she knelt and asked, “Can I see that book?”

“Umm,” she pondered, reluctantly closing it and picking it up. “Actually, I’m planning to check it out.”

He threw her a skeptical look. “Why? It’s a kids’ book.”

Emma pulled it to her chest and crossed her arms over it protectively. “Adults can like fairy tales, too,” she informed him defensively.

Tilting his head, he studied her. “Do you believe they’re true?”

“What? Of course not! They’re just made-up stories.”

“Then maybe you don’t deserve to read them.”

Emma tamped down the annoyance she could feel bubbling under the surface. “Are you telling me you think stories about talking animals and wooden puppets turning into real boys are true?”

The boy shrugged. “Why not? Some people believed they could send a man to the moon, even when everyone else thought they were crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s the same thing, kid.”

“But you don’t know that for a fact, do you?”

“Henry?” a voice called, then the woman to whom it belonged came around the corner of the bookshelf. “Oh, there you are. We need to get going. Do you have all your books selected?”

The boy, Henry, turned to Emma once more with an imploring look. She expected him to plead for the storybook again, so his next words surprised her. “Read it with the heart of the truest believer.” Then he reached down to pick up the other books Emma had set aside and raised his brows at her in question. When she nodded her assent for him to take them, he gave her a huge grin then hurried off to join the dark-haired woman in the navy pantsuit, whom Emma assumed to be his mother.

Emma stared after him for several moments, then shook her head and slowly pushed to her feet. The heart of the truest believer? What the hell did he mean by that?

When she got to the circulation desk, the man who greeted her when she first arrived was no longer there, nor was the typewriter. As she handed the oversized storybook to the woman she usually saw working at the desk, she noticed the books the boy had taken with him sitting on the counter. “Guess the kid decided not to get those after all,” she commented.

“Who?” the woman asked, searching for a bar code on the book.

“The kid who brought these books here to check out.”

She glanced up with a quizzical look. “You’re the only person who has come to the desk in almost twenty minutes.”

“Oh. Well, I guess you must have missed him, then.”

Her brows raised even higher. “I haven’t moved from this spot since I came to work over an hour ago. If somebody came to the desk, I would have definitely seen them.”

Emma’s eyes widened in confusion. “But I just talked to him a couple of minutes ago, in the fairy tale section.”

“What fairy tale section?” the worker questioned, giving up the search for the bar code and raising her eyes to meet Emma’s.

“The new one upstairs. That’s where he got those books, and where I found this one,” she said, pointing at the one titled Once Upon a Time.

The woman narrowed her eyes, clearly puzzled. “I don’t know anything about a new section up there.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “I was on vacation last week, so maybe they added it while I was gone. Funny, the director didn’t tell me anything about it, though. I wonder if they set it up for a book signing.”

“The guy working at the desk when I arrived told me about it,” Emma informed her.

“Guy? I’m the only one working here today.”

“But…he was here…and he was typing and…” Emma stammered, clearly at a loss to explain all the odd things which were happening. The look on the other woman’s face was a mixture of confusion and a little fear, probably for Emma’s sanity. “I…I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well the last couple of nights and I, um…maybe I dozed off up there and had a weird dream…or something,” she finished lamely.

The woman cleared her throat uncomfortably and looked down at the book she was still holding in her hands. “I, uh, I don’t ever remember seeing this book before.”

“Can…can I still check it out?” Emma asked, surprised to find that she was going to be very disappointed if she couldn’t.

The librarian started to shake her head, and then saw the hopefulness in the other woman’s eyes. Emma Swan was one of the most frequent patrons at the library. Because most stakeouts were in the evening, her job allowed her to visit during the day, and she took full advantage of it.

It made the worker’s heart happy to see someone who still loved turning the physical pages of a book, instead of reading them digitally, so she just couldn’t bring herself to deny the request. “Um, okay,” she said, “let me just add it into the system first.” She tapped on the computer keyboard, her eyebrows drawing closer together with every second that passed. “This must be brand new; it’s not even showing in our inventory yet.” She glanced up to see Emma biting her lip and looking crestfallen.

The librarian made a split-second decision and handed the book to the woman in front of her. “I tell you what, I’ll loan it to you anyway and add it to the system when you return it. I’m sure you’ll take very good care of it.”

Emma eagerly accepted it with a bright smile on her face, reverently running her hand over the leather cover as she murmured, “Yes, of course I will,” in a distracted voice.

After the librarian wrote down the title, she glanced up and asked, “Are you checking out anything else?” but didn’t receive an answer, because Emma had already turned to walk out the front doors, her hands still caressing the book like it was a precious treasure.

*********

Emma was almost at the bottom of the library steps before she realized it was raining. “Typical Ohio weather,” she mumbled. The sun had been shining when she left home, so she decided to walk and hadn’t bothered to bring an umbrella. Scanning the dark clouds, she realized the rain wasn’t going to stop anytime soon, so she quickly secured the book against her chest, wrapped her red leather jacket around it, then began quickly walking the six blocks home, dodging other people on the sidewalk.

By the time she reached her apartment building, she was drenched, her hair soaked and sticking to her face, and her shoes making squelching sounds as she walked up the three flights of stairs.

She unlocked her door with shaking fingers and entered, setting the deadbolt and chain locks once she was inside. Removing the book from inside her jacket, she was relieved to see it was mostly dry and undamaged. She was dying to sit down and begin reading in the comfortable confines of her home, but the rain was chilly and she knew she needed a hot shower and some hot chocolate to warm herself up, first.

After having her hot cocoa and a late lunch, she finally sat down an hour later, eagerly pulled the book into her lap and began slowly turning the pages, contentedly soaking in the colorful illustrations and reading it with bated breath. She was so completely enthralled with the tale of the Evil Queen casting a curse over the town and freezing time for twenty-eight years, she again lost all track of time.

Over four hours had passed when the print on the page became difficult to read and she realized dusk had fallen. “Shit!” she cursed, scrambling up from the couch and laying the storybook on her kitchen counter. She was setting a honey trap for the skip she was trying to catch, and was supposed to meet him at a restaurant in less than twenty minutes. She scurried into her bedroom, quickly changed into a dress, applied some makeup, threw on heels, pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, then grabbed her purse and keys.

Casting one last, longing look at the book, she debated taking it with her, just in case the guy didn’t show and the evening turned into a stakeout. Ultimately deciding against it, she left the apartment.

*********

It was after midnight when she returned, limping and sore from having to chase and tackle the imbecile who thought leading her on a footrace through the downtown area was a good idea. He was sitting in jail now, and she had a tidy sum to deposit into her checking account, but it came at the cost of a twisted ankle and bruised ribs.

After gingerly changing into yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt, she draped her damaged dress over the wooden chair in her bedroom, then tugged the elastic band out of her hair. As she brushed out the tangles, she winced, the movement pulling at her tender rib cage. “Stupid asshole,” she grumbled.

Truth be told, it wasn’t the physical pain that bothered her the most, but rather the sting of his words when she berated him for skipping out on his court date, after the wife he was supposed to love bailed him out. “What do you know about love? Nobody would ever love you!” he had spat at her.

“Nothing. I know nothing about love,” she whispered to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sighing, she shuffled into the kitchen to toss some ice cubes in a ziplock bag for her ankle and get a bottle of water. The book on the counter caught her attention and she almost picked it up, but knew it would lift her spirits, and chose to wallow in her misery instead.

She hobbled to the couch and slumped down on it, propped her foot on the coffee table and placed the ice bag across her ankle, making adjustments until it remained stationary. Rummaging between the cushions, she located the remote and flicked on the television, mindlessly scrolling through the guide, until she settled on a rewatch of Iron Man 2. After attempting to focus her attention for ten minutes, she gave up and decided to go to bed. She lay sleepless for most of the night, with the words of the guy she hauled to the police station echoing in her head.

*********

As Emma dragged herself out of bed the next morning, the aches and pains from the previous night hit her full-force; it was all she could do to get into the shower and allow the hot spray to wash over her sore body. Days like this made her wish she had a bathtub, but that was one luxury that didn’t come with her apartment.

After two cups of coffee, a couple of cherry Pop-Tarts, a dose of ibuprofen, and more ice applied to her ankle, she felt halfway human again. She was relieved it was Saturday, giving her the whole day to rest. Opting to leave the television off, she settled onto the sofa with the storybook propped on her lap and started reading where she left off.

When she reached the story of Pinocchio, it began the same as the original with the woodcarver creating a wooden puppet, who then became a real boy. However, this version went on to tell what happened after the boy grew up and became a man. He began turning back into wood, because he didn’t prove to be brave, selfless and true.

Studying the drawing of the man with the wooden features, Emma couldn’t help but notice the similarity between him and the man she saw, or thought she saw, at the library circulation desk. The hair, eyes, jawline and other features all bore a striking resemblance to the person whom Emma had nearly convinced herself was a figment of her imagination. “That’s just a weird coincidence,” she mumbled, finally turning the page to the beginning of the next tale.

By the time her stomach started growling, it was one o’clock and she was just finishing the story of the Mad Hatter. She was intrigued by the fact that every story in the book had its own unique plot, rather than following the well-known, traditional one.

She heated up two slices of leftover pizza, took more pain medication, then sat on the couch, reapplied ice, and leafed through the book to inspect more of the illustrations. Upon reaching the story of Peter Pan and the image of Captain Hook, she spent an inordinate amount of time studying the handsome pirate, taking in every minute detail.

When she finally decided to peel her eyes away from the picture to continue flipping through several more pages, she suddenly sat bolt upright. “What the hell?”

The illustration showed two people dancing at what appeared to be a royal ball. She easily recognized Killian Jones, even though he was wearing a brown, high-collared frock coat and a white shirt with ruffled cuffs, instead of his pirate garb. But it was the woman with whom he was dancing who drew her attention the most. She wore a bright red, floor-length ball gown with a sweetheart neckline and long sleeves, her blonde hair swept up in a simple updo adorned with a jeweled headband. Emma stared at the woman’s face and its familiar features - the same ones she saw every time she looked in the mirror.

She was looking at a picture of herself dancing with the infamous Captain Hook.

It had to be a mistake. Maybe it was someone who just resembled her and she hadn’t examined it closely enough to see the differences in their appearance. Maybe the artist saw her or her picture somewhere and used her likeness.

Emma let the ice bag slide off her ankle as she put both feet on the floor and bent over the book. Even though the drawing wasn’t super-realistic, it was still detailed enough to see that the resemblance was uncanny.

“Don’t be an idiot, Emma,” she murmured. “It’s just a weird coincidence. There’s no way this is a picture of you in a book of fairy tales.” She continued to carefully examine the illustration, concentrating on finding any possible differences between herself and the woman in the drawing.

The problem was, she knew it was her. She felt it in her very soul.

Tearing her eyes away from the drawing, she quickly read a couple of paragraphs from the story on the opposite page. It told of the couple attending a royal ball in disguise in order to retrieve a ring stolen from Prince Charming by Snow White. When she read that the woman in the red dress was identified as Princess Leia and her partner as Prince Charles, Emma barked out a laugh.

She shifted her eyes back to the right, once again drinking in the image of the dancing couple. After staring at the page for a prolonged amount of time, she found herself whispering, “Killian Jones” over and over, enjoying how his name tasted on her tongue, feeling like it was familiar and somehow very important.

As she continued to repeat it, she gently stroked her fingers across the page, then let out a gasp. The tips of her fingers seemed to sink into the paper, creating a ripple like that of a stone plopping into water. She drew them back quickly, before swallowing hard and hesitantly touching them to the surface again. This time, nothing happened, causing her to frown. “Now I’m either hallucinating or my imagination is running wild,” she chastised herself.

Shuffling her bare feet on the carpet, her right one encountered a wet puddle. “Dammit!” she exclaimed, realizing the ice in the plastic bag must have melted and leaked. She laid the open book on the coffee table, collected the offending bag from the floor, and pushed herself up off the couch to limp into the kitchen for a towel.

Glancing at the clock on the microwave, she was shocked to see it was after seven. No wonder all of the ice turned to water, and the sky outside her window was beginning to darken. She could hardly believe how quickly time passed every time she sat down to read this book.

Shaking her head, she decided to make a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of nachos covered with cheese and leftover taco meat. As she waited for the milk to heat in the microwave, she started to move dreamily around the kitchen. She crossed the room to get the shredded cheese out of the refrigerator, and realized that despite her sore ankle, she was attempting to dance a waltz. Although she had never done that particular dance before, she recognized it as one she had seen other people do on television and in movies. “You’re losing it, Emma,” she said, rolling her eyes at herself.

Cracking open a fresh bottle of water, she took more ibuprofen, replaced the cap and tucked the bottle under her arm. Juggling the plate of nachos and mug of cocoa, she returned to the living room. The entire time she was eating, she was absentmindedly humming.

Just as she was about to stuff another nacho into her mouth, her jaw dropped and so did the chip, right into her lap. Maybe she had hit her head tackling the skip and didn’t realize it. She was hallucinating again, because the figures in the book appeared to be moving around the dance floor in time with the music she was humming.

After quickly wiping her hands off on a napkin, she rubbed her eyes, then looked at the page again. The couple on the page was stagnant and unmoving. “Of course they are,” she reprimanded herself. “People in drawings don’t move. I’m losing my mind, or maybe I have a concussion. I should probably get it checked.”

She cleaned up the mess from the dropped nacho and threw away what was left on the paper plate, her appetite gone as she pondered what she thought she had witnessed. Deciding she was overly tired, she went into the bedroom to change into pajamas, brushed her teeth, and then climbed into bed.

Sleep didn’t come easily, but when she finally succumbed, Emma dreamed of dancing with Killian Jones. She could almost feel his arm around her waist, and hear his deep, accented voice as he uttered that she appeared to be a natural.

*********

One advantage to being an independent bail bonds person was that she could set her own hours. For the next three days, Emma stayed home to nurse her wounds, and nearly every minute of it was spent poring over the book. She read every tale with the excitement of a child, then went back and read them again.

Every time she came across a mention of Killian Jones, or his more colorful moniker, Captain Hook, she marked the spot so she could go back to it over and over. She felt a connection to him that she was hard-pressed to understand.

The illustration of him dancing with the lady in red drew her attention most of all. The more she read the accompanying story and closely examined the drawing, the more she was convinced it was actually her waltzing with the handsome captain. She knew it didn’t make sense, but it was impossible for her to think otherwise.

She experienced four more moments of seeing the figures in the book move in front of her eyes, and twice felt her fingers dip into the surface of the page again, each time feeling a strange, but warm, tingling sensation. It always happened when she was so engrossed in the words and pictures, that she almost put herself into a trance.

As she lay in bed one night after one of these episodes, her mind started spinning in a bizarre direction. If she could break into the page with her fingertips, was it possible to transport herself into the book?

She turned over and buried her face in the pillow, berating herself for having such ridiculous thoughts; but no matter how much she tried to block the idea, it continued to niggle at her brain. If she could get into the book, maybe she could meet Killian Jones.

*********

On Wednesday morning, after hardly getting any sleep the night before, she took her torn dress to the seamstress down the street. Since damaged clothes tended to be a regular outcome of her job, she was very familiar with the two women who worked there.

When she entered the shop, she was startled by the sound of a tinkling bell above the door. “That’s new, isn’t it?” she asked, looking behind her to see the small, gold bell.

“Yes, but it’s nice, don’t you think?” a voice answered, and when Emma turned, she didn’t recognize the person to whom it belonged. Standing there instead was a petite, fair-skinned woman with short, dark hair, sparkling green eyes and a bright smile. Emma sensed something recognizable about her, but couldn’t quite place it.

“Uh, sure,” she said absent-mindedly. “You, um, you’re new too, aren’t you? It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been here. When did you start working?”

The woman cocked her head to the left before responding, giving Emma the impression she was trying to figure out how to answer. “I, um…I started very recently.” Her smile following this statement was almost secretive. Then she stretched her hands toward the dress in Emma’s hands. “How can I help you?”

“There are several beads missing and a couple of minor tears that need to be sewn.” Emma laid the garment on the counter and proceeded to point out the damage.

“Oh, those look like they can easily be fixed. Give us a day or two.”

“A day or two? It usually takes at least a week.”

The other woman’s smile faded a tiny bit, before she recovered to say, “Well, we haven’t been very busy lately, so it won’t take as long.”

“Okay…that’s, um, that’s great,” Emma said, still trying to figure out why the other woman looked so familiar.

“Just come back Saturday morning and we’ll have this waiting for you, good as new.”

Emma nodded, but didn’t turn to go, causing the dark-haired woman’s forehead to crease in obvious confusion. “Was there something else?”

“Shouldn’t you give me a claim ticket?”

“A…oh, yes! Just a second.” The woman searched somewhat frantically under the counter until she finally straightened up with a yellow slip of paper in her hand. She held it out to Emma, who took it and deliberately tore it along the perforated line, then handed the smaller piece back. The woman accepted it hesitantly, clearly unsure what to do with it.

“Are you, uh…are you going to pin that to my dress?”

“Pin it. Of course!” Her eyes fell on the small box of safety pins sitting next to the cash register, and she quickly plucked one out and pinned the yellow tag to the light blue material of the dress. “There. That should do it!” she crowed triumphantly.

“Thank you. I’ll, um, I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it!” the woman chirped.

Emma gave her one last puzzled glance, then turned and headed out the door, startled once again by the slightly obnoxious little bell.

She was halfway home when she suddenly stopped stock still in the middle of the sidewalk, causing the man behind her to sidestep quickly to avoid a collision. Oblivious to his glare and perturbed eye roll as he moved past her, she snapped her fingers and firmly stated, “That’s it! She’s Snow White!”

*********

Throughout the rest of the week, Emma encountered several more people who closely resembled fairytale characters she’d read about in the book. ‘Red Riding Hood’ waited on her when she went to the diner down the street, ‘the Mad Hatter’ greeted her as she entered her favorite coffee shop for her regular order of chai tea, and ‘Prince Charming’ was the police officer who helped process the skip she brought in on Friday evening. She had never seen any of them before, and it seemed like more than a coincidence that they kept popping up in her daily activities.

When she returned to the seamstress shop on Saturday, she expected to hear the ringing of the bell as she pushed through the door, but it wasn’t there. One of the regular workers was behind the counter instead of ‘Snow White’. Emma asked, “Did you take the bell down already?”

“Bell?”

“The one above the door.”

“We’ve never had a bell above the door, although that wouldn’t be a bad idea, especially when we’re both busy in the back.”

Emma’s brows knit together. “It was there when I came in the other day.” She turned to look at the spot where she had seen the little gold bell two days ago and saw that there were no nail holes where it had been mounted. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head, beginning to get used to strange things happening.

“Do you have something to drop off, Miss Swan?” the seamstress asked.

“Not today. I, uh, I should have a dress to pick up. I brought it in on Wednesday.” She placed the yellow tag on the counter.

The lady in front of her looked puzzled, something else Emma was seeing quite often these days. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss Swan. We were closed all day on Wednesday and Thursday due to both of us being ill. Maybe it was another day…Tuesday perhaps?”

She shouldn’t have been surprised, but Emma’s jaw dropped all the same. “But…I…there was…um, would you mind checking to see if there’s something here anyway?”

“Sure, just a minute.” The woman picked up the tag and began searching the clothes rack behind her and, finding nothing, turned to the shelves containing shopping bags for larger orders. “Oh, I see you do have a pick-up.” She snatched the white bag off of the shelf and set it on the counter.

“Are you certain that’s mine?” Emma asked. “I only brought in a mini-dress. It shouldn’t warrant such a big bag.”

The lady pointed to the yellow tag stapled to the sack. “This matches your number, and see here? Your name is even written on the bag.” Emma looked where the seamstress was pointing and saw her name written in flowing script.

“Okay, well, how much do I owe you?”

“The tag says it’s already been paid.”

Emma stopped midway to unzipping her purse. “Really?”

“That’s what it says. Don’t you remember paying?”

“Uh, no, but I seem to be pretty forgetful these days, so I guess it’s possible.” She looped her wrist through the handles and dragged it off the counter, surprised at the weight of the sack, since one dress shouldn’t be heavy at all. Peeking into the bag, she noticed some red material underneath her blue dress, as well as a note laying on top, which read, “This isn’t a mistake, Emma. The extra dress is for you.”

Her eyes widened and she shot a look up at the seamstress. “Is something wrong?” the woman questioned.

“No, I, um…th-thank you. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” Turning quickly, she exited the shop.

On the way home, she was tempted to take a closer look at the red dress, but felt compelled to wait until she was in the privacy of her apartment. Once she let herself in and closed the door behind her, she placed the bag on the coffee table. Removing her blue dress, she noted that it was expertly repaired and set it aside, then reached for the other garment underneath.

When she pulled it from the bag, she nearly dropped it in shock. The red ball gown she was holding in her hands was an exact replica of the one in the drawing of her dancing with Killian Jones.

Once she overcame her astonishment, Emma took the dress into her bedroom to try it on. She laid it out on the bed and ran her fingers over the soft, satin material, feeling a tingling in them that traveled up her arms all the way to her shoulders.

She stripped off her jeans and sweater, gingerly stepped into the dress, pulled it up around her, slid her arms into the sleeves and reached behind herself to try to tighten the satin ribbons. She knew the intricate lacing would probably require another person to close it properly, but to her surprise, the ribbons almost magically slipped through the eyelets, allowing her to tie them in a bow at the small of her back. Smoothing her hands down the full skirt, she marveled at the fact that it fit her perfectly.

Drawing in a deep breath, she turned slowly to take in her reflection in the full-length mirror and gasped. The resemblance to the illustration in the book was unmistakable. She swiveled this way and that to see the dress from every angle, all the while trying to identify the sensations passing through her body. It was as if gentle currents of electricity were running up and down her spine and extremities, and if she was pressed to put a name to it, she would call it magic.

She gathered the material in her hands and lifted it slightly so she could move more freely. The full skirt swished around her ankles as she swayed back and forth, humming to herself. Soon, she was moving around the room with her eyes closed, imagining being in the arms of Killian Jones.

Leaving the bedroom and gliding down the hall to the living room, she swept past the coffee table where the book laid open to the picture of the couple waltzing. It didn’t phase her anymore to see the figures moving. She stopped in front of the table, but continued humming and watching the figures dance in time to the music. Emma hesitantly reached out to touch the page, and a now-familiar sensation progressed up the length of her arm as the tips of her fingers pushed through the surface of it. Biting her lip, she kept going, but then hit an unyielding wall as she reached the knuckles on her hand.

Disappointed, she stopped humming and drew back her hand. Immediately, the dancing couple ceased moving and the solidness of the page was once again restored. She sighed deeply and murmured, “So close, Killian Jones. Someday I’ll make it to you,” then trudged back down the hallway to take off the dress.

*********

The next week, Emma had an appointment at her usual beauty shop to get her split ends trimmed. She had been going to the same hair stylist for as long as she could remember, so she was surprised when she entered the shop and didn’t see the girl anywhere. In fact, there was only one person in the entire place, which was very strange, because it was always bustling with customers and hairdressers.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, directing her question to the pretty, blonde stylist.

The girl gestured to the chair in front of the mirror as she answered, “Well…it was a slow day, so the others went out for lunch.”

Emma took the offered seat and looked into the mirror, her eyes widening when she saw the face of the beautician reflected there. “Cinderella,” she whispered. She didn’t think the girl heard her, until she smirked at Emma in the mirror, clearly aware that she recognized her.

She made quick work of trimming the ends of Emma’s hair, then drew the brush through her golden locks over and over again. “You have beautiful hair. Do you mind if I style it into an updo? I would really like the practice. No extra charge, of course.”

“Uh, sure, that would be fine.” Emma was heading straight home afterwards and was actually rather curious what she would look like with a sophisticated hairdo, since she’d never had an occasion to wear one.

“Great! Just relax and let me see what I can come up with.”

Emma’s eyes closed as the beautician lightly massaged her scalp, before beginning to divide her hair and twist it into an elegant style. After a surprisingly short amount of time, the girl asked, “What do you think?”

When Emma opened her eyes, she gulped and sat up straighter in the chair, leaning forward to get a closer look in the mirror. The style the hairdresser had created was exactly the same one her doppleganger had in the fairy tale book. “It…it’s perfect.”

The stylist smiled. “I’m very happy to hear that! The Captain will approve.”

Emma whipped around to face her. “What do you mean by that?” she gasped.

Wearing the same smirk as before, the girl stated simply, “You’ll see.”

Emma wanted to question her further, but decided against it, since she could hardly wait to get home to see the full effect of wearing the dress with her new hairdo.

*********

As she hurried home, Emma’s eyes were suddenly drawn to something sparkling in the window of a store she had never noticed before. Without hesitating, she let her feet carry her through the door of the small business.

Her jaw dropped when she scanned the cramped space, filled with a bevy of miscellaneous items. Just as she was admiring the pair of wooden marionette puppets hanging on the wall, a man emerged through the black curtain which covered the doorway to a back room. She wasn’t even surprised to recognize the man as Gepetto from the storybook. His smile was broad and warm as he held his hands out in a welcoming gesture. “Good day, Miss. How may I help you today?”

“I, uh, I was interested in the jeweled headband you have in the window.”

“Ah, yes!” he exclaimed. He shuffled out from behind the counter and walked to the window to slide aside the blue backdrop curtain. He gently lifted the band encrusted with sparkling crystals from the red satin pillow on which it rested, then turned to face Emma. With a slight bow, he held it out to her.

After accepting it and running her fingers over the surface of it, she looked up at the kindly gentleman. “May I try it on?”

“Of course!” He stepped back behind the counter and reached beneath it to retrieve a small mirror in a wooden frame. Setting it beside the old-fashioned cash register, he tilted it to a good angle for Emma to see herself.

“Thank you,” she smiled, then carefully placed the band on her head, nestled within her elegant hairdo. It was the finishing touch.

“Oh, my dear! It looks like it was made just for you!”

She looked up at him. “I actually think it might have been.”

*********

Once she got home, Emma wasted no time getting undressed, carelessly tossing her discarded clothes on the bedroom floor. She reverently held the ball gown up in front of herself, not understanding the heightened sense of anticipation which had her hands shaking and her heart racing. She only knew that she felt an overwhelming urgency to get into the dress and try again to push herself into the drawing.

As soon as she had the laces tied, she opened the box from Gepetto’s shop and extracted the headband. Looking in the mirror, she settled it on her head and adjusted it to perfection. Then she went into the bathroom and applied makeup to match the illustration in the book as closely as possible.

When she finished, she returned to the bedroom to check her appearance in the full-length mirror. Satisfied with the results, she collected the book from her bedside table and placed it on the bed, opening it to the correct page with shaking hands. She felt the familiar tingles zipping through her fingers as she ran them across the paper, creating ripples in their wake.

Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “Please let me get through to you, Killian Jones,” before plunging her fingers between the two people in the portrait. This time, she was able to push through to her wrist, the tingles intensifying as a bright white halo of light began emanating around her point of entry on the page.

As her entire hand disappeared into the book, she suddenly felt her fingers brush against cool metal. Her mind snapped to attention as she realized it was curved and shaped like a…

Emma grabbed onto the hook like a lifeline, feeling a burst of magical energy - a burst of hope - that filled her and set her nerve endings alight, before she was pulled completely into the storybook.

She landed in a pair of strong arms and was immediately pulled against a broad, powerful chest. “Swan,” she heard breathed into her ear. “At last!”

Emma drew back to look at the man holding her and a rush of memories flooded her mind. Pulling him from beneath a pile of bodies, watching him bandage her bleeding hand at the top of the beanstalk, seeing his ship come into the harbor to offer his help with rescuing Henry, kissing him in Neverland, defeating Zelena together, falling through her portal into the past...

At the same time, emotions she had fought to repress for so long surged through her and she grabbed his face, pulled him to her and kissed the holy hell out of him.

It only took a fraction of a moment for him to kiss her back, and she could feel every bit of longing he was pouring into it. When she finally separated her lips from his, she kept her forehead pressed firmly to his. “Killian,” she panted, “is it really you?”

“I bloody well hope so, or else I would like to know who you thought you were kissing!”

She giggled and pecked him on the lips again. “What happened? How did we get separated?”

“The Crocodile,” he growled. “When we were still in the Enchanted Forest and he had us trapped in his vault, he must have sensed you were getting your magic back and sent you off to the land without magic.”

She looked around at her surroundings and realized they were in the loft. “How did you escape and get back here?”

“You managed to open a portal before you vanished. Once I got back to Storybrooke, your family and I started trying to figure out how to find you. It took us four bloody days before Regina realized there was still some residual magic left in the mirror you used to see Ariel’s reunion with Eric. We were able to look into it to see where you were, and we could tell Rumplestiltskin had wiped your memories, too.”

“But why? Why didn’t he want me to use my magic to get us out of the vault? Why did he send me away, erase my memories, and replace them with false ones?”

“You heard him when he asked why he hadn’t buried the hatchet in my head. He still had a vendetta against me back then, and had the power and opportunity to cause me more suffering. I’m sure he could sense that tearing you away from me would accomplish that.”

“If I keep getting my memories stripped, pretty soon I’m not going to have a brain left at all.”

He chuckled and loosened his hold on her, allowing her feet to touch down on the floor, but keeping his arms around her. “I missed you, Swan.”

“How long was I gone?”

“Nearly two weeks.”

“Is that all? It felt like I lived there for most of my life. Of course, that’s the way it felt when Henry and I were in Boston and then New York.” At the thought of Henry, her eyes snapped up to his. “Henry! He came to me while I was in the library, and Regina was with him. August was there, too. Oh, and I also saw my mom and dad! In fact, I saw several people from the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke there. How did they get there?”

“When we realized where you were, Belle helped research ways to help you regain your memory, so you could find your way back to us. She felt a bit guilty for what the Crocodile did to you, even though Gold claims he doesn’t recall his former self doing such a thing. I suppose he could be telling the truth, since your mother and father don’t recall seeing us when we were on our little adventure to the past. Anyway, Belle had a theory that sending people you knew to that Columbus place might help jog your memory, and Regina figured out a spell which would allow them to be transported through portals for short amounts of time.”

“Then why didn’t…” her voice trailed off as she dropped her eyes.

“Why didn’t I come to you?” he murmured. “I tried, Swan, truly I did, but the Crocodile must have put some kind of block on me from being able to pass through different realms. He probably thought he had me trapped in his vault forever, but didn’t want to take the risk of me being able to track you down again, should I be able to escape. I’m sure he had no idea you’d already created a portal, which allowed me to come back here to seek help, before the block took full effect.” He squeezed her tighter and pressed a kiss to her hairline, taking advantage of the fact that she seemed to be quite content to be held in his arms. “Belle realized everyone could go through but me, so she tried to convince Gold to remove the block between us. In the meantime, when she saw that sending Henry and the storybook to you didn’t do the trick, she figured we had to push things a little bit by outfitting you to look just like the illustration in the book. We could tell it was beginning to work when you were able to penetrate the surface of the pages.”

“Were you able to see me all the time?”

“No, only when you were looking at the book. There was some sort of connection forged between it and the mirror. Even Regina couldn’t explain it, but we were bloody glad to have it.”

“So when I was reaching into the book…”

“You were coming through the mirror, but never far enough for me to be able to grasp your hand. Belle knew it had to be the Crocodile’s spell that was preventing you from pushing all the way through, so she gave him an ultimatum - vanquish the block or she was leaving him, so he finally removed it. When I saw you reaching through today, I thought I would offer you my hook so you would realize who it was and allow me to pull you through. Fortunately, it worked.”

Casting her eyes around the loft again, she asked, “Where is everyone else?”

“We had no way of knowing how long it would take to get you back, so after a few days, they had to go back to their usual routines. They hated to do it, but all of us sitting and staring at the mirror twenty-four hours a day just wasn’t practical. We set up a schedule to ensure that someone would always be in front of it in case you had a breakthrough.”

For the first time, she looked very closely at him. His eyes, which were void of the usual koal lining them, looked incredibly tired with deep purple shadows underneath. “How often were you on watch?” she questioned.

A flush crept up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears, one of which he was self-consciously scratching behind. “I, uh…never left.”

A quick glance at the mussed blankets and pillows littering the floor in front of the mirror confirmed what he said. “For two weeks?” she asked incredulously.

He raised his head to meet her gaze, then nodded slightly and replied, “Aye.”

The significance of his simple, almost bashful answer slammed into her full force. The entire time she was gone, he never gave up hope of getting her back, just like he hadn’t when she and Henry fled Pan’s curse. How he reached her that time, he hadn’t yet shared with her, but somehow she was sure he had to make some sacrifices to do it.

Emma was never good at expressing herself through words, and this time was no different. Overcoming her disbelief at his declaration, she leaned in and claimed his lips in a sweet, soft, but passionate kiss. His hand came up to caress her cheek as his left arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer. Her fingers slid up his leather-clad back and drifted into his soft strands of hair, tugging at them slightly to change the angle so she could deepen the kiss.

When they reluctantly let their lips drift apart, they caught their breath with their eyes closed and their foreheads pressed together. After several quiet moments, Emma whispered, “Killian?”

“Yes, Love?”

“Thank you for never giving up on me.”

“It wasn’t just me, Swan. Your family wanted you back as desperately as…”

“I wasn’t only talking about this time.”

He pulled away slightly to look at her, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip nervously. “You mean, when I found you in New York?”

“Yes, and I’m fully expecting you to explain how you did that sometime soon, but it’s even more than that. You have never let me down or turned your back on me, no matter how many times I pushed you away or told you…”

“That it was a one-time thing?” he smirked.

Her stiff posture sagged a little as she exhaled a chuckle. “Yeah, and continuously insisting I was going back to New York, saying Zelena should have cursed someone I would actually kiss, telling you I couldn’t trust you anymore, and so on.”

He brought his hand up to palm her cheek. “You’re worth every minute I’ve had to wait for you. I figured that out from the moment we kissed in Neverland.”

“You’ve been a very patient man.”

“I was just waiting for you to realize that we’re perfect together.”

Out of habit, her eyes searched his to detect any hint of a lie, but, as always with him, there was none to be found. She was suddenly quite certain she could look into those eyes for all eternity and never see anything but honesty…and love. The thought took her by surprise, even though it shouldn’t. Her stubborn heart had been denying what she knew to be his true feelings ever since Neverland. She just never wanted to admit it to herself, because if she did, it would be real, and in her experience, real could bring pain and heartbreak.

“Emma? Are you alright?”

She broke out of her musings to see him looking at her with concern. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I just…” Her words came to a halt as she cast about, trying to figure out how to end the sentence. Several beats passed before she let her lips do the talking again, caressing his in a way she hoped expressed her thoughts eloquently.

“We’re back where we belong,” she said softly, once the tender kiss ended. “Me…and my heart. We’re both here with you, right where we belong.”

A brilliant smile stretched across his face before he leaned in to share another kiss. Just as their lips touched, the door slammed open and the quiet was shattered by several people bursting into the room, all exclaiming loudly when they saw Emma.

“Mom!” Henry shouted, sprinting across the room and throwing his arms around her.

As Emma hugged her son fiercely, David and Mary Margaret surrounded them, turning it into a joyous group hug.

“I thought that was a burst of magic we felt,” Regina said, following the Charmings into the loft. “As usual, everyone ran to Granny’s when they felt it. Henry was convinced it was Emma returning, so we rushed right over. Mary Margaret told everyone they could follow, so the others shouldn’t be far behind.”

Noise filled the space as everyone started talking all at once, asking how she finally made her way back while she tried to answer all of them. The chatter was just beginning to die down when Belle, Ruby and Jefferson entered, closely followed by Marco, August and Ashley. Emma shared hugs with all of them, thanking them for helping her recover her memories, and answering the same questions about her return, once again.

Killian wearily sat on a bar stool, watching the happy chaos surrounding the woman he loved. He knew their quiet moments together were over for the time being, but he couldn’t begrudge her family and friends the opportunity to celebrate her return, since all of them were instrumental in securing it.

His exhaustion rolled over him like an ocean wave as he roughly scrubbed his hand down his face, willing himself to try to stay awake long enough to make it back to the boarding house. When he raised his bleary eyes again, they were met with a pair of sparkling green ones he had missed more in the past two weeks than he could express. In the midst of the happy crowd of people surrounding her, the smile she sent his way was meant for only him.

Ever since Neverland, he knew he would go to the end of the world or time for her. Now, for the first time, he was sure she would do the same for him.

*********

Thank you so much for reading, liking, reblogging and commenting (if you’re so inclined.) Please, please, PLEASE send @winterbythesea lots and lots of love for her fantastic art!

Tagging: @xsajx @hookedmom @kymbersmith-90 @kmomof4 @lassluna @pirateherokillian @teamhook @stahlop @elizabeethan @whimsicallyenchantedrose @resident-of-storybrooke @therooksshiningknight @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @killianswannn @stories-enchanted @eleveneitherway @withheartfulloflove @kday426 @lyssapup27 @swanlovato @djlbg @kristi555 @laschatzi @xarandomdreamx @lkles08 @wyntereyez @bubblegum1425 @xhookswenchx @yasbio2015 @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @wefoundloveunderthelight @hollyethecurious @let-it-raines @jonesfandomfanatic @searchingwardrobes @dreamingdreamsalways @oncechicagolove @andiirivera @gingerchangeling @everything-person @klynn-stormz @qualitycoffeethings @vampcoffeegyrl23 @enchanted-swans @ohmakemeahercules @donteattheappleshook @bluewildcatfanatic @the-darkdragonfly @demisexualemmaswan @lavenderbudd @grimmswan @spartanguard @flslp87 @ultraluckycatnd @thisonesatellite @captainswan21 @zaharadessert @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @xouatxcs @kiwistreetswan @batana54 @nadine200179 @probalicious17 @courtorderedcake @julesep3026 @jackieorioncat @whatthehell102082 @jarienn972 @sthonour @linda8084 @carpedzem @pirateprincesslena @daxx04 @winterbythesea @artistic-writer @cocohook38 @captainswan4life85 @molly958 @kingofmyheart14 @badwolfreturns @itsfridaysomewhere@fallingforthecaptain @onceratheart18 @strangestarlighttree @omgmarvelousmorgan @justanother-unluckysoul @mrs-potato-but-likes-tomato @anothersworld @deckerstarblanche @purplehawkcaptain @superchocovian @k-leemac @citygirlscowboy @laughterandbooks @sotangledupinit @apiratewhopines @huntressandlioness1 @cosette141 @gingerpolyglot @motherkatereloyshipper @cs-rylie

#cssns22 #captain swan supernatural summer 2022 #where her heart belongs #jrob64 #art by winterbythesea #csff #cs fic #captain swan fanfic #ouat captain swan fic #separation by curse #inspired by Somewhere in Time #wiped memories #emma swan #killian jones #canon divergent #set at the end of season 3

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beatrice-otter · 1 year

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fic: Righteousness and Respectability

yuletide authors have been revealed, so I can post my fics here! I wrote two fics. One was a treat that I actually started last year; then it was going to be a New Year's Resolution; then the 2022 NYR collection was closed because Yuletide 2022 was starting and I checked and oh, happy day, that same person had the same prompt! So I could finish it for this year's Yuletide. And so I have. The premise was that Marianne in Sense and Sensibility is described as "brown", which just means that she's a little more olive-skinned and likely to tan than most English people are. But daisyninjagirl wanted an AU where no, actually, "the Dashwood sisters either have, or are assumed to have, African ancestry? How would that fit in with the intense Abolition politics of the time?" And that was a fascinating idea, and I had a great time figuring out what exactly the consequences of it would be. But, alas, because it would probably make John and Fanny think even worse of them than they do in canon, I couldn't think of a way for Elinor to even meet Edward. Title: Righteousness and Respectability Author: Beatrice Otter Fandom: Sense and Sensibility Characters: Marianne, Elinor, Willoughby, Brandon Rating: T Length: 10,506 words Written for: daisyninjagirl in Yuletide 2022 Betaed by: Kalee233 Summary: The Dashwood ladies are mixed race. Some things change, but others do not. At AO3. On Dreamwidth. On pillowfort. Mr. Henry Dashwood's first marriage had been a celebrated match, in its day. Both were from ancient, well-connected families of the middle gentry, long-established in Sussex; both were well educated, sensible people; and while they were not in love, neither of them had any expectation that such a feeling should be a pre-requisite for the married state. They liked one another, and when the first Mrs. Dashwood died, Mr. Henry Dashwood grieved her loss but was not overset by it. When his year of mourning was over, he looked around for a new bride. His son John, off at school, was too old to require a mother, but Henry missed the companionship his wife had provided. And, as he had his own small fortune, a life-interest in half of the first Mrs. Dashwood's fortune, and the prospect of inheriting his uncle's estate of Norland Park, he was quite an eligible figure, not only for the widows and spinsters of the community, but also for the girls newly out in society.

So it was a great surprise to all when his choice fell upon Miss Jones, the daughter of a retired Navy captain and his American wife. Miss Jones was a young lady of no great fortune and few connections, and there were some who did not care to dignify her with the name of lady, for she was a mulatto. A great many people tried to talk him out of it, with various specious and unpleasant arguments about the unsuitability of the match; but Henry Dashwood was determined, for he was in love as he had not been with his first wife. Indeed, so incensed was he at the slanders of his beloved that he ended a number of friendships of long standing over the matter.

The new Mrs. Dashwood was a sensitive woman of deep feeling and compassion, and though she rejoiced in her husband's support, she feared the day he might regret his choice, and worked to repair and strengthen what relationships she could. Mr. Dashwood respected her goodness, but saw too well the pain she suffered in so doing to think most such relationships worth the effort, and at last they settled into a social circle that suited them both: smaller than his had been, but of better humor and compassion.

One relationship they did work to maintain, however, was that with Henry Dashwood’s uncle, Mr. Dashwood of Norland Park. There was no chance he would leave the estate free and clear to Henry and his second wife; no, upon his death it would pass to his grand-nephew John. But, with suitable attentions, he was persuaded to allow Henry a life-interest in the estate, at least, and with reasonable economies and savings, that would provide for Mrs. Dashwood and the three Miss Dashwoods even after Mr. Henry Dashwood’s death.

Provided, that is, he lived long enough past his uncle to see such plans put into fruition, which proved not to be the case; scarce a twelve-month after his uncle’s death, Mr. Dashwood sickened, succumbed, and died.

It was not a long illness, but it was, fortunately, long enough to call his son John to attend him in his final hours. And, even more fortunately, long enough for him to extract a promise from John that his stepmother and half sisters would be provided for.

If the second Mrs. Dashwood had been more like the first—pale-skinned, of English descent with no other admixtures, accepted in any company including that of her husband’s family—perhaps Mr. Dashwood would have accepted his son’s verbal promise. But she was not; and Mr. Dashwood had seen too often the cruelties and ill-treatment of society to trust in mere words. The tenor of his relationship with his son since his remarriage only confirmed his suspicions. He had, accordingly, called a solicitor to his deathbed to draw up a contract obligating John Dashwood to give his half-sisters 1,000 pounds each and his step-mother a further 500. All that was required was for John to sign it.

"Father," said John as he perused the document, "you cannot imagine I would settle half so much on your daughters." He congratulated himself on his civility; certainly, in the depths of his indignation, he might have put it much differently. His later years at school had been filled with mockery for his father's choice, and John felt himself very ill-used in the matter. But he was a man of cold temper, by nature, and he did not wish to quarrel with his father when such disagreements would have no hope of mending.

"Please, John," his father said, struggling to lift himself up from his pillow.

John leaned forward to help the manservant lift his father's body and adjust the bedclothes. His father had never been a large man, but he had been possessed of a great dignity of manner that his son had always envied. Now he seemed half what he had been mere months earlier when they had last met. John was struck by the unwelcome realization that his father was, indeed, on his deathbed; this was no passing illness that might be mended in time.

"I have a duty to them," his father said.

"You have a duty to me and my son, too," John said, "for am I not your first born? Your only son and heir?" It was something John had long clung to, given his father's vociferous championing of his second family and the social disapproval that had brought.

"You are well provided for, always have been." His father stopped for breath, then forged on. "It's less than a year's income from Norland." He took a breath, and his whole body shook with the effort of it. "Less than a year's income from your mother's legacy." Another dreadful pause filled with wheezing. "It will be nothing to you, and everything to them."

Having spent his energy, Henry Dashwood sagged back against the pillows and coughed wetly.

John came to the distasteful recognition that, if he wished to spend what little time his father had left discussing anything other than his father's second family, the simplest (and, indeed, only) way to accomplish that would be to do as his father asked of him. And he had often made his way in life by choosing the easiest path and bowing to the wishes of those around him.

He eyed the document again. It was true that his father's second wife and her children had a pitiful legacy compared to his own. He owed them nothing, he was sure, but he wished to be a good son, and it would set his father's mind at ease.

Fanny, his wife, would be furious, of course, but he could present it to her as the cost of seeing them gone. She had charged him most faithfully to evict them as soon as might be possible, for she considered the connection the greatest embarrassment of her life. Indeed, she had almost refused her husband's proposal because of their existence, and accepted only on the assurance that she would never have to host them, or visit them, or acknowledge them in society. Yes, he thought, such a sum might be tolerable to her if presented as the price of cutting that connection forever.

And of course it was an act of charity, and duty to his father; yes, he would do it. He signed with a flourish, showed it to his father, and was able to spend his last hours with his father undisturbed by talk of the ladies he so resented.

…

Mrs. Dashwood’s grief was deep and profound, but she could not afford to indulge it. When her husband died, they would have to leave Norland as soon as was practical; and to accomplish that, they would need a house. Preferably far enough away from Norland that they need never meet with the younger Mrs. Dashwood. Accordingly, as her husband's health worsened, letters were sent out far and wide to her friends and relations, begging for word of any place they might know of that would be available for sufficiently easy terms.

By the time the letters began returning, Mr. Dashwood was dead.

"I do think that Sir John's offer is the most suitable," said her eldest daughter, Elinor, as they sorted through the post. Her eyes were red from weeping, and her skin paler than usual, but her voice was firm. Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters had gathered in her sitting room. Though the business was urgent, none of them had much heart for it.

Margaret, the youngest, lay on the floor before the fire playing with the cat. Mrs. Dashwood, in a newly-dyed black gown, rested her forearms on the table, and though there was a letter in her hands, her eyes scarcely knew what they looked at. Elinor sat at her right hand, and Marianne at her left.

"I should prefer a city," Marianne said, "if it can at all be managed." She was, of the three, closest to her mother in both temperament and in appearance. At sixteen, she had experienced some of the cruelty of the world, but her parents had succeeded in shielding her from much of it.

"There are as many unpleasant people in cities as in the country, my dear," Mrs. Dashwood said.

"Yes, but we would not be the only ones of our kind," Marianne said. They had always lived in the countryside, but her parents maintained an extensive correspondence with like-minded people, many of whom were of Mrs. Dashwood's race; and most of them lived in cities.

"I do not think we can afford to live in a city, at least not on short notice," Elinor said. "Everything is more expensive, not merely housing. We would need to find a suitable house for a very good price, and none so far have been." She gestured at some of the other letters scattered on the table. "And at Barton Cottage, we would be under the protection of our cousin, who is a man of considerable influence in the community."

"It has been too long since we have seen Sir John," Mrs. Dashwood said. "He is always very kind in his letters." She took Marianne's hand. "If it is intolerable, my dear, it need not be forever; but we must go somewhere, and soon."

"Cannot we wait another week to see if a more eligible offer presents itself? Not everyone you wrote to has responded," Marianne said. "Surely Mr. Dashwood—" for they all knew better than to call him their brother "—would not begrudge us a week, so soon after the death of our father."

"I had half expected him to turn us out the day after the funeral," Mrs. Dashwood said. This was only the second time she had met her husband's son, and neither meeting had been amicable. "No, the sooner we go, the better."

Elinor nodded soberly. Marianne sighed and slumped back in her chair.

"I shall write to Sir John to thank him for his kindness," Mrs. Dashwood said.

…

Not two days later, Marianne stormed into the sitting room where Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood were directing the servants in packing up the furniture and accoutrements that belonged to the Dashwoods and not to Norland itself. "Mama, what may I do to help prepare for the journey?"

Mrs. Dashwood raised her eyebrows, for this was quite a change; Marianne had spent the last two days avoiding the work her mother and sister were engaged in, in the vain hope that some suitable house in Brighton or Portsmouth or some city further afield might present itself. "Elinor, I have this room well enough in hand; you and your sister can go through the attics."

Elinor agreed and, with two manservants following, led Marianne up to the attics, where she immediately pointed out several chests which she knew to be their own. Once the men were engaged in carrying the chests downstairs, Elinor inquired as to her sister's mood, for she was as alert to the change in her sister's attentions as their mother.

"Do you know what the new Mr. Dashwood has done?" Marianne hissed. "He has sacked poor Robertson!"

"But why?" Elinor said, bewildered. "He has always been an exemplary butler."

"He's getting a glowing reference, of course, but they want to bring in their own man from their London residence," Marianne said. "But since their pick has never served in a country house, Robertson will have to train him. But that is not the worst of it."

Elinor sat down on a convenient stool. "Tell me," she said.

"The new butler," Marianne said grimly, "is a slave." Besides the obvious evil of the practice, Marianne was on fire with the personal insult to herself and her mother and sisters.

Elinor swallowed down the first three responses that came to mind; they were true, but would do no good to say, and besides it would set Marianne off. She did not think any of the servants would tell their new master, but she could not say for certain; and they could not afford to anger him before their departure. "Well," she said at last, "it seems the new master and mistress of Norland wish to make quite clear to everyone that they are different from the old ones in every way." She turned to the stairway at the clomp of feet. "We should return to our business. Perhaps we should have brought Margaret up here."

"She would not be much help," Marianne said, "for she is too young to remember the house we lived in before coming to Norland."

"True, but she would find rummaging around in the trunks fascinating," Elinor said, and they turned their attention to the various furnishings and other items as the footmen reappeared to take the next load.

Elinor noted that her sister was perhaps overly generous in which items she declared to be theirs, but upon reflection decided not to say anything. She had little respect and less affection for the new master and mistress of Norland Park, and the chances of their missing anything that was stored in the attic was small indeed.

…

Traveling in winter was difficult indeed, and though the weather was not bad that year, the Dashwoods were very grateful when they arrived at Barton Cottage. Although the sun was setting as their carriage arrived, there was a fire burning in the hearth and a candle in the window, and the manservant and maid they had sent on ahead had made everything quite cozy for them.

"This is a very small house, is it not, mama?" Margaret said over breakfast the next morning.

"Compared to Norland, certainly," Mrs. Dashwood said. "It well deserves the name cottage. It is about the same size as the house I lived in as a girl, but that was in a city." She scarcely knew what she said; Mrs. Dashwood had set her grief aside as much as possible to accomplish the move quickly and efficiently, but now they were safe in their new home at last and every feeling was making itself known at once. The house was respectable, and comfortable, and would be more so once their own things arrived; that was all she had the strength to notice.

It was a quiet day; none of the Dashwoods had the heart for serious exploration of their new home and its surroundings, nor for any work of arranging it to suit their tastes; rather they spent the morning each absorbed in their own thoughts, and adjusting to the dramatic changes that had so recently befallen them. Tears there certainly were, though all but Margaret tried to hide them to spare the others' pain.

Around tea-time, Marianne observed a gentleman riding a horse up the lane and reported this fact to her mother.

"It is Sir John," Mrs. Dashwood said.

"Oh!" Marianne cried, "could we not have a day's peace, at least!" She had only just emerged from her room after being reduced to tears by the sight of a book which had been her father's favorite, sitting on a new shelf in a house he had never seen. A half-hour earlier she would have borne the visit with perfect equanimity; a half-hour later she would have recovered enough to sit with composure. But now it was too much, too soon; and she retreated again into her chamber.

So it was that when Sir John Middleton came to greet them, there was only Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor to sit with him.

He waved off all apology that Marianne was not with them. "Nonsense, nonsense! You have all had a very great loss—for your father was all that a gentleman could be, a fine man—and you've been in black less than a fortnight. I know I was not fit for company after my father died; and I was not immediately thrown out of my home. I've not come to make merry, nor to press myself upon your grief; I am here to welcome you to Barton, to offer what consolation I can, and to assure you that here, at least, you will not suffer the likes of your half-brother. If anyone gives you trouble, send them to me."

Sir John was a good-humored man, of no great intellect but much warmth and generosity; and, as his father had been one of the few in the family that had not cut Captain White's acquaintance when he returned to England married to a Negress, he and Mrs. Dashwood had played together as children. Those happy memories had made him a staunch supporter of his cousin and her people, far more than his own parents had been. Abolition was the one political opinion he had of any weight, and though he was neither thoughtful nor perceptive, and prone to the sort of common, careless remarks which those of dark skin must endure in English society, he was kind and meant no harm.

He did not stay long that day, but warmly pressed them to come to dinner any day their spirits were up to it; promised them game and garden stuff from the park; offered to frank their letters and send down his newspaper daily for their enjoyment.

"There is one other thing," Mrs. Dashwood said, after a significant look from Elinor.

"Name it, and it shall be done," Sir John said.

"Our carriage and horses," Mrs. Dashwood said. "It is hard to live in the countryside without them, but I am afraid our current income is not up to their maintenance."

"Of course, of course!" Sir John said. "There are one or two fellows in the area looking for a handsome carriage or a trained team; I shall put the word around and see that you get a good price for them. Do not you worry about transportation, my dear Mrs. Dashwood, for on any day we have no prior need of ours, it's yours for the asking."

Mrs. Dashwood exclaimed over the generosity of this offer, to which Elinor added her thanks; Sir John waved this off. "Nonsense! Why should you not use it when otherwise it might sit idle? Besides, I am the most active host in this part of the country, and I've no doubt many of the engagements will be at Barton Park. In fair weather the young ladies may find it no hardship to scamper up to the Park, but I should hate to exclude you if you were not up for a walk that day."

The visit concluded soon after; Sir John left them with a promise to bring Lady Middleton down and introduce her, and to have them to dinner as soon as they felt up to it.

Two days later, Sir John brought Lady Middleton to visit the new tenants of Barton Park. She had felt some anxiety over them, which her husband had dismissed. Lady Middleton had no objection to abolition, but her opinion of the African race was based almost entirely on hearsay and cartoons. She was pleased to find the Dashwood women as elegantly dressed as full mourning permitted, capable of polite conversation, and willing to admire her children. This was everything she required in a neighbor. If the skin of Mrs. Dashwood and Miss Marianne was darker than she was used to, it was of less importance to her than their obvious gentility and their flattery of the young Middletons.

…

It being winter, many of the principal families of the area were in London or other cities for the season; those that remained took it in turn to visit when the weather allowed for evenings of merriment to drive away the winter's dark chill. As the Dashwoods were in mourning, they could not partake of such entertainment, nor did they wish to. But even the voracious hospitality of the Middletons could not fill every night with guests, and, when it was merely a family party, the carriage was often sent for the Dashwoods.

The food was excellent, but the conversation was insipid; Sir John had little conversation besides sporting events and recounting parlor games from previous parties, and Lady Middleton had none beyond fashion and her children.

Marianne, in particular, was disappointed, because she devoured the newspapers Sir John sent down every day. She had opinions on everything she read, for it was her largest window into the world outside the small rural communities she had been brought up in. But Sir John only glanced at the headlines and the first paragraph or two of each story, and Lady Middleton read only the society columns, which Marianne had little interest in.

Still, the evenings with the Middletons were at least a distraction and a change from the monotony of their daily lives.

…

"Do you think it will ever stop raining?" Margaret said drearily as she stared out the window one afternoon. She had done her sums and her French and her embroidery, mended the stockings she had torn the day before, practiced her scales, and read a chapter of the Bible and a chapter of Mr. Equiano's autobiography. In between all of that, she had played with her dolls, run up and down the stairs, and teased her older sisters. In short, she had done everything that a young girl might do indoors.

"Yes, of course it will," Elinor said shortly, not looking up from the worn patch she was darning. "It only feels like the rain is eternal." She might have been more comforting, if Margaret had not crashed into her and almost knocked her down earlier in the day. Elinor was a thoughtful young woman of good principles, sense, and compassion; but she was also tired of the rain. They all were. And lonely, and sad. She looked up at her sister, and noticed the carved wooden horse clutched in her hand. Elinor looked back down at her mending. It was the last present their father had given Margaret.

"I have cried until I have no more tears left," Marianne said. She was sitting at the desk writing something, but her pen had not moved in some time. "I think the sky is crying for us. Or perhaps this is merely the normal weather for this country, and we shall be trapped indoors until we drown."

"Rain, winter, and tears only seem to last forever," Elinor said. "I am sure that when the weather clears, and our grief is lessened, and we have made new friends, you will feel better."

Margaret sighed loudly. "Yes, but when will that be?"

"Spring has already begun, Margaret," their mother said. "Elinor is right. A little patience is all that is required, though I know it is hard." Mrs. Dashwood, of course, would still be in mourning for another six months at least; the girls, however, would be free to accept all Sir John's invitations by the time the weather had fully turned, and they badly needed the change. It had been a hard winter for all of them.

"What do you think of Sir John's friend, Colonel Brandon?" Elinor asked. He had been staying with the Middletons in the hopes of going shooting with Sir John, but the same weather that discouraged Margaret had prevented all hope of outdoor sports.

"He's not as wearing as Sir John can be," Marianne said. "I did appreciate that he didn't tease any of us even once. But he is very old and too quiet. No opinions on Blake or Goethe or Cowper, and no opinions on Sancho or Wilberforce, either."

"That's not fair, Marianne," Elinor said. "He approves of abolition; he is merely not very involved in it."

"Or knowledgeable about it," Marianne said. "And he is old."

Mrs. Dashwood laughed. "He is younger than I, my dear. And—" her thoughts turned, as they often did, to her dear late husband "—he is about the same age as your father was when we were married. No, I would not call him old."

"How old were you?" Margaret asked. To her, all people over fifteen were adults and anyone over twenty was positively ancient.

"I was three-and-twenty," Mrs. Dashwood said. "But four years older than your sister Elinor. He was very handsome, in a solid sort of way. Not dashing, but everything that was courteous and genteel. I was surprised when he sat across from me at a card party; half the unmarried ladies there would have been thrilled by the attention, and I was not considered eligible by most in attendance. But we played well together, and he came to call the next day, because of it." She had told this story many times before, but the dreary day seemed made for stories and the girls loved to hear about their father, and so she continued on.

…

Much to Margaret's surprise and joy, the weather did turn, and spring did come. After such a wet and dirty winter, spring seemed bursting with life and possibility. Sir John sponsored parties and picnics and musical evenings and card parties and dinners and any other entertainment he could dream up, as families returned to their estates for the spring planting, and the Dashwoods were invited to all of them. Mrs. Dashwood as chaperone, only, for she was still in mourning; but the Miss Dashwoods' time in black had passed with the dreary winter.

It was at one such event—a garden party where lawn bowls had been interrupted by a sudden shower—that they made the acquaintance of a young gentleman of uncommon handsomeness named Willoughby. In addition to a perfectly formed figure and face, Mr. Willoughby possessed style, elegance, taste, and wit in abundance. With outdoor games postponed, he volunteered to read to the assembled party instead. A volume of Shakespeare was produced, and he read Puck's monologue from Act III in such a way that the whole company roared with laughter. Much encouraged, he then turned to Jacques' monologue from As You Like It, and read it with pathos that brought a tear to many an eye, including Mrs. Dashwood.

"Encore, Encore!" cried Sir John when he had finished.

"Nay, I cannot be the whole day's entertainment," said Willoughby. "Surely there is someone else among our company who might oblige us with a reading?"

"I believe Miss Marianne is the most accomplished reader among us," Lady Middleton said.

So summoned, Marianne stood and took the book, and gave two monologues, glowing with pride and curtseying after each one. Then the book was handed around and various ladies and gentlemen tried their hands, after which Willoughby and Marianne were called on by popular acclaim to do a scene together; they chose the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, passing the book back and forth between them.

They might have done another scene, but the sun came out and the group tramped out of doors to see if the game might be salvageable. It was; but several of the ladies decided to sit out for fear of damp hems. Marianne, wearing a dark dress unlikely to stain, declared herself not so feeble, and returned to the field.

"Mr. Willoughby is very well-spoken," said Mrs. Dashwood to Lady Middleton.

"Oh! Yes, he is a very great favorite with everyone here," Lady Middleton said. "We do not see him often; his estate is in Somersetshire. He comes here every year to visit his aunt at Allenham Court, which he is to inherit." She proceeded with a description of his carriage and his style of dress, which proved nothing more than that he was a gentleman of taste and fashion, which Mrs. Dashwood could see for herself.

When another lady came to speak with Lady Middleton, Mrs. Dashwood excused herself and went to join a group of ladies seated on benches that the servants had brought back out for them. She was not quite friends with any of them; friendly acquaintances, perhaps; but their conversation would be livelier than any with Lady Middleton.

And it offered an excellent spot to watch the game. Marianne played with great spirit, matched only by Mr. Willoughby, such that the eye was constantly drawn to them both. He was watching Marianne, Mrs. Dashwood noted, and spoke to her more often than the game required. They made a very pleasing couple, Mrs. Dashwood thought, as she had thought when they read together; but, much though her romantic heart might wish to swell in fancy, she knew all too well that gentlemen were even more fickle with Negresses (even gently-born ones) than with their fairer counterparts.

And when, once home, Marianne was filled with fire at their new acquaintance's taste and genius, Mrs. Dashwood smiled and said nothing. If he proved uninterested or unworthy, they would discover it in due time; but for now, she would not dampen Marianne's spirits for all the world. Their spirits had been so low, since Mr. Dashwood's death; it was good to see Marianne smile.

Perhaps it would be well. She remembered the joy of her own courtship with Mr. Dashwood, and wished Marianne all the love in the world.

…

In addition to the purely social events the Middletons hosted and escorted them to, the Dashwoods began holding occasional meetings to discuss the question of slavery, and what might be done about it. Sir John rarely attended but always spoke well of them to others, and offered the use of his drawing room, for the parlor at Barton Cottage was too small to host such a gathering comfortably. They had, if nothing else, succeeded in introducing the Autobiography of Olaudah Equiano to the attention of their neighbors; but the level of ignorance was disheartening to Marianne in particular.

"'Tis no worse than Sussex was, when we moved," Mrs. Dashwood said philosophically after one such meeting as Sir John's carriage carried them home. "And we could not host meetings such as these without offending your great-uncle. Here, we have the support of Sir John, and at the very least his partisanship has made our detractors quieter than they otherwise would have been."

"I do not wish for people to be silent merely because they fear exclusion from Sir John's hunting parties and musical evenings!" Marianne cried. "I wish for them to know the evil in the world, and act to change it!"

"So do we all, Marianne," said her sister, linking arms with her. "But many do not want to know, or to act, and we cannot compel them to; and I personally prefer their silence to their open hostility."

"Is there any whose silence particularly distresses you?" Mrs. Dashwood asked.

"No," Marianne said. "Only, Willoughby said he would be at the meeting tonight, but was not. He was so passionate on the subject when he came to call, but then he did not show."

"Perhaps he had forgotten another engagement?" Elinor said.

"What other engagement could be half so important as our meeting?" Marianne cried. "What are hunting parties and morning calls to the suffering of so many?"

To this Elinor had no answer. Unlike her sister, she appreciated the ways in which the mechanisms of society might be used for their cause, and she understood that one cannot devote every waking breath to any cause, however worthy. But to profess support in the privacy of their sitting room, and then avoid the meeting where that support might have to be publicly given, was a painfully familiar pattern. Mr. Willoughby might indeed have a good reason for his absence from a promised engagement, but he would have to present his defense himself. Elinor would not do it for him.

"I thought Colonel Brandon had an interesting perspective," she said, changing the subject.

"Do not speak to me of the Colonel!" said Marianne. "His maunderings on the subject of British actions in India were only a distraction. There are no Negroes in India!"

"I found it quite pertinent," Mrs. Dashwood said. "We should not care only for the plight of our own people. The hand behind the suffering of our enslaved brothers and sisters is the same as the hand behind the subjugation and suffering of India. A desire for profit at any cost, combined with a willingness to see anyone not English as a mere brute: this is the root of the problem."

At this Marianne sat back, with a look of surprise on her face. Here was a perspective she had not considered, so caught up was she in her passion at the plight of those who shared her ancestry. But the fundamental logic of it was plain to her, once her mother laid it out.

By the next day, she was sufficiently convinced of it to condemn herself as a heartless wretch for never having thought of it before, and the actions of the British East India Company (and the British Army in India) were added to the list of things for which Marianne scanned the newspaper daily.

…

Willoughby presented himself mere days after the meeting with a pretty bouquet of flowers for Mrs. Dashwood and an account of his aunt's controlling nature and dislike of abolition.

"I am not her only relation, after all," Willoughby said, with a self-deprecating smile. "Though I am the only one who comes to visit her regularly, she might write me out and give Allenham and her fortune to a more distant cousin. She's threatened it before, and I do believe she'd do it if I gave her cause—and she would consider attending an anti-slavery meeting to be cause indeed."

"But you have Combe Magna, yours with no restrictions," Marianne insisted. "You have all the provision you need; why should her money be worth sacrificing your dignity and your principles?"

"Combe Magna is worth but seven hundred pounds a year," Willoughby said. "Enough to raise a family on, to be sure, but … not well. Not if there are many children to be provided for."

Marianne twitched and sat up straighter at the implication. Eleanor looked up from her sewing and caught her mother's eye across the room. Unmarried gentlemen did not speak of raising children unless they were contemplating matrimony. It was not a declaration of intention, but it raised the possibility that such a declaration might be forthcoming.

"And, of course, political and legal causes work much better when there are adequate funds," Willoughby went on.

Marianne was not fully convinced, but by the end of the interview she was at least no longer angry at him, and Willoughby went away with great hope of being admitted again to her favor within a very short time.

"Do you think it right, to feign beliefs you do not have, out of a desire for wealth?" Marianne asked, once he had left.

"I think it depends on a great many factors," Mrs. Dashwood said. "For example, if one has no other prospects, that is different than if one already has a comfortable security. And then one must consider how much one must feign. When we were waiting for your father to inherit Norland, we did not host antislavery meetings; your uncle was aware that we held those views, but we did not speak of them in front of him. And we had enough to live on, without your uncle's money, as long as your father lived; what we did not have was enough to support myself and you girls after your father's death. If your father had lived longer, we should have profited a great deal by our silence. As it was, in the end we gained little for it."

"I think it also matters how long the silence must be expected to continue," Eleanor said thoughtfully, "and whether mere silence is enough, or whether falsehoods are required. It is one thing to avoid infuriating an elderly, sick person who will not likely live many years. It would be quite another to say things one does not mean, and keep on saying them, over the course of many years."

"So, then, you both think Willoughby right in his silence?" Marianne demanded.

Mrs. Dashwood sighed. "I think it is a complicated situation, to which there are no good answers, and I do not know enough of the specifics—or the personalities involved—to judge his decisions."

This Marianne found quite unsatisfactory; she wanted clear answers, with heroes and villains; and if Willoughby's aunt Mrs. Smith was a veritable dragon of a villain, Willoughby himself had not managed to redeem himself enough in her eyes to seem a hero. Marianne had been too young to really be aware of the compromises her parents had made in pursuit of Norland Park, and she did not like hearing of them now; but while her father might be slightly tarnished in her memory by his willingness to descend to stratagems to ensure their fortune, his willingness to marry Mrs. Dashwood despite all the social and financial repercussions had distinguished him as the great romantic hero by which all others must be measured. Willoughby had made no such act of love and sacrifice, which Marianne felt very keenly. What were all the flowers and poetry readings in the world, without actions to back them up?

She did not know what to think of Willoughby, or what to feel; her heart pulled her in two directions at once. Certainly, in private, he was everything she could have wished; but she saw the gap between private assurances and public actions, and could not reconcile them.

…

Sir John's mother-in-law was due to arrive for a long visit to her daughter, and the Dashwoods were apprehensive about the change in their situation. While they had no doubts as to Sir John's steadfast support, his wife was another matter; and should her mother prove hostile to their race, their life here at Barton Cottage could be made a great deal less comfortable.

Happily, their fears proved largely unfounded in this instance. Mrs. Jennings was a merry, fat, elderly woman who loved jokes and, though rather vulgar, her teasing was dedicated to finding out whether they had left their hearts behind them in Sussex, or begun a flirtation here in Devonshire. Upon hearing from her son-in-law that Miss Marianne had captured the heart of Mr. Willoughby, she dedicated several minutes to asking teasing questions about parlor games they had played, and how frequently he called upon them at Barton Cottage.

Sensitive as she was, this common-place raillery would have vexed Marianne under the best of circumstances, but her confused feelings made it especially painful. Her face warmed, she stammered out answers; the complexity of her feelings and thoughts on the matter were such that she could only have spoken coherently of them to someone with far greater patience and tact than Mrs. Jennings possessed, even if she had trusted that lady with her confidences, which she emphatically did not.

After what seemed an eternity (but was only a few minutes), Mrs. Jennings turned her attention to Miss Dashwood, for, she said, there must surely be something there to ferret out, for what young lady would leave her sister all the lovers and have none for herself? "And it shall be all the easier," said Mrs. Jennings, "for unlike your sister, I shall see very easily when you blush." This was said as if it were a joke, and indeed it might be meant with no slight at all to Marianne, but still it made them wary.

But her attentions to Elinor were no more or less good-natured than those to Marianne had been, and when no attachments (or rumors of attachments) were pried out of her, Mrs. Jennings turned to speculating what sort of things she might be looking for in a husband. "For, you see, I take good pleasure in finding husbands for all the young ladies I know," she said. "Never fear! I do always succeed in the end, though some cases," her eye fell upon Colonel Brandon, "are harder than others."

After dinner, Marianne was called upon to sing for their small party, and then there was conversation until it was time for the carriage to be called for the Dashwood ladies.

Mrs. Jennings kept a sharp eye on Colonel Brandon throughout the evening. She had been anxious to see Colonel Brandon well married, ever since her connection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge; he was rich, kind, gentle, and dependable, and she was always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl. Brandon listened attentively to Miss Marianne's performance, but Mrs. Jennings suspected no attachment there; he was courteous, and the singing was very good, but Miss Marianne was not pretty enough for such a catch, and anyway she already had a lover.

Mrs. Jennings saw no particular attentions to the elder and fairer sister either, and resolved to look further afield for her. To catch the master of an estate such as Delaford was too high to aim for a girl with such antecedents, unless the man in question was particularly smitten; but there were many men of less fortune who would do quite well for her.

…

The social whirl of Barton Park increased slightly further with Mrs. Jennings present, which Eleanor and Marianne thought quite a feat. But neither of them minded. Quite apart from the entertainment such lively gatherings provided, they were a respite from the teasing attentions of Mrs. Jennings. That lady must always have some young person about whose attentions and intentions she might make jokes about, and in a small family party, she made much of Marianne's conquest of Willoughby, and inquired minutely of Elinor's opinion of any gentleman who had crossed her path. But in a larger gathering, Mrs. Jennings turned her attentions to those she considered more eligible. The two Miss Dashwoods were not snubbed, but neither were they the center of attention.

And so, spring passed into summer. There were garden parties, and card parties, and picnics, and dinners, and musical evenings, and although nothing quite so formal as a ball took place the tables were frequently pushed back to allow for dancing, should anyone call for it.

At a garden party, Elinor was exchanging pleasantries with another young lady when Mrs. Jennings caught her eye.

"Well!" said Mrs. Jennings said once Elinor had presented herself. "Where has your sister got herself off to, do you know?"

"I do not, ma'am," Elinor said. She had seen Marianne return to the house some minutes earlier; but she might have come out again, and even if she were still within doors, Elinor did not know where in the house she might be. But wherever she was, she would not want Mrs. Jennings seeking her out.

"It seems she hasn't caught Mr. Willoughby after all," Mrs. Jennings said, "for I have just heard from Mrs. Clutterbuck that he is going back to Combe Magna directly after the party. Unless he has asked for her hand?"

"He has not," Elinor said. Marianne liked him, but was not sure of her own liking; his continued absences from their meetings was painful to her, and there had been many conversations at the cottage about his character. If he had declared himself, Marianne would not have concealed it.

"Well, I haven't seen him about for some minutes either, so perhaps he has pulled her aside for a private interview. Or perhaps his absence will be a short one and he'll be back soon to resume his courtship?" Mrs. Jennings shook her head. "But I shouldn't wonder if we don't see him again until next year. A flirtation is one thing, but I doubt her charms are enough to lure him into matrimony. A pity she takes after her mother in looks. Ah, well, we shall have to turn our thoughts to your prospects, my dear Miss Dashwood! The elder—and fairer—sister should by rights go first, and you are fully twice as beautiful as she is, so we should find you someone soon enough."

Elinor bore this speech with as much grace as she could, and endured some few minutes of talk before another girl came near enough for Mrs. Jennings to call out a teasing remark, and Elinor could escape without notice.

Leaving the party behind her, Elinor headed indoors. Marianne would want to hear this news, so that she could be prepared for the whispers that would follow. Willoughby's preference for Marianne had not been subtle.

The drawing rooms were empty, as were the sitting room and the billiard room and the dining room. But there were voices coming from the library, a room little used by the Middletons despite its handsome proportions and good light. Elinor stepped close and listened to see if Marianne was there, or if she should continue her search.

"Let go of me!"

"Marianne, be reasonable—!"

Elinor flung open the door. Marianne and Willoughby were standing in the middle of the library; Willoughby had a hand around her arm and Marianne was twisting it to try and break his hold.

"Mister Willoughby, what are you doing?" Elinor demanded.

"I was taking leave of your sister, but she has taken leave of her senses," Willoughby said, with a disdainful glance.

"I? I? You are the one who—" Marianne broke off, jaw working.

"You cannot possibly have thought—"

"Let go of me!"

"What is the meaning of this, Willoughby?"

Elinor turned to find Colonel Brandon standing behind her, staring at the tableau with a thunderous expression.

"Ow!"

She turned back to see Willoughby hopping on one foot, having let go of Marianne. Marianne had backed up several steps and was regarding him warily.

Willoughby called Marianne a shocking name.

"Me?" Marianne said incredulously. "You are the one who wanted—" she broke off, hand over her mouth. Eleanor came close and wrapped her arms around her sister.

Brandon darted forward to confront Willoughby, seeming to loom over him despite being two inches shorter. "Apologize to the lady." His voice was low and rough.

"Me? But you saw what she did," Willoughby said. He'd stopped hopping but was not standing straight; Marianne must have stamped on his foot, hard.

"Yes," Brandon said coolly, "and I saw what you did to deserve it. Apologize, and leave quietly, or I shall tell Sir John that you were harassing his dear cousin, and you shall never be welcome at Barton again."

Willoughby's mouth worked silently, but after a short while he straightened and bowed minutely in Marianne's general direction. "I apologize for having troubled you."

Brandon cleared his throat meaningfully.

"And for calling you a rude name," Willoughby said.

Marianne gave the slightest of nods.

Willoughby stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Marianne, are you alright?" Elinor asked.

Marianne collapsed into tears, which was, if nothing else, a reassuringly normal response to a distressing event. Elinor held her closer and made the sort of soothing noises that were usually appropriate. She led her sister over to a sofa and Marianne sagged gratefully onto it, clinging to Elinor as she did so.

"Did he hurt you, Miss Marianne?" Brandon asked, kneeling before them. "Was there a more serious insult given?"

"He—" she gulped "he said—that is, he wanted me to—I thought he loved me, but he only wanted me to—and when I wouldn't kiss him back, when I demanded that he stop, he said no gentleman would ever marry me and he knew my race was passionate, so what was the harm?"

Elinor felt heat rush to her face. If Willoughby were standing before her now, she could gladly run him through with a poker from the fireplace. "Vile," she said. "How awful! Oh, Marianne, I am sorry."

Brandon stood. "A villain in truth," he said. "He must answer for it."

Elinor grabbed his hand before he could leave. "No! Whatever he deserves, surely my sister's good name is more important still."

"I beg your pardon?" Brandon said.

"If you call him out, it will be known," Elinor said. "There will be talk. Marianne has done nothing wrong, but she will be blamed. Willoughby is well-known and well-liked, with one estate already and the prospect of inheriting another. At best, they will assume Marianne is a flirt who led him on. At worst…."

"I understand," Brandon said grimly. "Is that also your wish, Miss Marianne?"

"It is!" Marianne cried. "Oh, I do not want to have to see or think of him ever again, and when he is gone I want people to forget I ever looked at him!"

"I will do as you ask," Brandon said. "But if he gives you any more trouble, please do not hesitate to call on my services. I know how to handle men of his type."

"Do you think it likely?" Marianne asked. Elinor squeezed her hand.

"No." Brandon said. "Willoughby is a coward and a braggart. He will not like to think on how he was made to look a fool, and he will not wish to chance it again." He paused. "If he should make a nuisance of himself again, instead of stamping on his foot, you should kick him in the—that is, at the juncture of his thighs."

"Will that hurt him more?" Marianne asked.

"Oh yes, much more," Brandon said. "Men are very sensitive there."

Elinor was pleased that Marianne seemed less distressed. No doubt there would be more tears at home, for such a distressing incident could not pass unnoticed. But there were immediate concerns of practicality to be addressed. "If we wish this to pass unnoticed, you will need to be as calm as possible when we rejoin the party."

Marianne protested that this could not be, and they must leave immediately, she could not face the party and Willoughby and Mrs. Jennings, and they must leave at once.

"We shall have to face Mrs. Jennings some time or other, we cannot escape her," Elinor said. "If we leave now, with your eyes red from crying, the talk for the next month at least will be about how Willoughby broke your heart. If you can manage to go out, head held high, and laugh and talk as usual, there will be very little for unkind people to remark upon."

At Marianne's look of horror, Elinor patted her hand. "If you cannot, of course we will go; but if there is any way you can, we should try."

"There is also Willoughby to consider," Brandon said diffidently. "Why should he be able to stay and enjoy the party, and you leave in distress?"

Marianne looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "He is the one who should feel shame. He is the one who behaved in a manner unbefitting a gentleman." She paused, biting her lip.

Elinor rubbed her sister's arm, letting her take whatever time she needed to decide.

"I should like to think of myself like the heroine of a novel," Marianne said, "able to bear up under any insult. I do not want to flee before Willoughby. I do not want to give him that much power over me. But I do not know if I can bear the company of the party at this time."

"Would it help to joke and cheer you up?" Brandon asked.

"Perhaps," Marianne said.

"Well, then, let us see what we can do," Brandon said. His lips quirked. "There are several stories from Sir John and my time in the army that would bring laughter to a man on his deathbed, but none of them are suitable for ladies' ears."

"Do tell them, Colonel," Marianne said. "I will promise not to be corrupted by them, and in any case, they will at least divert my mind from Willoughby, which is all I ask."

Brandon told three stories in quick succession. By the end of the first, Marianne was smiling. By the end of the third, she was laughing so hard she cried, and she declared herself ready to face the crowd.

Brandon bowed and took his leave with Marianne and Elinor's grateful thanks.

"Does it look very obvious I have been crying?" Marianne asked Elinor.

"No," Elinor said. "To one who knows you, perhaps; if mother were here, she would see it in an instant. But Mrs. Jennings is not so perceptive."

Thus reassured, Marianne took her arm, and out they went.

They left the house by a side door, so that they might come upon the party as if they had merely been strolling about the grounds instead of closeted inside on such a lovely day.

A game of Battledore and Shuttlecock was being arranged as they rejoined the main party, and Marianne immediately volunteered both herself and Elinor to play. If Marianne was not quite her usual self, the exuberance of the game gave her cover.

Elinor kept an eye out for Willoughby, but it seemed he had heeded Brandon's words and left, not merely Marianne's presence, but the party itself. Elinor played a few rounds, before leaving the field to the more athletic (or, at least, the more enthusiastic) players.

"Willoughby took his leave, you know," Mrs. Jennings said. "I looked for your sister so that she might say her good-byes, give him a chance to come up to scratch, but she was nowhere to be found, and he wouldn't wait. Has anyone told her he's gone, do you think?"

"I did," Elinor said.

"Well, then," Mrs. Jennings said. "Not terribly distraught, is she? I am glad she hasn't got her heart broken too badly, but then, there was never a real chance she might get him."

Elinor made an inconsequential reply, and excused herself to talk to someone else.

Marianne held herself together tolerably well for the rest of the afternoon. They were not the first to leave; but neither did they remain long after that point.

…

Marianne was out of sorts for several days after the encounter with Willoughby, but Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood were both relieved that she did not seem deeply affected.

"Marianne feels everything so deeply," Mrs. Dashwood said, "but from your account it was a brief encounter, swiftly resolved. And she has the comfort of knowing she did exactly as she should."

"I think it is more the deception as to Willoughby's character that is likely to have long term effects," Elinor said.

Mrs. Dashwood agreed. "I would preserve her innocence for as long as possible, but the world is not a kind place. I hope that knowledge will not make her bitter."

Marianne was out in the garden with Margaret while this conversation took place. She drew near to the house and called in to them through the window. "Colonel Brandon is coming down the lane from Barton Park. He may be headed here."

"Oh! I am glad he is come, I have been wishing to give my heartfelt thanks," Mrs. Dashwood cried. She had already written him a note, and only strong arguments from Elinor had prevented her from going up to make her thanks in person. Mrs. Dashwood's serenity was greater than Marianne's, as befit a woman with two daughters grown. But it would not have been equal to placidity while thanking the man responsible for assisting her daughter in such a difficult hour, and after all Marianne's bravery on the day of the garden party, alerting Mrs. Jennings to something worthy of gossip now would be insupportable.

By the time the colonel reached the house, Mrs. Dashwood was seated in the parlor with Elinor and Marianne flanking her, and tea set out ready to pour. Margaret had been sent off to play, as the weather was fine and the coming interview might touch on subjects too delicate for young ears. (Margaret had been told the outline of the incident with Willoughby, but not the details.)

Upon his entrance, Colonel Brandon was greeted with effusive praise and thanks from the ladies of the house, which he received awkwardly. He enquired after Marianne's health, and was pleased to hear she was in tolerably good spirits. He announced that he was taking his leave, and would be returning to Delaford the next day, and thus would be absent from their meetings for a time. (Though, as he was a frequent visitor to Barton Park, this parting was not likely to be of long duration.) His imminent departure was greeted with dismay, and a discussion of his obligations at his own estate and elsewhere occupied the next several minutes of the call.

But the unhappy events of a few days previous were not far from any of their thoughts, and soon they had circled back to it.

"I do wonder," Marianne said, "if any of it were my fault."

"Not at all, Miss Marianne," Brandon said. "You acted entirely as you ought to have done."

Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood agreed.

"Not then," Marianne said. "Earlier in our acquaintance. If I gave him some sign that I might be open to such a liaison? It was quite unintentional, if so, but I cannot think where he might have formed that opinion of me."

Mrs. Dashwood shook her head. "No, my dear, no. You did nothing wrong. You gave him no cause to think you willing for anything other than a respectable courtship. Some men—not all, my dear, but sadly too many!—require no encouragement from the object of their lusts. Their own thoughts give them all the support they require to draw any conclusion that supports their wishes. And, sadly, this is even more true when the woman in question is a Negress. Of course a young lady should always take care to act with propriety, but your actions cannot change a man's character." Mrs. Dashwoods own experiences in her youth had taught her that respectability was a flimsy shield indeed for one of their race, but it was one of the few they had; it should not be relied upon, but neither should it be neglected, and she had tried to instill this knowledge in her daughters as best she could.

"Your fondness for Willoughby was apparent, but no more apparent than any other young lady with an attachment might be," Brandon said. "If he saw something lascivious in it, that is entirely due to his own character and no reflection on yours. You are a compassionate, honest, forthright person, Miss Marianne, and I would be heartily sorry if any undeserved self-reproach were to blight that."

"Thank you, Colonel," Marianne said. "Your honesty and integrity have been of great comfort to me of late." He had been a rock of support for her in a difficult time, and she would not forget it. Here was one who had immediately moved to help her in her greatest need, who had listened to her wishes even when they contradicted his own. If he did not look like the great heroes of literature, Marianne valued his character all the more for it.

He smiled. "Thank you, Miss Marianne, I hope I have been of service. Equally, I hope you will not need such services again. I have had a discreet word with Sir John. Willoughby will not be welcome at Barton Park in the future."

"Will excluding him stir gossip?" Mrs. Dashwood asked.

Brandon shrugged. "It is possible, but if so, I doubt it will be linked to any here. Willoughby only comes to visit his aunt once a year; no one will think anything of it if we see him no more until next summer, and by then memories of his having been partial to Miss Marianne will not be fresh in anyone's mind."

The conversation turned to lighter topics, then, and before long the Colonel went on his way. He left Barton Cottage that day with increased admiration for all the Dashwood ladies, but especially the one who had borne such hurt with such strength and resilience, Miss Marianne.

The next time Colonel Brandon visited Barton Park, his visible preference for Marianne was but little more than it had ever been, for he was not a demonstrative man and he had always appreciated her vivacity. She, on the other hand, was markedly more attentive to him, asking him to turn pages when she played the piano and partnering him at cards whenever the opportunity allowed. There was some talk, but as Mrs. Jennings had gone to visit her other daughter, it was not enough to seriously annoy either Marianne or Brandon.

Before many more months had passed, he asked, and was granted, permission to court her formally; and when at last he asked her to marry him, Marianne was delighted to say yes, for her heart had long since belonged whole-heartedly to him.

"Well, Miss Marianne has done very well for herself, I dare say," Mrs. Jennings told Elinor when next she came to visit. "All those years I have been trying to lure the good Colonel into picking this girl or that one, and in the end he chooses … well. We shall have to see about finding a husband for you next, my dear. You should have your new brother take you to London, for I know he has a house there."

"I am sure they will," Elinor said, for such a scheme had already been discussed, though no definite plan had been settled on.

The ladies of Barton Cottage went often to visit Marianne and the Colonel at Delaford, and when next the Colonel went to London, his wife and her relations went with him. But when Elinor married, it was not to a gentleman of an estate or a gentleman of fashion in London, but a quiet country solicitor who practiced not far from Delaford and was pleased to call her mother his own.

Marianne and Elinor were both pleased with their husbands, and with being settled so close together. Once Margaret was married (to a merchant who lived in London), Mrs. Dashwood came to live at Delaford in the dower house there, and they were all very happy.

End notes:

I had a lot of fun figuring out what would change and what would stay the same. For example, can you imagine Fanny Dashwood's reaction to being related to Black people? That relationship would be much worse than canon. And also, Henry Dashwood's uncle would probably be less kind to his second family, so no legacy there, and no chance of inheriting the estate. But also, because of that Henry Dashwood would be less likely to just trust his son's bare word, so they might actually get some money instead of meaningless promises. And because Mrs. Dashwood and the girls wouldn't stay after John inherits the estate, Elinor wouldn't meet Edward Ferrars and fall in love.

Willoughby would be less interested in marriage and more interested in a tumble.

Marianne's passion would be at least partly directed towards racial justice, and not just romanticism.

Mrs. Jennings would pay less attention to them and focus more on the other girls, so Colonel Brandon's interest could slip in without being remarked upon.

All sorts of little things like that!

#dreamwidth #original post #fanfiction #fanfic #Fic #sense and sensibility #jane austen #racebending

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