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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 8 months

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Corrupted, Chapter Thirteen: Vertigo - A Malevolent x TMA crossover

Simon will help, for a price, though he’ll have his pound of flesh in the process.

Out of the frying pan… and into the fire.

AO3

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“Extraction,” says Tim, because if this guy tries to take Hastur, there will be a problem. “What do you mean by extraction?”

“Oh—I mean we’re getting you out of this situation tomorrow in a most effective manner. You’ll see.”

So they didn’t mean taking Hastur away. Which made sense, now that he took a second to think; Hastur had stated clearly how weird it was that Elias could see him. Chances were, this guy couldn’t, and Elias had hopefully not spilled the beans. “This situation?” Tim prompts.

“Well, yes! Police attention can be quite brutal,” says Fairchild, chipper as if planning a party. “Not that I know the full situation, or why they’re after you—nor do I need to!”

“You don’t need to know why?” blurted Jon, as if that were absolutely the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

“Oh, I don’t,” says Fairchild. “That’s not what I’m all about—but that’s due to the nature of my patron. And yours, too, I think,” he said to Tim.

Tim swallows once, but keeps it together. “Don't have one.”

“Certainly you do! And it rather likes you, I think. Anyway, you and I share the particular trait I was just mentioning: we aren’t subtle. It isn’t so much about watching as it is experiencing. The thrill! The moment when the axe falls… or the moment the flame catches. Can’t you feel it, Mister Stoker?

Yes. He could.

Tim stares at him, not breathing. There is a clock ticking somewhere in this place; the sound snaps through the dining room like a countdown. Jon shifts; the rustle of clothing and creak of his chair are startling. Hastur is silent, and Tim knows he is afraid.

Rein it in, big boy, he thinks at himself, trying to pull away from this draw, this shivery need that rises at the thought of a flame catching—heady, thrilling, singing through every nerve in his body.

Fairchild knows. That look… he understands. Tim thinks of Jon asking questions, unwittingly serving his Eye-god, in the grip of this need.

Tim won’t be that. He won’t. He exhales slowly, sitting very still. “Right, so. Not to be a total drag, but discussion of adrenaline-junkie fear gods isn’t why I’m here?”

Fairchild immediately reels it in, back to chipper old man and not horrifying magic drug dealer. “Oh, of course, of course! Your little police problem. Well. We’ve all run into that once in a while—but Elias seemed to think this one was serious, though it’s normally easy to handle. Elias didn’t mention what was so special about this situation.”

“Something about the Hunt?” says Tim.

Fairchild flinches. “Ooh. That is a pickle.”

“Why?” says Jon.

“Because of the Hunt’s nature, my boy! The Hunt is entirely grown from the eternal and ubiquitous fear of being hunted. Getting got. Chased down. It’s not even about what happens after—it’s about not being able to get away.”

Jon shudders.

Tim’s brown knits. “You’re saying it can’t be escaped from?”

“That’s right—it can’t. Though it can be redirected, and I suspect that’s why you’re here.”

Jon is trembling. He rummages, takes out a notebook, and starts taking notes.

“Dedicated, this one,” observes Fairchild.

“So why are we here?” says Tim. “How are you going to redirect them?”

“Well, Junior will come into play here, I think,” says Fairchild, “though it’s a bit tricky getting him close enough to catch their eye. I think we’ll manage! But that’ll be for tomorrow.”

“We’re spending the night?” says Tim, and immediately feels like an idiot. Of course they’re spending the night. It’s already close to eleven.

“We can provide everything, so don’t worry a bit,” says Fairchild, and leans in. His skin is so pink, almost as if he’s wind-burned. “You are interesting. Elias wouldn’t tell me exactly what was going on with you, but… something is.” He leans in further, far closer than is comfortable, practically in Tim’s lap. “Something really is.”

“Um,” says Tim. “Bad touch?”

Fairchild laughs and pulls back. “Oh, relax, relax. You’re among your own kind, Mister Stoker! Though I understand if that hasn’t really sunk in yet.”

It definitely had not sunk in.

“We’ll handle this extraction problem for you,” promises Fairchild.

“He gave us six addresses,” says Tim. “You’re just the first.”

“Did he? How curious! I wonder what he’s up to. Always something, with that young fellow. Oh, well! Follow Harriet, if you would. I’ll see you bright and early!”

“How early?” says Jon, grouchily, standing.

“Mmm… let’s say, five o’clock?”

“That seems reasonable,” says Jon, who must not like sleep.

“What are we doing, though?” says Tim. “What’s happening? Who is Junior?”

“You’ll meet him tomorrow,” says Fairchild. “I assure you, explaining it now will only make things confusing. You’ll need to lay eyes on him to understand.” And he turns to Jon. “Your boss owes me a favor for this, by the way, and not a small one. He must be quite invested in Mister Stoker’s little adventure, whatever it is.”

Jon glances at Tim, deeply thoughtful. “I wouldn’t know,” he says.

“This is a lot,” says Tim, who is being herded. Harriet brooks no hesitation, and fearlessly crowds him toward another door with a stairway.

“Goodnight!” calls Fairchild. “Do your best to sleep!”

“But what is happening?” Tim calls, and gets no answer.

“Do you require a sleep aid?” says Harriet.

“What? No, like hell I’m taking something here—look, is anyone going to explain what’s going on?”

“Tomorrow, we will cause an event that will begin the redirection process for your tail, and you will be extracted from the situation, leaving the Hunt to chase after its new toy,” says Harriet.

“But how?” says Tim.

“Tomorrow,” says Harriet. “Not to be mysterious, but answers would only cause more questions right now, and you’ve already interrupted our nightly routine.”

“Not gonna apologize for things I don’t know enough to feel bad about,” says Tim brightly.

Harriet’s lips quirk, and he knows he got her. “Amusing,” she says, dry in tone but true in meaning, and leads them up the stairs.

And more stairs.

Also more stairs.

Then? There are stairs.

Jon flags by the second floor. Tim loops an arm around him and helps. “This is what I get for skipping gym for the week,” he mutters as if trying to relate.

“Oh?” says Jon. “You do… you do gym?”

“It’s not the worst idea,” Tim hints brightly.

Jon gives him the sourest look imaginable.

Tim laughs. “I’ll start you off easy. You’ll thank me!”

“I have not agreed to any such thing.”

“I’ll set you up with books on tape. You’ll hardly notice the time passing.”

Books on tape apparently appeals, including the outdated phrasing. Jon considers it.

Stairs.

More stairs.

More, in fact, than Tim thinks might be in this building. But that can’t be right. He must have miscounted.

Jon is flagging.

Harriet is not. “She’s got to have calves like suspension cables,” Tim murmurs.

“I think mine are rice noodles,” says Jon.

Tim laughs.

Hastur snorts.

Harriet turns her head and pauses.

Tim freezes. Surely she didn’t hear…

“Ah,” she says. “Simon’s changed his mind. This way, please.” And she opens a door and turns right.

“Look at that! We don’t even have to climb all the way to the top of the Chrysler Building,” says Tim. “Hey, how did you hear Fairchild?”

“I have good ears.” She stands in an enormous bedroom. It’s mostly empty; there’s a bathroom, a floor-to-ceiling window with a walk-out balcony, and a single, huge bed. “There should be something in the closets that will fit you both. We have a lot of visitors.”

“Er, thank you,” says Tim.

“But the—” Jon starts.

“This will be fine. Thank you,” says Tim, who really wants to done with weird new people.

“Are you hungry?” says Harriet.

“Sure, but we really ought to sleep,” says Tim.

“But there’s only—” Jon tries again.

“I’ll send up some sandwiches. Allergies?”

“Not for me. You, Jon?’

“Tim, there is one… no. No allergies.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you in the morning.” And off she goes.

Jon stares at the closed door. Then at Tim. Then at the bed. Then at Tim.

“You all right?” says Tim, mildly.

Aww, did he forget how to be a grownup? says Hastur.

“Fine,” says Jon. “Do you want to shower first?”

“Don’t care.”

Jon nods as though he’s been given marching orders, stalks into the bathroom, and closes the door poste-haste.

“He forgot to get clothes,” says Tim.

I don’t know what you see in him.

“Yes, you do,” says Tim, inspecting the closet. Harriet hadn’t been kidding; it has sizes and styles that even make him raise his eyebrows.

Oh, do I?

“Yes, you do, especially after that. He’s cute.”

Keep talking like that, and he’ll hear you. I think he might just leap out the window.

Tim snorts, takes out some pajamas, and knocks on the bathroom door.

“What?” says Jon from in there as if he’d heard a gunshot.

“Clothes.”

There is a pause. “I have clothes.”

“I’ll just leave them here folded by the door if you—”

Jon opens the door, grabs what Tim offers, and shuts it. Then he opens it again and peeks through, looking awkward. “Sorry. Thank you. That was thoughtful.”

“We’re both on edge,” says Tim. “Do your thing. I’ll swap places with you when you’re done.”

And I suppose next, you’ll say you want to be a father.

“Ugh, no, I definitely do not,” says Tim, flinging himself onto the bed to see how it bounces. “That’s not fathering, anyway.”

Then what was that?

“Brothering.”

Hastur scoffs.

“He scoffs better than you. Tell the truth, now, that’s why you’re peeved about him.”

Nonsense.

The shower runs.

Tim inspects the nightstand and finds nothing. “You know, for a guy that’s ten thousand upon ten thousand years old—did you mean twenty? A hundred thousand? Vague. Anyway: for a guy who’s so damn old, you don’t read people very well.” He heads for the balcony.

I read people better than you ever could.

“Uh, huh. Tell me another one.” He’s delighted to find it unlocked. So, curious, he steps out, and… “Oh, fuck me,” Tim breathes.

Oh, says Hastur, and Tim grips the balcony railing, tight, crouching a little because his balance just went to hell.

They’re in the Milky Way. In it, surrounded by impossibly swirling stars and blackness, with neither sky nor ground to orient them. Tim stares, mouth open; he starts to lean over the balcony, but it’s too much; the stars are spinning, as if he stands where the galaxy drains out, and very carefully, he backs into the bedroom, and closes the door.

He’s panting.

Fucking Vast, says Hastur.

“What… what the fuck…”

The Vast, Hastur manages again. It’s… insignificance. Too much space. Losing yourself; falling eternally, void, vertigo. Unfathomable creatures, too distant, too immense, to comprehend.

“Was that real out there?” says Tim, trembling a little. His head spins.

No.

“You’re sure?”

Yes.

“Fuck.” Tim flops onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, then closes his eyes. “Fucking room won’t stop spinning.”

Easy, Tim. Breathe. Breathe with me.

Tim does. He’s still shaking, though. “Felt like I was falling on my own two feet.”

Breathe. Yes. I know. Breathe.

“Is that one of the things out to eat you?”

Yes.

“Can they hear you? See you?”

No. Hastur sounds relieved. I’d worried, after Elias, but… no. He is a one-off.

“And Gertrude.”

Perhaps I should say people connected to his Institute.

“Jon can’t see you.” Tim rolls over. That does not help, so he lies on his back again. “Fuck.”

Yet. Tim. There is a fix for this.

“Yeah, I’m a little gun-shy, remember?”

A very, very minor spell. Nothing huge like a portal. Just something to help you relax, because this is… uncomfortable. For me as well as you.

Tim swallows. “You threatened to blast Jon earlier through my body. Can you do that?”

I don’t know. An ordinary human, yes. I could. But you are far from ordinary.

Tim sighs. “What’s the spell?”

Mgephai. It means to be still, stable, steady. To calm that which moves.

“Nothing’s moving, though,” says Tim.

You’re hardly going to use the word I’m giving you. You will use your own, and infuse your own meaning into it.

Tim laughs softly. “Know me so well, eh?”

I told you. I know.

“Sure.” But the spinning room is really beginning to make him sick. “Still, you say?”

Or whatever word you wish. It’s the concept here that matters.

The shower stops.

“Right,” murmurs Tim, very delicately feeling that muscle or whatever it is in his mind. “Still. Still. Still.”

“Tim.”

He hears the voice. It sounds far away.

“Tim. Come on. We’ve got to get going.”

And it is in the process of waking that Tim realizes he was deeply asleep.

It is morning. He lies, fully dressed, beneath a heavy blanket; his shoes were removed. It is very early; Jon is dressed, freshly showered, leaning over him.

Tim stares. “What?”

“It’s four-thirty. I thought you might want to get ready before we have to leave.”

Tim sits up so fast he nearly rams into Jon. He checks himself over, feeling his chest, his hands, his face. Nothing seems to be lost. “What the hell just… Hastur!”

Oh… oh, Tim, I… oh, Tim.

Hastur is out of it.

Tim can feel that, as strong as if he could smell the breath of a drunk. “What the hell happened to you?”

Something impossible. That shouldn’t… I think I was asleep? I don’t sleep. I can’t sleep. But I think I did. Maybe I dreamed…

Tim gawks at nothing. “I roofied a god?”

“What?” says Jon, taking a step back.

Oh, Tim. It was wonderful.

Tim leaps up. His whole body seems to be his—including his stomach, which rumbles.

“Um,” says Jon. “There’s a cart with breakfast fare. You weren’t awake for the sandwiches last night.”

Tim stares at him for a moment. “Did… you take off my shoes?”

Jon goes absolutely red. “Yes. I thought… I mean, you were obviously exhausted, so I did what I could.”

Tim finds himself absurdly moved, and has to blink away tears. “Thank you. Thanks, man.”

“It’s not any… it’s fine.” Jon doesn’t know where to look.

“I better hurry,” Tim says, and heads into the bathroom. He leans on the door, then looks in the mirror.

He seems fine. He looks fine. Still down one eye, but nothing more. “What happened?”

Oh, Tim… can we do that again?

Tim turns on the shower. “I don’t even know what that was. What happened?”

You used too much will. I think I’m figuring it out. Or maybe I dreamed about it… solved it in my dream.

“I drugged you,” says Tim. “Great. Just great.”

Jon knocks on the door.

Tim opens it, shirtless. “Yeah?”

Jon offers some clothes. He’s folded them (which means he took them off the hangers and then took the time to do that). “They may not be your size, but I… I guessed?”

“Fuck, you’re adorable,” says Tim, takes the clothes, and closes the door before Jon can finish protesting that he is not.

Oh, Tim, says Hastur again.

Tim sighs heavily and showers.

Hastur is no more sober when he gets out. I dreamed of a violet sky, he says, filled with stars that sang my name.

“Nothing narcissistic about that,” Tim quips.

It was beautiful. Could I use your hand, I would write it.

“Do you really not sleep? Ever?” says Tim. Jon chose well; it all fits him. Well; it fits him size-wise. Tim hasn’t worn this boring of a button-down and slacks since his job-interview days, but whatever.

(And it only now occurs to him that managers overlooking his dress-code violations probably happened because he was bespelling them, somehow, and that’s a whole kettle of fish to work through.)

I have never slept. It was glorious; I could taste the music—it was cold, and sweet, like honey dispensed from flowers that grew in snow.

“Yikes,” says Tim, and heads out to meet his fate.

Jon is pacing. “What will we be facing, do you think?” he says.

“No idea. Honestly, none of this is super-fun,” says Tim. “Not a lot we can do about it, though. Any port in a storm.”

Jon nods, grim, and pushes his glasses up his nose.

“You can go, you know,” says Tim again.

No, don’t let him go! He’s funny.

Ah-HA, Tim thinks, but does not say.

“I… I know,” says Jon. “But I have to…” He stops. Stares. “Don’t go on the balcony.”

“Oh, shit, you went out there?” says Tim. “So did I. It was horrible.”

“It…” Jon takes a deep and stuttering breath. “It was… bad.”

He’s scarred, Tim, Hastur purrs.

Tim stiffens. “How?”

His lungs.

“I couldn’t breathe,” whispers Jon, looking away. “Falling forever. I…”

“Fuck.” Tim hurries over to him. “Are you okay? Hastur, can we heal him?”

No. It is a mark. I do not know how to remove a mark.

Tim’s jaw clenches. “That so?” he says, then focuses on what matters. “I’m so sorry, Jon.” Instinctively, he pulls Jon into a hug.

Jon is stiff for one moment, then boneless. “It’s been a day,” he mumbles into Tim’s shoulder.

“So go. Go home. Go… get treated, maybe.”

“No. I have to see where this goes. What happens. I need to understand what happened to me out there.”

“How did you… make it out?” says Tim.

“Fairchild showed up. Simon, he wants me to call him.” Jon shudders. “He brought me back inside.”

“Okay, we’re gonna talk about that,” says Tim. “Fuck, how asleep was I?”

“Oh… it was all very quiet, I assure you,” says Jon, finally standing back. “I couldn’t exactly cry out.”

Tim stares at him. “Right. When we get back to London? When. I am going to punch Bouchard in the face. You are welcome to watch it, since you like to see everything.”

Jon eyes him. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Set in stone.” Tim shakes his hand, then pauses. “Hey, sorry for grabbing you without asking. I didn’t… think.”

“I don’t mind you doing it,” says Jon, pointedly looking at Tim’s yellow eye.

Oh noooo, I scared him, says Hastur, and laughs like the fucking devil.

Tim exhales slowly. “Junior better be worth all this. I feel awful. Come on.”

They are, as it turns out, exactly eighteen steps from the ground floor.

That shouldn’t be possible, but it’s the least weird of the unlikely events of the last week, and Tim isn’t in the mood to quibble. He’s trying not to get mad. To get furious. To light that flame Fairchild so casually mentioned.

It must show on his face. Fairchild is grinning as they enter the dining room, now tinted slightly purple with the coming dawn, and for just one second, his eyes go wide.

The new, hated part of Tim loves that fear. Craves it. Tim swallows and stomps it down.

“Good morning!” says Fairchild, who is leaning on a cane. “Did you sleep well? After everything, I mean.”

“Not a wink,” says Jon.

“Well, that ought to make this quite surreal!” Fairchild says happily. “Come along—we have to hurry. I can do many things, my boy, but I cannot alter the tide.”

“Tide. Literal tide? We’re going on a boat?” says Tim.

“Why do you think we’re up so early? Goodness! You must think me arbitrarily cruel,” says Fairchild brightly. “Speaking of which, do call me Simon, would you?”

And social pressure is a thing. Tim sighs. “Call me Tim.”

“Wonderful!” Fairchild claps his hands, unbothered by lifting his cane. “On we go.”

This bizarre building has an elevator (and Tim is grateful) to a freaking hidden dock in an oceanic cave. Here floats a yacht.

It’s quite fancy. Not that Tim knows from yachts, but the one billionaire he slept with thanks to a crazy party in the West End brought him to such a ship.

Nice guy. Tim never even learned his real name.

“Here we are!” says Simon. All aboard. Oh, I do hope you don’t get seasick.”

“Me, too,” says Jon, looking nervous, and clumsily clambered aboard.

Look at him go! Like a drugged squirrel.

“You need to shake it off,” Tim murmurs.

“Hm?” says Simon.

“Talking to myself,” Tim says. “Because what I want to do? Is not go calmly along with this.”

“You know, I do understand,” says Simon almost gently, and gestures.

“Do you?” says Tim.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been doing this a very long time. I make your Elias look like a spring chicken, truthfully.”

Oh… OOH!

Tim doesn’t wait for Hastur to reveal his discovery and climbs aboard. Hastur forgets whatever he was going to say in favor of describing the sound of water crashing into the hull.

It’s a lovely day for yachting. The breeze is bracing, salty, and cool; the sun isn’t too bright, but glimpsing between clouds.

There are dolphins. Tim can’t believe there are dolphins.

Look! They’re beautiful!

“Oh!” Jon practically leans over the railing. “Look! Oh!”

Tim is fairly sure Hastur is faking it at this point, just riding the high of being annoying, or something. “Careful, buddy.”

Jon looks at him with wide eyes. “I’ve never been on a ship. Isn’t that shocking? I grew up in Bournemouth.”

“Bournemouth, and never went out?” says Tim.

“No, my grandmother wasn’t… oh, look!”

A spray of water flicks into the air like a paintbrush, splashed from the prow of the boat.

“Don’t go overboard, yeah?” says Tim, and leaves Jon to it.

Simon stands balanced on the tip of the prow like a bird. He no longer has his cane. Precarious, he stands there like some weird cartoon character, smiling blissfully into the distant horizon.

“So… professional tight-rope walker?” says Tim.

“No,” says Simon. “Merely very practiced.”

“So… what are we doing out here?”

“Elias was right, you know,” says Simon. “You’re being followed.”

Tim looks. “I don’t see anything.”

“Your partner has. But no, this is more about being aware of ripples in… well. The domain. I can’t say it’s my domain, of course, but the one I share.”

“Still haven’t answered me,” Tim points out.

Simon turns and looks at him.

Oh. OH, that is… a look. Objectively, completely normal, nothing to talk about; but his eyes…

Tim has listened to his instinct more in the last few days than ever in his life, and his instinct says he, right now, is looking at a killer. More than that: this is the most dangerous being, apart from Kayne, whom he has ever met.

Tim takes a step back, feeling himself go pale.

Simon smiles almost kindly, beneficent now that he’s caused some fear. “Junior’s entryway is out here, in the ocean. He doesn’t get to play much, of course; there simply isn’t space in the real world, but he can get a finger through, as it were. He can cause ripples. That ought to be enough to get anybody’s attention—especially things that love a challenge to hunt.”

“A f… finger… space for… what?” says Tim.

Simon crooks his finger. “Come up here. Come on; I won’t shove you off, I assure you—I’d hardly need to be in arm’s length to do that.”

Such threatening words should never be delivered in such a happy, amiable voice, but Simon manages.

Well, Tim thinks. If this is how I go, it’s a hell of an ending. He climbs up beside him.

The wind is so much stronger here; the water crashing against the prow seems shockingly violent, and every shudder of the boat so much more prominent.

“Oh, boy,” says Tim. “What the hell am I doing? Oh, boy.”

“Look,” whispers Simon, one arm around his waist, and points.

Tim looks.

So there’s something ahead. He can’t make it out.

Tim frowns. “What is that? What?”

It’s… a shadow? A shape. Too smooth to be an island; it’s a shadow rising from the sea and eclipsing the horizon. Tim turns his head to take it in, noting the edges curving smooth down into the water. One big curve, immeasurably huge; though the left side curves out more, rounded, and the right drops off more sharply.

He racks his brain. “We don’t… there’s no land out there. What is that? It’s too big to be an island, anyway.” It fills damn near the whole horizon.

Oh, Tim… breathes Hastur. How I would have enjoyed that one as a servant.

Huh? thinks Tim.

Simon holds his hand in front of Tim. Then, as if hitching a ride, he lifts his thumb.

“What are you—” Tim starts, and then stops. He stares at the shape of Simon’s raised thumb, the shape above the knuckle. Then he looks at the shadow again.

The narrowed top; the rounded left, swelling out before dipping back into the water; the right side, still slightly curved, but dropping off steeply.

“No.”

“Yes,” says Simon.

“No. That can’t—“

What I could have done with such as that under my control… Hastur murmurs.

Tim cannot picture a being so huge that the tip of its thumb covers the horizon, and he suddenly feels so dizzy.

Simon’s grip tightens around his waist. “There we go,” he says. “You’re all right. Down we go, yes?” And they’re on the deck as though Tim didn’t weigh twice this old man, with a full foot of height on him.

Tim goes down to his knees.

“That’ll get their attention, don’t you think?” chirps Simon.

“It sure got mine,” heaves Tim.

Simon laughs.

Jon is huddled against the bulkhead, knees to his chest, enormous eyes locked onto nothing.

Awww, says Hastur. He looks ready to eat.

“Now, you’re just being rude,” Tim murmurs, and kneels beside Jon. “Maybe this wasn’t a great idea,” he says. “Come on. You’re done.”

“I am not done,” snaps Jon.

Heh heh heh.

“You’re looking done.”

“No. No. There’s so much more to see. Things… nobody even talks about, but they are there to be seen.” Jon trembles.

“Oh, he’ll love this part,” says Simon. “It’s time for extraction.”

Tim looks up. He swallows. There Simon stands, tiny and pink and old, and absolutely the most monstrous human he has ever met, and he knows that even though Simon has not been particularly monstrous. Simon could. That is the thing.

“How are we being extracted?” says Tim.

“We’ll send your things to the institute,” says Simon.

Oh, that is a bad thing to hear. “Excuse me?” says Tim.

And without further warning, he is in the sky.

Blue

Everything is blue

There isn’t even a sun to orient by

Blue, blue, blue, and he is spinning, and helpless, and cannot even tell if he is falling up or down or sideways

Blue forever, blue eternal, bright sky blue to the end of days

Tim lands on the sidewalk in Penzance, and he is so dizzy that he keels right over onto his side and stares at the brick wall.

Jon whimpers behind him, so apparently, he went for a little ride, too.

Tim! Tim… Hastur sounds relieved. I couldn’t reach you!

“What?” whispers Tim, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

I called you! I shouted. You couldn’t hear me!

“Could you feel…”

Yes.

Jon groans again. “It won’t stop.”

Tim swallows.

I was afraid, says Hastur, who might still be out of it because that is shockingly honest. I thought I might be trapped in spinning blue hell forever. Alone.

Tim exhales, trying to fight nausea, and pats his left shoulder. “It’s good. We’re good. I’m here.”

Hastur makes an unhappy sound. What is that? Your stomach…

“Yeah, we’re gonna barf,” Tim says.

Please, says Hastur. Don’t let us do that.

“Not a lot I can do, buddy,” says Tim, tasting bile.

There is! Magic.

Tim sighs. “I don’t want to go to sleep on the sidewalk, thanks.”

Jon moans.

It’s will. You tried too hard. Try less hard and it’ll work, Hastur insists. Do it for him if not me!

Jealousy confirmed, Tim thinks. “Pushing some buttons there.”

Please, Tim. I don’t want to throw up.

This was utterly ridiculous. But what if he could do it?

Too much will. That made sense; he’d been doing magic without meaning to all his life—forcing it without properly flexing that muscle.

Maybe if he made it specific.

Maybe if he tried… not to… push the wall over, but just to lean against it. No, that’s too strong an image.

He thinks of a body of water. Thinks of it as gentle, as a settling of liquid into placidity rather than flattening a pile of snow.

“Calm,” he whispers at his stomach. “Calm.”

It works.

It works immediately.

YES, Tim! Yes!

He tries for the vertigo next. Not thinking of stopping the world spinning, or something vague like his head being still. He thinks of that pond again, rippling, then going calm.

“Easy,” he whispers, trying not to think of calming an animal, or anything too drastic. “Easy.”

The vertigo stops.

And he can feel that he’s strained that muscle (or whatever it is) with this delicate work. That he has, in fact, done something tremendous, no matter how small.

He sits up.

It’s early yet, and few people are out. Tim finds they were dropped into an alleyway, which kept them out of sight. The smell of garbage definitely hadn’t helped the nausea.

“Jon?” he says, turning.

Turning just in time to see something dragging Jon into the shadow of a wall as though the space where it met the concrete was a portal.

It has a tendril of some kind over Jon’s mouth and another around his throat, and he couldn’t cry out. He reaches, terrified, eyes pleading, as he vanishes.

Tim lunges after him.

There is no thought involved. No planning. He feels the strain on that muscle as he wills catching Jon and casts a spell without intending to.

And the images—

Sees? feels? Stamps into his brain by an outside force? Impossible to say, but he sees (feels stamps knows) the thing dragging Jon only looks like a person, is like a monster in a puppet person, is like a damned angler fish luring persons close enough to grab.

Tim latches on to Jon’s thin wrists.

The thing holding him (swallowing gulping possessing to the waist) makes a startled sound.

Jon has tears in his eyes, tears on his face, tears on the hideous tendril of the thing that has him.

And Tim’s temper explodes.

“You can’t have him!” he roars, bellows burns, and

Does not

Know what he did.

Fire from nowhere (but it was his and wielded like breath) sears this thing, and it released Jon with a screech and Tim’s straining pull abruptly works, and they both go flying back and hit the wall but

He barely feels the wall. Barely feels Jon slam into him, barely feels the lingering heat from (what had he done) the fire he’d cast into some weird pocket universe.

But he does feel the pain in that muscle in his mind, and knows what’s coming.

“Don’t hurt him!” he manages, and darkness swallows him whole.

#tma #malevolent #tma fic #malevolent fic #malevolent crossover #tma crossover #tim stoker #jonathan sims #hastur malevolent #kiy malevolent #corrupted fic #simon fairchild #harriet fairchild #junior TMA

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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

Text

Con Man's Daughter

Posting this because there isn't enough biodad! John Constantine content.

[Masterlist]

(Part 2)

-----

I feel like this should be a Damianette story or just platonic relationship after Jon got aged-up to seventeen and Damian wanted a friend his age but doesn’t want to admit it.

So basically there is this big bad in Gotham using magic that Batman was fighting at the time and enlisted John Constantine to help out.

John realizes that the villain is using a Miraculous.

“Oh. I think I know how he gets his powers. And lucky for you, Bats, I know an expert on this special brand of magic.”

And he did the smart thing and called up Marinette who at the time was already Guardian and was looking for other lost Miraculouses like in the Treasure Hunter AU I wrote.

He calls her at a really bad time. She was in the process of being chased by the guardians of the place. Monsters and evil spirits.

“Hello, Dad. What do you need and can you do it quickly?”

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. How is my little cupcake up to these days?”

“You called at a bad time.” Gunshots.

“WAS THAT A GUN I HEARD? WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, YOUNG LADY?!”

“Somewhere in Japan. Getting a Miraculous. And why can’t you call me to check in on me and not ask me to help you with whatever mess you got yourself into.” More gunshots sounds and it was telling that Marinette was using a gun.

“Where did you get a gun? And don’t you have school?”

“It’s summer break. Don’t worry Maman and Papa know. Well, the fact that I am in Japan anyways.” Marinette sounded a little out of breath. Roaring and horrifying sounds at the other end. “Can we do this later?”

“As it happens, there is a villain going around Gotham with what I think is a Miraculous.”

Swears on the other end.

“Oi. Watch your fucking language, young lady.”

“How about a No and move the fuck back, old man. I am coming over right now.”

“Old man? I am not that old-” as a magic blue portal opens up in the Bat Cave.

And a red Chinese dragon comes out with someone riding it.

Its rider was a black-haired girl. She had a trench coat similar to Constantine's. I imagine her with a fedora. Like Carmen Sandiego style but not red. Sometimes red but only when she has to steal it from a museum or high security places and she leaves a name card with the name Carmen Sandiego. A sword strapped to her back and a dagger to her thigh.

She had a gun in her hand which she used to shoot the monsters as it was halfway through the portal and yelled out the spell to close it.

“Brilliant entrance but you are in lots of trouble, little lady. What were you thinking about going to another country unsupervised? And isn’t there still a butterfly problem in Paris?”

“One, I wasn’t unsupervised. I had Tikki, a billion years old being and a sort of god. Two.Well, it got boring trying to track Hawk-bitch down. And I found this legend about a guy with a Miraculous who disappeared in the temple and thought hey, more miraculous could mean another edge to defeating Moth-man.”

More bickering and John grounding Marinette who was acting very nonchalant about it.

Okay, at this point, I should say that Batman and Robin are in the background trying to make some sense.

Batman is surprised to find out that Constantine has a daughter who is also involved in magic like her Father but an apparently more specialised kind called the Miraculous. He is a little miffed that he didn’t know about John having a daughter. He did consider it weird at first that she had a slight french accent unlike her father’s Liverpool accent although she pronounced some words like he does.

He also connected some dots that she is also the Parisian heroine, Lady Rouge who Wonder Woman introduced to the League a while back and had declined to join the Young Justice or Teen Titans until everything in Paris was resolved.

Damian on the other hand was suspicious of the new arrival and came to the same conclusion as his father about the daughter thing.

Batman after a few minutes, clears his throat.

The Constantines stop arguing.

“Bonjour. Batman. Robin. Pleasure to meet you. I am Mari Constantine and yes, I am this homeless looking man’s brilliant daughter.” “Hey”

“Well, Mari. Your father thinks you can help us with this new criminal turning Gotham upside down. Literally in some cases. He said that you might be able to help us.” Batman said as he pulled up zoomed in picture of the Miraculous.

Mari looks through the Miraculous grimoire and tells them all about it and power-ups, basically the most effective thing to defeat the guy is to get the Miraculous off them. Plus a spell that would make the Miraculous ineffective if casted within a certain radius of it.

“Thank you for the information, Mari. Constantine, let’s go.”

Mari made to follow them.

“You young lady are grounded and staying here.”

“I don’t need another supervillain using the Miraculous which are my responsibility as Guardian to retrieve them for their own misuse and wreaking havoc on the city. And what if there is an akuma in Paris? I can’t go there if I am grounded in the Batcave although it is a cool place to hang out.”

“You can portal back to Paris but you are not going to follow me. Understood?”

“yes. crystal”

“Good. After me and Batsy get the Miraculous, you can do your Guardian duties.”

Damian snickers. Until Batman cut his mood short, “You are staying behind too. Robin.”

“But Father, why? I am much more capable than Constantine.”

“Hey!” Both father and daughter.

Damian is staying behind too because of the Miraculous power or other reasons and keeps an eye on Mari.

Damian stays behind and there were some protests about mari mad about having a babysitter and Damian doesn’t want to be a babysitter. Despite the two of them being around the same age.

“I got an eye on you so no funny business.”

“Okay, Dad, I am not going to have sex with Robin.” Mari said with a shit- eating grin. Robin definitely didn’t blush.

“I hate you sometimes.”

“I love you too, Dad. Go save the world. Byee.”

John eyes her suspiciously because she is not one to give up that easily usually.

He casts a spell to watch her as they leave. and which she totally knew about.

“So...I have one question.”

“Tt, ask and don’t bother me anymore.”

“Is Batman Bruce Wayne?”

Damian looks up, totally caught off guard.

“I am going to take that as a yes.”

Puts sword at her neck. “How did you find out?!”

“Opened up Google Maps and saw that we are under Wayne Manor. Connected the dots. Also I already knew when Dad made a bet with me once to find out Batman’s secret identity but he never did confirm it for me. And can you please not tell your father about this? I don’t feel like being interrogated by the Bat in the future yet.”

“Father must know about this.”

“I saw you looking at Scarlet here. An animal lover then? You can give her some belly rubs. She deserves it after helping me outrun those monsters.”

His silence was brought. To pet a dragon.

One thing after another and he ends up bringing out his pets-Jerry the turkey, Goliath the dragon-bat, Titus- and her introducing him to her other pets like a hellhound, griffin and other mythical creatures who mostly roam free but come to her when she calls for them and also the kwamis, at least the ones who came with her.

After 30 mins have passed, “So Robin how do you feel about disobeying our fathers?”

“I am in.”

“Depends. Are we going after the (villain's name) ?”

“Yes.”

Awesome montage of them getting rid of the spell John casted and flying out of the Batcave on their respective giant flying pets to the villain’s base.

Meanwhile, their fathers are not doing so well and are trapped in a death trap. John can’t say the spell because the villain made him unable to talk.

“At least, the kids are staying put.”

Cut to Damian and Mari jumping off their pets and onto the roof. Taking out the guards posted there and going into the building all sneakily and also taking out the guards that come their way.

They dropped into the room where their fathers and the villain is.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Villain starts an evil monologue about his mastermind plan to which Damian cuts it short by trying to cut him down with his katana. Mari goes to deactivate the death trap.

They are evenly matched with Damian’s training and the Miraculous.

Mari steps in as Damian was about to be killed. Taps on the shoulder of the villain and when he turns around, gives an awesome right hook that knocks him out.

Takes away the Miraculous and curses him. Wiped the dude’s memories of it.

“When I said stay in the Batcave, I meant stay behind at the Batcave. What point of being grounded, don’t you understand?”

“You mean, Oh, Mari, light of my life, my wonderful daughter, thank you for saving my ass. You are the best.’ by that, right?”

-----

Mari and Damian exchanged numbers and email addresses.

As she was about to leave the Batcave, “It’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Wayne.” and leaves with a wink.

John ‘ungrounds’ her for the look on Batman’s face.

-----

After this, Marinette and Damian become friends who bitch and vent to each other about their alter egos and various villains of their respective cities. (In codes, just in case) They also share updates about their pets and love of drawings.

They have that type of friendship where they trade favors. Mari calls Damian to Paris sometimes to help out with the akuma of the day and Damian sometimes calls her in when Bruce doesn’t let him go investigate a case so he can sneak out by magical means or as back up for when his brothers were too annoying to deal with.

It’s summer break so no missing school.

John and Bruce are aware of their friendship and some of the shenanigans the pair gets into behind their back.

-----

Right. how this all started...

John and Sabine first met when the latter was still in college somewhere in France. John was tracking down a demonic entity which was targeting Sabine for some reason and she was the next target.

John saved her life and exorcised the demon. There was a heat of the moment thing and they had a one-night stand. There were a few more flings and hook-ups after that night.

And nine months later, Marinette Cheryl Cheng-Constantine was born.

When Sabine first found out, she called John to come over and he thought that it was a call for another hook-up and was very surprised to find out that it was not and that he was going to be a father.

They both like each other but do not want to be in a relationship together so they both remained as friends and John agreed after some strong-arming at the very least to meet his daughter before he goes to do his job. And pay for child support. And help Sabine during her pregnancy.

Pregnant Sabine was someone you don’t want to mess with. And John has never met a demon or anyone scarier than her.

He was at first not into meeting his child and there was a self-pity party he threw himself with how the child was going to live a bad life because he was the dad and how he destroyed every good thing in his life.

That’s why he is going to meet the baby once and leave maybe a letter and the occasional birthday present and stay out of their life. Forever.

The day Marinette was born and it took one look into her eyes for the HellBlazer to fall under the spell and all of his plans to stay out of her life to burn away.

At first, he tried. He really tried but he couldn’t do it.

Lasted 4 months before he came back, wanting to place protection spells on her and sigils around the house to keep away the forces of Heaven and Hell and other entities so they won’t use her against him as a bargaining chip.

Sabine calls him to babysit. He could have refused and Sabine would have easily found a babysitter. He moans and whines about how he is a great mage and not a bloody babysitter. Sabine retorts that it is actually called parenting since he is Marinette’s father. He grumbles but in the end, agrees.

The great John Constantine is wrapped around the little girl’s finger.

He was around for some of Marinette’s firsts. Her first word was “John”.

It made him cry. He wasn’t a good man and he doesn’t deserve someone this precious. His daughter doesn’t deserve someone like him as a father but fate made it that way and what can you do about it.

After an exhausting week of doing the usual and coming back from Hell, he saw that Sabine had sent him a video. It was Marinette taking her first steps.

Chas swears that in all the years that he has known John Constantine he has never seen the man look so happy.

------

When Tom came into the picture, John was there to take care of a toddler Marinette while Tom and Sabine went on dates.

Insert John threatening a much bigger Tom while holding a baby Marinette with wide eyes and hugging a teddy bear with the same coat as John’s. (It was something Sabine brought on a whim and to tease John when he came around.)

Tom is supportive and treats Marinette like his own flesh and blood.

John resolved to leave for good now that Tom would be there to be a father figure for Marinette.

That plan fell into the drain the moment he was going to leave for what was supposed to be the last time before Sabine pulled him back and knocked some sense into him.

His face was a big giveaway. Sabine knows that despite his claims of being a terrible father for Marinette, he was a good one and damnit she was going to make sure that Marinette would get to know her actual father.

Tom later made an awkward talk with John about how he was not going to replace John’s role as Marinette’s father.

Marinette was the flower girl at Tom and Sabine’s wedding. John was there too.

During bedtime, John would read her stories and use his magic to make it come to life. Although he would feel a little drained afterwards, it was worth it to see her smile.

Sometimes he told stories about his tamer adventures. (After cutting out some of the inappropriate bits)

------

When Marinette was about 5 or 6, Sabine was out on an errand and Tom was at home with Mari and helping her with her homework. There was a crash downstairs at the bakery. Tom went down to check it out to find John lying on the ground.

With a weak cough, he said, “Close the door. Close it.” Before losing consciousness

Tom did before a man with pitch black eyes slammed against it.

Thankfully John had installed heavy wards around the bakery when it first opened.

They held against the demon on John’s tail. Tom brought John inside and unsure of what to do, grabbed a rolling pin on the counter.

The man outside started pounding on the glass door and every time his hands touched the door, light glowed outwards, showing the invisible magic barrier around the bakery. Sparks and steams fizzled with every pound.

Despite the reddening and burns of his hands, the not-human didn’t slow down.

“ʝօɦռ....ʏօʊ ӄռօա ȶɦǟȶ ɨȶ'ֆ օռʟʏ ǟ ʍǟȶȶɛʀ օʄ ȶɨʍɛ ɮɛʄօʀɛ ɨ ɮʀɛǟӄ ȶɦʀօʊɢɦ ȶɦɛֆɛ աǟʀɖֆ. օռƈɛ ɨ ɢɛȶ ʏօʊ,” He laughs, the sound sends chills down the large man’s spine, “ȶɦɛʀɛ ǟʀɛ ֆօ ʍǟռʏ ȶɦɨռɢֆ ɨ ɦǟʋɛ քʟǟռռɛɖ ʄօʀ ʏօʊ.”

Tom knew that Marinette’s father was a con man. Come on, Master and Practitioner of the Dark Arts and Occult. But he was a good father nonetheless despite all his flaws and Sabine liked him enough so that was good enough for him.

Before today, magic was just the sleight of hands and use of fancy tools to sell the illusions. Now, with a could-be-a-demon knocking on his door to get to the father of the girl he sees as his daughter, he’s not so sure.

“Tom? Qu'est-ce qui se passe? (What’s going on?)” A little voice came from the stairs, “Dad!” Marinette padded across the floor to the body of her passed out father.

She shook him awake and there were a few soft slaps to the face.

“Dad, what’s happened?”

John mumbles, “Demon…. possessing some rich guy….. Exorcism…. Doesn’t like me very much…Don’t worry...wards going to hold.”

John manages to stand before falling down and Tom catches him before he hits the floor. He has a concussion. Tom turns to Marinette, “Go, Hide and don’t come out until It’s safe.” which she did

Unfortunately, a while later, Sabine returns from her night out and the demon upon seeing Sabine. “ɛӼƈɛʟʟɛռȶ..”

The demon possessed Sabine and the previously possessed dude hit the sidewalk with a thud.

“ɨռȶɛʀɛֆȶɨռɢ....” The voice coming out of Sabine didn’t sound like her mother which scared Marinette a lot. “օքɛռ ȶɦɨֆ ɖօօʀ օʀ,”the demon pulled a knife out of thin air, ,“ȶɦɨֆ ɮօɖʏ ɢɛȶֆ ɨȶ.”

Tom hesitated until the demon put the knife on Sabine’s neck and put enough force for a thin line of blood to be shown.

He opens the door and the demon knocks him out. Stepping over his unconscious body and looking down on it, “ʄօʀ ȶɦǟȶ, ɨ ǟʍ ɢօɨռɢ ȶօ ʟɛȶ ʏօʊ ʟɨʋɛ ʊռȶɨʟ ɨ ǟʍ ɖօռɛ աɨȶɦ ʝօɦռ, օʄ ƈօʊʀֆɛ.” and cackles. The sound was so wrong and unnerving and little Marinette tried very hard for her sobs not to be heard.

Too bad the demon had super hearing. “Come out, my little blossom. Maman is home. Why don’t you come out and give me a hug?”

It sounded so much like her mother and she nearly believed that it was her mother and not some entity in control of her body.

But she knew better from John’s stories of dealing with demons and how they would use the voice of loved ones to lure them out and into a trap. (Definitely not something one should tell as a bedtime story but Marinette was very different and had an unconventional childhood with John Constantine as her father.)

Wait...she got struck with an idea but she wasn’t sure if it would work.

Before she could do anything, the door of the cabinet she was hiding in was opened and she was dragged out.

The demon lifted her a few feet above the ground by the collar of her dress.

It heard Marinette saying something. “աɦǟȶ ǟʀɛ ʏօʊ ֆǟʏɨռɢ ƈɦɨʟɖ, ֆքɛǟӄ ʟօʊɖɛʀ?”

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.” Marinette was now screaming the words at the top of her lungs. She repeated the spell over and over again with fierce determination.

John, being his paranoid self, taught her the spell for an exorcism, just in case. Demons spared no one, not even a girl.

It screamed “NO….” as Sabine’s body contorted in strange angles before a dark shadow seemed to be dragged down into the ground. It made a desperate attempt to possess John before it was pulled away and disappeared. There was no sign that there was a demon attack.

After John woke up, he managed to piece together that his 5-years-old (Sorry 5 and a half) daughter sent a demon back to hell.

He was a very proud dad. (He was a tad worried about the consequences from this event and demons hold one hell of a grudge. He wanted his daughter to live a very safe and happy life. The bakery’s wards also need an upgrade.)

He also got the job of explaining what he actually did to Tom. And lots of reassuring.

Sabine, on one hand, was not happy that Marinette knew how to do magic. That is until John told her that he did it just in case so she can protect herself and later it was agreed that Marinette can learn some Magic spells and charms to better protect herself and when she is older, she can decide if she wants to continue or not.

----

(Part 2)

#bio!dad john constantine #maribat #damientte #damainette #platonic daminette #maybe?#minor swearing

720 notes · View notes

youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 3 years

Text

A Heartbeat Away | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.7k

✦ based off the song I Should’ve Kissed You by One Direction

✦ summary — Damian is haunted by the fact that he only said good night when he should have kissed you.

✦ warnings — light angst, mentions of pregnancy (a minor character is pregnant), mentions of food and beverages, fluff.

✦ author's note i — randomly remembered my obsession with this song and couldn’t get it out of my head.

✦ author's note ii — the parts in italics are flashbacks.

════════════════════════

Ever since he started living with Jason, Damian found himself straying away from the things that held him back.

His life would never be normal, but in hindsight, he could admit things weren’t as bad.

The fallout with his father came crashing down in the worst moment possible — Dick was dead and his relationship with Tim wasn’t the best.

As little as he knew Jason, he was sure he could trust him so he asked for his help instead of somebody else’s.

And Jason didn’t say no. Whether he had the heart to do it or not was irrelevant because he still took Damian in and helped him find a job.

He hated said job.

‘It’s a job,’ you had told him, ‘you’re not supposed to like it.’

You.

Damian rarely stopped thinking about you. Calling it infatuation felt like an understatement, and yet he couldn’t find a better word to describe the whirlwind of emotions you gave him.

He still remembered the day he met you for the first time.

Jason paced in the living room, perking up every time he heard a noise outside the apartment.

You’re driving me insane,” Damian said from the small dining table.

”Roy’s late.”

”Why are you surprised?”

Jason glared at him.

Both of them heard somebody stand on the other side of the door. Their steps didn’t sound like Roy’s.

Pulling the door open, Jason was ready to snap at whoever had knocked.

“You ordered something and gave my apartment number instead of yours. Again.”

Damian didn’t recognize the voice so he slanted his body to the side to see who it was. He couldn’t stop staring.

”I’ll make it up to you.”

”Jay,” you sighed. “I’ve told you before, you just need to tell me beforehand if you don’t want things to arrive to your apartment. My roommate could have opened it.”

Damian chuckled, a single elbow resting on the table.

Jason craned his neck. “You think this is funny?”

”I think you’re a moron.”

”Shut up and come meet our neighbor.”

Damian didn’t have to be told twice. He stood up with an eagerness he hadn’t felt since Jason texted him to let him know he had found the materials so he could build a suit and go back to patrol.

”This is my brother Damian.” Jason turned around to place the package under the table next to the door.

He knew you’d either seen him before or heard about him the moment his eyes landed on you. People always had a visceral reaction when they met him, some found him attractive, others attempted to ask for favors, and some recoiled in fear.

But you didn’t. You held his gaze and stood in the same spot you had been since you knocked on the door.

And whether it had been in a newspaper or a gossip forum, he was glad you knew something about him. There was something about the way you stared at him that screamed for him to trust you. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Nice to meet you,” you politely said, smiling at him.

Stunned by the fact that you hadn’t mocked him, and now assuming it wasn’t wishful thinking after all, he tilted his head. Most people did mock now that he wasn’t under his father’s wing.

Still, he said, “Likewise.”

Your smile became warmer. “I live three doors down the hallway in case you need anything.”

He felt a pang in his chest at the gesture. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Weird sensations in his chest were normal when he was around you. Befriending you was easier than he’d ever admit and talking to you became the highlight of his day.

The pangs in his chest turned into a fluttering sensation in a heartbeat. You’d make him feel breathless when you did the smallest things — when you smiled at him, when you complained about other neighbors with him, when you asked about his day.

He felt special. For once in his life for being the closest he had ever been to resemble a normal person.

And he also remembered, quite painfully, that night he let you walk away without mustering the courage to tell you —or show you— the way you made him feel.

The deserted hallway was yet another proof of how easy it was to lose track of time around you.

Damian hadn’t expected to get back home past midnight or to skip patrol, but 1:00 AM turned into 2:00 and he couldn’t part from you no matter how many times he tried to remind himself to do it.

He hadn’t even expected to enjoy the state fair as an adult, yet he couldn’t remember a time he had more fun than that evening.

You gazed up at him, waiting for him to either do or say something. Anything other than stare at you in the middle of the hallway.

You had already thanked him for making you company, there was no way you’d say anything. And he froze.

“Good night,” he sputtered.

Your brow twitched. “Night.”

He watched you unlock your door and get inside your apartment with a heavy heart.

You moved out a couple months ago and he hadn’t seen you since then. The texts the two of you exchanged were sporadic and they bordered in formal.

He should have kissed you, he was aware of that. And to make matters worse, Jason chewed him out when he found out.

He still looked for you every morning he left the apartment as though you’d remember you had forgotten something. That you had forgotten him.

Jon said it was for the best, that somebody as sweet as you didn’t deserve to carry with his baggage.

Damian knew his best friend to be right, but how could he let go of you that easily when you made him see he was more than his mistakes and regrets?

He didn’t need anybody to carry him, he could drag himself anywhere if needed.

He simply hated the hole in the pit of his stomach every time he entertained the possibility of having to see you one day with somebody else because he wasn’t brave enough to say what he needed to let out.

The idea of being out of time was killing him slowly, so naturally, he’d sought a quick death.

════════════════════════

You gasped upon opening the door. You weren’t expecting anybody to be outside — much less Damian Wayne.

“Oh!”

“Hi,” he softly greeted.

You blinked rapidly. “Did you need anything?”

“I wanted to... Are you on your way out?”

“I’m just dropping this off for my mom.” You momentarily lifted the bags you were carrying in one hand. “She lives nearby.”

He spared a look to the reusable bags in your grasp. “Is she sick?”

“Pregnant,” you explained, playing with your keys. “It’s high risk due to her age so we take as much care of her as we can.”

Damian walked backward, allowing you to come out of the apartment and lock the door.

As you pushed the door to make sure it was locked, he asked, “Would you care for some company?”

Turning around, you gave him a small smile. “That would be lovely.”

He reached over. “Let me help.”

“They’re not heavy.”

“I insist.”

”Okay.” You handed him the bags and took the initiative to lead the way.

He reached your side immediately.

Not knowing what else to do, aware you’d let something slip if you didn’t find something, you made small talk. “How’s Jason?”

“As annoying as always.”

You still remembered when he meant those words, when he complained about Jason and how often they butted heads. His tone was different now, lighter, almost playful.

“Good to know some things never change.”

You walked the streets with an ease you hadn’t been able to in years. Growing up in that neighborhood meant which streets to avoid, and sadly, most of them were unsafe.

There were many things you could have asked or said, perhaps apologize for being cold while texting.

You were in your right to be cold and you could have just not answered, but you wanted to keep contact even though you were hurt.

Damian was great company. It was a shame you misread the entire situation and couldn’t go back to chat with him like before.

It took you a few attempts to get them to talk comfortably, but once he was able to, he didn’t look back. He even gossiped with you.

Stopping in front of the house, you looked around to make sure your mom had the windows open. Once sure, you walked up the front steps.

You withdrew a single key from your back pocket and extended your other hand so Damian would give you the bags.

The floors were recently mopped which meant your aunt had visited that day.

“It’s me,” you yelled so your mom wouldn’t get up. It was her time to be watching TV in the living room.

Carrying the bags towards the kitchen, you caught the jingle from a commercial.

You filled a glass with water and added a couple of ice cubes.

Your mom was comfortably sat on a recliner, feet up and remote control on her thigh. “Hurry back before it gets dark.”

“Don’t worry, a friend of mine walked me here.” You handed her the glass. “Do you need anything else?”

She ignored your question as she took the glass. “Who is it?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Him?” She lifted an eyebrow.

You hadn’t mentioned a guy to her in almost two years now, her surprise was understandable. “Not now.”

“Oh, so it is like that?”

Maybe it was and maybe that was the issue. She wouldn’t blame you if she knew him like you did, if she heard him laugh or saw him change his demeanor to accommodate to somebody else’s sensibilities.

You didn’t think you’d witness anything remotely close to that when you met him for the first time, but you learned really quickly that Damian was full of surprises.

“I’ll call in the morning in case you need something. I’m working ’til 3:00 PM tomorrow.”

“It’s okay.” She took a sip of water. “Did you bring anything sweet?”

“Homemade muffins and a few chocolate bars. Do you want one now?”

She shook her head. “I’ll wait after dinner.”

You kissed her cheek. “Call me, please.”

“Go, go.” She ushered you to go with a gesture of her hand. “Don’t make your friend wait.”

It was your time to ignore her comment.

Damian was sat on the front steps when you came out, looking up at the darkening sky.

“Is everything alright?” you asked in a whisper as to not scare him.

“No.” He shook his head and stood up. “I mean, yes. How’s your mother?”

“She’s good. Having fun watching reality TV.”

Damian squinted. “Is reality TV really that entertaining?”

“It’s mindless stuff, but it’s fun sometimes. You get to judge other people’s lives without feeling remorse because it’s most likely fake.”

The walk back was way shorter and you didn’t want to part. It was time to swallow your pride and your feelings for him.

He didn’t part ways with you at the building entrance. He walked beside you until you reached the elevator — Damian extended his arm to keep the doors open and allowed you to get in first. He followed suit.

You turned the lights on with Damian on your tail. He did wait for you to invite him in, but you were sure both of you knew there was no way you wouldn’t.

“I made muffins. Do you want one?”

Damian nodded.

You guided him to the dining table where a trippy vase in pastel colors rested with flowers.

He looked around the apartment as he walked towards the table. As he sat down, he fixed his eyes on the vase.

“Green or black?”

“Mmh?”

“Your tea.”

You could swear you saw him smile to himself.

“Black.” He placed his cellphone on the table. “You still have that thing,” he said, referring to the trippy vase.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He huffed a laugh. “Jason said it was ugly.”

“Jason doesn’t have the best taste in the world,” you lightheartedly retorted.

The vase was precious to you, a gift from Damian who spooked you in the middle of a rainy night and made you knock your favorite vase.

You set a plate in front of him and placed the muffin there. “Your tea’s almost ready.”

“No roommate this time?”

“Nope. I miss Lou, but I don’t miss having a roommate that much.”

“I thought the move was temporary just so you could be close to your mother...”

“It is, but there’s still a long way to go. The baby should be here next month and she’ll need help around the house.” You disappeared for a moment as you looked for a mug.

Having found one, you dropped the teabag and poured the boiling water in.

“Sugar.” You put the sugar bowl down just in front of the mug. Feeling his eyes on the side of your face, you gazed at him. “It’s brown, don’t worry.”

He relaxed and uncovered the sugar bowl. “Is the father of your mother’s child around?”

“Yeah.” You sat down on the chair closest to his. “She remarried last year and her husband tries to help, but you know, work gets in the way.”

“Tell me if I can help with anything.”

“Don’t worry, you have enough things to juggle with already.”

“What’s one more? At least let me make you company or walk you home. These streets are dangerous.”

You softly nodded. From the day you met him you knew you would never be able to tell him no — and having his company after a long day sounded nice.

“So...”

“So,” you encouraged him to go on.

“Are you seeing anybody?”

“No. I thought I was a little while ago, but...” You hoped he’d understand what you were getting at. “I guess something got lost in translation.”

“Did it? Or was he too much of a coward to show the way he felt?”

“Don’t.” You hated hearing him talk like that about himself.

“You don’t know how much I regret not kissing you that night. I—“ He sighed, twisting his mouth as he frowned. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“At least now I know you did think about doing it.”

“I did. Many times throughout the night.” He turned to the side to fully look at you. “I wanted to find the perfect moment and became overwhelmed. Sounds like a bad excuse, but I swear it’s the truth.”

“I believe you.”

Damian scooted closer and reached over to place his hand on your face. Softly, he caressed your cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

You leaned onto his touch, tilting your head. “Me too. Sorry for being such an ass.”

“It’s fine. I would have reacted similarly.”

“Similarly or worse?”

“Worse.”

You laughed, making him smile.

“May I?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Damian leaned in, placing his free hand on the back of your chair as his nose brushed yours.

His lips softly connected with yours, but the slow pace didn’t last. The two of you had wasted too much time, thrown away too many opportunities to be this close —or closer— and patience wasn’t a virtue Damian possessed.

The chair was now balancing itself in two legs, making you interrupt the kiss with a squeal.

Damian then made you stand up and wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips were immediately back on yours.

Your hands went up to rest on his biceps as he kissed you again. His arms tightened around you as he deepened the kiss and you melted.

You melted into the kiss, onto his warmth, due to the fact that he wanted this as much as you did.

Kissing him had become a mere fantasy for you, and there he was, not only making it a reality but exceeding your expectations.

Grabbing him by the neck, you broke the kiss in search of air. His breath was barely ragged and you remembered he told you he could hold it in for a long time.

You needed him to teach you just to be able to kiss him for longer.

“That was nice,” you said, still breathless.

“Yeah, really nice. We should do it more often.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“I’m telling you I want you to be mine.”

All in or nothing, of course. Jason had warned you that Damian didn’t take things lightly.

But you were okay with that.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x plus size reader #damian wayne

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 years

Note

brbrbbr i don't have as much of an idea for this but maybe like. reader has anger problems and is easy to piss off so eduardo is not the best person for them to be around but they were dating jon so they dealt with it for him, but now it's after his death and they and eduardo are both trying to mourn so they just start taking it out on each other and mark has to try and intervene before it goes too far (whether physical or someone just says something over the line)

Ironically you've given me an excellent angsty idea :3

...............

"I thought she said we were stupid."

"....I'm gonna-"

"Punch you in the face?" You scowled at Eduardo before he could fully finish the threat. "Because that's exactly what I'm gonna do if you dare fucking finish that statement."

He just returned the glare in kind. "You couldn't even hurt a-!"

"H-Hey, please don't fight here." Jon spoke up. He didn't like seeing the growing tension between you both, so he hugged your arm and tried to pull you away. Even though he knew you just had a bad temper, he was scared you'll actually hurt somebody one day.

"Come on, [y/n]...let's forget about these dumb ghosts and spirits and go back inside." He pleaded.

You glanced back at your boyfriend, sighing. "Whatever. He can deal with it on his own."

If it were up to you, both of you would've moved out so you didn't have to see Eduardo's stupid angry face all the time. But Jon insisted on staying, reassuring you that he might just be "jealous" for now..despite Mark telling you that he's always been like this and won't change.

You decided to suck it up whenever you visited them, occasionally bringing over diet cola so Eduardo would shut up and not bother you. Usually it worked, but other times he'd just glare at you and Jon--especially Jon--with envy.

After heading inside and going to Jon's room, you both cuddled on the bed together. Though you noticed he was still pouting as he put his head on your chest, which made you frown slightly.

"What's up, Jonny?" You ruffled his hair. "Talk to me."

"[Y/n], can you..at least try to get along with him better?"

"....I..umm..I don't-"

"I know he's not the best person to be around but..I-I'm just scared you'll leave me because you don't want to deal with him anymore. And I feel like..all the fighting is my fault."

"Wha...Jon, it's not your fault at all." You hugged him closely. "I love you, and there's no way in hell I'm breaking up with you just because of anything that dumbass says. I've been trying to manage my anger better, I promise. He just makes it..hard for me to have self-control sometimes."

"I believe you." Jon snuggled with you more. "But can you promise me you'll try? If I'm not around I..don't want you tearing the place up. Sure, there's Mark but I'd feel bad if-"

"Okay, okay. I promise I'll try to get along with him. For you."

"Yay! Thank you, sweetums." He giggled, smiling as he closed his eyes. "I know Eduardo can be a real jerk but I don't take what he says to heart. I think it's just his own..special way of showing friendship."

'Friendship my ass.' You thought, but you just sighed and tried to relax.

Maybe it was only jealousy. You'll never know for sure.

But if he had faith in you and Eduardo getting along then..you'll believe him.

"You know, if it weren't for him I would've torn this place apart by now."

"Then what's stopping you? It's not like he's gonna walk through the door anymore."

"Don't go there, Eduardo..just don't." Clutching the necklace Jon had gifted you, you glared at Eduardo. He was sitting beside you, just blankly staring into his empty soda can. The bags under his eyes have become more prominent as time passed.

As every day since Jon's death passed.

Even now you could still recall that day clearly: he was dying in your arms, making a joke when Eduardo pleaded for him to say something, before begging you two to get along as his last wish.

Sadly, neither of you got to tell him whether you'll keep that promise.

In fact, given the exchange you two were having now, that promise seemed almost impossible to keep.

Of course, Eduardo had every right to grieve. But you couldn't understand why he's suddenly so remorseful after the fact..only after the damage was done and he couldn't take back what he said to Jon.

"I wish you were dead."

His words were just out of earshot to you, though you knew damn well who he was talking about and chewed him out for saying such things.

Little did you know...that bastard was gonna get his wish granted.

"Look, [y/n]...Jon was-"

"Was what?" Your impatience only grew. "An idiot? Your punching bag? Don't tell me he was your friend when all you've done was treat him like shit..like he was stupid."

"I didn't always treat 'im like that," Eduardo looked equally annoyed. "I valued him as a friend!"

"Well it's too damn bad he never got to hear that." Tears brimmed your eyes as you held the necklace to your chest. "You only care after he's gone...heartless bastard.."

Of course you were going to regret those words later on, but you didn't care. You didn't think the person who wished your boyfriend death had any right to feel this way.

His hands trembled as he held the mug, staring at you with wide eyes. "Y-You think..I'm heartless?!!"

"Yeah, you are! I bet you wanted him dead, didn't you?!" Your voice rose despite its shakiness. "All because you were so fucking jealous that he actually got a date and your lonely ass can't even keep a partner for a month!"

"S-Stop it.." Now you were pushing his buttons, reminding him of things that he didn't want to remember.

"I bet you're happy he's gone, I bet you're happy that explosion killed him-"

"WELL I WISH IT KILLED ME INSTEAD!!" He finally shouted at the top of his lungs, throwing the can to the floor and standing up. With clenched fists he glared down at you, seething red and his eyes tearful. "Every damn day I wish I died instead of him!! I-I may not be a good friend..I'll admit I'm fucking terrible. But god I never hated him or you!!"

You were stunned into silence, never realizing that's how he felt all along.

That he wanted to be the one who died instead..

Although your own hands were shaking, you didn't know what to do or say. But in that moment Mark decided to come in after hearing your argument turning for the worse.

"So much for my afternoon nap..." He rubbed his eyes, before gazing at you two sadly. "That's enough, guys. You can't keep doing this."

"Sh-Shut up, Mark." Eduardo stammered. "This doesn't-"

"I'm still living under this roof, so it concerns me too." The blonde sighed. "Listen, we're all hurt over losing Jon, regardless of how we may have acted towards him. This is not what he would've wanted..to see you two tear each other apart."

He was talking like a disappointed parent would, but there was truth to his words.

Eduardo just sniffled and wiped his sleeve over his eyes, sitting back down while being as far away from you as he could. You averted your gaze to fiddle with your necklace; there was a deep pit of regret in your stomach.

Only now you were starting to see the hypocrisy in yourself: you were hurting him by saying things you couldn't take back.

It never occurred to you until now, but...damn.

'Jon would never want me to turn out like him..'

Mark sat in the space between you both. "I understand you two don't have the best chemistry but..at least try to honor his wish. It would make me happy and less..awkward every time I walk in the room."

As he put both arms around you, he brought you and Eduardo closer. You just exchanged glances, still feeling bitter and sad about the words you've spoken.

Honestly, he could've kicked you out of the house and told you to never come back.

But he didn't.

Maybe he truly does want to get along with you, just as much as you wanted to get along with him.

In due time you might forgive each other and try again.

For Jon's sake.

#o uch this hurt me too ;n;#clanask #anonymous #eddsworld x reader #ew jon x reader #jon x reader #ew eduardo x reader #eduardo x reader #angst

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dork-empress · 3 years

Text

Singing in the Dead of Night

Damian Wayne meets a new masked persona in Gotham, and everyone has to adjust to her.

AKA I have a lot of headcanons about Lucy Quinzel and I'm making it other people's problem.

I want it up front that I haven't read these comics, just a lot of wiki pages and tiktoks. If there's a fun thing in the comics you can tell me, but this is my own version of this universe and these characters.

This is going to be the main story, but I may do some offshoots. If you want to subscribe, chapters are also posted on my Ao3 (link in my description).

“You need to take things less seriously.”

Damian looked up, looked down, and then looked back just to be sure it was really his father who asked. It was hard to tell sometimes if your superhero father had been replaced or possessed or something. “Are you serious? YOU’RE telling me that?”

“That should enforce to you how dire the situation is.” Bruce said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re still a kid,”

“I’m 15,” Damian said, then thought about his varied adventures, “Technically…”

“My point exactly,” Bruce said, turning a page on his crime reports, “You should enjoy being a kid, for a while.”

“Oh, did you enjoy being 15?” Damian said, and maybe that was a low blow, but if Bruce wasn’t ready for him to call him out he...shouldn’t have made him upset. Hmm.

Bruce looked up and stared into his soul, and Damian worried he might have stepped in it a bit. He backed up a step in case. Bruce took a deep breath, looking at him. “My childhood was stolen from me, but I at least had one. As did all the other Robins. You’re not responsible for what happened to you,but I think you could use some time. I couldn’t offer you a childhood then, and I can hardly do that now, I know, but I can do what I can.”

“And what are you doing?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re suspended from Robin duties.”

“WHAT?!” Damian exploded, getting in his face. “What are you talking about?!”

Bruce didn’t flinch, “Until the Wayne Manor Christmas Party,” Bruce said, “I’ve called Tim and he’s willing to cover for you until then.”

“He doesn’t NEED to cover me,” Damian snarled, “I’m right here! I’m not injured, or dead, or ANYTHING I just--WHY?”

“I told you,” Bruce said, “You need to find other...hobbies, or form connections or SOMEthing. Anything other than the lifestyle. You have two months, you’ll live.”

Damian curled his fists, shaking, but had no more arguments. “You’re the WORST!” He said, and went off to his rooms.

The room was left in stony silence for a moment. Alfred came in, changing out Bruce’s cup of tea. “You don’t actually expect that to work, do you?”

“Not really, no,” Bruce said, “But he’ll be out of my hair for a little bit.”

Alfred was very dignified and so did not snort. But it was close.

Damian went out at night, saying he was off with a friend. Best to keep things vague, but if Bruce pressed, he’d say he was with Jon, and could probably bully Jon into vouching for him.

He dressed all in black, jumping from the rooftops, looking for trouble. There was usually plenty of it in Gotham. He just had to avoid the Bat Signal hanging in the sky and he’d be fine.

He heard a crash and looked down. Jewelry store robbery. Perfect.

He jumped down to ground level and approached the broken in window, taking out his sword. “Anyone in here, it’s better to surrender now,”

Of course, because it was Gotham, he wasn’t met by a normal jewel thief. No, instead, what approached him was a small walking orange balloon animal dog.

Because of course it was.

With an act first, think later attitude, he stabbed at it. He regretted it instantly as it let out some sort of opaque gas, the effects of which he didn’t want to find out. He pulled his shirt up over his mouth in hopes of preventing himself breathing too much in.

“Oh wow,” a voice said behind him, “Are you Robin?”

Damian whipped around and scowled. The gas was obscuring whoever was there, but the silhouette seemed like something of a ballerina. Why couldn’t one criminal just be normal?

He jumped back, ready to attack, but she didn’t fight him. “I’m not Robin,” he said, “I’m…” he didn’t think of another name. Ugh, this was more complicated than it needed to be.

“Huh,” she said, heading over to the display case, “This city sure has a lot of teenage ninja fighters, doesn’t it? Is ninja appropriative? Hmm, will have to think on that.”

She picked up a diamond ring from the display case and headed for the door. “Put that down!” Damian yelled at her, lifting his sword up.

“What, are you going to kill me for one ring?” She said, holding it, “Kinda overkill, don’t you think, Blackbird?”

Damian put his sword up to her, blocking the exit. “I’m not going to kill you, I’m just going to stop you,” he said, determined, but then her words sank in. “Blackbird?”

“Well, I’ve got to call you something, isn’t that how these superhero fights all go?” She stepped forward out of the fog, a girl about his age with a white painted face, lips painted into a heart, and bright orange and pink eyeshadow. “I’m Commedia, the hero of funny, the dancing clown, the laughing knight, etc etc.” she said, “im still working on my name too.”

She did a fancy twirl, getting out of range of Damian’s sword, which he countered to block her from the entrance again. “Oh, you like to dance?” she said.

“Clown, huh?” he said, staring her down, “You work for the joker?”

She laughed, high pitched and sweet, “Very much no,” she said, twirling again through the store, “Though I understand the confusion. No, Joker is...well, a joke. He’s not even registered in the clown registry.”

“There’s a clown registry?” He swung his sword.

This time, it came to a stop, with a matching jingle. He frowned, and saw it was a tambourine that the woman had lifted and stopped the sword like a shield.

He stared at the girl, Commedia, in stunned silence. She smiled brightly at him. “Well, this has been fun. But I really ought to head out. Raincheck on that dance, Blackbird.”

With a spin and a jump, she made it past him and rushed out the door, throwing a pink flower behind. A gas filled up the room in her wake, obscuring the view. Damian unfortunately got a whiff before he could block his nose, but he knew a simple fog cloud scent when he smelled it.

Damian went back into the shadows before the police inevitably arrived. It did seem below his paygrade, fighting someone who only stole a single diamond ring. But it was even stranger for that fact. A strangely dressed clown woman engaging in very strange and specific crimes in Gotham screamed “beginning of a dangerous plot.”

He wanted to go in swinging as usual, then remembered that if his father heard anything about a young person with a sword threatening police, he might catch onto the fact Damian went out that night. So, he went with the subtle approach. Breaking into the jewelry store’s records.

He was glad he did. It turned out that ring in particular had a history. It had been bought, returned, bought again, and returned once more, all by the same man, a Matthew Crenshaw. A quick records search brought up that he was a simple caller at a center. Nothing special about him. But, he was tied to the ring, and that tied him to the girl, so that was his first stop.

He tracked down the apartment to find Matthew Crenshaw in the middle of a very strange day. Damien watched through the window as Matthew lay on the floor of his meager living room, looking up at Commedia herself. She held the ring out to him, offering. “Well come on, man! Take it!”

“I don’t…” he mumbled, “Who...who are you?!”

“Just call me your fairy godmother,” she said. “Come on, you said you wanted it! So take it!”

“That’s…” Matthew said, “That’s the ring that Jenny liked...that she…”

“That you said would make the perfect proposal!” She said, dancing around, “So? Here it is! Now you can propose for real!” she said, giving it to him.

He juggled it, nearly falling over. Commedia came rushing over, jumping through the window and onto the fire escape. “Alright, hands up,” Damian urged her.

She turned, smiling. “Why, Blackbird? We going on roller coaster?” She put her hands high in the air and swung around the fire escape ladder, “Weeeeee!”

Damian followed her, pointing his sword tip at her chest. “Stop,” he said, “What are you planning?”

“Well, I’m planning to go sneak up to that window up there so I can look in and see what Matty and Jenny have going on,” She said, “Wanna join--OH!”

Damian pressed his sword up to her neck. “Cut the games,” He said, “You’re up to something, I know it. So tell me.”

Commedia sighed, giving in. “Matthew doesn’t want to get married.”

“I...what?” Damian said, confused.

“Matthew Crenshaw, the guy up there,” Commedia said, “He’s a nice guy, and he cares for his girlfriend Jenny, sure. But she’s been pressuring him about getting married, even though he doesn’t really like the idea of getting married. He’s talked himself into saying that he needs the perfect ring, but when he bought it, he decided he couldn’t afford it, and gave it back. So, I got it for him.”

Damian’s scowl only deepened as she kept talking. “Who’s he to you?”

She tilted her head, confused. “He cold called me to try and offer me a deal on car insurance.”

Damian put down the sword. He just. She said it so sincerely. “Who ARE you?” He demanded, now out of confusion more than anger.

She smiled brightly once more. “Why, I’m Commedia! The hero clown, the dancing--”

“Yeah, you said all that before, but like,” He sighed, “Why?”

Commedia’s smile fell down to something simple and kind. She offered a hand to him.

Hesitant, curious, and just...confused, he took it.

She led him to the other window, where they saw Jenny walking through the door. She gasped and ran to Matthew. “Oh, Matt! Matt, yes! Yes, I do, I do, I never thought this day would come! Oh gosh, I gotta call my mom, I’ve got a few dresses all picked out. You’ll see, it’ll be a huge party with everyone we know and-”

“Jenny,” he said, “Jenny wait, I...you know I don’t...I’m not comfortable with crowds and...and I don’t--

“But it’s MY DAY!” Jenny wailed, “You wouldn’t take MY day from me, would you?”

“C’mon,” Commedia muttered.

“Please, Jen,” Matt continued, “Look it’s just...if, if we did get married, shouldn’t--wouldn’t it be my day too?”

“Oh come ON, Matt,” Jenny said, walking to the counter, “We both know I’m the one who knows what’s best for you. It’ll be good! You’ll finally get to shine, and if you don’t like it, you’ll have ME there to take the rest of the spotlight!”

Matt’s hands balled into fists, and his face set, “No.”

“What?” Jenny said, incredulous.

“I’ve had it! I’m tired of-of you telling me what I like and what I don’t!” his lip trembled as he stood up. “I knew I was hesitant, but I didn’t know why! Now I see it’s becasue I didn’t want you in the rest of my life!”

“Hey now,” Jenny said, “Matt, calm down--”

“Get out of my house!” Matt went to the open window Commedia left behind and tossed out the ring.

“Whoopsies,” Commedia said and dropped away. Damian, confused, dropped down after her.

She picked the ring up from the ground and held it out to Damian. “I trust you can get this back to the jewelry store.”

“So, all of that…” he said, “was to help a guy get out of a bad relationship? That you barely knew?”

“He sounded sad on the phone,” Commedia said, “Made me curious.”

Damian scoffed, staring at her. “Who ARE you?”

She chuckled. “My guess is you’ll find out sooner or later,” she said, “So I’ll pick later, for now. But I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Blackbird.”

She took out another flower. This one shot off into the distance like a grappling hook, and pulled her twirling into the night.

Damian could have followed her, maybe. But, holding the ring in his hands, he didn’t see much need to.

Across town, Batman was called to a bank robbery in the middle of the night. Inside, however, he didn’t find the vault broken in, and nothing stolen, other than a number of complimentary lollipops. “You know there are easier ways to get my attention.”

“Aw, Come on Bats!” Harley said, swinging from the ceiling with one of the lollipops in her mouth, “Ain’t this a classic? Brings me back to the old days.”

“Oh, you’ve stopped doing crime then?” He said, leaning back and looking up at her, “News to me.”

Harley flipped down in front of him. “Batsy, you know I’m tryin’! I do good, is it a crime to have a little fun while I do it?”

“If you hurt people, yes.” Batman said.

Harley deflated. “I haven’t done that in a while now. I’m goin through some life changes.”

Batman hummed, staring down at her. “I’m guessing this is about the small clown that has been reported around town recently doing strange acts of minor crimes to help people?”

Harley brightened again, balancing on the teller counter. “She’s my new apprentice! A bit of a goody-two-shoes, but I’m doing my best to train her.” She did a handstand, “I came to ask for some advice at raising child soldiers, considering you have so much experience.”

Batman always scowled, but it seemed his scowl deepened on that. “I help some people come to terms with terrible things that have happened to them, and teach them to be a force of good in the world instead of falling to the world’s darkness.” He thought back on his children, “It doesn’t always work.”

Harley laughed, “No kidding,” she said. She sighed, thinking. “To be honest, Commedia is already pretty good. I can’t claim credit for that.” She rocked back and forth, feeling uneasy.

Batman approached, slow so as not to scare her. “Well, we both know she didn’t get it from her father.”

Her face was already white, but she blanched further. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, “She’s my niece, she ran from home so I’m taking care of her and-”

“Harley,” Batman stopped her rambling, “I’m a detective, remember?”

She frowned, shaking at him. “He doesn’t know,” she said, “No one knows, she...she’s never met him and I don’t want her to I--”

Batman held up his hands, stopping her again. “I know,” he said, “I understand, really. And I’ll help.”

She blinked up at him, smiling. “Really?”

Batman nodded. “I’ll help you protect her. As for advice....if you ever figure out a perfect way to raise masked vigilantes, let me know. I mostly just do the best I can, and make sure they can do a proper spin-kick if they need to.”

Harley snorted. “I’ll make a note of that.” She grabbed the box of free lollies on the counter, “I am going to be robbing these though, and you can’t stop me.”

She headed for the back entrance and away. “Harley,” Batman called her again, and she froze, “The year you were gone, when you disappeared and suddenly your sister had a child she wasn’t pregnant with. I want you to know, I noticed.”

Harley smiled, turning, “Thanks Bats-” When she turned, he was gone. “And people call me a drama queen.”

#lucy quinzel #batman #damian wayne #harley quinn #batfamily #joker

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artxyra · 4 years

Text

The Secret Life of MDC | Part 3

Part 3 - Welcome to Gotham, now get out!

Part 1 | Part 2 |

Arriving in Gotham was just an absolutely massive mess, that quickly turned into a several page report for Marinette to send to the school board the moment she arrived in her temporary dorm at Gotham Academy.

Let recap back to the airport. When everyone got off the plane, Lila was quick to make up an excuse about Bruce Wayne sending her a private limo that she’ll be happy to bring the class along. Of course, Caline Bustier, absently believed the long-time liar telling her students to gather their belongings and for Lila to call the Waynes. It was as if she had completely forgotten the arrival procedures. Arriving in Gotham, proceed to find the bus driver, and meet up with the Gotham Academy Headmistress to retrieve the rest of the plans for the month. Marinette tried to tell Caline that what they were doing was against the procedure, something that she had to memorize for moments like this, only to be lectured about behavior the second she finished talking off to the side.

Then when they finally arrived at the school, Caline had the nerve to lecture her again about not informing her about the bus before being dragged off by the Gotham Academy headmistress, who clearly was not happy with the decisions made before they could even step foot onto the school grounds. Gotham is not a place to dilly dally unless you know the area or a native.

“Do you think, she’ll be fired after this?” Chloe asks while setting her things into the wardrobe as Marinette clicks the save button on her laptop.

“Maybe, no matter what happens, we’re here for a month regardless of the decisions the GA headmistress and Principal De La Fontaine decides in the coming days. All I know as the class president and temp. TA; my job is to help her overlook you guys.” Marinette sighs and closes the laptop's top before giving Chloe her full attention.

“I still can’t believe you graduated early. Though Adrien and I are grateful you managed to stay despite everything.” It was rare moments like these that made Marinette glad that she gave Chloe a second chance. Chloe had apologized one winter when she was freezing to death outside because her parent went on a tropical vacation on her request and decided to allow the staff to take a few days off. It was Sabine and Tom that took the former bully into their arms and made her feel loved, a love that she rarely receives from her parents. Since that day, Chloe takes pride in the honor of being Marinette’s sister just as Adrien did when they took him in also.

“I couldn’t leave you guys to perish in that class. Also, I just didn’t want to give Lie-la the satisfaction of winning.” Marinette says as her phones with the familiar sounds of “The Other Side” by Ruelle. Instantly, Marinette picks up the phone and smiles. “It’s Damian, he wants to go out tonight. Think I have time before—”

“Go, I’ll keep you from trouble, maybe even invite Adrien over if he isn’t doing the same with Jon.” Chloe pushes the noirette out of their room before closing the door behind the designer with a smirk on her lips.

As Marinette makes her way out of the dormitory, little did she know that Lila was just doing the same but for a different reason.

~*~

Damian Wayne @therealbloodheir I had a wonderful night with my beloved. I can’t wait for more nights like these. [Attached is an image of two hands intertwine with each other with the moon shining between them.]

Nette @GothamsFashionSense Replying to @therealbloodheir That sounds like a marriage proposal. Missing you too.

~*~

In the halls of Gotham Academy, conversations buzz around the single fact that Nette was back in Gotham for the first time in weeks. Groups of students gather around a single person, whose phone is out in the open, all gushing about theories on how the date went.

The same can be said for GA’s exchange students who crowd around Lila Rossi like she was the air.

“Gurl, spill, how was the date? You’re tending on twitter, again!” Alya squeals, gripping Lila’s arm.

“Oh you, it was truly romantic. Damiboo took me on this romantic dinner, but the first place we went to didn’t serve any vegetarian meals, and as you know I’m one but he’s not. We left and found another place that was just right.” Her high pitch voices drive a shiver down people spines, well anyone that is in clear hearing distance to the Italian teen's voice range.

“Do they truly believe that she’s Nette. Bitch please, we all know that Nette has dark hair from the back of the head photos on twitter.” A random student scoffs behind the trio.

The trio turns around looking at the person in a new light. The student had long braided blonde hair and wearing the GA uniform. “You’re not fooled? I was pretty sure that she would try and convert you the moment you step foot into the building.” It was Adrien that spoke first.

“I'm Allegra, besides me is Claude and Allen.” The student says shaking hands with Adrien before continuing with, “Anyone with brain cells can tell you that she is not Nette from @GothamsFashionSense.”

Allegra then takes the empty seat beside Marinette.

“Name’s Marinette, these dorks are Adrien and Chloe.” Marinette says, “About the brain cell thing, we’ve been saying that since she joined our class a few years back.”

“It ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, as to how they manage to hang on her every word. And one of them is a self-proclaim reporter. The bitch hasn’t reported anything remotely true since the liar had joined us and don't get me started on her early years.” Chloe places her two cents into the conversation.

This was the start of a blooming relationship.

Claude, Allegra, and Allen were quick to understand the environment that the Paris Trio was living in. An irresponsible, enabling teacher and a class full of idiots. With the Gotham Trio, the Paris Trio was able to understand how Gotham Academy works and learn the ins and outs of specific places. Despite the fact that Marinette vaguely knows just about much.

~*~

“So, how were your first three days at GA?” Dick Grayson asks as the Paris trio who are sitting on the couch inside the living room of Wayne Manor. "Is it about the same as it was when I went?"

“Dicky, I am this close to making heads roll.” Chloe’s fingers are teaching as a look of crazy twitches in her eyes.

“It wasn’t all that bad the first couple of days and then Lila tried to convince GA students that she was me by photoshopping our twitter photos. Other than that, I’m more worried about when Bustier announces that our class has been invited to the upcoming Wayne Gala. I’m already booked with mine and Chloe’s dresses along with Selina’s and Cass’s.” Marinette says, resting her head on Damian’s shoulder as their hands' interlock. Damian places a quick peck on her forehead.

The room was once again oddly silent before Adrien let out a loud giggle.

The family turns to the model who was staring at his phone with the biggest smile on his face. Adrien was no doubt in a group chat with Luka and Jon about upcoming meetings and plans.

“What?” Adrien asks, looking up to the group of extended family members staring at him. They all quickly look away, some whistling while others mess with the person they are next to. “Seriously guys, what?” The whining in Adrien’s voice just made it harder for them to pretend to do something as they hold in a laugh.

“Nothing,” Marinette snickers as Damian brings to play with her hair by braiding strands of it. She always liked it when Damian messed with her hair, he sometimes does something nice, surprising everyone with his styling skills.

“Hey, Pixie-Pop and Pixie-Pop’s friends. When did you guys get in?” It’s Jason, to which majority had forgotten about even though Tim was a close second as he is hovering over a half-full cup of coffee trying to stay awake but isn’t with them in reality. Maybe Marinette should make her special concoction that would knock anyone out for quite some time.

“Hey Mari, can you make the switch?” Dick whispers in the designer’s ear. Marinette huffs agreeing to the older sibling’s request. Damian nearly groans as his girlfriend gets off his lap and walks into the kitchen.

Marinette comes out nearly ten minutes later with a steaming coffee mug in hand. She walks over to Tim and pushes his cup out of his hand and replaces it with hers. Tim, absently, takes a sip. Within seconds he is knocked out, cold.

“I’ll never not be amazed at how fast your drink can knock Tim out,” Dick says as he picks up Tim and exits the room. Marinette shrugs and takes her seat next to Damian.

“When does Cass get back from her trip?” It was Chloe who decided to break the silence between them.

“Before the gala, that’s for sure,” Jason answers as he pulls out the controllers for the game console. He gives Marinette a knowing look, who smirks with mischief in her eyes. He should know better than to play against Marinette.

~*~

It was times like this that made Marinette wish that the school board had investigated Mlle. Bustier years ago, like for example when the liar first tried to get her expelled in college. Yeah, that was such a long time ago.

Today was supposed to be an easy-going day, but for some reason, Lila managed to convince the teachers, Mlle. Bustier specifically, to allow the class to visit a nearby street mall. Mlle. Bustier, of course, agrees despite the GA teachers telling her that it was a bad idea to let the student go out unsupervised in a place they still don’t know much about. Caline laughs it off stating that they’ll be fine, and it’ll be just like walking down the streets in Paris. That added another dash to her inability to be a proper teacher.

Which brings us to the street mall. Lila was going into stores left and right proclaiming to be Damian Wayne’s girlfriend or stating that she is the niece of some high profile celebrity in hopes of getting free or discounted items. That doesn’t dwell well seeing as Gothamites are not as gullible as Parisians.

The Paris Trio along with the GA Trio watch the mess that she was drumming up from afar. Chloe had invited Allegra to join them which then extended to Claude and Allan who wanted to go for the arcade.

Lila even had the nerve to ask Adrien to join her and Alya shopping trips with the underlying message of making him pay. Once being denied on numerous occasions, Alya managed to steal Nino’s wallet in hopes of paying for all their stuff. Yeah, that didn't help their relationship status.

“Alya I told you that money wasn’t for you,” Nino screams into his girlfriend’s face as she tries to come up with an excuse. He was infuriated.

“Nino, baby, if you love me you would have just given me the money. Lila really needed those items for her date with Damian.”

“I don’t care about Lila’s need; she is not my responsibility. In fact, neither are you, Alya. You just spent the money I had saved up for this trip.” Nino had wanted to go into a DJ shop that sold the equipment he wanted and started saving the moment the trip was announced the year before.

“Stop bitching, it was only a couple hundred dollars.”

Oohs and side-eyes make up the crowd they were drawing. It was a free drama tv for them.

“Ooh what do we have here, a lovers quarrel? Now would be the perfect time to spring my new trap.” Suddenly, it was like time freezes.

~*~

Chloe B. @QueenBeeOfParis The best thing about my idiotic classmates is television drama. #savemefromthem

Tina @thepinkmistress I was finding my own business when this shit happens. [Attach is a video clip of a couple arguing and goons dress in green takes over the streets]

Tim Drake’s Bish @rachelcovefe The nerve of this group. Just finished my shift only to be told by some foreigner that she was @GothamsFashionSense like bish please I know you ain't her. #anotherdayingotham

Kimmy @kimmyontheblock Replying to@rachelcovefe OMG same but she then added in that she was Jagged Stone's niece. Um excuse you but we all know that it's @MDCfashion

Mari Needs Coffee @MarinetteMemes So the first relaxing day in Gotham ruined by the Riddler and Lie-la’s fanatics. Yup, so good to be back. #memescomingsoon #goodgrief #imabouttoheadout

Part 4 >>

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

Note: The SPECIFIC Tag list is officially closed. If you wanted to follow the story please mark the tag fic:The Secret Life of MDC.

#daminette #maribat #teacher assistant au #teacher assistant Marinette AU #ta marinette #fic:The Secret Life of MDC #ml x dc #mlb x dc #dc crossover #ml crossover #damimari

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

The Crow’s Funeral AU: Martin Fixes Everything

Stared a long while ago and wrapped up at the request of an anon. This was written because, while I was wrapping up TCF, I thought...’man, if Martin had just been able to find Jon when he woke up, none of this story would have ever happened’. Like, Daisy and Jon enable each other, but Martin just shuts that shit down. No CW that don’t apply to TCF, except maybe for very oblique references to suicide attempts.

A shadow dimmed the reading light, and Jonathan Sims irritably looked up. From his vantage point on the floor, he saw a towering figure above him - a human, somewhat circular, faintly recognizable, looking strongly as if he had run into his own personal nightmare. But no, not quite - there was something far more complicated in that face than fear. Which was a pity. If it wasn’t fear, Jonathan Sims didn’t understand it at all.

“Jon? Christ, Jon, is that you? Jon!”

Ah, Jonathan Sims thought faintly. The man from the cabin.

Maybe he should have ran further.

The man found Jonathan Sims two weeks later, reading a romance novel as he lay on the floor underneath a table.

Upstairs, seized throats choked screams. Library patrons shuddered in the Dark, early victims of a terror just beginning. Some of them would escape, staggering home to their mourning families. Some would stumble home, only to find that their families were unrecognizable to them - or they were unrecognizable to their families. Others would not escape, shivering between stacks for the rest of time.

Jonathan Sims enjoyed the ambiance, and the vast quantity of books. Books were fun. Not that the world wasn’t fun and exciting and always filled with an interesting little drama to stop and watch, but books had things the world didn’t. Like dragons and spaceships and planes. Like happy smiles and...a horse ranch? Heavily muscled cowboys? But the farmer’s daughter would never let herself fall for a wanderin’ man -

“Jon? Christ, Jon, is that you? Jon!”

Ah, Jonathan Sims thought faintly. The man from the cabin.

Maybe he should have ran further.

*****

“I cannot believe you!”

Jonathan Sims - Jon, according to this very infuriated man who was currently clamping Jon’s wrist like a vice - could do nothing but stumble after the man as he was dragged through the village. To be fair, he didn’t mind - this was the first time he had been manhandled in his life, or at least so far that he could remember. Humans didn’t really tend to touch him. They did a lot of talking and crying whenever he met them. To be honest, he had begun assuming that they were interesting conversationalists but altogether somewhat dim-witted. It was interesting to see this contrary example currently chewing his ear off.

Experimentally, he tried to open his Eye and Know who this man was and what Jonathan Sims had personally done to wrong him. But all he received was grating feedback - an infuriatingly familiar roadblock that sprung whenever Jonathan Sims attempted to understand what had brought him to that small cabin in the midst of a storm so severe it turned the sky green.

“First you run off. During the apocalypse, of all things! I spend ages running after you, absolutely unable to find hide or hair of you. Then two weeks later I catch wind of a sketchy guy making a nuisance of himself interrogating everyone in Dunbeath, and I go - great, that’s our Jon for you! What on earth do you have to say for yourself!”

Jon - he was really warming up to this moniker, it rolled off the tongue nicely - tripped over a loose rock, almost sending himself sprawling in a tumble of gangly limbs before he caught himself. “Uh, I’m not -”

“Dunbeath, Jon! You made me walk to Dunbeath in the apocalypse!”

“I’m quite sorry -”

“I don’t want a sorry!” The man released him abruptly, forcing Jon to almost windmill his arms to right himself again, and he whirled on him. But where Jon was expecting a face red with anger, he instead saw an expression crumpled up in pain. Jon realized for the first time that the man was on the verge of tears. “I was so worried, Jon! I thought you were dead, or - or worse, or so much worse. You said you’d stop running. You said that we were a team now, that you’d never leave me behind. But you left. I needed you, I was scared, and you left me. You know I’ve been through hell, and you left…”

Then, horrifically, tragically, he really did start crying.

It was quiet, less gross sobs and more soft hitches of breath, but something about it was unbearably exhausted. It was the tears of a man who had been holding them in for too long, only released because he was too exhausted to keep them inside anymore. It was oddly bestial, and very sad.

It made Jon a little sad, to see the man crying like this.

He remembered something he read in a book, just that morning. One person had been sad, and the other person had...well, the book called it hugging. He thought he might have seen it a few days ago, when an older woman clung desperately to a younger woman who kept on screaming something about beatles. It was the same principle, wasn’t it?

Experimentally, he held his arms out, feeling like a bit of an idiot, and he was rewarded (?) when the man immediately moved closer and pressed himself close to Jon, his face buried in his shoulder. It was comfortable, familiar, and instinctual, and Jon found himself loosely wrapping his arms around the man.

They...hugged. Jon felt weird about it. But it was nice? Why was it nice?

Then the man casually reached up, gently took Jon’s cheeks in his hands, and bent him down to kiss him.

Jon’s brain short circuited.

It lasted an excruciatingly long time, and also no time at all. The man released him, stepping back and frowning. It must have been something in Jon’s reaction - the way he stiffened or tensed. Or maybe, from where he was pressed up against Jon’s chest, he didn’t feel a heartbeat. Jon had read that humans had those.

“Jon?” The man asked, face creased in sweet confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Um,” Jon said, feeling unbearably awkward about all of this, “who are you, again?”

*****

At least they didn’t go back to that creepy little cabin.

Instead, Jon found that the man - “Martin, Jon, Jesus, my name is Martin!” - was staying in something called an ‘Air-Bee-en-Bee’ at the outskirts of the village. Or perhaps squatting was a better term - when Jon was guided inside, he saw the telltale signs of a life quickly disrupted. The previous resident of this cute little cottage had left in a hurry, as if it would save her.

He experimentally opened his Eyes, ignoring Martin’s - or was it Michael? - raised eyebrow, and let himself Know the information. Ah, excellent - the Hunt. She had thought that her ex-husband had chased her down to Scotland from France. Delightful. He wondered what the Ex-Husband was really doing -

“Jon! Focus, please.”

Jon guiltily let his eyes close and his hair float back down. Michael didn’t seem surprised by the display, just exhausted. He collapsed at a little circular kitchen table, a woman’s hairbrush and a newspaper still spread out on it. Jon cautiously sat down on the chair next to him, feeling strangely guilty. He didn’t know why. Maybe it had to do with how stressed out and afraid and tired the other man looked, and how Jon was sure that it was all his fault.

“This has been the worst two weeks of my life,” Martin said, face buried in his hands. “Which says a lot, really. I’ve had a real shite life, but this is really just - just beyond the pale.”

“Okay?” Jon didn’t know what to do with this. Martin seemed as if he needed to vent a little, but Jon didn’t know how to be comforting. Wait - wait, this was his speciality. He was too off guard to think of it before, but it would obviously fix this situation. Jon let his irises spin as Martin looked up from his hands, startled at their green light. “Why did -”

“Stop that,” Martin said sharply, and Jon did.

He shut up. He closed his mouth and swallowed the question. He had never - no Statement for the Archivist? - why had - what -

“I understand you’re scared and confused,” Martin explained, not answering the question of how he had done that. “But you can’t just compel people like that. No matter what the world looks like now, you know it’s wrong.”

“I - I do?” Jon asked, flabbergasted.

Martin faltered a little. “Do you not?”

They stared at each other until Jon began to feel a little defensive. As if he was doing something wrong by just - by just existing. It was eating, what wasn’t natural about that! Jon leaned back in his chair, finding himself crossing his arms. “You’re the first human I’ve had an actual conversation with, so excuse me if I don’t know how it works.”

But Martin just looked gobsmacked, mouth opening and closing as Jon begins to tire of this conversation. He unfolds his arms and leans forward, tugging the newspaper closer to him. The headline ran a cheerful story about how Farmer Douglas McIntyre had won an award for the biggest zucchini. Good for him! Jon wondered what Farmer Doug was doing now. Immediately after he had that thought, he knew exactly what Farmer Doug was doing right now, and he spared a second to feel very bad for him.

“Jon, you’re a human.”

Hm. Maybe this Martin guy didn’t know as much about Jon as he pretended. Jon didn’t look up from the newspaper, flipping the page. Oh, look, the Horoscopes. “Don’t be silly. I’m an Archive.”

That quieted Martin, who seemed to be thinking very hard. Jon tried to remember what his birthday was. He had read it on that little card that had been in his pocket - right, right, February 14th. Aquarius.

“I read the statement you left on the floor,” Martin said quietly, and Jon abruptly shut up. What statement? “Jonah lied, you know. That’s all he does, is lie. You’re not an Archive, a thing, you’re - even if you’re not human anymore, you’re a person. You know that, Jon. In your heart, even if you don’t remember. You’re more than what Jonah tried to make you.” He looked down at the table, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Jon anymore. “What he succeeded in making you, I guess.”

The words soothed an anxiety Jon didn’t even know he had. They settled something in him, calmed him and reassured him. But they incensed him too, this blatant disregard of something Jon knew was true. Martin seemed good at that, both riling him up and calming him. How was his control over Jon’s emotions so effortless, as if he wasn’t doing it on purpose at all. It was a talent.

“Who even are you?” Jon snapped, feeling flayed raw and vulnerable. But he always felt like that, really - lost and dazed. The world was too loud for him sometimes, too novel and exciting and relentless, and Jon spent long hours cooped up in a dark room with a good book just for some safety. There wasn’t anything around that could hurt Jon - he knew that like he knew he was an Archive, no matter what Martin said - but he still felt so scared, all the time. “What gives you the right to tell me who and what I am like this?”

What would ameliorate that fear? The only thing Jon could think of was to understand where he came from a little bit better, and understand what he had been doing before two weeks ago. If he had been doing anything at all. Jon had wondered if that moment was when he had been born, but - well, the clothing he was wearing had been somewhat threadbare, and the card indicated a history.

He hadn’t entirely ruled out that he was a sort of...manifestation of this newly apocalyptic world inserted inside the corpse of a man who took his last breath the second Jon took his first, but he was keeping his options open. If what Martin was saying was true, that he really was a person who had simply run afoul of Jonah Magnus and paid the ultimate price...he didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse. Maybe a little worse, actually?

But Martin just seemed shocked by the question, shocked by Jon’s need to ask it, shocked that he didn’t even understand. No, not shocked - maybe just very sad and tired. He seemed so tired. “Jon, I’m your boyfriend.”

“Oh.” That explained a lot. Jon narrowed his eyes. “But you don’t look like a cowboy,” he said, somewhat reproachfully.

Martin stifled a laugh behind a hand. Jon felt strangely pleased, even if he hadn’t been making a joke.

Then something seemed to occur to Martin, because he straightened abruptly. “Oh, god, Jon, you must have been so confused when I kissed you.” He buried his face in his hands again. “I finally get a boyfriend, and two weeks later he’s an amnesiac and it’s the apocalypse. I always said the world would end before I would find someone, I just didn’t know it would be two weeks after…”

“Do you need a moment?” Jon said sympathetically. “Or you can tell me about it? I’m quite a good listener.”

“I can’t decide if this is surreal or terrible.”

Jon felt a little lost. It was quite possibly the most familiar emotion he had - knowing what was happening but not quite understanding, frantically consuming information about the world around him while his perception of himself was hidden behind a thick wall of static.

He didn’t know what to say to make this man feel better.

“Are you sure you don’t want to give a Statement?” Jon asked hopefully. Statements were most of what he knew, and the only context in which he interacted with humans.

“I’m not giving a fucking statement, Jon!” Martin snapped, and Jon cringed. Martin’s face immediately crumpled, in what Jon was forced to assume was guilt. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just stressed - no, Jon, I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just - Jon, the Statements are evil. They’re bad. You always knew - Jon, you have to restrain yourself. You can really hurt someone else. Do you understand?”

No, Jon didn’t understand. He didn’t understand Martin, he didn’t understand how to relate a ‘boyfriend’ to himself, and he didn’t know why Martin kept on trying to tell him that something good was bad. Statements were good. Jon knew in his gut that Jon was nothing but Statements: that he was fear, and fear was him, and that the world was fear. That Jon was the world, strung through a sack of meat. An Archive.

“Why are you always trying to make me feel bad,” Jon said lowly, and Martin shut up. He started at Jon with wide eyes, slightly alarmed. “For a boyfriend you really seem to hate me.”

“Jon, no. I love you. I’ve never hated you, not even - I don’t think I’m capable of hating you, do you get that?” Martin’s expression softened a little, but something about it was still deeply sad. “This is a problem, but we can fix it. We just have to work together. We’ve gotten through everything, we can get through - the apocalypse and this amnesia and everything. We can do it, Jon, we just have to stick together.”

Something mysterious swirled in Jon’s chest, yet another of the frustrating emotions he just didn’t understand. It felt quite bad. “There’s nothing to fix.”

They sat there in silence, Martin sitting at the edge of the bed with his face in his hands and kneading his forehead gently. He looked tired, and defeated. Jon just sat in the little chair at the little stand, flipping aimlessly through a newspaper that held no new information at all, lost and confused.

Of course, there was one thing Jon did know. He stared curiously at Martin, whose shoulders were shaking a little. “Are you going to cry again? I haven’t even done anything to you.”

“People cry even when you haven’t hurt them, Jon,” Martin said dully into his hands.

For some reason, this made Jon oddly anxious. “Why else do people cry? I don’t understand why people are always crying. All they do is cry and scream or wail or -” Jon threw a hand out, irritated, “ - try to put themselves out of their misery, or whatever. But nothing’s happening to you and I haven’t asked you a single question. Why do humans cry all the time?”

“When we are very, very sad, Jon,” Martin said quietly. “That’s why we cry.”

Jon stared at him. Martin wiped his eyes a little, unbending, and stared at Jon very firmly. His expression was creased in unhappiness, but there was something very firm in the set of his mouth and chin. As if what he was doing was very difficult, but he chose to do it anyway. Had Jon ever done that? Did he remember?

He stood up, and Jon cautiously leaned back in his chair as Martin walked up to him. But he just knelt instead, gently taking Jon’s hand and squeezing it tight. He met Jon’s eyes fiercely, now a little lower than him, and Jon felt something strange writhe in his chest.

What was this feeling? He had never felt it before. It was…

“I promised Jon. For better or for worse.” The corners of his mouth twinged. “Well, not that particular promise, but we wanted...anyway. I’ll promise to you, here. I am here to help you. I know it’s scary. I know you may not want it. But that’s when we need it most, okay? I know you’re lost and confused. I’m not going to push you.” He faltered, just a little, and looked away. “Maybe this is for the best. Maybe you - maybe you needed this. Even if it meant that I -”

“Meant that you what?”

Martin looked back at Jon, smiling weakly. “Don’t worry about it. But I’m not going to push you to rem - to act in a way that you don’t feel is right. I just need you to listen to me and take my thoughts into consideration, alright?”

“I still need to eat,” Jon said sulkily. “You can’t stop me doing that.”

“Yes,” Martin said, face curiously blank. “I can’t stop you.”

“Good!” Jon brightened. “I suppose having a human around would be useful. There’s lots of things around I just don’t understand. You can explain things.” In a hit of magnaminty, Jon proclaimed, “And I’ll make sure that nothing eats you. That’s a real tit for that.”

“Looking forward to it,” Martin said, already seeming a little exhausted.

“Then it’s settled.” Jon squeezed Martin’s hand back and, on impulse, leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. Martin startled a little but didn’t pull away. It was nice, his stubble all scratchy and soft. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, Martin.”

“That was always true,” Martin teased - teased! He stood up, and Jon stood up with him. He didn’t let go of the hand, strangely attached to its warmth and pressure. When Martin faltered a little, Jon squeezed his hand even tighter. It made Jon feel better, so maybe it would help Martin. That was a nice thought: that Jon could make someone feel better, instead of worse. “You haven’t asked about yourself at all.”

But Jon just shrugged. “I highly doubt I - or Jonathan Sims, whatever - had any loved ones. It’s a surprise you even exist, honestly.”

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it. “People cared,” he said weakly.

“Lie,” Jon said severely. “Don’t lie to me, I can tell and it’s unbecoming.” But Jon was nice, and he decided to let the lie go. This time. If there was one thing Jon couldn’t abide it was chronic liars, but Martin didn’t seem the sort. “That’s all unimportant, now. We should move forward. There’s a lot of apocalypse to see, and I want to see the Flesh’s Corpse Flowers for myself. I hear that they’re made out of real -”

“I had an idea, actually,” Martin said, stopping Jon short. He looked like he strongly wanted to press the ‘loved ones’ thing, but he was refraining. Good. People shouldn’t ask him invasive questions. “I can see the tower in the distance. It has to be in London, right? And that has to be the epicenter of this. I wouldn’t have gone by myself, but with you here maybe we can find Jonah Magnus and -”

Jon didn’t know what stopped Martin short. Maybe it was the look on Jon’s face. He didn’t know what the look was, and he didn’t bother to see. All he knew was the horror in his chest, so deep and overwhelming he felt as if he could drown in it. A strange, foreign feeling, that was as familiar to him as his own body. Something that, in another person, Jon would have labelled as terror.

“ - or we don’t have to,” Martin said softly. “Why don’t we try to find the others, then? Regroup. I’m worried sick about them. You can find anyone in this world, right? Can you dig up a few humans for me? They’re our frie - well, we’re close, anyway.”

That was much easier. Although Jon wasn’t sure how he felt about more humans, it would definitely be interesting. There had to be good stories from any of Martin’s friends - maybe even people who Jonathan Sims had known. “I can do that no problem. Names?”

“Uh.” Martin thought hard. “Basira Hussain, I think, but she can take care of herself. We should probably find Georgie and Melanie first, they have to be vulnerable. What with Melanie’s - yeah, we need to make sure she’s okay. Georgina Barker and Melanie King, then?”

Sounded easy enough. Jon did the only familiar thing and let his eyes open, letting his unkept hair float gently up. Jon Looked, and Saw -

“Don’t make people up,” Jon said scornfully, a little embarrassed. “Give me a real person now, please.”

Martin gaped. “They’re real, I swear! Are they dead, or -”

“No, I’d know if they were dead. They just...don’t exist?” Jon fought the urge to pout. “I hate it when people don’t exist.”

“...do they not exist or can you just not see them?”

“What’s the difference?” Jon asked blankly, and Martin shrugged in concession of the point. “Anyone else?”

“Okay, Mr. Apocalypse Google,” Martin teased lightly, and Jon surreptitiously downloaded what a ‘Google’ was. Ah! It was funny! But what was the internet? “Basira Hussain, then? You said that the last you saw of her, she was trying to find Daisy - or what was left of Daisy.” Martin’s mouth twisted unhappily. “If Daisy hadn’t gotten to her…”

Jon Looked again, and this time he got an easy answer fed into his mind. It was a great answer too, and made Jon grin in excitement. “Basira Hussain’s fighting her way through Manchester, but I have a bead on Daisy Tonner. Fantastic! She’s a few hours away!”

“She’s what!” Martin screeched. “Oh my god, she’s going to eat us!”

“Don’t be silly, I’d eat her first.” But Jon was bouncing on his heels in excitement. This woman wasn’t a human - she was a monster, a monster who knew him, and Jon couldn’t wait to find somebody who would understand what it’s like. “Let’s go, we have to catch up!”

“Look, I know you two were friends, but she is quite literally probably a giant Hunt monster right now - alright, alright, coming!”

Jon bolted out the door, Martin hot on his heels, and there was a strange lightness in his chest that hadn’t been there before.

Jon didn’t know what or who he was - if his gut was right, and he was a simulacrum of fear assembled by Jonah Magnus, or if Martin was right, and he was a lost man without a past who had doomed the future. Maybe it was both, or neither, or something far more complicated in between. Maybe it was too complicated to Know or See, and too big to understand. Maybe it was something Jon had to figure out for himself.

Martin would help. And if he didn’t help, then it probably wasn’t a real loss. He seemed to be going through something himself, which was none of Jon’s business. Even if he was the only person in the world who had ever seemed to care about Jonathan Sims.

Well. Everyone was disappointed eventually. Jon had gotten over his own early. Martin would realize, sooner or later. That Jon was a monster, who did not not know how to receive or give love, and that he would never be able to give Martin the human he loved back.

Jon had the feeling that a lot of people had realized that about Jonathan Sims.

#my writing #like seriously though jon had spent three years in the story wondering if he had started the apocalypse on purpose and martin just #shuts that shit down #am I an evil simulcrum of fear created by jonah magnus?#no you're my boyfriend shut up #am I human or monster - who cares look at this dumb couch #anyway one must assume that in this au of an au there's hilarious trio hijinks with jon martin and daisy rampaging their way through the uk

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not-from-the-absence-of-violence · 4 years

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On assumptions, understanding, belonging and love.

Moments in Martin's journey understanding other people and finally himself.

Martin's journey in understanding, accepting and loving his asexuality.

a/n: some quick notes: Jon is sex repulsed, Martin is somewhere between neutral and favorable. While Tim and Sasha dont exactlty say they are aro they are! Jon is non-binary and uses he/they pronouns and i desperatly wanted to explore that but this is already twice as long than intended-

also while I am (half) Bolivian and speak spanish I am not at all fluent in Tamil so if there is any mistakes lmk! hope you all enjoy!

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

Sasha had convinced them to go get drinks together, as it had been a rather stressful couple of weeks since Martin came back from the siege of his apartment by Jane Prentiss.

Sleeping in the archives was not exactly helping the situation for Martin, or Jon for that matter.

So they decided to go to a pub and try to force a sense of normality everyone really needed.

Martin was having a great time, with the relative calm and safety he hadn’t had in a while, even Jon had something like a smile playing on his lips as Tim told a story from one of his university mates that had accidentally thrown his roommate's engagement ring down a drain.

Martin zoned out for a bit, enjoying the pleasant buzz of the alcohol and his friends laughter and Jon’s animated movements that indicated that he was talking about something he actually found interesting.

Jon was apparently telling his own story with some relation to engagement, something about a girl at a wedding that had acted strangely, Martin caught something about “purposely spilling wine on her dress”, which Martin agreed was quite wierd.

“She was totally trying to woo you, Jon.” Sasha said as Jon got to the bit where they had to help her find some clean towels in a storage closet.

“I assumed she was just having a rather hard time,” Jon said, seemingly only now thinking of the implications of spilling wine on your dress and then faking needing help, to be fair to Jon that was a very weird tactic to pull and Martin would not have put two and two together either.

“Well what did you do in that closet then?” Tim asked with an incredibly over the top suggestive look.

Jon pulled a face then, Martin thought it looked rather endearing really with his nose all scrunched up and his eyes narrowed, but he was clearly uneasy.

“I don’t- I don’t really do… that sort of thing.”

Martin snapped back in the moment, feeling a weird but familiar anxiety in his stomach as the conversation lulled. He felt rather protective for a moment, instinctively knowing this seemed important. This turned out to be rather unnecessary, as Tim spoke up again quickly.

“Oh,” He and then, earnestly, ”I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Jon.”

And then Jon smiled, properly, like he didn’t often and waved his hand dismissively but pleased.

“Thank you, well it's not like you could have known that, but anyway as I was saying-”

It was but a moment, but it stuck with Martin for a bit, mulling it over and not really understanding his own reaction.

Eventually Martin settled back into the pleasant buzz, enjoying his friends chatter and Jon’s over exaggerated hand gestures.

It was an uncharacteristically slow day in the archives, not a worm in sight and Martin had only a bit of boring research to do for a very clearly fake statement.

Martin usually tried to be nice about it but this one featured a guy named “Richard Dickson” and was entirely about a fever dream someone had about a haunted accordion, he had listened to the recording that Jon had emailed him and it sounded like even he was having a very hard time trying not to laugh at it.

“Who comes up with this stuff?” Sasha said as she handed him back the statement. “Sure, I know we are being attacked by a worm woman but I really hope we can draw the line at haunted accordions that play spooky renditions of High School Musical and a prophetic dream guy called Dick Dickson.”

She was laughing too and Martin thought that she looked better than she had in awhile, it was nice, seeing her like this.

“Well at least I won’t have to stay extra time for the research of this one, I would go home early but.” he shrugged and gestured in a you know the whole staying here cause of a worm woman situation, she gave him a sympathetic look.

“Well I am leaving early, got a very fun evening planned.” she said with a wink.

She had looked really rather excited and somewhat giddy all day, Martin realized.

“Oh,” Martin said, “Who is the lucky person then?”

Sasha looked at him puzzled for a few seconds, slowly blinking at him, then the penny dropped.

“What? Oh no, I mean- Tim I guess, we usually have a sort of movie night every once in a while, this one is extra special though, because I found this book about the categorisation of demons, it’s partially in latin? Tim said he would help me look into it. ”

Martin felt his face heat up, feeling the urge to profusely apologize, Sasha continued however:

“It’s not like that though,” she said with a rather annoyed look, and then somewhat softer, “I am not really a dating kind of person, you know?”

Martin wasn’t sure he fully understood what she meant, but that was fine and she was clearly still very excited, so he relaxed.

“Sorry, shouldn’t have assumed, I do hope it’s not one of those books Jon goes on about, they aren't exactly...friendly.”

Her eyes lit up once again.

“Oh it's definitely not a Leitner! I do look out for that sort of thing, the interesting thing about the book is though-”

And she went on for a bit, the moment somewhat unimportant in a way but it still churned in Martin’s mind.

Things with Sasha...shifted after the Jane Prentiss attack, everyone had different ways to cope with trauma of course, Martin knew that.

Maybe that was the thing really, while Tim, Jon and Martin himself were having a hard time processing (even if Tim and Jon refused to properly acknowledge it) Sasha seemed fine, a few weeks of being shaken maybe and she was now back to her regular old self.

She even had a new boyfriend, Martin had no idea why that irked him so much.

He’d said as much to Tim, who was sitting next to him while both slacked off from their jobs on the stairs to the back courtyard of the institute (why there even was a courtyard was one of the great mysteries of this place).

Tim looked uncharacteristically solemn, seldom did he let his walls down like this.

“I thought I was in love with her you know,” he said rather suddenly, “I mean we’ve been friends for years now and there was- is no one I would rather spend time with, so I mean if not her then- then who?”

He sighed and Martin made comforting noise, trying not to break whatever spell had made Tim genuinely speak about his feelings.

“I mean I figured out I wasn’t in love with her before this whole...thing, we talked about it, I think? Some stuff is hazy. Just- I shouldn’t be jealous you know? She is allowed to have a boyfriend.”

“Your feelings are valid no matter what they are.” Martin said seriously.

Tim sighed and leaned into Martin, who enveloped him in his arms.

“Sure, doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck though.”

And well there wasn’t much Martin could say about that.

After a bit of comfortable hugging silence Tim spoke up.

“Maybe her boyfriend is a vampire though, I totally get to be jealous about a vampire.”

“Tim don’t say that.” he said, trying to hide a smile.

“What?” Tim said, pretending to be serious, “Everything is possible Martin, worm women and all that, I could obviously not compete with a vampire and their sexy glittering skin.”

Martin shook his head, not able to contain his laughter anymore.

“Can’t believe you are exposing yourself as someone who watched Twilight.” he said.

Tim smiled wickedly up at him from where he was still half cuddled into him.

“The fact that you got that reference exposes you in turn,” he said, sticking his tongue out, “Check mate.”

“Touché.”

Then Tim stood up and said:

“Well, Time to go back to our trans containment zone.”

“The fact that we just happen to be trans and were transferred to the archives is a coincidence.”

To that Tim only answered: “Trans-ferred Martin, can’t you see? You cannot call that a coincidence.” winked and back in through the door he went.

Martin let out an exaggerated long suffering sigh.

Back inside they walked to their respective desks.

“Well lets hope work gets lets shit.” Tim said. “That’s such a low bar, and yet.”

“Paciencia y fé.” Martin said, which was in his repertoire of spanish phrases that just didn’t pack the same punch in english along with “ya pasara” and “digamos que si”.

Tim shrugged.

“Don’t think whatever grandmother made up that phrase could have imagined it being applied to our situation.”

“And yet we still have to hope for it to get better don’t we, see it works.”

Tim flashed him one last smile as he sat at his desk and Martin went to put on the kettle.

Martin had assumed Jon’s I-don’t-do-that-sort-of-thing included dating as well and it hadn’t bothered him really, he enjoyed clinging to his crush to Jon like a small steady comfort, even if he knew it wasn’t actually going to amount to anything, there was no harm in day dreaming after all and Martin was perfectly capable of caring about him as a friend too, it was harmless.

Of course the fact that he now knew Jon had been staying at his ex-girlfriends place and the fact that Jon might actually date people didn’t really change anything.

At least that is what Martin tried to tell himself as he shakily poured two cups of tea and mustered the courage to walk to Jon’s office.

And he was at least a little right, even if Jon dated people, even if Jon would return his feelings (which Martin really did not let himself dwell on), these were particularly unfavourable circumstances to start a relationship, there was the matter that neither of them was able to string together a conversation, because the mundane ones sounded so inane and hollow and the important ones required being genuine and vulnerable and they might just be somewhat allergic to that.

And there was the matter of the impending apocalypse they had to stop.

Martin knocked on the door and he heard a soft: “Come in, Martin.” from the other side of the door.

The office was a mess as always and Jon looked like he hadn’t slept in a week and had aged about ten years in the last few months.

But Martin’s breath caught in his throat anyway because, as was usual for Jon now, he also looked just a little more...comfortable, as you could anyway. They were wearing a hoodie with cats on it that was just slightly too big and a long flowy patterned skirt.

Jon clearly caught martin staring because he ran his hand through his hair a bit self-consciously and said: “I know it goes against dress code, but I think you get a pass after you get kidnapped by an evil circus.”

“Oh I mean, you look nice, I mean it looks nice on you. I didn’t mean to uhm, stare?”

“It was- I was just joking.”

“Oh.”

They just stared at each other, painful silence falling over them.

Jon broke the silence clearing their throat.

“So... you brought tea?” They said.

“Yeah, it's for you.” Martin said and immediately cringed because who else would he have brought Jon’s favorite chai exactly the way he always takes it.

Jon smiled though, reaching out to take the cup from him. Their hands brushed just a little and Martin's brain briefly shut down and he realised that maybe he should admit to himself he was really hopeless and too far gone.

That is though, how he ended up stupidly staring at Jon’s hands and how he spotted the shiny black ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

“Thats a nice ring, don’t think I have ever seen you wear jewelry before.”

That seemed to snap the tension out of the moment a little, Jon looked down at the ring and smiled a little.

“It's an ace ring,” they said, “I used to wear it a lot a while back, not sure why I fell out of the habit, but now I guess I think I am allowed whatever small comfort I can get.”

They were looking at the ring and then at Martin.

Martin wanted to freeze the image right there, at the small not quite guilty smile Jon had as he looked up at him, at the feeling that things were OK, good even just for a bit.

Then something fell off Jon's desk and they both startled, flinching at the sudden loud noise.

All the worry and tension flooded back into the room immediately.

“Right.” Jon said. “Did you need anything else?”

Martin wasn’t sure how to even answer that.

So he just shook his head and started to leave.

Just before he was about to turn around Jon called his name, Martin turned around to face Jon that seemed to be fighting for the words he wanted to say.

“Yes, Jon?”

“Thank you.”

Martin smiled a sad smile.

“Anytime.”

It’t not that Martin had never heard the word asexual before, or that he didn’t know Jon was ace, he’d just never dwelled much on the actual meaning of it.

He had however never heard of ace rings before and he gave it a google for curiosity's sake.

A black ring usually wore on the right middle finger to indicate the wearer is asexual (“ace”).

It seemed nice to Martin, small token of your connection to a community, of course his curiosity did not end there, he had assumed previously Jon didn’t do relationships at all, and if he did, what did asexual mean then?

He found out rather quickly that asexuality was about sexual attraction, and aromantic was another thing all together, he also found out that asexuality didn’t mean a person couldn't have a libido, or like sex.

And maybe he just stood there staring at his laptop screen for a while knowing that sexual attraction had never really made sense to him, maybe it felt like something clicked.

And so knowing he definitely did not have the time or the emotional energy to deal with it he quickly closed his laptop, he had an apocalypse to stop and a boss to dispose of after all.

Martin was trying very hard to read Hija de la fortuna by Isabel Allende, every other sentence he sighed and grabbed his phone to look up a word the meaning of which he didn’t know.

It was frustrating, he once had been almost fluid in spanish as a child, but then his dad had left and his mother wasn’t able to and didn’t want to maintain his fluency. He hadn’t exactly had time or money for classes either and so now he attempted to regain some of it by watching movies and reading books.

It was not just the language of course that made it hard, Martin was so entirely full of worry. It was rare he got to spend a day in his flat these days, usually cooped up in the Institute hiding from something, or at the side of Jon's hospital bed talking to him, reading to him on occasion.

The anxiety, the fear, the pain, it had festered into Martin, the tiniest sounds made him jump and even when he got tiny little moments in which he wanted to, needed to, rest he still felt like a watched prey animal, or the full force of grief threatening to crush him.

Today he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, nothing remarkable had happened in a handful of days and it made him uneasy, he was waiting for Melanie to call him about a new attack, he was waiting for Peter to summon him with a weird cryptic request.

And you would think that with all this other worry he wouldn’t be fretting about his sexuality.

But apparently there was plenty of anxiety to go around for all the areas in his life and he just couldn’t get that moment, months ago now, out of his head.

He sighed at set the book aside, grabbing his phone and opening google.

He felt like he was 14 again asking his mother what gay meant and getting only a nasty look in return, or 17 and anxiously looking for a book about being trans in the library.

It was silly to look it up and read articles about how to know you were ace, because he already knew somewhere, but he desperately needed the confirmation.

The third or so blog post he opened was about a woman in her 50’s that had recently figured out she was ace.

Its freeing the article read it’s freeing to be who you are and to understand yourself better, even if you aren’t sure, its OK, it will be OK.

Martin was only crying a little, he laid down his phone and stared at the wall.

He thought about how he had never quite fit, he wasn’t quite english, not with the people asking him where he had come from or asking his mother as a child where she had gotten him from. He wasn’t Bolivian either, he had never been there, his spanish was limited, he could only cook about three and a half recipes that the internet had taught him.

He had never been a woman and he would never fit what society thought of as a man. And what that exactly meant for his relationships.

He never understood other people, but he never thought he was bad enough to seek help for it.

Sexual attraction was vague and he didn’t get it, but in the few relationships he had had in the past he hadn’t minded sex, he enjoyed watching a nice movie together just as much but there was a nicety to it, especially taking care of someone else, having them unravel infront of you. And he had found it weird that he didn’t want anything back, that he felt uncomfortable sometimes.

He imagined he meant he was wrong, like with everything else Martin Blackwood also couldn’t do that right.

But maybe there was something here, in Martins corner of human experience, in the small stack of books about Bolivia that he read, in the trans pin on his backpack and patches he sewed onto his clothes, in calling himself gay man even if that didn’t cover the nuances because it felt good, in the chew necklace that hung around his neck because it eased his anxiety.

Just like all of those things, Martin was ace, he wasn’t wrong or broken he was just different and there were all those other people who were different too and it was nice.

And Martin was crying because of the overwhelming sense of belonging, and because he finally understood Tim when he had once asked “But what does romance even mean, Martin?” and he would never get to tell him, because this is yet another thing he and Jon could have talked about if the world had been kinder to them, this is something he could be talking about to Jon if he wasn’t in a coma.

But even in these miserable circumstances Martin made sense to himself a little more and no one could take that away from him.

The past week in the safehouse had been a whirlwind of emotions, but both Jon and Martin were trying, trying hard to heal, to learn how to feel safe again, to love each other.

For all that trying they hadn’t talked about it much, it was hard still, but Martin was quietly holding on to the hope that they would get there.

Today had been quiet, with the biggest setback being that Jon had found it hard to find all the ingredients for the sambar he wanted to make for dinner.

“I know it won't be like my Pāṭṭi (பாட்டி) taught me, but you would think they would at least have coconut.”

Martin found their grumpiness adorable, reveled in the mundaneness of this worry. And he hadn’t been able to contain his laughter when they finally had found coconut and Jon had held it up triumphantly.

The food had been delicious and now they sat on the couch, it was hard Martin craved touch so dearly but it was like stepping into hot water after standing on ice for a while and Jon flinched so often, not used to not being hurt and sometimes Martin’s unnaturally cold skin brought up unpleasant memories.

They could have wallowed in guit and yearning, but they were both stubborn, and so even if it took a while and millions of slow movements and asking if something was OK they managed.

So it was that Jon had his legs draped over Martin's lap, enough to bring comfort, not too much as to be overwhelming, and their hands were lightly on top of eachother.

Jon seemed pensive, but not worried, Martin shot him a questioning glance.

“We went at this in such a sideward way,” Jon said, “I mean we live together now but we haven’t really...talked about it. We never- we never asked?”

There was a beat of silence where Martin just looked at Jon and then a smile spread over Martin's face.

“Jonathan Sims do you want to ask me out?”

Jon averted their gaze in a way that meant even though Martin couldn’t see it they were definitely blushing.

Martin just couldn’t contain his delighted laughter.

“Must you laugh at me,” Jon said, faking offence, he was also smiling now.

A bit of seriousness returned to his voice as he spoke up again.

“I don’t care that we have done it all backwards Martin,” they said, “But, I love you.”

And as he said that Martin stared at him, mouth agape and his heart thundering in his chest, he lost his ability in any language. Jon said it firmly and securely and Martin really didn’t know what he was supposed to do with all the feelings he had, Jon continued however.

“And we don’t have to do anything but it just feels like we are dancing around several conver- Martin? Are you alright?”

It was only then Martin realised he was crying and he could only ask:

“You love me?”

Not because he didn’t know, but because sometimes you just need the confirmation.

Jon squeezed his hand gently.

“Of course I do.”

Martin wanted so badly to answer him, to reproach but he couldn’t, not yet, instead he blurted.

“May I kiss you?”

Jon smiled, a tad nervously.

“That's sort of what I wanted to talk about,” they said, “boundaries?”

Martin understood the necessity of such conversations he really did, but it did not mean he was going to enjoy them.

It did come as a surprise however that Jon suddenly got very nervous and said.

“I mean- I just- I am ace, Martin.”

Martin cokced his head in confusion and said:

“Yeah, I know.”

Jon mirrored his confused look.

“You do?” and then more sour, “You listened to the tape?”

And fine Martin admitted to himself, maybe they should talk more.

“No? You told me, like ages ago.”

Jon laughed, relieved, happy.

“Sorry,” he said, “Ironically my memory is foggy. It has been a rough couple of...years.”

Martin hummed something of affirmation, because he also knew this seemed like a nice moment to come out, and he felt the very familiar anxiety in his belly. Idiotic anxiety because Jon was also ace and there were no stakes in this situation at all.

Maybe it was just the fact that he had never said it aloud.

Martin heard himself speak:

“I think I am too,” and he could hear how stupidly nervous he sounded, “ace, I mean.”

There was a vague ringing in his ear and if he had been in the position to he might have just run out of the room, apparently facing down unknowable monsters didn’t make coming out easier.

His fear was cut down by the fact that Jon was absolutely beaming at him.

“That's great!” they said, “I mean not that I would have minded if- but it is nice to have someone understand, that's all.”

It was, it was amazing to have Jon here smiling up at him holding his hand and understanding him.

“It really is,” Martin said, then gently bringing the back of Jon’s hand to his cheek and leaning into it, “Doesn’t mean we don’t have to talk boundaries though.”

Jon smiled at the small gesture and then said serious:

“I don’t want to have sex, ever.”

Martin knew it sounded like people had tried to debate them on it before and it made his chest ache.

“I know,” he answered and then because honesty was key, “I am not adverse to it, but obviously if you don’t want to, we won’t, ever.”

Jon sat up a bit then, lifting his hand from Martins and gently cupping his cheek. Martin's pulse quickened, his hand moving almost automatically to Jon’s arm.

“How do you feel about kissing?” he asked.

“It's nice,” Jon said, smiling a bit cheekily leaning forward, “So long as it isn’t tongue kissing that is.”

Martin leaned forward until their breaths mingled at their lips where all but touching.

“May I kiss you then?” He asked, breathless.

Jon could only nod and they both leaned forward the last inch.

Time must have stopped for a bit as they kissed, gentle and full of a thousand promises.

They both moved away from the kiss gently, they were both tearing up a little, Martin felt so much so strongly and he pulled away from Jon completely.

“Just need a moment.” he said and smiled at Jon's reassuringly if a bit shaky.

“Take all the time you need,” Jon said and then softer, “Anything you need.”

And Martin was sure he had never loved anyone more.

On the fourth day of their third week in Scotland Jon had gone to run some errands in town and had come back with an incredibly nervous air about him they were sitting across from Martin at the table twirling their hair and checking his pocket every once in a while.

It was making Martin incredibly antsy and by the third time Jon had looked like he wanted to say something only to then go back to the crossword he was definitely making no progress on Martin had had enough.

“Sol mio,” Martin said, very much enjoying Jon’s wide eyed flustered he always got when Martin called him pet names. “Will you please tell me what is wrong.”

Jon looked at him sheepishly.

“There is not something wrong, per se.”

Martin gave him a look.

Jon sighed and stood up, grabbing a small box from his pocket.

“Nothing is wrong I just… bought something for you beloved.”

Martin very nearly had a heart attack when Jon opened the box and there was a ring inside. Upon closer inspection it was a beautiful black ring and Martin understood.

There was silence as Martin could do no more but stare at the ring and then at Jon.

“I see how a ring might come over as a gift now,” Jon rambled nervously, “it is not like that- I mean that is something we will have to talk about. I was afraid it would be too much? It is engraved too and I just hope I didn’t-”

Martin cut him off: “Jon let me see it properly.”

Jon handed him the ring.

Martin lifted the ring out of the box and saw the engraving on it.

நான் உன்னைக் காதலிக்கிறேன். I love you. Te amo.

Martin promptly sat down again, it was so sappy, just a tad ridiculous and stupidly cute. It hurt in his chest and tears stung in his eyes.

“How did you know I wanted one?” he asked, because he didn't know what else to say.

Jon rubbed the back of his neck self consciously and said:

“You were talking a few days ago, about how you would like something like a- like a token, to remind you and I thought an ace ring might be nice.”

They lifted their right hand.

“We match now.”

Martin silently moved to put the ring on, it fit perfectly. He ran his fingers over the tiny groves of the words on it.

An anchor.

A small reminder that he belonged, here in the world, here with Jon.

Martin stood up and gently enveloped Jon in a hug.

“Thank you,” he murmured into Jons hair as he placed a small kiss on top of their crown. “It’s perfect.”

#jonmartin #ace!jon #ace!martin #the magnus archives #tma #magpod #trans!martin #trans!jon #the whole thing is incredibly self indulgent #magnus archives fic #ao3 link will be in rb ig #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #my writing

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dancing-the-hellfire-rumba · 4 years

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Seen ✓ - 3

Pairing: Sam x Reader Warnings: cursing, a bit of self depreciation Word Count: 2.2k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam. Beta: None

Part 1 - Part 2 Masterlist

Chapter 3: for the love of god, explain this

Sam Winchester lies awake at three in the morning, under foreign, scratchy sheets, stubbornly not tearing his eyes from the cracked, ugly wallpaper on the ceiling. A lot of things are happening and his brain is going about a million miles an hour, spinning endlessly, Castiel, Dean returning from hell, the stress of the hunting life, the current case and… Y/n. Wonderful, smart, talented, funny Y/n.

It’s been a while since someone has made him excited. He keeps bumping into her in his mind, keeps finding thoughts of her lying around, eager to distract him. He catches himself wanting to text her about every stupid thing that happens in his day, much like she sometimes does. She’s been the only thing that makes his heart a little lighter, and it’s such a strange feeling, someone’s presence being this uplifting.

He was suspicious of her at first. A strange woman (at least she claims to be one, he forgets he’s never actually… seen her) asking about him, his profession, and then about… ghosts? A bit random, too specific, Sam recognizes he got defensive. But the way she spoke afterwards… he doesn’t know. His instinct tells him to trust her.

Amidst his thoughts, he doesn’t remember picking up his phone, but it’s just one of those nights, he needs someone to talk to- or rather, wants Y/n specifically. A thought he chooses not to dwell on.

are you awake? I can’t sleep.

I actually am. Lucky you.

Sam smiles. Lucky me, he thinks.

isn’t it like 4 am for you?

Tell me about it. No luck sleeping either.

happen to you a lot?

Yeah.

I happen to have anxiety induced insomnia.

Working at a bar also helps fuck up your sleeping schedule as well.

You?

i’m sorry :/

i don’t get much sleep either. something always keeps me up.

Yeah, I get that.

Where in the Great Unites States of America are you today?

hahah it’s Oregon today.

it’s the ugliest motel room i’ve ever been in.

Ooh

Do I ask about your case or is it confidential?

it’s confidential but i’ll tell you that i am investigating a bunch of strange murders.

You’re investigating serial killers?? That’s so fucking dope.

something like that yeah.

how was your day?

Oh, you know. The usual.

College assignments, a shift at the bar. I went out with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while.

I need to clean my house desperately.

I also nearly burned my kitchen down trying to cook lunch. Emmy and I ended up eating some lazy-ass spaghetti, because pasta is the only thing I can cook, apparently.

hahahah what were you making?

You’re gonna laugh if I tell you.

well now you must.

Ugh, do I?

come onnn

It was eggs, okay? I was just trying to make eggs.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

I TOLD YOU YOU’D LAUGH AT ME

HOW DID YOU BURN EGGS?!

LISTEN, OKAY

I NEVER SAID I WAS A GOOD COOK

HAHAHAHAH

Sam laughs over his phone, as silently as he can, so as to not wake Dean up. He turns on his other side and realizes his cheeks hurt from smiling, and it’s a feeling he’s missed.

Yeah, yeah, laugh, culinary genius. Not all of us can be perfect.

i never said i was a culinary genius

but at least i don’t go near stoves if i don’t have to.

Well, it’s not like I can afford every-day takeout (or like that shit is healthy, even if I could) and someone has to cook for my sister while she’s in school

you have siblings?

and yeah you’re right i didn’t think like that sorry.

It’s okay.

And yeah, my sister, Emily.” Emmy”

oooh i thought emmy was your friend.

Nono, it’s my sister. She’s 17.

can i ask you a personal question?

Shoot

why do you have to take care of her? are your guys’ parents not around?

you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable with that.

Well, it’s a bit complicated.

My parents’ marriage kind of fell apart when I was around 10. They tried to fix things by adopting a kid- Emily. For a while that worked.

When I was 16 my mom took off and dad took care of us for 2 years almost. He really dedicated himself to us.

He worked his antique shop and supported us. For two years, I didn’t see him spend a penny on himself.

But I ended up having to take care of Em when he passed. I was freshly 18, so I could take care of her as a guardian.

shit i’m so sorry.

It’s okay, honestly.

I mean, it didn’t use to be, and it was hell for a while.

But we made it.

i admire your positivity.

I try :)

i also love that you put smiley faces in your text messages.

Shouldn’t have said that, now I’ll always think about it before I do it

hahah

Sam bites his lip. What the hell is happening? They’re… flirting. Sorta. And it’s nice- better than nice. Fuck.

What about you?

you mean what’s my relationship with my parents?

Well, when you put it like that it sounds stupid. It wasn’t what I was asking either.

What I meant was, how’s your life right now. How’s the family business. You can pick which you wanna answer.

i don’t mind either honestly.

as for my parents my mom died when I was 6 months old. my dad passed away about a year and a half ago.

Jesus, I’m so sorry Sam

I don’t know what to say. It can’t have been easy. Losing a parent never is.

it wasn’t but as you said we’re trying to sort of find our footing with Dean. we’ve had our ups and downs.

Yeah I understand that.

Do you wanna talk about it?

right now not really. I mean there’s not much to say about it.

i kinda wanna forget about it. thanks though.

Alright.

So how’s the family business?

Does it feel good to be paid to be Sherlock Holmes?

crap. but we’re doing our best.

for the record i don’t get paid nearly enough for the shit i have to do.

Hahaha, hang in there.

Dean still refuses to come get his phone?

yeah. he says you can keep it.

Tell him to take care of his devices from now on, this one was battered beyond recognition.

duly noted.

The conversation continued until well after the sun rose. Sam had officially accepted this night to be sleepless, and Y/n was good company. Somehow she took his mind off of everything that was bugging him, made him, if momentarily, forget about it, and he truly loved that about her. The back and forth tended to flow easily between them, and he couldn’t get enough of the chemistry he had with this practical stranger.

Sleepless or not, this night was a good one, after she entered the picture.

The glow on her skin is blue-ish and soft, combatting the one from the fairy lights above them. Laptop absolutely not low in volume, couch dipping under two bodies, slumped together, legs leaning against one another, soft flannel pants and droopy eyes. Emily’s hair is out of its usual half-up hairstyle, exploding with volume and bright, firey color, flowing onto the back of the couch.

Jon Snow is yelling on the screen, and Y/n is completely ignoring him, constantly checking her inactive phone and the way the screen doesn’t light up with Sam’s name. Every time she feels disappointed, she tries to quell the relentless thoughts of the possibility of him being completely over her.

Damn it.

“Do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend I’m not aware of or something?” Emily mutters dryly, half-hearted but gentle teasing. Y/n sputters.

“Huh?”

“’Cause you keep checking your phone, and as far as I know you don’t have any friends.”

“HEY,” deeply offended, Y/n places her hand over her heart, glaring at her sister. “Excuse you!” she exclaims, “Connor? Ashley? Lydia?”

“Yeah, a neighbor and two college students that you haven’t talked to in like, what, two weeks? What a social butterfly.”

“Okay first off,” Y/n ignores the screaming and fighting on the screen and shifts to look at her sister. “Stop tracking my socializing.” Em scoffs.

“C’mon, bear, spill.” Bottom lip pouted. She pauses the episode, turning to face her older sister. “Who are they and when can I meet them?” A devilish smile, teasing like only a younger sister can, curling the right corner of her lip.

“He’s not my boyf-“

“AHA! So there is someone! I knew it!”

“I’ve known him for like- what, three weeks? Nothing is going on! I barely know the guy!” Y/n fiddles with her hair and huffs, holding back a smile.

“Where’d you meet him? Is he hot? What’s he like?!” Poking her sister’s thigh continuously, she grins wide, excited. “C’mon, you’re like, no fun.”

“The thing is… I didn’t. Meet him, I mean.” Eyebrows furrow.

“Uh…” Emily purses her lips. “I’m … not following.”

It takes all of five minutes for Y/n to explain to her sister all about her crazy adventure, the lost phone, the brother, Sam. The girls munch on leftover garlic spaghetti, talking about the stranger on the other side of Y/n’s screen.

“He’s just… different? I don’t know- I just, I’m intrigued I guess. He’s mysterious and hilarious. The type of guy we’d hang out with. Why pass it up?”

“Just hang out?” Emily wiggles her eyebrows. Y/n shoves her.

“It’s really not like that.”

“I don’t know, Y/n, he doesn’t necessarily sound just friendly to me.” Y/n won’t lie and say she hasn’t thought about it. She’s a romantic after all, and what a wonderful, movie-like love story would it be for them to fall in love and march into the sunset?

But she recognizes this is the romantic side of her picking up speed on a subject that definitely isn’t for her to decide alone. There’s a second participant in all of this, and he needs to do more than half the work by liking her. She knows it’s no easy feat. A bitter dab of paint dissolves in her chest, because why would he like her? She’s nothing quite special. She’s just a bartender, a college student, a boring, normal girl, painfully mundane, painfully boring. He’s brilliant, kind and sweet, a private investigator, he travels all the time, he’s the most interesting guy she’s ever met for crying out loud. Why would he ever give her a chance?

“I doubt it, Em,” is what Y/n decides to say, because there’s no way she can explain exactly what she’s thinking.

“No, no, you’re doing that thing again.” A hum in question falls from the older Andrews’ lips. “The thing where you put yourself down for bullshit reasons. He’d be lucky to have you.” Y/n wants to roll her eyes. “Hey,” a snap of Emily’s fingers in front of Y/n’s face to catch her attention. “I will literally slap you. You’re smart, funny, kind. He’d be fucking lucky to have you, and if you don’t believe it, I’m gonna beat some sense into you. Stop putting my sister down.” Y/n doesn’t have anything good to say to that, so instead she lets out a huffed breath of a laugh and sits back on the couch.

“Now,” Emily leans over her own crossed legs and grabs her phone from the rickety coffee table. “Did you Google him?”

“Why the heck would I Google him?”

“It’s the 21st century, Y/n, gosh. Are you at all familiar with internet stalking?” Y/n watched pebbled coffee brown eyes get illuminated by the phone screen, freckles nowhere near as bright as they can be, because she hasn’t gone out into the sunlight today. Emily is gorgeous. Y/n is sometimes jealous, but also genuinely admires her younger sister. “What’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester.”

There’s typing, and then silence.

“Y/n…” And the warning tone on the younger one’s voice completely throws her off.

“What? What is it?” A phone screen is thrust in her face.

Mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecration, armed robbery, kidnapping, three counts of first-degree murder, and breaking and entering, she reads. Winchester brothers Sam and Dean, disappeared, considered dead.

“What the fuck,” she mutters under her breath, completely horrified at the chance that this is real and the universe isn’t playing some comic joke on her, creating another pair of Winchester brothers called Sam and Dean who, instead of chasing murderers, are the murderers.

She scrolls lower and sure enough, there they are. Mug shots, but more specifically, the guy from the dating app, smouldering cheekily into the camera –a real blue steel-, holding a police station name on a black plaque, sitting at close to six feet and two. Then the younger one, less joyful and sassy, more serious and puppy-eyed. Sam. Close to what was described to her, it’s all there. Pointy nose, sharp jawline, curly brown hair with a growing, swoopy fringe, pulled behind his ears. It’s him. There’s no way, the coincidences are too many.

“Bear…” Emily stares at Y/n’s shocked face, gaze empty and out of it. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

Immediately, Y/n grabs her phone.

Sam

His reply is instantaneous.

hey y/n

i was just thinking about you

what’s up?

Please for the love of God.

Explain this.

She sends him the mugshot, photographed from the screen of her sister’s phone.

shit.

Part 4

A/N: Tell me what you thought? How the hell does he even explain this?

I realized I haven’t been tagging my forever taglist like a MORON, so just, sorry, I’ll start now.

Forevers: @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @deanssweetheart23 @nostalgic-uncertainty @mogaruke @superseejay721517 @lady-hawkguy @thosefeelsarereal @superwholockmarauder @justiceiswater @petra-arkanian-1497 @heyitscam99 @danijimenezv @aj-reuth @unicornblood4ever @mystriee @sadist-fangirl23 @asguardiansoftheavengers @superrandomnatural @altosaxplayer098 @winter-moons @hunterswearingplaid @novaddictx @choosemyname @live-like-a-girl @thisismysecrethappyplace @bowtomytenderaddiction @elara98azalea @lemondropirwin @emmagolden4118 @glitchcypher @calaofnoldor @paradoxical-sleep @narynechan @canwenotdothis @suicidepanda07

Sam Taglist

@kymberlytorres @theboykingsamwinchester @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes @captainmarvelcorps @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @nellachain

Seen Taglist @shutupiminlooove @sammysgirl1997 @kymberlytorres @bambi95-blog @demonic-meatball @thekarliwinchester @littlekay15 @li-m-ii @thinspo-isuppose @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker @marichromatic @illuminatus42 @lazy-author @mirandaaustin93 @hauntedsiriel @pilaxia @devilgirlsarah @nobodys-baby-now @captiveties @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream @burningforsam @aiofheavenandhell

#sam x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn #sam x reader fluff #sam fluff #sam x reader angst #sam angst #spn fluff #spn angst #sam winchester fluff #seen #seen 3

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pineapplesagainstpizza · 4 years

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Magnus Pies: A TMA Pizza AU

- All the entities and supernatural creatures still exist but it happens in a pizza place called the “Magnus Pies ®” established by Jonah Magnus.

- Jon is the new, under qualified manger. Very good a diffusing arguments and misinformation with customers. Practically a living coupon fraud detector. Once Martin overheard Jon use the phrase “please calm down” to a customer. Thinking that this would escalate the conversation, Martin braced himself from the kitchen. He was spooked quite a bit that the customer did calm down. He can’t tell if Jon is just that charming or if he can hypnotize people.

- Jon actually had some sliver of respect for Martin when they first met. Up until, he caught Martin whispering "Looking good little guys" to the pizzas baking in the oven. Jon has never looked at him the same since.

- Martin has mastered the customer service voice. In fact, it’s permanent. Every time he answers the phone, his voice automatically sweetens. Sasha and Tim have made fun of him for it. Working at Magnus Pies has broken him so much.

- Tim works the register. Flirts with customers so that they’ll come back. Can’t stand slow days. It’s actually Tim that makes the best pizza out of the crew.

- Ft. Sasha the pizza delivery girl. Eldritch horrors won’t stop her from delivering your pizza on time.

- Elias is the owner and hardly ever shows up.

- Instead of statement givers the customers will just overshare their supernatural encounters to the staff. Jon doesn’t think anything of people sharing their ghost stories to him. He writes it off as desperate customers craving any source of human interaction. Despite this, he remembers every tale a customer has told him.

- “Then after I kissed him, his body combusted into flames.”

“Sorry to hear that... That will be 17.89. ″

- There’s this one customer that orders questionable pizzas with special delivery instructions and has his pizza delivery scheduled every Wednesday at 5 pm. His requests went from a little strange to down right outlandish. One of his first orders, he instructed them to make a smiley face out of the pepperonis because he was “having a bad day.” One of his most recent orders was “a cheese-less pizza cheese pizza.” In the delivery instructions, he explains his doorbell is broken and suggests the delivery person to drop the pizza off in the middle of the yard and then “yell whatever feels right” to alert him of the pizza’s presence. Sasha often wonders if she has to cater to all his odd demands.

- The first time Sasha delivers to his house, the GPS malfunctioned? The customer’s house resides in a new residential area. So once she drove past the last known road, the GPS advised her to park her car and walk to her destination. She obviously ignored the computer automated voice and eventually found the house on her own. Since he always commands the delivery runner to drop the pizza outside his house, Sasha has never seen his face but the name he orders under is Micheal. (If that’s even his real name.)

- Is the pizza good? The reviews are mixed. Martin says “its fine”. Sasha thinks “it’s pretty good for the price.” Tim, on the other hand, is fully convinced that when Jonah Magnus created Magnus pizza, he had never eaten a pizza before in his life. He claims "the pizza is two hell circles away from mediocrity." If a person asked Elias, he would maintain that Magnus Pie pizza is of high quality, but the staff have never seen him eaten it before. As for Jon, he refuses to try it.

- The uniforms are pretty cute. A transparent green tennis visor paired with a black collared shirt with logo on the right upper chest portion.

- This one time, someone spray painted a satanic circle in the parking lot and Elias botched and moaned about it for a week about how "it was driving customers away." He stops complaining about it after an angry goth boxed an old man on top of the circle one afternoon. Their fight drove in a crowd. Some people even bought a slice just to get a good view of the fight. Jon, of course, called the authorities but both parties fled before they arrived.

- Martin finds a homemade employee training tape from the 1980s hiding in the closet. It features an instructional video on how to make the pizzas but the employee or paid actress?? featured in the video disregards Magnus Pies’s official pizza guidelines™ and instead gives advice/ tips on how to cut corners (and arguably offers more valuable advice to employees). “Yeah I know the recipe calls for this much cheese but i always add to more handfuls. Most customers complain about how there isn’t nearly enough cheese -- how it’s practically tomato sauce with cheese sprinkles.” Whether it’s the dread in the lady’s eyes or the neglect of company policies, the tape is unfinished. The video cuts off after she places the pizza in the oven.

- Martin thinks the the training video is hilarious, so of course, he shares it with the rest of the staff. It’s Sasha that points out that one of the employees in the background looks like a younger version of Elias. A passionate debate breaks out on whether that person is actually Elias, but ends once Jon points out that Elias has complete heterochromia and the teenage boy in the video does not.

- On a team building trip, Martin, Sasha, and Tim admit that they are glad Jon joined the team. Ever since he joined, the workplace has never been so lively. They all agree Jon’s presence attracts the unusual. Though he will never admit it, Jon found it touching.

- Some customers would describe the pizza joint as “eerily clean.” "The vibes are simply rancid” says one customer. Even with the speaker churning out today’s hottest pop hits (in a muffled tone), it is entirely too quiet. The atmosphere is dead,” says another.

- “Little human activity and huge open spaces makes it somewhat spectral but the short wait times and fair food always brings me back. ⭐⭐⭐” - a google review from a town local

- One person gave them a bad review on Yelp. After they were done insulting the food, they moved on to assess the staff. “I’m usually not the type to complain/nit pick about employees but there was one that made me extremely uncomfortable. He wasn’t the warmest person, had an awfully posh accent, and sported dark circles under his eyes. When I spoke to him, his gaze was intense and unwavering. Throughout the entire conversation, he didn’t blink once. Even as a sat down, I could still feel his eyes lingering on me. I’m not an insecure person in the slightest but being watched like that, made me self conscious of my own breathing. I spun around once to see if he was staring at me, but to my surprise, he wasn’t. I may have never caught him staring at me, but I know he did. The sensation of being watched never ceased afterward. (half star emoji) ”

- Apparently, the joint has been open since the 1940s and despite the bad food and less than average traffic of customers, they’re still in business. There’s rumors that the Magnus Pie receives generous donations from Elias’s rich ex-lover that misses him dearly.

- Starring several disagreements/ arguments with customers. Just a bunch of misinformation that was spread by Elias to lure people into the building to feed the Eye.

- Sasha is late returning from a delivery one day, and after an hour they try to contact her. She’s unresponsive. Elias goes looking for her but comes back short. Later that night, they get a call from the hospital informing them that Sasha got into a car accident and fell unconscious upon impact. Sasha comes in for a shift a few weeks later, and nobody realizes she’s not Sasha.

- The Magnus Pies’s odd reputation attracts the attention of popular YouTuber, Melanie King. She eventually becomes a regular in hopes of catching a supernatural event on camera for her channel. After experiencing a handful of odd encounters, she becomes engrossed by the place and starts working there in hopes of piecing together an explanation for the pizzeria’s paranormal activities. She later regrets this.

- has the potential to be a good tragicomedy

#and maybe perhaps all the characters are aged down just a little #can you tell i've got a thing for fast food AUs #this is obviously based off of some of my experiences #tma #the magnus archives #magnus pod #tma au #crack au?? but also not #but imagine the magnus archives as a slice of life horror comedy

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justreadingfics · 4 years

Text

Looking For A Heartbeat (23/26)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Series Summary: You and Bucky used to be in a relationship. Feelings were hurt, you left. It’s been two years and you’re back. You both will handle the reunion well, won’t you?

Word Count: 7K

Warnings for this chapter: angst and an author that really doesn’t wanna spoil anything. If there’s anything you absolutely can’t read and you wanna make sure it’s not in the chapter, dm me.

A/N: Thank you @suz-123 for being so amazing. I’m finally with my new laptop so I hope to be able to write more frequently. I’m really sorry for being such a messy and slow writer, but thank you for staying with me. I really hope you like this chapter, it’s a special one!

Perfect.

That’s the conclusion you come to while you walk around the terrace of your apartment, filled with balloons, happy birthday signs, a huge table with cake and all kinds of colored sweets, matching the Unicorn theme decorations and a lot of different toys.

Summer’s first birthday.

Looking back, you can’t believe it’s already been a year, it feels like everything is happening too fast. A lot of firsts happened in that time: her first tooth, the first time she crawled towards Bucky, her first haircut, the first word… That was a special one. The three of you were in the living room and the TV was on while you and Bucky played with her on the carpet. At some point, your baby daughter´s attention diverted from the toys and she pointed at the TV, and a perfectly pronounced “mama” came out of her lips. You and Bucky looked at each other with widened eyes, and, while she kept repeating her very first word, you turned around to see your image on the TV, dirty and battered, at a press conference after a particularly tough mission. Needless to say, your heart turned into a puddle and you attacked her chubby cheeks with thousands of kisses pulling out giggles from the baby. You could tell daddy was happy but a little bit jealous, just a little bit… however, only a couple of days after and she added “dada” to her vocabulary, making a crying mess of her softie dad.

The one first thing she has yet to go through is her first step. She’ll get there, though. No need to rush. Dr. Nadine has explained more than once that her enhanced DNA could show how far it would affect her abilities at any moment throughout her development and they had no way to estimate exactly how and if it would happen. For now, you’re thankful she’s a healthy baby and has her own pace on things.

You can’t wait to see her little face when she sees her first party. You and Bucky decided to go for the unicorn theme because that stuffed unicorn, the first one Bucky got her when she wasn't even born yet, it’s her absolute favorite and they're inseparable. The poor thing is old, dirty and torn in one too many places, but when you tried to replace it with a brand new one, all you gained in return was tears and a very irate baby.

Yeah, she’ll love it.

As you supervise the last details, checking if the decorations, music, food and drinks are all set and waiting for the guests, Bucky gets Summer ready. She's slept all morning so hopefully she´ll enjoy her party properly. You decided to celebrate it at your own home, since it’s big enough to accommodate the number of guests and, at the same time, it’s cozier than the party rooms available at the Tower. You opened the living room’s glass doors, which goes to the terrace, moved the furniture to allow more space and it worked out pretty well. It’ll be good, you’re confident.

The timing is also perfect since the team does need some good distraction… the last month has been tough. Zemo got out of prison and everything led you guys to believe HYDRA is behind it and helping him hide. At what purpose you still have to figure out. But the thing is, there’s nothing on his whereabouts yet and, in the meantime, you and your friends will stop everything to celebrate your little girl’s first year.

“Hey, mama! Look who’s ready to shine.”

You’re organizing cone hats over the table at the terrace when our gaze lifts to Bucky walking into the living room holding the cutest – and most dolled up - baby you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, my God.” You cover your mouth with both hands and rush to meet them, “Aren’t you the most beautiful birthday girl ever?” You take Summer in your arms while gushing at her.

She brings her hands to the pair of pigtails over her head, as if to show you them, “Dada,” she happily babbles.

The two proud parents laugh and Bucky pecks her cheek to her absolute delight.

“Yes, Dada made your hair really pretty and chose you the most gorgeous outfit, hasn’t he?” She does look incredibly endearing in a pink tutu dress with a few shades of blue on the skirt alluding to the party, blue little party shoes matching the two tiny bows adorning her pigtails. Bucky always makes sure to pamper her and on her first birthday you expected nothing less.

“She looks cute anyway.” He shrugs, but the pride is obvious on his smile and puffed chest. “You look beautiful, too.” He adds softly as his eyes drop to the floral summer dress you chose for the occasion.

You swallow as a wave of warmth reaches your cheeks, “You, too.” He sure does handsome as ever in his customary jeans and white t-shirt. Despite still not going to missions, he keeps his daily workouts, whose results are evident on the muscles straining the fabric covering his arms and chest. Since Summer loves to play with his hair – a preference she may have gotten from you - he’s been keeping his locks in a longer length, right above his shoulders. God, he’s beautiful.

“One year… can you believe it?” He says softly, taking you out of your gawking and stepping closer, bringing his hand over yours on Summer’s back.

You sigh deeply at the warm touch before whispering, “One year…”

“I don't remember ever being this happy…” His voice is tender and low while he speaks, “Looks like we’ve made it, right? Together.” He bores his deeply blue eyes on yours while slowly caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

You sigh and tighten your lips in a small smile as his touch sends shivers through your skin. You don’t remember ever being this happy either but you’ve been thinking more and more about what Wanda said at Pepper’s party. What exactly have you been doing all this time? What are you? A couple? Friends? Co-parents? To be honest, you think you’ve been leaning a lot on the excuse of parenting Summer to not address and hold back your true feelings and, at the same time, to stay close to him as much as you can… How long can you keep up with this?

A loud squeak makes you notice Summer squirming in your arms. You know exactly what she wants, “Ahm, I think I’ll nurse her before everyone arrives, or else she’ll get too agitated,” you say and Bucky nods in agreement, seeming lost on his own thoughts as well.

~~~

It's a cheerful and loud afternoon. All your friends are there, along with some parents with their kids, whom you and Bucky have met when you started taking Summer to the nearest park regularly. You do it mostly together, but when you are on missions he goes alone and Summer, being as sociable and lovely as she can be, has become fast friends with a lot of kids, even the older ones, so it made sense to you to invite everyone who loves her to the party.

Speaking of the little girl, after you nursed her and the guests started arriving, you almost don’t get to hold her anymore, as she goes from lap to lap when she’s not playing with her friends or attached to Thor’s hips. The God of Thunder stopped by just to attend her party, which makes her so happy, reaching out for him to grab her and pointing to all kinds of directions so he can take her and also play with her friends, for all the kids delight. It’s like the one year old just knows he’s everyone’s favorite and wants to share her uncle with them.

Harry and the twins are there, too, being some of the firsts guests to arrive. It turns out Bucky was the only one who didn’t know about Harry and Nat. Everyone had already caught on when they decided to make it official and it was absolutely no big news. Even for the now five year old twins. Luna just couldn’t understand why they were treating something she already knew for so long as such a big deal when the couple put on a special picnic to tell them. Auntie Nat was very proud and, for her relief and Harry’s, she has been a success with both Luna and Jon.

The party has been going on for a little more than an hour when you finally get to pick Summer up to check if she needs a change or something to eat or drink. Across the room, you spot Bucky talking to Steve. Seeing you picking up Summer, he raises his eyebrows as if asking if he was needed. You dismiss him with a wave and he smiles, while you sit on the couch, Summer in your arms. The bell rings and, as you make sure Summer doesn’t need a change yet, putting her standing on your lap and taking a peek beneath her diaper while the one-year old babbles and bounces on her chubby legs, Bucky goes for the door. You can’t imagine who it might be, since everyone you remember inviting is already there.

“Hey, you made it.” Bucky greets the person in front of him.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”

Your heart and your hands stop at the voice you haven’t heard for a long time.

Your gaze follows the sounds of cheerful greeting and meet the sight by the door. Everything and everyone else around fade out as the two of them say hello to each other and Bucky invites her in.

Anna.

He doesn’t seem surprised by her presence. He seems… comfortable. Even…happy to see her. Did he invite her? Without telling you? When?

You don’t even know how, but you’re already standing up, Summer securely attached to your hip, when the pair starts walking towards you, huge smiles on their faces.

“Here’s the birthday girl,” Bucky announces when they approach you. They’re both smiling still so you put on one for yourself. Or at least you try to, if you succeed you’re not sure. Bucky seems relaxed… you see no disturbance on his demeanor despite the turmoil surfacing inside you, nothing that could hint he is as thrown as you are by Anna’s unexpected – at least for you- presence.

“Hello, happy birthday, Summer.”

It’s nothing but a reflex when you hold Summer tighter in your arms and take a tiny, almost unnoticeable step back when Anna stretches her arms with a wrapped box on her hands and greets your daughter. Her wide smile slips a bit as her widening gaze flashes up at you.

It seems like your step back wasn’t as tiny and unnoticeable for her.

“Ahm, hi, Anna.” You force a calm voice out of you, “Thank you so much,” You reach for the gift, “I’ll put it with the other ones for Summer to open in a bit.” You nod as a vein pulses on your neck, “Ahm, it’s been a while.” You add, trying hard to keep your voice steady.

Summer starts smacking the box repeatedly as delighted loud sounds come out of her lips, making her dad smile at her and move to cup her cheek lovingly. Both dad and daughter oblivious to the tension thickening the air.

Anna’s eyelids drop and her gaze grounds to the floor. She nibbles on her lower lip, fidgeting with her fingers…thinking… it feels like she’s searching for something to say but is failing…

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky says, still focusing on Summer as she succeeds to steal the box with Anna’s gift from your hands and starts shaking it. “I ran into Anna in that coffee shop nearby the park the other day, can you believe that? It was two or three weeks ago, you were on that mission with Sam. I thought I had told you, haven’t I?” He looks at you and tilts his head to the side.

“No, no you didn’t”. Your stare is hard on him, but you don’t care.

“Oh,” it slips out of his lips as his eyebrows furrow.

“Y/n, I thought you knew, I can-”

“You don’t need to worry, Anna.” You interrupt her attempt to say something. “It’s just that I…I was just surprised to see you… that’s all.” You try to form a kind smile on your face. This is your kid’s first party, you really don’t want to ruin it by making a scene or forcing someone to leave. Even if this someone is Anna, a woman who makes your hands shake and your spine freeze with pure… Fuck… It’s irrational and a little unfair, but it is what it is, “You make yourself at home.” You nod, keeping the smile tight in your face.

She seems like she is going to protest when a couple of agents of SHIELD, that certainly must’ve been friends with her when she worked there calls her from across the room. Anna shoots you an apologetic look before thanking you and walking over them. Without actually addressing to Bucky in any way again.

“Hey-” Bucky starts when she’s out of reach.

“It’s almost time for presents and cake,” You cut him, “I’m gonna give Summer something to eat so she doesn’t get cranky.”

“Alright,” he nods, “Let me-”

“It’s ok.” You raise a hand when he moves to grab Summer, “You go entertain your guests.” The harsh words slip out without warning, sheer venom lacing your tongue. The words are bitter, because that’s exactly how you’re feeling. You ignore the crease between Bucky’s eyebrows to strut towards Nat and Harry at the terrace, not giving him space to say anything else.

Bitterness and coldness are all you present him with every single time he tries to interact with you after that moment. You can’t help yourself. You’re mad, angry, disappointed, you feel sick in your stomach, you wanna scream, you’re… you’re jealous. You’re damn jealous, not that you’re proud of it, but you are. You know you have no right to feel that way… but then again, don’t you really? Shouldn’t he have told you he met Anna after all that time? Let alone that he invited her to your daughter’s first birthday? Why didn’t he? Was that just it? Just a casual encounter? Or maybe he was in touch with her all this time? He had never mentioned her again… And no, you’re not in a romantic relationship with him but what you have built so far together had to mean something… He should’ve told you. It’s about respect… nothing else.

No matter how much you fight it, your gaze always ends up seeking for her. You dismiss all questions of concern from mostly Wanda and Nat. It’s fine, you lie. To Anna’s credit, though, she keeps it to herself. You’ve spot some of your friends greeting her, but she stays next to the SHIELD agents most of the time and doesn’t approach Bucky again. You hate to allow all this situation to somehow taint the experience of your daughter’s first birthday and therefore you’re even madder at Bucky, no matter how childish it makes you seem.

“Anna is what I need…She’s the one for me.”

Even after everything that transpired afterwards, you’ve never forgotten those words he said to you that night. The night he chose Anna. Those are the words repeating in your brain now and breaking your heart all over again, bringing out memories of nights spent awake thinking about him and her together, holding each other. The damn terror that he finally comes to his senses, again, and realizes that, indeed, she’s the one for him, lodges itself in your chest again.

The words keep haunting your mind while everyone gathers to watch Summer opening the presents. You and Bucky side by side as the gifts are delivered to your daughter on his lap. The little girl, by the way, seems much more interested in the papers and bags rather than the actual presents inside, playing and trying to hold all of them at once. That makes your heavy heart a bit lighter as you giggle at her antics. You try not to think too much of how Bucky seems to insistently gain your attention and you never engage fully when he tries to share a word or a laugh with you.

After all the presents are opened, Summer is enjoying herself with some of her friends, finally giving her new toys a chance with Bucky’s close supervision. You decide it's almost time for the cake and go to the kitchen to pick it up from the fridge.

“Y/N?”

You’re closing the fridge’s door with your elbow, huge chocolate cake in hands when Anna quietly calls your name. Not really expecting to have to talk to her again, the breath catches in your throat before you turn around to see her.

“Oh, do you need help?” She steps to you when she spots the cake in your hands.

“It’s ok. It’s not as heavy as it looks.” You quickly dismiss her offer. Does she want something? Why has she followed you to the kitchen?

She halts, “Ahm, Can I talk to you for a second?”

You use a moment to take a good look at her. Her plunged shoulders make her seem small as she looks up at you through her eyelashes expectantly, almost sheepishly. She’s nervous. You sigh and step forwards to carefully place the cake on the balcony. There are plenty of stools for both of you to take a seat, but you prefer to keep standing up when you nod at her, “Sure.”

“I’m sorry for today,” She doesn’t take a breath before speaking, “I really thought Bucky had told you. Like he said, we ran against each other on a coffee shop, I don’t even remember which one. He walked in to use the bathroom, he needed to change Summer or something.” She narrows her eyebrows before her features softens, “She’s beautiful by the way… ahm, we hadn’t seen each other for a long time and he stopped to talk for a bit. It was five minutes. He mentioned Summer’s birthday and ended up inviting me to come. I-I, he seemed so carefree and casual, I thought it wouldn’t be a problem If I dropped by… I really missed everyone and…” Her head drops as she sighs deeply, “I should’ve thought things through better.

You let her words sink in. She talked fast, urgently. The way she keeps looking back at you, pleading…It seems important for her that you believe what she’s saying and, in fact, you do.

“It��s ok, Anna.” You relent, letting your posture lose the stiffness, “I mean… I’m not gonna pretend I expected to see you here… but I… I just wish he would’ve told me beforehand…” You admit in a murmur, choosing to omit the part where her presence made you jealous as fuck. You’re not sure if Anna is aware of what’s the status of your relationship with Bucky and you rather keep it that way for some reason.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.” She says, waving both her hands and taking a step forward, “He might have just forgotten. I know planning a birthday party is a lot…”

Even if you’re now assured that they haven’t been meeting and it was just a casual encounter and despite her trying to soothe you and justify his omission, you’re not convinced. The fact he hasn’t told you anything still bothers the hell out of you, “Anyway…” You shake your head dismissively, “Don’t worry, it’s fine, Anna. So, how’ve you been doing?” You’re not sure exactly why you’re asking it, maybe to try and make the tension still lingering a little easier to bear.

Her lips open and her brows raise. Anna sure wasn’t expecting your question, either, “Oh…yeah, I’m good. it’s been a good year actually,” She licks her lips, “I stopped practicing, have been focused on studying… I’m engaged.” She lifts her hand, showing the beautiful diamond on her finger.

Your jaw drops. How the hell haven’t you seen this?

“Oh, wow, congratulations.” You greet, sounding as stunned as you really are.

“I’ve met him during PHD classes.” The smile on her lips is easy and dreaming, “He proposed in three months, my Jeromy. Seems a bit rushed, but when you know, you know, right?” She shrugs.

For the first time since she walked through the door of your home, you don’t have to force it when you smile at her. She’s right. When you know you know, even if, sometimes, pretending you don’t seems easier…

“Bucky invited him, too, but he’s giving a lecture now.” She informs.

Silence falls back between you two. After the news of her engagement – which helps to ease down the tension a bit more- you don’t know what else to say to her, but she seems like she’s not done yet. She places her hand on the back pockets of her jeans, and takes in a long breath as her eyes drop to the floor before she speaks again.

“Listen Y’/N, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you for a very long time…” She looks up at you.

You tilt your head, encouraging her to go on.

“I’m sorry for that day…” Anna murmurs, “For coming saying all those things to you before… before you got into the accident.” She swallows.

Oh…that.

“Anna…” you try.

“No, really.” She insists, “I know you don’t blame me. Bucky told me as much the last time we spoke when you were still pregnant. Maybe I didn’t directly cause the accident, but I shouldn’t have come, anyway.” The regret is heavy on her voice, “I tried to manipulate a situation in favor of my own interests with the excuse I was doing it for Bucky. Now I can see that and how messed up it was. I’m sorry.”

You see the guilt still tormenting her. You never really think about that accident anymore and you can see it still haunts her. And, after all, coming to talk to you that day and everything else… you know she was in love with Bucky. It was stupid, but who are you to judge, anyway. Anna ended up caught up in the mess of you and Bucky. Suddenly you feel a little bad for how you’ve been acting today. You know she’s not a threat, even if you can’t help but still dread what she somehow represents to you: that, maybe, there’s something or someone else out there better for Bucky and he can leave you, or whatever this is what you have, can end at any moment.

“We all make mistakes, Anna.” Your answer is firm, “And, yes, I really don’t blame you. What happened, happened, and it’s in the past. Everything turned out fine.”

A loud squeal catches both of your attentions and through the opened door, you see Bucky throwing Summer to the air as the little one screams with sheer joy. His smile just as big as hers.

“I’m so glad he’s that happy. He deserves it.” Anna grins, when she turns back to you.

Your gaze remains stuck on your little family. He really is happy. And so are you… even if it’s not complete and you’ve been denying yourself an attempt of being fully happy beside him by admitting how much you still love him and need him by your side as more than Summer’s father. What you already achieved with him is more than you’ve ever dreamed of after running away like you did all these years ago. The thought of anything ruining this happiness, whether someone else or your own stupidity, makes it hard for you to breathe.

“Anyway, I guess it’s better if I go now.” Anna cuts through the small silence.

“Oh, no, Anna.” You quickly protest, turning your gaze back to her, “It’s time for the cake. Stay. It’s ok, really.” You softly assure her, “To be honest, I could actually use some help, Steve ordered like 3 tons of cake here.”

You offer her a smile, which she kindly accepts by answering you with one of her own and a small thankful nod.

~~~~

It’s already dark when the last guests say goodbye. After striking up a battle with sleep to keep playing, Summer finally lost to exhaustion and passed out on Steve’s lap. Now, after cleaning everything up with the help of your friends, you’re at last relaxing on one of the loungers in your terrace eating a piece of the cake, while Bucky gives Summer a bath and puts her to sleep. Since she’s a heavy sleeper and almost nothing wakes her up after she dozes off, it is not uncommon for you two to bathe or change her while the little girl sleeps like a rock.

All in all, it was a good day. After your talk with Anna you were able to properly enjoy the rest of the party. Watching Summer clapping her little hands along with everyone else while they sang her happy birthday will always be held in your heart. Summer had a blast on her first birthday, even if she still doesn’t really get the meaning of it. Everything was worth it.

But now, that the buzz of the party is gone and you find yourself alone with your thoughts, that ugly, toxic feeling comes back to bite the pit of your stomach. You can only define it as jealousy and… and fear. Both feelings holding a grasp around your throat… slowly taking the air out of your lungs…suffocating you. You haven’t really talked to Bucky again at the party…Why didn’t he tell you about meeting Anna, about inviting her?

Yeah, you’re still damn annoyed.

You hear his steps when he walks into the terrace, but you don’t turn to him. You don’t move from your spot, staring ahead to the skyline through the glass windows when he sits on the lounger beside you and places the baby monitor – which, by the way, is Friday showing the image of you daughter peacefully sleeping on her crib - on the small round table between you two.

“She was exhausted, slept while I bathed her, but kept clapping her hands. She might’ve been dreaming... it was so cute,” He chuckles quietly, and continues when you just hum an answer and don’t look at him, “She didn’t even stir when I put on her pjs, and you know how much she hates putting on her pjs. She’ll probably sleep late tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” You answer plainly, shoving a huge piece of cake in your mouth.

“It was a great first party wasn’t it?”

You scoff, swallowing the cake and biting your tongue to just don’t spit the growing irritation inside you all over him, “For the most part, yeah.”

“Are you ok?”

From the corner of your eyes, you catch him leaning over to be able to see your face, since you have yet to look at him.

“I’m fine.” You grumble.

“Ok, it’s just that…I’ve noticed you were a little off-”

“Oh, have you?” Your face snaps to him, “What a perceptive genius you are.”

“Oh, hey…Where is that coming from?”

“You invited Anna?” You finally let it out of your chest, desperate to finally let loose the grip on your throat, “I haven’t heard a single word from her for more than one year and then she comes to our daughter's first birthday party? Have you been seeing her?” You know he hasn’t, you know that, but you can’t control your tongue, you want this fight. For some reason, you want to fight him, yell at him. Even hurt him.

“What? No, of course not, I-”

“Don’t tell me. You don’t need to say anything.” You swiftly get up, stomping your feet, as the plate with the cake makes a tingling noise for being roughly placed on the table next to the baby monitor, “Forget I said anything. You don’t owe me an explanation, it’s not like we have anything to do with each other-”

“Hey, hey, what the hell?” When you try to storm your way passed him, he stands up and grabs you by the arm and you jerk back before he turns you to him. Your face is so close to his, your bodies only an inch from each other, you feel the warmth rolling off of him to you. Your angry heart beats faster and when he tries to pull you even closer to him you smack him across his chest. “I haven’t been seeing Anna.” He continues, gaze fixed on you, unfazed by your attempt to shove him away. “I’ve met her by chance the other day, Summer played with her, Anna asked how old she was and I ended up inviting her to drop by, I didn’t even think-”

“What? You didn’t even think of me?” You challenge, raising your chin up, “You could’ve told me, Bucky,” The defiance sweeps into your voice. But you don’t try to get away from his touch again. It burns you in a much too familiar and longed way.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He pleads, “But do you wanna know why I didn’t tell you?” His eyes are frantic, roaming around every inch of your face, “I forgot. I just forgot because it didn’t feel important at all. Seeing Anna again didn’t mean anything… it was like meeting someone I used to know a very long time ago and that was all that it was… a turned page of my life. Summer was there and we were in the middle of planning the birthday, I just invited her… I didn’t even think about it again, but If I knew it would make you so upset, I would’ve never done this. I’m sorry.”

His eyes settle on yours. Even if his look is still filled with despair, just like his words, beg for you to understand, it somehow calms you. The fear that has been making your heart shrink, that the encounter with Anna had maybe awakened something inside him, a realization that he deserves more than you… that fear fades, allowing you to take in a deep breath, “Ok… ok. I have no right to be upset,” Your eyes shut, “I just…”

“I didn’t even think of you? We don’t have anything to do with each other?” The hold on you becomes stronger as he turns your own phrases into offended questions and you look back at him while his eyes narrow, “Why would you say that when you mean everything to me and you’re what I think about all the fucking time?”

Your heartbeats are loud in your ears as your knees buckle, “Bucky…” you breathe, bringing your hand to cup his cheek. His eyes flutter close and he leans against you. Your chest could explode at his admission… Not once in the last year of spending almost all the time together he had said something like that to you. That Wanda’s question creeps up to your mind again, “Bucky,” you call, and his eyes open to you, “What the hell are we even doing here?” You ask softly as tears well up in your eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asks, letting go of your arm to wipe one tear of the corner of your eyes with the back of his finger.

“This.” You cease the touch on his face and step back, waving back and forth between you two, “This whole year? You never… you never said anything like that.” Your voice comes out tiny, “I’m the one to ask. What do you mean by it? This life… What are we doing? What the hell are we?”

For a moment he just looks at you, breathing… thinking…“I don’t know.” He says, “We’re us, I guess.” He steps forward, making the distance you’ve just added between you two smaller, “I don’t know if what we’re doing is right, if we’re fooling ourselves… all I know is that this is where I belong. With you. With Summer...”

Your gaze drops. That’s it. Summer. She’s yours and his whole world and she’s the only thing holding him with-

“With you, baby…” He speaks quickly as if he’s reading your mind while both of his hands cup your face. The contrast between warm skin and cold metal you love so much because it means it’s him “I belong with you… This whole year… this whole time there wasn’t a minute when I didn’t think about kissing you.”

You hold your breath when he rushes a bit forward but halts, like he’s holding back the impulse to kiss you. He licks his lips, burying his eyes into yours. A single tear rolled down his cheek, “I buried everything inside me because what if you didn’t want this… what if I scared you again… what if you left me? If you leave me-”

He couldn't finish his sentence because your lean forward and capture his lips into yours. What if you leave him? Is this what he’s been thinking? You’ll show him, you’ll show him…

He kisses you back instantly. And of course the kiss is desperate, of course is eager and sloppy, because that’s what you both are now. Desperate to show each other everything you two have been keeping inside this whole year. All the want… all the desire, the need. The love. All of you.

Metal hand drops to your waist and pulls you to him while the flesh one rests on the back of your neck. But they don’t lodge there for long as they run all over your body. Fast… Hard. He pushes his tongue through your lips and you fist the fabric of his shirt on his back with one hand while the other snakes up and digs on his loose locks. God, you missed him. You missed this. It’s old, it’s home but also it’s like something you never tasted before. A relearned love.

Without parting your lips from his you step forward and he follows your lead, stepping back till his knees meet the side of the lounger. You break the kiss only for a second before pushing him backwards so he can sit on it. Sheer want rules your moves when you quickly straddle him and close your lips around his again. A whimper sweeps into your mouth when he grabs your ass. Your body move on its own when you rock into him. Feeling all of him. Hard and longing for you against your core, setting it to flames.

A hand of yours dips beneath his shirt, roaming over that enticing path of little hairs right above his pants before your nails scratches up higher on his broad body. With a gasp, he breaks apart from your lips, only to drag his mouth down your jaw and neck. Licking and sucking and biting… Marking you as you hiss in delightful pain, a kind of pain that can soothe the ache of not having him for so long.

“I love you,” His voice is rough and breathless when he whispers against your heated skin, as lips kiss and hands and fingers touch, stroke, grab. “I’ve loved you for so long, baby.” He reaches your ear with his lips and you pull his locks harder.

“God, I love you too.” You’re a mess of tears, smiles and soft whimpers as you keep kissing and touching him, never wanting to stop, wishing that you could somehow imprint his body and soul into yours and never let go.

“There’s no one else for me. I was so stupid…” He whispers, “I love you. I love you.” He repeats, between soft and long kisses on your neck, “Only you. All this time, all I ever wanted was you… There’s no one else. You don’t have to be jealous…” His grips on your body becomes impossibly stronger, “I was so scared, so damn scared…”

Something triggers inside you. A somber feeling that makes you stiffen. He continues ravishing your neck and cheeks and earlobes but you don’t respond anymore, widened eyes staring forward at the wall behind him and when he seeks for your mouth again you pushed him back. Ignoring the frown on his face and without any word you pull away from his lap and turn your back on him.

He follows you shortly and gently places his hands on your shoulders, “What’s wrong, baby?”

You can hear the impending fear in his voice.

You can’t do this.

“We can’t do this, Bucky.” You give voice to your mind and you can feel how he stiffens behind you so you turn to face him. You need him to understand. His stare is fixed on you, swollen lips from kissing parted… his eyes close for a moment as if trying to process what you just said after admitting you love him.

You breathe in the courage to say what you must, “Here I was thinking we were tracing a new path, that we were finally reaching that peace you always said you wanted but I know you couldn’t find it with me, and then…” You scoff, staring away for a moment, “and then I get jealous and we fight… We haven’t fought for so long… We were at peace. I love you, I do.” You assure, pleading for him to understand, “I love you so much, sometimes is hard to even breathe when I look at you, but… but… We shouldn’t do this. We’re filled with imperfections. We can’t do this. What if we hurt each other… What if I hurt you again,” You can’t stand that thought, “I’m not… I’m not perfect.”

His stare is undecipherable as he keeps it fixed on you. You love him, you really do, but would you two be able to write a different story, one that won’t bring hurt and pain upon the both of you? Upon Summer? You know you have been doing good so far, but both of you admitted you’ve been holding back for the sake of your peace… what happens when you let all your feelings loose?

He takes in a deep sigh before tilting his head to the side and bringing a hand to slowly scratch his beard. When he looks back at you a small smile curls up his lips.

You hold your breath.

“I’ve stayed away from you for two years and not a single moment I was at peace.” He says. With no rush, no desperation. What you hear into his soft voice is a quiet sense of realization. “I’ve been lying to myself… first I thought I could find peace and love elsewhere. Didn’t happen.” He chuckles. How can he be so calm? “Then I told myself that just staying next to you, without expressing how I really felt, what you really mean to me, would be enough, but tonight, fighting with you? Seeing how much you still love me? Kissing you…having your body close to mine once again…” You take in a shuddering breath as he speaks, no trouble, no sign of doubt on his speech, “I was never more at peace than tonight… You’re it, baby.” He licks his lips and shakes his head, “I don’t wanna lie to myself anymore. I don’t wanna lie to you. I know you’re not perfect, I don’t expect you to be. I’m not perfect either, I’m far from it. But I love you and you love me.” He pauses, waiting for you to deny him, but you don’t, how can you? “And love, my dear? Love isn’t perfect.”

When he finishes, with a teasing and comfort smirk on his face your heart beats loudly against your chest. You know you said that exact same thing to him…. That night on the rooftop. The very night your daughter was conceived… the last time you felt all of his love. At that time, it seemed like you truly believed that. But now? There’s too much to lose... too much to risk for an imperfect love… Right?

He steps closer to you and your body follows him, as you take one step closer to him, too, like you’re in a trance. But that’s when something catches your attention behind him, right past his shoulder and takes you out of your little daze. The baby monitor over the small table a few feet behind him. Your blood freezes in your veins. The image of a sleeping Summer is there, but…something…something is wrong.

“Bucky?”

He follows your transfixed gaze and looks over his shoulder. The way he holds his breath tells you he can see it, too. It’s small. Almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Her little arm moving to reach for her face and then it’s back on its original position… a few seconds… a small glitch…it happens again.

Your heart flies to your throat and you don’t breathe or think again before you turn on your heels and bolt to your baby’s room, Bucky on your toes. You trip on furniture; you may have hurt your leg… you don’t know… you can’t feel. All you feel is Summer, Summer, Summer.

The scream rips out of your soul when you storm into her room and, through blurred vision, you find the crib. Like you so violently dreaded, the image on the baby monitor was a nothing but a recording,

Summer. Your baby daughter… She’s gone.

~~~

Chapter 24 coming soon.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes series #bucky #bucky fic #marvel fanfiction #angst #looking for a heartbeat

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