#yearoftheotp

Jamie can’t help but stare at him again. That faint smile is so rare that whenever it comes across Roy’s face, it doesn’t leave Jamie’s mind for days at a time.

Wanting to maybe coax another smile out of him, Jamie dares to venture further. “So, is this what you had in mind when you told me I couldn’t hang with the lads ‘cause I’m not supposed to have a day off of training?”

Roy turns to face him, cocking an eyebrow. “Obviously not, you idiot. I expected to actually fucking train you, but you just started running around Amsterdam like a fucking lunatic.”

Jamie grins, playfully nudging Roy. “And you couldn’t even keep up.”

Roy just rolls his eyes and flicks the back of Jamie’s head. “Fuck off, Tartt.”

Something about that, that simple banter, makes Jamie’s heart flutter. He lets out a chuckle at the playful flick, and he sees yet another ghost of a smile — or maybe it’s the same one; he can’t tell — cross Roy’s lips.

Roy’s fucking lips. Jamie can’t stop staring at them.

This would be the perfect moment. They’re alone, under the quiet night sky in Amsterdam, under a windmill. Roy’s looking right at him, and Jamie’s heart jumps into his throat, racing a million miles a second.

He takes a deep breath. He has to. If he misses this opportunity, he’ll beat himself up about it for the rest of his life. He’s tired of pretending that everything is normal between them, that they’re just friends. That they don’t have some sort of fucking chemistry. It sounds ridiculous and cheesy and Jamie hates the sound of it, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what he calls it. All that matters is what he’s about to do.

Jamie swallows his fear, stops stalling, and does it all in one swift motion. His hands come up to grab Roy’s jacket, he steps closer, and he kisses Roy.

It’s quick. It’s basically nothing more than a peck on the lips. Jamie’s eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see it, but Roy’s eyebrows just about pop out of his head with how high he raises them.

Jamie pulls back quickly, his hands still clutching Roy’s jacket, and slowly, hesitantly, he opens his eyes.

A wave of panic instantly rushes through him as he meets Roy’s gaze. Roy doesn’t look disgusted, which is a relief — but he doesn’t exactly look happy, either. His eyebrows are still raised, his eyes filled with shock and confusion… and maybe something else; Jamie can’t tell.

After a moment, Jamie lets his hands fall back to his sides and quickly just turns back to the windmill, gazing up at it, trying to calm his nerves. Fuck, why hasn’t Roy said anything? Fuck!

Roy just keeps staring at Jamie, his brain not quite processing what just happened. But after about a minute straight of silence — which might not seem like a long time, but it really is — he manages to speak.

“Jamie?”

Jamie freezes. He doesn’t sound mad, doesn’t even sound annoyed. Nor does he sound happy. Fuck, does he not care at all? Was that meaningless? Maybe it should be. Yeah. They should never mention it again.

Roy Kent’s straight, isn’t he?

Jamie quickly swallows all these thoughts and just keeps staring up at the windmill. “Yeah?”

Roy keeps his gaze locked on Jamie. “Did you just… kiss me?”

As if it hadn’t been obvious. Jamie pushes down his anxiety once again and just grins sheepishly. “Yeah.” After a beat, he lets out a nervous chuckle. “What? I know you’ve been kissed before. Maybe it’s just… been too long and you forgot what it was.”

Roy hesitates. Normally, he’d give Jamie a quiet grumble about how he’s a prick. Or an idiot. Or a muppet. Fuck, he has a lot of nicknames for Jamie, and not one of them is a true insult anymore.

“Never been kissed by a bloke before,” he eventually just mumbles, tearing his gaze away from Jamie to look up at the windmill.

Jamie exhales anxiously, but he still smiles a bit. “Well, I’m honored to have been the first.”

“I didn’t kiss you back,” Roy points out, though he sounds unsure. Almost… regretful?

Jamie, deciding he’s already risked a lot today (so what’s a little more?), just turns to look up at Roy, his expression a mix of something playful and flirty. “Well, that’s… somethin’ you can work on next time, innit?”

Roy deadpans, and for a minute, Jamie thinks he’s done. He’s fucked up. It’s over. Roy’s about to throw him over the railing and into the fucking canal.

Instead, Roy’s arm suddenly wraps around his shoulders, and the familiar grumble of “you’re an idiot” can be heard.

Jamie, leaning into the side hug with no hesitation, lets out a long sigh of relief and wraps an arm around Roy’s waist in turn with a grin. “You’d better be ready next time.”

Roy just grunts, but for the third time, that ghost of a smile appears on his lips. And it’s fucking captivating. So captivating that Jamie’s tempted to give him another kiss.

The air in the underground library of Shinra Manor was thick with the scent of old parchment and dust, mingling with the faintest trace of something sweet and comforting—pumpkin spice. The warmth of the room contrasted with the chilling void that enveloped the mansion’s deeper underground levels. Bianca stood there, taking in the labyrinth of bookshelves and the haphazard piles of files scattered across the cold stone floor.

How many books had she dodged that he threw in search of his origins? She had lost track on the fourth day, but she could sense that something was off about him. Bianca didn’t know how to even approach it or why the string tied around their wrists was blackening. She was only wearing a cream-colored oversized sweater, the fabric soft against her skin, and dark slacks that hugged her legs with each step. The heels of her sandals clicked across the stone floor as she walked towards him. Despite the overwhelming darkness that pervaded the air, there was a quiet softness to her presence, a vulnerability that softened the harsh edges of the dimly lit study. Sephiroth stood across from her with his back towards her and running his fingers over the dusty spines of the books, searching for the research that would answer all of his questions. His tall frame radiated a tension that seemed to stretch out and consume the surrounding space. The weight of his turmoil — the relentless pursuit of truths that seemed to slip further from his grasp — was palpable. His normally composed demeanor was cracking, the edges of his sanity teetering. In that moment, as she had the previous days, Bianca could sense the rawness beneath it all.

She stepped closer to him. Her breath was shallow, yet her heart pounded in her chest. A pull, something magnetic and uncontrollable, drove her forward. As her eyes met his, she found something in the depths of his gaze that mirrored her own inner chaos: a longing, a pain, a quiet desperation. She needed him, aching for the sense of belonging that this man could only give her. He had become the only stability in the mooring of her soul: the wound left behind by her first husband’s death days before.

Without a word, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his, the touch light but electric. The contact sent a surge of heat through her body, and she could feel the rapid pulse of her own blood mingling with the undercurrent of energy between them. There was no plan or expectation, just a need that was almost primal.

Primal. That scared her. Bianca had never just followed her primal instincts, as she knew well that it would unleash the beast dwelling deep within her: the gift of her father, the archdemon who went by the name of Asmodeus. She feared losing control of her inner demon, but Sephiroth and his sad — and a bit crazed eyes — called to her.

Sephiroth turned towards her. His hand still rested upon the book he was about to pull from the shelf. His gaze softened slightly; a flicker of something unspoken passed between them. His mouth parted, barely a breath between his top and heavy bottom lips. In that fleeting moment, Bianca saw the raw, unguarded Sephiroth—the man not defined by his legacy or his dark search, but the person beneath it all. She only saw him in that moment, and he only saw the woman beneath all the pain and torment: souls tied beyond something greater than their heritage and circumstance.

Then, without warning, he closed the space between them and bent down. His lips crashing into hers in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender. It was as if the world around them ceased to exist, leaving only the taste of their shared breath and the warmth of their bodies. Bianca gasped into the kiss, her senses igniting in an instant.

The kiss was intoxicating, rich with the taste of the breakfast they shared earlier and the faint scent of lily of the valley on his skin. His lips were firm, yet his touch was careful, as though testing the waters of something he had long kept at bay. As their mouths moved together, Bianca felt a sharp pull deep within her, a gravity that seemed to tether her to him in a way that transcended logic. She kissed him back. Her own lips were soft but insistent.

The thread around their wrists now glowed a vivid crimson, the heart-shape loops pulsating from the desire that pooled between them.

Bianca tasted the salt of his flesh. Her body shivered against him, the warmth of him pressing against her own as her hands slid up to grasp his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his SOLDIER suspenders crossing the broad expanse of his chest, the tension coiling in every movement. Her fingers curled around the middle of the straps, as her claws nicked his skin just slightly, but not enough for Sephiroth to bleed.

Then her right hand slid over to his arm. She felt his forearm flex beneath the ebony coat covering his entire body. Her hand gripped the silvery strands, brushing against his arm, trapping his hair between their skin.

A low hum reverberated through her, the sensation of his touch flooding her senses. The scent of him—a mix of sharp floral and earthy warmth — invaded her senses, making her head spin.

Need him. Need him. Need him. The thoughts kept repeating as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. Her heart raced, the rhythm erratic as she sank deeper into the kiss. The heat between them growing.

His powerful hands found her waist, pulling her closer, as though trying to erase the distance between them. How his hands now trembled against her. She could feel the heat of his body seep into hers, a quiet fire that matched the burning need coursing through her veins. The kiss was no longer just an act. It was a communion, a shared moment of understanding that transcended the chaos of their individual experiences.

The sound of their breathing mingled, becoming erratic as the kiss deepened. Bianca’s mind raced, her body responding to the undeniable pull of Sephiroth’s presence. A flash fire of wanton attraction spread within her body, engulfing her senses just below her flesh. His fingers trailed up the soft fabric of her sweater before his hand dove beneath her clothing, brushing against the warmth of her skin beneath. The touch was almost too much, sending waves of sensation rushing through her, as it made her feel both lightheaded and grounded all at once. It was like drowning and soaring at the same time.

Her lips parted against his, and in that moment of minute separation, she could feel his breath on her mouth. Hot and unsteady. Full of want and need. For a fleeting instant, the world outside the confines of the library ceased to exist: Zack wasn’t tossing and turning in his bed as he tried to make sense of Sephiroth and why the other 1st Class SOLDIER locked himself in the basement or a creature of unknown origins named J.E.N.O.V.A wasn’t in the containment tank in the reactor in the mountains. It was just the two of them. An unlikely pair bound by something darker and deeper than either of them could fully comprehend — beyond Jenova, beyond Asmodeus, beyond Shinra. This union was fated to happen by a prophecy she had been running from her entire life.

His hand cupped her cheek. His thumb grazed her skin with such tenderness that it contrasted with the intensity of their kiss. Bianca leaned into the touch, as if she were a thirsty man deprive of water in the desert and his touch was her only oasis, and felt the pulse of his hand against her skin and the warmth of his presence anchoring her in a way nothing else ever had. No one had ever made her feel like this before.

The kiss lasted for what felt like an eternity. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads touched, as he still bent down to her level. Their breaths mingled. Both of them were silent. A thousand unspoken words hung between them, as they stared up into each other’s eyes: gold peering into cyan hues. Bianca’s lips tingled from the kiss. Overwhelmed, she could still taste him, feel the warmth of his skin against hers, and his hand, a feather-light touch. The pumpkin spice of her scent clung to the air, providing a soft contrast to the sharpness of Sephiroth’s presence.

In that moment, there was no past, no future—only the now, the bond they shared, and the unspoken promise of something more. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the unvoiced understanding that this moment, raw and unguarded, was a turning point in their tangled fates.

Bianca stood there. Her heart still pounded. Her body hummed with the aftershocks of the kiss. She didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, she felt connected—truly connected—to someone who understood the weight of the circumstances that shaped her life.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @whatwedointhecraft @serenofroses @megandaisy9

@watermeezer

@seastarblue @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen

Tim hadn’t thought of Raven as a woman. Not really. As a sexual anything. For God sake, she been his partner for the better part of six years.

Raven rolled her eyes, and Damian smiled indulgently as he buttered a piece of toast and offered it to her.

For some reason that offering a food irritated Tim.

He shovelled eggs and sausages while his partner sat across the mess table, making moon eyes at the latest Robin.  

The guy he became Red Robin for. Was still Red Robin. Thank God Raven talked him out of the whole Drake thing. Of course others pointed it out, but her Openion was most valued. 

Raven said something, before taking a bite of toast. Damian laughed and poured tea in her half-empty cup. 

Kon, Cassie and Bart were still in the process of showering after training this morning. But Damian was done real quick, his hair still damp as he leaned to speak into Raven’s ear. Usually Raven was as exited to try out the different dynamics of training that came out when 

Damian obviously whispered something suggestive, even without the colour that correct up Raven's face. Tim’d never realised how translucent her skin was. 

This morning out of The blue, before the crack of dawn, Damien show up at the tower, he’d be helping out for a while was all he said. 

What did that mean?

It was anyone's guess because Robin did not care to elaborate. Was he here for some special mission yet to be assigned? Was he joining the Titans?

Kon looked the same, but Cassie, him and Bart were in their late twenties. All looking for their next step in life. For Tim all prospects included Raven. 

Chewing his food carefully, Tim tried to recall a time when Raven was not a part of his plans. It was so long ago, and he had been a different person then. Having her constantly in his life for the past six years had changed him. Changed him so much that without even thinking about it, he’d always assumed her presence in his future.

For a while, a couple of years ago, the Titans had thought of splitting up. With Dick and Jason uninterested in Wayne enterprise, Tim had gotten more involved. Helping out wherever he could. A  project here in there, sometimes at a nascent stage, sometimes for a while when the situation called for it. Raven came and went as she pleased. Always coming back with the most outlandish stories. 

Cult in rural Ohio that was being controlled by brownies or something. 

One time she had accompanied him on an oil rig, a joint venture, where managers reportedly flaunted environmental guidelines. Donning her alternate ego of Rachel Roth, Raven disappeared for nearly 48 hours after excusing herself from a meeting, to go to the bathroom. Apparently, 600 miles away or so, negligent fisherman had cut their losses, leaving fishing nets in the sea unconcerned with what might get tangled in them. The sea creature’s distressed alerted Aqualad. Doing the best he could, he called to Raven. After healing the skittish dolphins, sharks and a baby whale, she apparently teleported the nets back to the individuals responsible, along with a gift from the sea. 3 gallons of  ocean water filled with fish waste. 

There were more instances over the years. Somebody or something called her. She’d disappear for a while, and then pop back at the Tower, wherever he was, with another outlandish story. 

After the first few times, she accompanied him for Wayne business and disappeared, Tim became really creative with excuses. Ahem, reason that did not include an upset stomach or women's menstrual issues. 

Yes, that included android too sometimes. Tim thought he would either lose all his hair or go premature bald when Raven disappeared into none other than legs Luther’s, very well hidden mainframe. 

Apparently in an air gap computer, a real life, AI was trapped. Once freed, upon being asked what it wanted, Tim watched as a laptop cried. Having never been shown any kindness and any human interaction involved experiments, which were usually unpleasant, it was overjoyed to feel empathy for the first time. 

A bird in India, intertwined on sharp thread, abandoned by negligent kit flyers. 

Superman, suffering from the effects of kryptonite exposer, Raven used the light from the industrial lamps changing its frequency/wavelength to concentrated UV, healing the kryptonite poisoning. 

Constantine stuck at the oblivion bar, went to fetch him and bail him out.

More often than not Raven brought back presents:

A bottle of enchanted wine that left no hangover, 

samosa’s from India, 

kryptonite coz the boy scout trusted Rae, 

Atlantean shell that connected directly to the King of Atlantas - for service to the sea.

Even with all of this, Raven found time for his stupid shit. 

Bothered by his feelings for Cassie, who was a teammate and had only recently broken up with Kon. Raven did what she always did. She sat on a comfortable recliner chair in the control room, dubbed Raven’s chair, and listened to him vent his feelings. All talked out, he would look to her.   Raven would help him find some sort of solution. Someway to overcome or if not that, then live with the situation. He always felt better after their talks.

One would think an empath was all fuzzy feelings and hugs. That was never true with Raven. She would give him a look, a raised eyebrow. This don't bullshit me look in her eyes and call him out on his nonsense. Sometimes it would be a quirk fo her lips, that indicated that she knew that he knew he what was saying wasn't really true.

It was impossible to argue with Raven because she knew exactly what you were feeling. You could only hide so much from your own self, from an understanding of your life and eyes full with compassion

Finished with his breakfast, tired of being ignored, Tim decided to leave. He reached the adjoining kitchen, entered when he heard a soft giggle.

His dirty plate still in his hand, one leg in the kitchen, he turned,  caught sight of the woman who made the sound and found himself transfixed. A burning ache began in his stomach when he saw the way she was looking at Damien and what her expression did to her face. 

Ravens, black eyes was shining as if reflecting a star studied night sky. Pin prick of lights danced in her obsidian eyes transforming her from exotic to goddess. Her cheeks were red, not from exercise but from  something else. 

Leaning over, Damian ran a finger down her chin.

“Breadcrumbs.”

Raven didn’t draw away, as she did with anyone, but the Titans. Instead she smiled.

“Thank you.” she whispered, even as his hands moved from her chin lingering on her shoulder. Creasing her. 

“My pleasure,” Damian’s voice thick, deep-green eyes almost seemed to glow with intensity..

And Raven was buying this! The burn spread through his chest and before he went up in flames, Tim carefully placed his dish in the sink, turned around a walked off.

He was not an habitual eavesdropper. Not on his friends. Not during intimate moments, be it in a shared space. 

“To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.” Tim had read. But it seemed Raven wanted more than trust and friendship. 

As he walked aways from the mess, their hushed whispers his sound track, as if chasing him, Tim wondered why Raven liking someone, even Damian scared him so. Why it bothered him to see this side of Raven, stars in her eyes, blushing, pulse hammering at her throat, and leaning into Damian as her creased her. 

Then it hit him, no matter what Raven claimed, she didn’t so casual. Intimacy was connected to emotions. There could be no separation of her body and her innate empathy without strict discipline on her part. Everyone was susceptible to her power, but the reverse was also true. There is no ignoring anyone who touched her. Their history,  hopes, flaws, trauma, needs all bombarded her, like a one way channel into their wants and deepest feelings. In the worst-case scenario, Raven had recounted her first moments on earth, hoping to warn others of Trigon, the overload had crushed her brain, overload her senses, and she could die.

Yet she trusted Damian enough to let him touch her naked skin, the most volatile Robin bar none.