#honestly the worst part of this is how it makes TIM look stupid

[americorys]

Chenford + 18 please!

chenford + things you said when you were scared

"So I'm right," she won't meet his gaze even though he's trying to catch hers. She busies herself with folding and re-folding the blanket thrown over the bottom corner of her bed, the one he'd put on her side for the nights when she gets cold and needs an extra layer (which is all of them, really). Her fingers fumble the corner once, twice, again. "You seriously don't think I can do it."

She hates herself a little for it.

She hates herself a little for everything lately, if she's being honest. There's this feeling in the back of her throat she can't get rid of, a tickle that's causing her to say things she doesn't want to, that's goading her on to be the worst version of herself because she can't not. If she's going down, she's dragging everyone with her. Is that dramatic? Sure, but she's never claimed to be anything less.

She sees the twinge in Tim's eye and something in her stomach soars, surges, squeezes. She's got him.

This is stupid, her rational brain tells her. You're self-sabotaging. Tim loves you. He believes in you. Stop picking fights with him because you're–

Shut up, she tells her rational brain, which apparently is the only part that doesn't have an issue listening to direct orders.

"Lucy, we're not doing this." His teeth are grit and his neck is tense. She can tell he's actively trying to soften his face, not to look stern and defeated in the way she knows he would if he wasn't aware of what she was doing. She would hate herself for doing this to him, but she decides to hate him a little bit for not calling her out on it instead.

"Doing what?" Her tone is snappier than she intends it to be, but it works in her favor.

He sighs deliciously. "This. This. We're not having this fight that has no point – either you believe me or you don't."

Lucy rolls her eyes, chewing on the inside of her cheek as the silence floods between them.

Usually, the silence is comfortable. The silence is nice, even, while she folds her laundry and he reads through a file, pretending he's not struggling to see the text without the dollar store pair of cheaters she'd tucked away in his desk a few months back when she'd noticed how far away from his face he was holding his phone.

They don't talk and they don't have to, because she knows every tiny movement Tim's jaw will make while he reads gory details, because he knows every ClipTalk trick she'll use in order to fold a fitted sheet without asking for help. They don't need words to know what the other is thinking, what they'll do next, when they need each other.

Today, the silence is overwhelming. She ignores the piece of her that aches for him and swallows it down – partly because it doesn't matter, partly because she doesn't want it to.

She leaves the blanket in a lopsided lump on the edge of the bed and crosses her arms. "I'd believe you if you were believable," she offers, shrugging. "If you don't think I can do better a second time, you can just tell me. I'd rather know the truth than have you pretend to support me again."

Tim rolls his eyes. "You know what," he starts, but shuts his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm not giving you what you want here."

"Oh, I know," she huffs, a dry laugh escaping her throat. "Trust me."

Tim squints at her, then stands up, rolling his sleeves up slowly. She watches, tipping her head to the side. At least he looks nice. "Enjoying the show?"

"Immensely," she deadpans, then purses her lips and lets herself meet his eye. He's staring her down and she swallows hard. "What?"

"What are you getting from this," his voice is lower, softer. She rips her gaze away and shakes her head. "Lucy, come on – you don't get to use me as a punching bag because you're scared you're going to fuck up ag-," he stops himself, but the damage is done.

She shuts her eyes, turning on her heel and heading towards the bathroom. She's not upset, honestly – she's kind of relieved, revitalized, ready to rub it in his face. At least he's being honest, this time. At least he's not pretending he's not disappointed in her. "See?"

"That's not what I-," she shuts the bathroom door behind her, muffling the sound of him. He knocks on it softly. "Baby, come on."

"Do not," she nearly growls.

She hears the light thunk of his head leaning against the door and she takes a step away from it, bristling at the sound of him sighing out a slow breath. "You don't think you can do it. You don't, and you know that." She doesn't answer and he sighs again, this one louder. "Talk to me, would you?"

"Go home," her voice is on the tip of her tongue, surprising her when it comes out firm, strong, certain. She hadn't known she wanted him to go home. She's not actually sure she does.

"What?" He sounds genuinely confused. Lucy ignores the fact that part of her mind is racing around, searching for ways to keep him here and get him to convince the rest of her mind to leave her the fuck alone. "You want me to go?"

She doesn't give herself the chance to think about it. "Go," she says again, firm, "home, Tim."

He waits. She knows this game – he'll count to ten, then twenty, then thirty. If she doesn't tell him to stay by the time he reaches sixty, he'll leave her be. It's fucked up that she knows, she realizes. It's fucked up that there's a pattern to this at all.

She swallows, then glances over at her shower and taps her fingers against the door lightly. He taps back. He's got to be somewhere around 35, by now.

"Please go home," she repeats, and it sounds different. A little raw, a little real. "I just want to be by myself, okay?"

He's quiet. She huffs. "Are you going to answer if I call later?"

She surveys her thumb nail, then bites the loose skin on her cuticle gently. "Maybe," she mumbles.

"Are you going to snap at me again?"

"Probably."

"Wow," he sounds a little annoyed, but mostly bemused. "Honesty for once."

She groans, but he doesn't laugh. She hears the floor creak beneath his feet as he makes his way back into her bedroom, then through the kitchen, then out the front door. The lock turns and the hum of alone silence falls over her as she leans back against the door and shuts her eyes.

He didn't say goodbye. She files it away, another thing she can pick a fight over later if she needs to.

She ignores her rational brain, screaming for her to figure this out before she ruins the most important relationship in her life. She'll ruin it if she damn well wants to, thank you very much.

The alone silence, the silence she wanted, doesn't feel as good as she'd hoped.

#anonymous #ask #*fic #*minific #chenford #chenford fanfiction #c: tim bradford #c: lucy chen #tv: the rookie #ship: tim x lucy #idk what this is lmao but i am certain it is not what you expected when you asked for this #either way...here you go!

[speckeltail]

idk part of why I love Aaron so much even after It All(tm) is that I put a lot of thought into making him a functional mirror of the main Robins, which I feel gives his character that extra bit of flexibility it needs since I like putting him in situations. He’s a gymnast like Dick, which is the surface level connection; but he also carefully constructs a persona for the world that hides perfectionism, neuroticism, and okay a fair amount of obsessive tendencies. They get away with it because they’re the mother hens. They’re the de-facto leader. They’ve flown the nest and can be looked on as successful, independent, but still there when you need them… which is a hard line to walk. Their dynamic, Robin-to-Sphinx and Nightwing-to-Tyto, shifts from mutual performative (and greatly enjoyable!) animosity to quiet, distant acknowledgement. Dick goes off to Blüdhaven and changes, Aaron goes off to Newark and changes. They meet each other again in Gotham, and there’s a bitter, uncomfortable recognition of the self through the other.

He left home young like Jason, he has a significant Joker trauma like Jason (also tying in to the sidekick squad, who I love also), they have a strong sense of justice and deep wells of compassion and at the same time they turned into something that their respective adoptive father figures don’t like, using methods that they don’t approve of. Their dynamic of Robin-to-Sphinx is usually focused on how they’re still kids and recognize the inherent absurdity of going around in costumes to fight crime/commit crime but they both also… find a sense of freedom in it. Red Hood-to-Tyto, that inherent absurdity has tempered down and their costumes are now tactical, less colorful, less like costumes. They mostly ignore each other… when they do cross paths, it’s for little more than a nod and a wave, even though they both are keeping tabs on each other. They are both extremely messy and need to get their lives in order.

Like Tim, he’s aware (rightly or not) that he always has to be proving himself and establishing himself as different. Better, too. They come into Bruce and Eddie’s life after significant losses/dropped bombshells and are the pivot point of things changing. Getting better… or at least getting different. Either way, they bring something new to the table that changes the rules. Robin-to-Sphinx, they mutually lean on their reputation as “the smart ones” while also playfully (or not) inverting the typical “morally scrupulous hero” and “morally unscrupulous villain” dynamic. Seriously, Tim would kill a guy if not for Batman’s no-killing rule. Red Robin-to-Tyto, they invert it again, to where Red Robin is still following the rules and Tyto… is not. They snipe at each other on anonymous chatrooms and drop each other intel while acting like they didn’t do anything. It’s enrichment for them.

And then… Damian. If Aaron, like Dick, was the golden child before the Olympics scandal, he’s definitely the burdensome and misfit demon child after. Things get blamed on them. They’re defensive and wary, hesitant to make connections or be open to relationships. The Robin-to-Sphinx dynamic is Damian kicking and screaming his way into kind of caring for someone that he can’t help but see as a warped reflection of his own experiences— he hates Sphinx at first. He thinks he’s another flashy, stupid, good-for-nothing Rogue. Sphinx is smart, he’s sneaky, he’s resourceful, and worst of all he doesn’t let himself get caught out (because he does not want to die via katana.) Over time, his opinions change… and Sphinx has other things to worry about so he’s been treating Damian with some amount of cautious regard and tentative friendliness. The Batman-to-Tyto (like, assuming Damian grows into Batman and doesn’t just carry the Robin mantle into adulthood or take on another name) is honestly fucked. Their respective tendencies collide in the worst possible way and they butt heads for months. Damian keeps crashing Tyto’s hits. They nearly come to blows. Tyto eventually shuts him down hard and not particularly kindly and then they ignore each other for a little while before Damian comes crashing in to give him a hand in a sticky situation, so it ends up as a fairly functional truce— since it’s more about them coming to terms with themselves rather than each other. Just don’t tell them that!

#me post #Aaron griffin #sighing etc #long post #How do I cut on mobile

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

priority thessia: sad, painful, huge emotional impact 

bioware, deciding what would be the best kinds of emails for shep to get: 

also does he not feel even slightly embarrassed about this fight literally being 

“waaah my shields waaaah save me gunship waaaah i’m a little baby that runs away constantly”

like edi let this through the spam filter bc of how embarrassing it actually is.

#tbd #honestly the worst part of this is how it makes TIM look stupid #bc like #his hiring standards are SO LOW #that after people like Miranda he goes for this. #fae plays the me:le #its just insane how poorly written he is #like INSANE #me:le spoilers #*leng i mean

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E123 (Feb. 2, 2021)

After last week’s thoroughly relaxing and brief episode, tonight’s guests are Sam Riegel and Liam O’Brien!

Brian, to Sam: “You look like Tim Curry moved to Nantucket to become a sommelier.”

How did Caleb and Veth approach the ally-ship with the Tombtakers? Sam: “I mean, we got some information, and I think we got a little closer to Lucien and knowing whether he has any of Mollymauk inside of him, which is I think the most important knowledge that we’re seeking right now. Is there someone to be saved inside there? We got glimpses, and we got a little hint that Mollymauk is maybe still in there? Maybe? And we got a little more insight into their plans, so that was useful.” Liam: “We know why we were having that fucking dream.” Sam: “But other than that, it was just a road trip with assholes.” Liam: “All our plans have been ripped in a new direction, and it’s just been improvisation.” Sam notes that it feels like we’re always about to rip into Caleb’s backstory, but haven’t yet followed that thread all the way through. Liam: “It’s partially frustrating, to be sure, but also I like the idea that-- his whole shit has been selfish, it’s been dealing with the trauma that he’s been through and not the greater world, and that’s been shifting somewhat.”

Does Caleb think the book was worth it, and is he still interested in reading more? Sam: “How do you ask Caleb not to read a book?” Liam: “Caleb has spent enough time with the Nein to know you shouldn’t put a hand on a hot stove. After what happened with the book, he knows it’s a terrible idea. But maybe. But it’s a really bad idea. But reserve judgment, but it’s a really terrible idea. I think that Caleb is very aware that mages and people like him very easily fall prey to their curiosity and it can lead to bad places. But there is still that amount of scientific endeavor where you think there is value in knowing and learning, and maybe we can ride that line. He was True Neutral at the start of the campaign, and maybe he’s Chaotic Good now, but part of him is hubris, even if it’s a little bit, still.”

What about Otis has drawn Veth’s focus? Sam: “I mean, he’s a little shit. She was curious about Otis because he’s a small like she is, and in talking to him, he seemed to be real creepy, but he was just creepy and distant and didn’t value his past or family or anything like that. She sees someone who’s like her, but so not like her, and maybe that scares her a little bit more.”

How does Caleb feel about Beau being on this ride with him? Liam: “The dream is another example of how Caleb had very narrow vision of the things he wanted to do. It used to seem so massive to him, but now... To have Beauregard involved feels right. If anyone in the group is going to stop him from grabbing something he shouldn’t, it is probably Beauregard. She’ll punch him in the fucking face to stop him, which I think he needs, to a certain extent. They’re two different kinds of nerds, and I kind of like that, that this group of nine philosophers, they’ve reached out and somehow grabbed the two nerds in the party.”

How do Caleb and Veth see the Somnovum? Sam: “I mean, they seem real bad. Anything that’s a quorum of powerful entities heading towards your planet to unleash an energy of any kind, typically bad? I assume they’re bad, or at least the Tombtakers wish them to do ill.” Liam: “I think they want the kind of peace that comes from snapping your fingers and turning people to dust. Caleb sees them as a cautionary tale; they’re the worst-case scenario for arcane inquisitiveness.” He sees Allura Vysoren as the antidote to that.

Why the staunch refusal to use Halfling Luck? Sam: “I don’t like Luck! I just don’t like Luck. I think it’s cheap, I think it’s a cheat, I think it’s stupid. It just feels like a do-over.” Liam: “I am your antithesis! If I ever voice a halfling, I am going to hammer that feature!” Sam: “What I love about D&D is that you don’t know what’s going to happen. If you roll bad, okay, that’s it. If you roll well, it makes the success more enjoyable to know that it’s a pure success and don’t one where you’re like well actually... it’s so stupid. If someone was about to die, I would probably use the fuckin’ Luck feature. Well. It depends who. If it was Travis, yeah, no, he’s fucked, sorry.”

Liam drops that he’s picked Sam’s character class and race again for a hypothetical campaign three. Sam: “It’s not what I was thinking for future characters, but I’m excited to explore.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Mollymauk by KatofValkyrie!

What was it like to bring the Tombtakers into the tower? Liam: “It is complicated, because he does not like him. Lucien’s just a fucking dick. But Caleb also knows that Molly’s in there somewhere. That tower’s only for the M9, and Lucien’s not in the M9. Their situation with these people is shitty, it’s terrible. Caleb doesn’t feel like they have the upper hand. He doesn’t like that they’re even going on this journey per se, because life is bigger than his bullshit. He feels like they’ve been losing over and over again, so it was a gamble to try to get on equal footing.

What spurred Veth into making sure she and Yasha have some one-on-one time? Sam: “Yasha hasn’t been getting a lot of moments to shine. Now that she’s back, I just got the impression that Yasha feels out of place sometimes, or timid, or unsure of herself. When Veth was Nott, Nott certainly had her share of those moments. I think she sees a kindred spirit and wants to make sure that she’s been giving all the opportunity she can to flourish and thrive. Dani, you’re just laughing at my mustache, aren’t you?” Dani: “Yes, that’s the only thing I’m laughing at through this whole bullshit.” Sam denies all knowledge of trolling, but eventually admits, on the topic of Yasha and Beau getting together: “They’ve made me wait this long... I’m going to make them wait a little bit longer!”

What was it like to show his friends the upper floors? Liam: “I kinda expected somebody to sneak up there before that. That being part of the tower is not even a conscious choice of his, it just is. The reason Caduceus has creeped Caleb out for a long time is because he talks about how-- Caduceus is a really kind person and wants Caleb to let go of the past. And in a really simplistic way, turn that frown upside-down. And that’s just not who Caleb is, and it’s not who everybody is. There is something to be said for trying to stay open and positivity, but thinking you can shut out the past, especially a traumatic one, is just not true. When things happen to us, we carry them. But to candy-coat it and say, ah, I’m free, or everything is good, or I’ve turned the corner... life is way messier than that. It’s not flipping a switch, it’s not bad-to-good, it is such a work in progress. Even when you make strides and start to get to a better place, you can backslide a lot. So the tower is who he is, and the tower is 7/9ths love for his friends, and 1/9th hope, but there’s still a percentage of him that carries everything from the past, and knows that he should, and knows that he should not go back to where he was. And the way to do that is not to say everything is rainbows, but to remember it. The tower is just like an extension of who he is. He’s never going to forget the past, and he’s never going to be like, I’m good, or I’ve turned a corner. He should remember the past, and he should do better, always.”

Does Veth still believe it’s possible to get Molly back? Sam: “Well, she was a person trapped in another body for many years, so has some experience there, and definitely believes that the spirit and soul of Molly is in there and just needs to be unlocked somehow.”

Fan Art of the Week: an amazing group shot by HarpySN!

How are Caleb and Veth dealing with their guilt and fear about being in the middle of this? Sam: “It definitely was a deep conversation that might have repercussions going forward. The problem with all of what we’re doing now is that we don’t have time to deal with our petty problems anymore. It’s all high tension all the time!” Liam: “It’s true; they’re not in control of their situation at all anymore.” Sam: “It’s good to have these check-ins, but it’s not like we can do anything about them. We’re reactive right now.” Liam: “He’s not happy with where they are, but they wouldn’t even be this far if the goblin hadn’t pulled him out of the mud. So part of it is, you saved me from where I was and got me on my feet again, and now it’s disconcerting to see it all just get knocked sideways by something he never could’ve predicted. I think Caleb felt nostalgic for when things were simpler, in a way, for them, when we’re both troubled drifters.”

What was it like to see Gelidon’s return? Liam: “I am the least superstitious person at the table. Ashley’s dice suck.” Sam: “It was fun fighting a dragon!” Liam: “Two massive battles in one episode, neither of which came away with a victory. I guess surviving is a victory.” Sam: “I’d forgotten about the dragon, honestly.” Liam: “I loved it. I was so upset at the idea that we were going to stealth and not get into it.”Sam: “Mercer doesn’t keep a live dragon around and not do something with it. That dragon’s coming back.”

How do Caleb and Veth feel about going to see Essek? Sam: “He can be very helpful, I believe, but as Sam Riegel, a player of D&D, I’m super suspicious. What the fuck is Essek doing up there, so close, now? I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. And I can throw him pretty far because he floats.” Liam: “I 100% agree with you. I do not understand what Essek could bring to what we are going through. I know the audience loves him, I love him too. He’s a really cool character. But he’s fucking toxic. He out of curiosity caused a war between two nations. And Caleb has been changed for the good by the M9 from months of travel with them. Essek has had none of that. Caleb has changed for the good, but not because of people like Essek. Essek is where Caleb came from. We kept the lid on the pot during the whole treaty at sea and it almost all went fucking sideways, and only because we pressed him into a corner. I hope that guy finds some sort of balance and peace for himself, but I do not see how his input here would be helpful. There’s other heavy hitters that I would try to pull in.”

Liam notes that the Cloven Crystal is in the Bag of Holding. Sam: “Do I have Fluffernutter, or is Fluffernutter gone?” Liam: “Nope. 300 pounds of fireworks? Gone. A dead mage, a threshold crest, and fireworks.” Dani: “Your basic essentials.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead  of addressing it, he says, “I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even  during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.

#jonmartinweek2021 #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #AHHH this is just over TWO THOUSAND words #i really was like for the last prompt i will not Shut Up lmao #also fun fact! part 4 was specifically designed to not be clear whether it was from jon or martins perspective

[glorified-red]

What would the batboys be like as wingmen? Rank them best to worst.

Thank you for the request!

Batboys as Wingmen

word count: 1180~

warnings: none

My thumb is almost healed you guys :))) Just a lil sore

Jason Todd

Jason is a closeted hopeless romantic

Home boy reads Shakespeare in his free time and probably has a collection of young adult books

So its pretty obvious that if you need to woo someone, Jason has a few tricks up his sleeve

He will easily slip into the role of ‘sarcastic wingman that makes you look good’ or the ‘sarcastically witty best friend’

He can see you ogle from across the room, its not hard to trace your stare to the person of interest 

Tap your foot and tease you about the possible suitor, when you express blatant interest he won't hesitate to give it to you straight

If he knows the person (say its one of his friends) he’ll give you pointers and tips about what they’re into

If he doesn't know the person, give him a few minutes to scout scare them out

From there he will give you no bullshit

Tell you the ups and downs of the suitor and things he’s picked up on

“Really Y/n? Them? Their shirt collar has a stain on it.”

“I wouldn't. They ordered a Jager Bomb, they probably have a shitty tattoo on their ass.”

He has decent pep talks

Sounds like a tired football coach who is one season away from retiring, but decent nonetheless

“Don't slouch like that they’re gonna think your spine is broken.”

“Just go out there and try your best, but if you don't come back with a phone number you have to pay the tab.”

Will laugh his ass off if you fail and will tease you about it endlessly

But if his teasing crosses the line or you're really bummed out about the failed attempt, he’ll treat you to ice cream and maybe go on a tangent about how stupid they are for denying you anyway

Dick Grayson

Dick knows exactly what to tell you for a confidence boost

He can go on about how great you look or how amazing you are for hours until you have just the right amount of pizazz to go woo the suitor

Has the best eye for possible people of interest

“How about them? They have a really good sense of style.”

Nudging your shoulder to make you look at someone because they have pretty hair or eyes

When introducing his friends he’ll always hint at the fact that you’re “single and ready to mingle” with his Dick Grayson charm

Gives perfect advice on how to flirt and will offer to teach you *cough* @internalsealpanic *cough*

Would love to help you get dressed up whenever you see the certain someone

But he’ll always pester you about when you get to see them next

“You should invite them! It’ll be a perfect opportunity or you two to, you know.”

Slap his shoulder please

Has great pep talks, like the soccer mom who brought everyone participation cupcakes and is a little too passionate about their kid sitting on the bench the whole game

If things go south or get too embarrassing for you, he’ll swoop in and rescue you with his charm and make everything flow back to normal until you can slip away

He’s the best at cheering you up if it goes terribly wrong

The worst part about him being the wingman though that places him under Jason, is the fact that he will accidentally make the person of interest fall for him

Without fail, if he’s sitting next to you or standing beside you, he’ll accidentally connect with the person more than you do, so have fun with that

Make him sit somewhere else

Damian Wayne

Damian is unintentionally a decent wingman

He gives solid advice on how to woo someone but it usually stems from body language

“Mirror their posture, it shows interest and respect.”

“Do not stand like that, you look pigeon-toed.”

The definition of helicopter wingman

Whether the person is at the Manor or you’re at a bar, Damian will be your shadow all day just to keep the other person in line

Honestly he might terrify the person of interest if you don't shoo him away

If you shoo him away he’ll stalk, there's no stopping Damian from watching out for you

One look and Damian will step in between you two and ask the suitor to leave, no questions asked

He can guide the conversation into better topics to avoid awkwardness but he prefers to listen so he won’t talk very much so when he does, that’s when you know it’s getting bad

He won't bother giving you a pep talk, his version of a pep talk is to just tell you to go up to them

“You find them attractive, no?” , “I do but I’m not just gonna start the conversation like that.” , “Why not? I see no problem with being blunt about your infatuation.”

Don't chicken out

Don't do it

Damian will take it as a challenge

He will walk up to them and tell them himself, drag you blushy ass himself if he has to

If you fail he is pretty decent at cheering you up in his own way, usually ends up dissing the other person but at least he won't bring up the failed attempt ever again

Tim Drake

Takes him forever to even become a wingman, Jason and Dick jump at the chance and Damian is unconsciously one

Tim just thinks its a waste of time

“Why waste time flirting when you can go to Subway with me instead.”

“I have leftovers at home that I’d rather eat than sit and watch you attempt to flirt.”

Completely make you second guess wanting to flirt or talk to the person

He gets second hand embarrassment way too easily to be a wingman

He will let you suffer just so he doesn't have to intervene when it gets too humiliating or awkward

Will sit in the corner of the room and play on his phone just to avoid that scenario

Shoot him a certain look or an sos and he’ll step in (won't be too thrilled about it cuz ew people) because he’s not heartless

Be prepared to compensate though, food or quality time usually does the trick

Once you two get back to the Manor, Tim will cheer you up with playing some video games or doing self care to destress from the excitement

Makes you a whole plan to execute, whether you two are at a bar or the suitor is a coworker

It's on Google Slides....it has 34 steps

The best at giving coworker advice since he knows how to keep things discreet

“Where that shirt, draws more attention to you.”

He’ll give you a script for every possible situation and if you ask, he’ll make flashcards because the small task will give him a relaxing break from cases

Will offer to run through the script with you or give you pointers on flirting but he’ll get flustered easily and he’s not too good at flirting in general

“Yup, thats good” , “I literally just said ‘hey’ " , “Your point?”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@bungunz

@red-hood-redemption ​

@missredrobin

#dc comics #batfam #batfamily #dc #batman #batfam headcanons #batboys #batboys headcanons #dick grayson headcanons #nightwing headcanons #jason todd headcanons #red hood headcanons #tim drake headcanons #red robin headcanons #damian wayne headcanons #robin headcanons #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #headcanons

[insomnia-productions]

jonelias fake dating bullet fic

help

So Jon’s about a month into his new position as Head Archivist. it’s… fine. this is fine. gertrude was a mess, clearly, and elias is even more of a mess for allowing things to get this bad, but it’s fine. it’s fine. he’s fine.

yes, really, martin, stop asking,

And he’s - look, he’s always been a diligent person, always very committed to his work, so naturally he would spend every waking minute trying to organize the Archives, and naturally he would forget to sleep once or twice or five times a week, and honestly so what if he hasn’t actually touched his bed in nine days? It’s not like the lack of sleep is impeding his brain function. Much.

So it’s a bright and sunny morning in the Institute, and he’s up in one of the many libraries, looking up something about what may or may not have been a sentient kitchen sponge, and one of the researchers comes up to him looking oddly red and kind of stumbling over her words and oh lord no he’s being asked out

He quickly stutters through a rejection, but instead of just accepting it like a normal person (though, in fairness, what normal person would work at the Magnus Institute?), she asks him why not

like. what the fuck.

And Jon isn’t exactly the nicest or most tactful person, but even he isn’t about to look this woman in the eye and tell her that he just straight up does not like her. he’s not even sure he knows her name. there is a whole realm of possibility as to what reason he could give, like he’s too busy, or he isn’t looking to date anyone right now, but those would sound too much like excuses, wouldn’t they, rather than valid reasons to reject her.

He picks the worst option.

“I’m already seeing someone, actually.”

An eyebrow goes up. She looks him up and down. A second eyebrow goes up.

“Really? Who?”

Fuck. Now he has .2 seconds to make up a love story. He’s too tired for this, and he’s never been one for love stories. What makes for a believable romance? And in that panicked, sleep-deprived instant, his eyes fall on a portrait of Jonah Magnus nestled between two shelves, and somehow that prompts a spectacularly terrible response.

“Uh. Elias.”

Twenty minutes later he’s sitting at his desk in a spiral of anxiety. It’s fine, though, right? That woman will probably keep it to herself, and she’s just some random researcher, there’s no way anyone else will hear about his stupid comment. There’s no way Elias will hear about it - and even if he does, Elias has always been a pretty laid back boss, maybe he’ll even find it funny?

Oh lord he’s going to die  

The next day, everyone has heard about it. Jon can just feel it in the way people’s eyes follow him. Tim and Sasha give him twin funny looks, kind of half-disbelieving, half-amused. Jon slams his office door slightly harder than necessary. He puts it forcefully from his mind, and the day passes without incident. Until.

It’s the end of the day. Jon is walking towards the Institute’s main doors. Half the Institute seems to be there (fair enough, it is closing time), gathered in bunches, talking quietly, eyes flitting to him and away. Tim and Sasha are sitting on their Gossip Couch in the lobby, watching him. Elias is there, and waves him over, holding something that looks like a statement. Of course, today would be the day he decides to get involved in the archives.

Jon begrudgingly walks over. The second he reaches Elias’ side, Tim’s voice rings across the lobby. He’s walking towards them, saying something about hearing the most interesting thing from a woman in research, and how long have they been together?

Elias looks at him. Jon can see the instant when he realizes what’s happened, and, more importantly, he can see the precise moment when Elias decides to make things infinitely worse, because his eyes light up like he’s just been offered a second Christmas.

Elias turns back to Tim and, entirely matter-of-factly, says, “Two weeks.”

Tim, honestly, had not been expecting it to be true.

It’s bad. It’s bad, but… it could be worse. Two weeks isn’t a long time. It’s not like Elias has gone and made up an entire marriage or something. Jon will just put up with his coworker’s teasing for a couple of weeks, and then drop some vague comment about being too busy to date, and an amicable breakup, and that will be the end of the whole ordeal. This is fine.

Jon goes straight to Elias’ office the next morning to tell him just that, ignoring Tim and Sasha’s loud whistles as he reaches that particular set of stairs. He gets through a begrudging thank-you and a short explanation of his game plan, but once he’s done, Elias just folds his hands on his desk and smiles in a perfectly pleasant way that makes Jon feel like a minnow suspended between the open jaws of a shark.

Elias, as it turns out, has a party coming up next month, hosted by the Fairchilds, although Jon doesn’t know that name just yet. It’s an opportunity to garner more funds for the Institute, and he suspects one of the Lukases is going to ask him to it. Elias can’t afford to offend the Lukases, but he would also prefer to avoid getting roped into dating one of them again - (again??) - so why not stretch this fake dating thing out just a little longer.

Well, Jon thinks, there’s no harm in it, really. It’s just a month, just a party. And he does owe Elias for covering for him yesterday. So he agrees.

A week after the party, he’s preparing to drop his breakup comments over tea in the breakroom, when his cousin calls to invite him to her wedding. Bring a plus one! Oh god. He can already hear all the aunties, asking him when he’s going to settle down, why he hasn’t found someone yet. He bites his tongue on the breakup comment, puts his cup down, and walks up to Elias’ office.

It becomes a sort of unspoken agreement. Fake dating isn’t even hard; they’re adults with jobs, after all, not high schoolers spending every waking moment together. It’s an arrangement of convenience, more than anything, and the only thing that changes between them is that Elias visits the Archives more than he used to, and they talk more, and one time at one of Elias’ parties they danced, and it was nice, actually.

Meanwhile, for Jonah’s part, he’s having a baller time. Fake dating is such a small, petty thing, but the scheming that goes into laying out all the right little hints of domesticity, not to mention the fun of walking the line between performing for the others and legitimately flirting with Jon, always just short of anything that couldn’t be explained away - it’s like a fun, relaxing warm-up to his more important schemes.

Plus, he now has an excuse to spend more time with Jon, evaluating and pushing and molding the man who will become his Archive. It isn’t hard - and people like Jane Prentiss and Jurgen Leitner and the not-Them make it all the more easy.

On which note - Jane Prentiss happens. The Archives are in upheaval, someone definitely murdered Gertrude, and Jon is freaking out. Someone - Sasha, this person is Sasha - comes up to him to tell him that he shouldn’t be alone right now. Any good boyfriend would take him home, take care of him after something so traumatic. Elias is sitting next to him, and he gives Sasha a strange, sharp smile, and just as she’d suggested, he takes Jon home. Jon is too caught up in stress and exhaustion and who killed gertrude to remember that Elias is not, in fact, his actual boyfriend.

Maybe some part of him recalls, somewhere between the part where Elias so carefully tends to his wounds and the part where they fall asleep curled around each other, that this is not what fake-dating-at-parties-for-mutual-convenience is supposed to entail, but he’s so tired and there are so many bigger things to worry about than whether or not this is a boundary they shouldn’t cross.

He wakes up with Elias’ arms around him and Elias’ fingers combing gently through hair, and after that the line between fake dating and actually being in a relationship just gets blurrier and blurrier. But nothing really happens, not yet. Jon is in the midst of a murder investigation, after all - one even Elias is still a suspect in, warm mornings together or not. So they remain walking that line for months and months as Jon sinks further into paranoia, isolated from everyone - except Elias, who stays by his side like the supportive boyfriend he isn’t.

And then there’s the table. And the thing that is not Sasha. And Jurgen Leitner. And now he’s the one being suspected of murder. Jon does what has become his habit over the past two years when he is faced with a social situation he feels ill-equipped to deal with on his own. He goes to Elias.

And Jonah starts to rework his plans.

Maybe the fact that they now live together will make getting Jon marked by the fears harder, maybe it will take longer for him to be ready for the Watcher’s Crown. Maybe it will add years to his plans. But what good is a world without someone to rule it with? Maybe even, with time and patience, someone willing? Jonah’s waited 200 years to perform his ritual; for his Archive, he can wait a few more.

#this started out as a meme and then Escalated #I want to write this as a whole 200k thing but also... im tired #jonelias #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #jonah magnus #elias bouchard

[gangrenados]

Why you and the batboys broke up! (Zodiac edition)

Jason's nsfw alphabet is taking more than expected, so here you have a little stupid thing!

This is basically a shitpost so some of this are kinda ooc lol

Aries: You and Damian broke up because the fights were getting exhausting.

You both were tired to argue every damn time, it was draining your energy and making life seem gloomy and tiring. Even when you still loved each other, you decided that breaking up was the best option.

Taurus: The reason was that Dick didn't felt the same way towards you, he didn't loved you anymore, at least not in the romantic way.

Dick let you know that he still loved you and cared deeply about you, but as a friend and he didn't wanted to keep going with this relationship because he would be lying to you.

Virgo: Tim fell in love with someone else while still being with you, but do you wanna know the worst part? He wanted to keep it a secret because he didn't wanted your relationship to end.

However, big secrets like this can't stay in the dark for too long. One day a big fight broke between you two after finding some interesting conversations in Tim's phone and well, you broke up with him.

Cancer: Having to handle the 'partner of the vigilante' lifestyle was becoming too much for you.

You loved Bruce deeply, but you were tired to not knowing if he would come back after going out as the big bat and knowing that all of those psychos were trying to harm him and those who cared about him was messing with your sanity.

So one day you decided to leave, leaving a very broken Bruce behind.

Geminis: You and Jason had very different views of life and what you wanted from it.

Everything was so nice until the day of talking about the future came and caused chaos. You didn't wanted to live your life the way Jason wanted and he didn't wanted to back off.

You decided to breake up before everything escalate to something more horrible.

Libra: You were someone really important in Duke's life, he loved you to the core and would have done anything for you. However, he had to forget about those love promises after some villain decided to threaten him with killing you.

It was really painful for Duke to break up with you, but he promised it was for the best because he wanted you to have a great life even if he can't be part of it.

Aquarius: Jason cheated on you the night before coming home from a long mission.

Did he just missed being with someone physically or was that person really similar to you? He honestly don't know and the memories are confusing since he was really drunk, but one thing he's sure about is that he's an asshole for doing this kind of thing to the person he loves with his whole life.

He broke up with you after confessing what he had done. The memory of seeing you crying so helplessly still haunts Jason.

Scorpio: Damian completely lost his interest in you.

He just stopped feeling something, there wasn't anything in his heart that beg him to stay by your side. You just was a constant and the human touch he needed to life until Damian decided that he didn't needed that anymore.

Pisces: Dick used you to get information for a mission.

He was never interested in you or what you had to say, to him you just were a kind and easy to manipulate person who appeared in his life to make his current mission easier.

Capricorn: Duke wanted to re-evaluate his life and decided what was better for him. It has been days since he was feeling off and his mind was getting messier with time.

He didn't wanted to keep living like this and lashing on you anytime you tried to talk about the issue with him was getting annoying.

Sagittarius: It was pitiful the day you found Tim sleeping with another person, you still can't erase that memory from your mind.

You were angry when the time to discuss about the issue came, tears were falling freely as you kept ranting about how mad you were, while Tim in the other hand couldn't even look you in the eyes.

Leo: Bruce was becoming a little bit too paranoid with your safety and honestly it was suffocating.

You knew that dating someone like him was dangerous, that many people is behind him to get him killed and that his life is always on the line, but you also knew what signed up for. However, Bruce didn't see it that way.

So after finding out the tracker he implanted on you one day, you decided that it was better to get away from this relationship.

#zodiac #batboys zodiac #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce Wayne headcanon #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #dick grayson x reader #dick Grayson imagine #dick grayson headcanon #tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #tim drake headcanon #Damian Wayne x reader #Damian Wayne imagine #damian Wayne headcanon #duke thomas imagine #duke thomas x reader #duke thomas headcanon

[peeterparkr]

perennial;tom holland|thirteen.

chapter thirteen: heleniums

↳ flower meaning: comfort.

chapter summary: ‘very Tom and y/n’

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: Cherry, angst, fluff if you squint, smut (?, idk if there was any it’d be after the *), this hurts, but...rollercoaster

word count: 12.3K

SOCIAL MEDIA BEFORE THE CHAPTER:

masterlist & profiles  

no social media 

previous chapter next chapter   perennial masterlist.

perfidy  ( series masterlist)

wanna be tagged?

Hi, I’m back, super hard chapter to write, honestly. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, happy new year. 

There were, with certainty, and exactly, three things Tom had regretted the most from that night, which, had they been avoided, he would’ve not had this mess. 

That night, not being y/n’s birthday, but the night before he slept with Cherry. It had led to the next day, and the next night, and to this mess. 

Tom had been confused, that is to say, he can’t be blamed for being confused. What had been something very, very innocent had turned into his worst nightmare. The background on his head was the peculiar reasoning behind the big decision that led to his first regret. 

The day before he slept with Cherry Tom had read the script. Not all of it, just part of it. Again, the part which had led to his broken heart. Tom regretted doing that, because the mind is such a dark place when it wants to be. Our minds are our biggest enemy, because who else knows what hurts the most than ourselves. 

Because Tom knew that the words written on that script hadn’t come from nothing. It’s what bothered him the most, is that every single word written there was completely and utterly true. 

He had been a monster. 

He regretted that, but we already knew that. 

He then had read over and over y/n’s last letter. Her telling him it was him, and no one else. Then why had she left? Why had he let her go? There was his mind telling him, being reasonable, telling him she’d left for the script, because she had. But then there was that one thought flying through his mind. She’d left and fall in love with Tim. She had once, why not twice? Y/N was vulnerable, and vulnerable hearts are easy to shape. Ghost haunting Tom’s mind, fearing he’d be buried deep in y/n’s mind. How much can a heart take? How many wounds until it finally dies. 

A flower can only bloom when it’s watered. 

He knew she’d end up forgetting him, that’s what the script said. But the letter said they’d be infinite. Would they? How many pieces were left out of the puzzle, making it unsolvable. Was she trying to get over him? 

Did he have to move on? He’d said that. She’d said that. Because it had made no sense why she left so suddenly when he’d needed her the most, to take her home and just listen to her, like she was an old song. She’d left when Tom had needed her the most,when he needed to make sure that they were supposed to love each other, to make sure he was the one. 

The second thing he’d regretted that night had been answering Cherry’s call, and accepting her offer to go out for a drink. He had been well aware of her flirting. And he’d give in because it felt like a cheap love , and he couldn’t afford for more at time, and it was easy, so unbelievable easy. Like she was giving in to him, without any ‘buts’. Without any built in walls, without any prejudice. 

He would’ve never known that he was so stupid. 

Tom had been lying when he said he hadn’t seen the next night coming. Because he’d made the decision the night before, at that one pub, with the warm beer that gave no entertainment, listening to a laugh that sounded like hers, some pair of eyes that if you tried hard enough, you could see hers. Someone so close, so near hear. And after a few more drinks, familiarity is what we all need. The hearts make the eyes see what we want to see. And if your mind is wild enough, he could pretend it was her. 

The third thing he regretted from that night, it had been leaning over to kiss Cherry, thinking that the alcohol would blind him enough to make him believe her lips were y/n’s. But when it’s not hers, then you’ll never be satisfied. 

He hadn’t been, but the lips had been welcoming. It had been him. He knew that. He’d fallen under the spell that Cherry was. 

Cherry, honestly, was a dark omen with raving hope. Tom had been a victim. Because Cherry had known what she was doing. 

But Cherry had also fallen under the lie that Tom was. Cherry, deep in her heart had known that y/n, her cousin, whom she barely knew, had something to do with Tom. She couldn’t map what, she knew they were enemies. Was there something else? He had shown up with flowers. 

Y/N when asked by Cherry, had once said only a fool would fall for Tom. 

And Cherry had been such a fool. Cherry, just like Tom, had gone through a heartbreak. An awful one, the one that makes you think that you’re not supposed to love. Cherry, had heard y/n say heartbreaks can be felt, and she agreed. Her ex girlfriend had broken up with her because she’d decided that Cherry just ‘wasn’t what she wanted’ Cherry wasn’t ‘enough to make her happy’. 

‘Cherry, you’re a season, and I need a year.’ 

It hurts. Cherry had known about it, how she was like a flower, only blooming every now and then. Not all year long. Cherry, most people said, was someone who people used, for a night. She’d known it long enough. Though Cherry is now the villain in our story, she can’t be blamed. Hearts are never easy, and hearts are vulnerable. 

And vulnerable hearts are easy to be shaped. Everyone thought Cherry was perfect, she’d hear it said, by other people, ‘oh, you’re the kind of girl that steals every glance in the room’, ‘you’re the one girl everyone wished they were’. Yet, she was never loved. 

So when Tom, trying to search for something so familiar to the one he loved, he’d made Cherry believe that she could be loved. 

She had tried not to, at first, but when Tom had kissed her that night, with those eyes he gave to y/n, but only with hopes of trying to find y/n there. And Tom hadn’t been disappointed, and he had kissed Cherry again and again. 

And while Tom was trying to find what he was looking for, not finding it, Cherry had found the one thing she’d searched for, her entire life, someone who wasn’t getting tired, someone who asked for more. 

Complicated. 

Cherry had heard it then, how Tom had left. And she was left again with those thoughts in her mind, what had she done wrong? 

James had come and told her he was forbidden territory, that Tom and y/n had a lot of story, that Cherry couldn’t go there. That she couldn’t go to Tom because he was forbidden. But how could he be? Her secret in a crowded room, how easily had she fallen for him, because he was oh, so easy to love. 

She remember the night he’d kissed her, first silence, no patience. How desperate the kiss had been, and how the whole world had stopped, because he kissed her like he loved her. 

He didn’t, but Cherry didn’t know that. Because it’s easier to believe that he wanted to take off her dress, to kiss her soul. It didn’t make sense, and she’d hidden under the lie that it’d be a rebound, a mutual agreement, but how hard had she tried to keep her hands to herself because she only wanted his hands to touch her. 

And she’d dream about him, all night long. If he’d kissed her that way, it meant he had feelings, too, right? 

What a fool Cherry had been, used as a ploy. He’d come the very next day, and there were his lips again, on her. So desperate for her. 

But Tom knew that though he had tried to kiss her like she was y/n, she wasn’t. But who wouldn’t fall for someone who is kissing you like your the love of their life? 

People can’t be replaced, we are all unique, and Tom had only realized it after Cherry’s hair was against his neck, after mistaking pleasure for passion, and after confusing lust with love. 

Problem was Tom hadn’t told Cherry, not exactly. He’d said the wrong words. 

Maybe Tom did regret a fourth thing, saying those words. “It’s the most similar thing that it’s to love, but one can’t pretend enough.” 

Cherry hadn’t understood the meaning behind that sentence. She thought he meant he loved her, while he, actually told her it wasn’t enough to be love. 

Then, gone. Gone. 

And then, y/n’s birthday had come around, and he was there, it was her time, because y/n and Cherry aren’t so different. They both wanted a fairytale. She had, indisputably, and after been told a lie, she had so foolishly tried to look for Tom. 

Love blinds us and makes us see what we want to see, and she hadn’t seen Tom and y/n. She’d seen y/n and Tim, and she’d seen Tom here and there, not with her. And she’d told her cousin, how she was deeply, madly in love with Tom and couldn’t get him out of his head. 

James had said: “you’re drunk, Cherry, dear, you can’t be in love.” 

Who was James to tell her her feelings were not hers? And she’d heard it again, from that one guy, Josh, ‘how she was the prettiest that night’, yet he’d kissed Emma. He had heard it from Tim, ‘you look stunning’, yet his eyes had been on y/n. 

And she’d been rejected, just when she’d kissed Tom, how he’d run to y/n.  Leaving Cherry, confused and heartbroken and not feeling enough, because though she’d given Tom everything, she still was not… enough. 

It had been a rough night. To everyone, really. The moment y/n had left the club, it had seemed things had turned out to be worse than imagined. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” and that sort of questions had rained over Cherry. “Tom’s y/n’s boyfriend!” 

“He is dating your cousin!” 

“You’re a slut!” 

Was she? 

Maybe she was. 

And she had reached for Tom, and she’d found him, right outside the bar, with a hand on his waist, and the other one pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes, tired, pale and sad. 

“Tom-?” She’d said, with fear. 

Tom had flinched hearing her voice. 

Tom knew he was to blame for a lot of things. 

But not this one. Not this particular one. 

Sure, he had been angry at the statement Timothée had made but he hadn’t really known anything. As far as he could recall the events that had gone through quickly, he didn’t even remember when Cherry had approached him, honestly he was too drunk and too busy staring at y/n. 

Cherry had said something to him, she wanted to talk. She said she really wanted to talk. He didn’t. 

“Tom?” She’d asked, again. 

“What?” He had snapped. “Can’t you--Can’t--Why did you do this?” He sounded desperate, angry, hurt, enraged. 

“I… didn’t know-” 

“You didn’t know?” He asked. “You didn’t know that I’m dating-Or was dating or whatever… you didn’t know that your cousin--- you didn’t know she’s the love of my life?” 

“I didn’t,” she snapped. 

James had walked over. “You knew.” 

“I didn’t,” Cherry said, or she’d chosen not to acknowledge she did know. When you’re in love you can become the most stupid, selfish and stubborn you can be. 

“Still why-would you do this?” Tom asked. “Fuck now-Now she’ll think-Fuck, I don’t even know what she thinks.” 

Cherry watched him. She had fucked up, and judging by how everyone was coming out just to yell at her, and Tom. 

Cherry had been drunk, honestly. Everyone had been, and maybe that had been the only courage she had needed. She’d seen Timothée approaching Tom, they were yelling at each other, Tim had pushed Tom, but Tom had easily pushed him off, harder. Yelling, cursing. James trying to separate them, were they fighting? Cherry couldn’t figure out whose fist had gone to whose face. Emma still asking why she’d done it. Sam asked about it. 

Cherry was feeling sick, and she felt like she was about to vomit.  Being asked about it, over and over and over. Why she’d done it, why had she been such a bad cousin, a slut, or whatever they were saying. How Emma kept yelling at her. 

No, she wasn’t going to vomit, but Cherry wished that what had come out of her mouth had been that instead. “Because I love him!” Cherry had said. 

And suddenly the chaos ceased. And then, Cherry knew, the blame was on Tom now. No one dares to question a woman in love. Because of course, if she was in love with him, it had been something Tom had done. 

Tom hadn’t answered. He only looked at her as if asking her how she dared to be in love with him, as if he didn’t believe her.  He had only cursed to himself, he was defeated. 

He didn’t care for her, not right now. But he did feel guilty. Because Tom had been the one to listen to her heartache. 

Cherry and Tom were not so different, either. How they both feared they were not right for the person you could love. 

It’s stupid, to think that. But Tom didn’t know how to apologize to her, but honestly, he thought Cherry would get it. He hoped she did. 

He had told her, how he had had his heart broken by someone who knew how to hurt him on his open wounds , and yet she hadn’t used the one weapon to create a new one. 

Why hadnt Cherry connected the dots? Was it not too obvious that Tom’s heart belonged to y/n? Was it not expressed enough? Did his eyes stutter when seeing y/n?

Tom had only pushed Tim before getting into a car, James had gone with him. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Tom had snapped. 

“No,” James said. “I saw what happened.” 

Tom only clenched his jaw, he was stressed, angry. “I didn’t—I swear I— I wasn’t—“

“I know.”

“And now she left—“

James nodded. “With Harry.” 

Tom thought he had already erased his fears with Harry. There was that thought in his head, quietly still roaming around, loud enough but tender to be just a faint sound. Could y/n catch feelings for Harry? Because when one is vulnerable, the head can easily be molded, and shaped. He’d learned that with Cherry, he knew that’s why y/n fell in love with Tim and there was that possibility. What if this was just the only straw y/n needed? 

And why was he even thinking about that? He’d broken her heart and there was no possible way of solving this, this had been the worst outcome from all the possible scenarios that could’ve gone down, this had been the one horrible ending to y/n’s birthday. 

“Before you freak out,” James interrupted Tom’s thoughts as soon as they’d arrived to the flower shop, where Tom thought y/n would be. “It’s the best thing that could’ve happened to you.” 

“She’s not here, fuck it,” Tom said, stressed out. Had she gone home? He ordered another car. 

“Her leaving with Harry,” James said. “He’s the only one she opens up to.” 

Tom sighed. “I don’t know,” he said, staring at his phone. 

“Harry will be able to calm her, they are best friends and they haven’t-talked in a while,” James said. 

“They have, they’ve texted,” Tom snapped, knowing damn well his brother had been in touch. 

“They’re not going to fall in love,” James said. 

Tom gulped down, “How do you know that? What if-what if she’s supposed-I-” 

“Stop fucking sabotaging yourself.” 

“I-” 

“She loves you,” James said. “That’s the least fucking thing you should be worrying about, you broke her heart, she just bloody saw you kissing another woman who happens to be our own cousin, you realize that, right?” 

“Yeah-yeah-But I didn’t-” 

“I know, Tom, but she knows the background, it wasn’t the kiss, it’s what the kiss meant, y/n had been avoiding this long enough and the glass just broke down, alright?” 

Tom only cracked his fingers, one by one, nervously listening to him. “I fucked up.” 

“Yeah, you did, so let’s-” 

“Should I-call her?” 

“That’s up to you,” James said. “Why are we even here?” 

“I thought she’d be here,” Tom admitted. “The flowers calm her down,” he said. “I-I dunno, I-- she wouldn’t go back home-I mean to her place, because- or would she? If she did then--” 

“No, because then she’d face Timothée and I’m sure Harry wouldn’t let her,” James said. 

“And she wouldn’t go to my place-” Tom was shaking, but it wasn’t cold, yet he was freezing. 

“You can ask Harry,” James suggested. 

Tom knew, in his heart, that he shouldn’t call, as James had said, Y/N could only completely open with Harry, he knew that, when it came to Harry, y/n didn’t have any second guessing or she didn’t stop and think, she just blurted everything out, and maybe that’s what she needed, to let it out, calm down. 

Besides, he knew that she wouldn’t answer if he dared to call. 

James didn’t know what to tell him either, it’s not that he was on Tom’s side. James was always team y/n, but James was so bloody empathetic to Tom, they were best friends and honestly, he knew Tom didn’t mean any wrong. Besides, James had learned from Tom that he was not so bad for y/n, so similar in some ways, different enough to always have an argument but realize that they were both so incredibly similar that it was what bothered them when children, ‘how dare my enemy agree with me’, and Tom had a weak heart, not like y/n’s who could have multiple rocks thrown at her heart and she’d be fine, but Tom’s heart would break so easily, James also remembered Tom had said, a while ago, when younger, to him:“Y/N looks like the type of girl you never forget, you can’t get over her, never move on. Like that one heartbreak time can’t heal.” 

How many years had gone by since y/n had broken Tom’s heart and he probably hadn’t healed? 

And James had seen Tom, how incredibly anxious and worried he was about y/n’s birthday being perfect, and how he had, against his will, invited Timmy, because he knew that not inviting him would make y/n mad. And how he’d chosen every little aspect thinking of her.

James had underestimated Tom, and y/n. Y/N did seem to let go so easily when she was around Tom, probably because they’d seen each other’s worst and now they wanted to be the best versions of themselves. 

James had seen that. 

But Tom was so, so bloody scared of screwing up, and he kept being haunted by his actions. Tom was so sure he’d fuck up, but not this way. Not in a way that was, though partly, not entirely his fault. 

“Or—what if you call her?” Said Tom, knowing she might answer him instead. With a sort of plan to take away the phone and try and talk to her with hopes of not being hung up. 

James did, and y/n didn’t answer.

Tom did ask Harry, only to know if she was with him, and if they were safe. That’s all he needed to know for now. 

He finally decided to go home, knowing that calling her was a big risk and that she wouldn’t answer and if she did what would he say?

James had asked Clark and Sam to find elsewhere to stay. James was anxious that Clark would get scared and run away from the mess his family and friends were. 

James had tried to reach for y/n. But then he realized that a friend needed him that night. 

“What am I supposed to say now?”

“That you’re sorry for starters, tell her the truth?” James suggested matter-of-factly. 

“She’s going to think that I had feelings for Cherry,” Tom said. 

“And she did have feelings for you,” James stated. 

Tom scrunched his nose. “I didn’t know that, but is that-?”

“Your fault?” James shrugged. “Dunno. Depends.” 

“I didn’t do anything thinking she’d fall in love,” he admitted. “I-I-I thought it was clear it was--She even said it herself,” Tom said. “This is a rebound, yes, not my proudest moment and I regret doing that but-” 

James shrugged. “Honestly, Tom, you have to tell her the truth, that’s it.” 

Tom sighed, eyes closed as he shook his head. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen-” 

James only watched him. 

“I’m-” Tom took a deep breath. “I… And here goes, I hurt her again, I’m just-How can I be so stupid to keep hurting her, how did I let this happen? I… can’t be what she wrote there, I was supposed to change or give some backstory or try and mend it. It’s like- We are not going to make it. And now I hurt wounds that hadn’t been healed, I don’t know what I’m saying, it’s like the more I’m talking the more I try to mend it the less I understand the more I hurt her.” 

James kept quiet, knowing Tom needed to talk. 

“How can I hurt her so much when I love her? And yet more plan wrecked and she’s going to tell me she wants me out of her life and I don’t know what’s different from last time?” 

“That you want to solve it.” 

“I always wanted to, yet I ended up hurting her again.” 

Tom was in misery, all night, trying to find the right words he’d say. Guilt was killing him, and he saw something very familiar, he saw how Tom and y/n weren’t that  James watched Tom, and he saw someone who really was trying. James wanted to call y/n, and he wanted to know how she was doing, but he knew that he’d get no answer from her. How was she doing? 

Probably not better than Tom, who at some point had left James alone, to only remain quiet in his room. James was sure Tom was crying but he knew he didn’t want to be seen crying. 

It was a long story, between Tom and y/n, and though James didn’t understand it, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to figure it out. What happened with them that they were so drawn to each other? Did the happiness really outshine the bad moments enough to forget it? Why did they love each other so much? Because James knew why he loved Clark, but Tom and y/n? Who were they when nobody was watching them. 

Tom was never one to shut everyone out, Tom was never quiet so who was this Tom, thinking to himself, quietly, sadly. He’d never seen him like this. 

James thought Tom was preparing for a heartbreak, one he would be guilted for. James also wanted to suggest he call her, but he didn’t know what was right with y/n. He felt guilty for not calling his sister, and he only texted Harry, who told her she was as fine as she could be. 

The next morning, Tom had woken up-or maybe he was still awake from the night before, he probably hadn’t slept. James had heard him talk to Harry. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take a shower and I’ll go talk to her.” 

Then Tom had called Sam, who wasn’t happy with any situation. 

James had called Clark. 

“I’m sorry you were in this mess,” he said. 

Clarke sighed. “It’s alright, I mean--” 

“How bad was it after I left?” 

“Let’s say there was a--plot twist,” Clark said. 

“Plot twist?” 

“You’ll have to deal with later, but--” 

Someone was knocking on the door. 

“I’m sorry-- someone is here,” James said. 

And there, he saw y/n, the most broken he’d ever seen her. He had expected her to cry and sink to the floor immediately. She didn’t. 

And she had yelled and she was angry, desperate. He’d never seen her so decided before. Without any hesitation she rushed past James. The woman had enough anger and decision, so James feared she’d kill Tom. 

“I’ve seen his fucking dick James, I don’t bloody care!” Y/N had burst into the bathroom, only to find a lonely and broke Tom that was trying to soothe his mind under the hot water, James had tried to stop her but she’d slammed the door shut. 

“Y/N!” Tom could only say with surprise. 

“What is wrong with you?” She asked, with anger as Tom turned the shower off and quickly reached for his towel. “No, seriously, what is wrong with you? And you didn’t call!” She yelled once again. 

Tom could see how she was wearing the dress from last night, her makeup was very messy, and so was her hair, the princess that once stood on a dance floor was a broken girl with a bouquet of yellow flowers

“Y/N I’m—“He tried to speak as he walked out of the shower, covering himself with the towel, water still streaming down his body. 

“You slept with her, Tom!” She yelled. “And here are your bloody yellow flowers!” She’d thrown them at him, sloppily. “And why—What are you going to do? Was it your plan again? Is this a prank? Like last time?  Is that what you’re going to say that I’m not your type and that you’d never dare someone like me and that this was all a prank and I should’ve seen it coming?” Her voice was loud but sounded broken, trying so hard not to break.”Why—why didn’t you call?” She spoke quickly and loud. 

“No, no, y/n, please calm down I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Tom said. This wasn’t how it wasn’t supposed to go. But honestly, Tom didn’t know it actually was supposed to go. 

“Oh, that fixes everything!” She snapped. 

“No, I-” Tom closed his eyes. “No, no, I’m sorry.” 

“If you are—Please tell me it was not a prank please—and you didn’t—“She wasn’t speaking coherently. She couldn’t speak, for that matter, he could see her struggle as she was breaking down, trying to fight the tears from falling down. “Please, please tell me it wasn’t all a prank like you did after that club night-” 

“No, y/n, y/n,” and he would have to follow James’ advice to remain calm, he approached her and gently took her hands. “No, I’m sorry—“ 

“Tell me—“

“It’s not a prank,” he said. “I love you, it’s not a prank this is not Rome.” 

That’s what she needed to listen to. 

She was still angry, but she leaned against the bathroom wall, defeated. She didn’t look at him. She caught her breath, slowly, looking up at the ceiling, 

“Please, y/n, look at me, it was not a prank, I love you,  it was a mistake, very—stupid mistake.” 

“You kissed her.”

“I—didn’t,” Tom said. “Please, look at me.”

She did. Slowly looked up to see him, her eyes were surrounded by bags and they were puffy and red. She’d been crying all night. 

“I’m sorry,” and he meant it. 

She looked away, she seemed furious. 

“Talk to me, please-”

.“You kissed—“

“I didn’t kiss her—She kissed me. I know, it doesn’t-But, please look at me, y/n, I’m—there’s a lot to talk but I didn’t kiss her. Please—look at me.” 

She looked again “I’m looking at you but I can’t see you—“she sounded tired, but not from her lack of sleep, tired from him. “Why didn’t—why didn’t you call?” She repeated, she wasn’t stopping the tears now. 

Tom felt so heartbroken only from watching her.“Would you’ve answered?” He asked as he tried, slowly to clean up her tears. 

“You didn’t call,” she stated, voice breaking. 

Tom had made a mistake by not calling, he knew that now. 

“I know, I regret it now,” he admitted. “I—just didn’t know what I was supposed to say.” 

“That you’re—“

“I am sorry, I know, you don’t believe how much I regret everything but you have to know that I didn’t kiss her last night, but I know being sorry isn’t enough.” 

She seemed as if she had a million things to tell him but couldn’t come around to say them, the words shaking and fading as soon as she opened her mouth. She crossed her arms and looked away. “Please tell me she’s not here—” she spoke as if her words were stabbing her, hurting her. “I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to have her here, but please tell me she isn’t.” 

“What? Why would she?” 

She glared, “dunno,she’s not at her mother’s.” 

“You thought she’d be here?” Tom asked. 

Y/n didn’t know how to answer. “I knew she wasn’t but had to make sure.” 

She knew, at least. Tom thought. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom said. 

She didn’t say anything, but finally let the quiet tears slowly stream down her face, Tom couldn’t look her in the eye, not with this guilt. 

He took a deep breath. “Look I need—I need to get dressed alright? I was taking a shower and I was going to look for you. Harry told me you’d be at the hotel.” 

She looked away. “Yeah I’m not anymore I came here.” 

“Yeah. I can see that.” 

She only looked up at him. 

“Why did you come?” He asked, only then noticing she was still wearing the necklace he’d given her. 

“Because I—I don’t know—Because you didn’t call and I-” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and took a deep breath. 

She only tried to avoid his gaze. 

“I’m going to get dressed,” he said, calmly. “Uh-do you—want to take a shower too? Borrow some clothes? Or do you want to talk right now?” 

“No—I guess—I need a shower.” 

Soon enough she was in the shower and Tom was dressed, he bumped into James as he walked out of his room. 

“She’s going to breakup with me,” Tom said. Because he knew she would, honestly he didn’t expect any less. He deserved that… But did he? 

“I thought she was going to murder you,” James admitted, but judiging by Tom’s look, he regretted it right away. “Bad time to joke—” He cleared his throat. “Look, she came here okay? Knowing y/n, it’s a first, she is never the first to ask for something face to face, she usually writes a letter and—” 

Tom sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” 

“I’ll go out with Clark and Sam all day, I—look, you fucked up before but I know this—” 

Tom squinted. “Why did she have to kiss me? Why did this all have to blow up before we could even talk-” 

“Look I don’t know, I—no, I do know why she kissed you,” James stated. “And you know it too and you have to tell that to y/n.” 

“How am I supposed to tell her that she is in love with me? She’ll freak out and say I’m in love with her.” 

“Probably,” James agreed. “But you have to remain calm, even when she yells, listen to her she’s in her right.” 

“Yeah.” 

“And just to calm you down, she came here to you, not to Tim alright? That’s an advantage,” James reminded him. 

Tom hadn’t thought about Tim, and that thought hadn’t gone to his head. But now, it would linger. Not that it mattered but-”How do I know he hasn’t called her?” Tom asked. 

“Because she went to Harry and your brother wouldn’t let her do that not because of you but because it would’ve been stupid,” James stated. 

“What do I say?” 

“The truth, for starters and don’t—Dont bring the Tim thing up,” James said. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

James left, knowing a storm would be coming to that place. 

Tom didn’t know what to do, or wait, how had they postponed the fight like this, not only today but since he’d arrived. How and why had she avoided it? And why hadn’t he told her? He should’ve. 

She had to make sure that Cherry wasn’t there, she’d said it: I don’t think she is. Did she trust him? He hoped she did. 

Tom wished for patience, how hard he had tried not to explode and burst back the Tim thing. It seemed like y/n had tried hard not to explode. 

Though this was hard, Tom knew in his heart that this was both of them either trying to work it our or finally giving up completely. The latter option being so terrifying. Lost in his thoughts. But he knew that the stray and venomous thoughts were not going to get him anywhere, maybe a whirlwind. 

Eventually, y/n had walked out, dressed with his clothes, a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, as she dried her hair with the towel. She seemed so calm. Terrifyingly calm. 

“Thanks for--For the clothes,” were the only words she’d said. 

Tom only watched her. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know… I knew.” She knew? “I’m sorry I came in yelling like a crazy person,” she apologized. 

“You’re in all your right,” he nodded. 

“No, I’m not,” she sighed before walking over to sit beside,he only watched her. 

“You knew,” Tom said. Knowing what her words from before meant. 

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“Who--How did you--?” 

She bit her lip, and shrugged. “I know you,” she admitted. “And she posted a picture, she--Posted several pictures of you guys together.” 

“But you assumed-” 

“No, I saw that one picture with you kissing her cheek, and I knew,” she gulped. 

“How?” 

“The way you looked at her?” Y/N’s voice was shattering, her eyes had began to water down. “I-” 

“I don’t-” 

“You looked at her the same way you looked at me, and-” She was tearing down, trying to avoid and ignore she was. 

“I didn’t-” 

“You did,” she gulped down. 

He had, for that matter. But not for the reasons she thought. 

“I slept with her,” he admitted. “But-” 

“But?” 

“But it didn’t mean anything.” 

“She’s in love with you,” y/n stated. How did she know? How in this world? “It means something.” 

“How-?” 

She shrugged. “I happen to be an expert on knowing how it feels to love you and not being reciprocated.” 

Tom took a deep breath. 

“You’re not easy to love,” y/n said, standing up. “Contrary to popular belief and how easy it seems I do it, you’re not easy to love, you’re so…”She couldn’t finish her sentence. “So I could see her, last night, she looked like such a damn fool, and she-She’s an idiot, for falling for you, no one in their right mind would fall for you, guess it’s a family thing,” she poisoned, as she sat back on the bed, near the headstand, crossing her arms. “But--” 

“I don’t have any feelings for her,” Tom said, still at the edge, not facing her. 

“Yeah, I know, but it still is my cousin you decided to sleep with,” y/n said with venom. “You fucking slept with her  and then you kiss her on my birthday right fucking in front of me.”

“She kissed me.” 

“And then you let me go, you didn’t even explain anything you didn’t try to stop me, you just stood there…. and then you didn’t call and I can’t believe I let you break my heart again I can’t--” She was running out of breath, though he could hear her anger, her voice was calm. That was scared. “I don’t want to beg for your love, Tom, I don’t want to be broken again and I don’t want to say goodbye again.” 

“I don’t want to-either.” 

She glared at him. “How was it?” 

“What?” Tom turned to see her. 

“Was she good?” 

Tom blinked. “I— don’t—understand.” 

“Answer me, good? How many times did you-?” 

“Just once,” Tom answered. He tried to crawl to her but she stood up, arms crossed. 

“And how was it?” She asked with poison, her words stabbing Tom. 

He didn’t know how he was supposed to answer. “I don’t even know I was thinking about you the whole time.” 

“Oh,” she scoffed. “How refreshing, you were thinking of me while making love to my cousin,” she snaked. 

“It was a mistake,” he said. “I didn’t-”

“Ah, yeah, you tripped and your dick fell into her,” she snapped. “A mistake.” 

Tom heard it, he closed his eyes. “It didn’t mean anything.” 

“Sex has to mean something,” she said. 

“No it doesn’t,” Tom snapped. 

“It does.” 

“Fine if it does it means I broke her heart because I did the one thing she hates about people,” Tom snapped. “I used her to try to get you out of my mind and it only- 

She clicked her tongue. “Made it worse, buddy.” 

He plopped on the bed stressed. “Can we please talk about this?” 

“Well, go on, tell me, everything,” she pleaded, arms crossed. 

“What?” 

“What happened with her.”

“You want to know what happened with Cherry? Tom asked.

She nodded. “Don’t spare any detail. You said you wanted to talk.” 

 What would he tell her? The truth. 

And so he did. So he told her, from the very first moment he met Cherry, how clueless she was. And how heartbroken he was but how Cherry, being clueless was the only damn thing he needed. Someone who didn’t judge him, someone who didn’t know any of the drama. Not about the script.  Not about y/n and Tom. How Tom could take a breath, and how he found a friend that would ease his mind. How he had searched for y/n in every face but failed to do so. A distraction he needed, and that it had presented itself. How Cherry had been a friend, a friend that didn’t feel like anything more. How Tom did have some sort of feelings. Not love, but he cared for her. 

How Cherry did flirt. How he didn’t. At first. 

Y/N didn't show any reaction, still quiet. No yelling, no eyebrows furrowed, just listening.  Cold staring. 

But Tom continued, connecting the stories he’d already told her about how he missed her, and how much he wanted to call and how he always tried to not think about her. How he had been heartbroken, and how her most than anyone should understand how broken hearts leads us to do something stupid. But how it was because he missed her, how he’d gotten used to her lips, and how he missed waking up beside her. To the night he decided to kiss her. 

“Why did you kiss her?” She finally interrupted. “The first time.” 

“I thought— I—I would— I don’t know what I thought, I… No, I do know, I do know why I kissed her,”  he sighed. “This is going to sound so stupid.” 

“Try me.” 

“I—well—It might make you feel worse.”

She took a deep breath. “Go on.” 

“I—you left, y/n, to get over me,” he explained. “You—“

“What?” 

“I—“ he looked over in his drawers. “You give me this letter and then you left— you said—“

“Yes I know, I meant every single word there—“

“And I was hurt okay? You left and you were living with Tim.” 

“Is that why—?”

“No,” he said, “it wasnt—I just missed you so much—I felt—how you’re feeling right now.” 

She finally snapped out of her calmness. “How I am—no, no, you don’t understand what I’m feeling,” she growled. “Not even half of it, you broke my heart and I—I” she stood up and walked around the room. “And this was the first time I was hoping—I thought you wouldn’t and then you just—I didn’t come here to get over you, it was never like that, I gave myself time to heal so I could love you without any hard feelings and without any—So I could love you completely but then—I knew it just from that one picture I knew you had slept with her, because the eyes—-They way you were fucking looking at her.”

“I know, It’s the way I look at you alright?” 

“I know, I fucking know, don’t you think I was heartbroken?” She asked. 

“I thought that if I looked at her that way eventually I would move one—“

She took a deep breath before asking, “and why did you want to move on?”

Because he thought she would, for starters. But he wouldn’t bring Tim up. No, he couldn’t 

“I didn’t—I—I didn’t—I never felt anything, I—searched for you?” He continued. 

She scoffed. “With my cousin Tom? Was that the most familiar thing?”

Yeah, he heard it. It was so stupid. 

He sighed. “I’m not proud of it.”

“Well I hope you aren’t—You don’t get it, I was ready to—call you that day, the day I found out,” she gulped and sat back down, far from him not facing him, “I was doing better, and I wanted to call you so we could—try again and I remember going back to social media and I was—going to call you alright? See how you were doing,” she spoke quietly. “And I saw the picture and then I knew it—no one had to tell me, and then it was days and days going on and I tried to move on and the sky was just grey, no silver moon suns, I couldn’t sleep I couldn’t feel anything I just felt insignificant and like an idiot because—“

“I didn’t love her,” Tom said. 

“It’s not only that Tom, whatever you did, whatever you said...whatever you—you made her fall for you,” y/n said. “Because you looked at her—You looked at her like you—looked at me and I—“

“No, I didn’t mean it,” Tom said before rushing over to her side, trying to reach for her hand. She snapped it away. 

“Oh, and that fixes everything,” she rolled her eyes. “All good now, you slept with her but you didn’t mean it!” She stood up. 

“I slept with her because I couldn’t call you,” he explained. 

“You couldn’t hold your dick for five seconds?” She hissed. 

“You—look I’m not trying to—You also slept with Tim,” he stated. Finally throwing the bomb at her.knowing he shouldn’t have but he couldn’t hold it anymore. She blinked, watching him. “No one told me,” Tom answered the question he knew was going through her mind. “No one had to, at first. I assumed you had, and then he confirmed it. But did you?” 

“I did,” she said. Now the blame was not entirely on Tom. But he hadn’t brought it up because of that. 

“I’m not trying to blame you for it,” Tom said. “This is not a war, y/n, I’m just—I am pretty sure the reason you slept with him isn’t as far as the reason as to why I slept with Cherry.” 

She remained quiet.

“I slept with Cherry because I was lonely and I couldn’t find you, I thought that by pretending it was you, it would eventually be you but I was wrong because she’s not near you, and it’s not in her. It’s on me because I am deeply in love with you,” he explained. “My heart felt extremely lonely, and I thought that by pretending to love someone only for one night it would make it feel less pain, I was wrong, it hurt even more.” 

“He told you,” she said. 

“Last night yeah, but but but—I didn’t-“

She shut her eyes closed. “Is that why you—fucking kissed her?“

“I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me,” Tom reminded her. “This is not a war, y/n.” 

“You keep saying she’s the one to kiss you, but I remember clearly that I told you a kiss is always asked, at least with a glance,” she recalled. 

“I didn’t want to kiss her, and I’m sure you saw me push her off.” 

Y/N didn’t say anything. She only paced around the room again, her hands crossed above her chest, barefoot and silent trails. Tom watched her, wanting to know what the hell was going through her mind. She always seemed to always have a thought, usually they were dreams untold and secrets waiting to be whispered. Not now. He knew her mind was slowly deciding whether or not to destroy each other. 

Tom hoped they both had the same mentality. This is not a war, and it seemed to be like that. 

“You’re saying,” she started. “That you didn’t want to kiss her even after Tim told you we slept together.”

“Yes.” 

“You’re saying you didn’t do it to get back at me.” 

“I didn’t do it because—“

“Because you felt guilty,” she ended his sentence but not with what he wanted to say. 

“No, because I don’t want this to be another battle in a war where neither of us wants to win, because we both know it shouldn’t be a war.” 

She stared at him, she wanted to believe him. 

“I did sleep with him,” she stated. “Days after I knew you’d slept with Cherry,” she said. 

Tom felt a punch right into his throat, knowing he would be unable to word out his pain. 

“And I—he had been flirting, we both know he’s in love with me,” she sat beside Tom. “He usually knows how to mend my heart when it’s broken, and I am well aware of that, and—That’s what I needed, someone who would love me, because I felt like shit and he made me feel loved,” she gulped. “That’s the difference, you searched for someone you could love and I searched for someone who could love me.” 

Neither of them said anything.  Both of them assimilating, being careful enough of their words. 

“It’s only fair to ask this question,” Tom said after a while. 

Y/N only glanced. 

“Was he good?” Tom questioned with poison, getting an eye roll from y/n. 

“You see, the reason I asked that question wasn’t the same reason as why you’re asking it,” she pointed out. 

He shrugged. “What was your reason exactly?”

“I don’t want this to be a fight between us,” she continued. 

“What is this, then?” 

“It’s us against the problem, not you against me, Thomas,” she fumed. 

He nodded, “are we finally on that page, then?” 

Y/N didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t know how to handle him, not that he had to be handled but the situation was tarnishing her heart. She had, however, learned well enough that this wasn’t supposed to be them fighting and fighting. She’d thought about it, and though she was enraged, she wanted to solve it. It wasn’t a matter of what, it was a matter of how. The incomprehensible thoughts in her head were roaring too loud for her taste, but her heart, though hurt, wanted to try to get through with this. 

He had remained calm, too, so it didn’t matter for her. 

“Well, I am,” she said. “Or-I don’t, I just don’t know-” 

He watched her. “What do you want?” 

“It’s not simple, Tom, I’m heartbroken but I understand it but then again, of all people it was my cousin, and I don’t-I just showed that I am still not over the whole prank thing.” 

Tom looked away. 

“And I don’t want to go over that, you know? We’ve grown, we’ve-Yes, we’ve broken each other’s hearts, yes, we were idiots, we know that, but we also had feelings for each other--You were my first crush, first kiss, first love, first broken heart, and I don’t know, my reason tells me to let go, but-” 

“But your heart?” 

“My heart doesn’t know, part of it wants to leave and just give up on everything because god knows I can’t have another heartbreak and the other half--very stupid half believes in us.” 

“I believe in us.” 

“I’m not sure I do, look at us,” she sighed. “And I’m angry and I’m-” 

“May I just- we were not together while-” 

“Don’t bring that up,” she quickly interrupted. “No, we weren’t together but--It’s--It’s my cousin! You know what, I’m leaving I can’t-” She headed to the door, but Tom quickly followed after. 

“No, no, let’s talk about this, please,” he said, taking her hands trying to stop her. 

She stopped and turn around. “What can we even talk about this, Tom? We slept with other people who-” 

“We weren’t together,” he said. “You told me to move on-” 

“I didn’t, Tom!” She retorted. “I didn’t, you were the one to say you wanted to see other people, you were the one to suggest moving on.” 

“You left.” 

“I didn’t leave to get away from you,” she said. “You know that, I knew I had to be away, from you, from Harry- and you-” 

“You left with Tim.” 

“No, I didn’t, besides, I didn’t--” 

“Cherry means nothing,” he said. 

“She meant enough to jeopardize us,” she stated. 

He sighed. “I didn’t think there would be us again.” 

Y/N stayed quiet. She knew what he meant. But somehow didn’t know if he meant it by then or if he meant it now. She was tired, though they hadn’t talked as much, it was… exhausting, draining, going over this yet again.

“I know—That’s why I had to go search for someone else’s love because I thought I didn’t have yours anymore,” she said.

“I-well,” she coughed. “I’m not-I don’t think you understand why I’m angry.” 

“I think I do-” 

“No, you don’t, it’s not-that it was her, though yes, she’s my cousin, you really… couldn’t have fucked up more when choosing a rebound,” she said. “It’s--the fact that you thought you could replace me, the fact that you wanted to move on so quickly and I’m not--It’s not the fact that I didn’t want to move on, it’s just that-- You thought she could be me, and--” 

He shook his head. “I wasn’t trying to-” 

“No, you were,” she said, her eyes were tearing down and though he was trying to stop himself from crying, he let some tears fall down too, quietly. 

“I was an idiot,” he said. “But I didn’t think I’d be replacing you--Only a fool would think you’re replaceable.” 

She took a deep breath, avoiding his gaze. “I think that’s what I’ve been--What I’ve always tried to tell you, with… Timothée,” she said, no nicknames needed to be used. “It’s… though I… It’s never been him,” she said. 

“I never used him to replace you, though he was a good distraction, and I needed to… feel… Not replaceable.” She crossed her arms. “However, I’m still pissed off it was my cousin.” 

“Had it been anyone else—?” 

“Don’t go there,” she warned. “It would’ve been just as bad considering the situation. It makes it worse, yes, but you—Looked at her the way you looked at me,” she emphasized. 

He sighed. 

“Yeah, it’s not the same,” she pointed out. “Though I know that had I slept with anyone else you wouldn’t have cared as much.” 

Tom clenched his jaw but nodded defeated. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Do you want me to explain—?”

“No, I don't need any details, I know enough,” he ranted. “However—I can see you didn’t go to him.” 

“I didn’t.” Y/N didn’t want to go over the details.

“I—have to be honest, kinda got into a fight with him last night,” Tom confessed. 

“I know, Emma told me, and she told me he was okay, that you only pushed him away,” she explained. “I didn’t ask any further but I didn’t ask you because I knew you’d be okay.” 

Tom stayed quiet, not knowing how to proceed. 

“Can we get out of this one?” He asked. 

“Dunno,” she admitted. “ I just know I still love you with every piece of my heart.” 

“I love you, too,” he admitted quietly. 

“I need a break,” She stated. Without any other warning. 

Tom didn’t like the idea, she could tell as he closed his eyes and took her hands. “No, no please, I--If we take another break then it’ll be definitive and-” 

“No I meant—a break from fighting I just—I have a headache I can’t,” she pushed his hands away and walked back. “I just-” She walked past him and headed to the kitchen. She hadn’t lied, she did have a headache, probably from the slight hangover and the lack of sleep, and added the stress and her heartache. It wasn’t her best ime. 

Tom  only followed after her, quietly watching as she poured herself a glass of water. It felt quiet. It was but it felt even more quiet. Y/N went through all the scenarios not sure which was the worst. They all hurt, some more than others. She wished she could erase every thought in her head. 

Tom opened the fridge, there was still cake that remained from two nights before, when they were still better. He took it out, and without thinking about it, he took out two plates, serving each a slice. She gave him a silent thanks, and then, they both remained on opposite sides of the kitchen. 

Though y/n usually found his hoodies warm, her skin was freezing. There had never been that much space between them though they were only feet apart. Because, though it was even what they’d done, they both knew that there was not much to do. Y/N would love to snap her fingers, hide all her pain and kiss him. To assure him that she loved him as much, wondering if their broken pieces of love was enough. 

“Where’s James?” Y/N asked, hating the sound of the cutlery hitting the plates. 

Tom looked up, “He left, he’d spend the day with Clark and Sam.” 

“So he’s on your side,” y/n pointed out. “Though there’s not really a side here.” 

“He’s not on my side.” 

She shrugged. “He said you had an awful night.” 

“I did but, so did you.” 

“Yeah.” 

He watched her. “In any case my brother is on your side.” 

She looked down at the cake. “He is.” 

Tom let out a dry chuckle. “Hey, I thought there were no sides.” 

“No, but he is on my side,” she said. 

Tom only scoffed. 

“I feel sorry for him actually, I think he was just leaving to go home to sleep and I made him stay up all night with me,” she admitted. 

“Yeah but it’s you so he doesn’t mind,” Tom said. 

She shrugged. “Emma kissed Josh,” she mentioned. 

“She did?” Tom blinked. “Wow, that must have hurt him.” 

Y/N only watched him with irony. 

“I mean,” Tom closed his eyes. 

“No, I know, but yeah, he was,” y/n commented. “I feel bad, I crushed his m&m’s.” 

He chuckled. “What?” 

“I-well, we had some m&m’s and I… crushed them,” she admitted with a tired, half smile. 

“Why?” 

“I was having a breakdown alright?” She chuckled. “And he went all ‘I wanted m&m’s” 

Tom took a deep breath. “Should get him some.” 

She gulped and saw Tom hadn’t eaten anything either, they were just pushing around the cake. 

Tom watched her, too, still noticing how she hadn’t taken off the ballerina hanging from her neck, and maybe it was the only sign he needed, he left the plate on the kitchen island and walked over, standing right beside her, leaning against the counter. Their arms were against each other’s, and eventually her head fell against him. He didn’t hesitate before wrapping his arms around her, she gave in to his touch, slowly and then hugged him back. Snuggling to get some kind of warmth. 

“You looked pretty last night,” he pointed out. 

She crooked into his neck. “You mentioned it.”

Tom glanced down. “I—yeah, I did.” 

Quiet again. He took a deep breath, and held her close again, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“Do you hate me?” He asked. 

“No, that’s the weird thing,” she said, letting him go and taking her spot back beside him. “I can’t  hate you.” 

He grimaced. 

“Being angry doesn’t make me love you any less,” she said. “Do you hate me?” 

“No. I could never. I love you.” 

She bit her lip. “Are we really--?” 

He turned to her. “What?” 

“Or are we just being stubborn enough to not want to give up?” She asked. “I… don’t know.” 

“I don’t want to lose you and the thought of it scares me enough,” he gulped. “And I… Before I run out of time to say the things I want to, I just need you to know that I’d choose you, though there are no other options, it all comes back to you.” 

Her eyes brightened up, just slightly. “It’s hard, Tom, I don’t know, but I don’t want to give up, but-” 

“I know,” Tom looked at her. 

It was so unbelievably hard. What if this was really their last time, that’s what they were both thinking but neither had the courage to ask it out loud. Love is so cruel. 

“Yet after everything, I’ve never loved anyone like I’ve loved you,” y/n said, mostly to herself. “And I am sorry I left in the first place.” 

“No, you had to, we had to…” He sighed. “We both made questionable things.” 

She didn’t want to break up with him. She didn’t want her days to run out of breath again, to see the streets full of garbage and she didn’t want to water any flowers that he hadn’t given her. And she wondered if they’d dare to call it off yet again life would find a way to bring them back together. 

“I don’t want to go back to… that feeling, when we were apart,” she finally said it out loud. She wouldn’t regret saying it, right? “Nightless and sunless days, and how time never stopped or it never kept going, it was just eternal… numbness.” 

Tom blinked, watching her. 

“But I also,” she sighed. “I don’t want this pain.” 

“Were you expecting it?” 

“What?” 

“The heartbreak?”

“I wasn’t, maybe that’s why it hit that hard… I guess I… Maybe I did, I just postponed it, thought that if I ignored it for long enough it would disappear.” 

“What will happen, then?” 

“I don’t know, these are relentless times, for now, try and haunt for reasons to make me believe I am still alive,” she gulped. “It sounds so dramatic but last night I just…” She felt that pain across her chest again. “I thought I had stopped breathing I…And it wasn’t the kiss really.” 

“What was it?” 

“The fact I remembered you had slept with her,” she said. “And that picture—“

He bit his lip, “I didn’t… You are the love of my life.” 

She chuckled softly to herself. “See? People only say that when they’re apologizing.” 

He sighed. “But-” 

“But you are mine, too,” she admitted. “Better or for worse.”

She didn’t know where he had gotten the courage to do it, but he had finally leaned over to kiss her. And it wasn’t idyllic, it wasn’t a happy kiss, but it was the reminder they needed, as if the kiss was only to remind why it was worth trying again. Y/N knew she was being an idiot, honestly. 

But only another fool would stop kissing him, and so she didn’t stop, because she knew this could be the last time. Tom probably thought so, too. Knowing about a last kiss can make it last longer and can make them both never letting go. Y/N just needed one last reminder than though her heart was aching and it had finally been ripped apart, she still had to believe that he loved her. Because he’d said it, right? And he was proving it to her with each kiss, caressing her cheeks, cupping her face, so delicately and so passionately. 

He didn’t want to let go, either. His hands went to her waist, pulling her as close as he could. Their lips were going so, very slowly. He pulled away once, only for her to keep kissing his chin, cheeks and finally his lips, so slowly, her arms around his neck. Neither of them were desperate, each stroke was measured, taking their time. As if they were dawdling and postponing the thoughts in their minds. Soothing their most probable goodbye. 

Y/N kissed him as if they were going to be infinite. As if no matter what would happen, they’d always be there. The kissing started to seem careless at some point, as if it didn’t matter how they were kissing anymore, it just mattered to have their lips connected, getting sloppier as his hands travelled under her-his sweatshirt to touch her skin, so cold. His hands landed on her waist. 

“You’re cold,” he pointed out in between kisses. 

She only pulled away, as if only then she realized what they were doing. He didn’t stop, his lips kept trailing its way all over her face, small, slow and soft kisses sweet enough for her to close her eyes. Gentle pecks, trying to gently cover each and every spot on her face. Y/n knew Tom had never been good with his words, he was more of actions, always being impulsive, and this showed it, his tender lips against her skin was his way of apologizing, of making her feel loved. 

However she had to back away. She had to be rational, she couldn’t let him just kiss her and forget about everything. 

She did back away. Because her mind couldn’t stop. It kept going back to him. To Cherry. And even to Tim. The latter being as if asking why she had done it herself. 

And she only tried to untangle herself from his grasp, he didn’t force it. He understood as she slowly walked her way back to his room. A place where she felt safer than in the kitchen. Not sure why. 

He stopped her mid-halfway, his chocolate eyes begging her again, pleading for an apology. Y/n couldn’t help it, his eyes were her biggest addiction. And so she gave in to him again, because though she loved using words and she knew it was her most powerful weapon, this was no battle, and so she’d kiss him to speak her truth. 

He slowly pressed her against the wall, his fingers traced her figure, sides, top and bottom, gently as if trying to memorize her shape, but as if his fingers already knew the path. Her breath halted as his lips brushed against her neck, soothing her cold body. He pressed his whole body against hers, and his hands found their way back inside her hoodie, fingers firmly pressing against her waist, threading lightly. She felt like they could be infinite if they tried to, if they wanted to. And just for that moment as his lips were finding their way back to hers, she forgot about her pain. 

His lips were meant to be with hers. There was no other way to say it. 

Somehow he managed to get her to his room, she was uncertain if she should keep kissing him. But there's something about each kiss that made them both not want to stop. Y/N had closed the door, though, Y/N felt like this was the last time. Did he think it was too and was that why he was being so delicate?

Pining for each other as he gently laid her down, he looked at her the way someone looked at the sky at night, as if he had first seen the stars for the very first time and was wondered by her. They were sharing a secret, they both knew. 

Desire was beyond his eyes as his hand travelled from her covered ankle, shriveling through her legs up all the way to her covered chest. She longed for his skin to be once against hers. But he was taking his time, trying to make sure she knew she was the only one he wanted to kiss. He then proceeded to take the same path with his lips as if he had meticulously painted it before. Placing soft pecks or running his lips against the covered skin. Y/N closed her eyes, as an inescapable  soothing pleasure washed her, not lust, his gentle poke sprinkling her with delight. 

He finally glanced up to her, his thumb gently rubbing circles on her cheek, his eyes linking with her, his eyelashes going up and down, pouring directly at her lips, her eyes. 

“I love you,” he stated, not expecting an answer back, as if it was merely an observation he was making to himself. One of those thoughts that escapes the mouth and dares to be said out loud.

“I love you,” he said again, now less as an observation but as a reminder to him, as if he was scolding himself. 

Her hands went to his face, brushing his cheeks. She wanted to say it back, too, but something stopped her. 

But she was thinking about it, she knew that. She felt it. 

But her heart didn’t want her to say it, as if saying it would be a sin. Why was she letting him kiss her? She could stop him. 

She didn’t want to stop him, that is. But her mind was so loud she could barely focus, and she didn’t have to focus.  

But then again, he was part of her own skin, her faith, her—everything. And though she knew this could be a mistake, it could be the last time and she wanted to make it last. Something to remember because they didn’t have anything to cling to. 

She waited for him, like the moon waits for the night, as his thumb then caressed her lips, preparing them only to tamper them with his. It was no secret that each kiss he gave her was unique but he had kissed her like never before. 

*

Though it was so familiar, the way she knew what he was going to do next as his hands went down to toy with the hem of her hoodie, shyly asking for permission just to go beneath it. But slowly he was pulling it up, with her help and then proceeded to take off his. Though slow they were both desperate to be against each other’s skin, the clothes burdened them and they both slowly decided to take them off, they looked better on the floor anyway. 

Y/N didn’t feel cold anymore though she was bare, only with her underwear  as Tom repeated what he’d done before, kissing his way from her thighs to her neck, burying himself there. She tried to turn him around so she could kiss him just as fine but he didn’t let her, his hand searched for hers as he linked them. 

She finally managed to push and roll him, now it was she’d time to memorize his own body, her fingers tickled him as she sat on top of him to watch him, they gently brushed against his stomach, his chest, barely even touching, just a tender grasp. His hands landed on her waist as he watched her, her hands exploring his body, all the way to his arms, he only gulped watching her as she felt the bulge grow beneath her, she hummed a chuckled before bending down to get his lips back to hers, delayed movements as she grinded against him, his hands went down to cup her ass, helping her rock and he bucked his hips to her. 

They had absolutely no hurry though their bodies were indicating the exact opposite, hiding their gentle moan against each kiss. 

“I love you,” she finally had whispered to him, but it sounded more like a goodbye that Tom didn’t want to hear yet. 

With his hands now going to her back, he turned her around, him on top as he reached to the nearest drawer. 

The unspoken words they both hid were agonizing but they knew they had to be kept unspoken. 

For now, at least. 

As he opened the drawer y/n could see the inside of it. She caught a glimpse of the letter she’d given him. But he finally found the condom and wrapped it on the hard that his boxers had been no help on hiding. 

Y/N only watched him position himself as he then looked up asking for a sort of permission, she only bit her lip as she tuck her hands behind her and finally took off her bra, he licked his lips and tooka deep breath, staring at the ballerina necklace in between each breast, he teased her with the tip and she arched her back. 

She bit her bottom lip, he slowly inserted into her, she let out a gasp with fascination as he filled her up, her hands landed on his back bringing him to her, nails digging crescent moons on him, he closed his eyes, throwing his head back. 

He draped her breasts with his hands before slowly rocking against her, their breaths fanning against the other, but it lingered and she wrapped her legs against him, toes curling with each  very move as she bucked herself against him, not holding back any moan and now as he sloppily tried to kiss her, not getting it and just lazily pecking her chin, her neck, sucking gently. Hands gliding up and down. She managed to get a grip of him as she bit his lower lip, so intoxicated by each other it’s almost pathetic. 

And their horrible thoughts had finally ceased—for a bit because they only needed each other, knowing that though what had happened had angered them, they belonged to each other, tangled into one, with sloppy kisses and messy movements, hearing their moaning as if they were a melody they could never get tired of. Soft grunts, struggling to keep any other kind of thought as they’re washed with pleasure. 

Thrust after thrust, lackadaisical at points where they’re not even caring, finger pressed to each other, vibrating each time, impossible for y/n to keep still as he drove in each time deeper. Hands still gentle but he is burning intensely against her, her irregular movements against his hip drive her close to the edge. 

He even had to clench to the headboard to get a steadier rhythm, but his other hand deliberately made sure that no part of her body remained untouched. The friction on each movement made y/n moan his name breathily. 

Tom groaned at his name and went in deeper, saying her name, in a faint whisper, fearing he’d run out of chances to say it again, and then his tongue connected with her flesh. 

“I can’t lose you,” he confessed breathily, tainted with love, finally saying what they’d both been thinking the whole time, but proud enough and—probably horny enough not to say it. 

The only response she can give him is a truthful “I love you, so much.” Because there was nothing more to it. She wasn’t sure if they were going to lose each other. “I don’t want to lose you,” she sentenced. Because that was another fact. 

Somehow that makes them go faster and more desperate, his hand stretching to go over where he needs him to be. Gasps, groans, grunts and moans combined with other words of praise to each other, senseless confessions of love that are enough to keep them going. 

Y/N didn't even realize with what push she finally reached her high, but with pleasure he kept going as she had let out a bright moan that had perfectly spelled his name. He followed after not so long, crashing against her one last time before he had to stop and not twitch against her, not pulling out as he plopped above her. Chests shimmering with sweat as they’re synchronizing their breathing, halt panting as she finds a hand through his hair, curling up with sweat. He finally pulled out and plopped right beside her. 

**

It gave her time to think then, right beside each other, quietly hearing each other breathing, covered in each other sweat. He pulled her close to him as her hand landed on his chest. She kept her lips pressed against him still, and his own lips were pecking her forehead. 

Neither of them wanted to say anything because they both knew that talking would lead to somewhere where they didn’t  want to go. Because talking had been all they've done before that and there had been no “I love you”s and there was no “I don’t want to lose you.” Talking meant they did want to lose each other and talking meant they still were angry. 

But they had to. And y/n was there, confused as how easily she gave up to him, hours ago she was crying and yelling, and her heart still ached but she was still sure she couldn’t keep herself from him. Plus, there was the fact he was directing her script. The one film she had dreamed of and now was a nightmare. What was she supposed to do? 

End the relationship? 

Weren’t they supposed to be infinite? 

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[doodleimprovement]

CSAU :: Moonie Jericho and the Mysterious Case of the Moon-Jumper Mask

At long last, It is finished! Happy Halloween! 

Below the line is a lighthearted fic taking place in the “Coffee Shop” AU (( @doodledrawsthings​ ))with Magic! Family fun! Low stakes! And a gratuitous cameo by my OC because of course Nell is here 

Seriously though this fic is about as lighthearted as it gets. At the end of the fic are a few sketches I drew but didn’t end up coloring. 

((There’s going to be an alternate ending posted separately at a later date, but its not relevant to the fic)) 

Enjoy! 

--

Fall in Subcon Forest came in gently as always, and by the time Halloween rolled around, everyone was firmly in their sweaters and beanies and thick leggings and hiking boots that were only occasionally used for hiking. The leaves of the trees and the shining sun framed the town in such lovely muted colors that it looked like a picture right out of a magazine.

Not that anyone in the Horizon was looking out the window to see it - the curtains were closed in an attempt to not blind the employees and clientele.

It was that time between the end of school but before trick or treating, which meant that all of the teachers and parents were coming into the Horizon with their kids to get the new specialty drinks - well decorated and tasty, and more importantly, not hilariously overpriced. The kids in particular seemed to love the “Ghoulishly White Hot Chocolate”, and the teens flocked to the “Jack-O-Spices Frozen Pumpkin Latte”

Luka was almost certain that the pumpkin spice smell would burn itself so deep into his nose he’d never be able to un-smell it. A small price to pay for the rise in business, he supposed.

“Luka, Two Snatcher-ccinos!” Clover called from the cash register.

“I still hate that!” He responded with a light tone

“Too bad, make ‘em!” She teased back with a light laugh.

“Don’t get all testy, you two! We’re only open for another hour!” MJ called, grinning before turning back to the coffee machine, where they were effortlessly making yet another latte.

“Too long!” Clover argued, grabbing a muffin for a customer from the bakery display

“You’re telling me, and I still have to take Bow and Hattie trick or treating” Luka huffed, finishing up one of the “Snatcher-ccinos” and moving onto the next one.

“WE are!” MJ corrected. Luka just playfully rolled his eyes.

The conversation ended up dying rather quickly as the business went through its last rush, and, at long last, 4 o’clock came, and the store shut down. The three employees did a rather quickly clean up this night around - they were all eager to be anywhere but work that spooky night.

Once in the back of the store, Luka seemed to almost melt in relief, leaning further and further into the wall.

“Ugh, my limbs feel like Jelly” he commented as his voice gained its echo

“For all we know, they are,” Clover teased. “We’re meeting at MJs in an hour, right?” She stretched.

“Yeah.” Luka nodded “Have they already run off?”

“Yup. They’re excited” She chuckled “You gonna get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks. See you later”

“Later!”

0o0o0o0o0

That stupid, cursed thing of a mask had not moved in weeks since he’d found it, and its stupid grin had started haunting the corner of his vision when ever he was in his studio.

It seems like it's decided that sitting on the desk in his art studio was its happy place. At least it was out of the way, and in a place he didn’t frequent often.

Though its eyes definitely still moved, which gave MJ hives like you would not believe. Why he kept it in his studio he wasn’t sure.

Tim had told him that the thing was mostly harmless, that it just seemed a bit… off, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Timmy even said that he got “good vibes” off of it, which was a strange phrase to use on something that felt at the very least mildly cursed.

Finishing with the caplet for his costume, gently clasping it, he looked in the mirror and gave himself a smile.

It was obscure, sure, but he’d put a lot of work into it! The legend of the “Lonely Man” was well known in these parts, maybe someone would get it. Someone had to.

Whether or not anyone got it, he was still happy with the tattered thing. That faux old age took forever to get right.

As he straightened out his clothes, his eyes caught the mask once more.

His hand picked it up off his desk, and his thumb rubbed on the odd surface. He couldn’t really tell what it was made of, but it was… oddly smooth, he thought. His brow furrowed as he looked at its eyes, a single pupil in its left eye, and a cascade of diamonds in the other. It was certainly an interesting and eye-catching design. He also liked the blue and reds, and that weirdly off-putting grin.

Such an odd thing.

He held it up with one hand over his face - not putting it on, but getting a look in the mirror at how it would look with the outfit.

He found it utterly bizarre that he could see clearly through the eyes despite what seemed like thick paint over it.

The mask itself wasn’t actually that scary when taken all at once. Oddly enough, it seemed to match with his outfit - at least, color wise. It didn’t even seem evil or anything. It seemed… kind.

That was an odd word to use. MJ tended to flip flop on how he feels about the damned thing

Before he could think any more about it, his doorbell rang, and the mask was left on his desk, forgotten the moment company arrived.

“Who is it?” He asked as he approached the door

“The Dread Pirate Roberts!” A little voice announced as the oak opened up.

To his absolute delight, Harriet was dressed indeed the Dread Pirate Roberts, missing nothing but the mask (The town doesn’t allow masks on minors, for some reason. A weird little policy). Next to her stood an excited Bow, grinning from ear to ear. He knew exactly who she was, but still asked-

“And who are you?”

“My name is Inigo Montoya” She said with all the faux-seriousness she could muster, holding up a foam sword “You killed my father, prepare to die!”

“Oh, goodness, the finest swordsperson in the world and The Dread Pirate Roberts have come to my home, I don’t stand a chance!” He moved out of his way as the kids ran into the apartment, and their father walked up behind him.

When his eyes went to Luka, he let out a snort. The man was dressed in a slightly silly looking prince outfit dyed almost completely purple, and his form was mostly purple as well - an energy-saving tactic if ever there was one.

“And you are?”

“He’s the ghost of prince Humperdink” Bow grinned. “This was the best costume we could find for it”

“I honestly think he shoulda died at the end of the movie so I'm cool with it.” Harriet commented as MJ moved to the side and let the group in “Is Clover here yet?”

“Not yet, I’m sure she’ll be here any minute and we can get right along with trick or treating!” MJ announced

“Yay!” the girls responded in unison, taking their place on MJs couch and turning on his old television for a brief moment of entertainment

Mj looked at Luka and grinned “Well, you’re lookin’ spooky, Luka”

“You kind of do too… what do you look like?”

MJ snorted “I’m the ‘Lonely Man of Subcon forest’. Heard of it?”

“Nope, don’t think I’ve been here long enough” Luka shrugged “Does look nice though. Very zombie-ish.”

The two chatted for a bit before there was another ring barely 10 minutes later.

“That must be Clo” MJ pushed himself off of the wall. “Can you get that? I want to grab my wallet so we can get the kids some ice cream before they go running around”

Luka nodded, giving him a grateful smile before turning to the door to greet the final member of the trio

MJ popped back into his studio, grabbing his wallet… and looking again at the mask.

He pocketed his wallet, and picked the mask up again. His thumbs rubbing against the strange texture of the mask’s sides.

He couldn’t help but admit that he was tempted.  Maybe, he could just see what it’d look like, just for a moment. Who knows? Maybe this has all been anxiety for nothing and the mask is just… weird.

He looked back into the mirror, and placed the mask on his face.

There was a moment where he stared amusedly at his reflection - it added a certain air to his outfit. Maybe wearing it out wouldn't be so b-

And then his body seized

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He trembled and a pain started from his head and traveled down his spine. It was like the worst shiver from the cold he’d ever experienced. Like ice was pressed directly against his skin. It dispersed like a fog, freezing freezing, and, suddenly-

It stopped.

Panting heavily, MJ pulled themselves back up to a standing position - when had they bent over like that? - and lifted their head, making eye contact with themselves in the mirror.

“GAH?!”

They were - blue! And - and the mask was very much not a mask!!!

When they blinked, it blinked. When they moved, it moved. When they grimaced, the mouth moved along to create the expression. their eyes scanned over the crescent shape, past their neck and then landed on their-

“H-hands!” They stared - they were missing a finger and - had claws?? They clenched their fists in disbelief, eyes catching on a glinting just under their sleeve.

.. Where had the chains come from?

“MJ? MJ are you okay?”

Clover

“D-don’t come in, its fine!!” They panicked, “I’m uh, just, finishing up and stuff with my costume!”

“It looked finished to me” Luka commented “Did something rip?”

“Y-yes?? yes! Something totally ripped“

“They’re lying!” Hattie pointed out

“Sounds like their lying voice” Bow added.

Curse these adorable, smart little girls!

“I-I’m fine!” They yelled out “Totally fine, just fine”

“... MJ I’m opening the door, be decent”

“No, Clover, I - “

But the door opened anyway

And Clover - dressed up as “Generic princess” - looked in, and … stared.

“.... MJ?”

“.... H-hi, Clover.”

“Clover, what are-” Luka cut himself off “Uh….”

“It’s me! Its MJ, I uh - “ They tried to come up with a succinct explanation for the situation, despite not having any real idea.

“The mask” Luka quickly concluded, recognizing the face after MJs unfortunately previous run-ins.

“I … yes” MJ’s shoulders slumped a bit.

“Hey, at least you still have feet” Luka commented, causing MJ to look down and see that he did in fact still have his shoes on. Thank heaven for small mercies.

“What happened, what is it?!” Harriet pushed her way through, her eyes wide as saucers once they landed on the recently transformed adult “... Whoa”

“I … I put on the mask. I was curious and - and it..” They looked back down at the pale, blue hands, nervously moving the fingers and claws. “I felt like I was freezing, my whole body and then…” They trailed off.

“Whoa..” Harriet approached him slowly “It's like, Majora’s Mask!”

Lukas put his hand on her shoulder to stop her from jumping - now really was not the time “... I suppose that's one way to describe it.” He gave a deliberate, thoughtful face towards his transformed friend.

Bow was very firmly behind the adults, staring rather intently and slightly bewildered. Sure, she had been getting used to Mr. Princeton as a parent but.. This was somehow very different.

“... We need to talk to Tim.” Clover concluded

“Tim’s out of town” Luka reminded the group with a grimace “He and Timmy had some kind of meeting thing with other magical people. We don’t…” Luka huffed, his hair fluffing up a bit “We don’t know anyone else whose adept at magic like they are”

Harriet furrowed her brow a bit, looking at the discomfort that MJ was experiencing, rubbing their hands together. Could they be stuck like that? She wanted to think that maybe this really was like the Zelda game, but who could tell? It's not like they knew anyone….

“Yes we do!” She snapped her fingers“I kinda hate that Mu was right, but there is a witch in town!”

“What?” Lukas’ brow furrowed “Who?”

0o0o0o0o0

Getting to the edge of town was… novel, to put it simply. The group was rather lucky that Luka was used to doing this sort of thing. And he was about 4 times larger than the group, so that helped in flying them around.

With the sun kissing the earth, red rays crawling into the darker sky, they didn’t have too much time, but followed Harriet and Bow as they got past the town center, and led them down to-

“Wait, why are we at Nell’s place?” Clover stared ahead at the Mint-green home, succulents hanging from pots and a radio sitting on the edge of the porch.

“Because Nurse Nell is a witch!” Harriet announced walking up the two steps of the porch.

“What- Harriet!” Luka startled.

“Its true!” Bow defended as Hattie knocked on the door.

“Kids, we’ve known Nell for a long time, she’s not-”

“She is!” Hattie argued “We saw it!”

“She made us promise to keep it a secret!” Bow added.

Said nurse opened the door as MJ tried to speak up

“I wasn’t expecting trick-or treaters,” She greeted before looking out the door, “But I do-” She paused as her eyes landed on the strange group at her front porch.

There was a rather awkward, extended silence as her eyes scanned MJ through her thick lenses with a gaze that conveyed a strange kind of surprise.

“.... Inside, now” She pulled the door open further, leaving no room for argument.

The adults shared a glance, but did as she said, entering her small living room. She greeted them with a nod as they entered, and shut the door behind them, motioning for MJ to approach her.

She didn’t say a word as they did so, and very slowly lifted her hands to their face, holding it steady as she scrutinized. “What happened? Less than 3 sentences” She half asked/half demanded. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was serious.

“Uh, I put on a cursed mask and it uh… did this” They tried to sum up.

“Where did you get the mask?”

“I found it in the forest. I thought it was abandoned from the spirit festival”

“And why did you pick up an abandoned mask in the forest?”

They awkwardly didn’t respond. She sighed

“I get it, hun” She responded, resigned. “Stay still”

“I am”

“Stiller”

Clover and Luka watched her with some skepticism, seeing the woman take a deep breath, and as she exhaled, her hands suddenly glowed dimly, tapping at the side of MJs head.

“Hah! See! Told you!” Hattie pointed, jumping slightly

“Shhhhhhhh!” Bow shook her “She’s doin’ magic stuff!”

“Hm…” She masterfully ignored the yelling children “Well, good news is that the magic isn’t very strong, Just… aggressive.” Nell announced. “And it's not malevolent” She let go of their face.

“... I… How can you tell?” MJ asked, their own hand tapping their blue cheek.

“.. Let's say it's a feeling” She summed up. “You can sit down. I need to grab something from my library”

And she left the room

“.... I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nell that serious” Clover spoke out “Also the uh, glowing hands? Didn’t know she could do that”

“How did you not know she had magic?” Luka asked with a rather incredulous tone

“It never came up!” Clover retorted

“How did it never come up?”

“Its cool!” Harriet jumped into the conversation

“It think its cool too” Bow agreed “I always wondered how my paper cuts at school always healed so fast…”

MJ had sat themselves down, hand staying on their head, feeling the strange curve of their forehead with a certain fascination. Nell’s words - said with so much affirmation- did make them feel better about the situation.

The nurse returned, her expression still relatively serious, but calmer as she carried an old, thick book with a rather overly ornate cover in a faded blue.

“You’re lucky I collect these old things” She commented for a moment, sitting down next to MJ. She flipped through the pages, finding a two-page spread with a plain mask listed on it, and text printed so small that MJ just could not read it. “Here we are.”

Harriet climbed up next to her “What's it say? That’s a lot of words!”

Nell chuckled a bit at her eagerness “It is, but... “ she hand rested on the book for a moment, and then she lifted it, and the text glowed, lifting and circling around her hand like a ring.

“Whoa…. It's like the unknown from the Pokémon movie!” Bow jumped, causing Nell to laugh more.

“A little, I suppose” Nell responded, and she looked over at the other two adults, mostly at Clover, whose bewildered stare caused her to laugh again “You okay there?”

“... How did I not know this about you?”

“Never came up, dear. Don’t think too hard about it. You too, “Snatcher”” The woman gave a smirk. Luka cleared his throat. “Now…”

A simple flick of her hand, and the letters were floating around MJ’s head, and some of them glowed just a little bit brighter “Hm….. Alrightie, that's a good sign” She snapped, and the letters, very suddenly disappeared as if popping a bubble. “Well, Give until dawn, and then you should be able to take off the mask. If you can’t, come to me. I don’t work tomorrow”

“Oh… Well, that uh, wasn’t so bad. I’ll be okay?”

“Of course” Nell nodded, shutting the book “I’d’ve called the Kagai’s the moment I let go of your face if I thought otherwise”

“The who?” Hat questioned.

“Another time, Hattie, another time” Nell placated. “Now….” she exhaled, putting the book on her coffee table and clasping her hands together “I just realized I haven’t even said hello to any of you”

Something about that sentence finally broke the tension, getting a laugh out of Clover and Luka, and a snicker out of MJ.

The next ten minutes consisted of Nell reassuring the group that MJ would be fine, and reiterating that they needed to come to her if the mask did not come off by sunrise.

“There’s a lot of magic in this that I can sense. So uh, just be careful.” She warned. “I don’t know a lot about that, so you’ll have to ask Tim”

MJ nodded “Uh, thank you, Nell”

She gave them a kind smile “Don’t mention it. Next time you need me though, have Clover send me a message or just call me, alright?” She looked passed them to Harriet, who gave her a sheepish smile.

“Got it” The transformed barista nodded.

“Oh and, don’t be too worried about people seeing you. Just say it's a costume” She recommended as they walked out with their family waiting just beyond the porch. “Happy Halloween!” She called before abruptly shutting the door

“So……” Bow started

“Can we go trick or treating now??” Hattie finished.

Luka looked up to MJ, who seemed much calmer than before, despite continuing to lift their hand to their weirdly shaped head.

“.. Yeah, yeah i think we can” they gave Luka a grin “And thanks for getting us the help, Hattie” MJ reached down and picked her up “Who knew the Dread Pirate Roberts could be such a help!”

The girl giggled before being put back down “Then let’s go!!”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

MJ was initially a bit tittered when they entered the town, but the moment anyone noticed them, the compliments rolled in.

“Wow! You look like a spooky zombie!”

“What game is that cosplay from?”

“How did you get the prosthetic to look like that, damn!”

“Wow, that is a really cool idea for the Lonely Man!”

MJ was beaming at the semi-undeserved praised as they took the kids from neighborhood to neighborhood, filling their pillow cases close to brimming with so much candy that Luka kept making a face and seemed to be mentally preparing to hide all of it, whispering to Clover and MJ about taking some of the candy so that it wasn’t all in his apartment.

“Seriously, all that candy?? They’re going to get cavities and I cannot pay for dental work like that.” The father aggressed. MJ just laughed a bit, looking ahead at the two girls who were trying to run ahead to the next house.

And then Bow’s foot caught a crack.

“Ah, Bow!” MJ startled, hand reaching out - but there was no way they’d reach her before she fell-

And then, she just stopped falling, stuck in midair as if floating.. But she wasn’t.

Upon closer examination, she was held up by a variety of red strings, connected to MJ’s clawed fingers

“... Uh”

“Whoaaaa” Hattie gaped “Magic! Cool!”

Bow pulled himself up to a standing position, and MJ put their hand down, the strings disappeared

“.. Thanks” Bow cleared her throat “That was really cool”

“It kind of was... “ They commented, looking down at their hands “I’m gonna be having a heck of a long talk with Tim when he gets back from wherever he is”

“Yeah, definitely” Luka nodded in agreement.

Lucky for the group the rest of the night went without incident, with MJ joining Luka at home and the two of them staying up until the sun started showing through the windows.

“Ready?” Luka asked him, the being no longer human shaped, as he’d finally reached his limit

“Yeah.. I think so” MJ took in a breath “She said it can just… come off like how I put it on…”

“Alright….” Luka’s voice trailed off as MJ reached their hands up to their face, thumbs by their cheeks, but then - wait! The edge, the mask! They felt it.

Barely bothering to breath, they mentally counted… 1… 2… 3!

they pulled it off and gasped as that icy feeling went through them even faster than last time, trembling and nearly falling over as Luka kept them up with their tail.

“Hey, hey! You okay MJ?”

MJ looked up, nodding “Yeah, uh, how do I..?”

“You’re back to a nerd, if that's what you’re asking” Luka lightly teased

Their hands went back up to their face, and gasped when they felt their regular skin, and their glasses (Where had they gone? Didn’t matter)

“Oh, thank god” The tired barista flopped onto their partner, “That was exhausting. Thank goodness the Horizon is closed today…”

“Hah, ready to sleep?”

“Oh, definitely” MJ commented, looking down at the mask still in their hand, its smile seeming not nearly as spooky than before.. “Hm..”

“What?”

“.. Why’d it choose me, I wonder” They muttered, sitting up and placing the mask by the window sill “But… we’ll see about finding out more, hm?”

“.. Yeah, we will” Luka confirmed.

MJ gave him a smile, hugging his partner with a slight nuzzle “Come on, we need to sleep. Hattie and Bow-”

“Oh, don’t remind me. We’re in for a hell of an afternoon” Luka groaned, but he was still smiling.

Saying that things were “back to normal” was never correct with this group, but things were still pretty okay. Maybe better, even.

Moonie figured they’d just have to wait and see.

--

BONUS:: 

Costumes! I wasn’t able to finish these in time, but I hope they suffice! 

#doodledrawsthings #coffee shop au #ahit coffee shop au #ahit #a hat in time #ahit moonjumper #moonjumper #ahit snatcher #snatcher #ahit hat kid #hat kid #ahit bow kid #bow kid #ahit florist #florist #ahit oc #ahit nell #csau nell #nell

[prurientpuddlejumper]

You’re a Mean One, Mr. Kneef (Part 3)

<- Part 2 | Part 4 ->

For @thatesqcrush​​’s Naughty or Nice Holiday Bingo! Filling the Mistletoe square

Bryan Kneef x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Rough-ish hate-sex, mild degradation. Enthusiastic but dubious consent! They both want what’s happening but Bryan is reader’s boss who coerced her into the date and reader is now (half-jokingly?) blackmailing him. It’s super healthy 🙃 

5,400 words

Bryan wished he were drunk.

He reclined in a leather armchair, a warm weight in his lap. He stared intently and with disinterest at the embroidery on the edge of a red Christmas stocking hung above the fireplace in his parents’ living room while his tiny nieces and nephews giggled at holiday movies.

If he had been drunk, he would at least have an excuse for his behavior tonight.

No, not for making a dozen paralegal nobodies miss Christmas, leveraging his authority to coerce you into doing a personal favor, or introducing NC-17 language to a family dinner. Those were all par for the course for the most ruthless litigator at STR Laurie.

It was the particular favor he had coerced you into—asking you to pose as the MILF he’d been banging when she dumped him via text on Christmas Eve.

Just so he wouldn’t have to explain why Sydney wasn’t with him. 

Just so he wouldn’t be alone for the long drive.

Fucking brilliant.

Now his most obstinate, irritating, antagonistic employee knew about Sydney, knew how attached he’d gotten, had met his mother, and seen photos of him getting a bubble bath in the sink. (He loved his mom, but sometimes he wondered about murder.) Making you do such a humiliating favor seemed like a good way to finally control you. But his upper hand was quickly reversed.

You were right. The whole thing was pathetic.

Still, you were playing along better than he could have expected.

The strangest part was, you fit in with his family so much better than Sydney would have. She was hot, but honestly, dumb as a brick, and as difficult as Bryan himself. He had a better time with you. The way you gently teased him, commiserating with his family over what a pain in the ass he could be. The way you smiled so naturally… he saw how things could have been with Syd. With someone who called out his bullshit, but cared about him anyway.

It was a shame you were just pretending.

Try opening your heart sometime.

Fuck that.

He didn’t need to open up more. He needed to get back to the Bryan Kneef he used to be before some bitch fucked with his heart. He needed to get Syd out of his fucking mind and replace her with someone else. Anyone else.

He needed to fuck someone.

And you…

His attention turned to the weight in his lap.

You were there.

*****

When did the pretend little gestures start getting to you? Start feeling enough like real affection that there was a lonely ache in your stomach?

You fucking hated Bryan Kneef.

But there you were, your fingers tangled in his beard when no one was even watching.

You’d been sitting on Bryan’s lap for what felt like hours—you could probably figure out how many based on the number of Christmas movies that had played and how many of the children had gone off to bed in various guestrooms.

Now the fire in the hearth was burning low, and only the adults remained hanging around in the living room.

His hands were wrapped around your waist, and you had gotten so comfortable, you were practically nodding off to sleep against his chest. Bryan was getting more comfortable, too. You idly stroked his beard, and he didn’t disguise the way he nuzzled into your hand.

The private whispers you shared started as touchy warnings not to screw up your “Sydney” act and counter-threats to expose him if he crossed a line. But that invisible line kept moving, and the whispers became more like the sweet nothings between lovers they were meant to resemble.

He even started stroking your hair. Bryan Kneef, gently running his fingers over your scalp. It was a Christmas miracle.

You might have drifted off in his arms, except for one major distraction—the bulge pressing against your ass.

“What the hell is that?” you asked, close to his ear.

“My dick.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Stupid question, then.”

“Fuck you.”

“Want to?”

You accidentally let out a heady sigh instead of an offended gasp, and his hand moved a little higher, slipping under your knit sweater, grazing over your belly. You meant to tell him to fuck off. Really. You should have told him to cut it out. But the problem was, you didn’t want him to.

“My offer’s still on the table,” he murmured. “Since you’ve been such a good girl tonight. You deserve a reward.”

Being called a good girl did something to you, even though it was—or maybe because it was—somewhat demeaning. Your skin prickled. You swallowed the dryness in your throat. Your skin felt too hot… much too hot, and his thick cock was still trapped firmly between his hips and your ass. His offered reward.

“Y-yeah, I deserve a medal of honor.”

For what, again? For helping out your coworkers? They were already home with their families—you didn’t have to stay this long.

Maybe continuing the charade was just more fun than sitting in your apartment eating Chinese takeout. You accused Bryan of being lonely, but the truth was, you were the one who had nowhere to be tonight—everyone you cared about was half a country away. And your horny, irrational side wanted to feel that cock without so much clothing in the way. Wanted to feel exactly how a selfish asshole like Bryan would ravage you with it.

He would devour you like the big bad wolf…

“That wasn’t a no,” he observed, his beard tickling your ear.

“Shut up!” you hissed back, loud enough to draw attention.

He chuckled, and you felt the vibrations of his chest at your back. “Yes, kitten.”

To his credit, Bryan didn’t try anything further. His hands behaved themselves, chastely stroking your hair, and eventually his erection returned to its pre-arousal size. You had been on his lap for a long time, your ass grinding against his groin whenever you shifted. It was a natural, physical reaction… That was all.

The fact that it felt so good you were soaking through your panties was just natural biology, as well.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bryan Kneef was the worst boss you ever had. He had no respect for his subordinates (or for anybody—you recalled the deposition in which he’d told a name partner of Reddick, Boseman & Lockhart to “call her own ass”). The fact that he was handsome just made you hate him more.

But god, his lap was warm. The smell of his cologne, and the steady rhythm of his breath…

You got to see a human side to him tonight. The way he acted with people he couldn’t treat like shit. A private side no one who knew him professionally—and you doubted any of the fifty-two other women he hooked up with per year—ever got to see. You were peeking behind the curtain of his life, and it made Bryan squirm. It was kind of cute. And your wild, horny side was clawing at the inside of your brain to give in to all the lewd promises he kept whispering.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

*****

Martha yawned and patted her husband’s knee. “Well, us old folks are going to bed. Feel free to stay as late as you like, just turn the TV off when you go. No one’s in your bedroom if you do decide to stay over,” she added. “I’m making waffles in the morning.”

You swiveled your head around at the empty couches and realized it was just you, Bryan, and his parents left in the living room. Everyone else had gone home or gone up to bed. Bryan had been so cranky about wanting to leave right after dinner, but after you settled onto his lap, neither of you had found a reason to move.

Bryan stood and dumped you unceremoniously off his lap—you barely stuck the landing. He stretched.

“Nah, we’d better head out, too. Thanks for dinner, ma.” He kissed her cheek and hugged her and his dad goodbye. “Get your things, Syd,” he snapped.

Sounded like girlfriend-duty was over. Good. You could stop pretending to like him.

Good.

“Be nice,” Martha chided, batting him on the arm. “Go help her find her coat; she doesn’t know the way around.”

Bryan put his hand on the small of your back and led you through an archway to the entrance hall.

His father cackled as you passed through it. “Look up!”

Mistletoe.

Bryan glanced up at the bundle of mistletoe without moving his head, so it looked like he was rolling his eyes. Then he looked at you and quirked a brow. You let out an awkward laugh, which he took to mean kissing was not part of the deal.

“It’s depraved that you want to make your children kiss,” he said dryly. “You do this to Tim and Steve, too?”

“We did, and it was adorable.”

“It’s tradition! Kiss. Kiss!”

“We are not going to kiss for you like trained monkeys,” said Bryan.

His parents passed under the arch and pecked each other’s lips.

“I love you, dear,” said his mom to his dad.

“Love you, too,” said his dad to his mom.

“No,” said Bryan.

“’ Night, peanut.” Martha pinched his cheek, and she and her husband took their perfectly hideous matching holiday sweaters upstairs.

“There,” Bryan sighed as his parents’ bedroom door clicked shut. “That wraps it up. Good work tonight.” Genuine praise from Mr. Kneef was rare, and sent a strange flush of heat between your legs. He turned toward the closet to fetch your coat, but you caught his wrist. He turned back to you.

“It is tradition…”

“Is it now?” His eyes narrowed, and a confident smirk turned the corners of his lips. He stepped closer, dangerously into your space, pushing you back against the corridor wall. “We wouldn’t want to defy tradition...”

Fuck, fuck—what were you doing?

His scent was overpowering and masculine, his presence overwhelming your senses, making him seem so much taller than he was as he shadowed you from the overhead light. You grabbed the front of his cashmere sweater and pulled. His lips crashed into yours, as hungry and fierce as you dreamed they’d be. There was no slow mounting of intensity—the moment his mouth was on yours it was fighting for dominance, wet and hot, his tongue forcing your lips open, not giving you a second to catch your breath. He tasted like cocoa and peppermint. A low growl rumbled from his throat, and you felt it in yours, his tongue was buried so deeply down it. You wrapped your arms behind his neck, tangling your fingers in his salt-and-pepper hair, drawing his weight down on you, letting him trap you against the wall. Someone was making a pathetic high-pitched whimper, and you realized it was you, desperately clawing at his sweater to grab more of him, rocking your hips forward until he reciprocated and his erection pushed against the aching heat between your legs.

When he finally pulled away, you were panting, lips drenched and throbbing from his aggressive technique. His hand was unabashedly cupping your ass, rolling the fat of it in his palm.

Oh, fuck.

No. No, no, no. He’s an asshole. A shallow jerk, and you hate him. You were not supposed to give him the satisfaction of seducing you.

He brought a hand to your face, holding it firm to keep you looking at him. His green eyes were dark with lust and energetic with desire. He lowered his face to yours and licked the saliva off your mouth. You shuddered, hips twitching forward into his cock.

Then again, it wasn’t like this meant you had feelings for him. He certainly didn’t have any for you. This was about sex. About your satisfaction. What was so wrong about fucking your boss?

The same dominating, shameless personality that made him a nightmare to work for would be right up your alley in bed. You wanted those big hands all over you, holding you down. That filthy mouth degrading you. You wanted him to call you kitten and sweetheart while he had his way with you.

His big hand was still holding your face, his lips still breathing your air as they hovered over yours.

That was it. The floodgates were open, and there was no closing them again. The wild, wanton part of you won out and took control. There would be no more rational decisions tonight.

“Can I have my reward now… Mr. Kneef?”

“Yeah?” he breathed against your lips, still pinning you. “You want the medal of honor?”

“Fuck you.”

“Since you asked nicely.” He grabbed your hand and dragged you up the master staircase, down a hallway, and pushed you into a bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed behind you, his demeanor shifted slightly. His strong hands were pawing at your ass, roving under your clothing, but he pulled his head back when you tried to kiss him. “You sure you want to do this? To be clear, this is not part of our arrangement—I don’t want to hear from HR later that I forced you to fuck me.”

“I plan to leave this part out of the complaint I’m filing.”

“Good to know you’re still filing it.” He pinched one of your nipples through your bra to punctuate the thought. You tried not to melt in his hands.

“Maybe that depends on your performance,” you purred, letting a slow, wicked smile spread over your lips. “You’d better fuck me like your job depends on it, Mr. Kneef.”

“Treacherous little bitch,” he growled. “I like this side of you. You just tell daddy exactly how you want it...” His teeth grazed your ear. A flight of goosebumps broke out over the back of your neck.

“Oh, fuck… I want that nasty fucking attitude of yours. You never hold back, never have any respect for anyone—I bet you like giving it hard, don’t you?” You pulled his hips toward you and snapped yours against them.

“Is that what you want? You like it rough?” His fingers tangled in your hair and pulled your head back, exposing your neck. His lips were hot and his beard scratchy as he sucked a mark onto the soft skin of your throat while you moaned.

“Yeah. I want you to use me. Think you can do that?” you challenged, only a slight hitch to your breath betraying what his mouth was making you feel.

Despite the soft domesticity of your performed cuddling earlier, you could only imagine Bryan one way. And soft wasn’t it. One tolerable night didn’t mean you liked him… but it was kind of hotter if you didn’t. You had your own frustrations to work out.

The big bad wolf could fuck you hard enough to forget you were alone on Christmas.

“I think I can handle it.” He pulled harder and sucked another mark, this time enough to leave a bruise.

You let a moan slip out, grateful it was the time of year you could get away with wearing a scarf all week until those faded… because you wanted more—a whole little collection from Bryan Kneef’s filthy mouth.

“I knew you were a slut deep down…” He found the hem of your sweater and yanked it off over your head in one motion. “Having such filthy thoughts about your boss is naughty behavior,” he tutted. “Santa’s going to bring you coal.”

“And what about sexually harassing your employee?” You cocked an eyebrow, using the temporary space between you to posture with your hands on your hips defiantly.

“You’ve got no case for that one, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly, stroking your cheek with unsettling fondness. “You barged into my private office and asked me out for drinks. Sounds like you’re just a slut.”

You glowered at him incredulously because… he wasn’t… wrong.

“It’s OK. I like sluts.” He smirked. The thumb stroking your cheek worked its way over your chin, brushed your pouted lips, and slipped between them. Your tongue instinctively darted out to taste the salty pad, and his eyes darkened with desire. “That’s right… take it, you filthy little—” He hissed when you nipped him hard enough to get his attention.

“And you’re lucky naughty boys are fun to play with.” You ran your tongue over his thumb soothingly.

His chest reverberated with a predatory grumble. You were going to pay for that. Within seconds he had your top off, and then your bra—his hands were everywhere, rough and demanding, not waiting for permission.

He wrapped one strong arm around your back to brace you and lowered his face to your breasts and started sucking on them, hard. His free hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the hardened peak under his thumb. Lightning shot through your body, making your back arch, your chest rising into his mouth. “Oh, Mr. Kneef…” you moaned, curling your fingers into his thick hair.

He was so ravenous his beard burned your skin, his tongue leaving wet trails of saliva along your abused breasts. Your nails dug into the back of his head as you pulled him deeper against you, encouraging every dangerous graze of his teeth and every mark he left on your skin that turned your lower body into molten lava.

“Fuck… yes, Mr. Kneef,” you panted. Always “Mr. Kneef.” It did something frenzied and primal to remember you were fucking your boss. Bryan wasn’t the kind of man you would fuck unless he was your boss. He wasn’t a lover, he was a kink.

Just when your raw nipples couldn’t take anymore, his mouth was on your lips again, assaulting your tongue with his, deep and persistent. There was a blur of movement. Your stomach lurched, the room spun, and suddenly you were on your back, on a mattress with Bryan on top of you.

Then he was sitting back, pulling his cashmere sweater off and unbuttoning his dress shirt while your fingers grasped at his belt, fumbling to unbuckle it. The tent straining the fabric beneath it was considerable, and that melting heat in your core was desperate for it.

You could see the dark need in Bryan’s eyes, but he managed a little more restraint than you were capable of in the moment. “Ground rules,” he said. “If you want to go through with this, there’s none of that fake lovey-dovey shit, understand? You are not my pretend-girlfriend. I am not going to be tender. There’s no cuddling.” His white undershirt fell open and revealed a broad chest covered in a forest of greying hair you wanted to get lost in. He followed the path of your eyes, and one corner of his lips twitched into a greedy smirk. “I am going to fuck you. Hard,” he growled, lowering his body on top of you, so close you could feel the heat of his skin on yours, the tickle of his chest hair on your sore breasts. His half-undone belt hung down and dragged on your hips. “I am fucking pissed about being dumped, and you are just a replacement. A body for me to fuck. That’s the deal—do you understand? Don’t come running to me Monday expecting any special attention.”

“Deal. On one condition.” You grabbed his beard and pulled his face down so his eyes were locked with yours. “You don’t fucking tell anybody about this. No one at work hears a word. No disgusting locking room talk. I am not one of your conquests. You want to tell anyone you got laid? It was Sydney.”

“Deal, Syd. Now shut the fuck up.”

You released his beard and pat his face condescendingly. He caught your wrist with an annoyed grunt, fingers circling it effortlessly, and pinned it beside your head on the mattress. Then he was stealing your breath with another fierce kiss, all teeth and tongue and snarling into your mouth. You felt dizzy when he finally broke it to pull his shirt the rest of the way off and toss it aside.

“Oh fuck, Mr. Kneef… you really are attractive,” you commented, running your free hand over his muscular chest and arms. God, those arms were the size of your head, with thick veins running their length.

He glanced down at you but barely took note of the way you were salivating over his body. He knew how hot he was. It wasn’t news. What interested him was you.

He slid your skirt and panties down over your hips, stripping you completely naked on the bed, and looked you over appreciatively. For someone who dressed so conservatively all the time at work, you were sexier than the real fucking Syd. He was starting to think it was a good thing the bitch dumped him—look at all he was missing out on being chained to one pussy.

“You OK?” you asked. You noticed him pause after getting your clothes off, and he had that strange sort of sad look again.

He blinked, and his eyes hardened.

His pants dropped to the floor so he was standing just in his boxers. Then he was on top of you, pushing you back down into the mattress, using his knees to spread your thighs apart. That wild, needy heat flared up within you, anticipating it.

You reached between his legs to cup his bulge through his underwear, his heavy balls, the stiff erection above it. His cock was so thick you gasped as your fingers surrounded it to take in its size, and couldn’t wrap all the way around.

“Fuck. Oh wow, fuck. That’s huge,” you husked, voice slurred with desire. “I guess when you strut around like you’ve got a huge dick, it’s for a good reason. I always thought you were compensating for something.”

He growled and thrust his hips between your spread legs so you could feel that massive cock grind against your pussy.

“Ohh—fuck!” you groaned. You considered the monster between Bryan’s legs, and suddenly the idea of him fucking you with it as hard as you asked for made your throat go dry. “I don’t know if I can take this all at once.”

“You won’t be able to walk right on Monday. Everyone’s going to know what a great holiday you had,” he promised sinfully. “I’m going to rip you in half.” He rocked his hips again, rubbing your clit with the pressure of it, and you felt yourself getting wetter.

“I fucking mean it, Bryan. You are actually going to hurt me with that thing.”

His face grew serious. “You want me to stop, say stop—any time. Say no. Slow down. I’m not going to fucking hurt you.”

That was entirely relieving, actually. You’d kind of jumped into this hoping he’d ride you hard and push you around, but the fantasy didn’t work if you weren’t in control if he pushed too far. You were actually putting a lot of trust in a man you hated because you were horny.

He felt like shit that you’d think he would actually hurt you like that. But he could hardly blame you. “If you can’t speak, tap out. Can you do that? Show me you know what I’m fucking talking about and you’re not just nodding along.”

You scowled indignantly and tapped three times on his arm.

“Good girl.” His beard was tickling the soft skin of your chest as he made a path of bites and kisses down your body. “Don’t worry, kitten. When I’m done, you’ll be begging for me.”

He lifted your legs over his shoulders and sucked a long, teasing mark into one of your thighs, pinching the flesh in his teeth, determined to leave a lasting impression with this one—so anyone else who might fuck you in the next few weeks would know he was there. Then he moved his attention to your already-drenched heat. He dipped one of his long, thick fingers in first, and you gasped, flinching as it plunged its full length up to the knuckle into you, and he chuckled at your reaction.

“You’re tight even around one finger,” he said. “Am I making you nervous?”

You looked down your body at Mr. Kneef, your asshole boss, between your legs, slowly pumping a finger inside you. “Fuck you.”

“Trying, but I’ve got my work cut out. What a beautiful pussy, though…”

Without warning, his tongue darted out and licked your clit. You felt yourself clench around his probing finger and relax again, flooding with warmth. He grinned against your heat and began eating you out relentlessly, filling the room with filthy wet sucking and lapping sounds. Your soft, whimpering cries filled the air, too—you tried not to make too much noise with his family in the house, but you couldn’t stop a few from slipping out. You yelped as he added fingers with just as little warning, stretching you open a little at a time. He changed up the pattern and speed of his tongue on your clit, always backing away just as the molten heat of your orgasm began to build to its delicious, irresistible heights. He didn’t stop until his beard was soaked, and your pussy was practically sucking his fingers in with the need to be satisfied—until you were begging for it.

“Please… Mr. Kneef—ah! Please let me come?”

“Now, now. You’re going to come on daddy’s cock.”

“Yes!” you gasped, clawing at his hair, “Yes—fuck me. Oh god, fill me up with that perfect cock.”

He stripped his boxers off, and his red cock sprang free, already glistening with arousal, the smooth head pulled out of his foreskin. Veins snaked up the sides of it just like his arms and the backs of his hands. It was every bit as big and solid.

Kneeling between your legs, he gave his cock a few strokes and rubbed it through your dripping wet folds. The blunt, hot pressure of it sent waves of arousal up your spine. Your legs opened a little wider without your bidding them to.

“Wait!” you choked out, coming to your senses. “Condom.”

Bryan grumbled. “I’ve only been with one partner for the last three months. I’m clean.”

“Put a fucking condom on—”

“Or you’ll tell HR?”

“And your mom, too.”

“Bitch.” He smiled, the corners of his bright eyes wrinkling. Nobody ever called you that like it was a compliment before.

“Asshole.”

There were condoms in his business card case, as if he had rather expected the night to go this way.

When he finally entered you, he was studying your face almost tenderly for signs of pain or hesitation. He worked you open in a steady movement—not rough as promised, but not patiently waiting. His blunt head stretched you more than his fingers, but you were so sensitive already—so close—your walls eagerly gripped him, reshaping for his size, and the sore, burning sensation of being stuffed past your limit was one you relished as much as the pleasure.

Your legs hooked around the back of his thighs and guided him in until he was buried in your tight warmth.

Slowly at first, he rolled his hips fluidly until he was sure you could take it. When he felt you relax around his cock, your eyes on his with lust-blown desire, he snapped his hips against you once, the smack of flesh echoing through the quiet dark of the bedroom. A deep, startled moan followed it, torn out of your chest.

You were already at the limit of pressure your body could take just being filled by Bryan’s cock. The hard thrust went even deeper—too deep. You had never felt such a fullness before, and—fuck—he was hitting something so deep inside. Something that made your whole body start to melt. It didn’t matter if you could take it or not.

You wanted every inch of this bastard.

“Yes… That’s it… More. Give it to me.”

Bryan lifted your legs up onto his shoulders and leaned over you, pushing them toward your head. The new angle made him feel impossibly large, and when he found just the right angle for leverage, he started fucking you harder and deeper than you’d ever experienced. Every ruthless snap of his hips hit so deep it knocked the air from your lungs and drew a wailing moan from low in your throat.

He clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes a warning. “Quiet. Don’t wake the house.”

“Oh god… oh fuck, Bryan, you’re so… big.” Your voice shook as you tried to speak and hold back another moan.

Unlike the high, breathy gasps you usually gave, Bryan’s massive cock was pulling a new level of moan out of you, as penetrating as his thrusts. Another tore from your throat. You couldn’t hold it back if you wanted to, when his cock slammed into that spot that made you melt. It came from so deep within it shook your bones.

His hand covered your mouth again, and a fire kicked up in your stomach. The warmth of his salty palm pressing over your lips, pushing your head down into the mattress as he jackhammered into you—you were lost and aroused at the dominance of it. This time you grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand over your mouth tighter.

He tipped his head at you curiously, and you shot him a defiant look, grinning against his palm as he realized how much you liked being gagged.

“You like that, you little slut?”

You moaned even louder, letting him muffle you. You didn’t have to hold back now—the harder he rutted, the louder you wailed into the weight of his hand, which meant he didn’t have to hold back either.

The entire bed shook, legs scraping the floor with every powerful thrust as he fucked you into the mattress.

“Take that cock,” he grunted. “That tight pussy feels so good.”

Every stroke bottomed out, hitting depths you never thought possible, and hitting something that ached exquisitely and sent tendrils of molten heat out to your fingertips and down the base of your spine.

It came on so gradually you almost didn’t notice the warm tension building up in every part of your body until it was breaking over you like a wave. Bryan tightened his grip to silence your climax, sobbing into his hand, kissing it, but mostly just letting yourself cry out louder as wave after powerful wave shook you from toes to fingertips, making the world lose focus. All you could feel was him filling you so completely, fucking you through it as your walls convulsed around his cock, and the weight of his hand on your mouth holding you down, anchoring you.

He grunted, pumping faster, shallower as your walls clenched too tight to penetrate, then just as you were starting to come down from your high, his hips jerked, stuttering in their rhythm, and he heaved an exhausted, satisfied sigh as his hot release filled the condom.

His hips stilled. He slowly released your mouth, and you kept moaning, “Fuck… fuck… oh my god, fuck. That was so good.” Your skin was still prickling with warm needles, and you felt… vulnerable.

You felt him start to pull out and grabbed his thick ass, pulling him flush against you.

“Don’t...” you panted. “I want to feel you inside me a little longer.”

“I told you none of this clingy shit,” he frowned. His brow was beading with sweat, and a sheen covered his chest muscles. His pink nipples were hardened peaks in his greying chest hair.

“Shut the fuck up,” you sighed, head falling back on the pillows. You relaxed your legs off his shoulders and crossed them around his back, holding him in place. “I just love your cock. You’re still an asshole. Just shut up and pretend you’re someone nice for a second while I catch my breath.”

It wouldn’t last long before he grumbled about needing to shower and dispose of the condom. But for a few minutes, the callous Mr. Kneef did as he was told and held you as the stars faded behind your eyelids, and your breath stopped trembling. When he was quiet like that, his solid presence was comforting—an anchor when you felt like you might float away.

When he wasn’t taunting and condescending—being himself, in other words—you could imagine he was the kind of person you would want to hold you.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tagged: @beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @welcometothemadxxhouse​ / @stardust-fray​ / @dreila03​ / @the-baby-bookworm​ / @ireadfanfictionontheweekends​ @storiesofsvu​ @xixxiixx​

#Bryan Kneef #Brian Kneef #bryan kneef x reader #Raúl Esparza #thatesqcrush holiday bingo #moodboard #my writing

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Finding Us chapter 23

At last I have managed to sort out this latest chapter, and I am now presenting it to you fine readers! I hope you guys enjoy it! This one's featuring Jason and a round table "Ah ha!" kind of moment.

AO3 Link

~

“Are you planning to stay there all day?” Bruce asked, as Jason dropped a sky blue pencil and replaced it with a green one.

Jason looked up from his place on the training mats and grinned at his dad, “Yep.” he answered, popping the ‘P’, “I did ask you if you wanted to join, and you said you were busy.”

Currently, he was laying across the training mats on his stomach. His new coloring book thanks to Cass and Tim was splayed out in front of him. He’d filled in random parts of a page as he picked and chose colors in a dance of chaos he was sure would have Damian’s hair on end if the kid had been watching him.

He was doing his best not to get kicked out. But from Bruce’s tone, and almost constant swivel between Jason and the computer’s loading screen Jason figured his luck was running thin. So far though, Jason had been immune to Bruce’s ability to shoo every other one of his children out of the cave.

They had a truce and a tiny part of Jason’s mind was interested in seeing how far he could push his dad’s patience. Another part of him --the part that had brought him downstairs in the first place-- just wanted to make sure Bruce wasn’t pushing himself too hard. There was really no reason for B to have planted himself in front of the computer other than because he was punishing himself. For missing the signs Tim was being stalked, for just not keeping a close enough eye on his sons, or for a hundred other things Jason could think of.

“You are still welcome to color in a picture of a teddy bear, or a swear word that has all the important letters turned into symbols, which really? Is a waste of a perfectly good swear word.”

Bruce snorted. Jason counted that as a win.

Jason shifted a bit, and pushed himself a little higher on his elbows watching Bruce, “You know, sitting there won’t change the wait time the computer gave you.”

“I’m working.”

“On what?”

Bruce grunted and shrugged his shoulders at the computer. The message was clear: Stuff. Things. Batman related work.

Jason rolled his eyes and threw his green colored pencil at his dad. It clattered to the ground about halfway between them. He hadn’t expected it to land, and really didn’t know why he’d thrown it in the first place.

“Jason.” Bruce’s tone was long-suffering. A father pushed almost to his limit.

“ Dad .” Jason said, pushing a little further.

This, at last, got Bruce to look over at him. Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way Bruce looked at him when he called him Dad now. When he’d been a kid Bruce would look warm, happy, kind of like Jason felt whenever Damian or Tim decided to lean on him.

Now, he looked a bit like a deer caught in headlights. Like he still couldn’t believe he’d heard that word from Jason. Like he’d just found his son again. And honestly? Jason didn’t blame him for the surprise. He hadn’t been sure they’d ever get here either. But after their talk in the study Jason was trying it out more and more. And it felt good. Right. Like home.

The surprise faded after a moment as Bruce’s face softened, letting in that breath of warmth he’d used to have.

“Join me, and let the computer do its job. No one will blame you for moving a few feet away for half an hour. No one blames you for missing what Timbo was so obviously trying to hide.”

“I am not going to lay on the floor.”

Jason grinned, “I’d be happy to move to a table.”

He shifted the coloring supplies to one of the work tables, his elbows and knees grateful for the reprieve from laying on the floor. Jason shoved the fallen green pencil in Bruce’s hand and left his dad to start working on a page of his choice while he made some tea on the cave’s little stove. No need to call Alfred down for something they had all the supplies for down here.

Bruce’s shoulders had just started to relax when the computer beeped indicating it was done running whatever program Bruce had set it to work on. The next instant, B was up from the table, pencil clattering onto the forgotten book and striding over to the computer.

Jason was a few steps behind him, his stomach churning. On the screen, Bruce had pulled up an image of a man who looked remarkably like Damian’s sketch. The kid was really good. As Jason took in the man’s face, his fists curled. The stalker or not, this guy was at the very least in cahoots with the person bothering Tim, and for that Jason wanted to take him down a peg or two.

“Get the others.” Bruce said, “I’m pulling up known associates now.”

Bruce didn’t have to tell Jason twice. He spun on his heel and made his way back up to the manor. He caught Dick hovering by the entrance and sent him down straight away. Then found Cass and Steph with Alfred playing cards. It took him longer to find Tim and Damian. He’d assumed both would be brooding in their rooms and came up short when he didn’t find either of them there.

Tim’s laptop was gone from his room, and so Jason assumed the kid would have probably moved to work on it somewhere else in the house. He went for the library first and cheered internally at his good luck. Both boys were together.

“Hey Short Stacks, we figured out who Dames met earlier. B wants everyone downstairs.”

Both boys looked at each other and then back at Jason, nodding.

“Excellent. It seems everything is beginning to coalesce.” Damian said, standing.

Tim looked at his laptop for a long moment, as if trying to decide if he wanted to take it or leave it. He settled on leaving it, and soon followed Damian around the desk.

“Did he say who it was?” he asked.

Jason herded them out the door, “I didn’t memorize the guy’s name. Besides, B had already moved on to looking up his partners. Hopefully you’ll spot someone you know.”

He paused and added, “Not that I’m hoping it’s a friend of yours or anything--you know what I mean.”

His brother waved off his concern, “I get it. We’ll find him a lot faster if I can give one of the associates an I.D.”

When the three of them made it down to the cave, they walked into a room full of chatter. Someone had dragged a few chairs over to rest by the computer. Alfred was planted in one, with Steph in another. Cass was perched on the desk by the computer, and Dick was leaned against Bruce’s chair. The big man himself hadn’t seemed to have moved from where Jason had left him.

Tim crowded up next to Dick, with Jason following close behind. He noted that Damian was hanging back just a bit. Probably because he’d already seen the guy in the flesh.

“Alright, we’re all here. Spill the beans, B-man.” Jason said.

Bruce grunted, but then after a moment he began to speak, “The man Damian met is named Mark Sherman. He’s got a criminal record, mostly for low level stuff, no stalking or kidnapping on his sheet though.”

After a few clicks the man's image was back up on the computer for everyone to see. Below his name, Jason could read his basic criminal history, and some general information about him like his age and height. He didn't seem like the worst that could come out of Gotham. Definitely someone who would hand over a creepy letter for enough money though.

“That is the man I saw.” Damian confirmed, with a sharp nod.

Bruce clicked something else on the computer. “Here’s the list of his known associates. I’ve narrowed it down to the most likely suspects. Tim, or any of you, let me know if they seem familiar.”

Jason watched carefully as six men and women’s images showed up on the screen. After less than a minute Dick, Tim, and Stephanie all three pointed at one of the men on the screen.

“Harry Ferst.” Dick said.

“But wait, he currently works for Wayne Enterprises.” Stephanie said, finger shifting down to aim at the information listed under his name, “What’s he got against Tim?”

All eyes turned to their second youngest.

“It might not be him?” Tim shrugged, “He could be another guy working with--” he sighed, “It’s probably him, but I can’t remember why he’d be so mad at me he’d stalk and threaten me.”

“Think harder, then.” Damian snapped, “You must have done something to incur his wrath.”

“Like I did something to incur yours when you arrived?” Tim shot back.

Jason expected Damian to return another volley, instead his mouth shut and he crossed his arms. He turned to glare at the computer screen.

“What does the man’s reason even matter? He is worth checking out at the very least. If he is not Drake’s stalker then he may be another lead.”

Tim snapped his fingers, “That’s it! He was up for promotion, back when Bruce was lost in the timestream. Except I was taking over certain things back then and more than one application was denied in all the restructuring. If he feels like his work doesn’t matter, and sees it as my fault--”

“That could be the source of his anger.” Jason nodded, “Especially if he was banking on that promotion or if he’s been passed up even more times after that.”

It made sense, Bruce had been the source of the same type of anger often enough, Lucius Fox too, and really anyone with any high ranking at the company. Tim mixing things up while Bruce had been gone was totally enough to put a target on him, one that would flare up into blame if something else incited Harry’s anger.

Bruce nodded, “I agree.”

Jason blinked, having almost forgotten the man was there. Bruce had let them sort it out together, which was nice. And looking at him now, Jason knew the man had already figured out the same things they had, but he was proud all the same. That stupid quirk of his mouth proved just that.

“So, who gets to go after him?” Jason asked.

“I--” Tim spoke up only to be interrupted by Bruce.

“You are staying home.”

Tim glowered at him and crossed his arms, “I’d like to go after the guy who’s been stalking me.”

“And we’d like you to stay safe.” Dick pointed out.

“I’ll be Red Robin!” Tim argued, “He’s not going to see me and go ‘Oh look Tim Drake my arch nemesis who’s also apparently a super hero!”

Jason snorted and crossed his arms, “I think we all want a piece of the guy who's been stalking one of our own. Unfortunately, he’s not exactly the type that really needs the whole family to take him down. I think our energies are best spread out.”

“Jason’s right.” Bruce said.

“Oh?” Jason perked up, “Are the cameras recording this because a miracle has occurred!”

Bruce ignored him and continued, “Dick and I are going to take care of Ferst. Jason you’ll be back up in case we need you, but until then I want you back on reconnecting with your Alkali contacts. Girls, I’d like you patrolling close in the area. Damian--”

“I will stay behind.” Damian said.

Jason dropped his arms, “What?”

There had to be some trick to it. Damian didn’t just stay behind. Ever.

The kid rolled his eyes, “You wish someone to keep an eye on Drake correct? He will stay because he does not wish to face Father’s wrath if I am caught sneaking out and I will stay because I do not wish the same if he is.”

The room was staring at Damian now.

“What?” he glared, “I am not an idiot. I know the way this family works, and I know my own tendencies. It was the obvious decision.”

Jason laughed, “Kid’s got a point.”

“Fine.” Tim declared, “You all win. Damian and I will stay here and be useless .”

“You’re not going to be useless,” Bruce said, sounding tired, “Barbara told me you’d been working on decrypting Alkali files. I want you to keep working on that.”

“You have been spearheading that part of the project.” Dick pointed out, “It’d be a shame if someone else figured it out before you did.”

Tim and Damian looked at each other. It was a brief glance, one that neither seemed to realize they’d even done. Jason frowned, cataloging it with their weird reluctance from earlier. Something felt off about it, but he couldn't quite place what it was.

Then Tim was shrugging, “You all will let me know the moment you’ve got the guy right?”

“Of course.” Dick nodded.

“Right then.” Tim said, “Let’s all get to it.”

#finding us #jason todd #chapter 23 #precious posts #this chapter feels a little short #but it's a good bridge chapter #and hey at least it's not two pages like the chapters in a book I read reccently #fanfiction

[mimosaeyes]

Post-176. Jon, Martin, and Basira regroup before continuing the search for Daisy. (Or: everyone is allowed to feel their feelings.) 2.1k, hurt/comfort.

I wrote a few lines of this fic after listening to the episode, but I wasn't going to finish it until I read @dathen's post about how 176 is basically "emotionally repress or die". Then I thought, oh wait, do people actually want the self-indulgent emotional catharsis? So, with @emberidzae's enabling and beta-ing, here we are.

It takes Martin longer than it should to realise that Basira is leading them out of the domain, not farther into it. Because of the way she’d begun hurrying them along, he assumed they were only a few steps behind Daisy, about to catch up with her at any moment.

Instead, the trees begin to thin out around them. Soon there’s enough space between the trunks to render them ineffective camouflage, and Martin stops feeling the urge to check his surroundings for the silhouettes of wolves waiting in ambush. There’s still a tight feeling in his throat, but at least the prickle on the back of his neck has disappeared.

He can still feel where Trevor had pressed the knife, the sharp edge of it right up against his jugular. The man’s voice had been shaking, but never his hand. No, that had been Martin’s own pulse, throbbing sickeningly beneath the blade and rushing loud in his ears.

Lost in the memory, Martin doesn’t notice the root sticking out of the ground until he’s already tripping over it. He has a split-second to think how stupid that is, how this has probably been the downfall of many people being chased by the Hunt — then his elbow is snagged by a familiar, scarred hand.

Jon doesn’t spare him a glance even as he releases his arm to clasp Martin’s hand instead. He just pulls him along, his pace brisk but not overtly hurried by fear or panic. Martin falls into step beside him, gradually regaining his rhythm and composure.

When they finally stumble into open space, Martin senses the difference at once. It’s not that he instantly relaxes; all things considered, he’d managed to remain relatively unfazed. But suddenly it takes much less effort to breathe normally. Suddenly, tension he hadn’t been aware of dissipates from his shoulders and chest.

He looks up to find Basira watching him closely. “Good job,” she says, making no effort to deny her scrutiny. “You’ll need full control over your emotions if you’re planning on following me back in there.”

Ah. There’s the rub. Of course they’re not done with this domain yet; this is only a pit-stop for Basira to make sure she hasn’t taken on liabilities.

“So you’re sure Daisy’s here?” Martin asks, managing to sound far more businesslike than he really feels about the thought of returning to the forest. “You’ve seen her?”

A muscle jumps in Basira’s cheek. Not quite a flinch, but the shadow of one. “I’m sure.”

She turns away from them and starts fiddling with her gun, checking the mechanism even though it had clearly worked fine on Trevor. Perhaps she wants a reason to keep her hands busy. Perhaps she wants to hide her face.

Martin leaves her to it and turns to Jon. He’s about to say something at random, anything to afford Basira the illusion of privacy, but the words die on his lips as Jon lets go of his hand and throws his arms around Martin.

He’s hugging back before he has time to fully register what’s happening. “Jon?” His voice squeaks from how tightly Jon is squeezing. “What’s wrong?”

Jon mumbles something against the crook of his neck. He can’t quite make out what it is. He catches sorry and couldn’t and so scared. Jon is trembling, he realises. It makes his heart lurch. He rubs a hand over his back in what he hopes is a soothing way.

After a long moment, Jon pulls back, gripping his arm with one hand while the other goes to the side of Martin’s face. “Are you alright?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

Martin shakes his head. “I, I don’t think so.” But Jon checks anyway, running his fingers lightly over his neck to check for the smallest nick. Martin shivers at the gentle touch.

Then Jon tugs his long sleeve down over his knuckles and starts dabbing at Martin’s cheek and chin, which is when it hits Martin that the damp feeling there isn’t nervous sweat, but the spray of Trevor’s blood from the gunshot that had killed him.

He reels away from Jon — or he tries to, but Jon holds him steady. “Don’t look,” he says softly. “It’s okay, just look at me. It’s okay.” There’s something quietly insistent in his tone that makes Martin go still. Let me do this for you, it seems to say. Let me spare you this.

So he does. Instead of thinking about what happened, instead of peering at the red on Jon’s sleeve in his peripheral vision, Martin watches his face. Part of him is braced for the slightest wrinkling of his nose, indicating revulsion at his task. Mostly, he expects to see regret. They’d come to this domain hoping to find their friends and save Daisy, and instead another person has died because of them. It had happened indirectly, in that Basira had been the one to pull the trigger, but Jon had engineered the situation and Martin had participated in it, and... and it feels different, like this. Martin’s been calling it smiting when Jon turns the Ceaseless Watcher on an avatar, vaporising them. But there was nothing righteous about this, nothing neat and sterile. There is only the visceral, ignominious reality of a body left on the ground, and some of the gore still smeared over Martin’s skin.

Yet he looks, and finds only tenderness in Jon’s expression. All throughout the encounter with Trevor, he had kept his face impassive, his voice calm and in control. Only now is Martin seeing the depth of his fear for him.

Jon finishes cleaning off the blood and without further ado, rips the end of his sleeve off entirely, stuffing it in a pocket so it’s out of sight.

Half-jokingly, Martin laments, “Aww. I liked that shirt.” It’s one of his own, hence the excessively long sleeves on Jon. He’d stolen it a few days into their stay in the safehouse. Martin had teased him about it at the time, but never really minded.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says sombrely. Martin’s about to clarify that he was kidding, but then Jon continues, “I thought Trevor would go for me. I was nearly sure of it, else I would’ve told you more. I thought the worst I was asking of you was to stay calm while he threatened me, and you know nothing can really hurt me, so.”

“It’s alright,” Martin tells him. “I mean, it’s not alright, obviously; that was messed up to have to go through, but.” He offers him a slightly lopsided smile. “I trust you.”

Jon doesn’t return the smile, though. He just looks preoccupied; cagey. Like before, like he’s not telling him something. Martin frowns. “Why did you think he’d pick you? You’re not exactly without defences.” He glances pointedly at the eyes staring down at them from the sky.

“Because...” Jon sighs, shrugs, runs one hand roughly through his hair. “Because I’m the one who’d be prey in this domain. Fear of your friends turning on you? After Jane Prentiss, I staked out Tim’s house, I went through the belongings you’d left at the Institute. I was so easily made to feel paranoid, to dread betrayal. Besides—” He cuts himself off abruptly.

Martin narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What?”

Jon hesitates, reluctant. “And, well. Trevor’s a monster hunter.” 

He seems about to elaborate, but then just makes a vague gesture, encompassing all of himself.

“Oh, Jon...” 

But before Martin can tell him he’s not a monster, smack him, or possibly pull him in for another hug, Basira interjects. “You two do know I can still hear you, right? Honestly, you have definitely been wandering around with no other company for too long.”

Startled and sheepish, they both turn to her. She’s re-holstered her gun and is smirking at them with one hand on her hip. Martin sees the moment when her mirth reverts to steely resolve. “Enough blubbering. Daisy’s after Trevor. If we want to catch her here, we’ll have to move fast. Are you coming with, and can you handle yourselves?”

“Of course,” Jon replies, nodding and stepping out of Martin’s embrace. “Let’s go.”

Even though Martin hadn’t been around at the time, he imagines this is exactly how it went before these two ran off to Ny-Ålesund together. “Wait! Do you even have a plan?”

“Find Daisy,” Jon and Basira say in unison.

Martin resists the urge to slap his forehead. “And then what?” he asks, softening his tone from exasperated to reasonable. He addresses Basira specifically: “You promised to kill Daisy. Is that your first option, or do you have another plan?”

Judging from the way she stiffens ever so slightly at the word kill, there’s at least some doubt in her mind. Basira glances at Jon. “You wouldn’t happen to have any convenient Beholding powers to get through to her, would you?”

Jon winces. “We need a key to a lock in this situation, and I have... the equivalent of a nuclear warhead.”

Basira stares. “I don’t even want to know.”

“What about how we’re finding her, then?” Martin wonders aloud, hastily changing the topic. “If Trevor’s, uh, no longer with us, then we don’t have anyone to follow. Unless we can find Daisy’s tracks.”

“Unlikely,” Basira says. “She’s too good a Hunter to be hunted herself. I’ve been relying on Trevor, mostly.”

“So why’d you kill him?” Martin asks thoughtlessly.

Almost before he’s finished the sentence, he anticipates Basira’s raised eyebrow and sarcastic, “He had you at knifepoint. You’re welcome.”

“And the other reason?” Jon asks quietly.

Immediately, Basira snaps, “Don’t compel me. Do not look in my head.”

“I didn’t, and I won’t,” Jon says, holding up both hands placatingly. He’s telling the truth; there had been no telltale buzz of static. “But you could have shot him without killing him. You could have lamed him and waited for Daisy to come end it. So I know there’s another reason.”

Basira is glaring askance, but Martin can still feel the ferocity of that look. Then, haltingly but with more sincerity than he would have expected, she actually answers. “I found Julia’s body. Trevor is older than her, slower. Which means Daisy let him go on purpose. She — she’s relishing this too much. Trying to prolong the chase. I could’ve kept it going. Could’ve followed him for days, or what used to be days. But the longer that goes on, the longer she gets to toy with him... the less likely she comes back to me as Daisy. So. It’s better this way, with his blood on my hands.”

She takes a deep breath. Then she punches Jon in the arm — not hard, but not very lightly either. “I blame you for all this touchy-feely stuff. It must be contagious.”

Jon has the cheek to smugly say, “You’re welcome.”

Martin barely hears it, though. Basira’s words are echoing through his mind: his blood on my hands, his blood on my hands.

“I know how we can find Daisy,” he says. “Jon. That strip of sleeve? Give it to Basira.”

To Basira’s credit, she barely reacts as Jon uneasily extracts the bloodied cloth from his pocket and helps her tie it around one wrist. “This is Trevor’s blood?” is all she says.

“And now it also smells like me, Jon, and you.” Martin’s eyes flick briefly to the forest. “Daisy might’ve already found Trevor’s body. She’ll be looking for something else worth hunting.”

“It could work,” Jon says slowly. Martin doesn’t miss the worried look he gives him.

Basira holds her arm aloft on the breeze for a few seconds, letting the wind carry the scent into the trees. “Are you sure about this?” she asks them both. “You do understand that we’re making ourselves bait.”

The forest looms before them. Does it look darker than before? It never gets any later in the apocalypse, so it must be his imagination. Or his mind, already being drawn into the mentality of prey. Martin gulps. He tries to sound confident about his plan as he says, “The best bait is friendship?”

“Now I know why we never hung out,” Basira tells him, but without much heat. 

As they begin walking, Martin reaches for Jon’s hand. “Hey,” he says quietly. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got this.”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Jon’s eyes. “Apparently so,” he murmurs, giving Martin’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

They hold on for a couple more seconds while ignoring Basira’s eye-roll. Then Martin lets go and sets about pulling his emotions into order. They only want one wolf to come after them. 

At the edge of the forest, Basira checks her gun in its holster, glances at Jon and Martin in turn. Then she raises her arm again. “Alright, Daisy,” she murmurs, more to herself than to them. “Hunt this. Hunt me.”

[also available on AO3 here]

[my TMA fic on AO3]

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #dasira #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #basira hussain #mimofic

[overdramatic-queer-antagonist]

Stop The Apocalypse Out Of Spite

I kept seeing these Martin gets raised by Lonelyeyes fics and thinking ‘this is way to healthy’ so here’s Lonelyeyes son Martin being an uncooperative bastard like he deserves.

~~~

Ao3    Next

~~~

fic under cut

Martin is a nice man. Really, he is. He helps old ladies cross the street, volunteers at the local animal shelter, and all that jazz. People expect his parents to be equally polite, retired probably, with a home with a beautiful garden somewhere in the suburbs. This was not the case. Let's just say finding out that his parents were two billionaires who argued for sport was a top tier relationship ender. And yet, Martin's failed relationships didn't come even close to why he resented Elias and Peter.

To start with, they were plain evil. Not abusive. Like, supervillain, "eat this poison apple" type people. Also, there was the arguing thing. They had this weird game. They would fight, divorce, Peter would fuck off on the Tundra, and then remarry, rinse and repeat. He, honest to God, didn't care about their weird kink if they didn't so clearly want him to participate. When he had first moved in, he tried to stay in his room as much as possible. Not seen, not heard, that's what had worked with his mum. But they weren't having any of that, and pretty soon, he was a part of their little game. Then there was the whole thinking money equates to love, although he felt kind of guilty about that one. At least he had money. But the worst thing by far was Elias's insistence that Martin work for The Institute.

He had only really done it to shut Elias up, of course. He was planning on quitting the next week. Saying, "he tried, but he doesn't think it's for him. Plus, he feels so bad knowing that he has a leg up on all his coworkers." And all that bullshit that Martin and Elias both know was posturing. But he went up to Elias's office to resign only to find that he couldn't. Not like Martin discovered that he really loved the job, he was hired as Elias's assistant and did absolutely nothing all day, but he literally couldn't. Elias, of course, was smirking triumphantly at Martin when he found himself tongue-tied. That was the one time he called Elias Jonah. Never again. The pride on his face was immeasurable.

There were some alright things about them, though. Martin never had to worry about money, and they would usually leave him alone, probably The Lonley's doing, but whether it was Peter or himself doing it was a mystery to Martin. His job at the institute wasn't the worst. The pay was ridiculously high (another thing Martin hated: nepotism), and it was clear that Elias had only hired him to gloat. He didn't actually care what Martin did during his day.

Well, that's not entirely true. There was one thing Elias truly despised him doing. Elias couldn't stand him hanging around the Archives. Ergo, that became Martin's new favorite spot. He didn't like the first Archivist, Gertrude. She always seemed like she couldn't decide if he was an idiot or a spy. She never once seemed to consider that he might actually be able to help stop Elias. She was doing a great job pissing of Elias, though, so he stuck around. And then she disappeared. Elias was the culprit, no doubt, and he had a pretty good idea of where her body was. He didn't care about that rude old lady nearly enough to even consider going down there to look, though.

He liked her replacement. Jonathan Sims. He was ignorant, for one, which was refreshing. The less Jon knew the less his glares stung. He knew nothing about what was actually going on, so there was no actual malice in them. It was cute. Jon also had a very entertaining habit of forgetting that Martin was Elias's son. Whenever he was relaxed enough or drunk enough (thanks, Tim), Jon would rant about how much he hated Elias. Martin found this cute too. Maybe he just thought Jon was cute. Usually, Jon would pause suddenly, realizing who he was talking to, no doubt, and prepare an apology of some sort before being interrupted by Martin complaining about Elias more than he had. Martin would bring tea to Jon and his assistants, Tim and Sasha, and pretend for a second that they were safe. He liked it.

Then Prentiss attacked. He was worried all day, hilariously enough, not about Prentiss. That would be pretty simple to stop, and even Elias would be sure to try and prevent it from actually killing anyone. No, it was that fucking table. He wasn't stupid. He listened to every tape. He knew (not Knew he took a lot of pride in that) that the NotThem was connected to it. Jon and Tim had each other, but Sasha was all alone or worse, with Elias. So he managed to 'get separated' from Tim and Jon and hurried to Artifact Storage.

Just as he'd expected, there was Sasha, face to face with the NotThem, paralyzed. He may have panicked a little bit, but he liked Sasha. So he did what he had to. He grabbed her and dragged her into the Lonely.

Which brings him to now. In the Lonely, praying he can anchor Sasha enough, with Sasha standing in front of him, snapping out of her daze.

"Oh my God, Martin!" she said, rushing to hug him and sounding relieved, "Thank you! Thank-" She stiffened. Here it comes. Martin thought. "Martin?"

"Yes, Sasha?" He heard himself respond shakily.

"What are you?" Sasha asked calmly and, to Martin's relief, not letting go.

Martin laughed nervously, "Well, I'm Polish on my mother's side."

Sasha smacked his arm, "You know what I meant."

"... I'm gay? You already know that, Sash-"

"Oh, my God! Stop deflecting. I'm literally begging you!" She laughed, pushing off of him.

"If I had an answer, I'd tell you, Sash." He answered, honestly, "But if you're asking if I'm still human? Yes, I guess."

"Great. Can you get us out?"

"Oh, sure. Any suggestions?"

"Can you get us to Tim and Jon?"

Martin paused, "Maybe? I don't really know where they are. I don't serve the Beholding. They're in the tunnels, though. So I'll try, but I can't make any promises."

Sasha blinked, "I understood half of that."

Martin laughed and held out his hand for Sasha to take, "Yeah. We have lots to talk about."

Sasha took it, and Martin took a deep breath. Focusing on the sense of belonging he felt in the Archives (cliche, he knows, not his fault his patron is a sucker for the power of love), and pulled himself and Sasha out. They did not find themselves with Tim and Jon. They did, however, find themselves in the tunnels, staring at the year-old corpse of Gertrude Robinson with three bullets in her chest and a sickening lack of eyes. They both screamed and ran out of the room as fast as possible. They ran fast, not bothering to look behind them and not even noticing the lack of worms, only stopping to breathe when they flew out of the trapdoor into the Archives.

Sasha was the first to speak, panting with both fear and exhaustion, "Was that?"

"Yes," Martin responded, trembling quite a bit himself.

"Do you know who?"

"Who else? Elias."

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #fanfic #tma martin #tma elias #martin blackwood #elias bouchard #Sasha’s in it but it’s not really a fic about her and I ain’t about to Sasha bait #lonelyeyes #jonmartin #lonely!martin #I stg if I decide to make this a full thing (probably not I’m not good at commitment) there will be timsasha cuz it’s me #tw swearing #tw abuse ment #the word kink is written #this is all just a little passive agressive so if that’s something that will upset you take care of yourself

[janekfan]

What about Jon, crying frustrated tears back either pre Canon or in S1 and Tim comforting him and helping out until the breakdown has passed, contrasted with Jon, crying frustrated tears either from being so overwhelmed or from something Tim did in seasons 2/3????

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581069

Finally! Sorry it took so long!! <3

It was cold. Of course it was, it had to be to protect the documents packed in boxes floor to ceiling all around and everywhere he looked there were more and there was no way he could do this!

Inhale, exhale. Calm down.

He’d have to remember to bring a spare jumper so he could work because as it was now his fingers were too numb to work properly and when he tucked them under his arms it only made him feel worse. Made him feel small and alone. Reminded him of a lonely childhood.

Stop it.

But Jon didn’t know where to begin. He could pretend. He could keep his assistants busy with real work, that wasn’t a problem but what was he to do? What did an Archivist do, really? Archive? Organize? How? When everything was a giant, muddled mess filed, a generous term, in no real order or catalogue he’d been able to understand. It was all just.

Overwhelming.

A splash of wet warmth collided with his wrist and embarrassed, Jon scrubbed hastily at the tears streaming down his cheeks. This was, he was stupid. Stupid. He should be able to handle this. At the end of the day, wasn’t it just shuffling papers around? Putting them in some semblance of order that only had to make sense to him? It had certainly worked for Gertrude. The sorrow and frustration came anyway, falling from his eyes and heating his skin and he was so caught up in his own discomfort that by the time he processed someone entering his office, it was too late to hide.

He tried anyway.

“Oh, Tim. Yes. Wh’what can I do for you?” It was a useless misdirection; Tim was sharp eyed and protective and honestly, it was a relief to see him because if Jon was going to continue crying (and it didn’t seem like he would be stopping anytime soon) there was no one better.

“Jon? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” And the tears which he’d managed to slow, came back full force and Jon tucked his chin to his chest and shook. “Ah, hey now, can’t be as bad as all that.” Gentle, Tim tugged him close, holding him around his shoulders and allowing him to bury his hot face in his stomach. “You’re alright. Whatever it is, we’ll help, okay, Boss?” A palm swept up and down the seam of his spine. “We’re a team! We can do anything if we’re together.” Jon pulled in a hitched and shuddery breath, nodding resolutely. Tim allowed him a few more quiet moments before ushering him out of his office where Martin and Sasha were certainly not waiting for them. Martin approached first, compassion shining clear in his expression, and took up his hands.

“You're freezing! Here, come with me. I’ll make you some tea and get you warmed up straight away.” Martin would hear nothing of his protests, pulling him gently away to the breakroom, warm fingers curled around his own. Just this once, Jon would let it happen, the reassuring glow of being surrounded by friends soothing the remnants of panic that had overwhelmed him so thoroughly before Tim found him. They were speaking easily around him about nothing important and Jon let himself drift in the current of their familiar voices.

It was cold down here. And dark, though Jon could See just fine, like he couldn’t hear them but Knew they were searching and feared the worst, that he’d gone hunting in the streets for first-hand accounts of terror. He welcomed the chill seeping its way beneath his skin, numbing his fingers and toes. It meant some part of him was at least close to human.

He reveled in the weird, sharp hunger that gnawed on tender nerves, appreciated the gravity of it and let himself sink into the deep, syrupy ache. He's on the brink. Can feel it in the heavy throbbing in his chest, behind his heart, taking up every empty space and making it difficult to breathe. The weight of his mistakes he supposed, a breadcrumb path he could follow all the way back, beginning with accepting the Head Archivist position instead of walking away. Then again, he’d never known when to stop and that didn’t seem like it was going to change anytime soon; that need for answers, to understand, to connect every dot, to soothe the sting of losing all his friends in favor of embracing a monster.

But Lord he missed them and they were right there. They just weren’t there for him anymore and he had only himself to blame.

Jon doesn’t ask for comfort, he’d be the first to admit he didn’t deserve any and is...content he thinks is the word, to wait until Tim and Martin and Melanie and Daisy and Basira decide he’s suffered enough to prove his worth and let him back in. It was cold down here. It was colder alone and the temptation to give in was so strong if only because he’d be warm again and he’s so, so tired of being lonely.

But he could get something nearly as good. Recognition that something happened to him, that he was still here, still Jon even if he was unwanted, there was enough of him left to hate. He knew how to be that. He'd always been that. Static, now always a low, persistent hum in the back of his mind, shoved forward suddenly with the Knowledge that Tim had decided to look in the tunnels.

Tim wanted to hurt him and he wanted to be hurt. To let it assuage the guilt even for a moment.

Jon already Knows he's spoiling for a fight.

Of course he was the one who would find Jon. Arse is mere meters down the tunnel and leaning with his back against the wall, arms hanging loose over knobby knees and looking for all the world like someone had kicked his puppy.

And what right did he have when he was the cause of all this fear and paranoia and death.

“Tim.” Bland recognition and it sent a shiver racing up his spine because it wasn’t like he had to turn and check, not with his spooky powers. No. He just knew everything now, didn’t he? How convenient. Tim could barely reconcile the figure in front of him with the friend who used to work with him in Research. This Jon was a slip of a man. An intruder he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. This Jon was lies and secrets and silvery scars mapping out the tragedy he’d led them all into willingly in his search for more and more and more. Damn the consequences, never content to let things be. No. This Jon was disorder and disarray, wild curls and no tie and the buttons leading up to his rust stained collar undone. There was dirt caked under the nails of his unbandaged hand and cobweb mingling with the premature grey in his hair and the nervous, twitching energy, the inability to stay still, conspicuously absent.

This Jon was a stranger who didn’t care who he harmed.

This Jon threw them all away like they were less than rubbish and the only way Tim could stomach interacting with him was behind a mask of contempt and hostility.

“Thought you’d be out looking for victims.” Involuntarily his lips curled up in a sneer.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Meticulously enunciated and condescending, strange eyes fixed to the wall in front of him. It angered him that Jon wouldn’t look at him. He could at least have the decency to look him in the face when he lied to him.

“Why are you down here anyway? Hiding? Plotting?�� Jon snarled in response, low and dark, brows knitted in scorn.

“And what business is that of yours?” Bare more than a keen hiss and all Tim heard was an invitation to the party because it was so much easier on his conscience to paint Jon as deserving rather than admit he might be as much a victim here as the rest of them. Such a convenient target to aim at, to focus the knife edged anger and rage and agony at and Jon is so good at pushing every button. It was like he wanted this. Wanted to fight.

“Someone has to keep track of you and your secrets! Your lies!” Tim closed his eyes and tugged on his hair. “They’re killing us and you don’t even care!”

“You don’t know that.” Well now he had his attention and the flash of unnatural viridian had to be a trick, a reflection.

“I don’t need supernatural powers to know you!” He saw the hit land in the way Jon’s expression slipped and Tim felt good, the rush of adrenaline flooding his veins was heady and strong. “You’re running. From everything. And it all started when you began running from us.”

“I’m not.” At this point, Tim wasn’t sure Jon was capable of standing because surely he wouldn’t take this sitting in the dust and he didn’t care. This was the most he’d felt since this all began. He didn’t want to give it up. Not yet. Not before he’d made Jon understand.

“You're not even trying!” He spat, watching his shaking hands curl into fists, watching shadows soak into the bandages. “You just let things happen to you--”

“Oh yes, Tim!” Hurling his name like a curse, Jon stared up at him, narrow chest heaving fast. “I just let the Circus have me. I just let Daisy beat me unconscious and threaten to put me down.” For a moment, Tim thought he saw tears glittering on his face. “What do you know about how hard I'm trying?” The whole of him was shaking now, trembling as he sucked down noisy breaths. “Always sulking about this place! Maybe if you’d been paying better attention you’d have noticed Sasha was gone!” He collapsed against the wall, lazy grin carving up his face. Like he’d won the game. Landed the finished blow. “You may claim to know me. But clearly, you never knew her.” Lunging with a hoarse cry, Tim snatched him up by his collar, so close to the healing slash crusted with old blood bisecting his throat.

He only smiled wider. Manic. Frantic. Fingers grasping automatically at his wrists and Tim could feel sticky warmth marking his arm.

"Go on then! I know you want to.” Jon was whispering, words tripping over themselves in his haste to spit them out. “You can't stand me. Just like Daisy can't stand me. You want this. I Know yo--"

An echoing crack followed after the back of Tim’s hand collided with Jon’s mouth.

Replaced soon after by blessed quiet broken only by Jon’s harsh and strangled panting.

Tim dropped him back to the floor. Shaken. Disgusted. He didn’t know with whom. Maybe both of them.

"You never shut up."

Jon tongued the cut on his lip while Tim watched a bead of ruby so dark it was almost black roll down his chin and drip down onto the white fabric of his rumpled dress shirt where it would dry and age and match the rest that was there before whatever this was. He didn’t bother wiping it away.

“Feel better?”

“You know I don’t.”

Shaking out his hand, Tim collapsed beside him in silence, staring resolutely ahead, lips pressed thin until Jon’s head tipped slowly forward, chin coming to rest on his collarbone and smudging more red. Even in his peripheral vision Tim recognized it for what it was and knew if he looked properly he’d see tears steadily falling from his damned eyes despite how hushed he remained. He peeked anyway, witnessed him cave in and bring arms up to hug himself in a desperate bid to hold his pieces together. But he doesn't look at Tim. Doesn't reach for him like he used to.

"I am trying." He whispered, voice immeasurably limned with exhaustion.

Like a switch had been flipped, he was Jon again. Tired and drawn. Overwhelmed and lost and isolated. Tipped so far over the edge he goaded Tim into striking him because it was the best he could expect. Because at least he had Tim's full attention for a moment. And Tim walked right into it, led easily like a moth to a flame.

What a pair they made here at what might be the end of all things.

Troubled, Tim pulled him roughly into his side, hardening his heart against the whimper of pain and the stiffening of his entire body. Jon was skin and bone. Had dropped at least two stone he couldn't afford to lose. Tim had watched it happen and done nothing.

There were no apologies exchanged and when Tim dragged him stumbling into the light of the Archives, no one commented on the split lip or the new bruise or the blood dried and flaking that traced his jaw.

Jon was just a stranger.

No one cared if he'd been harmed.

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #tim stoker #depression #anxiety #bad mental health #self harm #in the way of asking for it #tim slaps him #angst #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #jon is in a bad way #he doesn't know what to do about it

[kimberly-spirits13]

Brainwashed HC (Request)

Dick:

·      For most of these you went missing during a mission or something

·      This time it was no different

·      You guys were on a mission overseas and you were lost

·      Robin was freaking out the entire time once you didn’t show

·      Like it was to the point where he started yelling at none other than Wally at one point

·      Bruce was so concerned that he actually called for a full, world- wide League search

·      Yeah that was intense

·      Everyone was really upset about it since you were one of the wicked smart and super nice teammates

·      Like everyone’s best friend kinda thing

·      When you two finally were fighting, it was like two minds vs each other

·      You guys knew each other’s weaknesses but he didn’t want to use them on you

·      You were brainwashed by a branch of the League of Assassins however so you really couldn’t care less

·      It wasn’t until his mask tore off some that you snapped out of it before killing him

·      When he saw the chance, he knocked you out with knock out gas if you didn’t already pass out

·      He was in the med bay for a while and you were in rehabilitation

·      The League was keeping very close tabs on you including sending you to Canary

·      They were finally convinced that you were fine in the sense of “unbrainwashed” and you got to go back to the team and Robin

·      Lots of make-up time

·      He was really understanding but you felt terrible

·      In your mind it was because of your own stupidity and carelessness on a mission and weak will power during your time near the League of Assassins that you almost killed Dick

·      You wouldn’t say anything about the late nights and nightmares until he started getting suspicious of the bags under your eyes and jitteriness

·      He confronted you about it when one night on a hunch, he snuck out into the kitchen where you were and confronted you

·      Sleeps with you now

Conner:

·      Kidnapped by Lex

·      There was speculation and everyone really thought that he did it, but there wasn’t really any evidence

·      You were missing for 5 months being brainwashed by the best scientists from all over the nation

·      That was the worst thing to ever happen to you and you’d seen your entire team die

·      He finally found you and dropped all precautions, running to you to try and hug you

·      Haha

·      *A mistake was made*

·      You took out the kryptonite real quick

·      Like girl took that out faster than Flash could run three feet

·      He was floored, very literally actually

·      You had high-powered kryptonite brass spiked knuckles and used them to their demise

·      You were about to blow the final punch when you stopped, giving someone that had just turned up a chance to tase you

·      You woke up a few days later after a surgery that would take the chip out of you that was controlling you

·      There were scans to make sure nothing else was implanted into you

·      You actually seriously felt like the worst human on the planet and you had fought Joker before

·      That was saying a lot

·      Conner was very sympathetic actually and you were afraid that he’d not trust you anymore

·      He understood what it was like to be controlled against his own will

·      Gave you the biggest hug the first time you walked out of the med bay

·      You could not breathe

·      You don’t seriously remember much if you were brainwashed by Lex

·      Probably so that you couldn’t do anything about it

·      You do remember however, seeing Conner almost beaten to death and lemme say, that is not a good image to have burned into your mind every time you close your eyes or give him a small glance

·      You seriously would not train with him for the longest time after that

·      The next time you saw Luthor, you wanted to cry but instead had to be held back so you didn’t literally kill him

·      *Side note* I find it ridiculous that he has been seen by so many witnesses fighting Superman and being on the wrong side of the law and still isn’t incarcerated for life

·      When you finally did train with him, he pulled you aside and you watched movies and chilled for the rest of the day since he knew that was draining

Tim:

·      Kidnapped by the Injustice League

·      Joker was heavily involved, but the rest of the crew didn’t want him turning you into a mini him because that wasn’t any fun

·      You actually are very thankful they weren’t cool with that even if they tortured you

·      Tim got even less sleep and would often just wake up on the floor or somewhere

·      Bruce went batdad insane and raised hell to find you so Timmy would go to sleep

·      Finally, were reunited on a covert- opps mission cause those never go as planned

·      He was almost in tears tbh

·      Probably cried on the way home

·      It was of course kind of hard to beat him but you knew his weak points and how to manipulate that sleep deprived Robin

·      Once you snapped out of it, Joker was the one to try and finish you off

·      Both of you were in the med bay for a few days

·      I think he would be so relieved the first few weeks or maybe months he wouldn’t leave you for a minute

·      If you guys weren’t attached at the hip before, you were now

·      He wanted to make sure that you felt safe

·      I kind of think that there might be the slight chance he would be a bit distant sometimes depending on how deep your manipulation went

·      Snapped out of it once he started hearing you screaming at night upon waking up

·      He would come into your bedroom to see you just pale, shaking, and usually in the corner of your room huddled

·      Protective mode would just spark up immediately

·      He’d sit with you for as long as needed and then either take you to his room or stay in your room

·      You could not look him in the eyes for a few days which hurt both of you but it was understandable on all levels

Bart:

·      Kidnapped by the Reach walking to the Zeta tubes one day after school

·      Bart was worried when you never came home and didn’t pick up the phone

·      Eventually days turned into weeks and upon fighting one of the Reach soldiers or henchmen, it was subtly dropped that you were taken captive

·      He honestly hoped that it was for hostage and not anything else

·      Poor boi had soooo much anxiety and his energy level dropped

·      Then you fought him

·      He rushed to you and you suddenly just dropped kicked him

·      Could not believe he’d see the day you’d ever try and kill him

·      You had the look of fury but also regret like you were fighting yourself the entire time

·      You had a knife to his throat when suddenly panic came over you

·      It was like voices screaming in your head and the area around was spinning

·      You dropped the knife and stammered away, collapsing a few seconds later

·      As much as he had been so eager to get you home, he didn’t really trust you fully again for a time

·      He had seen what happened with the Reach in the future and didn’t want you a part of it

·      Eventually you confronted him in tears over it and said that he was from the future, he should know if you went rouge later

·      He felt horrible and tried to make it up to you in every way known to man

·      You accepted it but were in a state of complete inner turmoil for the longest time

·      Anxiety, panic attacks, probably slight or noticeable depression for everyone

·      That crap was traumatic

·      You weren’t cool around as many people as you used to be

·      It was understandable and the road to recovery was long

Okay, I really loved this request cause it was a real think about it kind of thing. Like not really in a hard way, just kind of, these are the advantages that this person would have over one of the characters since they’d know their weaknesses and how to handle them. Anyways, I hope you guys are doing great, I have a few things coming your way that aren’t just requests. Oh, I think I do plan on writing at least The Summer Solstice Museum and then maybe later the Rouge Goddess one or both at the same time it just depends on work this summer. I hope you guys have a great week and are doing good and staying safe!

#batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batfam #young justice x reader #young justice #young justice robin #young justice robin x reader #tim drake x reader #tim drake x y/n #tim drake #tim drake imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x y/n #bart allen x reader #bart allen #conner kent x reader #conner kent #superboy x reader