#I’m personally a fan of long hair Jon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skylarsolstice · 2 months

Text

Here's a preview of my next TMA fanfic: A New Approach. Let me know what you think!

Martin knew he must be sweating through his sweater right now. He was more than a little nervous for his first day in the archives. After working in the library so long it felt weird to have a desk to himself. Honestly he was just worried someone would figure out that he lied on his CV now that would end badly. Surely archive work couldn’t be that different from the work he had been doing in the library though right? He should be fine no one would figure it out…hopefully.

Having been so lost in thought Martin barely noticed it when the dog slipped past him as he opened the door to the stairwell. “Shit!” He hissed through his teeth as he ran down the stairs with his box of things balanced precariously in his arms.

After nearly tripping on several stairs he slid to a stop in the assistant's bullpen breathing heavily and searching desperately for any sign of the dog. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear someone shuffling around in the office down the hall. Maybe they had seen the dog. Martin placed his box on the nearest desk and headed for the office. The door was open so he knocked awkwardly on the door frame to get the person shuffling behind the desk to look up.

A man with long cropped brown hair and olive skin popped his head up from behind the desk. He was very handsome, but not really Martin’s type especially seeing as he was way out of his league.

“Sorry you haven’t seen a dog have you?” Martin asked as politely as possible when faced with a very attractive man.

“A dog?” The man asked, looking a bit excited.

Martin rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh yeah a spaniel I think?”

“Why is there a dog in the archives though?” The man who’s name was still a mystery asked, sounding genuinely puzzled as he got to his feet.

“Oh, um,” Martin stuttered, his face going red with embarrassment. “I kind of accidentally let it in. Sorry.”

The man just laughed. “What a great start to my first day as Head Archivist!”

“Oh, oh, you’re Timothy Stoker,” he said, feeling a sinking in his stomach. “I’m so sorry sir I really didn’t mean to let it in!”

“Don’t worry about it seriously, I'm sure we’ll find the little guy soon,” he said, waving off Martin’s concern. “And please call me Tim. Now let's see if we can find that dog.”

Tim led him back down the hall to the assistant’s bullpen. “Where did you last see him?” He asked Martin as he surveyed the room.

“Um, I lost track of him in the stairwell,” Martin said, looking around desperately for the little creature.

“Hey Tim, guess what we found!” Came loud feminine voice from down the hall.

Soon a woman came into view. She had dark skin and dark coily hair done in a fro hawk. She was quite tall and had to be at least 6’ and she was holding a spaniel in her arms. The dog looked very pleased with himself. A man followed behind her as she entered the bullpen. He was a very slight man and he had warm brown skin. His hair fell just below his shoulders and was streaked with grey.

Upon seeing the dog Tim immediately burst into a fit of coos and giggles as he rushed over to scratch the dog’s ears. The woman just smiled as she too scratched the little animal’s head. The smaller man behind her just looked disgruntled.

“Why is there a dog in the archives?” The long haired man asked dryly.

Tim looked over at him with a big grin. “What not a fan of dogs Jon?”

“I prefer cats if I’m being honest,” the other man -Jon- replied with a derisive look at the dog.

“Why does it not surprise me that you are a cat person,” the woman chuckled as she handed the dog off to Tim.

Jon gawked in what could be mock offence, but could also be real offence. “I resent that comment!” He turned to look at Tim. “Did you let the dog in? If so you have to pay for the shelf he managed to topple.”

Tim just rolled his eyes. “Martin here accidentally let him in, but honestly I think we’ll blame the shelf falling on account of it being ancient. We’ll just fill out a replacement form,” he said looking at the collar around the dog's neck. “Let’s call your owner huh… Brutor.” Tim read the name from the collar around the dog's neck.

Jon turned a glare on Martin before swiftly striding over to what Martin assumed was his desk. Not the best first impression he could have made.

“I’m Sasha by the way, Martin was it?” The woman introduced herself. “And the wet blanket is Jon.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Martin told her with a wide smile.

The rest of the day dragged on rather uneventfully once the dog was returned to his owner. He still felt like an idiot for having let the animal inside in the first place and he could tell he made a horrible impression on Jon. Tim and Sasha seemed to just think it was a funny moment to look back on later, but he could feel Jon’s irritation from the desk across from his. Even worse Martin kept finding himself looking back up at Jon and admiring the way his hair fell in his face so elegantly. First day on the job and his new office crush already thinks he’s an idiot.

They didn’t have a lot of direction from Tim honestly. It didn’t really seem like he knew what he was doing, but it was only the first day so Martin didn’t want to judge too harshly. He kept coming out of his office to ask Sasha questions and she seemed to be purposely unhelpful. Martin could have sworn she was playing computer games for most of the day.

Once the end of the day came around and everyone got ready to leave Jon made no move to do so. Tim came out and upon seeing Jon still sitting at his desk typing away furiously he went over to the smaller man and began pulling his chair away from the desk.

“Come on Jon, time to go,” Tim said with a large smile as Jon leaned forward more and more to keep typing.

“But I’m not done!” Jon protested as Tim pulled him all the way away from the desk.

Tim shook his head, continuing to push Jon’s chair toward the stairs. “None of this overworking shit like you pulled in research. I’m the boss now and I say we all go home on time.”

Jon crossed his arms and made a face like a toddler might when told they can’t have chocolate for dinner. “This is bullshit.”

“This is a healthy work-life balance my friend,” Tim said light heartedly. “We’re going out for drinks and you're coming. You too Marto!” He called back over his shoulder.

“Oh okay!” Martin said, excited that he was being included. The people in the library never invited him out. “Sounds fun!”

“Yes it does!” Sasha said with enthusiasm. “Never a dull moment when Jon gets drunk!”

“Shut up,” Jon muttered as he followed Tim and Sasha out the door with Martin in tow.

The four headed for the nearest Karaoke bar and Sasha took the lead directing the group to a quiet booth in the back. It was a nice little corner tucked away so as to allow them some privacy from prying eyes.

“Thanks Sasha,” Jon said quietly as he slipped into the booth across from Tim and Sasha. That meant Martin was going to sit next to Jon. Oh boy.

“No problem Jon, I know you aren’t a big fan of crowds,” she replied with a bright smile. “Drinks anyone?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Tim said with a smile. “What about you Martin want anything?”

Martin wasn’t sure what to get as he didn’t drink often. “Oh um a vodka soda I guess?”

Sasha nodded. “Jon, do you want anything?”

“I’ll have whatever you get,” he replied with a ghost of a smile. Jon had a very cute lopsided smile Martin observed.

It was long before they all found themselves 3 or so drinks deep. Tim, Sasha, and Martin were relatively coherent, but Jon was… well he was piss drunk. It seemed that he had decided if he couldn’t work he would drink until he could no longer think straight. He had already consumed 3 beers and 3 shots of straight vodka.

“I’m going to hit the loo,” Sasha announced as she got up and headed for the restroom.

“I’ll get us another round,” Tim said, sliding out of the booth after her. Then looking over at Jon he said with a grin, “Maybe water instead.”

Then Martin found himself left alone with a very drunk Jon beside him. He let his eyes wander as he waited for Sasha and Tim to get back. Suddenly he heard mumbling from beside him. Was Jon saying something?

It was hard to tell, but it would be rude not to reply if he was saying something. “What was that Jon?” Martin asked the person slumped over on the table with his head in his arms.

Jon lifted his head and looked at him. “Sorry I was rude earlier,” he said quietly. “I’ve been in a right awful mood today. The dog thing isn’t nearly as big a deal as I made it seem.”

“Oh,” Martin said, surprised by the apology. “It’s fine, it was kind of a stupid thing to do… Seems like something only I could achieve,” he said with a self deprecating laugh.

“No it could have happened to anyone,” Jon slurred. “I just um…” a pause. “I saw a bunch of spiders earlier in the stacks and it just kind of set me off kilter for the rest of the day. I-I really don’t like spiders.”

Martin was surprised by that confession. “Oh that’s understandable. A lot of people are scared of spiders. I personally find them cute.” Jon gave him a dubious look at that. Martin swallowed trying to gather some courage. “You know they are all fuzzy and they’re little faces are cute like yours.”

Jon gave him an eye roll at that, but it had no real heat behind it. “I am not cute,” he declared with a drunken slur.

“Now that’s not true,” Sasha said as she slid back into the booth, a teasing note in her voice.

Jon just rolled his eyes and dropped his head back onto the table. At that moment Tim slid back in with waters in hand. “Here Jon drink, then we should get you home.”

Jon took the water begrudgingly and drank quickly then with surprisingly little resistance allowed himself to be led out of the pub and to the tube before dropping him off at his flat. Hopefully he didn’t have too much of a headache in the morning.

#the magnus archives #tma podcast #jonah will have a bad time #crack au #archivist!tim #jonmartin #psst gerry is alive dw #can you spot the rqg reference

5 notes · View notes

addamvelaryon · 7 months

Note

What are your fave House Velaryon headcanons? or some things you wish to see in the books?

Ohmygod, I keep forgetting to answer this ask.

I have A LOT of favourite headcanons, some are extrapolated from canon and others are just things I want to be true. Tbh, some of these ideas I’ve thought about for too long, in this past decade of being a house Velaryon fan, so you might have to do some mental gymnastics to keep up. 😂😂

- House Velaryon was founded by a bastard. This the ultimate truth to me. Bastardy is so deeply ingrained into their family tree, with 8 bastards being associated with them (so far!), that if the family founder turns out to be anything but a bastard, I will be both surprised and disappointed.

- Speaking of the family founder, this person was a twin. Both Alyn & Laena have twins, and these two are integral to the theme of family legacy that’s relevant to house Velaryon, so I feel that it should apply to the og Velaryon as well. Either a twin or had twin children.

- Regarding this twin sibling, that person founded house Lowther in the Reach. Their house colours completely match house Velaryon + sea themed sigil (dolphin). Of Laena’s twins, Baela resided at Driftmark in the Crownlands but Rhaena went to the Reach. Of Alyn’s twins, we don’t know what happened to Jeyne (my guess is she relocated to the Reach) but Jon founded a new house in the Crownlands. Since GRRM has a tendency to “recycle” the core details for these Westerosi families, I’m just combining these ideas to come to this conclusion.

- There is a whole venn diagram that exists only in my mind of the narrative parallels in the relationships between Corlys/Daemon/Alyn & the various women in their lives. It’s all connected. GRRM told me so himself.

- The Velaryon seat was said to be given to them by the Merling King. As far as I’m concerned, the og Velaryon either fucked the Merling King, a child of the Merling King, or is a child of the Merling King. Any of these scenarios is okay with me.

- Speaking of the Merling King, he is said to have green hair. So I like to imagine that some Velaryons, along with other people living around the Narrow Sea, have a tendency to dye their hair green to some degree.

- All Velaryons have ear piercings. It’s a rite of passage in the family to do this. I love this headcanon because sailors in the real world were also known for piercing their ears.

- Monford’s wife is a lady of house Celtigar. So Ardrian Celtigar is actually his father in law. 🦀

- Alyssa & Daemon had a contentious sibling relationship.

- All of Corlys’ children are lgbt. 🤗

- Alyn died/went missing after he ventured into the Shivering Sea (the one place even Corlys dared not visit).

- Addam didn’t actually die at Tumbleton. That was just a lie Benji told the world. Instead, Addam was at the Isle of Faces for those 8 years his body was missing.

- Going off the official art, Alyn originally had short hair but then started growing it out longer. Whereas, Addam has hair below shoulder length. So I like to believe that Alyn grew his hair long in memory of his brother.

- Daemon was married to a Corbray and his son, Corwyn, was married to a Blackwood.

- Aurane is going to fight Euron in a sea battle in TWOW. This is the reason why GRRM never went through with the Alyn vs Dalton battle, in Fire & Blood, since their descendants are meant to fulfill that.

- Alyn’s flagship for the Second Conquest of Dorne is named for Daenaera (since she is the mother of Daeron the Young Dragon).

- The last of Alyn’s 6 flagships was named for Princess Elaena.

- Laena (daughter of Alyn) is the namesake of Laena Penrose (daughter of Elaena).

- This Laena became the future Lady of Driftmark after her brother(s) died (see below) and also raised her half-siblings, Jon & Jeyne.

- The second child born to Alyn & Baela was a boy and he was named after Corlys. He eventually dies without leaving behind any children (unlike the man he was named for who was very concerned with having descendants).

- Alyn & Baela named their youngest son Addam (after his uncle 🥰). This Addam died in the Second Conquest of Dorne just like the og Addam died in the Second Battle of Tumbleton.

- Alyn’s bastard son with Elaena was named Jon for his maternal grandfather (just like Alyn wanted to name his son with Baela after his paternal grandfather, Corlys). And then Jon’s twin sister is named Jeyne to match.

- House Velaryon supported Daemon Blackfyre.

#asoiaf #house velaryon #ask #anon

3 notes · View notes

mossy-rainfrog · 1 year

Text

I posted 97 times in 2022

81 posts created (84%)

16 posts reblogged (16%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mossy-rainfrog

@coulson-is-an-avenger

@thesunwillshineclearer

@a-moop

@nerdangels

I tagged 97 of my posts in 2022

#mossy art - 67 posts

#described - 62 posts

#accessible art - 34 posts

#mossy ocs - 28 posts

#original character - 26 posts

#the magnus archives - 25 posts

#fan art - 25 posts

#original characters - 24 posts

#tma - 21 posts

#inktober - 19 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#i finally realized why this piece felt so weird to draw and it's bc he's outside the lab/shatterdome like sir what are you doing here

My Top Posts in 2022:

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Martin Blackwood reclining in a nice outfit. Martin is a fat Black non-op trans man with square glasses, a goatee, and coily black hair braided back along his scalp and fluffing out at the back behind a bandanna. He is wearing a black bralette underneath a long-sleeved sheer top, patterned with shooting stars, crescent moons, and clouds, and he is also wearing denim short shorts patterned with stars and planets overtop fishnets. For accessories, he has a star earring, and an ace ring. He is smiling smugly towards the viewer. End ID.]

i need everyone to be aware of this hot martin i drew right now immediately

324 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

[ID: A digital drawing of Jon aiding Martin in recovering from top surgery. Jon is a thin Persian person with long curly greying hair, a short beard, and various scars, and Martin is a fat Black man with his hair in a bonnet, square glasses, a small goatee, and lots of body hair. Jon wears a spaghetti strap pink dress over a long-sleeved white shirt, and Martin is just wearing boxers. Martin’s chest is wrapped in bandages that are accompanied with drains, and he is sitting up slightly on a bed, accepting a glass of water from Jon. A blanket is draped over his feet, and behind him are various pillows, including one patterned with stylized cats, and one patterned with highland cow faces. Martin is smiling fondly at Jon and saying “Jon…” as Jon looks back at him with wide eyes, and infodumps about the top surgery recovery process to him. The background of the image is a light pink. The artist’s signature, mossy-rainfrog, is visible at the bottom of the piece. End ID.]

Here’s my gift for the @seasons-in-the-archives secret snowflake gift exchange!! For the lovely @qpenguin98 !!! You said you liked jonmartin hurt/comfort, and also trans stuff, so I thought a good ol top surgery recovery might be fun :D I really hope you like it uwu!!!!

357 notes - Posted January 15, 2022

[ID: A digital drawing of Jon rescuing Martin from The Lonely in MAG 159. Jon is a thin Persian person with long, greying hair, various scars, and stubble, and he is wearing a loose blue sweater over a darker turtleneck. Martin is a fat Black man with short coily hair that is dissolving into fog, glasses, and stubble, and he is wearing a purple button down. The two are touching foreheads and their hands are interlocking fingers in the foreground. Jon is pulling Martin closer by the back of the neck and smiling tearily in relief. Around them swirls bits of fog with various dialogue between the pair of them. In the corner of the image is a picture of a frowning slug from Star Wars, captioned “live slug reaction” in all caps. End ID.]

genuinely cannot believe the first MAG 159 art I’m posting is for this fuckign meme but in my defense college has me on my last legs of sanity so :)

slug-less version under the cut for my partner specifically bc i Know they hate this (affectionate) 🥰🥰

See the full post

379 notes - Posted March 4, 2022

See the full post

434 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

See the full post

472 notes - Posted January 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#AYYYYY HELL YEAH HELL YEAH #THHGLKJSDLKGJDG I HAD 5 MORE OC POSTS THAN TMA POSTS THIS YEAR OH NO /LH #also thank you to everyone for making hot martin be in my top 5. i love him i loveh im i love him #undescribed #2022 #my 2022 tumblr year in review #not art #or not new art at least

5 notes · View notes

marc-spectorr · 2 years

Note

So I saw that you have a crush on jon bernthal. (me too bestie) and I'm wondering if you would ever write for the punisher 👀 in the future.

Also here are my get to know you questions 2,6,20, and 68 also I don't think this is a question on the list but are you more of a lipstick or a lipgloss person and do you have a favorite you wear all the time?

hello my darling sails 💕

hehe yeah ive been a fan of jon bernthal when i first saw him in the walking dead and the crush intensified after watching the punisher three years ago 🥰 not sure if I’ll write for him in the near future, but perhaps some day :))

and oOO thanks for asking!

2. do you enjoy thrilling rides like rollercoasters?

not really :// i’m not a huge fan of heights, but if i see it in person and think i can handle it, then i’ll ride. but most thrill rides are usually a big nope for me.

6. what’s your favorite outfit?

leggings and a t-shirt! for work, i like wearing pretty, flowy blouses :)

20. would you rather wake up with your makeup magically done or your hair?

def makeup. my hair’s pretty easy to style 😭

68. what are you craving right now?

a nice long sleep LOL

— for your bonus question, it depends on where i’m going! if i’m heading to work, i’d wear this nude shade lipgloss from nyx cosmetics. if i have a party or some other outing, i’d go for my mac/urban decay lipsticks! but lately i’ve been wearing chapstick only since i barely put on a lot of makeup nowadays haha.

#asks #vermillionsails #get to know me

6 notes · View notes

blumenkatzenbucher · 2 years

Text

Just some sketches but I’ve been thinking about season 5 Jonmartin and bad home haircuts.

#sometimes when the world around you is out of control you just got to grab some scissors and give yourself the ugliest haircut #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #my art #I’m personally a fan of long hair Jon #but I know a lot of people who have the gut reaction to trauma of chopping all their hair off #and I love that one TMA artist who has Jon’s hair turn into tape reels when he’s stressed #anyways I have many thoughts on hair and trauma #tma fanart

359 notes · View notes

landinoandco · 3 years

Text

Our Love is a Game

Lando Norris x Reader

Request from @jamieeboulos

Warnings: pinch of fluff, cute ending because they are the best

Word count: 2.7 k

Requests are open :)

It all started with a phone number, an innocent exchange that would subsequently change the world you knew; mostly for the better. When you had met Lando, as far as you were concerned you had just met a 21 year old who lived in London and had a passion for cars. How wrong you were. It was only when things started to get serious that he sat you down and explained everything that came with being a formula one driver; more importantly the fandom that he was involved in.

You had always been a private person and admittedly this piece of information almost broke your relationship but after some time to think you had decided that he was worth it all. You both decided it was a better idea to keep your relationship as quiet as possible - you took every precaution to make sure you stayed a stranger to the fans.

For the past 2 years, you thought you had managed to stay clear of the cameras, the photos and the twitch streams but it wasn’t until a fan-made compilation caused your world to spiral out of control.

You and Lando were out for a run, it was a part of your morning routine - a great way to start the day and it was time that you two could escape the motor sport world and act like a normal couple without worrying about who might be watching. It was time you both valued and appreciated. On this particular morning, Lando had decided to add to his Instagram story, a short video of his morning adventures - the mist still hanging around the trees as you ran under a heavily graffitied bridge, the early birds song chirping animatedly. At the time you didn’t think much of it as you were too busy tying your hair back up to notice.

It wasn’t until you got home and looked at his story that your heart stopped, rushing over to the kitchen island you placed your phone down and ran your fingers through your hair. It was a blink and you’ll miss it moment but in the corner of his video - the last millisecond before it ended - there was a flash of a purple top (the purple top you had been wearing) and a swish of brown hair as you chucked it back up into a ponytail.

“Lando.” You called out, trying to keep your voice as calm as you could. You didn’t know why it had affected you so much - or why you were so desperate to keep your identity a secret. It wasn’t like you wanted to hide your relationship; you were the happiest you ever had been, everyday was exciting and offered new prospects - it was more that you were so used to being in this bubble with Lando, the idea of it bursting seemed rather unappealing. Usually you didn’t care for how others saw you but seeing some of the words that people used to describe him, it would be enough to trouble even the thickest of skins.

Lando’s close proximity broke your thoughts as he stared down at your phone, pausing on the flash of brown and purple. “I am so sorry, love.” He almost whispered, his eyes widening at his carelessness. He picked your phone up to take a closer look.

“It will be alright, won’t it? I mean, it’s a blink and you’ll miss it.” You had said, more to reassure yourself than Lando. He didn’t answer, anxiety building in the pit of his stomach because he knew exactly what he had started.

The fan-made compilation didn’t go viral until a few hours later - as it turns out that flash of purple was the perfect cherry on top of an unappetising cake. Lando was sat on stream - not that this was out of the ordinary and Max had decided to join him, leaving you alone to rewatch Friends for the umpteenth time.

The pair were sat reacting to videos on YouTube when a clip of a seal swimming into a shoal of fish started playing - the amusing part was that they kept quickly dispersing away from the seal in question. Unsurprisingly, they laughed and Lando spluttered: “This is me trying to find a girlfriend.” What the fans didn’t know was the apparent irony of that sentence and this was what caused the major meltdown; whilst Lando and Max were busy crying with laughter - that chat had filled up with the same link and references to the video you would be redirected through.

Max was the first to stop laughing, tapping Lando on the shoulder as he pointed at the chat. Hundreds of the same message filled the screen: “That’s not what this compilation shows.” “Lando, what are you hiding from us?” “Lando and Max laughing knowing very well he has a girlfriend.”

“Chat what on earth are you waffling on about.” Max chuckled uneasily, looking at Lando out of the corner of his eye. Lando sat with a forced smile, his nostrils flaring as he continued through the comments. He could only let out a tense laugh as he swallowed thickly - his throat feeling suddenly dry. You were still sitting, completely engrossed and unaware that Lando Norris was now trending on twitter.

Max had come up with an excuse to end the stream not long after, Lando uncharacteristically quiet. His thoughts were with you in the other room, had you seen it? Did you know? How would you react? He felt as though he had lost all control, like he had failed you entirely - all he wanted to do was protect you yet he was the one to screw it up.

“Hey,” Max nudged his shoulder, “It was bound to happen at some point. Let’s go and see if she’s seen it - if not then -” He took a deep breath, “We will watch it together. We need to know what we are working with here.” Lando nodded, unable to reply, his body went into automatic pilot mode and too quickly he was standing facing you.

Pausing the tv, you looked at Lando - his jaw tightened and facial expressions set as though he had just seen a ghost. “Is everything ok?” You asked apprehensively.

“There’s something you need to see.” Max reached for his phone, pushing Lando onto the sofa. You offered your arm to Lando, pulling him into a hug. Max pulled up the video and pressed play. A tense atmosphere held the room hostage - breath restricted and gazes fixed onto the tiny screen in front of you.

It started with a clip from this year’s Goodwood - Lando preparing to drive his last hill climb - you remembered it well, a McLaren hat placed on your head mainly to cover your identity; knowing that there would be more than a few fans around. The clip moved to 3 separate stills - all of you in your McLaren hat. One with your back to the camera, you hand placed around Lando’s waist, the other two a side profile as you spoke to Max.

The reaction was immediate, you slapped your hand to your mouth, Lando looked horror-struck and Max was watching you carefully.

The video moved on, this time a clip from the quadrant video where Niran trains like Lando for 24 hours - Lando and Niran were in the kitchen preparing to eat their breakfast when once again the video moved to stills. This time they were of your reflection in the oven - holding the camera. You had thought at the time, if you were behind the camera it would stop every chance of you accidentally being caught on camera. Apparently not.

The video had moved on again, this time to stills of Lando arriving on track - of course there was no way for you to get on track without being photographed and you were fine with that because you would just arrive after Lando either with Jon or Charlotte. Photos of you arriving with Jon and Charlotte flashed up - with them you were just another member of staff but put with those other stills and it really did yell out that you and Lando were romantically involved. Finally the flash of purple from Lando’s story. The game was up.

“Oh my-” You stuttered as the video came to an end. Fortunately your Instagram hadn’t been shown but judged by how skilled you knew the fans to be - it would only be a matter of time. “I feel sick.” You admitted, wiping your hands across your face. Lando still hadn’t said a word, staring blankly at the floor. Max was the first to come up with something logical, turning to you and Lando.

“It will blow over.” He started, “The fans will soon lose interest and move onto the next big headline. We just need to ignore anything we see regarding the subject.” He moved his attention to you. “Maybe avoid social media for a few days. Let everyone cool down -” Sensing your means to interrupt, he held his hand up. “I know you shouldn’t have to and I know none of this is fair but unfortunately people have no boundaries and believe because it’s on social media it is their business. If they were in our situation, I’m pretty sure they would be the first to complain. Let’s just go along with it for now. It will give you time to think about what to do next.”

Lando cleared his throat, pulling you closer into him. “I’ve failed you. All I wanted to do was protect you.” At this, Max got up and left.

Shaking your head, you pressed your lips to his forehead. “You could never. Think about how long we kept it secret for. Besides, until we announce or admit anything - it isn’t confirmed.” You offered, trying to soothe his worries. He nodded, still not convinced.

“Our love is like a game and it’s not a game I enjoy playing.” He croaked, lacing your fingers together.

“I know, Lando, I know. Let’s let everything calm down and then we can think about what our next step is.”

Weeks later and it was the night before you were due to leave for your summer holiday. You would be spending it with Lando and some of his friends and family. Due to the current pandemic, it had been so long since you had been away - even if it was a bigger group of you going; you were still looking forward to spending that quality time with Lando.

Max had decided to take himself and Tom off to the streaming room - leaving you and Lando to sort out the remaining items you needed for your time away.

“I have a present for you.” He said suddenly, his hands behind his back. You beamed, taking a step closer to him. He shook his head, “If you want it - “ He pointed at his lips.

Rolling your eyes, you pecked his lips then held out your hands like a child. Lando chuckled, “Close your eyes.” Hands still outstretched and eyes closed, you waited for Lando to present you with your surprise. He grasped your left wrist and attached something to it - “No peeking.” He added. A moment or two later, he dropped his hold of your wrist and said: “You can open them now.” You could hear the smile on his lips. You opened your eyes and looked straight to your wrist - he had given you a pink watch. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up at him, his eyes twinkled as he then pointed to the orange watch on his wrist.

“Watches?” You asked, confusion laced your tone.

Nodding, he said, “We all have matching watches but in different colours - they are for our holiday away.”

You gave him a lopsided grin and wrapped your arms around his neck, “I love it. Thank you.”

In the streaming room, Max was having to ignore the majority of the comments because they were all asking the same thing: “Who was the girl from the compilation.” He was trying his hardest to keep moving off the topic, instead showing off the watches - it had been his idea, blue for him, orange for Lando, a child’s watch for Tom and a pink watch for you. He had listed off all of the colours and said who they belonged to: “And then pink-” He paused, mentally face palming. He looked over to Tom for assistance - he hadn’t meant to say pink at all. “And pink is for someone.” He cursed his poor excuse but as if by magic - Lando walked through the door.

Distracting the stream from his slip up.

Croatia was a dream come true, the hot summer sun on your back and the time to just relax and recharge. Days spent with Lando sunbathing on the boat or stuck in a tense game of Uno. Not being the only female was brilliant as well - as they got to go off and not feel guilty about leaving you on your own.

Currently, you and Lando were standing in each other's arms - the afternoon drawing into the evening as the sun began to set. You had your arms around his neck and his arms were around your waist, sighing contentedly you broke the silence: “This is nice.” He pressed his lips into your hair, a sign that he agreed with your statement. In that moment, it was just you and him - everyone seemed to disappear from around you and all worries vanished. It was the simple yet affectionate moments that had always meant the most to you. You felt as though you could relax every muscle in your body, listening to his steady heartbeat - you wished for this moment to never end, to forever be in his arms and to not worry about who sees you there.

Ever since that compilation had been made, the thought had been on your mind a lot. Were you ready to go public with Lando? At the end of the day you were both happy and surely that was the most important thing.

Later that night, you were sitting eating your meal when a phone was handed to you, displayed on it was a picture of you and Lando - in each other’s arms.

Instantly you knew what this meant, looking at Lando you were met with the same expression. He did as well.

You and Lando had decided it was time to announce your relationship, there was no point sneaking around anymore if people knew and were looking out for you. You had agreed that the best way to do it was if you joined him in a stream, that way they got to know you a bit more for who you were.

“Is it ok to feel as nervous as I am?” You asked him, pulling up a chair beside him. He was setting up the stream, two mugs of tea placed in front of you. It seemed completely unnatural to sit facing the camera.

“I mean, this is kind of a big deal so yes I would say, it’s completely natural for you to feel nervous.” He reached for your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Nodding, you took a deep breath.

“Ok. I’m ready.” You said, your heart beating at a million miles an hour. The corners of his lips turned up, leaning in to leave you a kiss on the lips.

“I love you and I’m so proud of you.” He admitted quietly, as though you were the only person in the world, his eyes flickered with complete adoration.

“I love you too. Now, shall we start it?”

Lando went to press the start stream button but paused. He turned back to face you, his eyes wide and offered an apologetic smile.

“What did you do?” You asked, a smile toying at your lips as you had an idea of what it might have been.

“Stream, meet my girlfriend.”

He had already started it...

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #mclaren #lando norris oneshot #lando norris fanfiction #f1 2021 #f1 imagine #f1blr #formula one #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one fanfiction #lando norris one shot #f1 requests #lando norris request #lando norris blurb

324 notes · View notes

robinofgothamcity · 3 years

Text

♡ prompt: you’re going to a chistmas party with your ex in attendance and you try to find a replacement as quick as possible.

♡ song suggestion: HIP - MAMAMOO

♡ pairing: jon kent (superboy) x fem! reader

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes

“i can’t just go to this party and not show up with a date, do you know how humiliating that is?” you exclaimed to Damian, chugging back the last bit of wine you had in your glass, “it’s easy for you to show up like that because you’re fucking Bruce Wayne’s son and you aren’t the one who actually lied here...I DID!”

Damian saw the panic arising in your eyes as you tried to come up with just anything to get out of the Wayne Christmas party but nothing was coming up in order to actually get you out of it. it was too late to actually back out and you swore to Damian you’d attend the party so it wouldn’t be so miserable for him.

“who exactly did you lie to that you’re that deep into a lie?” Damian asked, kicking his legs up on his desk. “Michael from human resources! he’s been up my ass about taking me out that i finally broke one day and said I was already in a relationship and while he did back off, he’s expecting me to bring a date,” you confessed.

Damian started laughing again, not knowing whether to fire Michael to finally put you out of your misery or actually take the opportunity to make you meet his oh so single best friend...Jon Kent. he sat on the idea for a few minutes as you ran your fingers through your hair nervously.

“good lord, if I bring a friend of mine as your date, will you be quiet?” you looked at him in confusion. “you have friends?” you laughed, instantly dodging his wad of paper.

“for your information, I actually do,” you sighed, not really knowing if you wanted to take him up on the offer, “he’s a friend of mine from Metropolis. he’ll say yes, it’s up to you,” you cautiously agreed, threatening him that if his so called ‘friend’ ended up being some creep, you were within your rights to hurt him.

as you and Damian exited the building, you saw the copious amounts of reporters standing to the side, trying to capture photos of Damian or getting information on the party for tomorrow.

you sighed, giving the reporters the middle finger, not really in the mood to deal with their bs. there were a few times those nosey reporters had made stories about you and Damian. claiming that you were sleeping with him so you could get closer to the Wayne family heir. it didn’t exactly help that you were in the assistant and secretary role as well.

“wow, feisty aren’t you?” you heard Damian’s eldest brother, Dick, say out of no where. you quickly greeted him, seeing that the street to get out of Wayne Enterprises was getting clogged up with traffic, “see all of you tomorrow! Damian, don’t let me down!”

Dick looked over to his brother, wondering what you meant by that. “I’m bringing Jon as her date for tomorrow,” he explained. his eyes widened, “really? him?” he asked, surprised that he would even set up a date for someone. “yeah, he has way too much time on his hands and it’d be better for me to set those two up to finally get them out of my hair.” Dick laughed knowing exactly where that could go wrong.

the morning finally came, much to your unamused pleasure. you had told Damian that you’d meet him at his place so if anything funny happened with his date, it wouldn’t happen to your embarrassment at your work place. you were not sure who your mystery date was and Damian refused to give you a name. all he had told you was that he worked in Metropolis and had been his friend for years.

you dragged yourself into the shower and unwillingly got dressed. your makeup was the hardest part of the entire outfit as you were going to try and perfect it as much as possible. you had never really gone all out with the makeup in what felt like years so you figured today would be the day.

“almost ready?” Damian asked over the phone. you rolled your eyes, “yeah, i’m just pulling my shoes on before heading over to your place,” you responded as you munched on a granola bar, “why do you care?” you asked.

you heard two voices laugh, “because your date is here so hurry up!” Damian exclaimed before hanging up the phone. you didn’t bother to play into his antics before finishing up. the dress you had bought was something you had from a previous event and up until now, you hadn’t worn it again.

the dress you had picked was one from a previous event that no one hardly saw. it hugged the curves you wanted to show and you knew it would surprise those who hardly saw you gala or formal party attire.

you got into your car and chugged back a red bull before heading into Damian’s home. you saw a few cars parked in his garage along with a limo to which you assumed you and a few others were going to take. you annoyingly pushed the doorbell to strike a nerve in Damian.

“woah,” you heard Dick say as he opened the door, “I know, I look good,” you said smiling. he nodded in agreement as the two of you walked in farther into the house. you could tell Dick kept looking at you every so often and even dropping a few compliments and pick up lines.

as the two of you were walking, you hadn’t realized you had completely passed Damian and his friend. you were so enamored with your conversation with Dick that it wasn’t until Damian half-annoyed screamed your name out to catch your attention. you turned around and stopped mid way through when you saw Damian and his friend.

“oh hey,” you whispered, not wanting to look at Damian’s friend in the eye. he was a lot more attractive than you had anticipated. “didn’t know you could actually clean up nicely,” Damian murmured, not even hiding the fact that he was checking you out.

you gave him the middle finger in response, “this is Jon Kent, Jon, this is ( your name ), I guess she’s my friend,” he rolled his eyes at the last thing he had said. you slowly stuck your hand out to shake but much to your surprise, Jon had shook your hand rather excitedly.

“nice to meet ya!” he exclaimed, his slight southern drawl coming out. you laughed at his excited tone, “heard a lot about ya!” he continued. you looked at Damian, “aww, you do like me!” you said, a mischievous smile appearing on your face.

Damian kicked you in the back of the leg before murmuring that all of you needed to head out before any of you got into trouble for being late. you met up with Dick and Tim who were arguing about something as the three of you waited for Alfred to pull up with the car.

the entire ride to the venue, it was just you and Jon talking here and there. you could tell that Jon was the very exact opposite of Damian and it was a wonder how him and Damian even got along with their personalities being the exact opposite from each other. once the car came to halt, all of you piled out, the cameras immediately snapping as they realized the Wayne’s have arrived.

“don’t kill them this time,” Damian threatened you as you put up your hands in defense. you looked over to Jon and gave him a small nervous smile, “ready?” he asked as you nodded.

he put his arm around your waist, tightening it as the two of you walked up to the red carpet. you smiled fakely to the cameras. Jon looked down at you, not expecting this reaction to the paparazzi. “not a fan, eh?” he asked. you shook your head no, “god knows how many times those idiots have thought that Damian and I were together.”

Jon gave you a look, “but the two of you are like siblings?” you shook your head, “I know but they think we’re hiding behind all of that.” the two of you reached inside of the building to see the long extended tables as you and Jon were seated on a two chaired table.

Jon pulled your chair out, making sure you were comfortable before sitting down across from you. the menu was pre filled as it was your job to make sure everything on it was correct and put everything they were going to serve for the course of the night.

“so, what do you for a living in Metropolis?” you asked as they put small appetizers in front of you. Jon smiled, “I work for the newspaper,” he replied, “I bet it’s tough to be Damian’s assistant, huh?” he asked as you nodded yes, dramatically.

through the course of the night, you and Jon talked, Jon making sure the conversation never died down. you had to give Damian credit. you weren’t exactly trustful in Damian that he would pull through on his blind date for you but Jon up till this point had not made you seem uncomfortable or even slightly creeped out. he was like the perfect gentleman.

“wanna dance?” Jon asked, getting up from his chair and grabbing your hand softly. you held his hand, giving it a squeeze as a response.

the two of you walked to the small dance floor as you saw a few of your coworkers, those who were either married or in long term relationships dancing. you gave them a wave as they waved back before going back to their conversations with their partners.

“I’m glad you came,” you told Jon as you took a sip of your champagne shyly. he looked down to you and grinned, “I’m glad I did too. I wasn’t going too originally but once Damian told me a bit about you, I just knew I had to meet you,” he replied as you hid your face in his shoulder, slightly embarrassed.

the song playing in the background happened to be a piano rendition of ‘Someday My Prince Will Come’. you had watched Snow White a million times as a child and the fact that this song was playing as you were dancing with someone who you hoped would give you a second date made your heart swell.

“I have to admit, I’m glad I told Damian as well. the date was so last minute and honestly, Damian is the last person I would ever trust to put me in a blind date situation but I’m happy that he actually pulled through for once.”

Jon laughed as he bent down a bit and kissed your cheek in response. you noticed that the more nervous Jon got, the more his slight southern accent would come out. you reciprocated the kiss but this time, you kissed him on the lips. he was taken by surprise but nevertheless, he returned it. this time deepening it a bit.

after the two of you danced a few more songs, you took a break as Jon excused himself to the bathroom and you made a beeline to the bar to refill your glass along with Jon’s.

“hey there gorgeous,” you heard the voice from the last person you wanted to see. you turned to Michael and gave him a tight lipped smile, “good evening Michael,” you responded, trying to get back to getting your drinks. “I saw you with your little boyfriend earlier but I knew I had to come over here and tell you how fine you looked.”

you felt yourself wanting to gag by what he was saying as you felt him grab your wrist, “since your boyfriend isn’t around, how about you give me a little dance,” he asked. just as you were about to response, you felt Jon’s presence behind you, “who’s this, baby?” he asked, staring down at Michael.

to Jon’s credit, he was towering over Michael. “no one,” you replied, shaking yourself off of him, “hiya! I’m Jon, ( your names ) boyfriend. you are?” he asked. Michael scoffed, half scared at how Jon was looming over him, “I’m her coworker,” he replied before leaving.

you look to Jon in relief, “thank you so much,” you said. he smiled, putting his arm around your waist, “no problem, isn’t that what I’m here for?” he asked with a smile on his face. without actually realizing what you were doing, you happened to snuggle closer to Jon as you saw Damian approaching the two of you.

throughout the rest of the night, you kept yourself to Jon’s side as you remained with Damian and a few others. every time you left, Jon made sure that once you returned, he always had his arm around your waist or shoulder. Jon’s grasp was firm and even slightly possessive but you did not mind it one bit.

if you were being honest, you were hoping that at some point in the future, the two of you would get farther than that but for the moment, you enjoyed being in his grasp.

#DC comics #dc imagine #DC imagines #dc x reader #dc #Jon Kent #jon kent x y/n #jon kent imagine #jon kent x reader #Superboy #superboy imagine #superboy x reader #superboy x y/n #comics

292 notes · View notes

esther-dot · 2 years

Note

I don't know if people agree with me but I wanted to share my opinion if it's okay. I don't think Cat being lashing out on Jon when he came to greet Bran was okay. I have seen people defended her saying she was in grief and not properly eating and resting. But it doesn't make it okay for her being angry over him and wishing he should have been in Bran's place. Her bringing out her issues with Jon at that time was not correct. Sorry again if it causes you trouble as I don't intended to 😊

No worries! We all have different interpretations and as long as no one is being rude or saying unjustifiable things against a character, I'm not bothered. As far as I know, the discussion around this scene is usually Cat fans (I am one) pushing back against the idea that Cat habitually treated Jon this way. I believe Martin even said this was an extreme circumstance, so to say otherwise is rewriting precanon events. I don't think Martin ever wants a simple interpretation of events, he likes complexity, so to ignore Cat's feelings here is as wrong to ignore Jon's. Jon is the child so we instinctively sympathize with him, but Martin is presenting two realities at once, Cat and Jon’s and I think we should be able to sympathize with both. To deny either is to miss how he likes to stack this stuff. This isn’t about saying Cat is right, it’s understanding both realities. So, I'm going to paste in the entire passage and highlight a few things:

Jon climbed the steps slowly, trying not to think that this might be the last time ever. Ghost padded silently beside him. Outside, snow swirled through the castle gates, and the yard was all noise and chaos, but inside the thick stone walls it was still warm and quiet. Too quiet for Jon's liking.

He reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid. Ghost nuzzled at his hand. He took courage from that. He straightened, and entered the room.

Jon is afraid of angering Cat and he knows his presence will upset her. I’m stating the obvious, but bear with me.

Lady Stark was there beside his bed. She had been there, day and night, for close on a fortnight. Not for a moment had she left Bran's side. She had her meals brought to her there, and chamber pots as well, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though it was said she had scarcely slept at all. She fed him herself, the honey and water and herb mixture that sustained life. Not once did she leave the room. So Jon had stayed away.

But now there was no more time.

When you are a parent or responsible for a child, you are no longer your own. Kids own you in a way that I can't explain. There really is nothing more frightening or devastating than a child being seriously ill. This isn't just stress of caring for a sick person (which in and of itself is levels of exhaustion only those who do it day after night after day after night can understand), it is also pain you can't imagine. Cat is consumed not only with caring for Bran, but with grief. Also, she is struggling with guilt as we learn in a moment.

He stood in the door for a moment, afraid to speak, afraid to come closer. The window was open. Below, a wolf howled. Ghost heard and lifted his head.

Lady Stark looked over. For a moment she did not seem to recognize him. Finally she blinked. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a voice strangely flat and emotionless.

"I came to see Bran," Jon said. "To say good-bye."

Her face did not change. Her long auburn hair was dull and tangled. She looked as though she had aged twenty years. "You've said it. Now go away."

The physical description of Cat is telling us everything we need to know about her emotional/mental state.

Part of him wanted only to flee, but he knew that if he did he might never see Bran again. He took a nervous step into the room. "Please," he said.

Something cold moved in her eyes. "I told you to leave," she said. "We don't want you here."

Once that would have sent him running. Once that might even have made him cry. Now it only made him angry. He would be a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch soon, and face worse dangers than Catelyn Tully Stark. "He's my brother," he said.

"Shall I call the guards?"

"Call them," Jon said, defiant. "You can't stop me from seeing him." He crossed the room, keeping the bed between them, and looked down on Bran where he lay.

Let's take a moment and imagine our partner cheating on us and then bringing the child from their infidelity into the home that we have no option to leave. We simply have to deal every day knowing that at some point in the future, he might rise up and take your son's birthright (this is the fear Cat lives with even if we know Jon would never). None of us would handle that well. That alone is enough to break you. Cat has had to carry this, all the pain and rage for years, and she has no recourse. Jon's existence is a gaping wound, and on one of the worst days of her life, he takes the unprecedented action of defying her in her own home.

Be Cat. You're in that position, and not only have you been powerless the entirety of your married life, just forced to swallow all the indignity of your husband's unprecedented choice, told to swallow all your fears, and now, this person, the one who you view as the source of so much pain and fear, challenges you, refuses to listen. You can't escape his presence in your home, but usually he avoids you, and now, he insists on something you specifically forbid.

Jon knew she wouldn’t want him there (which is why he didn’t go for a long time), she told him to leave, and he refused to listen. Every part of his actions were in conflict of what she wanted, and he knew it. Now, Jon's intention in seeing Bran is totally understandable! I love Jon, I love how he loves Bran and his reasoning that he needs to be a man and face his fears, that he has the right to say good-bye to his beloved brother --of course! We support that. It's just, it doesn't negate Cat's feelings. I think we can give a fair shake to both. I can admire Jon facing his own fears regarding Cat’s displeasure, and I can understand how upsetting Jon’s behavior here was for her.

She was holding one of his hands. It looked like a claw. This was not the Bran he remembered. The flesh had all gone from him. His skin stretched tight over bones like sticks. Under the blanket, his legs bent in ways that made Jon sick. His eyes were sunken deep into black pits; open, but they saw nothing. The fall had shrunken him somehow. He looked half a leaf, as if the first strong wind would carry him off to his grave.

Yet under the frail cage of those shattered ribs, his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

Let's think about how upsetting it is to Jon to see this, but also, the fact that Cat had to sit there for fourteen days and nights watching this happen to Bran. She had been sitting by her son’s bedside watching him die.

"Bran," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't come before. I was afraid." He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. Jon no longer cared. "Don't die, Bran. Please. We're all waiting for you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone …"

Lady Stark was watching. She had not raised a cry. Jon took that for acceptance. Outside the window, the direwolf howled again. The wolf that Bran had not had time to name.

"I have to go now," Jon said. "Uncle Benjen is waiting. I'm to go north to the Wall. We have to leave today, before the snows come." He remembered how excited Bran had been at the prospect of the journey. It was more than he could bear, the thought of leaving him behind like this. Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his brother lightly on the lips.

I just think we can spare a little sympathy for Cat who, we’re being told, would have had to summon the guards to have Jon removed because he didn’t care what she wanted. Now, again, I don’t fault Jon. But, the fact that she silently takes this, silently endures, silently watches, well, it sounds an awful lot like what her life with Jon has been all along, and that is painful for me as someone who cares about her. On the one hand, I'm proud of Jon for going to Bran in spite of his fear, and I feel for him that he had that fear in the first place, but on the other hand, I am brokenhearted for Cat that her married life meant silent acceptance of things she did not want, of something she viewed as a threat to her children.

"I wanted him to stay here with me," Lady Stark said softly.

Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for a part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room.

"I prayed for it," she said dully. "He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered."

Jon did not know what to say. "It wasn't your fault," he managed after an awkward silence.

Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. "I need none of your absolution, bastard."

So, here we have a mean moment, and it is. I'm not going to pretend it isn't, and Jon was trying to comfort her, but Jon is a wound to her too.

Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran's hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds. "Good-bye," he said.

They both love Bran so much! 😭

He was at the door when she called out to him. "Jon," she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time.

"Yes?" he said.

"It should have been you," she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.

It was a long walk down to the yard. (AGOT, Jon II)

Multiple things in this passage are unprecedented hence the repetition of “never.” So, I think we need to remember, that Cat did not routinely treat Jon this way. Later in the series we learn Cat would watch him and Jon comments about how bastards learn to read people’s eyes, so I think he knows her feelings about him implicitly. I think this is a lot of pent up rage and grief that she unleashed on the wrong person. Because obviously, Jon is a victim too. Obviously, such a situation is horrible for a child. But, while we understand Jon’s fear of Cat (he was a kid who had the Lady of Winterfell resenting his existence!), his very understandable choice to defy her actually fed into the worst of her feelings and fears.

Jon’s love demanded he do this, but it’s Cat’s love for her children that demanded she fear him. So, I agree that her behavior isn’t okay, but part of writing is trying to recreate a facsimile of reality, and in the real world, everyone says and does things based on their perception of things, not from an omniscient standpoint. And, we are witnessing Cat’s grief, but experiencing Jon’s fear and pain, so the reader finds it easiest to sympathize with him and needs to work a little to remind themselves of the context in which Cat is operating. We have her pain over the situation as a whole, we have her grief over Bran, and then we have this beyond the norm occurrence of Jon challenging her rather than avoiding her.

I just have a lot of compassion for both characters here, and I think we’re meant to. Also, I think that moment when Jon and Cat are both holding Bran’s hands while in discord themselves is part of this series long idea of Jon not being what Cat fears because he loves her children too. Her love for her children makes her want him gone, but his love for them makes him refuse to take Winterfell when it is offered, it gives him fortitude during his mission with the FF and to betray Ygritte, his love for Ned and Robb and Arya make him try to leave the Watch avenge/help them. It’s heartbreaking that because of their world her fears were rational, but because of who Jon is they weren’t necessary. In this moment, their love for the same person leads them into direct conflict, but that love is something they share, and I expect that Jon will play a huge role in securing the safety of her children.

Thanks for the ask, anon!

#ask dot #< tag to filter if y'all don't want to see this stuff

37 notes · View notes

hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Nefarious Shit

Charlie Hunnam: Lockdown Lovin’

A/N: Here’s a fluffy smutty little fic with Charlie being all cuddly and domestic! 🥰 Based on the below request, in which you are Mrs. Hunnam, spending quarantine with him. He’s recording this video for his fans, but your presence in the room is a distraction—and gets him in the mood for some action...

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, stupidly fluffy fluff, you & him behaving like silly little idiots in love Request: Request 1 (@rochyu) + Request 2 (anon)

Word Count: ~2.2k

Note: I definitely recommend watching the actual video for context! (It’s less than 3 minutes.) This fic quotes some of Charlie’s lines from it, plus some gifs! ✨

“Hey.”

It’s a very simple word for anyone to say. One of the simplest. But somehow the way Charlie Hunnam says ‘hey’ turns you on like nobody’s business. As he starts to record, he says it with a playful smirk like it’s some kind of dirty word, and makes it sound so hot it hurts, ‘cause he’s a cheeky little bastard.

The word wasn’t even addressed to your ass in this instance. Your loving husband—yes, your husband, be that as it may, you still pinch yourself damn every day—is recording a short video for his fans. Felt the need to condemn some nefarious hooligans, using his good name in vain, for their personal gain. Ordering them to never do shit like that ever again. And warning his fans not to interact with frauds on social media who falsely represent themselves as him.

Watching him from the other end of the room, you’ve never been happier to be Mrs. Hunnam.

Charlie acknowledges to his audience that he doesn’t do stuff like this very often. “So, I don’t usually, um—make videos like this, but...”

While he records you keep distant and quiet; your marriage is thankfully private. No one else in the world needs to know that a humble civilian girl is the love of his life, and his wife, and his full-time cock-worshiping slut.

Speaking of being such a slut... you’re currently wearing nothing but Jax Teller’s legendary kutte. It’s one of your husband’s most prized possessions, hung in pride of place in his closet—he never lets anyone touch it. It’s sacred, and strictly off-limits. But on certain occasions, he tells you to strip your ass naked... and then put his kutte on so that he can fuck you in it.

So right before this little video, no more than five minutes ago, that’s what he just did. You reminisce about it, while Charlie carries on scolding the scum of the internet. “You know—far be it from me to dictate what anyone is doing, other than: if you’re using my name to do some nefarious shit...”

Meanwhile you figure you should change into a somewhat respectable outfit, smiling to yourself as you think about all the ‘nefarious shit’ you and your husband do. The whole world has no clue...

And you have no clue—though you probably should—that as soon as you take off this kutte, to put some proper shirt and pants on... your bare skin captures Charlie’s attention. And just as any dirty bastard would, now he’s already thinking of the next nefarious thing he’s gonna do to you.

***************

Charlie mentions on the video that he hasn’t left the house in a long while. As he says it he looks over at you with a chuckle and a thirsty little smile. He tries to keep it subtle, but it’s hard for him to focus when you’re half-naked and all he can think about is just how lucky he is you’re his girl. In the meantime he’s saying on record how it’s a weird time for the world, what with social distancing and isolation, and how angry he is that people would be using his good name to manipulate others in the middle of such an insane global situation.

2020 has certainly been a strange year. But you’ve been so blessed to spend every damn minute of lockdown with your loving husband, in this house that you’ve made your home, as Mr. and Mrs. Charlie Hunnam. Home is where the heart is and yours is right here.

Your man signs off, sending his fans all of his love. Well, not quite all of it of course—to be sure, the best and biggest part of his heart is all yours.

So is 100% of his dick. The two of you have been fucking roughly five times a day in the midst of this global pandemic. ‘Roughly’ as in ‘approximately’—though fortunately for you, the other meaning applies too, more often than not. After all your husband is a literal sex god.

By now you’ve put on a pink lacy bra and panties with one of Jax’s SAMCRO T-shirts thrown over your torso. So you’re hardly respectably dressed but much more so, compared to when you were in only his kutte a few moments ago.

You had been considering pants but decided against it given that this men’s tee is plenty to cover up most of your skin. It’s all soft and comfy and smells of him. Wearing his clothes as often as you want is one of the thousands of benefits of being Mrs. Hunnam.

But the biggest benefit is the enormous piece of meat between his legs. Which always treats you to the world’s most epic sex.

“Well, that was distracting as fuck,” your man playfully scolds as he slams his laptop shut. Through his grey sweatpants you can see that he’s already hard as a rock. “Good thing the camera didn’t catch sight of my cock. You cheeky little slut.”

“What? Love, it’s not as if you’ve never seen me with my clothes off...” you scoff, with a provocative bat of your lashes as he slowly crosses the room toward you.

“You think that makes the sight of you any less stunning?” he asks as he takes in the view. Although your top is mostly covered by this tee, your legs are bare to see, and Charlie loves seeing his clothes on his woman. “You know nothing, Mrs. Hunnam.”

He then approaches till he’s close enough to place his hands upon your hips, to hear your heated breathing, taste the next words from your lips: “Enlighten me, then.”

Your husband clicks his tongue at you as if he seriously disapproves. You often jump at any chance for 50 Shades roleplay given the role that he turned down some time ago and Charlie is all too familiar with your moves. “Now, Y/N, I think you just mixed up two very separate pop culture references.”

“Then maybe you should educate me on the differences...” you suggest. Of course you’re well aware that Christian Grey and Jon Snow are two very different men, and Charlie knows that but it’s fun for you to both pretend. “You’re the movie star, after all. What does this so-called ‘enlightenment’ involve?”

He smiles and shakes his head, referring back to the first time that he played Mr. Grey in the bedroom as if you could ever forget. “I’ve already given you a lesson in proper submission.”

“Well, I guess I didn’t listen.”

“I doubt that,” he purrs, suddenly reaching to rip the shirt off of your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. “You look prettier without that.”

You hadn’t resisted at all but it’s fun to pretend that you had. Scowling at him as if you’re mad, you then reach up and tap your palm against the top of his head with a patronizing pat. “Well, you looked better with the hat.”

Charlie gasps as if appalled, insulted to the core of his soul. “Hey, that’s not fair...!”

“I told you to do something with your hair,” you remind him of the brief conversation you’d had before he recorded. Acting as if you’re seriously scolding him though you both know you’re not at all. “Or at least to keep that fucking hat on over it. Instead you showed up looking like a chicken with that ridiculous tuft sticking out at the back of your head, and then admitted to the world you need to get your hair sorted.”

There’s a mirror on the wall nearby, and you gesture toward it, so that Charlie can see with his own two eyes. He realizes he really does look like the world’s sexiest chicken. “So what, now looking like a chicken is a sin?”

“Of course it is.”

He flashes you a precious pout, knowing you’ll be desperate to kiss it off his mouth. “But you once told me I could strut around in a potato sack and still look gorgeous.”

It’s all too true yet you refuse to take the bait. Instead decide to make him wait. “I just said that to butter you up so you’d marry me, sucker.”

“Motherfucker—!” Charlie gasps again, as you start running away from him flapping your arms like a chicken.

You laugh back at him. “More like motherclucker!”

The two of you are very adult—perhaps to a fault—when it comes to the hot filthy sex that you have with him. Honestly filthy as hell. But when it comes to foreplay and teasing and everything else... you are literally just a couple of overgrown idiot children.

Charlie chases you all through the halls and downstairs to the kitchen. “Don’t tempt me into punishing you!”

Needless to say you want him to. “Oooh, you mean with that big cock-a-doodle-doo?”

He finally catches you as you run to the living room, your laughter picking up in volume, pinning you down to the sofa as he ruins you with his icy blue stare. “Shut up about the fucking hair.”

His hands are so close to your neck and you just wish that he would put them there and squeeze. “Mmm, but you’re so much fun to tease...”

Instead of choking you, he drops his hands down toward your chest, tracing the lacy fabric of your bra to grab your breasts, tenderly stroking you. “I bet you think this is when I say to get on your fucking knees.”

You moan at the touch of his talented fingers, begging in a breathless whisper. “Fuck, yes please...?”

“No,” he responds, so brutally denying what his woman wants. “For once, that’s not how this is gonna go. Sit up.”

He props you comfortably in position, amidst all the cushions. Ignoring your urge to get down on the floor, in submission, serve him as his cocksucking whore. Play your usual role as the good little slut. “But—”

“Stay up,” he interrupts. “I don’t wanna play rough. Today I’m feeling soft.”

“Well, that’s a lie...” you reply, lowering your eyes, one hand reaching to graze the prize bulging between his thighs.

“Hands off the merchandise. Let me indulge in playing nice.”

“But whyyy?” you protest with a sigh. “I’ve been such a bitch, hoping that I would get punished for it...”

Your man just shakes his gorgeous chicken-haired head. “You mean rewarded. There’s no point in getting punished when you’re gunning for it.”

Well, fuck him for being so fucking correct. “Charlie...”

“Shhh,” he hushes you softly, as you realize that this is how you’re getting punished: he hears your inner cockslut loud and clear but is determined to ignore it. “Just lie back and let me love this body that belongs to me. Admire and adore it.”

And at those words off of his lips, which he seals with a loving kiss... you lose all power and desire to resist. You’re so completely fucking his. As eager as you always are for rough and filthy sex—as much as part of you will always want to beg—you’re equally obsessed with this. Getting lost in his touch, sweet kisses and caresses from the man you love so much, drowning in the pure magic of romantic bliss.

You love each other so much it’s ridiculous. Hilarious. Downright nefarious.

Within seconds both of your clothes are gone, like they were never even on. His every move is slow yet sudden all at once. The warmth of his soft lips and tongue lavishing love across your chest, his mouth latching around your breast, two fingers slipping in the hot flood of your cunt. Thumb playing with your swollen clit, as he keeps passionately sucking on your tits.

Time fucking bends, seconds to minutes, hours even, as your man descends, until his mouth is where his hand had been—when did that even happen?—every inch of his tongue sending you to heaven. Soon enough he seamlessly replaces his mouth with his cock, and by then... fuck, you’re honestly done. So far gone. He never has to ask to know exactly what you want, because he’s everything you want. And need and love.

As mind-blowing as Charlie is at playing rough, he’s just as good at being soft. He’s all about the fluff and stuff. One tender hand sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, the other reaching down to pull you near.

There are so many words he doesn’t have to say for you to hear.

Just how grateful he is, that you are his. To have you here. It’s been a weird and crazy year—so fucking weird—and heavy with the weight of blood and tears, the whole world literally plagued with pain and fear. But the love that you share with your husband, is the one thing that’s always constant, true and clear.

And the love he makes... cradles your heart till it’s so full it aches, fucking breaks, as your whole body quakes and the earth fucking shakes. Knowing that he will spend all his life putting every last piece into its perfect place, and holding it together whatever it takes.

It’s not fair that a man like this even exists. Let alone that you’re so fucking blessed to be his. It’s some serious, downright nefarious shit. Gazing up into his eyes of endless blue, you realize for the thousandth time no girl in all the world is luckier than you.

And of course once this session of soft tender loving is through—then, to make all your deepest and dirtiest dreams cum true... there are at least fifty thousand shades of filthy shit your nefarious husband can do.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! 🤗💖

Masterlist

Tag List – Join Here!*

*If you’re unable to use that link to join the tag list, just let me know and I’ll manually add you to it!

@itsme-autumn @rebelwrites @happyhenners @band--psycho @witching-hour @est11 @edonaspanca @ughdontbeboring @neverland14353 @starbooty @coffeequeenxx @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @justme2042 @awesomenatalia @auroraariza @rochyu @coffeebooksandfandom @inlovewithcharliehunnam @turner-cris @thesuicidalflower @chrmdnbeautiful @xladymacbethx @holl2712 @snow-white-74 @moonlight-fern @stitchesbystults @lilacyennefer @magic-room @sunflower12335 @trishmarieofficial @smoochesfroggos @o0idk0o @beth-winchester21 @flaireandsynch @littlebennettwitchsblog @got-to-love-a-badboy @noneofyourbusinessssblog @notquitecannon @wayward-avenging @travistheaussie @helloheyhihowdyheya @filliandkili @christycarnell6 @happylittlepuppydog @dinopin @leathercladmenfics @magictehnique @amberembers @addcrastinator3 @gemini0410 @waywardodysseys @foreve-free @midnvght-lies @wiccanash @batmanb @xbreezymeadowsx @louisianalady @perhapstan @beethebuzzbuzz72 @boredintheglade [hit the 50-tag limit – list to be continued in a reblog of this fic]

#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam smut #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam fic #charlie hunnam x reader #charlie hunnam x you #jax teller #sons of anarchy #soa #rpf #rpf fanfic #rpf fanfiction #celebrity imagines

323 notes · View notes

radiantmists · 3 years

Link

Title: and you give yourself away

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing: Jon/Martin

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 4414

Jon is not an idiot. Contrary to what some of the people who love him might believe, he’s not even entirely oblivious to social cues, though he’ll admit they elude him perhaps more often than is standard.

All of this to say that in the week following their escape from the Lonely, as Martin graduates from shy smiling glances and tentative clutching of clammy hands to full-bellied laughter and warm, steady embraces, Jon is fully capable of figuring out where things are going. And, yes, the idea makes him uneasy when he faces it head on, but if there's something more he can do to feed the way Martin is unfolding, blossoming into the man he'd been before— except more sure of himself, somehow, steadier—

Well, there isn't much Jon wouldn't attempt for that, given the option. This is something small, something he's not even actually opposed to, just... less than completely sure of.

So when they’re sitting on the couch together, giggling over some charming thing the grocer had said to Martin, and Jon looks up to find Martin’s blue-green-grey eyes mere inches from his own, a breath caught in each of their throats, he's prepared for what Martin is going to say before the first sound emerges.

“Jon,” he whispers, “can I k—”

“Yes,” he blurts before Martin can finish.

Too loud and too abrupt; they both rear back with the force of it, and for a moment Jon feels like an utter idiot before he notices Martin giggling softly.

“Not eager at all, are you?” he teases, and now Jon hesitates.

The thing is—he’s not oblivious, which means he’s been thinking about it. He’d known how Martin felt since just after he woke up and listened to that awful tape with Elias; perhaps he’d figured it out even before that, somewhere between the fifth cup of perfectly-brewed, perfectly-timed tea in as many days and the third scrambled phone call from an ocean away, picked up on the second ring despite the forgotten time-zones.

But there had been so much going on, at first, that Jon had never had the chance to really think about it. And then after he’d woken, when he’d really had the chance to consider what he and Martin were to each other, it had always been in a sort of abstract sense—I need him to be okay, I need to trust him and I do trust him, and in the most maudlin moments of hopeful fantasy, I want him to still want me.

Only now, when they’d found that against all odds they were okay, and they did trust each other, and even begun to signal that they wanted each other, had Jon begun to consider what exactly ‘wanting’ might look like for Martin.

“I—wait,” he begins, the word tasting bitter. He knows Martin won’t be unkind about this, but that isn’t necessarily the same as understanding. Jon still has to say it. “You can kiss me, but only if you won’t be offended if I don’t like it.”

Martin sits up shock-straight, eyes going wide as he looks at Jon. “I’m not going to do it if you’re not going to like it! If you didn’t want to, why didn’t you just say no?”

Jon sighs, irritated. That hadn’t come out right.

“I didn’t say no because I do want you to kiss me,” he says, trying to be patient. “I mean, if you want to—”

“Of course I want to, Jon, but that doesn’t mean you have to say yes!” Martin replies, frustrated, gesturing sharply with his hands. Jon blinks, leaning back slightly, and Martin sighs, arms coming down and his tone going softer, smaller. “It’s not—this isn’t something you need to give me, Jon. I know you love me. It’s okay to have boundaries.”

Jon hadn’t had to come out to Martin, because the archival gossip chain had done it for him. But he supposes there was enough ambiguity in the terms that it’s worth having the conversation anyway.

“Asexual people can and do kiss, you know,” he says. “Some even have and enjoy sex, although I have to be clear that that will not be happening.”

“I—I know that,” Martin says, going red and avoiding Jon’s eyes. “And I know you can kiss, I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, but—you said you wouldn’t like it.”

Jon wrinkles his nose with a sigh. A whole week of turning this over, of deciding how he wanted to address this possibility and even rehearsing what he needed to say, and he’s still made a mess of it.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t like it,” he says slowly. “I asked you to be prepared for the possibility that I might not, because I don’t actually know. I want to try, but only if you’re okay with this maybe being the only one you get.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Jon,” Martin says slowly. “Have you not—would that have been your first kiss?”

Jon has to bite his tongue on the first, defensively scathing reply, and nods instead.

“But—”

Martin stops, hesitant, and Jon waves permission for him to continue with a sigh. Maybe the next question is going to be indelicate or ignorant, but better to address it than to leave him wondering.

“I mean, I know you’ve been in relationships before,” Martin explains carefully. “I—I’m not as surprised that you haven’t done it, there’s nothing wrong with that, I’m just confused because it seems like if it was something you wanted, you could have?”

Turning that one over in his mind, Jon nods slowly.

“I suppose you’re right,” he allows. “I guess it isn’t something I want in the traditional sense. I don’t look at someone—even someone I love—and want to kiss them, any more than I look at them and want to have sex. But sex at least makes sense,” he grouses. “As… off-putting as I find the idea on a personal level, it’s necessary in an evolutionary sense and obviously it involves biological processes that are designed to be enjoyable. I get why people do it, and those reasons don’t appeal to me.”

At this point, Martin is brick red, but he nods in acknowledgement. “And… kissing is different?”

“Yes!” Jon’s maybe a little excited to get to talk about this. Sue him, he’s been thinking about it enough. “It’s not as awful as sex seems, but it also serves no functional purpose, and yet the whole world is utterly convinced that it’s absolutely wonderful, and I don’t understand it. Another person’s mouth does not seem like an appealing thing to have in your mouth. But then again, objectively neither do pen caps, and you’ve seen me with those.”

Martin snickers. “Apparently they’re irresistible.”

“Yes, well,” Jon says, flapping a hand. He’d made the joke, but somehow he still feels a prickle of embarrassment, so he moves on quickly. “The point is, there’s nothing inherently appealing or especially off-putting about it, in theory. But I’ve never had an especially good reason to try, and none of the people I’ve dated really liked it, so I’ve never bothered. That doesn’t mean I’m not… curious.”

His first two partners had also been ace; Georgie wasn’t, but simply ‘wasn’t a fan’ of kissing, though she’d never been able to explain why, any more than Jon could articulate why the idea of anyone touching him sexually made his stomach flip even though he saw nothing inherently wrong with the act. It didn’t matter why, really; as Martin had said, boundaries are important. But it meant he’d stayed curious.

There was a little more to it, of course. His first boyfriend had asked Jon if he wanted to try kissing once, casually, since he’d never done it before. Jon had declined. Perhaps he hadn’t been quite as secure in his sexuality then, perhaps he did actually feel more of a need to at least try for Martin, who genuinely wanted this. Jon likes to think, though, that his desire to try simply speaks to how comfortable this whole relationship has felt, how safe. There was no reason that kissing had to be any different from that pastry recipe they’d done together the other day, the one they’d thrown out after three bites each with little more than a regretful shrug.

“I… that makes sense,” Martin says finally, and Jon sits up.

“You still want to, then?” he asks.

Martin blinks, an uncertain smile spreading on his face. “You are excited.”

“I’ve been thinking about it!” Jon says defensively, and Martin gives a shocked laugh-gasp. “I mean—I thought you might want to, which meant I had to decide whether I wanted to try, and so now I just… I’ve just ruined the mood, I suppose,” he finishes, deflating.

Martin’s smile doesn’t grow, but it stops twitching and tucks in at the corners like it’s decided that it’s there to stay. “I wouldn’t say that. Unless you’d rather not, of course.”

“No, I’m fine,” Jon replies. “Let’s try it.”

He studies Martin’s face, leaning forward slightly. Jon has considered the mechanics of this before, of course, and he’s seen it in movies, but there’s a difference between knowing how to do something theoretically and having experience, so he’s hoping Martin will take the lead, as it were…

With a frustrated noise, Martin pulls back.

“What?” Jon asks, blinking. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I—I guess I’m just nervous now!” Martin replies, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I brushed my teeth this morning, but that was hours ago, what if my mouth tastes weird?”

Jon frowns. “Is that usually a problem?”

“Not—really? Not unless you’ve just woken up, or eaten something really strong…”

Would Martin’s mouth even taste that different from his? They’d eaten the same things today, after all, and used the same toothpaste. The memory of the bathroom with their toothbrushes sitting in the same cup, of sitting across from each other over a lunch they’d made with crisp sunlight streaming through the window, makes Jon grin a little even as Martin barrels on.

“Or—I thought, something chaste at least to start, but lots of people like deeper kisses way better, and really I’m not exactly talented, or even all that experienced! What if I put you off kissing forever, but you actually just don’t like kissing me?”

He looks down at his hands as soon as he’s finished; Jon reaches out slowly to take one in his own, contemplating this.

“If I don’t like kissing you,” he says finally, carefully, “then that’s all I need to know, isn’t it?”

Martin makes a cut-off sound that Jon can’t identify, and when he chances a glance at Martin’s face, his eyes are wide.

“I’m never going to want to kiss someone else,” Jon points out. “Best case scenario, you show me a fun new activity we can do together. If we… bump teeth or something, some good reason it’s an abnormally bad kiss, we can try again. And worst case—well, you don’t get to kiss anyone, I suppose, but—”

“It’s not like it’s something I need,” Martin interrupts, but he’s squeezing Jon’s hand. “Yeah, okay, I see your point.”

“There’s no pressure to be perfect from my end,” Jon agrees, but now he can feel himself hesitating. “But—there’s a good chance that I won’t like it, and it won’t be your fault, but if you’d rather not try at all, I won’t be upset.”

“Jon, I can promise you you’re not pressuring me into this,” Martin smiles.

Jon bites his lip. “I don’t want to do it if it’s going to upset you, or make you feel like you’re… inadequate.”

Martin sighs.

“Jon, I feel inadequate all the time,” he says frankly. “As long as you don’t—I don’t know, dump me over it? Make fun of me?—it’s not going to make a noticeable difference.”

“I think that’s worse,” Jon replies, and Martin winces. Jon wonders how much he’s already contributed to Martin’s feelings of inadequacy and decides it’s definitely worse.

“Well— I can promise I won’t be upset with you if you don’t like it,” Martin says finally. “But I think at this point we’re in utter agreement that we don’t have to, so maybe we can just—table this discussion?”

Jon sighs and shifts to rest his head against Martin’s shoulder instead. “Yeah, okay.”

Martin’s soft laughter rumbles in his chest and through Jon’s cheek into his skull. “Wow, you sound more disappointed than I am.”

“I was a bit excited to try,” Jon admits, running his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in his own. “I’ve been curious about this for decades, Martin.”

“…yeah, that tracks.”

His tone is fond, but Jon still shifts uncomfortably, trying to make himself smaller.

“That’s me,” he says quietly. “Can’t leave any question unasked.”

Martin sighs. “Jon, you know that’s not what I meant.”

Jon does know. He does, except--

“You don’t mean it until it’s what makes me do something idiotic,” he blurts, sitting up. “It’s all just me, Martin, and—”

“Okay, being curious doesn’t require you to be ridiculously self-sacrificing!” Martin argues, letting go of Jon’s hands to gesture in frustration.

“Well, fine,” Jon bites back, crossing his arms. “I’m curious and an idiot. Happy?”

“No!” Martin snaps. “There’s a difference between being stupid, which you aren’t, and being so convinced that your own safety doesn’t matter that you’ll knowingly throw yourself into danger, or, or let someone maim you for a story!”

Jon opens his mouth. Closes it. Martin is studying him, the tension slowly leeching out of his posture and leaving him just looking tired.

“I… I needed to know those things,” Jon says weakly.

“Most of them, yeah,” Martin agrees. “But—Jon, when you need something, when you’re curious, why is you getting hurt the first option? When did that happen?”

When had it happened?

Long before he’d entered the Lonely, the possibility of his death not even registering if it gave him a chance to retrieve Martin. Surely before Jared, when he’d traded an extra rib for a statement with hardly a moment’s hesitation. One rib for the statement, one for Daisy, as though they were remotely equal, and the obscenity of it had occurred to Jon only later. He’d been glad, in a sick way, that it hadn’t worked.

He hadn’t known exactly what would happen, with Melanie, but he hadn’t exactly been surprised to look up from the bullet to see her swinging at him with murder in her eyes. It had been worth it, though, even if she’d hated him afterward.

Jon had expected to die in the Unknowing, deep down. He’d accepted that the circus would kill him at some point during that interminable month with Nikola, though he hadn’t realized it until he’d been accepting Michael’s offer of a cleaner death—a trade in itself, he supposed, his life for an end when he’d had nothing else to bargain with. He’d spent the next few months increasingly exhausted, until putting himself on Trevor and Julia’s shitlist in exchange for some real answers from Gerry had hardly even been difficult.

Did Martin even know about any of those? He hasn’t seen Jon’s rib, hasn’t asked about the new scar on Jon’s shoulder or, in the whirlwind surrounding their departure, what exactly two hunters were doing at the Institute. He must have listened to some of the tapes, in those months that Jon can’t quite remember, but had the one recording Michael’s statement ever made its way to the Institute, or has Jon just automatically included it in the perfectly-accessible archive in his head?

Martin might be thinking about the Unknowing, or perhaps about Jon’s hand, which he’d patiently helped re-wrap on the day Jon had returned to the Institute, when the wound had practically ripped itself open with the strain of holding a shovel and digging.

Maybe he’s thinking about less concrete hurts, the way Jon had thrown himself into the idea of being useful if he couldn’t be human. About how Jon couldn’t give his life anymore, how he’d traded his human death to Oliver in exchange for waking up.

Or maybe it had been earlier, in a moment Martin will remember: that first, frantic rush of Prentiss’ attack, when Jon had grabbed for the tape recorder on the desk through a sea of writhing white flesh without even considering whether there might be a second.

Whatever Martin is thinking about, he must see on Jon’s face that he doesn’t have an answer, that the list is so long and so old that he can’t even begin.

“That isn’t okay, Jon,” he says softly.

“You did it,” Jon finds himself replying, defensive. “With Peter, you knew he was dangerous—”

Martin sighs, cutting him off even though the sound is almost silent. “Yes, I did, Jon, after you’d been in a coma for three months, and Tim and Sasha were dead, and the Institute had been attacked again, and my mother had just died. Do you really think that was a healthy decision?”

No. No, it had been terrifying, listening to the tape they’d found in the Panopticon and hearing Martin’s recorded voice call it a good way to get killed. Even with him bustling around packing in the other room, perfectly safe, Jon had felt the terror rise up cold and choking in his throat.

“You’re not a tool, Jon, and you’re worth more than a statement or a convenient solution to a problem,” Martin says. “It terrifies me that you don’t seem to get that.”

“It—I can see why it would,” Jon allows, throat tight. “But what I am now, whatever it is that Peter thinks Magnus ‘got’ out of their bet—”

“That isn’t your fault, Jon—”

“I hurt people to live, Martin,” Jon replies, exhausted. “Don’t I owe those people—and the people I’ve gotten killed—whatever good I can do, even if it might not be… comfortable?”

Martin leans back, his eyes closed. He looks hurt, and Jon feels abruptly and deeply ashamed of himself. After everything he’s gone through, with everything he’s still struggling with, Martin shouldn’t have to deal with Jon’s baggage as well.

He’s searching for the words to make this go away, to assure Martin that he’ll think about it and that he’s not planning to throw himself into danger any time soon, that he’s happy to stay up here and leave it all behind for as long as it’s safe or until Martin wants to go, when Martin speaks.

“What do I owe you, then?”

Jon blinks. “What?”

“For making you come after me,” Martin explains. “My plan didn’t accomplish much except for giving Magnus something he wanted, after all.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Jon argues. “I—it was my choice to go in, I—”

“It was Tim’s choice to go into the Unknowing,” Martin replies. “And Daisy’s for that matter. They didn’t do it for you, or even really because of you.”

Tim wouldn’t have chosen to go in if Jon hadn’t utterly ruined his life; neither he nor Sasha would have died if Jon hadn’t asked them to be his assistants in the first place. And even in the Unknowing itself, if Jon had just been able to see through it back then the way Elias—Jonah—had predicted he should, the way he’d almost easily found his way out of the Lonely, they could all have gotten out just fine.

Martin glares at him, apparently reading the justifications on his face. “They chose, Jon, with their eyes wide open. Don’t tell me otherwise, because I won’t believe you.”

“Even ignoring that,” Jon says, though the words are bitter, “it’s not—we’re not alike. You hadn’t hurt anyone—”

“I’ve been thinking about that one, actually,” Martin says, and his tone has gained the distant, thoughtful tinge he’d always had in his lonely office on the topmost floor of the Institute. Jon reaches for his hand, worried, and Martin doesn’t move away, but doesn’t close his own fingers, either. “I was enough of an avatar to convince Peter, wasn’t I? He must have been able to feel the Lonely on me, even if some of it was lies. That power had to come from somewhere. From someone, someone afraid.”

“He had control over the whole Institute,” Jon points out. “Maybe the low-level loneliness just sort of… carried over?”

But Martin shakes his head. “Maybe a little,” he says, “but I don’t think so.”

“Why?” Jon demands, frustrated. “There was no one who came in and made a bloody statement about you ruining their lives. Who did you hurt?”

“You, I think,” Martin answers, looking down at their hands. “Most of the Institute, they were afraid of the policy changes that Peter was making, or that he’d fire them or their friends—well, disappear them, but they mostly didn’t know that. And at first I think you were worried about what he’d do to me, too, but…”

“You kept making me leave,” Jon realizes, the words coming out almost before he understands them. “I started to worry that you’d chosen the Lonely, started to be afraid of more than just Peter realizing you were conning him, that you’d decide you really were better off without me.”

Martin stares at him, hands still limp in Jon’s. “That was… God, I’m right, aren’t I? You just Knew it.”

Jon had.

“It—it doesn’t matter,” he insists, squeezing at Martin’s hands almost desperately. “You didn’t even know you were doing it, it—”

“I knew I was signing myself over to an evil fear god, which is more than you did, going in,” Martin objects. “I knew Peter was evil, I knew you weren’t doing well—”

“It wasn’t your job to manage my emotional state, Martin—”

“Well, I’d have liked not to make it worse!” he snaps back. “God, talk about poor self-worth, you saved me after I practically left you to die over Peter Lukas’ theories—”

“About the literal apocalypse,” Jon points out. “It isn’t like I’ll be doing better if the Extinction really does emerge.”

Martin snorts dismissively. “His solution was to take over the world instead and kill the whole Institute in the process, that wouldn’t have been better either. And I might not have known that, but I did figure his plan was to use me for a ritual, and I still played along.”

“Because he’d have thrown you into the Lonely as soon as he realized you’d turned on him,” Jon replies.

“Which he did anyway. I’d have had to stop listening to him at some point.”

“Well, we did find out about the Panopticon, and Magnus,” Jon argues. “And you didn’t know if there was something even bigger he was leading up to, something we could use. You were doing the best you could, Martin, it’s only hindsight that makes the other options seem so much more obvious.”

Martin is blinking at him, gaze steady. Jon looks back. Thinks over his last few words. Makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s really not—”

“You’re genuinely so smart,” Martin interrupts, in a tone of wonder, “and yet so unbelievably stubborn. Yes, Jon, it is the same! You made some mistakes, most of them totally understandable in context, and none of them, even the really awful ones, mean you have to—to keep giving away bits of yourself!”

Martin voice has risen, gotten harsher as he goes, and he’s squeezing Jon’s hands tight enough that he can’t get them free to cross his arms, so all Jon’s frustration goes into his tone.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Fine! Neither of us will blame ourselves for things we couldn’t control, and we’ll both value ourselves more and build healthier self-images and all of that, and everything will be fine. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Jon glares. Martin scowls back, jaw set, still holding Jon’s hands tightly.

“Just like that,” Jon says.

“Absolutely.”

One more second of stubborn frustration passes. Then, helplessly, Jon snorts. Martin’s face twists, confused-irritated-wry, and then he’s snickering too, until they’re both laughing desperately, each leaning forward until Jon’s head is practically tucked under Martin’s chin.

“It’s not going to be that easy, you know,” Jon murmurs when they’ve calmed down, looking up to meet Martin’s eyes properly.

It’s an understatement; it’ll be hard enough just to keep things as good as they are. Martin still starts to drift off if he’s left alone for long enough, and no deal they make with each other is going to change the way Jon’s monstrous appetite is already starting to clamor for a statement.

“Well, at least we’re agreed,” Martin replies, but there’s a dry note in his voice that Jon knows means he understands. “We can remind each other.”

“I suppose.”

Their faces, once again, are very close together, and Jon abruptly realizes that he can feel Martin’s soft, tingling breaths on his cheeks. He pulls back, wrinkling his nose.

“What?”

“Nothing, just—breathing on me,” Jon explains. He’d mentioned his discomfort with that on their first night here, when he’d made sure there was a pillow between him and Martin on the bed.

Martin hums acknowledgement, then cocks his head in thought. Jon feels a curl of unease; this argument has been draining enough already.

“You know,” Martin says, “when you kiss someone, you can definitely feel them breathing on your face.”

“Oh,” Jon replies, utterly thrown. That was what had started this whole conversation. “Well. I probably wouldn’t have liked it much, then.”

“Good. And we figured it out without you actually having to do the uncomfortable thing,” Martin says. Jon sighs, then squints at him.

“And without you feeling like you’ve messed it up,” he replies pointedly, and Martin opens his mouth, then stops and chuckles.

“See? We’re going to be great at this.”

It’s not even remotely true. Jon still wants to know what kissing is like, though not with any real urgency, just as before; he’s still alarmed by Martin apparently feeling inadequate ‘all the time,’ and he doubts this has made a dent in it. Still, it might at least not make it worse.

Jon groans, leaning forward to rest his head on Martin’s chest and bringing his arms up to snake around his torso. “We can just hug instead.”

“Yeah,” Martin replies, folding him in tighter. “Yeah, okay.”

#tma #tma fanfiction #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jon archivist #ive just started posting stuff #if people like it they like it #if they dont they dont #at least they get to see it #my writing

56 notes · View notes

olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Stalker X Stalker, Part 10

First

Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Marinette’s collection of vigilantes in her house was still growing, somehow. You’d think it would stop with just the ones that consistently lived in Gotham, but no.

Nightwing started dropping by whenever he was in town to try and teach her escrima. She wasn’t good with them because she wasn’t used to fighting people up close, but she didn’t really think that that was the reason why they were doing it.

Still, it was fun…

(Except for that one time they’d been heading back to her house and she dropped her phone down the drain and had to beg the rat-person -- she was pretty sure Nightwing had called them Ratcatcher? -- for help. It was very traumatizing. He’d given her a new phone but she was never going to recover emotionally from that day.)

And then, a few days before Thanksgiving, Flamebird had made an appearance.

The reason why was less fun, though.

She’d opened her blinds and stared at him for a few moments. He was leaning against her fire escape, hand pressed to his stomach.

“Hey, Robin, does Flamebird usually do the Napoleon pose?”

“The…? Oh, no, he does not.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I thought so.” She swung her window open. “Hi. Nice to meet you. What happened?”

“Got stabbed.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Okay, yeah, obviously, want to elaborate?”

“Got stabbed in the stomach,” he said, after a second’s thought.

So, no, then. She shrugged to herself and let him come inside.

“Right, Robin, go get the medkit out from under my sink,” she said, pulling a hairband from her wrist and tying her hair back.

Flamebird frowned. “Can’t you just undo everything with your magic?”

“Not magic,” supplied Tikki, popping her head out of Marinette’s pocket.

“FUCK,” yelped Flamebird.

Damian made the quiet clicking sound he made whenever he was about to say something rude but Marinette cut him off with a glare and pointed him towards the bathroom. Damian grumbled a little under his breath but obeyed for fear of being thrown out.

She turned back to Flamebird. “Also, that’s not how my ‘magic’ works. If I’m not involved in a fight…” She made a ‘poof’ motion with her hands. “No miracle cure.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Man, if I’d known that I would’ve just dealt with this myself.”

“Well, it is too late for that,” said Damian, who had come back out with a medkit. “Now, sit down, we will tend to your wound.”

And they did.

(Or, rather, Marinette did. It didn’t matter if she knew, logically, that he already knew how wounds looked and how to treat them, she just didn’t feel comfortable making him help. She sent him off to play with the cat and worked on dressing it. She’d made a mistake here by doing the normal routine while stitching someone up: asking about things they liked to distract them. He said he was an ‘avid reader’, she’d laughed and said that she probably wouldn’t know any of the books he mentioned because she hardly ever read in English, and now she was apparently in a book club. That was on her, she supposed, but it was still a little irritating.)

And that was all the vigilantes. They all came over from time to time. Sometimes they’d see each other and give each other awkward smiles or actively ignore each other, but it became a constant part of her life.

But it all came to a head one seemingly regular day.

She had been walking up the stairs to her apartment with Tim, ten bags of groceries loaded onto her arms and five on his (he was to open the door), and had nearly bumped into him when he stopped suddenly.

“Cass?” He asked, confused.

She raised her eyebrows just slightly. She’d thought everyone knew about each other but, now that she thought about it, because of the scheduling Tim wouldn’t really be around when everyone else came by.

He took Cass’s arrival in stride, though, fishing his key out of his pocket and pushing the door open.

He did not take in stride the fact that Duke, Damian, and Nightwing were all inside her house already. Duke was sitting on her counter, wrapped in a blanket as he scrolled through his phone. Damian was playing with Vanelope. Nightwing was doing stretches on her floor.

“Hey, look, more people that don’t live here,” Marinette said with only a hint of bitterness.

Nightwing glanced up. “You’re out of chips.”

“Already --?!” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Fine. Fine. I got more, anyways.”

Tim snapped out of it. He closed and locked the door quickly before sending Marinette a pout. “Alright, I can get you cheating on me with Cass, but come on,” he half joked.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “If one of the people I’m apparently cheating with is a five-year-old --.”

“TWELVE.”

“-- then I think you have more things to worry about than my serial adultery, darling.”

“... guess that’s true.”

“Also, I only buy groceries with you, so you’re clearly my favorite concubine.”

Duke grinned. “Actually --.”

“Except for that one time I asked Signal to go find ricotta because I’d forgotten it,” she conceded. “I guess he's my second favorite.”

Cass pouted and raised her hand.

“She makes a good case for herself. You’ve both been demoted,” she joked.

Tim was still pouting. Probably has something to do with going from favorite to second favorite. Who knows.

She rolled her eyes. She had bigger problems. Like her food. There were frozens and she was not going to lose her food to something as stupid and useless as the air. She waved him along as much as she could with the bags digging into her arms and started putting things away.

She tipped her head back after a second to squint at everyone. They were awkwardly staring at each other, for some reason… oh, right, they technically didn’t know each other.

“Uh, introductions, I guess. Signal, Robin, and Nightwing, meet my friends. Tim, Cass, meet my annoyances.”

Tim perked up a little at being called a friend rather than an annoyance. Problem solved. Kind of.

He set down his bags and leaned close to her ear. “So, they don’t know you know?”

“Duke does,” she mumbled back. “I’m not going to tell them about it, though, I want to see how long it takes them to notice.”

He snickered. “I can get behind that.”

“Good. You didn’t have a choice in the matter,” she joked, leaning forward to press a kiss to his nose.

She could hear Cass groan a little at the obvious affection and both Duke and Damian cringed. She fought the urge to laugh. It was just a little kiss on the nose, they didn’t have to act like it was scandalous or gross.

But, apparently, it was gross enough for Damian to grab her arm to try and pull her attention away from Tim (and physically pull her away from him, she noted, as she was forced to take a half-step back from him).

“Did you get more of my gummy bears?”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you ask for them? Did you tell me you were out?”

He looked a little put out and she felt bad enough to give up the act quickly:

“Yes, kid, I got you your weird vegan gummy bears.”

He beamed and started sifting through her bags.

She smiled fondly and ruffled his hair, ignoring the knife that was sent her way for the action with practiced ease, then started putting things away.

Everyone except Damian made their way over to help. There were no ulterior motives, they insisted, even as she watched Nightwing slip a bag of chips into Damian’s hoodie for safekeeping and Duke pocket an apple.

At least Cass and Tim were reasonably well-behaved, she thought right before she watched him split an orange with her.

Tim squinted at the three people below him.

Jon had come to visit because a) the no metas in Gotham rule had more or less stopped being enforced due to constant complaints from the Justice League, b) Damian needed friends his age, and c) it was Christmas and Jon was so sure that this year was going to be the year that Damian finally understood the holiday.

And, because Jon had come to visit, so had Conner. The worst part of being an older brother that Tim understood all too well.

But, now, he looked down at the three people gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

They were apparently competing to see who could be the stupidest. Steph was standing on a banister, Marinette was trying to sit on a vertical bo staff, and Conner was doing a handstand on both of their heads. It was a little shaky, what with Steph’s barely restrained laughter and the fact that bos are not meant to be balanced on and Conner trying to do tricks, but they were clearly having fun.

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the entrance to the cave. Did he have a type?

Their comms crackled to life and all three went stock-still, grins wiped from their faces briefly as they listened to see what had happened.

“I am requesting the night off to have an outing with Superboy.”

Bruce gave the grunt that meant ‘fine’.

The three relaxed now that they knew that everything was okay, quickly going back to their game. Marinette had added a surfboard. Steph was struggling with an exercise ball. Conner was slowly taking off fingers.

Tim sighed to himself. Yep. Dumbasses who can only be serious for truly important things -- and, even then, only for a few seconds at a time. That was his type. Someone, please, save him.

It had been a while since Marinette had gone out on her own (with the intention of staying alone, leaving for patrols didn’t count). Really, she normally wouldn’t, but she needed to pick up a piece of fabric she’d forgotten to get the day before and it wasn’t even a meter’s worth. She didn’t need help for that.

Besides, going by herself was much quicker. She was able to go by rooftop as Ladybug.

Of course, going as Ladybug had a risk to it that she didn’t realize until it was too late: responsibilities.

She groaned to herself as she made to jump to the next roof and her eyes landed on a person getting mugged in the alleyway below her.

She looked down at the bag with her fabric inside it and wondered if it was even worth leaving it there while she got rid of the attacker. Most of the time the people mugging people in Gotham were using fake guns. Even if they weren’t, muggings were common enough that most people had little on them and were only slightly annoyed when people tried to rob them. The person below was no exception, it seemed. They scoffed when the gunman poked their back.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” they said irritably.

Wait, shit, she knew that voice.

She squinted down into the darkness and, yep, she would recognize that almost unhealthily pale skin anywhere.

She dropped down into the alley between them and, to her slight surprise, it turned out the gun actually did have bullets in it. A shot rang out. She fell back a step, cradling her shoulder.

The gunman’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to shoot her. It had probably just been a split second reaction.

Unfortunately for him, getting shot really fucking hurts and she was going to take it out on him. Especially since he’d been trying to mug one of her friends. She glanced back at Tim, who was shaking and a little pale, and grit her teeth. Yeah, this guy was fucked.

Eventually, though, the pain in her shoulder, worsened by all the movement, got too unbearable and she rolled off of the mugger. She tied the man’s hands and feet behind his back with her yoyo and, after calling Miraculous Ladybug, called it a day. She’d get her yoyo back later.

For now, she pressed a hand to her ear. “Hey, Signal, I’ve got one for you.”

“You’re joining me for daytime patrols now?” He asked, his voice somehow brighter than the powers he had.

“Nah, just happened to come across…” She considered embarrassing Tim but decided against it when she saw her friend’s face. “... someone getting mugged while out today.”

He huffed a little but she ignored it in favor of relaying the address.

The perpetrator to be taken care of, she turned to the victim. She didn’t know whether the rules applied to people you knew, but she figured she might as well go through with the normal procedure. Tim liked procedure, it might help him.

So, step one: connect with the victim. She unzipped her hoodie and smiled brightly, making sure her eyes crinkled behind her mask.

Step two: check to make sure they aren’t going into shock.

Normally, she was able to skip this step. The miracle cure got rid of it if they had gone into it before the attack… but his eyes were somehow both fixed intensely on her like he was scared she’d disappear if he chanced a look away and extremely vacant.

She took slow, careful steps towards him, hand out to check his pulse.

Once she was close enough, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a hug. Marinette didn’t quite know what to do. The part of her brain still doing the normal procedure told her to hug back because this was a scared victim that wanted comfort, but the other part was tempted to push him off to check for a concussion… even though, logically, he shouldn’t have one because she had cast Miraculous Ladybug so her arm wouldn’t have a bullet in it anymore --.

Oh. She was stupid.

He’d watched his friend get shot and now he was freaking out. Like people are supposed to do.

She hugged him back, bringing a hand up to run through his hair.

“Would you like me to take you home?” She asked.

“My… my friend lives near here,” said Tim quietly, mindful of the fact that the mugger was still within earshot.

She nodded. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

He bit his lip so hard that she worried he’d break the skin and nodded.

She took him home and, with only a brief stop to keep Vanelope from escaping, set him down on the couch. She kept a hand touching him at all times as she gathered the blankets and pillows strewn about by all the visits the bats made. For once, she was glad she never really had time to clean, she didn’t want to let go of him when he was clearly so concerned about her.

Less than five minutes later she’d wrapped them both up as tightly as she could with as many blankets as she could reach. He rested his head against her shoulder, arms loosely draped around her under the blankets. Vanelope settled on their laps and started to purr; she made a mental note to give her a bunch of treats later.

But, for now…

She cupped his cheeks in her hands and waited patiently as he struggled to pull himself together enough to actually be present.

“Darling, I said I wouldn’t go anywhere. I’m not breaking that promise. Okay?”

He nodded slightly, finally releasing his lip to speak: “Okay.”

She pressed a kiss to his nose. A half smile made its way across his face.

“Now, how do you feel about Big Fish?”

He squeezed her a little tighter. “The circus scene is cute.”

She nodded her agreement. “I like the daffodil scene better, personally, but it is pretty cute.”

She turned the movie on.

Tim was sure he was overreacting. Of course he was. She hadn’t died, she wasn’t even hurt any more. It clearly didn’t bother her, he had ‘accidentally’ chosen that shoulder to rest his head on and she hadn’t so much as winced when he had. No, the only worry she had was about him.

So, he should be fine.

But he wasn’t.

She’d been shot and, for a second, he’d feared it would be another Darla situation. And he couldn’t deal with another Darla situation. He couldn’t. He had to believe that he was better than that high school Tim that had let all his friends die. Because if he wasn’t better than that meant he couldn’t have friends and he couldn’t deal with that either.

He didn’t want to be alone again.

No, he wouldn’t let that happen. He could think of a plan, surely. He was a planner, he found problems and he dealt with them. That had been his coping mechanism pretty much since birth and (if you ignore all the workaholic tendencies, independence issues, and General Trauma) it was working out pretty well for him. Can’t be sad if there’s work to do, after all.

Yeah. Work. He was good at work.

He bit his lip.

Alright, so the problem stemmed from his fear of being alone… which wasn’t going to be fixed anytime soon. Good coping mechanisms? In this family? Please. Next.

Alright, so the problem stemmed from his fear of her getting hurt.

Simple solution! Don’t let her get hurt!

… not as simple a solution as it sounded on paper.

She wasn’t going to stop vigilantism anytime soon. He wouldn’t make her, and she wasn’t going to do it on her own accord. Even if she decided to at some point Tim didn’t have much hope for it. Every person in the family had tried that already, it never worked. They’d say that it would be fine, that they were going to stop for their mental health or even just permanently end it… but family was family and how could someone sit back and watch family get hurt when they could do something about it?

So, that wasn’t going to happen. What other answers were there?

Well, he supposed that she had left on her own and that was the main problem. If she hadn’t left on her own then he wouldn’t have followed after her in secret and he wouldn’t have gotten attacked in the first place.

But he couldn’t be around much more without it being weird unless he…

He couldn’t…

Could he?

He figured it was worth a shot. And he should ask now. If she said no he wouldn’t have to worry about her thinking him weird, she’d just assume it was a request made while in the middle of shock and forget about it.

He hesitantly let go of his lip.

“Hey, Bean?”

She stopped pretending to watch Big Fish for the sake of giving him privacy. “Yeah?”

“Remember when… I…” He bit his lip, trying to think of a better way to phrase it, but he couldn’t. There really was no casual way to ask. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Can I, maybe, move in with you?”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, before quickly shaking her head.

He must have looked pretty put out, because she rushed to explain herself:

"You’re under emotional duress, darling, it wouldn’t be right to say yes.”

He nodded his understanding and it was silent for a bit before he eventually said: “But, if I asked tomorrow… would you say yes?”

She looked at him for a while, her face unreadable, before she gave him a hesitant smile.

“Well, I already said that you basically lived here. I suppose there wouldn’t be anything wrong with making it official.”

#stalker x stalker #timari #timmari #maribat #timinette #shutterbug #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #tim drake

84 notes · View notes

magalidragon · 3 years

Text

lucky charm | a Jonerys drabble

YAY ITALY! 🇮🇹 Congrats @youwerenevermine ! Here’s a little silly for you in celebration and because you made that comment that Emilia was the lucky charm for Italy because she’s there now. 🤣 Wrote this in an hour so it’s silly and dumb but oh well!

“Dany! Dany where are you!?”

Missandei, her best friend, was on the phone with her, heard the shouting, and chuckled, “He alright?”

“Oh he’s fine, it’s almost time for the Winterfell game.”

“Huh?”

“Football.” Dany tugged the blue football jersey over her shoulders, picking up the phone and placing it back to her ear, now that she’d put on her uniform. She sighed, leaving her office even though there was still work to be done. She had a ton of stuff she’d brought home from work, thinking stupidly she’d be able to tackle it, but she’d also forgotten that this weekend was a big one for the Winterfell Wolves.

She was grateful they didn’t have to go out to the pub, since it was an away game. When it was away games, they got to stay home. When it was home games, they had had to go to the Lone Wolf pub and she would need to stand there for however long the game lasted, whether it went into a shootout or drew or whatever. She was from Essos; they didn’t have football as big as it was here in Westeros.

And she’d met and fallen in love with a man who seemed to be completely normal on the outset.

Then she’d met him when the Wolves played.

He turned into a beast.

She also happened to be there the day that they won the first game in over 100 years to the Casterly Lions. They were well on their way to being engaged, had spoken about moving in together, marriage, the whole lot of it, and if she hadn’t already had those conversations with him, she would have thought him proposing mid-fuck later that evening—one of the best ones they’d ever had honestly, she should tell the Wolves to win more often—was only because he was so happy that his beloved team had won for first time in 100 years.

And a few months later when she ended up at the dentist with a chipped tooth from tripping over her fucking cat Drogon, the Wolves had lost the worst game they’d ever lost in centuries.

Jon was positive it was because she wasn’t there with her.

It didn’t matter there were times they lost when she was there. He found an excuse. She was in the bathroom, he didn’t have the right beer, they were at the wrong person’s house, maybe her hair was in the wrong type of style as it was the day, they beat Casterly, whatever.

She loved it about him. It was just a little quirk that made her look at him with a knowing smile, a slight shake of the head, and she’d kiss him and murmur she loved him, and she’d allow him to put her in a Wolves jersey and sit her on the couch or the correct pub chair or whatever.

The television was already on in the living room when she entered and Ghost had his jersey on, sitting on his massive pillow bed with a new bone. “Who are we playing tonight?” she asked, pretty sure he’d told her, but she couldn’t remember.

“Highgarden.” He pulled her in his lap, passing her a beer. She took a sip and made a face; it was a Northern brand she really didn’t like but tolerated because she’d taken a sip against the Dornish Snakes and the Wolves came back from a nil-four goal deficit. He kissed her temple. “How is Misssandei?”

“Wondering why I cut her off to come down and watch this game with you.”

He grinned, his dark curls tugged from his face, in his ancient, threadbare, with holes on the edges jersey that she was sure he’d had since childhood. He tugged her towards him for another quick kiss. “Because it’s the game.”

“Which game is this exactly?”

“Regular game, but the Westeros Cup is coming up.”

“That the big one that’s every four years?”

He looked horrified at her. “No! That’s the WestEssos Cup where we play Essosi teams and we go by provinces, not individual teams. The Westeros Cup is where each province plays each other to determine who is the superior football player in all of Westeros and it is clearly the North and that starts in two weeks.”

“I’m so sorry darling.” She kissed his temple, chuckling. “Ah, so that means the Crownlands will be playing.”

An instantly suspicious look fell over his face, his gray eyes narrowing. “Aye.”

She smiled sweetly. “Well I’m from the Crownlands.”

“Hmm…you’re from Essos.”

“I was born on Dragonstone. Does that not make me Westerosi?”

“It does.” He looked confused now, brow wrinkling, unsure whether he was going to accidentally offend her with what he probably was getting into. “Um…but you live in the North. With me. A Northerner.”

She giggled; she was just fucking with him and hugged her arm around his neck, stealing a quick sip of beer and passing it to him again. “Just fucking with you. Let’s watch this game, huh?”

“My lucky charm.”

“If you’re a good boy I’ll show you the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow when the game’s over.”

He turned pale pink. “I was drunk when I said that.”

“Yes, I remember, your pot of gold is good too.” She was never going to let him live that down. Especially since he told everyone that she was his lucky charm. She was why the Wolves won, not that he’d put all his faith in just her alone. He did support the talent of the team, their coach, and everyone who made it go.

But mostly he believed she was the reason they won.

And she loved that about him. Her superstitious little wolf.

“And the North plays in this cup coming up, huh?”

“Yes, we’re going to win.”

“Hmm.”

“Because I have you.” He pressed a hard kiss to her lips, just as someone on the television scored. He whooped, almost throwing her clear off him to cheer, as the Wolves had scored within a minute of the game starting. She sighed, falling into the couch cushions and made eyes with Ghost, who gave her a well we do love him face.

That we do, she thought, getting up to get herself a proper drink at the next commercial break.

Several weeks later, Dany made all of Jon’s dreams come true.

Not only did she secure him tickets to the final of the Westeros Cup via her brother’s connections—it paid sometimes to have a brother who was in politics—where the North were playing against the West, but just before the Wolves won in a shootout, she passed him a small bag with something she purchased before they arrived.

Jon, slightly distracted as the Northern player lined up for the kick, glanced in the bag. “Oh, another shirt? That’s nice, but…not now.” Her quiet wolf sucked in his breath as the player kicked and he clutched her tight.

And he scored.

The stadium went insane, every Northerner fan throwing up their blue and white scarves, t-shirts, hats, and waving the Northern gray and white flag, screaming hysterically.

Jon was almost in tears, holding onto her tight and screaming in his excitement. She grinned and jumped and down with him, lifted clear off the ground, his arms hoisting her up, so she was downright climbing him like a tree. “We did it! You did it! My lucky charm! My Dany! We won! We won!”

Dany smiled, thinking of the bag with the infant t-shirt she’d purchased, that he had barely registered. She’d tell him later; she didn’t think she was the lucky charm this time, but something else.

“Sure Jon,” she teased, kissing him hard, mumbling. “You’re my lucky charm too.”

#jonerys #jonerys drabbles #yay italy!#for erika!#because she said one thing and now I have a drabble for it lollll #my fics #my moodboards

72 notes · View notes

crystal-snowing · 3 years

Note

hi hello i have many things to say. firstly, AHHHHHHHHHHH CONGRATULATIONS ON 1K BESTIE OMG 🥳💓💞💖💕 secondly, for Le Event (which is super duper awesome btw) i would like to (ahem ahem) make a Request :D there's a line in "guillotine" by jon bellion that says "sleep on me, feel the rhythm in my chest, just breathe. i will stay so the lantern in your heart won't fade." and if u can yeet that into a hyunjin drabble i will hug u so very lovingly <33333 thirdly, ily :DDD ok bye <3

pairing: hwang hyunjin x gn! reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, friends-to-lovers, friends-with-benefits! au, non-idol! au, unestablished relationship?, mutual pining?

word count: 1.9k

warnings: slightly suggestive (making out and mentions of fwb relationship)

a/n: ahahaha this ended up being way longer than i thought it was going to be and i’m not sure if it fits your request hghh i’m sorry but thank you thank you roni !!! ily bestie <3 ⊂( ´ ▽ ` )⊃

You swore to yourself that two weeks ago would be the last night that you fell into this routine, but after opening the door and being faced with soaking wet Hyunjin at your door—all your pent-up resolve crumbled. Despite the water that dripped from his soaked clothes and onto the carpeted floor of the apartment hallway below, when he looked up at you, through the long strands on his brown hair, the passionate look in his eyes was enough to send shivers down your spine.

Wordlessly you had opened the door a bit wider, allowing him to enter your apartment, before softly closing the door behind him. That was all it took, as he leaned forward, cupping your cheeks with his hands, and he kissed you. No words were exchanged between the two of you; that kiss conveyed everything. His lips burned against your own, your hands immediately finding themselves tangled in his long hair as you both stumbled back and away from the front door.

This wasn’t his first time over at your apartment, and he was practically an expert now. Without breaking the kiss, he slipped off his shoes and jacket, letting them drop haphazardly to the floor as he moved his hands around your waist for stability. Even though his clothes were damp from the storm outside, his body was hot as he pressed against you, and despite being pulled flush against his chest already, that seemed like too much distance for him as he attempted to pull you even closer.

Together you stumbled around the apartment as if you were both drunk (perhaps drunk off the feeling of each other), one of his arms holding you by the waist to keep you secure while the other was outstretched to save you both from making a huge mess. Somehow you both managed to make it to the couch in one piece; your back soon pressed into the plush material as he towered over you, breaking the kiss for just a second to look down at you, his face millimeters away from yours as his warm breath fanned over your face.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” your voice came out meek as you panted, looking up into his brown eyes clouded over with lust, pupils blown wide. Your warning seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, and in a fraction of a second, he moved to close the distance between the both of you—his lips colliding with yours once again. This should have been the point where you pushed him away, reaffirming your position that whatever this was happening between the two of you needed to end.

But as his lips moved against your own, his teeth coming down to nibble against your lower lip, his warm body pressing down on your own, his hands gripping your hips while your own became lost in the messy locks of long hair, you knew that you were addicted to this feeling—the temptation too great for you to stop. And as his hands slipped underneath your shirt, his lips moving to your neck to press searing kisses leading down to your collarbone, you promised yourself that this would be the last time.

One last night.

You didn’t expect to find him in your bed the following day, basking in the glow of early morning sun as it streamed through your blinds. His dark hair contrasted greatly with your white sheets, his tan skin warm against your as he haphazardly threw his arm over your own body. Blinking a couple of times and shifting ever-so-slightly not to disturb him, you rubbed your eyes gingerly, taking in the sight of this beautiful man sleeping in front of you.

Hwang Hyunjin was many things to you. First and foremost, he was your best friend. The one person who seemed to know you better than anyone else in the world and this reason was what made what the two of you shared so delicate. A friendship was a thin line, and after he proposed this arrangement a couple of months prior, you both had crossed the boundary many times since then. One would assume that this was a progression in your relationship; after all, the two of you have been friends for so long that something of this nature was bound to happen—it was only natural for feelings like these to one day bubble to the surface after being suppressed for so long.

But Hyunjin knew how to toe the line, and while he blurred the line between friends and lovers, he knew better than anyone that by acknowledging what the two of you shared—by putting a name on this relationship past “just friends” would force him to confront the reality that the feelings he harbored for you were past that.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” his voice was rough around the edges, laced with sleep as he lifted his head slightly off of the pillow. You merely groaned in response, adverting your gaze from his piercing gaze and opting to rollover instead. But you couldn’t escape his grasp that easily, his arm snaking around your waist once again and pulling you flush against his chest. He pressed a kiss against your temple, nuzzling his cheek into your neck.

The sudden burst of affection was surprising, to say the least, as a cold wave of realization crashed over you, shaking you out of your previously sleepy haze. Hyunjin never stayed; every morning, you would wake up to a lukewarm bed, the smell of coffee wafting through the apartment with a single text message on your phone with some lame-ass excuse about why he couldn’t stay. Up until this point, you were beginning to think that it wasn’t in his nature to stay, but as you could feel the warmth radiating off of him and his heart beating rhythmically against your back did you begin to have doubts.

Sitting up as quickly as you did startled him, as you tugged at the sheets to cover your slightly exposed body, the cold air already finding a way to nip at your skin.

“What are you still doing here?”

The question came out harsher than you intended, and you could see his kind eyes falter for a second, the shine and playful gleam in them dimming. You paused, your expression softened. Clearing your throat, you turned away from him, hoping that he couldn’t see the embarrassment radiating off your face, before clarifying your previous question.

“I mean, usually you’re not here when I wake up, that’s all.”

“Is it bad that I’m still here?”

At the question, your head whipped back towards him, almost missing the flash of hurt that crossed his handsome features—answering a question with a question, how insightful. With your eyebrows furrowed, you proceeded with caution. Both of you were currently treading in uncharted waters, both entering the vast ocean with two different perspectives and motives hidden from one another. But you were growing tired of this pushing and pulling game—you were exhausted from treading water for this long, and all you wanted was to finally make it to shore.

“Hyunjin,” your voice came out exasperated as you exhaled, running a hand through your hair, “we both established the rules when we first started this, and it’s only fair that we stick with them.”

The expression on his face was utterly unreadable, any remnants of sleep completely vanishing from his face. He was wide awake, well as awake as he possibly could be for six in the morning, but the early morning hours didn’t deter his brain from running a mile a minute. Hyunjin was well aware of the two rules you both set upon beginning this arrangement, this was a secret shared only between the two of you, and there were no feelings involved. To abide by those rules, there was a third unspoken rule that he set for himself—never spend the night—and tonight was the first time he ever violated that promise.

In his defense, he couldn’t help himself. There was just ethereal about you in the early hours of the morning. The way your skin glowed against the paleness of the bedsheets, the way your limbs were entangled with his own, and the warmth that radiated off your body pressed against his. Your scent was intoxicating, the way it enveloped him and stopped all thoughts of even leaving the bed, and for the first time, he felt as if he had no choice but to stay.

“Well, what if I want to break the rules just once,” he muttered, looking down and fiddling with the white sheet covering the two of you, “what if I want to break the rules for the rest of my life?”

His voice was barely above a whisper, but in the perfectly silent room, you heard him loud and clear.

“You can’t just say things like that, especially if you don’t mean them.”

“And who says I don’t mean it? I think I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline as your brain ever-so-slowly attempted to comprehend his confession.

Hyunjin could feel your piercing gaze resting on his figure, his body growing warm despite his lack of clothing, as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t explain what came over him at that moment; usually, he was much more careful with his words—especially around you, but once he started, he couldn’t stop them from tumbling out. He was willing to stay as long as you wanted him to, staying forever by your side so that the lantern in your heart won’t fade. Instead, he wanted it to burn brightly, illuminating a path to guide him for the rest of life; that way, he could always stay by your side.

“I know what rules we laid down, but I don’t care. I want to be in a real relationship with you, that includes more than late-night calls and slipping out of your bed every morning so that we don’t get caught,” Hyunjin chuckled slightly, fiddling with the sheets below, “I want to wake up every morning like this, with you asleep in my arms. I hope that isn’t too much to ask. You were always more than just a booty call to me.”

Once again, you fell into him.

Your body seemed to relax under his arm, your grip on the sheets loosening. His words put you at ease, the restlessness of your mind halting ever-so-slightly with his confession ringing in your ears. As you leaned back, his arm immediately came to wrap around your waist as your body settled into his side, eyes fluttering closed as you listened to the steady beating of his heart—that ultimately lulled you back to sleep.

You wanted to stay like this forever, sleeping on him and feeling the rhythm of his heart beating only for you inside his chest, breathing the same air as a hopeless couple in love, unsure of what tomorrow will bring and what direction both of your lives will lead. But, as you drifted back to sleep within his warm embrace, you were certain of one thing—Hwang Hyunjin and his love were the only consistencies in your life, and for now, that was the only things that you could ever need.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #districtninewriters #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin scenarios #event: all my love to you #my writing

83 notes · View notes

iceeckos12 · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Jongerrymartin but make it noir.

HI PIT. this was probably not what you were expecting, but hope you enjoy *jazz hands* this is current jongerry, pre-jgm

please let me know if i should tag anything!

Martin stared up at the faded gold lettering painted on the door, wiping a clammy palm against the fabric of his trousers. The other gripped his manila folder tightly, refusing to loosen his grip for even a second, not after all the trouble he’d gone through to get it.

Delano & Sims, the words read. Private Detectives.

He’d talked to one of them over the phone yesterday, a man with an achingly posh accent, who’d said to come at precisely fourteen hundred hours and not a moment later. That clipped, dry tone had almost been enough to scare him off, but...no, he needed this too much to run away.

Martin took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice called, and he pushed inside.

The first thing he noticed were the swirls of cigarette smoke so thick that the weak light overhead glowed a thin silver. His eyes immediately began to water at the intensity of the smell, and he desperately wanted to bury his nose in his collar.

There was an exasperated sigh from one shrouded corner of the room, and then, “Christ—Jon, open the window, would you?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” There was a clatter as the blinds lifted, and then a solid thunk, and suddenly fresh air and natural light was pouring through the open window, throwing the room in stark relief.

“Sorry about that,” the man next to the window said, leaning heavily on a handsome wooden cane. He was just a wisp of a thing, dressed in a sweater vest like he was some sort of professional academic, with salt and pepper grey hair and dark, keen eyes. “Forgot we had someone coming.”

This must be the person I talked to over the phone, Martin realized. Sims.

“Do me a favor and try not to kill our clients, Jon.” He quickly turned to look at Delano—who else could it be?—who was stepping away from the fan now juddering to life, swirling the quickly dissipating smoke. It was almost startling how different the two partners were; where Sims was thin and short, Delano was tall and wiry, with inky black hair and cool, gunmetal eyes. The weathered leather trench coat and chunky boots had obviously seen some better days. “We need all the ones we can get.”

Martin’s face flushed as he was struck by how unfairly attractive these two people were.

“Duly noted,” Sims drawled, limping over to the heavy desk stacked high with papers. He set the cane aside and propped himself against it with a quiet sigh, then gestured toward one of the ratty looking chairs. “Take a seat, Mr. Blackwood.”

Martin shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, I don’t…”

“No need to stand on decorum, not around here.” Delano pointedly plopped into the chair behind the desk, grin wide and toothy. “Jon just likes to pretend that we’re more professional than we actually are.”

“We’re professional,” Sims protested, sounding deeply offended. “Just...unorthodox.”

“Well, alright,” Martin said, and lowered into the surprisingly comfortable chair.

Delano cleared his throat. “Right. So what brings you to us, Mr. Blackwood?”

Martin thought for a moment, not wanting to speak rashly, or to give away anything too personal. “Well, I’ve heard rumors that you two are capable of...discretion, so to speak, and I would prefer that this doesn’t get spread around.”

“Ah.” Sims’ eyes quickly flicked up and down his body, one eyebrow raising. “Out of curiosity, can I ask who referred you to us?”

“Tim Stoker?” Martin shuffled. “He said that you helped him out of a similar bind not too long ago.”

Sims and Delano glanced at each other, their eyebrows doing a complicated little dance, though what information could’ve been conveyed through such a medium, Martin had no clue. They turned to look at him again in unison, expressions very serious.

“When you say similar…” Delano trailed off.

Martin immediately shook his head. “Oh, nothing to do with the Circus. I’m not stupid enough to get involved with them after what happened with Tim and his brother.”

They both relaxed immediately.

“That’s good for you,” Delano told him. “We’ve run afoul of Nikola and her merry band far too many times for comfort. If you’d said you’d gotten on her bad side, I’m afraid we would’ve had to ask you to leave.”

Martin glanced at Sims, who was staring very hard at his feet, then Delano, who was observing him calmly, patiently, the way a bird of prey sights down a mouse. “Oh.”

“Quite,” Sims murmured.

“Anyway,” Delano gave a wide, grandiose gesture. “Please. Why have you come to us?”

The manila folder suddenly felt very, very heavy, and he fiddled with one of the corners, rubbing the material between his fingers. “Well...I work for this, um, this shipping company. I mostly do busywork, administrative tasks, that sort of thing. It’s not very glamorous, but it—it pays really well, despite the company being kind of small.” Martin traced the grain of the paper with one finger. “I think it handles a lot of….specialty items.”

“And the name of this company?” Sims asked, pen poised over the little notebook he’d appeared from seemingly nowhere.

Anxiety plummeted his stomach into his toes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable giving away that information.”

Delano’s eyebrows rose. “Discretion, remember? Besides, we’ll need to know if we’re going to be able to help you.”

“If we decide to help you,” Sims muttered.

Martin took a few fortifying breaths, swallowing the nausea down. “Right,” he murmured. “Right. It’s, um...Tundra shipping company? Run by Mr. Peter Lukas.”

Sims went very, very still, pen poised above his notebook, expression fixed like it’d been molded into his face. Delano loomed forward, the gunmetal of his eyes gleaming like the sun reflecting off of a loaded barrel. “Is that so?”

Martin glanced toward Sims, wondering at his demeanor, then turned back to Delano and nodded. “Yeah. You two—you know him?”

“Do we.” Delano let out a dry chuckle. “Continue.”

“Right.” Martin shook his head. “Well, one day I was doing some bookkeeping, just...routine stuff, you know? But I noticed something off with the numbers, like...really wrong. And I double checked my math several times just to make sure, but…” he swallowed. “I think that someone may be cooking the books, or...or something. I don’t know.

“Anyway, I went back the next day but the numbers had been changed, and—and Mr. Lukas called me into his office and said some really weird stuff that I think may have been a threat? It was hard to tell.” Martin shook his head, biting his lip. “There’s been other stuff, too. Contracts with companies that I know don’t exist, visitors at odd hours. I think something really rotten is going on, but I don’t think that I can handle it myself.”

Delano and Sims shared an unhappy look. Then Sims pushed away from the desk and began to circle the perimeter of the room, his eyebrows furrowing into a thunderstorm on his brow.

“We’d love to finally be able to pin something substantial on the bastard—on Lukas,” Delano said. “But insinuating those types of claims without a shred of evidence...that’s a nonstarter. We’re going to need a little bit more than that.”

“But I do have evidence?” Martin asked, lifting the manila folder. “I took photocopies of the pages, and notated where the discrepancies were.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wasn’t about to just write on official financial records. There’s also some of the weird contracts I was talking about. I kept copies of everything.”

Sims, who’d walked out of sight while Martin had been talking, suddenly appeared behind him, reaching for the folder. “Can I see?”

“Be careful with it, that’s the only copy,” Martin said nervously, but handed it over.

Sims walked back over to the desk, hopped up on the edge, and eagerly tipped the contents of the folder on the space between him and Delano. They quickly sifted through the papers, wordlessly handing things to each other like a seamless, well-oiled machine.

“This is good.” Delano’s voice was almost hushed, almost awed. “This is...really good, actually.”

“But you see why I can’t go to the police with this, right?” Martin twisted his hands fitfully. “You see why I need your help.”

“Of course not,” Sims said dismissively, though there was an eager gleam in his eyes. “The police are so deep in Lukas’ pocket you might as well have kissed your life goodbye if you’d gone to them.”

“Oh.” Martin swallowed, trying and failing to come up with anything more intelligent than that. “Oh.”

Delano drummed his fingers against the desk pensively. “Speaking of, it wouldn’t be a good idea to pursue this recklessly. We appreciate you bringing this to us, but it does put you in a significant amount of danger. Do you have friends or family outside the country you can stay with, Mr. Blackwood?”

“Um…” He had cousins in Poland, he was pretty sure. Whether or not they would take him in was another question entirely. “Possibly.”

Sims reluctantly gathered the papers up and slid them back into the manila folder, before holding it out. “Come back when you’ve got something lined up.”

Martin lifted a quelling hand as he got to his feet. “I’d...prefer you hold onto it, honestly. It’s probably safer with you.”

Sims blinked, then shrugged and set the folder back down. “I see.”

“We’ll be seeing you later, Mr. Blackwood.” Delano’s grin was a sharp, toothy thing. Despite its grimness, Martin found himself inexplicably comforted by it.

“Please,” he corrected before he could help himself. “Call me Martin.”

-0-

“So,” Gerry said, long after Martin had left and the excitement had faded. He filled a glass with some ice, then tipped a finger of whisky over the top. “What do you think?”

“I don’t trust him,” Jon said almost before Gerry had finished talking, accepting the glass with a quiet murmur of thanks. “It’s a bit too good to be true. After years of searching, someone just...emerges with hard evidence of Peter’s wrongdoings?” An incredulous snort. “I don’t think so.”

Gerry propped himself up against the edge of the desk, staring at the dark bags under his partner’s eyes, the cynical curve of his mouth. He looked exhausted. “You never know,” he said mildly, taking a sip of his whiskey sour before continuing. “I think we’re about due for a lucky break.”

“We don’t get lucky breaks. We get fooled into thinking that we have a lucky break, only to get royally fucked later,” Jon snapped, thumping his cane against the ground for emphasis. “You should know that by now.”

Gerry frowned. “Don’t take this out on me.”

Jon metaphorical hackles went up, and for a moment it looked as though he were about to start shouting—but then he abruptly deflated and looked away. “No, you’re right, it’s just…”

Gerry sighed. It was difficult to stay angry at Jon when he bore such a striking resemblance to a kicked puppy. “I get it.”

They fell silent for a moment, sipping their drinks, lost in their respective thoughts.

“Shall we go?” Gerry asked, setting his glass aside.

Jon paused for a moment longer, before letting out a long, gusty sigh and draining what was left in his drink. “Sure.”

The elevator was still broken, so unfortunately they had to take the stairs. While Gerry knew better than to offer any assistance, his heart still clenched at how tight with pain Jon’s jaw had gone by the time they reached the bottom. They stopped for a few seconds to let Jon get his breath back, before continuing toward home.

About a block away from the office, they froze at the sound of pounding footsteps growing unmistakably closer.

“Hear that?” Jon murmured out of the corner of his mouth, the dying light of the sun glinting off the switchblade in his free hand.

“Mmhm,” Gerry hummed, slipping a hand into his pocket.

Martin was very, very lucky that Gerry recognized him as he rounded the corner; otherwise, it was very likely that Jon would’ve run him through. As it was, Martin crashed into them both, gasping frantically for air, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with abject terror.

“Martin?” Jon demanded, shoving the switchblade away. “What the hell are you—”

“They’re after me,” Martin gasped out, scrabbling at Gerry’s coat. “They—I don’t know how they found out, but they, Peter, he—”

“Shit,” Gerry muttered, suddenly becoming aware of the second set of pounding footsteps growing nearer. He took a moment to assess their surroundings, before grabbing Martin’s shoulders and hauling him into the nearby alley. “Martin, hide behind that dumpster. Jon, distraction time.”

Despite the situation, Jon’s eyes lit up with an exhilarated gleam. Gerry had just enough time to fondly think, adrenaline junkie, before Jon tucked his cane over his wrist, twisted his hands in Gerry’s lapels, and shoved him against the wall for a bruising kiss.

Gerry gasped into Jon’s mouth, his hands instinctively falling to cup Jon’s slim hips. He deepened the kiss, humming encouragingly when Jon shoved his jacket over his shoulders, exposing the thin black t-shirt beneath.

Jon was just beginning to press little kisses down the juncture of his jaw and neck when the harsh beam of a torch fell on them. Jon, who’d been a drama queen long before he’d joined am dram in uni, pulled away with a theatrical gasp, his annoyance almost startlingly genuine. Gerry tucked his face out of the way and adjusted his jacket, affecting embarrassment.

“Do you mind?” Jon asked.

“Oh,” the person on the other end of the torch said, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. Gerry tried to peek a look, but the beam was too strong for him to see into the darkness beyond it. “Sorry to disturb you sirs, um...you wouldn’t happen to have seen a person—?”

“No, we haven’t seen a person.” Keeping one hand curled in Gerry’s jacket, Jon took a step back, lifting his chin defiantly. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we were busy.”

“Right,” the person muttered, and then the torchlight abruptly vanished, dropping them once more into the dying light of the sun.

They stood there for a moment, Jon breathing hard, cheeks flushed. Gerry tipped his head back against the wall, letting his eyes flutter shut as his pumping heart slowed.

Then the grip in his collar loosened, and Jon let out a pained groan and sank against the wall. “Fuck.”

“Alright, take it easy,” Gerry murmured. He pressed a kiss against Jon’s hair and rubbed a soothing hand against his back. “You did beautifully.” Then louder, “Martin, you can come out now.”

There was a brief pause, and then a shadow tentatively emerged from behind the dumpster. Martin looked far less rattled than he had when he’d first run around the corner, though there was still a healthy flush to his cheeks. He peered up the alley, wringing his hands. “Are they…”

“For now,” Jon said, grimacing as he dug his knuckles into the tight muscles. “We should leave before they get back.”

Martin’s eyes honed in on him. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Jon snapped, straightening. “You should be more worried about yourself. You can’t go home, right?”

The question seemed to remind Martin of the current situation, because his eyes went a little wild again. “No, they...I left to do a bit of shopping, and then came back and, and there they were.”

They fell silent for a moment, considering that.

“Well, there’s nothing for it,” Jon said brusquely. “You’ll have to come home with us.”

“What?” Martin gaped.

Gerry was already nodding. “We don’t have much room, but we can make up the couch for you.”

That only seemed to make Martin all the more aghast. “Wait! Wait, won’t that put you in danger?”

Gerry looked up and met Jon’s gaze.

“We have...a certain degree of protection,” Gerry hazarded delicately. “It won’t do much against the likes of Peter himself, but lesser threats…”

“You’ll be fine,” Jon completed. “Now unless you want to run into them again, we had better get going.”

Martin glanced mutely between them, looking like he wanted nothing more than to argue. Then his shoulders slumped, probably realizing that he had no other choice considering how dire the situation was.

“Alright,” he murmured, defeated. “Let’s go.”

#tma #ask #pitviperofdoom #iceeckos12 writes #my writing #jongerrymartin #noir au

119 notes · View notes