#Tim getting his shit rocked and then reaching into his mouth to pull out his permanent retainer wire would be so badass tho

[frownyalfred]

Batfamily fics need to start including all the times the Batkids would absolutely bust their teeth on something.

Goon hit you wrong? Cracked tooth. Face planted on that last flip? That’s a knocked out tooth for sure. One bad kick across the face during a spar and you’re spitting blood on the mats with your front teeth shoved the wrong direction back into your gums.

Bruce avoids this by having no real teeth. The Batkids learn about the benefits of mouth guards via trial and error.

[dumbbitch88]

Patience (Tim Wright x Fem! Reader)

NSFW One-shot

Author's note: I have never posted any of my content before so let's pray I keep up and actually finish more of my works

Content/Warnings: Light swearing, unprotected sex, creampie, cock warming, dubcon, no build up, Tim my beloved - Minors DNI!

It felt like it'd been hours, sitting in his lap with the head of his cock pressing against her cervix. Her head was resting on his shoulder and her arms were wrapped around him, resting on the back of the hardwood chair. This had to be torture, right? Forced to sit there for god knows how long as the man underneath her did paperwork, humming to himself every so often. Carefully, she started rocking her hips, letting out a small whimper at the friction. A rough hand grabbed her hip, stilling her movements. "Doll face~" The man's voice was dark and sweet, his eyes glued to the paper on the desk in front of him. "I told you to be patient." He reminded her, voice lowering oh so slightly at her final warning. She let out a whine, pressing her face into the shoulder of his red flannel button up. "Tim..." She begged, sounding pathetic and needy.

The hand on her hip squeezed, calloused fingers digging into her skin. "A few more minutes." He assured her in a softer tone. A few more minutes? Yeah, she could wait a few more minutes. She could be good. When she didn't move anymore, Tim took his hand away from her hip and went back to his paperwork. "Such a good girl, Y/n." Tim cooed as he wrote, earning a whimper from the girl on top of him. Y/n pressed her face into his shoulder again, letting out a shaky breath. Just a few more minutes, she reminded herself as she forced herself to sit still. She tried focusing on anything else, the sound of pen on paper, Tim's arms around her. It was so hard, especially with how full she felt. Her walls squeezed around his length and she could feel Tim's arm twitch in response.

After what felt like another eternity, she heard his pen rest against the desk and her heart rate sped up at the feeling of his hands grabbing her hips. Finally. Oh finally, she'd get what she wanted. Tim rocked his hips forward, testing the waters and he could feel his cock get squeezed again. A puddle of slick had formed in his lap, dripping from her cunt, down his length and he couldn't help but smirk. "Shit... you're so wet." He commented, rocking his hips upward to grind into her. Y/n's head fell back and she let out a needy moan. A hand moved from her hips and her hair was grabbed, forcing her into a rough kiss as Tim's hands moved to lift her up, starting a slow pace of rocking in and out of her. The friction felt so good, so damn good. She let out a other moan as Tim slipped his tongue into her mouth.

"Shit- Tim..." Y/n gasped out, feeling her eyes tear up as she looked down at the broad man underneath her. There was an amused smirk spread across his face. It quickly disappeared as he let out a grunt at the feeling of his cock being squeezed. "You're so good for me, doll." He groans, looking up Y/n's pleasure filled expression. "Y'know what good girls get?" He asks her, leaning forward to fuck into her deeper, making her bite down on her bottom lip as she nodded quickly in response. "Good" He says simply, watching as Y/n wraps her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. Her chest presses against his as she kisses him frantically, muffling herself as her body shook, cunt squeezing Tim's cock as she reached her peak.

Tim groaned, returning the kiss as he continued through her high, using her pussy as he felt his own climax nearing. Opening his eyes, he watched as a few tears rolled down Y/n's cheeks as she whimpered against his lips. He squeezed her hips, a wordless warning to the woman who dug her nails into the back of his shirt in response. With a grunt, he broke the kiss, feeling his cum fill Y/n's cunt. The woman practically screamed at the feeling before leaning forward and relaxing against Tim again. His arms were wrapped loosely around her waist now as they caught their breath. "Is that what you wanted?" "Yes..." Y/n's arms hung limply around his neck as she shuddered, breathing heavily.

After a moment of silence, Tim hummed, moving a hand to lift Y/n's head just enough that he could kiss her forehead. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" He asked, earning a small nod in response.

[musings-and-fandoms]

Lust

Heyo! I hope you enjoy this fic. It's my first time writing something like this lol.

Rating: M

Characters: Dick x reader

Dick and you were sitting on the couch trying to be secrete with your flirting and cuddling with Tim and Damian in the kitchen a few feet away from you two. The siblings could sense that you needed some privacy and Tim spoke,

                “Tim, I think an evening drive would be lovely tonight, yes? We could see the sunset, I know how you love the Gotham sunset,” Tim snorted and played a long.

                “Yes, that sounds wonderful! Will you two be alright if we went?” he addressed you and Dick. You nodded eagerly. Damian went to grab the car keys from the hook at the door. “We shouldn’t be more than an hour or so, you two have fun,” They left in a hurry.

                “Fucking finally!” You said. “I thought we’d never get some time to ourselves tonight,” Dick laughed and pulled you into his lap and went for a kiss. It was electric and needy. Tongues danced around each other as they tried to swallow the other into the kiss. You sighed heavily and gently bit Dick’s bottom lip, sucking on it causing Dick to let out a deep groan. You two broke apart panting heavily; staring into each other’s eyes for a moment before going back to another needy kiss.

                “I’ve got to have you,” you said. “Please,” Your hands worked on his belt undoing it with ease with quick nimble fingers. Dick could feel himself getting aroused and painfully hard from the friction of your thighs rubbing against him as you two made out sloppily. He hisses as you cupped his bulge through his boxers and Dick leaned into the touch.

                Dick wasted no time in getting your clothing off fully, being thrown across the room haphazardly. Dick moved his mouth to your neck and sucked and gently bit at the soft skin. You mewled in pleasure, your body on fire as Dick gave a series of kisses down your collar bone where he bit hard, causing you to yelp and jump.

                “Sorry, too hard?” he mumbled as he steadied your hips against his and rocked into yours. (Y/N) let out a soft sigh at the movement.

                “N-no, love. I will definitely have a love bite there tomorrow,” You toyed with Dick’s nipples; twisting and pinching them causing the clone to let out a small hiss of pleasure.

                “You’re a tease, babe,” he said as he took one of your breasts into his mouth and sucked hard.  You let out a louder moan as your sensitive nipple was being played with in Dick’s mouth. There would be another hickey there as well.

 Heat swelled in your lower belly, and Dick could feel your pussy getting wet. You wanted to touch yourself so badly, but Dick wouldn’t allow it—not without permission.

“I need you to touch me, please,” You whispered into the man’s ear. “Please, love,” Dick chuckled low and moved his hands down his lover’s body slowly teasing the hot flesh with feather light touches causing you to arch into the touch. “Shit, Dick,”

Dick reached the hem of the panties that you wore and paused for a moment to look at them. They were light blue with a small bow and lace trim; he couldn’t wait to take them off, but there would be enough time. Using one of his fingers, Dick rubbed a knuckle against the soft fabric and noticed how wet you were already. You involuntarily pushed into his touch letting out a needy moan. 

                “Fuck, you’re already so wet for me, baby,” he whispered as he rubbed them through the thin material. You let out another whimper of pleasure and hitched their hips into the touch. “How much do you want me?”

“Please, Dick, please, I need you, please,” you whispered in a husky tone. “It’s been too long!” Dick rubbed your sensitive mound a little harder making sure to not rub the sensitive bud too much.

“It has,” Dick mumbled. “God, I just want to take you hard and fast, but we’re going to take our time, got it?” you whimpered, and you closed your eyes. “I’m going to make you enjoy this time we have,”                 You sighed and slowed your hips against the other’s finger against her wet mound. “O-okay, babe,” Dick loved it when you called him pet names; it was so sexy the way it came out. He captured your mouth once again in a hot passionate kiss. You both moaned against each other’s mouths as you rocked their hips against his causing an electric tingle to go up both your spines.

                Dick stood up, easily holding his lover against his flushed body and walked them into Dick’s bedroom, where he gently laid you down on the bed. He positioned himself on top of your body making sure he wasn’t putting his full weight on yours.

                “Hey,” you quietly said as you made eye contact in the moment. Strong emotions welled up inside their chest which you could only describe as passion and love for your lover. “I’m so lucky to have you,”

Dick cupped your face in his hands and gently kissed your forehead tenderly.

“So am I,” Dick replied before giving you another gentle kiss on the lips. You kissed repeatedly like you couldn’t get enough of each other. Dick slipped a hand in between your thighs once again rubbing at your sex gently; causing you to sigh against his mouth. He could feel your want, and it only drove him crazier, but Dick pulled himself together. How he wanted to just wreck his you until your body gave out from pleasure.

You moved their hips against the fingers that were currently driving you mad trying to get more friction or anything. Dick really knew how to tease you to drive you crazy carnally. You needed more of him; you wanted to meld into Dick’s body to become one with him. You just needed Dick and only Dick.

“Dick, please, I need you,” you moaned. “Please,”

Dick chuckled as he kissed your stomach making a trail down to your panties. “Since you asked so nicely,” He hooked his fingers along the elastic and in one quick motion pulled them off your body and tossed it on the floor. With no time wasted, Dick gave one strong lick to your weeping cunt; causing you to cry out in pleasure and arch off the bed.

“Fuck! A little warning would’ve been nice,” you panted. The man only chuckled as he continued to lick and suck at the sensitive flesh. It drove you crazy.

Dick could hear you moaning and cursing under your breath as he continued to eat you out. He ran his tongue down your slit, circling the entrance which was soaking wet already. Going back up to your clit, which was swollen, Dick licked it with earnest. You arched off the bed; crying out at the intensity of pleasure you were feeling throughout your body. It was maddening; all you could do was make noise and ride the waves. You were already so close to the edge, and you knew Dick could tell by the way he was sucking at your sensitive flesh.

“Dick, Dick, Dick,” you chanted over and over again as you could feel your climax approaching just from his mouth on your cunt. “I’m close, I’m so close,” Finally, you felt your orgasm approach and it hit hard. Pleasure crashed throughout your body causing you to spasm and cry out loudly. You felt like had been cumming for minutes as Dick didn’t let up their onslaught against your pussy until you had to forcefully push him away.

                “Oh, fucking hell,” you repeated and squirmed as the orgasm subsided, but you still felt the high of the aftershocks. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you tried to calm your breathing down. “Fuck, holy fucking shit. That was amazing, Dick,” The euphoria of the climax made you dizzy but in a good way.

                Dick felt pride in what he caused. He always loved seeing you in throws of pleasure that he created. Moving back up your body, leaving kisses here and there, he captured your mouth once again in a kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips and you licked Dick’s bottom lip getting more of yourself.

                “If you think that was amazing, just you wait until I’m fucking you hard into the mattress,” he mumbled into the kiss. That sent a shiver down your spine. “Ready for round two?” You nodded eagerly.

                Dick repositioned himself in between your legs, focused on the task at hand. He slipped one finger into your hot wet entrance pumping it in and out. Once he deemed it okay, a second finger was added. You groaned at the second intrusion and clamped down around the two digits. With the other hand, Dick gently rubbed circles on your clit. Dick took his time opening you up to be able to take his thick member. Crooking his fingers up against your wet walls, Dick brushed against the spot where he knew would drive you mad.

                “Oh shit, Dick,” you moaned and pushed down harder against his fingers. “Yeah, right there, baby,” He sped up with movements until only the room was filled with your moans and the wetness of your pussy as he fingers fucked you. Your cries got louder as they were once again nearing the edge of bliss. Dick didn’t let up; he knew you were close as he rubbed your clit harder and added a third finger inside. That sent you over. You screamed in pleasure as waves of an intense orgasm crashed through your body.

                Dick groaned at the sight of his lover in the throes of passion. Just seeing you in pure bliss almost sent him over the edge too, but luckily, he controlled himself. Warm liquid oozed out of your entrance coating his hand and the bed; he had made you squirt. He removed his fingers and tasted you on them. Another groan escaped him as he sucked on his fingers.

You lay on the bed panting as you rode your last bit of high. “Fuck,” you whispered. “That was fucking amazing, Dick,” Dick smiled at you; happy that they could bring such pleasure to you.

“We’re just getting started, love,” he said. “Do you need a minute to gather yourself?” You laughed at the question and shook your head; you were ready for another round. Dick took your legs and hooked them over his arms as he was guided by you into your hot core slowly. He moaned loudly and tried to keep himself from cumming from the sheer intensity of your hot and wet canal. You squeezed yourself around Dick’s large member a couple of times to test the waters. Every time, you could never get used to his cock being so big. You hissed in a combination of pleasure and pain. “You alright?” he asked.

“Y-yeah, it’s just been a while,” you replied. “Forgot how big you are,” Dick leaned down and kissed you, hoping it would help through the process of entering. When Dick was fully sheathed inside of you, he waited to get the all clear; giving you time to adjust to his size. You moved your hips slowly testing out the waters with each gentle thrust. Dick’s member brushed against the spot inside you deliciously and you couldn’t help but to let out a breathy moan and arched into the movement.

“You need to go faster,” you said and met his hips in a thrust. “Please, shit, go harder and faster,” Dick took that cue to do such that. He picked up his pace and threw your legs over each shoulder to get a deeper angle. All you could do was writhe under the man’s merciless pounding. The room was filled with moans and skin slapping against skin as you both chased your orgasms. Each thrust from Dick filled you to the brim over and over again. You cried out unintelligible noises, digging your heels into Dick’s shoulders as he met his every thrust into your core.

Dick was losing his control of himself. Seeing you in the throes of wanton bliss and need drove him to go harder and harder. He slipped out and without any warning, flipped you onto your stomach and entered you again in one smooth motion. You buried your face into the pillow, biting it. The new angle that Dick was pounding you with was deep and aggressive—the way you liked it. All you could do was grab the headboard and seek out your pleasure.

 You could feel Dick was closing to his climax and you wanted to be able to come together. It was like Dick knew what you wanted, and he reached around to your front and vigorously rubbed at your swollen clit. you cried out in pleasure at the assault from both sides. You moaned like a needy whore, body convulsing with every thrust and touch your climax was coming hard and fast. A scream tore through your throat as strong passion swelled throughout your entire body as your orgasm took you. It felt like it lasted forever, and you didn’t want it to end; you loved the high that came with the release. You could feel and hear Dick behind you finding his own end as his movements became erratic and then stilled as he emptied his seed inside.

Eventually, you two came down from your euphoria and you cleaned up as best as you could. Dick made sure that you were doing alright after the many rounds of orgasms you had. Lying in the bed, basking in the afterglow of the escapades, half asleep, you two talked quietly to one another until you both drifted off to sleep.

[jadedsnowtiger]

It was so good, it melted in her mouth, as Rachel read the note attached to the cookies.

"Dick,

For bringing the family back together, 

Aunty Pam and Harley."

Rachel didn't know who her aunt's were, but they could bake, the butter in the cookies was amazing, as she reached for a second cookie.

It just melted into her mouth, it was a perfect mix of peanut butter and chocolate chips.

"What's that?" Conner took one of the cookies, eatting them. "Holy shit."

"I know right?" Rachel moaned softly as she ate.

"Tim, Gar, come here." Conner called out. "These are perfect." 

Rachel jumped on to the counter to sit, as Conner moved around.

"We need milk." He smiled to her, as he grabbed them some glasses.

"Who's Pam and Harley?' Rachel asked, as she looked at the note.

"Who cares, they can bake."  Conner told her passing her a glass of milk.

Rachel agreed, placing the note under her bottom.

"What's up?" Gar came into the room, as Tim followed.

"You need to try this." Conner pointed to the cookies, as Gar and Tim took one each, before racing to see how good they where.

Rachel found herself laughing so hard she was giggling, as Gar and Conner stripped off thier shirts before calling a gladiator battle.

Somewhere Tim missed the memo,and was pantless, running in his boxers and a wife beater using the table cloth as his cape,  stood on the table as he called out the champions.

"In this corner Superboy, the man to scares to ask Bruce permission to date me!' Tim called out, using a wine flash as a microphone as he walked around in just his wife beater.

"I don't need permission." Conner smerked, his arms crossed.

"In the other corner, we have Beast Man! Who would fuck a rock if we let him." 

Rachel just laughed, as Gar didn't argue back, as she cheered from the counter top.

"Go!" Tim called out, moving out of the way, as he stumbled on his cape, falling backwards, off the table. "I am Okay!" 

Rachel watched as Conner tackled Gar, tossing him over his head.

"Hah!" Conner cried out, spinning around as Gar yelled.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Rachel turned to see Dick standing in the door way, fully armored, but his mask off.

"You guys are screaming so loud, we came running."

"Save me Nightwing!" Gar cried, as he was spinned around by Conner.

"Conner stop." Dick walked into the room, looking at Tim. "Where are your pants?'

"Tiger ate them." Tim smiled sweetly, as he flashed his cape.

"Did you guys get into something?" Dick asked gently, pulling Gar from Conner reach, setting him on the floor.

"I got into your porn." Conner smiled, as he leaned over the counter, looking up Rachel's skirt.

"You have some strange taste man." Gar nodded, getting off the floor.

"Okay... I am not unpacking that." Dick shook his head, turning to Rachel.

"Hi, Daddy." She smiled, as she sat down on the counter, pushing Conner.

"Hi, Fiica." Dick smiled warmly to her, as he walked to her. "Have you been drinking?"

Rachel just smiled, as she shook her head.

"No, but this note is for you." She pointed to the counter, as Dick looked over the note.

"Where are the cookies, Baby girl?" He asked softly, smiling at her.

"In my tummy." Rachel nodded, as she pointed to her stomach, her vision was starting to tunnel.

Dick broke out laughing, as he turned to Tim.

"You know who made these?"

"You did, because you love us." Tim nodded.

"These are from our favorite aunts: Harley and Pam." Dick shook his head, as Tim looked shocked.

"No.." Tim step back, tripping over his cape. "No!'

Dick broke down into laughter, as he pointed to the table.

"All of you, take a seat."

Rachel watched confused, as she noticed Gar was licking his arm, his very human arm.

"Daddy?" She turned to Dick, as he laughed.

Rachel couldn't get off the counter, the floor was just a blur. "Daddy Iam going to fall off and die!"

Dick laughed harder as he fell to the mess of blurr on the floor.

"Daddy!" Rachel couldn't see him that well, but could hear his laughter.

"What is going on in here?' Kori's voice came into the room.

"Iam going to die!" Tim was in full tears as Conner rocked him against his body. "We've been drugged, we are going to die!"

Rachel turned to Kori concerned as Dick screamed out he was going to piss himself.

"Gar stop licking your arm," Kori asked as she walked into the room.

"Nightwing explain." She demanded of him.

"They are high." He laughed, from the mess on the floor.

"Mommy I don't want to die." Rachel turned to Kori as she entered her vision.

"We have been poisoned." Tim screamed, "Quick, Conner we need to throw up."

"Stop." Kori yelled, as everyone in the room froze. "Dick, off the floor, and talk."

Rachel sat back, giggling, as she watched Dick pass Kori the note.

"Pam is a botanist, a brilliant one." Dick shook his head. "These were not meant for the kids." 

"What's wrong with them?" Kori sounded worried.

"They are high, Pam is famous for making people high, she probably wanted me to relax so I don't end up like the old man."

"And you left them on the counter?" Kori sounded unimpressed. '`These teens are scavengers, that one has eaten cat food!' 

Conner nodded, as he cuddled the now calm Tim.

"The alarm went off, I just dropped them" Dick shook his head. "My name on the box should have been a clue."

"Not with cookies, not with these kids." Kori shighed.

"We are bad kids?" Tim asked, looking sad.

"No." Dick and Kori  both answered.

Dick press his hand to his face, "Fiica, come down from there, you all need food, and liquids. Gar stop licking your arm raw!" 

[bluboothalassophile]

Falling Apart

“HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU FINE!?” he roared angrily at her as she stood there. “I was there Raven, I was there, and I am not fine! So how are you up and walking around, chasing after me and insisting you’re fine, I was fucking there! I saw you falling apart, I saw the agony, I heard you screaming to save him, and I know a lot of shit happened, but how the fuck are you fine! He’s dead!”

“You want to know how I’m fine?” she hissed finally after Dick’s out burst. “I’m fine because I have to be! I have to be fine, I have to keep moving, there’s no one left Richard! No one! There is no one here for me if I fall apart! He was it! He’s all I had and he’s gone, and Goddamn it I want to join him, but I can’t, and I can’t because no one here is fine, and if I confess, for even a moment I’m breaking and crumbling then you’ll leave! You all always fucking leave, so I have to be fine, Richard. I don’t have a fucking choice, he was it. He was all I had.”

“He was my brother!”

“He Was My Everything!” she screamed. “EVERYTHING! He Was Everything To Me!”

“I…”

“He was my everything, Richard, and no one has asked me how am I, really? No one’s come to give me condolences, or thanked me for his service, or just fucking sat with me,” she hissed furiously. “But they give it to you, and Tim, and Damian, and Bruce, and none of you fucking knew him!” she pushed Richard’s chest then, which had him stumbling back. “So I’m fucking fine Richard, because I have to be, because there’s no one left if I fall apart, no one to help me reassemble the pieces, no one who can comprehend what was stolen from me, so I have to be fine! I have to be fine, for him, because he wouldn’t want me to fall apart, wouldn’t want me to quit, or wallow, he’d haunt me and mock me if I did!”

“Raven…” he started.

“I don’t get to break, Richard, I don’t get the privilege to be anything but fine, so you can take your grief, and self pity and go fuck yourself, I’m done, I’m done with all of you.”

“Raven, please don’t go…” Dick reached for her.

“No, I’m done. I am finished, you lost a brother, I lost my person, my lover, my best friend, my confidant, my everything, and you lost a man who was a stranger to you,” she said softly. “I’m done.”

She turned and walked out the door, shutting it gently behind her as she walked away. She opened a portal and walked into the apartment she had shared with Jason for over a year. Her hands trembled as she stood there, holding herself up as she looked at the life they had lived and built. This was what she and Jason had built, and they had  lived here, this was the only trace of them left.

There was a few scattered records, Jason had gotten into rock n roll, blues, and metal lately, and she had fondly told him to stop.

Sliding to the floor she had her breath hitch as her head fell back against the door. The tears burned her eyes as she bit her lip. Goddamn her idiot, her hero, her man, he was so ridiculously brave and determined, and so fucking reckless, a goddamn Gryffindor through and through even if the rest of the world hadn’t appreciated him. Jason was the hero everyone wanted to proclaim to be, he was a fucking hero, and now people dared, after a lifetime of scorning him for being the hero they could only claim to be, they dared to mourn him. They didn’t have a right to her person. They didn’t have any right to him. Weak, unsteady legs found their strength, which had her stumbling through their life to her room, she pulled her hair down as she took a steadying breath.

She caught the bookcase in the room, as she tried not to cry.

There was no point in falling to pieces, she couldn’t afford to let her emotions go.

The black velvet box fell on the ground at her feet, her knees gave then as her hands covered her mouth, the tears she had force back were slipping her guard as she stared at it. Part of her did not want to open it in confirmation, but another part of her, the part that belonged entirely to him screamed in agony knowing what lay in the box.

She didn’t remember opening it, she didn’t remember how it opened, all she knew was she was staring at a ring. It was beautiful, simple, it was everything she had ever thought she never wanted.

The scream that tore from her lips as the tears broke shattered the world around her.

~~~*~*~*~~~

The entire world was helpless as the light extinguished and the skies were died black as the void of space. The sweeping agony was so suffocating and drowning it killed people without hesitation, it was an agony no one had felt, with a sorrow so deep it never ended.

The world broke rather thoroughly under the weight of the Raven’s broken heart.

No one had comprehended the grief of the demoness, and now no one could escape the all-consuming grief as it broke the reality they were confined to and robbed the world of life and joy.

[paulbunyanstatue]

The warm sun poured across his bare arms as Tim stood before the manor’s duck pond. The birds had taken a recess, and in their leave of absence, Tim wished to capture the gorgeous image before him. Soft lily pads floated in the crystal water, a green that stood in contrast of the light pink reflected in the pond. A tall cherry blossom tree was rooted next to the water, branches hanging over the pads and creating a shadowy home for the fish that lived underneath the surface. The tree was in bloom this month, and Tim waited all week for a partially sunny day to come out and capture the vision. A petal tore from the branch and floated down to the water below, and Tim quickly brought the camera to his eye to snap the shot. His camera shuttered in effort and he stopped after the petal sunk below the surface.

He sat down on the grass and crossed his legs underneath him, hiding the screen from the sun with his hand while he peered at his work. He was so enthralled by the images and his ideas for further ones that he did not hear the footsteps that approached.

“Timbers, I need your help with something. I am working this case with Kor and Roy, and there seems to be contradictory evidence. But I think that-" Jason realized Tim’s gaze hadn’t left the camera screen, and he knew Tim wasn’t listening yet. “What are you doing out here?”

“Taking pictures,” Tim muttered without looking up at him.

“No shit.” Tim could practically hear the eye roll in his brother’s response, but he didn’t care. He had a vision now and he needed to plan out how he could capture the reflection of the cherry blossoms in the pond without having to climb the large tree and spoiling the photograph. “You aren’t snapping many pictures. Forget how to use the camera?” Jason continued after a small pause, followed by a snicker. Tim huffed but finally looked up toward his visitor.

“I’m trying to take a picture from high above.”

“You can't really do that while sitting down." Tim scoffed, and Jason continued. "You know there’s a tree directly beside you, right?”

Tim nodded with a scrunched nose. “Obviously, Jay.”

“And they call you brilliant. So climb the tree.”

“I can’t climb the tree. If I climb onto that branch there, the only one that would be beneficial to the shot, then my shadow would be cast over the grass here at the edge and my reflection will be seen in the water.”

“That sounds like a good thing. You are the photographer after all. So just flash those pearly whites and-"

“It doesn’t work like that. I can’t be in it.”

“What does it matter if you are in the picture?”

“It just does,” Tim answered as he stood up, clearly offended. He knew Jason didn’t fool around with pictures, even with his phone’s camera save a few of him and his outlaw buddies. “Being in this shot isn’t like signing your name to the bottom of a painting. And it needs to be perfect because the blossoms are perfect and the water is clear and the stones at the bottom of the lake are reflecting the sun. The lily pads are almost golden right now too, and the ducks are finally gone. It has to be perfect.”

Jason listened patiently, eyebrows drawing together slowly with something akin to concern. If he were being honest with himself, he would admit he was concerned for his brother.

“Too bad you aren’t taller,” Jason taunted smoothly after a quiet beat. He wore a wide grin that stretched across his cheeks, but Tim just grunted and looked back out at the water. He wondered if he should risk running back to the manor to grab a step-stool, or maybe even a ladder. But during that time, the ducks could return. He bit at the inside of his cheek.

Jason sighed.

“Alright, come on,” he ordered, beckoning Tim toward him with a wave of his hand. Tim’s feet didn't move and he met Jason’s eyes with a gaze deeply confused and mildly suspicious.

“Why?” He asked, eyes narrowed and protectively clutching his camera tighter to his chest.

“I’m going to lift you on my shoulders so you can get your stupid picture. Come on before I decide to push you in the water instead.”

“Oh,” Tim glanced back at the pond. He really did want that picture and it had been a long time since Jason wanted to murder Tim. The worst that could happen was that Jason would drop him back to the ground. Or throw him in the pond. At that last thought, Tim pulled his phone from his pocket and placed it on the ground where a tree root tangled furiously into the ground. Then he approached Jason.

Jason ducked and threaded his head between Tim legs, lifting Tim on his shoulders with surprising ease.

“Is this-uhm-is this okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Where do you need me?”

Tim awkwardly pat the top of the curly darkened hair in front of him. “Thank you, Jay.”

Jason grunted in response, and Tim directed him on where to stand. Tim leaned forward, his elbows digging into his own knees, and his stomach pressing against the back of Jason’s head. He looked through the camera’s screen and couldn’t help but to grin. The angle was perfect, and the picture was exactly what he was hoping for. After several shuttering clicks that sounded soothing accompanying the chirping birds and chattering bugs, Tim found himself quietly laughing through his nose. He lowered the camera down in front of Jason’s face and offered him a view of the scene.

“Remember this is before light adjustments and editing, but there’s the picture you helped me get.”

Jason was quiet for several seconds and Tim began to feel silly. His cheeks flushed and he dreaded to realize he just assumed Jason actually gave a shit about his childish hobby. He lifted the camera back up to his own eye and took more pictures in an attempt to erase the silence that steadily fed his anxiety. He captured the pond, the grass, and a yellow bird that landed on a shimmering stone.

Finally, Jason stated plainly, “Your picture looks very nice, Timbers.”

Tim paused, his finger frozen on the button. “Thank you. I can make you a copy of you want.” He wanted to pinch himself as the words left his mouth, because why would he have asked-

“Yes.”

Tim’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

“Really. Just because I come from a Dickensian part of town doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate good art. Alright, shutter bug.” Jason tightened his hands around Tim’s calves resulting in an anxious grunt from the carried. “Time for a dip.”

“Jason!” Tim yelped and forcefully gripped a fist through Jason’s hair. “Please tell me you are just jok-"

“I am. You know, the rose bushes by that gazebo on the south side of the property are in bloom right now. I think those would make a good picture.” Jason reached back behind his head and gripped Tim by his sides, lifting him over his head and returning the kid to his own feet.

Tim grinned widely now. “Let’s go.”

They spent the next hour outside. Jason pointed out things that he thought looked interesting, and Tim snapped pictures of them before showing Jason the outcome. They found a tranquil stream a mile from the pond, where Tim captured the way the water rippled along the mossy-covered rocks. They found a squirrel perched on a branch a few feet away, and Jason whistled softly so the squirrel looked at Tim for the picture he took. A large fluttering butterfly hovered above a dandelion, and Tim laid on the ground for the shot.

When Jason's phone chimed, Tim sat up and turned to him with wide eyes. "You came out here asking for something. What did you need?"

Jason leveled him with a calculative gaze, as though he were reading Tim before answering. "Right now, I need food. Let's head back to the manor." He ticked his head and they walked together in comfortable silence. Tim flipped through the pictures on his camera and Jason scrolled through his phone. When they reached the manor's front door, Jason threw it open and fished a folder from his backpack discarded by the entrance before nodding his head to Tim in the direction of the kitchen. Tim followed wordlessly, taking a seat at the kitchen island and watching with interest as Jason stood across from him and tossed the folder onto the table in front of Tim. Jason finally declared, "I will make us lunch. Would you take a look at that for me?"

Tim chewed on his thumbnail as he studied the information before him, and Jason pulled ingredients from the refrigerator and heated a pan on the stove. Tim did not know how much time had passed but he discovered the reason for the snag in the case, as well as came up with three strategical maneuvers that Jason and his team could pull during their next raid as Jason plated the crêpes. Tim's attention snapped back when Jason slid a plate in front of him. Tim stared at the food with surprised longing, since he was too enthralled in the case to actually smell the cinnamon and orange that swirled around him. Though now that he did, his stomach ached with hunger and his mouth watered. He figured he probably forgot to eat that morning... and the evening before. Chocolate, whipped cream, and orange zest topped the folded treat and Jason handed him a fork.

"Orange filling," Jason informed him, already tearing into his own food. "Eat it while it is warm."

Tim pulled his plate closer and took a bite. As the warm, fluffy pancake touched his tongue, followed by the burst of orange cream, he couldn't help but to gasp alongside his widening eyes. Jason smirked and lowered his head at the sincere reaction with color akin to a blush shading his cheeks.

"These are amazing!" Tim shoveled more into his mouth, and even considered how he would look if he licked the plate in front of Jason when he finished. As he cleared the last bite from his fork, he gaze rose to his brother's plate pathetically. Jason noticed and relented with a sigh. He pushed his own plate nearer to Tim and invited him to finish it off while he made more for them. Tim politely asked if Jason was sure, and when he received a confirmation, he quickly finished the food.

"Strawberry or apple this time?"

"You can make these with apple?" Tim jumped out of his seat and approached Jason at the stove. His brother laughed and considered that answer enough to snatch a ripened red apple from the bin by the refrigerator. "How did you learn to cook like this?"

"Alfred taught me," Jason responded, lighting the stove once more and adding butter to the pan. He washed the apple he held and began to cut away the peel, handing the pieces to Tim to snack on. "As you probably already assumed, I did not grow up receiving cooking lessons from my parents. The only tip I got in the kitchen was how fast I needed to get a beer for my dad before he got pissed and came after me with his belt." Tim became uncomfortable and shuffled at that, wringing his fingers anxiously. "It's okay, Timburrito," Jason said softly when he noticed the sudden wave of uneasiness. "That man is dead, and I know how to cook now. Besides, from what Brucie has told me, you had a shitty sperm-donor yourself."

Tim rolled his eyes and turned away, crossing his arms. "Brucie needs to mind his own business. I grew up in privileged circumstances, and it was fine." Jason leveled him with a raised eyebrow, and Tim rolled his eyes again. "I was lucky. You do not need to compare us to lessen the tragedy of your own traumas."

"Bruce is your guardian now. Even more so, he is your dad. If he minded his own business, Alfred would call child services on his ass." Jason dug his elbow into Tim's side, eliciting a reluctant giggle. "Look, you are obviously a good kid. I mean, you forgave me for what I did."

"You couldn't help that," Tim interjected with a frown.

"My point stands," Jason continued. "You are a good kid, and I know you work hard to see the best in people. But your parents left you alone far too often, and that isn't right. You and I, we did not grow up in the healthiest households."

"Your father was an abusive man, and he hurt you. We did not grow up the same."

"Yours did not have the touch of an angel, kid. According to the Dickhead himself, you used to show up here for patrol with a few extra lickings that didn't happen courtesy of some goon on the street."

Tim wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth to snap back, but he closed it again when he realized he had nothing to say. How could he deny something that Dick had no reason to lie about. Jason was right, his father was not a good parent. Tim often wondered if he was even a good person. He watched the butter in the pan come to life, sizzling and bubbling up. The smell wafted around him, but this time it felt suffocating, and it caused turmoil deep in his stomach. "Our fathers sucked."

"They were monsters. And yet, here we are," Jason nodded slowly, waving his knife around the kitchen as though this room alone supported his point. His eyes landed on Tim and he grinned. "Dick told me you accidentally called Bruce 'dad' the other day." Tim's cheeks turned dark red and his eyes widened. "I bet the old man loved that."

Tim shrugged with one shoulder, and turned away. "Dick is far too loud for his own good. It was an accident, and I think I was a few quarts of blood low when it happened." He paused for a moment, chewing on another slice of apple peel. "But besides, he sort of is my dad now."

Jason smiled at the kid's response. It was already obvious to him that Bruce was Tim's father, the man adored the genius kid. And Bruce was a wildly significant improvement from the last one Tim had. "You should tell him that, I think he would appreciate hearing it."

Tim snaked his hand in between Jason and the cutting board and snatched a slice of apple, dodging Jason's swat and burying the fruit in his mouth with a sneaky grin. "Jason?" His brother hummed. "Can you teach me how to make these?"

For the first time since knowing Jason Todd, Tim watched as he lit up with excitement. Jason had always loved learning new skills. When Alfred agreed to teach him how to cook fancy foods that differed so drastically from the Top Ramen he grew up microwaving for himself and his mother, his excitement was palpable. He even kept a notebook during his years as Robin. He brought the spiral paper to the kitchen counter and recorded the information that was fed to him in that loving environment. Being able to pass this experience to another, especially a member of his growing family, sparked new joy in his chest that traveled up to his cheeks and drew a smile on his face. He nodded, keeping his eyes fixed studiously on the apple. "Yes, I can teach you how to make these. And I can teach you how to cook other foods too. You and Bruce grew up too wealthy, you know? Everyone ought to learn how to cook and do their laundry and shit." Tim rolled his eyes again and couldn't help his scoff as he insisted he knew how to do laundry. "This pan is heated enough, we can add the batter now."

"How do you know it is heated enough?"

"Do you see how the butter has browned slightly?" Tim nodded. "And do you smell the cooked butter?" Tim sniffed slowly, and he nodded again. The smell didn't feel so suffocating anymore, in light of their new conversation. "That is how you know. With crêpes, the pancake part has to be very thin. I already made this batter, because you want it to sit for at least an hour, though if it sits overnight, those are the best-tasting crêpes you will ever have in your life." Tim raised his eyebrows because he could not possibly imagine that anything could taste better than the food Jason had just served him. "But I can show you how to do that later. Pour a little bit of batter in this pan, and tilt the pan so that it is evenly spread out." Jason backed away from the counter and watched Tim slowly approach the bowl. He accidentally poured too much batter into the pan, just like Jason had when he first learned how to make crêpes. But, in mimicry of Alfred's own response to him so many years ago, Jason said, "Just a tad thinner for next time, but otherwise, it looks wonderful."

Tim couldn't help but smile with pride.

:) Softer scene from my fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32502511/chapters/80612944#workskin

[thepartyresponsible]

I'd love to hear about the stevetonytimehop story!

oh boy. so the name sounds fun, but this fic is actually quite dark at the beginning. which is probably why i don’t work on it very often.

anyway, here’s some endgame inspired angst. warnings for a lot of referenced character deaths and also for alcoholism and depression and just general despair.

                                                            —   

Tony’s drunk the first time it happens. Drunk enough that he assumes the whole thing is a hallucination. Some dregs of his conscience teaming up with whatever base will to live remains left in him, dropping him here in the hopes that he’ll learn something from it.

“Shit,” he says, blinking around at all the assembled mourners. “Which one of you is the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?”

Pepper’s mouth falls open, and, when she blinks, tears track down her face. Beside her, Rhodey looks stricken.

It’s nice, seeing Rhodey look anything at all.

“Jacob Marley,” Tony says. He tips the bottle Rhodey’s direction and is absolutely thrilled that his subconscious mind had the mercy to bring this particular crutch with him. “Icarus?” he tries, when that gets no response.

And that’s a new metaphor he’s never properly appreciated. He’s always thought of himself as a Sisyphean figure, but Daedalus has his resonance.

“Who the hell are you?”

It’s been years since Tony heard that voice. Years and years, if you don’t count all the nightmares. Years and years and years, except for all the videos, the footage from the suit cameras, the endless loops that play all night while Tony stares, tracking every missed chance to change the outcome.

Tony’s watched Steve die a thousand times. He’s memorized it. Steve’s death has all the familiarity of sunrise.

It’s strange hearing him say something other than Tony’s name. Strange hearing his voice so strong and clear. For half a second, when Tony looks at him, he can see blood bubbling up at the corners of his mouth.

But it’s not there. Because this Steve isn’t dying. This Steve is standing tall and steady, with all his bones and blood on the inside.

Tony’s at his own funeral, but here, somehow, Steve got to live.

“Tiny Tim,” Tony says.

And it fits, because Tiny Tim had his broken leg and everything about Steve was broken. Everything but his face, that jawline, those bright blue eyes. Blood everywhere, and his face going pale, but still so fucking beautiful.

“Dad?”

There’s a kid. She’s looking at him like her heart is breaking with a hope it isn’t big enough to hold.

Everywhere he goes, he breaks every good thing he finds.

“Fuck,” he says. The world sways; his stomach lurches. He drops the bottle in his hand, and, when he throws up, he throws up in a different universe.

                                                              —

“I mean, I don’t know what to tell you.” This universe’s Bruce doesn’t need glasses. 20/20 vision, apparently. It’s weird how he still pinches the bridge of his nose when he’s exasperated. “Honestly, Tony, you’re the one I’d normally ask.”

“Okay,” Tony says. He kicks his legs. He’s sitting on a desk Bruce that insists is his, but it doesn’t feel familiar. This universe’s Tony wrote all his notes in code. This universe’s Tony is paranoid and skittish, pilots the Iron Man suit remotely, hasn’t been seen in public since he was rescued from the Ten Rings two and a half years after he was captured.

This universe’s Tony disappeared ten days ago, and every single Iron Man suit self-detonated forty-eight hours later.

Hell of a dead man’s switch, Tony thinks. But if he’d been in those caves for two and a half years, he has no idea what kind of creature would’ve come crawling out.

“And this other me,” Tony says, “does he spend a lot of his time fucking around with universe-hopping?”

Bruce shrugs. “A casual amount,” he says. “Kinda did a tour after the Accords.”

“Right.” After the Accords, Tony stayed drunk for two weeks straight. After the Accords, he locked himself out of his own labs. After the Accords, he walked into the ocean until the water rose over his head, and he tasted salt in his mouth, and he thought about the Ten Rings holding his head under until he blacked out.

In this universe, Steve Rogers died in New York at age five. Bucky Barnes was Captain America. Is Captain America. Has always been Captain America.

And he’s been nothing but helpful. Kind. Concerned about this new Tony, clearly distraught over losing the one that belongs here.

“I shot you,” Tony tells Barnes. The whole team – what amounts to the team in this universe, anyway – is eating dinner, and Tony can’t stomach the way Barnes looks at him, all polite and pained, like Tony’s a cancer patient instead of a cancerous growth, eating into this universe. “In the head,” he clarifies. “I shot you in the head.”

Clint and Natasha tip their heads together. Scott drops his fork.

Barnes chews and swallows. “Did I deserve it?”

The laugh sticks in Tony’s throat and comes out as something ugly. The glass shakes in his hand. He holds so tight that it shatters, and then he’s in a new universe, a fourth universe, and he’s bleeding from the shards of glass embedded in his palm, and Steve Rogers is in bed with him.

                                                              —

“What the fuck,” Tony says, to Steve, to the white sheets, to everything. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.”

“Tony,” Steve says. His hands are warm. He grabs Tony’s wrist, stares at the cuts. “Okay, come on. Let’s get---”

“Stop,” Tony says. He pulls away, trips, lands hard on the carpet, good hand braced against the carpet. “Get the fuck--”

“Okay,” Steve says. Hands up, eyes wide.

This Steve looks young. Fresh from the ice. Beautiful.

“Tony?” he says. “You’re bleeding.”

So were you, Tony wants to say. So were you, until you stopped.

“Please,” Steve says. “I know you’re not my Tony. But you’re—I just want to look at your hand, okay?”

“Last time I trusted you,” Tony says, “you damn near split the arc reactor with your shield.”

Steve flinches. “I didn’t,” he says. “That wasn’t me.”

And Tony knows it wasn’t. Because that Steve is dead. That Steve died in his arms. His last word was Tony’s name.

“I want this to be over,” Tony says.

Steve reaches down and picks him up like he weighs nothing, and Tony forgot about that. He forgot how strong Steve is, the trick of him.

Steve Rogers makes people feel safe. It’s an illusion. You’re never in more danger than when you’re close to Steve.

He and Tony have that in common.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says.

Says it to this whole, beautiful Steve. When he looks at him, he can see all the places the other Steve split apart, the joint where his arm snapped, the white t-shirt stretched over the chest that was smashed open.

Steve, standing against the entirety of Thanos’ army. And they were too late. Just like Tony had always known they were going to be.

“You’re okay,” Steve tells him, voice soft, tone soothing.

But that doesn’t help, because that’s the problem.

Tony’s fine. Steve’s dead. Rhodey’s dead. Pepper’s dead.

Peter’s dead.

Barnes is dead.

Someday, whichever Tony started this mad game of multiverse duck-duck-goose, is going to crash into a universe he likes, and Tony doesn’t know who he’ll have left when it’s over.

It can’t be less than who he had left when it started.

But maybe what he fears most is having to go back to the empty world he created. Maybe that’s exactly what he deserves. Sisyphus, and his rock.

“Hey,” Steve says, setting him down on the bathroom counter, running his hand under warm water, “it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Tony closes his eyes. “Jesus, Steve,” he says. “We never are.”

[danny-chase]

Big Brother instinct, Dick and either Cass, Gar, Danny Chase, Steph, Kara, Rose, or anyone else u want

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Batgirl (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Dick grayson centric, Fire, Burns, hair styling, Ice Cream, Hurt/Comfort, Late Nights, Fluff and Angst, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Missions Gone Wrong, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain is bad at feelings, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings Series: Part 11 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Dick talks with Cass after a mission doesn't go as planned.

Fic under cut

“Argh!” Dick snaps back to attention as Bruce’s angry grunt rattles through the cave. The few bats still in for the night stir, their wings rustling in the distance. An avalanche of papers fly off of Bruce’s desk, and his grizzled form slumps forward, hands firmly planted on the table. His shoulders sag under some unknown strain; as if he’s carrying the weight of the sky.

“Hmm.” Dick blinks back another wave of exhaustion, he’s not working on a case – but Bruce is – and company always makes working more fun. Besides, Bruce is on a time limit and Alfred can’t stop him from escaping his room. So. Here he is. He took an oath - it’s his job to help.

Dick’s eleven and Bruce’s a pillar of reassurance – a precariously stacked pile of rocks constantly on the verge of crumbling. He has no idea how to pick up the pieces. No idea how to seal the cracks. “Bruce?” He mumbles, swinging his legs off his spinny chair. Bruce doesn’t look up, his mouth drawn in a tight line. The ghost of tears well in his eyes. Not good.

Dick scoots off the chair, lightheaded for a moment. He shakes the stars out of his eyes, nodding back and forth, up and down, like Bruce does when he’s sleepy. It’s late. He has school tomorrow. Not that it matters. Bruce will let him skip if he asks the right way. He jogs in place for a few seconds, readying himself, warming up his muscles.

There’s not much he can do to help, but he can at least put on a little show. He runs forward launching into a cartwheel, picking up the papers as he goes – Bruce likes his tricks, sometimes they even make him laugh, sometimes –

Bruce snags his ankle out of the air, his quick reflexes saving Dick from crashing into the edge of a counter. He finds himself hanging, the world stuck upside down as his hands dangle inches from the floor. “Thanks.” He looks up at Bruce’s weary face.

A yawn escapes his lips, and the corners of Bruce’s mouth twitch. “I’m going to have to child-proof the cave at this rate.” He tries for humor but it falls flat, his hearts not in it all.

He stares up, sticking his tongue out. Bruce’s frown doesn’t fade. “Are you okay?” He asks. Bruce’s hands fumble, and Dick swings dangerously low to the floor before he’s recovered. Not willing to take the chance again, he curls up, grabbing Bruce’s forearms and pulls himself up through his arms, settling himself on sturdy shoulders.

Bruce drops his feet. “I’m fine. Why would ask that?” He sounds almost hurt and Dick’s too tired to figure out why.

He slides down easily, Bruce gently deposits him on the floor. “You looked sad.” A yawn leaves his mouth without permission, he stumbles slightly, and a hand clamps down on his shoulder. He reaches back up, and Bruce throws him up against his shoulder, wrapping him in a hug.

Dick yawns contently, his eyelids fluttering without his permission, as Bruce starts walking towards the stairs. “I’m sorry…” The arm around his back pulls him a bit tighter. “I’m just not enough.” A shaking hand combs through his hair and Dick squeezes back because he doesn’t know what to say.

Bruce grunts as he takes a step up the stairs. “Sleep on it?” Dick suggests, resting his eyes for just a moment.

“Mmhmm. It’s bedtime.” Dick’s half asleep by the time they reach the top. He’s not sure he hears Bruce whisper, “You’re a great kid, chum.”

It took Dick years before he really understood the feeling. And even more years before he made the connection that that was how Bruce had felt on late nights spent scouring for clues that just didn’t seem to exist, having worked for days straight on three hours of sleep, and watching Gotham send all of it up in flames setting you back months on an investigation.

He’s learned there’s nights it’s impossible to save everyone – hell, he’s seen Clark get his ass kicked, and Clark’s damn near close to god. Dick would know – the Titans have fought their namesake. But the Titans have fought humans and lost despite half their members being godlike, and besides that most days now he’s alone. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries, how much he plans, how prepared he is; sometimes things just go to hell and a handbasket and there’s nothing he can physically do to prevent it.

Most of the time, he’s fine with that. It’s fine he has limits. Logically, he knows he can’t be expected to everything. Logically, he knows it’s a waste of time to worry about it. Logically, he knows it’s okay to take a night off, watch a nature documentary, invite a friend over, stay in and spend the night simply existing.

But it feels like he could be doing more – should be doing more. He feels that restlessness overtake him, and springs to his feet “Bruce I-”

Bruce gives him his patented bat-glare from where he’s sitting, looking up from a familiar pile of papers. Once it would have intimidated him into sitting back down. Now he just returns it with a patented one of his own. “-I think I’ll suit up and head out for the night, Tim could probably use some back up with-”

“Dick.” There’s this exasperated tone that Bruce can only ever seem to muster when saying his name. He pauses for a just a second, his eyes flickering down to Bruce’s clenched fists and tight shoulders. “Let me handle it.” It comes out as an order, but reading between the lines, it’s a plea.

Bruce would never admit it out loud, worry practically bleeds out of the man. Guilt gnaws on the inside of his chest, though, he’s not sure what it’s even from; the guilt of making Bruce worry or the guilt of being a useless sack of broken and bruised ribs while people need Nightwing’s help. Being benched sucks, but he knows enough to compromise. “Let me run the comms? Babs could use a night off.” She sleeps less than him and Bruce knows it.

The gray streaks in Bruce’s hair stand out all the more as he lets out a bone deep sigh. Dick rolls his eyes – he doesn’t get to do this right now. “You literally let me go out last night I don’t understand why-”

“Last night was an emergency. I didn’t have a choice.” His frown widens, his face etched in an eternal look of pain, mixed with disproval. “Two nights ago… you almost…” His mouth seals itself shut, unspoken words hanging in the air between them. It’s Bruce that breaks the gaze first. “Run the comms, don’t overexert yourself. It should be a quiet night…” He stands, hesitates before walking off “And get to bed early.”

Dick bites back a laugh, Bruce hasn’t talked to him like that since he was thirteen. “Alright.” He resists the urge to poke fun, and follows Bruce through the passage behind the grandfather clock.

“So Ives was talking about the Pirates of the Caribbean movie with me the other day, and we might go see it this weekend if I have the time. Gee- I can’t remember the last time I saw movie in theaters or even really hung out with him.” Tim’s endless chatter helps him stay awake in the dimly lit cave. His throbbing ribs help too, maybe he shouldn’t have tried doing push-ups. “Dad and Dana want to drop me off, but Ives has a car now, though dad’s still worried cuz of the time some wacko tried to stop us at a traffic light.”

Dick hums, a smile creeping its way up his face. “I can drop you off if it’s an issue.”

“Really?! That’d be awesome, you could stay for the movie if you wanted to, but I don’t know if you’d like it, I mean are pirates really your thing? I always figured you’d be more into Vikings or probably aliens actually, or something like-” A red light flashes on the screen, and Dick snaps to attention.

“Hold that thought.” Tim’s chatter ceases immediately as Dick furiously types on the terminal. He punches into the main line. “Batgirl how fast can you get to the corner of 16th and Murphy’s Ave, there’s a building on fire and you’re the only one anywhere near the Upper East Side.” A 911 operator calms down a hysterical woman in his left ear, Cass asking direction in the right.

He pulls up a map. “I-I can’t find a way out!” The woman shrieks. “I don’t know what happened, I was sleeping and-” she breaks off into raspy hacks.

“Go straight, turn right after three blocks down.” Dick winces, as the lady continues chocking on smoke. “C’mon Cass. Get there.” He mutters off the line. He eyes his cycle sitting idly in the bay – he’s twenty minutes out; Cass needs backup. He opens up another line. “Batman I need you to follow Batgirl, what’s your eta?”

Bruce grunts back, he hears thudding over the line. “Fifteen minutes.” The woman screams in his other ear, he yanks the earbud out as a massive bang nearly blows out his eardrum. Picking it back up, he can’t hear the woman anymore, only the roar of flames and falling debris.

“Shit.” He pulls up video from a street camera. “Shit.” The building’s collapsing in on itself. “Permission to call the league?” He clicks through to their line of communications, his finger hovering over the button.

“Here.” Cass scrambles into view, bursting through a window. Shit.

Bruce learned his limits long ago. Dick’s finally settling into his. Cass? They simply don’t register on her radar. The buildings coming down in mere minutes; she’s going to get killed.

“What’s the situation?” Bruce yells in his ear.

“Batgirl get out of there!” He screams at Cass. She’s going to die – the building’s not stable, and he’s the one that sent her there. “Make it five minutes – the building’s coming down.” He yells to Bruce. “Batgirl!” He watches a few windows blow out. A firetruck careens down the street.

“Permission granted.” Bruce huffs and Dick can’t click the button fast enough.

A couple more windows blow out, and the building seems to lean to the side. Finally he sees Cass climb back out a window, holding a couple kids in her arms as she leaps to the ground. “BATGIRL GET THEM CLEAR!” His heart pounds in his throat as she runs forwards, the building groaning behind her, crumbling to the side. Chaos erupts, chunks of flaming debris cascading from the top of the building, as the second floor merges with the first.

Dick blinks, his mouth dry. “There’s more people-” he can’t hear Cass over the ensuing cacophony as he watches the building topple to the ground. “NO!” He faintly hears her scream as the screen erupts in static.

Dick slams his fists on the desk. His chest constricts painfully. “Nightwing. Report.” Bruce’s steady voice reminds him to breathe. His chest spasms. Shit. “Nightwing!” Bruce demands as he tries to catch his breath.

“Building collapsed.” He manages to get out. “One sec.” He takes a few deep breaths, leaning back in the chair for support. “Batgirl report.” He’s greeted with silence. “Batgirl, please, if you’re there I need you to respond.”

“I…” Cass trials off. Dick sighs in relief. “I’m sorry.” The line cuts off. Well. Shit.

“Nightwing! I’m headed to the location.” Bruce squawks. Dick sighs.

“It’s going to be a long night. Search and rescue, I’ll call in backup.” Shit. So much for an early bedtime.

“Hey.” Someone shakes his shoulder. He makes a grab for their wrist and misses, his mind processing where the hell he is. He blinks a few times.

“Cass?” Her hair’s plastered to the side of her head and she’s covered in soot. Nicks, rips, and tears decorate her costume. Dick wipes his eyes as the ashy smell of smoke overwhelms his senses. Cass takes a few steps back, heading towards the locker room. “Wait.” He had something to say to her, his mind racing to catch up.

She hops up onto a counter. His mind shuffles through the events earlier in the night. “Bruce sent you back?” Cass nods glumly. The rescue efforts weren’t going well when he dozed off. The JLA sent in everyone they could spare; there’s nothing they can do anymore. Not that Bruce won’t try.

Cass’s lips are sealed. There’s a haunting expression in her eyes, her shoulders slump forward, her hands firmly plant themselves on the counter for support.

And his friends think he’s too much like Bruce.

“Hey.” He starts. She gives him a weary look, tears welling in her eyes. Well, maybe not exactly like Bruce. “Look, I’m sorry I put you in that position.” Cass shakes her head. “Sometimes things like this happen. I should have-”

“Stop.” Cass pulls her feet up on the counter, getting dust everywhere. “I should have been faster.” She swallows, refusing to let the tears spill over. “My fault.”

Dick watches as she glides off the counter, yanking off her gloves and dropping them on the floor. Burn marks dot her hands and the edges of her hair are singed. “You did everything you could.” She hesitates, before taking a step towards the showers.

“Not enough.” She mutters before storming off, leaving a trail of soot in her wake.

He stands up. “Cass.” The lock snaps shut with a click as she slips into the bathroom. Leaving Dick in an empty cave once more.

By the time he returns downstairs, Cass is already out of the shower, looking displeased. “You took my clothes.” She notes unhappily, a pale pink towel tucked tightly around her shoulders.

Dick watches water drip down from her hair, pattering on the floor. The trail leading back to the bathroom is now mixed with water and soot. Alfred’s going to be pissed. “I took your costume.” He clarifies. “And I brought you clothes.” He gestures towards the open door.

Cass scowls, planting her feet defiantly. “I’m going out.” She reaches out a hand. Dick shrugs – there’s no way she can find where he hid her filthy suit before they get a chance to wash it.

It’s all too familiar, reading the lines across her brow, watching her shoulders slump when she stills, and scanning red rimmed eyes. “What are you going to do like that?” He points out, Cass angrily storming towards him. “You’re tired, you’ll just end up being in the way.” He dodges left as a fist flies past his face. “You would have hit if I wasn’t right.” She’s faster than him on his best days.

She glares at him with pursed lips, staring before turning on her heel and storming off towards the bathroom. The door slams behind her, triggering the rustling of far away wings.

Dick sighs – he hopes he wasn’t this temperamental when he lived with Bruce. “Come up to the kitchen when you’re done, I need your help with something.” The lie rolls easily off his tongue, though he feels a twinge of guilt as Cass groans behind closed doors.

Cass’s eyes widen as she enters the room. Dick offers a smile as she edges closer to the table. He tosses a spoon, she snags it out of the air. “Dig in.” There’s a carton of chocolate ice cream – double chocolate chunk brownie sundae with hot fudge and chocolate sprinkles to be precise – and tons of candy. It’s not stuff Bruce keeps around, but Dick’s has a stash at Tim’s house reserved for movie nights. He’ll restock later.

Cass vigorously stabs the ice cream with her spoon, a smile dancing across her face as she takes a few bites. She pauses, sticking the spoon back in the cartoon, looking up with a confused expression. “Why?” She’s wearing fluffy pajama bottoms, fuzzy socks, and an old worn college sweatshirt that’s frayed at the hems. Dick can almost pretend he’s back, talking to Donna after she broke up with Roy their sophomore year of high school.

She’s watching Dick carefully. He hums casually. “You had a rough night.” This is what the Titans always did. She shrugs.

“Things happen.” She shovels a few more bites into her mouth. “I want to go out.” It’s hard for Dick to find her tough and grizzled when she’s guzzling gummi worms, kicking her feet back and forth on the stool.

“Consider this a reason to stay in.” She gives him a sideways glance. “You did as much as you can, that’s enough.” Cass looks pointedly at her ice cream, not hesitating before diving back into it.

“Spar with me?” She licks a skittle before sticking it in her mouth.

Dick snorts. “If I don’t have a heart attack, I think Bruce would.” She snaps up to attention, grabbing his wrist and quickly finding his pulse point. “I’m fine, Cass.” Her hands are freezing. He places one of his on top of hers. “If you weren’t there I wouldn’t have been.” He says quietly, catching her eye. “Thank you.” She pulls back as if burned, quickly busying herself with the candy. He waits a moment before adding, “I think those kids you saved are grateful too.”

Cass throws a bag of M&M’s at him, he’s a second too slow and it pelts him in the face. “Noted.” He grins. “Uh, also, I’m going to have to do something with your hair.”

“What.”

“Cass, hold still.” She immediately stops squirming under his hands. “Thanks.” She hums back, tucked under an old blanket that never seems to leave the back of the couch. Bruce still isn’t here, but Tim checked in after his stakeout, and headed home a half an hour ago. He snips away another lock of burnt hair, tossing it into a trash can next to him.

He rests his forearms on the back of the sofa, contemplating which section of her hair to start with next. “You find one you like yet?” He asks, peeking over her shoulder at the images of hairstyles.

“Uhh.” She scrolls a bit more. “I don’t care.” She tosses the phone up to the top of the couch.

“Mmm.” He didn’t expect much else. Donna texted him a picture earlier to copy – something easy to pull back but still stylish. He attacks the next section, carefully brushing out the tangles, starting bottom to the top. He’s oddly grateful for all those times he did Donna and Kory’s hair.

‘Practice for when Bruce finally adopts a girl.’ They used to tease. ‘You’ll have a real sister, and if his track record holds she’ll have black hair and blue eyes.’ He’s never lived the irony down. Though, Cass’s eyes are a beautiful warm brown, so Donna and Kory can take that.

“You know.” He keeps his tone light. “Most hairdressers and their clients talk.” Cass remains set in stony silence. “Though I guess most people go to a salon to get their hair cut.” He just visits Joey. “Some people say it’s like free therapy.”

“You talk a lot.” Cass notes. He pulls up doodle jump on his phone and passes it back to her. She plays a couple rounds before the phone’s placed back beside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He already knows the answer, but still asks all the same.

“No.” Bruce never wanted to either. Barbara used to talk to him… before he left for the Titans and took years to look back. Though he likes to dream otherwise, he knows there’ll come a day when Tim won’t want to talk to him anymore either.

It doesn’t get any easier being shut out. “That’s alright. If you change your mind I’m here.” He grabs the shears, snipping away another dead end.

“Thanks.”

“Dick.” A hiss awakes him, light following soon after. He squints, turning away to bury his face in a cushion. “Where’s Cassandra?”

He turns, eyes snapping open as he quickly scans the sofa. The blanket hangs off the edge, Cass nowhere to be seen. One of her custom batarangs sticks out of his armchair’s armrest, a few inches from his hand. “She must have found her costume.” He notes, glancing towards the pajamas crumpled in the doorway. His eyes meet Bruce’s as he lets out a tired sigh.

His hair’s dripping, fresh from a shower, and it’s singed at the edges. Dick nods towards the sheers on the coffee table. “Tomorrow.” Bruce decides, crossing the room, picking up the blanket as he goes. Dick pushes down the footrest, slowly rising to his feet. His ribs twinge at every move, in hindsight, falling asleep hanging off the side of an armchair wasn’t his best idea. Bruce hovers closer than normal, watching carefully, worry lines set in concern. “Bed.”

Dick’s too tired to argue. “Bed.” He agrees. And though Bruce doesn’t carry him, he accompanies him up the stairs.

[janekfan]

Saw you were looking for some Jon Tim prompts so here's a few! :D 1) Tim decides to stalk Jon to show him what it feels like. Jon is satisfyingly frazzled; then a fear shows up. 2) Jon protects Tim from the Distortion Michael. Tim's confused. 3) Jon get lost in the tunnels. Perhaps Tim can hear him from the trap door and ends up pulling him out. They're both in bad shape and Martin is ticked. 4) Tim finds Jon after he gets stabbed by Michael. Happy Prompt Hunting!

I went with number 4! :D All are very good though

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436451

Jon was being shifty again.

Not like that was anything new, and Tim had caught wind of a bread knife rumor?

But whatever. It was no concern of his and he’d rather go the day withouth seeing him if he could. Avoid the hot spike of poisonous anger that followed after every infuriating interaction and seeped, staining, into all other aspects of his life. Better to leave him be. Let Basira and Daisy and Melanie and Martin deal with him and leave Tim to work on his high scores.

So of course it would just be the two of them in the office today. Martin dropped off Jon’s tea like clockwork and strode bitterly out of the Archives without so much as glancing at Tim. He’d delivered his warnings earlier when he’d been assigned this field research and Tim would follow the instructions to leave him be to the letter.

“He’s exhausted, Tim.”

“Don’t care.”

“I. I know. What I’m trying to say is don’t make things worse.” Tim scoffed at that. Yes, he would be the ones making it all worse. Because it wasn’t worse already. Sasha wasn’t gone, they weren’t trapped here because of Jon who definitely hadn’t turned into some paranoid stalker armed with evil powers.

But yeah. He wouldn’t make things worse.

The makeshift pad of gauze and bandaging was soaked through with his own bright blood and staring at it brought a wash of dizziness over him and flooded his mouth with salt. Before he could faint dead away he reached for his dwindling supplies and prepared to change the dressing. If it didn’t stop this time, he’d have no choice but to ask for help.

If they’d spare any.

Jon hissed through his teeth when removing the compress served only to break the clot, pouring a hot runnel over his skin that caught and welled and spilled over the ladder of his ribs. Blacked at the edges, his vision tunneled, and nausea coiled sour in his stomach. It hurt. It hurt to breathe, to think, to move, deep, deep, deep and aching in the very core of him. Graceless and bumbling, Jon struggled to cover the surprisingly small incision and wrap himself tight enough to please, please stop bleeding. Holding himself close and careful, Jon staggered to his feet only to knock his hip hard against the desk as he went woozy.

He’d stood for something. Risked toppling over for something but the pounding of his pulse in his temples made everything that much harder and the room was spinning around and around and he nearly joined it, teetering a half turn before lurching to a stop, pressing his arm against his throbbing side.

It hurt.

One of them must have painkillers of some sort. Sash--

She. He.

How could he’d have forgotten? A bolt of fresh sorrow struck him so hard in the chest it stole his breath away with it and he sagged beneath its gravity, gripping the cool metal of the door handle painfully for support, looking down and seeing it as though it were the first time.

Where…? He needed something. Needed...because it hurt. He hurt and he needed help.

“Jesus, Jon!” Tim’s whole body flinched violently when he realized Jon was hovering near his desk like a wraith, sallow and with shadows like bruises lining the sharp planes of his face. “What?” His silence was petrol on the fire of Tim’s always simmering anger and it flared brightly, blinding, such that Jon staggered a step back, lifting a trembling hand only to drop it back to his side.

“T’Tim.” He swallowed with a click, and Tim watched his throat work, lashes fluttering like moth’s wings, brows knit together in effort and confusion.

“Out with it!”

“D’you‘ave pa, para…?” Even with his tripped up tongue, the compulsion found a way to thread through the question and Tim saw the fear fill up Jon’s glassy eyes when he realized a beat later what he’d done. Resisting was painful, the static filled up his ears, his head, his blood with its continuous hiss, rising higher and higher as he tried his damndest not to answer what really was a simple question. It wasn’t about that though. It wasn’t alright for Jon to take like that, to use whatever the hell this was to pull what he wanted to know from the inside of them without a thought. To hurt them just to Know.

In the end, he had no choice and coughed up his elucidation like a mouthful of razors, slamming his fist against his desk and using the leverage to stand and confront him.

“S’sorry. Din’t...” slurred and barely intelligible, the empty apologies only made Tim angrier and for one awful moment, he wanted to hit him. Give back just a fraction of the pain he’d caused all of them with his selfish ignorance. He wrestled it down with difficulty, clenched his teeth against the residual ache of Jon’s power.

“What’d you do to yourself?” Because the man looked hungover, sweaty and sick, paler by the minute and he wouldn’t blame him for crawling into a bottle. Might even be inclined to join him if he ever extended an offer.

“H’hur’s.” Jon’s overture broke open in a sob, his clawing, grasping fingers twisted in his dark jumper over his stomach and it looked as though he was considering lurching for the bin.

“Are you pisse--whoa!” Instead, Jon stumbled into him and reflexively, Tim shoved him away, like he was something disgusting, watching him trip over clumsy feet and land hard on his side in a sprawl of uncoordinated limbs. Tim yanked him up roughly, ignoring the sharp intake of breath, and tugged him back to his office by a bony elbow, muttering unkindly, “just sober up or whatever.”

The door slammed behind Jon and reverberated into his aching bones. He’d forgotten what he needed and the pain was so bad now it had removed any remaining will he had to stay awake. After Tim pushed him and he hit the ground, (clumsy, stupid, can’t even walk on your own) it was like being stabbed by Michael all over again; a burst of bright white twisting, turning, contorting agony that wasn’t easing so much as it was spreading all the way to the tips of his fingers.

Maybe if he sat down, got off his feet, he’d not feel so ill. Yes...yes that would be good. It would be nice to rest for a moment, just close his burning eyes, just for a little while. Then he could get back to work, finish up those statements he was working on. He was working on statements? When he went to step forward a sharp pain rocked through him hard enough that he had to brace himself on the unforgiving hard wood of the desk.

What--

Suddenly weak in the knees, Jon all but collapsed into his chair, curling into himself, every harsh and hollow gasp of breath like the bite of a knife.

Half five and Jon still hadn't emerged a second time from his office. Tim was the only one left besides him and despite how adamantly he refused to care he does not want to draw Martin’s temper. This had nothing to do with his own concern and armed with the distance that afforded him, Tim knocked loudly, obnoxiously, rudely.

There was no response.

“Oi, Jon!” Shouldering open the door, he’s got a rant on the tip of his tongue and is looking forward to using it. “Drunk at work, whatever will Marto say? The scandal…” With no reaction forthcoming, no moaning or groaning or yelling Tim took a second to actually look at him, lying collapsed over his desk, cheek pillowed on one folded arm. He’s passed clean out, and Tim touched his forehead only to find it cold and clammy. Something was far from alright if Jon’s rapid, shallow breathing and nearly grey lips were anything to go by. “Boss?” He was slack and loose when Tim shook him none too gently, mouth falling open with an almost inaudible whine. Alarm bells were ringing, red flags cropping up the longer stayed in here with him and the weighty feeling of being watched made him shiver. Very suddenly he wanted out of there but when he pulled Jon upright his eyelids barely shifted and what little color remained drained from his face so quickly Tim barely got the bin in place for him to lose what little he had in his stomach, no more than a little tea really. If the moisture hadn’t glinted in the low light coming in from the other room, Tim wouldn’t have noticed the dark wet blotch blending with the fibers of Jon’s jumper or the red and rust staining his trousers halfway down his thigh.

“Jon!” He wasn’t awake, not really, body reacting with wretched whimpers and the sluggish shifting of his arms when Tim eased him out of the chair and onto the ground. “Shit. Shit!” 999. 999 and following their explicit instructions; elevate his legs, keep him warm, don’t let him aspirate on his own sick. He lifted the sopping and soaked fabric of his borrowed clothing and his hand flew to cover his mouth when he saw the damage and he thought back to Jon’s plea for paracetamol, the apparently accidental compulsion.

“H’hur’s.”

His whole flank was black with the blood pooled beneath his skin and smeared with crimson above and when Tim applied his own crumpled up button down over top of the drenched bundle of gauze Jon cried out, writhing weakly under his punishing hands, eyes rolling wildly under bruised lids.

God. What was the point of being angry with Jon for not being honest, for not reaching out, if this is what happened when he did? If Tim was going to be rough with him, accuse him of being soused when really--

When really he was bleeding to death behind the closed door Tim put him behind so he didn’t have to look at him.

“T…”

“Hey, hey buddy.

“Hur’hurting me…” Slicked with weals of blood, Jon’s thin fingers slipped against Tim’s wrists, no strength to shift him, to stop what was happening, to stop him from hurting him like everybody else had hurt him, even though he was trying to save him. Jon didn’t understand, couldn’t, and he sobbed helplessly, keening cry lancing through Tim like the sharpest spear as yet again he was at the mercy of someone with more power. Catching up his hands, holding both in just one of his own, the hot blood was a painful contrast with Jon’s icy skin.

“Hush, I’m sorry, you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, Jon.”

“Nngh…ah!” Tim lifted his hands to his chest, cradled them there in all their scarred roughness and fragility, deadweight and limp.

“Soon now, just stay awake, bud. Stay with me.”

“T’T…” rapid breaths choked him off, left him gasping, fingers spasming in his hold.

Pulled gently away by unfamiliar hands.

Strangers’ voices muffled in his ears.

Jon’s half-lidded dull brown eyes filled with sharp fear.

All so slow Tim wasn’t sure any of it was happening at all until suddenly, a dawning of crystal clarity. Numbers and instructions and bodies, shouting, changing, moving.

Jon begging them to stop, stop--

“Stop hurting him!”

A firm grip pulled him to the side, forced him to look away from the red, red, red rising like a tide in his eyes until he couldn’t see anything else.

“We’re going to help him, but you need to let us.”

“...Y’yeah…”

“Are you coming?”

“Hm?”

“Sir?” Tim took in the sight of Jon’s blood still wet on the tile, the papers and folders in disarray and stained with drops like poppy petals plotting a course of ache and agony he didn’t want to travel.

And then Jon. Strapped down, held in place, fluids being forced into his collapsing veins. Face grey and lined with pain and streaked with red and--

“N’no. No.” The paramedics were already hurrying away. “I’ll. Someone will be there.”

It didn’t deserve to be him.

“Martin.”

“Tim, I swear to god--”

“Martin.”

“--get a hold of yourself for pity’s sake--”

“Martin!”

“What?!” An irritated huff passed over the line. “If this is just--”

“Jon’s in hospital, i’in surgery.” Stony silence run through with the vaguest hum of static fell between them.

“Tim--”

“I. I. I don’t think it was a bread knife.” Tim’s fingers were clenched around his phone so hard he thought it might crack as he kneeled beside the stain Jon left behind. Say nothing of Martin’s implication that this was his fault. That he’d done this to Jon.

But hadn’t he driven him to it?

Hadn’t he driven Jon to keep his pain and terror and sadness and secrets to himself when he turned on him? When he blamed him? When he came to him today, tried to reach for him, to reach for help, and was again denied?

“Tim!”

“M--”

“Where?”

“Wh’happen’...?”

“Jon?” This wasn’t the first time he’d been awake but it was the first time he’d done more than weep with confusion. Perfectly normal, Martin had been assured, between the anesthesia, the medication for pain, the massive internal hemorrhage they’d had to go in and repair, somehow saving his spleen of all things.

“Mmartin?” The effort to speak was dragging him back out to sea with exhaustion, heavy lashes struggling to part under the weight of it and only offering glimpses of glassy brown.

“Shh, go back to sleep.” Gently, Martin brushed back through his curls taking note of the too-cool temperature of his skin and the ink-dark bruises like kohl under his eyes. “It’s alright, I’m right here.”

“I, I…” Somewhere between his protest and a damp sob, Jon dropped off the edge of the precipice and Martin thumbed away the tears lining his cheeks before taking up his hand to resume his attempts at rubbing the warmth back into it.

“You should go home.” Tim was quieter than he’d ever heard him before, still likely cowed from their earlier conversation where the only thing Martin could look at was the copper embedded under his fingernails, smeared across his wrists and gone dark with oxidation. “He’s in good hands.”

“And how would you know that, Tim?” Bitter. Frustrated. Angry. Jon should have been in good hands before. Trusted hands. Hands that may well be spiteful, resentful, but hands that wouldn’t let Jon slip through the cracks regardless.

“I just meant.” Martin wasn’t able to look at him, afraid of what he might say next, afraid that he might physically throw the other man from the room for daring to deny Jon the slightest support.

“Last time I left you with him, he ended up here.”

“That’s--” Voice raised, shouting, and even down deep Jon flinched, arms shifting in an attempt to protect his face. Martin was livid, settling Jon with a few whispered words before turning to confront Tim.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.”

“I didn’t…” Tim was small, folding into himself and sharp at his corners, bristling and contrite.

“I’ll text you with an update if there is one.”

“I. I’m sorry, Martin.” But he neither needed nor wanted an apology. He wasn’t the one Tim wronged today.

A week later saw Martin helping Jon up the narrow steps to his flat, concerned by his pallor and the trembling in his limbs and when he finally dropped him onto the lumpy sofa, saw that he was sweating.

“I’ll make some tea.” He’d purchased a few essentials to go along with his prescriptions. It wouldn’t do if he made himself ill on an empty stomach. If he listened closely he could just hear Jon’s panting, making certain to bring water along with the mug and a few chocolate digestives to offset the loss of blood still exacerbating his fatigue.

“M’quite alright, Martin.” He had yet to sit up, still laying back among the cushions, one scarred forearm laid above his nose. “Don’have to coddle me.” Martin didn’t rise to his bait, instead ignoring him in favor of sitting beside where his greater weight tipped Jon gently into his side. He didn’t resist, instead embracing his vulnerability and sinking deeper into the warm wool of his jumper with a sullen hum.

“I’m not “coddling” you, Jon.” Steeped to his preferences, Martin pressed the tea into his hands, lingering to be certain he could hold it on his own before tucking a biscuit between his forefinger and the porcelain and then another when he polished it off, probably not thinking about it.

“Have you heard from Tim?” Barely audible over the rim of his mug, Jon kept his eyes downcast and Martin couldn’t see under his long lashes from the angle he was at. He’d asked a few times, understanding his disappointment was aimed at Tim and not at Jon, at least not this time. They’d discussed the incident and Martin got the sense that he wanted no part in a repeat performance though he’d explained his attempt at asking for help was the last time he was cognizant enough to think in a somewhat straight line. After that it was pain and cold and shadow and Tim crushing him into the floor and he didn’t understand.

“Yeah.” Martin sipped on his own tea, encouraged Jon to do the same, but he was a dog with a bone.

“Is he. Uh. Cross? With. With me?” He looked up, tired eyes wide and round. “I mean, more than, than the usual?”

“Jon.”

“I know! I.” Falling silent, Jon nibbled absentmindedly on the last biscuit and accepted the tablets to swallow with the dregs of his tea. He’d be out like a light soon with that painkiller and Martin tugged him up when he hissed through his teeth at the agony of trying to move and caught him when he listed on his feet. Rather than hovering, Martin decided instead to keep an ear out as he put away the groceries and filled a glass of water for his nightstand, meeting Jon back at the sofa where he held a stack of bedding topped with pillows.

“I know.” He swallowed, “you’re here out of, of obligation? Kindness? But. But I’ll be fine on my own--you don’t have to stay.” Martin shook his head, a sad smile spreading over his lips as he relieved Jon of his bundle, longing to pull him into an embrace and relieve him of the invisible burden he carried alone. Compromising, he settled for cupping a slim shoulder, not missing how he melted under the soft touch.

“I’m here because we’re friends, Jon.” Unexpected tears welled in his eyes, spilling over as his staid expression crumpled. “Oh, oh, Jon, come here. It’s alright.” Spent, Jon let his forehead collide with his chest, crying silently, and Martin abandoned the duvet in favor of folding him up. “It’s alright.”

“S’sorry...just.” But he couldn’t get any more words out and Martin ran a hand up and down his taut back, rubbing circles over the sharp blades of his shoulders.

“You don’t have to be.” In a few moments the energy began to ooze out of Jon’s bones, the meds kicking in full force and taking his strength with it. “Okay, time for bed.” With a bit of cautious manhandling, Martin was able to get him tucked in between the sheets, meeting eyes blinking slow like those of a cat. “Comfy?”

“Mmyeah…” slipping out on an exhale and it brought a grin back to Martin’s face to see him so relaxed and more than a little loopy. “Hey Martin?” Graceless, Jon’s clumsy fingers tangled with his. “Thank you.” Cross eyed with the effort of sincerely conveying his gratitude, he spoke earnestly, if marble-mouthed and Martin felt his own cheeks flush hot in the velvet dark. He allowed himself to tuck stray and greying flyaways behind Jon ear before sweeping a thumb over the bone of his cheek and watching him drift under. Martin slipped away, keeping the door open in case something happened, and made up his own bed, listening to Jon’s soft and sleepy sounds.

“Good night, Jon.”

[bibliocratic]

tread softly

S4 Canon Divergence + Mythological Creatures AU Mermaid!Sasha, Pheonix!Tim, Selkie!Martin

cws apply - see tags

Peter Lukas has always prided himself on the timing of his entrances.

He is not there, then he is. The ward slips colder, down into single digits. Martin gives a jerking shoulder-hunch motion when he notices his unexpected arrival, coupled with an intake of breath. No noise this time, no jumping, no explications of suddenness or surprise. Martin Blackwood takes well to both shock and silence with a delightful sufferance, and Peter is indulgently proud.

The lad is, as expected, by the Archivist’s bedside. Crone-backed, ringed with an satisfying corona of misery.  It’s after visiting hours, but Martin likely hasn’t even realised that the gaze of the ward staff and orderlies has simply grazed past him when he came up, when he took his traditional post, when they do their rounds. Martin has not wanted to be noticed, so he won’t be.

Peter idly watches the machinery and tubes threaded though the Archivist like mechanical embroidery. This one seems eminently more worse for wear than Gertrude ever was. Stronger, though. Peter watches Elias’ chosen as he lies still and sedate for all he stalks the landscape of dreamers, and wonders if he might see the Eye’s favoured come to fruition in a way Gertrude never did.

All the more reason to talk to Martin, it appears.

“What do you want?” Martin says. Dulled, thick-throated. He’s wiping his face free from damp with his baggy jacket sleeves, glowering at Peter with a delayed annoyance, as if he’s interrupted some no doubt tender petition for waking. The antiseptic stench of the hospital worsens the tension in his bones.

He is perfect for their God. Peter’s so pleased the Archivist wasn’t so careless to have lost this assistant like he nearly lost both of the others. Elias told him that the Corruption had already sought to burrow into the debris of this lost soul, that Martin has taken the mantle of archivist well, while Beholding’s chosen was indisposed. And it is true that Martin’s gaze is more assessing than he would like. But Peter knows that Forsaken has long laced Martin’s lining with mist and dew-damp cold, filled his stomach with fog far longer than those petty chancers have tried to have him in their maw. That his God’s touch has been settling like thronging, subdued snow in place of Martin’s sealskin.

“I wanted to see if you’d thought about my offer,” Peter replies genially. Pushing his hands in his pockets, ignoring Martin’s radiating desire to be left alone.

Martin has. Peter doesn’t need Elias’ pretty little parlour tricks to know that Martin has likely thought about little else.

“I’ve been a bit busy.”

“Oh right!” Peter says after a moment’s pause. It visibly annoys Martin that it didn’t come to mind faster. “That spot of bother with the Flesh. All sorted now, I’m sure!”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?”

Peter crinkles his face in a deliberate confusion. Casting out his line.

“Why, what should I have done?”

Martin takes the bait with ease.

“It’s your job, isn’t it?” His voice pitches with accusation. His hands ball into fists, and he moves to standing, the chair complaining as it’s pushed back. “It’s your responsibility! You’re in charge now Elias is gone.”

“Thanks to you,” Peter replies smoothly. “And your companions seemed to do a good enough job. A few bruises here and there, a few near misses. Nothing they won’t heal from.”

Peter slides closer. Just a step. It makes his skin sing discordant at the proximity, but Martin stiffens, an anxious intake of air despite himself, and Peter knows he’s paying attention.

“I could ask you the same question,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?” Peter doesn’t sound judgemental. He doesn’t have to, Martin will paint on layers of meaning without overdoing this particular nuance of his game. “It was very impressive, watching you all. They all held their own very well. Except you. You could argue I suppose, that it’s not the same. That you’re not like the mer or the firebird or the sphinx, no added little genetic extras, and you don’t get any boost from any old helpful Power like that police officer, or the angry one touched by the Slaughter. You’re just Martin. And that’s… that’s the problem, isn’t it? Just Martin. Nothing to offer in the fight, no way to protect them. Holding them back. They could have been hurt, and you wouldn’t have been able to do, well, anything at all.”

“I…” Martin says, and Peter takes another step.

“The Extinction is a pressing threat. There isn’t time for me to wait while you finish your grave-side widow routine. I need you to help me, and it would be only fair, in return, for me to help you.”

“Oh, what, you can fix me then?” Martin snaps.

“Not at all,” Peter says. Smiling, because he is so funny, with his rage sputtering in a fog that seeks to tamp it flameless, stumbling headlong and blinded into the conversational pitfalls Peter’s dug behind him. “No, no, I’m afraid you’re broken, Martin. I speak from experience when I say you’ll never grow your skin back.”

Martin freezes. He looks Peter up and down like he’s expecting to see something different, the scales fallen from his eyes, but this is the only skin Peter has worn for so long now, and he endures the slightly prickling gaze of Martin’s Eye-touched observation.

“You… You were – ?”

“A long time ago. Before the Lonely granted me a better shroud to cloak myself in. It is not a selfish God, Martin. It offers gifts, or payment, if you prefer that way of understanding it, to those who work in aid of its ends. Benefits that could protect your friends, should something as unfortunate as the Flesh’s assault occur again.”

“And what about Jon?”

“He’ll wake up. Or he won’t.” Peter replies cheerily. “Either way, you can’t do anything for any of them like this.”

Martin gives him a scowl. Peter lets it pass over him. He knows, before Martin even opens his mouth, that he’s won.

Sasha avoids the sea.

She does not know why. Its pull is no lesser through her absence. She has dreams of sinking and never coming up for air, and she does not know if it is serenity in the ceaseless drop or despairing surrender. She marks the high days and festivals of her people alone and unremarked upon, speaks to her landward kin infrequently and vaguely. She needs to be here, she tells herself harshly. She can’t go off when there’s so much to do, when she’s in the process of losing so much. One of her family cold and vanishing, one breathing through a machine, and one… he died, died properly, and although he came back purged of something poisonous, the shrapnel scarring of collapsed masonry on his skin and the reddest, warmest wings sprung from his back, this does not settle her terrors.

She cannot leave. Not when she could lose sight of her splintering shoal so easily. Not when she’s unsure the temptation to dive down and out, deeper, further away, wouldn’t ensnare her to cowardice.

She finds the first scales in the shower. It’s a myth that any water will have the skin of her legs go slick, then bumpy, fusing into one muscled tail with her scales folding outwards. She can have showers and baths without impact. It’s the sea, that is the essential component. The same for most deepwater kin. Not the sea, maybe, or exactly, but what it represents in the change. It’s something about floating out into endless space clad only in human skin and human lungs and trusting not to drown. The letting go of one form with the tide and permitting the waves to bring forth another.

Her scales are dimmed, like they’ve smudged. Their colour diminished.

It’s not a molt. Her people don’t. Tim does, normally annually. Before they travelled to Yarmouth, he’d been dropping feathers around the office almost continually with stress. Nesting, and growing in new and painful sections of wing, snapping with a yo-yoing temper.

Tim notices. Maybe because he’s the only one left. Basira is holed up somewhere of course, as is Melanie, but it’s not the same. They weren’t here before, they don’t have the context for how much their group is diminished, falling to pieces slowly like her own skin is.

They’ll be visiting Jon later. She hasn’t seen Martin in weeks.

Tim approaches slowly. Looks at the flakes of blue in her hand. Understand flowers gently in his eyes, and he reaches out and touches her arm, and she forgot the world could manifest in ways other than hurtful.

“You OK there, Sash?” Tim asks.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “I don’t… I just…  When did it all go so wrong?”

“I dunno,” Tim repeats, and he doesn’t move away and she doesn’t want him to. “God, I – I don’t know, Sash.”

Jon’s clothes are dirt-clotted, ripped up by the grind of rock, and holding him tarnishes Tim’s feathers grey, smudges the pattern on his t-shirt into obscurity. His teeth are chattering, goosebumps bobbling up his arms and making the dark hairs up his arms stand on end. Tim suspects it’s more shock than cold.

Sasha brought him a glass of water, holding her palm under it because Jon’s long-fingered grip is so shaky it’s sloshing the water up the sides.

“Told you the rib was a shit idea, huh?” Tim says. Played as a joke and deliberately shorn of any accusation. He breathes in-and-out and Jon follows the rise and fall, and it benefits both of them. Tim’s getting better at control. He’s had to. His anger grows in like pinfeathers but so does his grief these days, a full plumage of emotions he is learning to deal with.

Jon coughs up something that could be agreement, but is mostly dirt and grave soil over Tim’s shirt.

You should have waited for us, Tim thinks but does not say because there would be too much teeth in it, and Jon’s skin is already whittling down to skeletal. We asked you not to go, we wanted a better plan, why didn’t you wait.

You could have died, down there in the dark, and we wouldn’t have even had a body to mourn, he does not say.

We love you, you idiot. We love you and even that wasn’t enough to stop you leaving, he does not say.

We’re already losing Martin, he does not say.

A room full of looping, chattering, overlapping tape recorders. Neither Tim nor Sasha stacked them, and Jon would not have thought to.

It should be a reassurance, that Martin’s been here.

God, Tim hopes he knows what he’s doing.

Sasha rubs at Jon’s back, helps him sip another small trickle. Tim’s wings, voluminous and unwieldy, knock over recorders in a clattering collapse as he scoops them around to shield them both. Against the balmy heat Tim’s throwing out, Jon’s shivers gradually subside.

“Daisy?” Jon murmurs. His teeth are grimy with soil.

“She’s with Basira,” Tim replies.

Sasha’s picked up the rib that’s dropped out of Jon’s clenched palm. Wiping the grime off it and staring at it without clear expression.

“Why, Jon?” she asks.

“I wanted to help,” Jon says. His words small, like he’s embarrassed that he even thought of it. “Even if it was one person. I wanted to be able to do something good for a change.”

“You could have died,” Tim says.

Jon’s horrible flat chuckle scrapes over his lips.

“I’m not sure I can anymore.”

“Yeah…” Tim replies subdued. He glances at the red daggers of his feathers and thinks he understands that.

“I wonder what it would take,” Jon says idly, slurring with exhaustion, and Tim grips him closer and hopes he never finds out.

Martin doesn’t react when Sasha sits down near him. The breeze, a vicious snagging chill tussles his hair, some wisps twisting into nothingness like smoke from an extinguished candle. She is still getting used to this Martin, or perhaps the Martin he never let others see. The toned-down stillness of him, the undisturbed waters of his expression. His skin not quite solid, the patches that have returned pale, sickly-pallored in the softening dim of moonlight. The rest of him is a coalition of fog, a hazy motion to his image like he’s wave-rocked, smoked out.

Long minutes pass. Sasha sits down cross-legged. The waves ripple up the stones that make up the strip of beach surrounding the loch, and they’re hard and uncomfortable under her.

“I can’t swim, you know,” Martin says finally. The sea is louder than he is, and he can make himself so quiet these days.

“No?”

Sasha keeps her tone light, inquisitive without intensity. Martin shakes his head, and his image lags, skipping disjointed, like his connection is poor.

More silence. Sasha doesn’t know what she should say, where Martin’s thoughts are at. She scratches behind the base of her gills, rubs at the dorsal fins sitting mostly flat under her sleep shirt.

“I didn’t live too far from the sea,” Martin continues. Looking at the wavering mirage of his hands without comment. She doesn’t even know if he recognises her presence. “We had Liverpool about an hour away. Even Blackpool, I guess. My primary school had a swimming club, where they’d pack them off to the big leisure centre on a coach afterschool. Kids’d get these little medals for managing like five metres, or ten, fifteen. But there was a small fee, and Mum said…” He snorts out a dismissive breath and his face twists, and neither of these actions suit him. “Doesn’t matter. I never went, and I never learnt, and that was that.”

“You could always come swimming with me?” Sasha proposes slowly. Lost in the swell of this conversation, why Martin’s talking about the sea, what this has to do with anything. She wishes he’d look at her.

Martin doesn’t answer immediately. He might not have even heard her.

“I told Peter, and he said that made it even better. That it was a such a – ” he says the word with a sneer, the words sharp-toothed in his mouth “ – gift, that I’d never even had the opportunity to know what I would miss, not even a memory to embellish or to sour. That there was so much that could root in absence. He said I should be grateful.”

“Peter Lukas said a lot of shit,” Sasha says.

She shuffles closer to him. Puts her hand on his knee.

“Whatever he told you was bollocks, you know that right?”

Martin blinks. After a moment, his hand joins over hers. His image grows denser, less likely to be stolen by the midnight air.

His eyes, fixed out on a horizon point in the slick dark of the loch, are still distant.

“I just wish I understood why she did it,” Martin murmurs.

“Who?”

“I did some research. After Elias… after I found out. I couldn’t have been the only person, and it’s rare enough but there are – help groups… you know, therapists that specialise in that kind of stuff. But I didn’t… I couldn’t face going to one. I thought that… knowing what was so wrong with me would make it easier, but it didn’t. All my life, I…. I was stupid enough to think it might be something I could fix. If – if I changed myself enough, if I said the right things, loved the right people, then I might… that someone could fix me. But it can't be fixed. That’s what all the leaflets said. That it was best to think of it like a permanent injury. Like having a stroke, or some sort of brain damage or something like that. Something irreparable.”

“Martin, sweetheart…” Sasha starts. She doesn’t understand. The flotsam of Martin’s speech grows erratic and he’s started shivering, and it’s no wonder, dressed in a t-shirt, pyjama trousers and some thick socks.

“Do you know much about selkies, Sash?” Martin powers on. Chattering teeth and goosebumps and it’s like he’s drawing something out of himself, some infection long done its damage. “Not many of them left, and they don’t usually venture landward like some of the other deepwater species. They mate for life apparently. Staunchly social communities, and some of them can’t… can’t cope, if they lose their group, or their partner. They take off their pelt, and just swim off to drown. A-and those help groups and therapists, those people who had theirs stolen, or destroyed… they’re, god, they’re all terminal. They last six months, maximum. Because it kills them, losing it. They waste away and they die. And here’s me…” Martin’s face twists again, and it’s bitter and angry and despairing all at once, “and I just get to keep going.”

“Selkies…?” Sasha says. “Why are you….”

She trails off in a gradually dawning horror.

“Martin?”

“She burnt it,” Martin says, his tone stringing higher now, distress sweeping in like a squall to break up the unnatural apathy in his voice. “I don’t think she knew what it would… I mean, I don’t know, maybe she did, maybe she wanted me gone just like dad, I don’t know, and I’ll never know because I can’t ask her why. I didn’t even… it was so long ago. I was sick and then I got worse and it was awful and I didn’t understand why I was so ill, why everything hurt just so much… and after, when I was better, Mum said it was appendicitis. I believed her. Course I did, why wouldn’t I. I didn’t know… not until Elias, and I’ll never know what I’ve lost, or why it didn’t kill me, maybe it was because I was so young, or because it’s only from one side of the family, I don’t –  I don’t know! I’ll never know! It’s a whole part of me that she just… she just took a-a-and…”

Martin’s back bows like whalebone. He takes long shuddering breaths like his words are keelhauling across his lungs.

Sasha’s never heard of a selkie with only half their soul. She can’t imagine, what it would do to someone.

She moves in front of Martin and he moves forward against her like a wave crash. He’s taller and heavier than her, and the impact pushes her back momentarily before her arms catch him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” she says, “You can do it, breathe.” She holds him so surely, and she always will. And he starts crying then, the first time since Jon was in hospital, and he won’t or can’t stop shivering, and it is horrible to hear every emotion inside him claw itself back from the brink.

She keeps telling him to breathe, and he keeps following that instruction through sniffling and sobbing and broken-voiced confusion,  and she counts it as a small victory nonetheless.

Jon’s mouth cannot scream.

Tim’s in the next room, the kitchen, drying plates and bowls and cutlery, within shouting distance, and he’d be here in a moment – he’d help if only Jon could speak a word other than his unbidden, unwanted recitation.

Jon’s mouth doles out its terrible missive, and he doesn’t not feel like a person as Elias rolls out the triumphant red carpet of his plotting and scheming, the self-satisfied weave of his grand finale. And no, he’s not a person, not for a long time now;  he’s a catalogue, a testimony, an archive, and he would never have chosen this.

His hands scrabble at his throat, and his eyes are blurred with tears, his vision obscured, but it does not seem to matter, for his skin ripples and sloshes like an inkwell and a hundred eyes swell and pop and inflate again like bubbles against his skin.

Someone else screams. And the multitude of Jon’s eyes are newborn, fractal-imaged, gummed up with a feast of far-reaching horror all witnessed by him, overseen and devoured in his sight, and it is hard to translate what his original set of open, weeping eyes see. There is motion. Commotion. There are apologies being spoken in his ears, fervent, petitionary, but he is hearing the rising insistent thrum of the summoning and it is as sickening as it is beautiful. Someone is holding a hand hard over his mouth, the grip painful and punishing but even then the words burble out through the cracks. Another hand clamps over his eyes, and he shrieks and thrashes as his words gather to a crescendo.

A hand tears the paper from his grip. There is an acrid whoosh of smoke. Jon drops like the rigging of a ship being torn down. The hands at his mouth and eyes lower quickly to loop around his waist, catch him and hold him up.

Jon sees Tim, wide-eyed and shimmering with terror even as his skin burns gold and his feathers shine and there are only sooty flakes left of Jonah’s statement, scattering down from his palms.

He thinks it’s Martin behind him. Jon folds further, all his weight pitching forward and Martin’s forced to come down with him as he retches the leftover words in his mouth; king of a ruined world, he vomits up with bile and ink, and it splashes with a disgusting slop over the living room floor.

Sasha’s partially webbed hands are holding back his hair as he hacks and gags, his lips stained black, his stomach heaving as he chokes on everything that comes up, his stomach roiling with an overwhelming nausea.  Conduit of fear, he brings up, dribbling from his lips like paper pulp.

After a long while, it’s over. Sasha carries him to the bathroom, and helps him clean up, although Jon has little memory of it.

He wakes, feeling like a shipwreck, and Tim is there. Sat nearby, his head in his hands. His fingertips stained with ink and soot. He can hear Martin and Sasha talking in low tones nearby.

They're still here. Even now, he’s surprised that they haven’t left him.

And Jon has no words remaining, so his body betrays him with airless, silent tears, at all he could have wrought upon this world, at all the suffering he could have brought to their door to still be granted forgiveness for.

It is not the end. It is an interlude, a reprieve. In some ways a kindness, and in others, waiting is its own cruelty.

They’ve bought blankets to the beach in order to cushion the hardness of the stones rounded by tide and time. It’s the first time they’ve gotten Jon to come outside for more than a few minutes.  The scratches up the column of his throat healing. His voice still damaged, scratchy and scraped from misuse.

They’ll have to be moving on soon. To make plans for whatever future they need to avoid.

She sits up, and stretches out from where she’s been lying against Tim’s thigh. Glances at Jon, barely four metres away on a separate towel. Grey-haired and tired-eyed. Martin’s holding his hand, the left one crinkled by burns, as they talk about something treasured for its meaningless. Despite everything, Jon’s face practises relearning its smiles, even as he touches tentative at the marks around his neck, the bruising at the edges of his mouth.

The tension has not faded from Tim’s shoulders. His plumage sharp and strange even now. Her own scales patchy and bare, whole sections that have not grown back.

She considers her battered but striving shoal, and wants to show them that their past is not all there will ever be. That there will be an after-this, whatever that looks like. She wishes they spoke her tongue, so she could gift them names, new names, for the things they have become, this things that they have survived, and all that has survived them.

“Martin!” she shouts over, a sudden inspiration seizing her. “Want to come in the water with me?”

Martin’s expression barrels through at least three iterations before it hovers between wary and uncomfortable.

“I – er… I might just be better off here, actually.”

“No pressure,” she tells him, and she means it, for all she remembers that he has never had the chance to know the sea as she has, to feel his whole weight held up by the water. “But I am a pretty spectacular swimming teacher. I promise I won’t let go.”

Martin, to his credit, thinks about it. Gnaws on his lip, stares away from her and at his knees. Next to her, she can feel Tim bite back an enthusiastic declaration of encouragement for fear of spooking him.

Martin stands gingerly, and she is so proud of him.

“I haven’t got a costume,” he says.

“Your boxers will be fine.”

“We want something pretty to look at, show us those legs, Martin!” Tim says. He times the tone playful, the perfect balance of joking and complementing, and it works, with Martin’s blushing and ‘shut it Tim’ distracting him from the enormity of his decision as he neatly folds up his jeans, and takes off his shoes and socks. Sasha peels off her long skirt, rolls down her tights. She dislikes shoes on principle, and rarely wears them.

The rocks dig into the soles of Martin’s feet as they waddle down to the shore, slow going and interspersed with wincing.

She takes his hand as they stop, stand a foot from the border between land and sea.

“We’ll just go a little way out,” she promises. “The water’s fairly calm but for your first time…”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Martin whispers. He hesitates, and she waits for his decision.  And then, he creeps forward, and she follows. He swears vehement as the water hits his toes, and he almost balks to feel the frigid temperature, but he pushes forward, his swearing getting more and more creative the further he walks out against the tide.

From the headland, someone cheers, likely Tim.

“Don’t look at them,” Sasha says. “Come on, this is all you, ok?”

Her legs unfuse into her tail, and she shivers out a feeling like cramp, luxuriating in the sensation against her skin.

Martin tentatively wades out. He’s tall, but there’s a point where he stops, knowing to move forward means his feet won’t touch the ground.

“A little further, yeah?” Sasha encourages, and he nods jerkily, a frantic up-and-down, his expression petrified. “You can do this. Don’t look at the water. Look at me.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she pulls him slowly into deeper waters. His fingers are pressing rounded marks into her forearms. His leg gestures are sloppy, thrashing, and at one point he dips below the surface with the disturbance he’s making, and he splutters as he resurfaces, surging up, eyes bulging in a betrayed panic. She continues to reassure him and doesn’t let go as they stop and simply float, the shoreline easily in sight.

“How does it feel?” she asks.

“Wet,” he grumbles. Clearly concentrating, he treads, kicking out in a motion that gradually finds rhythm.

For a long while, it is them and the sea. The waves rub up against the bare patches in her scales, but the reminder is not painful.

Martin’s breathing calms. His terror recedes, and he looks down at the obscured water under them.

“Can we go out a bit further?”

She’s not doing as much pulling now. She shows him how to use his arms to push himself through water, and stopping and starting, correcting his gestures and posture and breathing as they go, they drift further out before stopping again, hanging suspended above the depths.

Martin smiles at his own unexpected success. He lets out a long, satisfied sound like something’s loosened in him for the first time.

His eyes, completely black, reflect the dour and overcast midday sun.

“Martin, your eyes.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Martin says, but no – he doesn’t say, he barks, and then gasps, and then barks again, stunned, unsettled. He doesn’t look upset. He’s bitten his lip with his too-sharp teeth that now line his gums, and he touches the sharp pain it has caused with incredulity, his still human fingers marking out the sensation of the new.

“What’s happening?” he asks and Sasha grins, and says “I don’t know, Martin, I don’t know” and he’s splashing, a seal without skin, something entirely himself, shivering minutely in the cold shock even as his smile shows off his pointed teeth. He barks again, the sound almost jolted out of him as he figures out how it works, and she trills in delight, and it sets him off grinning and kicking. And for the moment, for this moment, the Lonely is banished entirely landbound, and there is only them treading water, surrounded by the endless sea and trusting they will not drown.

They have to go back to land eventually. The waves around them start to wash choppy, the sky colours grey with the surety of rain. They swim back, and sometimes Sasha lets go, bobbing near his elbow as he swims slowly but steadily on his own.

Martin’s teeth flatten when they crawl onto the shore, panting and burbling out the dregs of their laughter. Tim and Jon have come over to greet them, Jon holding the towels and garments like an overladen clothes tree. Tim chucks Sasha a towel to fold around herself into a makeshift skirt before her tail bisects back into legs.

“Tim, Tim, Tim!” Sasha says excitedly, waving her hands and gesticulating.  “Did you see, did you see?”

“See what…?” Tim starts, but he glances at Martin, whose eyes are slow to fade from black to blue, and Tim might not realise what exactly has happened, but he senses the tenor of the mood because he’s barrelling in, knocking into Martin, wrapping him in a hug and nearly smothering him with his wings. Once released, Jon approaches slowly, putting his burdens down. Martin glances up at him, almost anxious now that the initial buzz is wearing down, but Jon goes softly to his knees, and his smile spreads across his face like paint in water.

The grey of the sky feels far off as they allow themselves the momentarily uncomplicated gift of being happy.

[imissjoongsmullet]

Too Far, Seriously

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Genre: smut

Summary: Part 4 in a very dirty Bang Chan series in which a one night stand leads do a friends with benefits type of relation.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 5

In this part: you and him have been fucking around for quite a while now and it’s great, until certain feelings start getting in the way.

Warnings: graphic sexual content (duh), swearing, fuck buddies, sex toys, overstimulation, praise, alcohol, romance, angst

Word Count: 4K

Author’s Note: I debated on whether taking this story in this direction or not but I guess in the end, I couldn’t help myself. This one’s a little less dirty (still dirty tho haha) but I hope you still like it. And I’ll be posting the final part in a few days!! Love you all!!  ♡

♡

The air is heavy with the familiar smell of sex. Skin slapping against skin in a rhythmic fashion, intertwining with the sounds of his heavy breathing and your desperate moans. It's ecstasy. He's pulling your hair as he pounds into you from behind and you're once again desperate for him, responding to his every request with an eagerness that makes him want you more with every passing second.

The hand previously holding onto your waist moves between your legs and you cry out. The vibrator he's wearing on his index finger presses into your clit, jolting you into pure madness.

"Chan," you whine out at the touch, "too much, I-"

He only responds by pressing harder, never letting up his merciless thrusting.

The stimulation is overwhelming and you can’t help but cry out to him, begging for release. You start to shake under him, moaning out his name when you feel his tongue licking a wet trail up your neck towards your ear. When he arrives there he groans lowly into your ear.

"It's okay baby,” he says between pants, “you’ve been good for me tonight.” He bites into your ear before whispering, “come for me."

The feeling of his breath in your ears and those words echoing through you empty head make your whole body tremble with sudden intense waves of pleasure. You whine and clench around him, letting your orgasm take over at last. It feels like the whole world is falling apart around you and you love it. You would let it all go to shit as long as you can feel as amazing as you do right now.

Your limbs go weak under him as your sensitivity starts to highten. You let out another string of moans, for Chan is not planning on letting go of you soon.

"Fuck, you're so hot," you hear him pant somewhere above you.

He grabs a tighter hold of your hips, fingers digging deep enough to bruise, and bounces you fiercely onto himself.

"Baby," he mutters darkly and you know by his tone he's about to blow. His breathing hitches and his hands squeeze your hips a dark red. You feel him release, the sensation of him filling you up adding to the afterglow of your own orgasm. He continues to rock you for a few more seconds before slowing and releasing his grip.

"Fuck," you let out after he’s pulled out. You curl into the sheets and turn to him.

A goofy smile spreads across his face.

"Don't look so proud, you ass," you say, burying your face into a pillow.

You feel a light smack against your butt, stinging only from the fact that he’d been spanking you before.

"Did I, or did I not make you see stars just now?" His voice is positively drenched in smugness.

"I hate you," comes your muffled reply from behind the pillow.

"Yeah right," he laughs and his hand is at your shoulders, pushing you playfully.

"Yeah, right!" you reply, raising your head, trying your hardest to scowl but breaking out into laughter instead.

It's nearly 3am. Most of the city is fast asleep but the two of you are still up, doing nothing much but not really making any moves toward sleep yet either. You'd been in and out of sex for hours. Limbs tangling, chasing pleasure together, losing yourselves in one another.

With him, often, it's dirty as anything and he calls you names, pulls your hair, bites you, chokes you, spanks you until you beg for release. But more recently, he fawns over you, growling little pet names into your ear, squeezing you close as he rides into you. He’s still undoubtedly conceited and annoying as hell, but you’ve also noticed other sides of him that have surprised you, making being with him a lot more bearable than you’d initially expected. And the sex is good, moreover, it has stayed good. It’s still as exciting as the first night you ended up in bed together - and you’re in bed together a lot. You're so used to him on you it feels odd when he isn't.

Now as well, you feel an emptiness at the loss of him.

Not that you're planning to mention that.

He's looking at you with that telltale grin, eyes twinkling with mischief and you know he's not about to let you sleep just yet.

"Shouldn't you be heading home right about now?" you say, stifling a yawn.

"I don't wanna go yet," he replies, grinning and he starts to crawl towards you. You eye him suspiciously as he slowly comes to hover above you.

"Do you really wanna be a zombie tomorrow?" you ask, raising your brows at him, "I'm sure the others are getting suspicious too."

He breaks out into a chuckle, "those guys wouldn't know it if we were doing it right in front of their noses."

"Whatever you say," you respond, "but you'll be in big trouble if you're not on time tomorrow, just saying."

"That," he answers, getting all the way on top of you, "is something for future me to worry about."

You wanna roll your eyes but he captures you with a kiss instead. It's slow and deep and the sensuality of it takes you by surprise. His beautifully toned torso slides against you as he goes in a second time and a soft moan topples from your lips. He finds his way from your mouth to your jawline, kissing down your neck with that same languid pace. It's slightly ticklish where he presses his lips, breath playing against your skin but you don't want it to stop. Another involuntary whine escapes you when he suckles the crook of your neck, creating another pretty little bruise for you to have to hide later.

"Not there," you manage to say as your hands come up to his shoulders.

He lets go and looks down at you, lips all pout but eyes full of joy. It's adorable. The thought passes through you for the fraction of a second before you pull yourself together.

"I don't wanna have to wear another turtleneck tomorrow, get off!" You shove him and he rolls onto his back beside you, laughing.

"Maybe you just don't want your other lover to see."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on you.

"I could have another lover, you know," you reply, acting casual.

He shakes his head, smiling. "I don't doubt that." He runs a lazy hand through his hair, mimicking your casualness. "But I don't think you need another lover after everything I do to you."

"You're so fucking full of it," you say, closing your eyes. He was right of course: you definitely weren't in need of another, but he didn't need to know that.

"You're blushing," you hear him say.

"I'm not."

"I like making you blush."

You open your eyes to find him lying on his side, with a face that’s just begging to be punched.

"I hate you." It's all you know to say at this point. You're pretty sure you mean it too.

"Come on," he shoves you softly. "you know you're lying."

His confidence continues to baffle you. You decide not to react and instead, pull the sheets over your face.

"Why so shy, baby," he chuckles and you feel him move. His head pokes in underneath the blanket and he's wearing the stupidest grin. You want to move further away from him but before you can he's crawling on top of you under the sheets. His hands move over yours pinning them on either side of your head.

"Gotcha."

He's smirking down at you and all of a sudden, for no apparent reason whatsoever, you feel yourself go hotter than ever. Something about the twinkle in his eyes irks you and you wish he'd move away but stay at the same time. He does neither. He does worse. He starts to lean in and his face has changed, mischief replaced with something more subdued.

When his lips brush against yours you go weak. It's nothing special, the kiss, but it wipes your mind clean of all reason. A million tiny feathers tickle just underneath your skin and you feel a panic coming up. With a last soft peck to your lips, he pulls away and at last, it seems like he's arrived at the place you are.

He's looking at you, brows slightly furrowed, eyes stark with confusion. And it's quiet; too quiet. You can hear the humming of the air-conditioning, the soft flow of his breathing, the uncomfortable thumping of your heartbeat.

"Maybe we should go to bed after all," he says, rolling off of you.

You're unsure of how to respond but glad he's at least done something to end that awkward moment. Your mind is still blank. You know you should probably say something to lighten the mood and let him know everything is fine but nothing comes out. He’s already reaching for the bedside lamp.

“You ready?” he asks in a tone as if nothing particularly strange has just happened.

“Yeah,” you manage to respond, hoping to sound the same.

The lights go off and, as you feel him move around in the sheets beside you for a minute, you start to wonder what the fuck just happened.

You wake up feeling perfectly comfortable and you sure as hell are not planning on opening your eyes yet; it's too nice. A warmth presses into your front, radiating through to your whole body. Your limbs feel heavy, sluggish and sore; you can’t even bring yourself to scratch the slight itch on the side of your nose. Then you notice the arm that’s slung around your waist lazily, fitting you snuggly into the warmth in front of you. That’s when your mind starts to clear up and-

Something stirs around you. You open your eyes, only to come face to face with Chan. You’re nearly nose to nose, which is, at the moment, a bit too close for comfort. He seems to agree. He’s looking at you half asleep, half startled for a second before he moves away.

“Oh god,” he groans, “what time is it?” He reaches for his phone and curses at the numbers on the screen. “I’m gonna be so late,”

You want to shoot him an ‘I told you so’ but decide against it, as he’s now scurrying around the room picking up pieces of clothing and throwing them on in absolute chaos. He stumbles into his pants, not bothering to button them, worms his way into a black T-shirt and runs to the mirror. He brushes a hand through his tousled bed hair, curses some more, picks up his bag and heads out the door without another word to you.

You’re not bothered, you tell yourself as you get dressed as well; he’s probably already getting in trouble for being late. It is his own fault and he could have said goodbye to you at least but you’re not going to hold that against him… probably.

Everything is fine.

The sun is blindingly bright when you exit the hotel but you don’t have your sunglasses with you. You peer at the ground, feeling more agitated than necessary as you make your way home. Your thoughts flit to Chan. He might be getting yelled at by his manager right now, you think wickedly. Serves him right.

Pain shoots through your side as you hit the street sign of your local coffee shop and, for some reason, that’s also Chan’s fault. You’re all sore from the night before and this isn’t helping, you think in disconcert, hugging your arms close to yourself. You still feel him all over your body, from the bite marks at your shoulders to the muscle pain in your thighs - not to mention the state of your pussy - and for some reason it bothers you. Perhaps it’s the way he left in the morning. His eyes had held a coolness behind them you weren’t used to. Those eyes linger for a while as you walk the empty, early morning streets. They bring you back to the night before and, without warning, an uncomfortable sensation rolls over your shoulders, down into the rest of your body. It makes your head buzz with questions you’d rather not ask yourself right now, so you quicken your pace and try to shake it off. Not that it works. All it does is feed into the frustrations you were already growing, so, by the time you arrive at your tiny one bedroom apartment, you’re positively brooding.

For once, you wish you had work to go to. Where the thought of staying home all day with nothing much to do usually elates you, today, it’s nothing but a reason for you to continue to over-think things. You do not want to think about things right now, especially Chan-related things because the uncomfortable feeling that arose on your walk home has now started pressing its way into every little nook and cranny of your brain.

You try to numb yourself with TV and snacks, putting a stopper on your brain so the feelings stay put, and, after a few attempts, find something on Netflix that manages to hold your attention for more than five minutes. Somewhere deep down, you know you should probably be thinking some things through; your brain keeps trying to shout at you to, but you refuse to listen. You turn up the volume of the drama you’re watching, drowning out the desperate pleas of reason. It’s blissful escapism and you’re planning to keep it up all day. It almost works too, until you receive a text.

It’s not even anything special. He’s just sent you a funny video of a goat dancing to one of his songs. Entirely unnecessary, you think, but fine. You’re just about to turn your attention back to the TV when he adds a message.

[Same time next week? ;)]

And with that, the stopper on your brain pops off and the uncomfortable Chan-related feelings run rampant, taking over your entire being. There’s so much going on you can barely make sense of it at first. You let out a frustrated groan, kicking your head back against your couch.

Your phone buzzes again and even the sound of it fuels your anger. You press a pillow over the screen and get up, not knowing what to do with all of this strange energy. The phone buzzes once more, muffled but still audible under the pillow.

It’s a complete impulse; you grab the phone and start jabbing at the screen. There, you whisper hotly to yourself. His notifications are now muted. Not forever, of course. You just need some time to calm down; today is just a bad day. You’ll deal with him once all of this has subsided.

Only it takes a lot more time than you’d initially thought to get him off your mind. The next couple of days pass irritatingly slow. You try to distract yourself with work and friends but at the end of the day you’re still peeking at the messages he sends you, agonizing over whether to reply or not. The thing is, you feel like you owe him an explanation for not responding at this point. His messages have changed from flirty jokes, to concern, to what you can only interpret as annoyance. But you have no idea what to even say to him. You don’t exactly know how you feel. It seems silly but you just can’t face him, so, when push comes to shove, you do not text him back. You will, you keep telling yourself, once you’ve got yourself figured out.

By the weekend, you’re going mad thinking about him and you’d kill for any proper distraction. That’s when your friend invites you to a party at one of her friends’ apartments.

There it was: the perfect opportunity to forget the mess you’re in.

On the day of the party, you find yourself oddly nervous. This wasn't like you. Luckily, your friend had the wonderful idea of meeting up at her place before the party for some getting ready and, more importantly, pre-drinking.

You haven't told any of your friends about Chan and you're not about to change strategies now. But when you're sprawled out on this particular friend’s bed while she drags a brush through her hair, she turns to you with a frown.

"What is up with you lately?"

"Nothing," you lie, staring at the ceiling and praying the alcohol will start to do its job soon.

"Yeah sure, whatever," she laughs, "you look fine."

You sit up to face her. "It's really nothing big. It's stupid."

"So it's a boy."

"I'm not talking about this with you," you say, shaking your head and falling back onto the bed. You reach for the bottle on the night stand.

"Always so mysterious, you are," she says, putting down the hair brush and coming over. She takes the bottle out of your hand and takes a sip. "But listen, if you're suffering because of this boy, I have one piece of advice," she hands you the drink back with a wide grin, "tonight, you're gonna forget all about him."

By the time the two of you arrive at the party, you're just the perfect amount of buzzed; just lightly, so your emotions are mostly numbed but you still know what you're doing.

The apartment is huge for a place in Seoul and there are already enough people for you and your friend to enter completely unnoticed. It's a modern, open-plan space and there’s a buzzing in the air that excites you. The main lights have been turned off, leaving only a couple of warm mood-lights. Some hip hop song plays softly from speakers at the far end of the room, the beats mixing with the murmurings of the crowd and you feel right at home.

"Do you wanna go find us a drink?" your friend says, leaning into you.

You shake you head, starting to smile.

"I wanna dance."

You drag your friend towards the speakers, where a group of people is already moving to the music.

This is great, you think. You should have done this days ago instead of spending your time staring at your phone. The music goes through you like a delicious breeze, willing your body to curve its way through the motions. You close your eyes and smile, swaying your hips, bopping your head and, oh yes, your head is completely vacant by the way. It feels a-ma-zing. It’s light and fun and easy, exactly the way you like things. All is well with the world, at last, until you open your eyes again and see something that makes your heart give a sudden painful pull.

You have to do a double take because you simply cannot believe your eyes.

Why is he here?

Chan is standing a bit further away, in front of a large window overlooking the city, with another girl. He’s looking down at her with his signature grin and she’s noticeably falling for it. It’s actually him. You can’t fathom the fact that he’s here, let alone with someone else. To make things worse, he reaches out and his fingers come to the girl’s side, lightly playing with the fabric of her dress, not unlike the way he did with you that first night.

You feel your insides start to boil. Your first instinct is to charge over there and give him a piece of your mind, but then you realize how dumb that would be. He’s in his complete right to do whatever he wants with whomever he wants… just as you are. And maybe that was the answer you’ve been looking for. He doesn’t look troubled at all. Maybe you should be going about things the same way he is.

You scan the room until your eyes land on a tall guy with dark hair, looking at you over a glass of wine. You walk over, mentally throwing out all worries, and introduce yourself.

“I saw you dancing before,” he says, leaning down towards you. He smells faintly of wood and tangerine.

You smile up into him. “Did you now?”

You’re amazed how naturally you fall back into flirty behavior. You run your hand up his arm before taking his hand and leading him back towards the speakers.

Dancing feels a whole lot different now, with this guy’s hands on your hips and his eyes all over you. You can’t say you dislike it. He turns you around, pressing himself softly into your back. That’s when you start heating up. You don’t know why but it feels a bit strange, being this intimate with someone else. He knows how to move; his front smooth against your back and there's just the right amount of contact for you to get excited. One hand holds your hip and gently guides you through the song. You feel his breath on you from time to time, tickling your ear, sending chills down your spine.

The night ticks on by as you dance. You've soon forgotten all about your problems as you sway and sway and fall deeper into the form behind you.

Something soft grazes your ear.

"Shall we go get a drink?"

You turn around, looking your mystery man in the eyes and nod.

He grabs the both of you some drinks and leads you to a more secluded part of the room, where the music won't bother you as much. You lean against the wall and allow him to envelop you.

"So," he begins, "where did you learn to dance like that?"

"I'm a bit of a pro actually," you reply, unable to hide a smile.

"You sure are," he grins down at you, sublty moving a little closer.

You're glowing. God, you love flirting! You don't even really care to know about this guy in great detail. You're just having fun talking about nothing, knowing very well where things might lead at the end of the night. And he's good at it too, bouncing off of your energy with boldness and wit. You notice him drawing nearer and nearer as time goes on. A hand comes to your side, his face drops a little lower, but he doesn't kiss you; not yet. He draws it out like he knows you want to, so an hour and a half later, when he does kiss you, you’re aching for it.

His lips are soft and taste of alcohol. You take him in gladly, sliding a hand around his neck and pulling him close. His hands roam your back slowly, but with a force that lets you know he’s not going to let you go any time soon. His tongue trails over your lip swiftly and you open up for him, deepening the kiss. Adrenaline rushes through you, enhanced by the alcohol already in your system, and you feel yourself growing needy for more. You moan into his mouth when his hand arrives at your ass, squeezing possessively.

"What the fuck!"

The voice is startlingly loud compared to the hushed conversation you'd been in for the past few hours. Before you can even see where it came from you’re pulled from your new lover’s arms. Realization hits you like a dreadful bomb when you see the dark haired man you’d been kissing crash into the wall, after being pushed by a shorter, blond haired guy.

Fuck.

♡

[bioodorange]

Hey since you’re taking requests for kinkytober how about tim/masky with overstimulation 💚💚

I hope you enjoy, day one of kinktober!

Add this to the list of reasons why I'm going to hell

TW!! Oversimulation, Jealousy, Dubcon, Daddy Kink, Slight! Vouyerism, Choking, Light Spanking

Yes this one will have a part 2

1.5k words

|| Busy Night Masky x Reader Smut ||

The room smelled of alcohol and sweat. It was amazing how much of a mess a few dozen people could make in a few hours, and how loud they could be. The immunity to it all had escaped you after the punch and cheap beer had warm off.

Left with a head ache and ringing ears, you found solace in the over stuffed pillows of a musty old couch. The only one that didn't smell of cum or vomit.

Somehow a few friends and some some drinks and turned into a batshit crazy, over crowded party. Somehow had started up in the small cabin, usually used for retreats. music with much to loud of a base played and people were screaming for no damn reason. If it wasn't for the tricky inner workings of the Slender forest, you all would have been screwed over.

Missing the liberties of drunken fun, you buried yourself further into the confines of Toby and the sofa. Toby had never had a taste for alcohol so, he'd been deemed with the job of "designated drink holder" and was currently watching your cup of water while chatting with Helen, who sat in the chair adjacent to him.

Everyone seemed to be having a fine time, including you, who had someone how managed to get comfortable curled up on the beat up couch. But Tim, he sure as shit wasn't having a good time. After spending a few hours looking for you unsuccessfully (dumbass this house has like 5 rooms how-), he learned that you were curled up half asleep with Toby.

Now Tim didn't hate the boy- but he didn't like him either. Toby was the golden child and had knocked him down from his place as number one, and he was only a damn kid! So seeing you all cuddled up with him like that struck a nerve with him.

Walking over to you too, you knew you were screwed when the familiar smell of cigarettes, metal and leather filled your nose. Feeling the couch dip, you didn't dare object as your boyfriend pulled you into his lap, tucking some of your matted hair away from your face.

"Hey princess, how's your night going?" He asked, anger lacing his voice as his hand gripped your hip tightly. All you could do was whine lowly at this point and weakly try to get away. You knew him well and you knew where this was going, but the need to sleep overwhelmed you.

Shaking his head, the man pulled you back towards him bucking his hips into yours as he did. Feeling his semi hard cock on your heat made you mewl softly in pleasure. His possessiveness in the situation also fueled the heat growing between your thighs.

Without any more objections you sat in Tim's lap, gently rocking yourself on his lap and relishing in the pleasure it provided. Turning around to check on you, Toby smiled. "Feeling better?" He asked. Nodding reluctantly you felt your partner's large hands rubbing the side of your bare thigh. "Y-yeah I fell asleep for a bit and that h- /elped."

What looked like shifting around was actually Tim grinding himself against you, a bit rougher then before. This caused your voice to break near the end of your statement, and a flush to cover your face.

Knitting his eyebrows together, Toby looked at you worriedly. "A-are you sure you're okay?" He asked. This time you only responded with a nod as you stood up, swaying a bit. "Yeah I just need some water..c'mon" you said, taking Tim's hand and practically pulling him across the room.

"Really smooth of you, Toby was holding your damn water." The male chuckled, causing the tips of your ears to turn off pink. "Shut up!" You huffed a few moments later, which was a mistake.

Suddenly you found yourself against the wall, Tim pinning you there. "Shut up? Was I the one getting handsy with someone else? No." He whispered, his voice husk as his hands traveled down your sides. Biting your lip in anticipation, you felt him flip up your shirt a bit as his calloused fingers graced your bare hips.

"If anyone should be shutting up it's you, we both know how loud you can get." Another slam, his hips pressed to yours and hands under your thighs. Rutting into you, your blessed noises were lost when your lips met

Everything was driving you crazy, the hard on her had rested just below your core, the breathy moans he let out at the soft tugs of his hair. Bodies molded together, desired ratited off of you both.

Pulling back for air, you gave him a pleading look "Please daddy.." hearing that dirty name on your innocent lips pushed Tim over the edge. Fumbling around his hand fell on the brass nob of the bathroom, opening the door he kept you pressed to his hip as he locked it behind him

This time instead off wood, you were rested on the sink. No time was wasted, Tim tossed his own shirt into the corner while you discared your dress aswell.

Seeing you naked, wet spot between your legs and fading love bites on your skin made him groan out loud. Skin met skin as he yet again pulled you close. His strong hands groping your chest, and lips straying down your neck distracted you from the fact that your heat was a few inches shy of the haven that was his hips.

The ignorance didn't last long, soon enough Tim was chasing his own pleasure as well. Attempting to undo his buckle with one hand, he was happy when you reached out to help him. Unsheathing his cock, you'd barley nodded to him when he was balls deep in your folds.

A wanton moan escaped your lips as he began a relentless pace. "Keep quiet.." he panted to focused on his thrusts to really talk. Covering your mouth with one hand, it barely helped to maintain your noise. Slowing his movements, he wrapped his hand around your throat, using your neck as a handle to fuck you.

A few minutes went by and your clit began to ache from lack of attention. Reaching for the senstive bud, your boyfriend swatted your hand away. "Good sluts take what they're given..." He panted, quickening his pace inside you.

Knuckles as white as the porcelain, sink beneath you. Feeling the coil tighten in your abdomen, you knew you were close. And by the way his breaths got heavier, and the twitch of his cock you knew he was too.

Relinquishing his hold on your throat to grip the sink, you covered your own mouth as he hammered into you. Soon enough his thrusts began to get sloppy and he came, bottoming out inside you as he panted, head bowed.

Your orgasm chased right after, spots of white flooded your vision as he pulled out. White, sticky cum coating your thighs.

Going to get off the sink, Tim pressed you to again, this time you were doubled over it, breasts touching the cold material of the basin. Without as much as warning he began thrusting into you.

The aching returned and you whined in protest, earning a slap on the ass. "Take it like a good bitch, you're good aren't you?" He asked, the sound of skin on skin filling up the room. Nodding, you found it hard to talk, but that wasn't enough for him. Grabbing your hair, he jerked hour head up, giving you a perfect view. You could faintly see his v-line as he thrust into you, your bouncing chest obscuring the bottom of the mirror.

"I-I ye~ f-fuck!~!" You couldn't help but stop mid sentence and stop midsentence and hold onto the sink. His cock hit the perfect spot inside of you, one that made you see stars with each piston of his hips. And his balls, hitting your neglected clit whenever the two of you met

"Go on, say it!" He commanded tugging your hair again, laying another hard slap on your bare cheek. "I-i am!" You managed to scream, body slumping forward as you came for the second time. But this didn't stop Tim. Releasing your hair he began to go rougher, evidently seeking his own release.

"D-daddy..!" You whined, pitifully trying to push yourself off him your legs starting to hulk. "quiet princess you did this to yourself.." stated, taking a hold of hips and pulling you close as he came for the second time

"Good girl." He praised, sitting you on the toilet and wiping your legs down with a warm rag, and a tender kiss. He cleaned himself up aswell and tossed the rag on the floor and did a half ass job of whiping up the cum.

"You're so good to me." He muttered, helping you back into your dress and slipping his jacket over your shoulders. Once he was all set him self, he was kind enough to half carry you through out the house.

The walk home was easy, quiet and peaceful. But when you arrived home, he tossed you onto his bed and loomed over you, it looked like tonight wasn't over after all.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Dad Tim & Uncle Rhys Part 6

I have been incredibly stressed out lately and writing soft things helps, so expect more of these. Also, my inbox is always open for requests! You can find part one of this here. I might do a master post for these shorts soon just to keep them organized and easy to find in order! 

The door to Rhys’ office opened. He looked up, having expected Tim for a morning meeting to go over some reports. What he didn’t expect was for Tim to come in basically dragging Phoenix with him.

Rhys had never seen the two have a serious argument before. Phoenix tended to worship his father, clinging to him affectionately most of the time. Plus, he seemed to be a pretty quiet kid for the most part, not argumentative or aggressive.

But today, he glared at Tim with a fierce expression, mouth twisted in a snarl. Tim looked just as mad, though he didn’t look down at Phoenix as he gripped his hand and pulled him along.

“Lemme go!” Phoenix said, trying to yank his hand away.

Tim didn’t obey. Instead, he pulled Phoenix to a stop and crouched in front of him, pointing a stern finger in his face.

“Not another word out of you until this meeting is over,” he said, voice low and angry. “Not one damn word, Phoenix. You’re going to sit where you usually do and- I don’t know, play or read or something.”

“I dunno how to read!” He was trying to yank his hand free again.

“Then look at the pictures or draw or something! Just sit down and be quiet!” Tim said. “I worked for Handsome Jack so I’d like to think I’m a patient man, but you are on my last freakin’ nerve and it’s only the morning, kid. Go sit.”

Phoenix finally had his hand free. He balled up his little fists, glaring hard at Tim.

“Hit me and I’m making you stay home tomorrow while I go to work,” Tim warned.

Phoenix’s face paled a little. He slowly unclenched his fists and instead stomped his way over to the corner he usually played in, dropping down with his tattered Hyperion bear and glaring at the wall.

“Uh- rough morning?” Rhys said.

“From the damn minute I woke up he was in a bad mood and fighting with me,” Tim said, sitting down and rubbing his temples. “Kinda made me see why Jack locked his kid up far away from himself.”

“Tim!” Rhys said. “That’s horrible!”

“Yea, I know.” Tim sighed. “Sorry, sorry. He doesn’t usually get like this so I’m, uh, not great at the whole discipline thing. Took everything in me not to call his mother and beg her to come, I dunno, put him in time out or something. It doesn’t help that every time I get mad, I sound exactly like Jack did when he’d threaten me and I freaking scare myself.” 

Rhys couldn’t argue with that. Tim scared the hell out of him when he got angry during meetings, the Jack tone slipping out. 

“Can we just- work?” Tim said. “I’m going to die of a stress induced stroke at this rate. I need to focus on something other than my moody kid.”

“Right, work. I can do work,” Rhys said, hastily pulling out the reports.

They began to sort through them, trying to organize them by urgency. Rhys frowned as he shifted through them.

“Dammit, that financial report on the parts we ordered is gone,” he said.

“I’ll grab it,” Tim said, getting up. “They probably forgot to drop it off again. They always do.”

Phoenix’s head snapped up as Tim headed for the door. He started to rise, but Tim shot him a look.

“Oh, no. You don’t get to be a little asshole to me all day and then act like you want to be around me. You stay right there and don’t cause any trouble,” Tim said, yanking the door open and leaving the office.

Phoenix sat down, tears pooling in his eyes. Rhys felt alarmed at the sight.

“Is he gonna come back?” Phoenix asked, his voice cracking.

“Of course he is!” Rhys assured hurriedly. “He just went to grab something.”

“He’s not gonna leave me?” Phoenix said, hugging his bear tightly. 

“No. He better not,” Rhys said. A tear leaked down Phoenix’s cheek. “That was a joke! No, no, he’s not leaving you. He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I yelled at him,” Phoenix said, holding the bear up so he could bury his face against it. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if he doesn’t like me no more?”

“A-Anymore,” Rhys said awkwardly. “Not, um, not ‘no more’. Right, bad time for this. Oh, boy, I wish I offered to go grab that report instead.” He cleared his throat. “Tim is coming back, Phoenix.”

Phoenix lifted his head, but only to watch the door. He got up, pacing more anxiously than usual.

When Tim finally did return, Phoenix stiffened, getting defensive instead of looking relieved. Tim only glanced at him before dropping the report on the desk and sitting back down.

“You didn’t say how long you were gonna go for,” Phoenix accused. 

“Didn’t think you’d care,” Tim said. “You’ve hated me all morning. Figured you’d be glad for the break.”

Phoenix snatched a book off the shelf he was by, throwing it at Tim’s head as hard as he could. “Stupid asshole!” 

The book struck Tim and he let out a hiss, though Rhys couldn’t tell if the noise was in surprise or pain. He stood up, whipping around.

“You little-” he snarled.

Phoenix scrambled back into the corner, trembling. Tim turned away from him, raking his hands through his hair and grinding his teeth together.

“I am not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice tense. “I will never hurt you. But I’m going to leave this room before I say something I regret, I am going to get the strongest coffee I can fucking find, and I am going to take my time coming back while I think of some way to punish you for doing that.”

He moved for the door. Phoenix, still trembling, pushed himself away from the corner, eyes wide as he reached out a hand.

“Dad!” he said.

Tim shut the door. 

Phoenix sat down, hugging his knees to his chest and pressing his face against them as he began to cry. He always cried silently, never the loud sobs of other kids Rhys had been around.

“He’s not comin’ back!” Phoenix managed around his silent sobs. “He’s gonna leave me here!”

Rhys wondered when his office had become the home of Lawrence family drama. He bit his lip, but he felt bad seeing the kid cry so hard. 

“He’s coming back. You did throw a book at his head. He’s just mad,” Rhys said.

“He was gone!” Phoenix said, picking his head up and wiping at his eyes. Rhys struggled to understand him, his voice choked with tears. “I woke up and he was gone and- and- I thought he wasn’t comin’ back and-”

“Alright, slow down,” Rhys said, turning his chair to face Phoenix and leaning forward. “What do you mean he was gone?”

“Last night!” Phoenix said. “I woke up and he was gone. I had a bad dream and he wasn’t there!” 

Rhys knew Phoenix slept in Tim’s bed, his separation anxiety too severe to spend a night away from Tim. As far as Rhys knew, Phoenix tended to follow Tim wherever he went, even at home. 

“Did he...come back?” Rhys said.

Phoenix nodded, wiping at his eyes. “But not for a long time.”

“Well, he’ll come back now, too. And if he doesn’t come back in twenty minutes, we’ll go look for him,” Rhys said, more because he didn’t know what to do with a distraught child. 

Phoenix was crying again, putting his face back against his knees. Oh, jeez, the kid really thought his dad had just abandoned him for good.

“Phoenix,” Rhys said, getting up and crouching next to him. “Tim’s coming back.”

Phoenix slowly lifted his head. His eyes were big and scared, that sliver of blue standing out more than usual. 

Rhys sighed heavily and opened his arms. “Alright, alright. But just this once.”

Phoenix sniffled and reached a hand out to Rhys, giving him a one-armed hug. He pressed his face into Rhys’ shoulder as Rhys hugged him back.

Rhys sat next to him for a while until Tim finally came back. Phoenix shrank back as Tim entered the room, coffee in hand.

“I decided that- Well, no, I didn’t decide, I actually called your mom, but- Whatever, you have to weed the garden when we get home. She thinks it’ll help you let out your anger and punish you at the same time. And if you throw another damn book at my head, I’m taking away all your books at home,” Tim said, setting his coffee on the desk.

“You have a garden?” Rhys said, then shook his head. Not the point here. “Tim, he said he woke up and you were gone.”

“Huh?” Tim said. “When? You were up before me this morning.”

Phoenix averted his eyes. “Last night. I woke up and you were gone for a really long time.”

Tim furrowed his brow before understanding lit his face. “I didn’t leave you, Phoenix. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I went downstairs to get some work done until I was tired. I was just trying not to wake you up.”

“I had a bad dream,” Phoenix whispered, eyes watering. “Pretty Boy killed you. And I woke up and you weren’t there!”

“Pretty Boy?” Rhys said in confusion.

Tim scrubbed a hand down his face. “The fucker who cost me my hand. He spent a long time hunting me down, and he finally caught me.” 

Tim came over to them. Phoenix shrank back as Tim crouched in front of him.

“So you dreamed I was killed, and then you woke up and you couldn’t find me,” he said slowly. He closed his eyes, muttered “Shit”, and opened them. “And when I left and didn’t tell you when I’d come back, it scared you, didn’t it? That's why you got mad at me.”

“It- There was too much and I-” Phoenix began to cry again, closing his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Yea, I know, I know,” Tim said, reaching out and putting a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. When Phoenix didn’t flinch away, he pulled the boy into his lap and rocked with him. “I know. It’s okay. It’s called being overwhelmed. I feel it too sometimes.”

“Please don’t hate me, daddy,” Phoenix whimpered.

Tim looked torn. Rhys had never heard Phoenix call his parents mommy or daddy before, and apparently Tim wasn’t used to it either. It made Phoenix seem that much younger, clutching his father and crying into his chest.

“I could never hate you. I hate that you threw a book at my head, and if you ever do that again you’ll spend the rest of your life pulling weeds from the garden. But I could never hate you,” Tim said, hugging him tightly and kissing his head. “You got overwhelmed. It happens. You need to tell me when you’re...when it’s too much. Okay? You need to tell me. Then we can avoid all this.”

“Um…” Rhys knew he shouldn’t, but he felt it needed to be pointed out. “You weren’t exactly being mature, either.”

“Hey! I-” Tim groaned. “Yea, no, I wasn’t. That’s on me. Still getting used to being a parent with responsibilities. I’m sorry I was an asshole, Phoenix.”

Phoenix gripped Tim’s shoulder and pulled himself up to kiss the side of Tim’s head, where the book had hit. “Sorry I threw a book at your head. Do you hate me?”

“I just said I didn’t, and I never will,” Tim said, pulling him back down. “Hey, it’s really just karma. I used to drive my mom crazy when I was your age. I’d do some stupid kid thing, she’d yell at me, I’d cry, and she’d apologize later and say she was trying her best. I get it now.”

Phoenix wiped at his eyes and rested his head on Tim’s chest, gripping his shirt again. “You can’t die, dad. Ever.”

“I don’t know about ‘ever’, but I’m doing my best, pal,” Tim said, running a hand through Phoenix’s messy hair. “Pretty Boy’s dead, and good riddance to the bastard. You don’t have to be afraid of him hurting me anymore.”

Phoenix reached out, taking Tim’s cybernetic hand. His eyes watered again, even as Tim curled his fake fingers over Phoenix’s hand.

“He, ah, he saw me while they were treating me after I lost my hand,” Tim explained to Rhys. “I had to cut it off to save the casino and everyone on it from an emergency protocol. When the adrenaline wore off I didn’t...really handle it as well as I probably could’ve. In my defense, it hurt like a bitch, and I was at imminent risk of infection.”

Rhys waved his own cybernetic arm. “Not quite the same circumstances, but I get it.”

“Rhys? Thank you,” Tim said quietly, hugging Phoenix tighter to himself. “I’m not exactly great at this. If you hadn’t talked to him, I probably would’ve kept being an asshole and making it worse. I should’ve thought to talk to him, but he was so combative this morning that I just gave up on that and went right to being a dick to my own kid.”

“O-Oh, it was nothing,” Rhys said. “You know, I’m just, um, I’m just used to mediating during meetings and stuff.”

Tim smiled at him, small and genuine. “Sure, Rhys. Thanks for caring about him.”

He stood up with Phoenix in his arms, kissing him again. Rhys got up and awkwardly pat Phoenix on the back.

“You look tired. Want to take a nap on the chair there while we do our work?” Tim said.

“Can I…” Phoenix trailed off and clung tighter to Tim.

“Sure,” Tim said, smiling at him. “I do love to have my boy with me.”

Phoenix’s expression brightened, and he threw his arms around Tim’s neck. “I love you, dad. I won’t throw books at you no more. Anymore.” He peeked at Rhys.

Rhys laughed. “Yea. No throwing books anymore.” 

“I’m glad to hear it, and so is my headache,” Tim said, sitting down and rubbing Phoenix’s back with one hand, lifting a report with his free one.

Phoenix fell asleep, nestled against Tim’s chest. Rhys couldn’t help but smile a little at the two of them, proud he could help reconcile them, and a little panicked at how close to them he’d grown.

But as Tim laughed quietly at poor wording in a report, trying not to jostle Phoenix too much, Rhys shook that panic from himself. Maybe getting dragged into the Lawrence family wasn’t so bad, especially when he could help these two traumatized people be a little happier in the world and with each other.

[snarkwrites]

how long has it been since my last ✨thot✨? too long

suits, we talked about it. tim and greg look fine as fuck in them and there are definitely some other uses for those ties😏😏😏 murder me please - ❤️

it’s been so long! i’m so glad you’re back and you’re sending me more  ✨thots✨ too!!! We did talk about Tim and Greg in suits. Honestly, either man in a suit is like.. uh.. God tier. that’s that sexy daddy af good shit me thinks. OMG I’VE ACTUALLY THOUGHT THIS ON OCCASION...

Warnings:

This is probably about to get dirty. Or suggestive, at the very least. If you’re under 18+ you need to navigate away now. This content is not meant for minors. 

It got sexual. All minors, please remove thine selves from this post.

Mentions of the misuse of a neck tie... Compromising situations, fingering / body fluids and the above all taking place in semi public locales... Dominant behavior. Pretty much it for this, if you’re choosing to stick around.

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave 

@twistnet

TIM SPEEDLE & suits /neck ties;

You barely stopped the gasp at the sight of him when he stepped out of the dressing room. Grumbling, tugging at the tie around his neck. A tie that wasn’t even tied properly. And the sight of that made you giggle. You wandered over, melting against him. Walking your fingers up and down his chest.

“I hate it, thanks.” he muttered. “H cannot seriously expect me to work in this shit, Hell, I can barely breathe.” he tugged at the tie. The movement had you staring at his hands helplessly. Imagining him with the jacket off.. The tie loose and around his neck. The sleeves rolled to his fore arms. You lying on the bed and Tim slipping the tie from around his neck, leaning down over you with that smirk on his face as he bound your hands and started to undress you, slowly peeling away each layer.

“I think it’s sexy.” you answered, caught in the heat of the moment and your little daydream that you’d just had. It slipped out before you could stop it. Face burning hot when you realized you’d just blurted it out loud and not in your head. He’d asked you to come along to help him with this as a friend. And you’d come along happily, because a chance to see Tim Speedle in a suit was not something you wanted to miss out on.

You expected it to go all quiet and awkward. Instead, your back met the wall next to the dressing room door with a soft smack. He pressed into you. Gazing deep into your eyes. “Sexy huh?” he chuckled, inching his face closer to your own. You gulped. Nodding. “I said it, didn’t I?”

“Oh, you said it.” Tim licked his lips. The end result was his tongue brushing against the outline of your mouth, warm and wet. Making you whimper before you could stop yourself or regain control. You took a few shaky breaths and admitted quietly, “ I mean, you’re always sexy, but that suit is really giving me ideas..” trailing off because now you’d definitely just said too much. He still hadn’t really reacted to you admitting you thought he was sexy and here you went, digging the hole deeper. “Just curious, princess.. What are your ideas?”

You swallowed hard. Taking a deep breath because he was pressing himself into you harder now. The handle on the door was lightly digging at your back. His hands were skimming over your sides. He was staring at you expectantly. Waiting on your answer.

“Tying me up with that tie.” the words tumbled out in a rush and something in the man snapped. He was rocking against you. His mouth met yours clumsily. What started out as a clumsy peck turned into a deep and handsy kiss. His hand slipping beneath your skirt to squeeze and cup your core. The other hand lightly covering your mouth when you started to get loud and needy with your whimpers and whines. He lowered his hand, pushing open the door to the dressing room. You stepped inside and found yourself pinned against the mirror. Tim molding against you from behind. Locking eyes wtih you in the reflection.

Just the revelation that he had this entire other side to him had you dripping in a split second. He mumbled lazily against the shell of your ear, “Fine. I’ll buy the suit. But.. How serious were you about me using the tie on your wrists?”

“If you get me out of here right now, Tim, you can do whatever you want.. With the tie. In front of a mirror...”

He groaned, a whimper on the heels of the groan as he pressed his palm against your dripping sex a bit harder. Applying more pressure. “Anything, huh? So if I tied you to the bed and went down on you, that’d be okay?” as he groaned when you got even wetter, really starting to drip on his hand. He rubbed himself against your ass, making you shiver at the way it felt, his cock strained against the fitted pants of the suit, pressing against your ass. 

“Oh, it’d be more than okay.” you breathed out, your breath shaky as you said the words, the words catching in your throat as his mouth danced over your throbbing pulse. “I want you to. Please?”

He growled against your skin. “ I am so tempted to take you up on that, right here, right now.” 

All you could do was whimper and rock yourself against him urgently. Begging for it. Beyond turned on at this side of him because it was one you hadn’t seen before. But always wondered if he posessed. Reaching back between your bodies, you ghosted your hand over the way he strained at the pants of the suit. He rocked against your hands. “I’m not stopping you.” you moaned out as his hand squeezed your core, pressing down just a little more. Teasing you... He removed his hand, raising it to tug the tie free.

“Hands up against the wall, princess.” he muttered lazily against your ear once more. You did as you were told and Tim tugged the tie free from his neck, loosely binding your wrists together. You whimpered helplessly and Tim’s hands drifted back down, settling beneath your skirt. Fingers brushing soaked fabric out of the way and burying deep inside you as you squirmed against the way he had your wrists bound. “I didn’t tie you too tight?” he checked and you shook your head no, pleading for the use of your hands in the next breath when you felt his fingers working deeper inside you, the soft wet slosh as he did so making you bite your lip just to attempt staying quiet so you weren’t caught. “We shouldn’t be doing this but I can’t wait. Want you so much.” he muttered against your skin, his breath catching as he worked his fingers in and out. “So wet already. And when  I get you home and taste you, fuck...” 

GREG SANDERS & neck ties;

“Thank you for coming with tonight.” you molded against him as a slow song started to play and the dee jay announced the arrival of the bride and groom. Greg beamed down at you, his arms slipping loosely around your waist. 

“I wasn’t going to leave you hanging.” he answered and the husky edge to his voice had you barely biting back a whimper. You toyed with the tie that hung loosened around his neck. Your gaze fixed on his shirt. He tucked his fingers beneath your chin, making you meet his gaze.

“I’d do anything for you.” he muttered. Cheeks reddening as he admitted it. Wanting to kick himself because he had. You took a second to process. Melting against his body as you did. Licking your lips because at this particular moment, words were failing you.

Across the reception area, the bride and groom were slicing into the cake, but you didn’t want to let go to wander over and watch. Greg chuckled quietly. You could tell he was getting a little nervous. You had to do something. So you gripped hold of the loosened tie, pulling his mouth down and against your own. Parting his lips with your tongue, making him groan into your mouth and deepen the kiss. His hands starting to really wander. Settling on your ass. Squeezing, which in the process, rocked you right into his body. When you repeated the movement, something in him snapped and he asked in a breathy whisper against your mouth as the kiss broke, “Do you want to go somewhere more private?”

“Oh my god, yes.” you panted, your mouth meeting his all over again. He picked you up, letting your legs circle his waist and your arms circle his neck and he carried you out into the lobby of the hotel your sister was holding the wedding in. You had a room on the second floor that you’d gotten for the day and the night just in case neither you or Greg were up to driving the two and a half hours back to Vegas. Your back met the wall next to the elevator with a soft smack and he reached out, not bothering to break the kiss as he pushed up on the elevator.

And when it opened, he stepped on quickly. You used the tie to pull his mouth against yours all over again and he growled against your mouth. “If you keep doing that..”

“You’ll what?” you teased, pulling away to give a soft giggle. Greg licked his lips, something wild flashing in his eyes and as soon as you two were in your suite, he was tearing your clothing off, you were tearing his clothing off and your back met with the mattress as you were pulling his shirt off his body. He settled himself between your legs, pushing them open. Your legs leaning against his sides. His hand moved up your body, reaching for something. The tie, you discovered when he held your hands in one of his, tying the tie around your wrist loose. Making you pout as he leaned down, kissing, nipping at your mouth. Then your neck.. and then a trail down your body. Settling on his knees, raising one of your legs as he started to work his mouth up the inside of your leg, letting it settle on his shoulder as he nipped at the waistband of your panties with his teeth, tugging them downward with a soft and playful growl against your bare skin that sent a shiver racing through you. His tongue making a broad swipe up your dripping center as you tried to dig your heel into his upper back just to have some kind of grip or control over.

By the time he was finished using his tongue to spell his name between your thighs, you were shaking and arching your back, begging him to free your hands...

[adultswim2021]

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #85: “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” | December 7, 2003 - 11:30 PM | S08E04

Happy 20th anniversary, Adult Swim. And, boy, what a momentous episode of Ghost do we have here to celebrate. There are a number of episodes where the guest is an event unto itself and this is truly one of them. Frequent punchline William Shatner is an absolute cunt... and a proper legend. His cuntiness and legendary status are two things that seem to be at odds with one another, and the Space Ghost crew have managed to come up with an artfully idiosyncratic episode to match Shatner’s weird-guy-ness. It’s a classic for sure, and important. But (making a “smug dipshit” face) is it funny?

YES! It’s FUNNY! I will admit though, the first time I saw this episode I didn’t quite know what to make of it. This is partially because I’m very much a Star Trek agnostic. I’ve never been into Star Trek. In the last few years I’ve watched most of the pre-Next Gen motion pictures for inane list-making reasons, and I enjoyed them to varying degrees, but Star Trek is truly not for me. I’m more of a... well, I’m not a Star Wars guy either. What’s the other one? Uh... Spaceballs. That’s it. I’m more of a Spaceballs guy.

But I feel like I’ve absorbed a lot of Star Trek lore through cultural osmosis. I vaguely understand that William Shatner has had some deliberately-paced choreographed fight scene on those rocks from Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey. When I hear music similar to the the music that Jim Carrey hums in The Cable Guy, I’m pretty sure whatever it is I’m watching is doing a Star Trek thing. And yes, I’ve watched every single Red Letter Media “Mike and Rich talk about Star Trek for 4 hours” video. But even today, after having picked up more Star Trek knowledge on my journey to the grave, I still have this nagging feeling of “I only sort of get this”.

Still, this episode has a handful of screamingly funny lines, and the episode ends wonderfully, with Space Ghost in his death throes, suffering the ultimate indignity of dying in front of William Shatner. There’s also the part where Zorak asks why everyone in Star Trek is black, and a part where Moltar nervously reads from his fan fiction (from a book labeled TARD WARS, hahaha). Shatner, who has a reputation for being arrogant and difficult, is as good a sport as one could hope. The show makes good use of his hammier moments, and only shits on him slightly in the process. The most notable moment is when Shatner says to Zorak “didn't you and I fight to the death?” to which Zorak replies “That sounds pretty dumb, man”. I’ve actually quoted this line many times. It’s one of the best.

Also, for those of you who like to track these things: the show features callbacks to other episodes and shows; the handimen at Zorak’s apartment are clearly extras from Sealab 2020/2021, one of the Leprechauns from Aqua Teen Hunger Force shows up, and there’s a poignant callback to classic Space Ghost episode “Banjo”. 

The title motif of this season is naming the episodes after Allman Brothers songs, and I always wondered about this one. Maybe I’m reaching, and it’s probably too disrespectful to be true, but I always thought that it was somehow a veiled reference to Shatner’s wife, whom he supposedly killed or let die. It’s simply too dark to be true, but it’s the first thought that immediately jumped to my mind when I first heard the title of this episode. Am I stupid for thinking this? Am I stupid because it OBVIOUSLY is a reference to that?? I simply do not know. I would like to know.

MAIL BAG

The big anniversary is upon us. What are your 20 favorite things about adult swim for 20 years going. Don't sleep on this question!

I gotta do SOMETHING special, so I might as well do this. More thought could have gone into this, but I spent about an hour trying to come up with episodes or moments from 20 different shows and putting them in rough chronological order. I limited myself to one episode/scene/moment/joke/whatever per show so it’s not all Space Ghost jokes. So, here we go:

Sealab 2021: “I, Robot”. Adult Swim proved it could be brilliant right out of the gate with the stealth premiere of “I, Robot”, but for Sealab it’s all downhill from here. (2000)

Space Ghost Coast to Coast: Space Ghost stops in his tracks to reminisce about the time Bobcat Goldthwait said "crack a window". The entire episode “Kentucky Nightmare” is brilliant, but this moment in particular so uniquely captures my sense of humor that it’s inexplicable. The dumb look on Space Ghost’s face when he stops in his tracks. Goddamn. (2001)

Aqua Teen Hunger Force: “Mayhem of the Mooninites” I tried very hard to make this all be individual jokes or scenes or whatever, but this is another episode where the entire thing is just line after line and I can’t really pick. This, “I Robot”, and “Kentucky Nightmare” is like a perfect trio illustrating how good Adult Swim really was right out of the gate. (2001)

Home Movies: Jason casually reveals that his parents have no idea who Brendon and Melissa are and that he spends most of his free-time making movies with them. This is the episode “Storm Warning” which is overall one of the best episodes of Home Movies, but this scene is probably my favorite. Illustrates how simple and hilarious the comedy is on this show. (2002)

Tom Goes to the Mayor: the end scene in “Undercover”, where they’ve shoddily reversed Tom’s various unnecessary surgeries and called him “Taumpy Tears” to boot. Positively sublime. (2006)

Metalocalypse: Dr. Rockso’s music video. From the episode “Dethclown”. I was never in love with this show as much as the true fans were, but there were a handful of incredible episodes. This episode basically tells one joke over and over and it’s very funny. It really ends with a bang showcasing Dr. Rockso’s shitty music video that celebrates cocaine use. His singing voice is hilarious. (2006)

Assy McGee: I am the only person in the world that defends Assy McGee as being “actually pretty good” and it’s all entirely due to this one line: Assy McGee (a pair of naked buttocks with legs, whose ass functions as his head) is forced to attend a black tie event and is just milling around wearing nothing but a black bow tie. Through clenched anus he delivers the line “I can barely breathe in this penguin suit”. The whole show is worth it for that joke. I don’t even know what episode it is except that it’s from one of the first few. I might not even have the line exactly right. But, I remember laughing so hard. I may not have laughed at Assy McGee again. (2006)

Saul of the Mole Men: The opening theme song. And nothing else. (2007)

Tim & Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!: Jim and Derrick. I should pick something more user-friendly maybe, since this episode almost entirely relies on being familiar with Tim & Eric’s previous episodes. But goddamn, this episode is such a funny concept (which is basically Tim & Eric doing an alternate MTV-ified version of Awesome Show) (2008)

Moral Orel: “Numb”. When Moral Orel suddenly stopped being a quirky Adult Swim comedy and suddenly started doing episodes that resembled art films. This episode is a fucking masterpiece. I remember sobbing the first time I saw it. There are a few in season 3 that are like that, but this one is my favorite. (2008)

Check it Out! with Dr. Steve Brule: Terry Bruge-Hiplo reviews “Dumpster’s Children”. Another bit of comedy that I’d describe as “inexplicable” and “sublime”, and it all hinges on an old man’s mouth. Holy fuck. I don’t think I’ve laughed harder than this at a TV show since. (2010)

Delocated: The ending of “Mole”, an extended Face/Off riff where Jon goes undercover as the scary mobster Sergei. In the final moments of the episode he marries a woman, fathers multiple children with her, and only then is pulled out of the mission. The episode is a tour-de-force of comic acting by Steve Cirbus, who is graciously allowed to shine for most of the episode. But man, that ending is fucking wonderful. (2010)

Venture Bros.: The ending of “Operation P.R.O.M.” a flurry of emotions hit me when “Like a Friend” by Pulp starts playing. The scene is so well done and weirdly touching. Brock realizes that deep down he gives a shit about the Venture family and is genuinely terrified something might happen to them. And then he gets to slaughter a bunch of Zorak monsters, which is also weirdly sweet. It’s even touching on a meta-level knowing that Jackson and Doc tried many times and failed to include licensed music in the show. I love Venture Bros, but I think we’d all be better off if this were the series finale. Sorry. I had to say it. (2010)

The Heart She Holler: The first scene with Patton being taught the way of the world posthumously by his father on a VHS tape. The first season of this show is amazing, but that scene, especially where Patton does a little Japanese bow and says “oh, hot dog!” is just hysterical. Literally every time a hot dog comes up in conversation my wife and I quote it. Please, do not scorn her, it’s not racist when SHE does it. (2011)

Eagleheart: The All That Jazz inspired finale. “Paradise Rising” is mostly a masterpiece, and how it ends is so fucking incredible. Easily the most under-rated show on Adult Swim and I’m not just saying that because... you know (mimes dick-sucking) (2014)

Rick and Morty: I watched the first two episodes of Rick and Morty, thought it was good, but for some reason didn’t become a devotee until my wife made me watch the Mr. Poopybutthole episode. It’s still my favorite episode, I think. (2015)

Brett Gelman’s Dinner in America: The “Dinner with” specials are all really good, but goddamn, this one hits. Should be shown in schools. I am going to go to every grade school in my county with an AR-15 (to get past the guards, of course) and I won’t leave until they call an assembly and they let me fumble around trying to find it on vimeo and play it for the students. (2016)

The Eric Andre Show: Eric interviews Steve Schirripa. The bit where he has an intern dip his balls in Steve’s spaghetti sauce is hilarious, naturally, but I’m here to showcase the running gag where every time Steve complains how hot the studio is, Eric just wordlessly hands him an ice cube until Steve explodes. It’s one of the most childishly hilarious things I’ve ever seen. It’s perfect. (2016)

Million Dollar Extreme Presents: World Peace: The Pick-Up artist sketch. I’m mostly unimpressed with MDE, and all but a few Sam Hyde bits leave me cold. But this sketch is a crowning achievement. I mean, I think these guys suck politically and are more mean than funny, but their sensibilities yielded one really incredible piece of comedy. Okay, I laughed at the blackface sketch too. There. You dragged it out of me. (2016) Joe Pera Talks With You: This show is beautiful and I love every episode. But the episode “Joe Pera Reads You The Church Announcements” Wherein Joe discovers a new-to-him song and can’t stop listening to it, is one of the most joyous episodes of television I’ve ever seen. A gateway episode. I tell everyone to please watch this one first. (2018)

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter Fourteen

AO3

Beta read as always is @thesnadger​

Martin returns a lost item.

It's cleaning day. 

She was still in bed.

Martin breathed out his nose. This was normal, what with the early hours he kept. Still, as he shut the door, the smallest amount of tension left his shoulders. His mother would wake up in a few hours and go about her day as usual with what energy she had. Things were normal. 

He pressed his forehead to the wood.

She hadn’t been holding her skin.

Stowed it away, perhaps, to keep it close and secure instead of sitting in the corner of a stuffy attic. Tucked out of sight, as if it had never been there. If this was what she wanted, fine. He would leave it. He stepped away and continued with his morning, leaving the silence undisturbed.

His routine dragged on, and yet before he knew it he’d sped through the whole thing. Teeth, shower, some small nothing of a breakfast that he barely managed to get down. Pill box set on the counter, the previous day’s dose empty. Some dishes left in the sink that he hadn’t gotten to the night before quickly rinsed and set aside. Then, before he felt any time truly pass, he was slipping on his shoes.

His bag felt heavy as he lifted it from the table, though the sketchbook inside was no physical burden. This would be over soon, he told himself. It made no difference to his nervous insides.

He should’ve gotten more sleep.

It had been a mistake to stumble out of the house the night before. He could’ve complied with his mother’s demand for solitude by simply leaving the room and going upstairs to his own bed. Instead, he’d had to be walked home late at night like a drunk after last call. And above all, he was up earlier than usual, the final nail in his sleepless coffin. 

Martin rubbed away some of the exhaustion from his eyes and hefted the bag more securely onto his shoulder. Upon exiting his home he was met with a dreary, drizzling morning that sprayed his glasses with tiny droplets. Before long he would have to wipe them, but he kept his umbrella stored away.

“No reason to look up,” he muttered to himself, turning his back on the sea. It churned and scattered itself over the rocks. “Nothing but water in your eyes.”

It was easy enough to focus on the path as it sloped upward, and when he reached town he turned to walk on a street perpendicular to his normal route, that towering thing clawing at this periphery. He had another destination to avoid eye contact with first.

On the way he passed the storage house, doing his best to look like an uninterested pedestrian. It was hard not to stare. So quiet in the early morning, the building could’ve been unused for years if Martin hadn’t known better. 

He shook his head. There was no more business to be had there, at least for the moment. If none of them had been tracked down by the police (or worse), it wasn’t worth worrying about. No, the only person who knew about their little investigation was ahead of him, and like a fool Martin had to trust that he would keep this whole thing quiet.

The house was probably the same as it had been. Martin couldn’t tell, as he kept his eyes away from its large frame and numerous windows. The front gate was open and inviting, the mouth of a whale waiting for the tiniest specks of sea life to float inside.

A woman in a neat suit stood at the front door, apparently waiting for him. “Martin. Simon told me to expect you. No problems, I assume?”

“No.” Martin sifted through his bag and handed her the sketchbook.

“Wonderful. I’ll deliver this to him for you.” She lightly brushed at the cover, lips parting in a smile. “Also, Simon wished for me to tell you that the view from up high later today won’t be one to miss.”

Her face said to be excited, as if she were telling him discreetly of a meteor shower or a fireworks display. A fun, secret end to his family vacation that wasn’t mentioned in the brochure. She tucked the sketchbook under her arm, never letting the friendly grin drop.

“Have a nice day,” she said, through her sparkling teeth. The door was promptly shut in his face.

Backing away, Martin almost looked up at the windows overlooking the front of the house, then snapped his head back down. There was nothing for him up there but dark glass and rainwater.

--

“That’s…hm.” Jon grimaced in his chair. “It’s certainly ominous.”

Martin sat at his small desk making a modest attempt at getting his work done. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be looking out the windows later.”

Jon nodded. “Yes, that would be for the best. I am concerned, though. The possibility of that book being something more significant hadn’t crossed my mind with everything else going on. If I’d had more time to think, I would’ve asked to take a look at it.”

Across from Jon, Tim was flipping through Martin’s work contract with some intensity. Without looking up, he said, “Well, there’s no helping it now. It probably would’ve just given you a headache, or worse. Martin, is there a list of- oh, wait, I found them.”

Sasha leaned over to look at the pages in Tim’s hand, chewing on the inside of her cheek. When Martin had come in for the day, the three had already settled into their workplaces with a strange energy about them. Sasha in particular had been on edge, seemingly unable to sit for too long. 

When he’d asked about this, her only response had been, “Elias hasn’t contacted us yet.”

Jon had argued that it was early, that he had sent out an email the night before and Elias might not have seen it, but there were lines of worry etched in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. 

Or perhaps he was also in need of a better night’s sleep. If Martin had to guess, none of them were running at full capacity. If combing through his incredibly boring work contract helped Tim and Sasha them feel productive, so be it.

“Well, whatever the book was,” Jon continued, “when you go upstairs later, make sure to take Sasha or myself with you. We’ve been largely unaffected by this place, so if anyone is to follow up on Fairchild’s… tip, it should be one of us.”

“He’s the type to rile people up for fun. Maybe it’s nothing.” Martin couldn’t even convince himself.

“Not worth the risk, what with the symptoms you and Tim have exhibited.” Jon glanced at the other two, who did not look away from their reading. He cleared his throat. “Better to be safe in this circumstance, I think.”

The group fell back into silent work, Martin at his desk, Jon on his laptop, and the other two scanning line after line of employment agreements and mind-numbing blocks of text Martin probably hadn’t read before signing. When he’d gone over it days before, there had been no secret clauses or double meanings. Maybe they would have more luck.

Tim eventually spoke up. “Huh. Martin, have you done any of the cleaning bit since we’ve arrived?”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “What? Sorry, did I leave a mess in the sink or-”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Tim tapped the back of his hand onto the page in front of him. “Says here you’re basically the janitorial staff. Something about having to go through the place and clean everything.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, it’s part of my job since no one else works here.” Heat crept up his neck. He’d completely forgotten in the week’s excitement. He muttered to himself, “Shit. I’d better get that done today. If Peter comes in tomorrow and sees it’s a mess-”

“Don’t worry, we won’t interrupt. Just tell us if we need to move anything.”

Martin nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. “Thanks for reminding me. It’s not a priority most of the time since it’s just me, but at the very least he’ll notice if the floors are bad.” And with all the weather and the people, they absolutely were. Goodness.

Tim clicked his tongue. “Can’t have him thinking of us as an intrusion, not if we want to keep the work going.”

“God, I hadn’t even thought about that.” Martin walked over to the closet and began to pull out cleaning supplies. It would have to be the kitchen first, then the floors…

Before long, he’d settled into his cleaning routine. All of the dishes were properly washed instead of just rinsed out, not that the tea stains would be coming off anytime soon. He did his best to mop the main area without disturbing the researchers. Besides some lifting of feet, there were no interruptions on his part.

He would have to go over some spots later, but there was no helping it with all these people about. With so many shoes on the tile and all the rotten weather, the place had gotten dirty and slick. He really would need to get a better mat for the front door if people were to come in more often, especially once it started snowing.

Pushing that thought gently aside, Martin walked toward the stairs with his mop and bucket full of sudsy water. 

“Wait, you really have to lug that all the way up?” Sasha asked. 

“Yeah…” Martin sighed and started climbing. “There’s nowhere to fill a bucket up there, but people go up just enough that it gets dirty.” 

From behind him, there was the sliding of chairs on tile. He looked back. Sasha led the other two toward him and said, “With what Fairchild said, it’s best not to risk anyone going up there alone. Besides, I want another look at the windows before it goes weird.”

“Okay… Just don’t look too far down when you do.” He glanced behind her. “Tim, are you sure you don’t want to-”

“Oh, I’ll be staying nice and safe in the center of the room where I can keep an eye on everyone.” Tim smiled with at least some humor. “Besides, you were right. The contract was a terrible read.”

Martin shrugged and continued his ascent with everyone trailing behind. He wouldn’t bother with the stairs until he was on his way down, in part due to safety but also because it was the biggest pain to keep the bucket balanced. 

Halfway up the stairs the shoulder pain kicked in as it usually did, near his neck and right between the shoulder blades. He knew it must’ve been from holding things wrong in some way. Maybe the shifting weight of the water messed with his muscles, but no matter how he held himself he had always managed to get at least a crick in his neck.

“Martin?” Jon said, sounding distant at the back of the line. “Is everything okay?”  

Martin hummed in response, stretching his neck. He didn’t work with proper posture, so that was almost definitely a factor. Setting a timer could be helpful. How often were people supposed to stand and move when sitting for a long time? Every thirty minutes? That seemed a bit too often, but he was no expert in muscles or spines. 

He wasn’t an expert in anything, really, but in this case he could at least google it. How often had he told himself he would google ‘when should you get up sedentary job?’ without doing so? Was thirty years when things started going wrong with your back? Martin was a tall man, and his back had never been great, not with his lifestyle or all the lifting he sometimes had to do at home, but he knew being tall could really mess up the spine. Herniated discs were apparently-

“Martin!” Sasha’s voice snapped, echoing up into the stairwell.

The sound of steps behind him had stopped. Martin paused and looked over his shoulder to find Sasha’s hand on it, giving it a shockingly forceful shake. The three of them seemed to sag in relief. Tim was gripping the handrail and leaned his head against the wall, while Jon just looked at him with his hands raised as if to prod Martin’s arm.

With a nervous laugh, Martin flicked his eyes between them. “W-what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen-”

“Martin, what just happened?” Sasha asked. Her fingers continued to dig into his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“We… walked up the stairs? I carried a bucket?” He lifted the bucket up as evidence, then stared at it. “Sorry, did some of the water splash out and make the stairs slippery? I tend to overfill it, but-” 

Jon cut him off. “Let’s just- we’ll talk when we get upstairs.” He glanced behind himself with some alarm and hurried to the front of the group.

Martin was about to argue, to say that no, if something happened he deserved to know- but one look at their faces was enough to shut him up as they resumed the trek upward. He gripped tight the bucket and mop. 

It became clear on the quiet walk that the others were waiting for something. Sasha kept lightly squeezing Martin’s shoulder as if to push him forward. Only once did they stop for Tim to get his bearings, after several instances of Tim waving off his own stumbles as nothing.

From the front Jon regularly looked over his shoulder, usually at Martin but occasionally past him down the winding steps. Martin attempted to catch his eye more than once to raise an eyebrow at him, but the man was distracted by whatever it was that had everyone all in a tizzy. 

Besides those tiny moments of confusion, it was easy enough to settle into the now familiar headspace of focusing on Jon’s back and not thinking too hard about it all.

Finally, thankfully, they reached the upper floor. Bright morning light filtered through the panes of glass, a startlingly intense change from the stairwell. Despite this, Martin shivered. If he dared go near the windows, he thought, would they be at all warm?

Sasha’s hand guided him to a small, faded couch in the corner. He set the cleaning supplies onto the floor, sat with his hands together in his lap, and waited.

Sasha began, “So, I’m sure that was… strange for you.”

“I mean, yeah?” Martin replied. He started rubbing a thumb into the back of his hand. “Clearly something happened that I don’t know about.”

Sasha looked around at the other two before fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Well. Before we get into that, there’s something you should hear. Late last night, I received an interesting voicemail.” 

Martin’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, she actually-”

“She didn’t actually claim to be anyone. Understandably suspicious.” Sasha looked at her phone and pulled something up on it. “Nevertheless, she had some… advice.”

She tapped the phone, then held it out.

A tired, irritated voice came through, muffled with static. “I’m not interested in talking, not if you’re involved with those people, that family. They’ve harassed me, stalked me, who knows what else.” 

There was a quick sigh. “But you found my number and just... called me. No one would blow all that work on such a weak lie unless they were being sincere. I guess. Or it’s just easier to hope that someone else sees that something is wrong.”

“So, before I realize this is a bad idea, tell this to whoever they got to replace him: Don’t assume incompetence. They know how to get away with things. It’s all making you ignore what’s right in front of you because, no, of course it must be a mistake or a typo. It’s about getting away with a lie without actually lying.” Another sigh. 

“That’s where he went, or where they took him, I know it. When he came out from- from wherever the first time, he found me losing it on the stairs after he-.” The person laughed, just barely. “Almost dropped the stupid water bucket when he saw me there. He was always- no. No. If you’re really trying to figure things out, then best of luck to you. You’re probably fucked, but either way, don’t… don’t go in alone. You’ll just get lost. Don’t bother calling this number again.” Click.

For a moment Martin stared at the phone. Her voice had been cracking near the end, and he pushed down the bile that rose in his throat. “This is, um… So, she saw something, and that something was…”

Tim nodded, fishing a folded page of the contract out of his pocket and giving it over to Martin. “She was right. It’s the smallest detail. No one would think it’s anything other than a mistake.” 

Slowly, Martin unfolded the page listing his general duties. It took him a moment, but after scanning a few lines he found it. His stomach twisted. “‘Upper floors’. There’s only the main floor and the top floor, nothing else.”

“Apparently not,” Jon said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Because about halfway up the stairs you disappeared straight into a wall.”