#well except for Tim. he only really ever had one....so i guess it could still technically be called his final design jsndksmd | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imnotoverlyobsessive · 9 months

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In Your Dreams

Moodboard by @softhecreator

Chapter Six: You Got Inside My Head & Set A Fire There Instead

AO3 info one two three four five six seven epilogue

All my work is 18+.

Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts, and we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face. And I’ve always lived like this; keeping a comfortable distance, and up until now I had sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness, ‘cause none of it was ever worth the risk.- Paramore, The Only Exception

Lea really hadn’t meant to stick around for so long. She’d figured that once he’d, uhhh, ‘claimed’ her or whatever, that would be enough, that she’d be able to go back to her shared shoebox apartment with its windows all facing brick walls and the kitchen she couldn’t turn around in and the doors that didn’t stay closed and her cold bed, to her rapidly increasing student loan debt and her crippling anxiety and the constant, neverending sense that something about her life was wrong.

In any case, she had intended to go home once Tim was in the clear.

She was showering the following afternoon, staring out the window that overlooked the city. Water droplets from the shower dripped down the glass, and Lea sighed, tilting her head back to finish rinsing her hair and wondering how in the hell she was gonna go back home after all this.

“Well that’s a sight I could get used to.”

She damn near jumped a foot in the air at Tim’s voice echoing off the marble floors, immediately rushing to hide behind the wall of the large shower.

He laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you, I was just appreciating the view!”

Lea blinked rapidly, trying to process what was happening. She still hadn’t fully processed the night before, and here she was, butt naked, totally regretting using his shower rather than one of the ones in the guest rooms. He had fuckin’ five of them, so it wasn’t like there wasn’t space.

After several bests of silence, the only sound the running water from the shower, he softly said, “Are you afraid of me?”

Lea jolted towards the clear shower door, looking at him around the corner of the wall. “Of course not!” she squeaked, eyes wide.

He looked back at her, his gaze sad. “Then why are you hiding from me?”

She glanced down briefly at his body, only just now noticing his nudity. “I just…” She gulped. “I just feel weird about you, like. Seeing me this way, y’know?”

Frowning outright then, Tim asked, “I’ll admit I’m pretty casual about being naked, living as an incubus for several thousand years will do that, but why on earth would you be shy with me?” When she didn’t answer right away, he added, “I’ll respect your feelings, don’t get me wrong, I just— you’re my mate, we had sex a few hours ago, and I legitimately cannot fathom why you’d feel weird. Will you please help me understand?”

“I’m… not used to being naked in front of anyone,” she admitted softly, standing back upright to lean against the wall of the shower, hidden from him again. “Like, okay, how often do you have to, y’know. Feed?”

There were a few seconds of silence as he considered this. “I dunno. Every few weeks, maybe?”

“Right,” Lea confirmed her understanding, “and do you feed from a different woman every time?”

“Usually, yeah,” he said slowly, as if he were trying to figure out where she was going with this.

“And that’s even when you were in relationships?”

He was silent for a few moments again. “I can only feed from humans, and I haven’t been involved with one romantically in I don’t even know how long—centuries, at the very least, maybe longer—, so I had to… with other women.”

“You were with another human before?”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Alane.”

Lea’s heart thudded in her chest.

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

He sighed, and she heard him slide down the outside wall of the shower.

“I’ll have to tell you eventually, I guess.”

“You don’t have to,” she assured him hurriedly.

“No, you need to know.” A deep breath. “She was a Gaul, captured by Romans. I knew what they did to women, so I went to help. No clue why, I’m fucking useless with that kinda thing, but I went to help. But when I got there…” He let out a hoarse laugh. “She’d killed two of them and was working on a third.”

“Jesus,” Lea muttered.

“Totally covered in blood,” he went on, “I think she would’ve tried to kill me, too, if I hadn’t blurted some random shit out in French. Gave her enough pause to let me help her escape, I guess.”

“Then… why aren’t you with her now?” Lea asked softly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the quiver in her voice.

“We were together for a few human lifetimes,” he admitted. “We were careful—we were so fucking careful—but birth control wasn’t an exact science then, and, well… I told you that most women can’t stay pregnant with an incubus’ baby.” Another snort. “Stubborn girl—she was a lot like you that way, actually; maybe that’s what attracted to me to her in the first place, was her similarities to my future mate—refused to let me get it flushed out of her. I told her, I told her she couldn’t survive it, but she was damned and determined to try anyway.”

“And then?” she asked shakily.

“She died.” His voice was soft, almost hesitant. Regretful. “She died because she loved me.”

Despite the rather intense jealousy she was feeling, her heart ached for the pain he’d been through. It was clear he blamed himself for Alane’s death.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, Lea reached out and opened the shower door. The hot water was beating against her skin, the sound of it almost drowning her out when she whispered, “You can come in, too.” A slight hesitation. “If— if you want, I mean.”

There was silence for a few long moments before she heard him stand, and then he stepped into the shower.

His hair was tousled from sleep, but his skin wasn’t sallow anymore; the bags under his eyes were gone, too. He was still a bit thinner than she knew was normal for him, but he definitely looked better. Healthier.

He closed the door behind him, gazing down at her and not taking his eyes off hers. “It wasn’t your fault, Tim.” He grimaced, so she reiterated, “It was not your fault. It wasn’t your fault she got pregnant. It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault that she chose to continue the pregnancy, either. None of it was your fault.”

He wasn’t grimacing anymore, just kinda studying her expression. “You aren’t jealous?” He looked almost disappointed, the prick.

“I never said I wasn’t jealous,” Lea admitted slowly, “but I don’t want you to blame yourself for something that’s not your fault. I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

A small, soft smile twitched at the corners of his lips, and he took a step closer to her, taking one of her hands in his. “Everything’s less painful when I look at you,” he murmured. “Hearing your voice, seeing you smile, touching your skin— it sets me at ease. Even when I was close to death, whenever you were next to me, it felt like everything would be alright.”

Tears filled her eyes at that, and she looked away. “Tim…”

“I think,” he went on in that soft, sweet voice, “that I could conquer the world if you held my hand while I did it.” After a moment, he added, “Plus, you’re jealous, it’s very obvious, and it’s awesome—“

Lea flushed, crossing her arms over her breasts with a grumble of, “Like you wouldn’t be jealous, too, demon boy.”

“Psh,” he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “You kidding? I’m jealous of everyone that’s so much as looked at you.”

“You’re a dork,” she muttered, fighting off a smile.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Or maybe I just love you.”

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling then.

“Are you done showering?” he asked quietly.

Lea blinked, surprised at the question. “I should probably rinse my hair again. Might still have conditioner in it.”

He stepped closer, and her heart lurched up into her throat at the anticipation of feeling his skin against hers again, but he just reached behind her and took the handheld shower nozzle.

“Turn around.” It was a soft, gentle command, but it was a command nonetheless. Steadfastly ignoring the fluttering in her abdomen, she obeyed, turning to face the marble tiles of the wall and adjusting her hair so it fell in a wave of dark red curls down her back.

“Lean your head back,” he told her gently. She did so, keeping her eyes shut, and he held the nozzle close to her scalp and ran his fingers through her hair, careful not to miss anything. “Did you comb your hair out already?”

“Y— yeah,” she mumbled, pointing vaguely in the direction of the wide-tooth comb that sat on the ledge with the various shower-related items.

He hummed before continuing to rinse out her hair in silence.

Once he was done, he leaned forward to replace the shower nozzle again, and the one on the ceiling began to cascade down onto them once more. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her so her back was against his chest. And stomach, too, because he was a tall bastard.

Tim’s arms were around her waist, just below her breasts, and his thumb brushed the underside of one of them.

Lea gulped anxiously, wishing he’d touch her fully, grab her breast the way he’d done the night before. “How are you, uh… how are you feeling?”

“What d’you mean?” he mumbled into her hair.

“Well, you almost died yesterday,” she said slowly. “So, how are you feeling?”

His arms tightened around her. “I’m alive. You’re here. I’m alive because you’re here. So I’m doing pretty fuckin’ awesome, I’d say.”

She reached up and brushed her hand gently over one of his, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

She felt him shrug. “I wasn’t expecting to be, but I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not thrilled about you loving me.” He paused momentarily before admitting, “And also that you let me fuck you. That was pretty great.”

He moved her hair to one side and started kissing her neck then, and she squeaked in surprise. “Are you, uh… are you hungry again? Not— not for food, I mean, but like, for… y’know…”

She could hear the smirk in his voice, feel it against the damp skin of her neck. “I only need to feed every few weeks,” he reminded her. “However, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you again, because I very much do. It’s less about my biological need for it and more about my love for my incredibly sexy mate and the natural desire I have to watch said mate’s tits bounce as I fuck her until she cums on my cock.”

Lea’s face flamed, the sensation intensifying further when she realized he was hard behind her.

“But,” he was saying, “we don’t have to. I will never try to make you or convince you to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“I know,” she said, tightening her fingers over his. “You almost died ‘cause you didn’t wanna risk guilting me.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you,” he murmured, one of his hands sliding down her side to grasp her hip firmly. “God do I want you.”

“Tim,” she exhaled, leaning back against his chest.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse, desperate, and he went on, “Do you want that? I won’t ask you to if you don’t want it, but if you do…”

Flushing, she looked at her feet and said, “Maybe we could… go back to bed?”

“If you want.” He shrugged before gesturing to the windows. “The windows are tinted, though. No one can see in; they look completely black from outside.”

She blinked rapidly, eyes wide. “Oh?”

“Mhm,” Tim confirmed, taking her hand in his. “So why don’t you just jump up here—“ he guided her to the windowsill, encouraging her to sit down. “—And spread your legs for me?”

“Are you sure you wanna—“

“Lea,” he cut her off, voice serious, “knowing you want me, I think that I cannot possibly handle the prospect of not having you.”

“O— okay,” she managed.

“Good girl,” he praised with a smirk, stepping between her legs, his hands on her knees. “Gonna make you feel good, baby.” He reached between them, gripping his dick and guiding it to her entrance, pressing against her.

Lea bit her lip, whimpering. “Please, Tim, I can’t—“

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he crooned gently, rubbing his cock up and down her folds teasingly. “Tell me what you want.”

Embarrassment gone, she begged, “Want it, want you, want you inside me—“

“Good girl,” he told her again before sliding into her.

She moaned, her head falling back against the glass of the window.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunted, pulling out briefly before slamming back in.

He was looking down at her, and she marveled at how gorgeous he was; the city lights behind her were glinting off his jawline and cheekbones and those red fucking eyes—god, he was feeding from her again, he was feeding from her again—, and his hair hung in soaked curls, longer than it usually was so it nearly brushed his shoulders, water droplets falling from the tips of the strands and onto his bare skin.

It was looking at him, at how insanely, ridiculously, unfairly sexy he was, that caused a desperate, fervent need to touch him to overtake her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her. He obliged, slanting his lips over hers with a startling amount of ferocity, but it was short-lived because then he was trailing kisses down the column of her throat before taking the tender skin between his teeth and sucking.

Moaning, she threaded her fingers through his hair, and he groaned at the sound she’d made, thrusting in again. “Made for me,” he grunted against her damp skin. “This pussy was fuckin’ made for me.”

Her fingers tightened around his curls, holding him against her neck as he repeatedly kissed the bruise he’d given her. “Feels— feels good,” she gasped out, spreading her legs wider, wanting him to fuck her senseless, fuck her until she couldn’t walk or move or breathe.

Tim righted himself again, leaning his forehead against hers, his red eyes boring into hers, pinning her there against the window as if each snap of his hips didn’t have the same effect. “You like it?” he wanted to know, the words an exhalation brushing against her lips. “You like it when I fuck you?”

Nodding jerkily, Lea arched into his touch when he reached down to grasp one of her breasts, tugging sharply on the nipple. “I like it,” she admitted, her voice breathless. “God, please don’t stop—“

His hips jackhammered against her, and he slid one hand up to cup her neck, the one on her breast moving to grasp her hip so as to hold her in place. “No god here, baby,” he muttered, stroking her skin affectionately. “Just you and me.”

Something about this statement made her feel as if she had the sun inside her, starlight under her skin, and she wanted nothing more than to keep him there, to stay there with him, safe in his apartment, their own little world. Nothing existed outside of what they had together, outside of what he was giving her, of what she was giving him. It was just the two of them, and she felt as if as long as he was touching her, nothing else ever could.

It was quiet and unprompted when she gasped out, “I love you. I love you, Tim.”

The hand he had on her neck slid up to her cheek, and he leaned down, kissing her with desperation equal to that of his thrusts into her. “I love you, too,” he said against her lips, into her mouth. “More than anything. You’re everything, Lea. Everything.”

She could’ve sworn that the sun inside her shone through at that, and if anyone looked at her, they’d go blind from it. Instead of responding, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He let her, allowing her to kiss him as much as she wanted, returning her kiss with fervor. He took her lower lip between his teeth and tugged on it lightly, making her moan and close her eyes.

“No,” he growled when he released her lip. “Look at me. Look at me. I want you to see who’s fucking you, who’s making you feel like this. I don’t want you to ever forget.”

Lea opened her eyes, difficult as it was, and gasped out, “Could never forget you. Love you too much and you feel too good, fuck but you feel so good—“

His lips quirked into a smile against hers. “Yeah?” He kissed her again, the hand on her hip tightening, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Feels good when I give it to you, baby?”

“Mhm,” she whimpered, undulating her hips as best she could despite being seated and pressed up against the window. “More, I want more, please.”

“Such a polite request,” he mused, leaning down to kiss the bruises he’d left on her throat. “You know I’d never refuse you, don’t you? My sweet girl, all mine.”

He gave a particularly harsh thrust at that, and she moaned loudly in delight, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. “‘m yours,” she agreed immediately. “Yours, Tim, all yours— fuck—“

“Good girl,” he groaned, thrusting into her again. “Been waiting all my life for this, sweetheart, all my life for you, for your perfect little pussy, all for me, fuckin’ made for me, baby, made to take this cock.”

Something about what he was saying—babbling, if she were honest—made the heat that was already swirling in her abdomen to grow, intensifying further and spreading throughout her body, a tingling sensation that made her feel like she was burning, like there was fire beneath her skin, in her veins. She was made for him. She was his, she wanted to be his, to belong to him. How could she not, when belonging to him felt so good?

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, “can I make you cum? I wanna make you cum. I can feel the way you’re clenching around me, I know you want it, I can tell, just let me—“

“Yes,” she cut him off without hesitation. “Yes, you can make me cum, yes yes yes yes yes—“

“Fuck,” Tim grunted, snaking a hand between them to where they were joined and finding her clit with practiced ease. He may not have had much experience with her body specifically, but he knew exactly what to do anyway, how to make her quiver and shake and scream. Plus, by the time he brushed his fingertips over her clit, she was so turned on—by the way he was fucking her, the way he looked when he fucked her, how he was looking at her, the things he said as he pounded into her relentlessly, everything—that his touch had her moaning loudly, her toes curling. She was already so fucking close and he’d barely started stimulating her. “So good for me, sweetheart,” he groaned in her ear. “Give me those pretty little noises, baby, c’mon. Wanna hear you say my name.”

“Tim,” she moaned desperately. “Oh fuck, Tim, I’m gonna— I’m—”

“That’s it,” he encouraged gently, rubbing her clit faster. “Give it to me, Lea. Cum on my cock, wanna feel it.” When she moaned wordlessly—though his name could probably be deciphered if one tried hard enough—and tightened her legs around his waist, her core clenched down on him, and then a few more swipes to her clit combined with punishing thrusts had her bursting apart at the seams.

He fucked her through her orgasm, his eyes such a bright shade of red they almost glowed. Still, once it had ended, he didn’t stop rubbing at her, instead growling into her neck, “I want another. Gimme another, sweetheart.”

Lea’s pulse was thrumming in her clit already, so it wasn’t exactly a difficult feat to manage. He kissed her neck wetly, murmuring words she couldn’t quite hear into her skin. She couldn’t seem to formulate any speech at all, only capable of desperate, high-pitched keens of, “Ah, ah, ah, unh—” over and over again until his touch sent her over the edge a second time.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he grunted. “So pretty when you fall apart, gonna fill you with my cum, Lea, fill this sweet little pussy up, love you so much, baby, so fuckin’ much, fuckin’ take it—”

She could do nothing but whimper and cling to him, yearning for him to cum inside her, to fill her exactly as he was promising to.

And then he did, release finding him with an almost pained-sounding moan of her name.

Her head was buzzing, her ears were ringing, and the room—the shower, they were still in the shower—was wobbling. So when he panted against her neck for a few minutes before pulling back to kiss her briefly and step away, she nearly collapsed to the marble tiles of the shower floor.

Tim caught her, pulling her close with one arm and reaching to turn the shower off with the other. “‘s okay, baby,” he murmured, pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to her scalp. “Let’s get you back in bed, okay?”

“O— okay,” she mumbled, her voice sounding groggy even to her own ears.

Tim opened the shower door and grabbed a towel that was hanging on the rod and drying her off, having her lean against the wall as he did so.

Was sex always so exhausting, or was it just her? Maybe it was ‘cause she had no experience prior to him.

He hung the towel back up and took her hand again. “Do you want me to carry you, sweetheart?”

“No,” Lea assured him, horrified at the thought even through her exhaustion. “I can walk.”

“Okay,” he agreed, though he sounded a bit reluctant, “I’m gonna be right here, so fall against me if you need to.”

She hummed in acknowledgment as they made their way out of the bathroom and back to bed. He pulled the covers up over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m gonna go make you some food, okay?”

“Mmkay,” she mumbled.

And then she was dead to the world.

Tim’s sweet, gentle voice eased her into wakefulness.

“Lea, sweetheart,” he said, a hand on her shoulder.

“Mmf,” she grunted into the pillow.

“I brought you some food,” he told her. “An omelet with hashbrowns and bacon. Extra crispy, just how you like it.”

The guy knew her well, he really did. But she was so tired.

“You’ll feel much better after you eat,” he promised. “Cmon, baby. Will you sit up for me?”

She groaned, pushing herself up onto her palms. “There you go, sweetheart,” Tim encouraged. “God, you’re so cute when you’re tired.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t be this tired,” she grumbled in annoyance, tucking the blankets under her arms so her chest was covered. “I just woke up a little while ago.”

Tim blushed, settling the tray of food in her lap. “It’s, uh… it’s an incubus thing. You’re tired because I’ve consumed your energy. I’m sorry. I’d avoid it if I could.”

“Oh,” Lea said with a hum, picking up her knife and fork. “It’s okay. If the consequence of you not starving is me being tired, I don’t mind.”

“You’re a fuckin’ saint,” he muttered, sitting down on the bed next to her.

She let out an inelegant snort. “You make me tired and then provide me with food. Not gonna complain about it.”

“I absolutely do not deserve you.”

Lea glanced up at him from her meal. “You literally brought me breakfast in bed.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Don’t care,” she cut him off. “You’re being sweet. No complaints.” She smiled softly at him in reassurance.

He took her hand, holding it tightly in his. “Okay.”

He didn’t let go of her hand the entire time she was eating.

No, really. She really hadn’t meant to stay so long. She’d ended up staying for a month and a half, though. But in her defense, Tim was really sexy, and he was being so wonderful to her, and she loved him so much.

It was hard to reconcile with the fact that all of it was temporary, that she’d have to return to her boring, shoebox apartment and her day job.

And then she missed her period.

But it was nothing to worry about, right? There was no reason for her to be concerned. She was on birth control, had been for years. She’d missed periods before, usually when she was stressed. It was probably the next semester looming over her head.

Tim was ordering some delivery from the grocery store—he rarely went out for such things himself; a privacy concern, he’d said—and asked her if she needed anything.

He knew what sort of food she liked, so that wasn’t a concern. However, even if her period was late, she’d definitely be getting it soon.

“Uh, yeah,” she told him when he asked what she needed. “Some tampons, I think.” She paused. “And some Midol. And a heating pad.”

He blinked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Uh… okay, but why?”

She looked at him skeptically. “Why do you think? I’m about to get my period. It’s a little late, so it should be coming any day now.”

He frowned outright at that. “Um, Lea. There’s a reason your period is late.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, hunting through the drawer in his closet he’d temporarily dedicated to her clothes for a fresh pair of panties. “Stress about school, most likely.”

“No,” he said slowly. “It likely won’t be coming at all.”

She paused, turning around to face him. “Why not?”

“Because… because you’re almost certainly pregnant.”

Tag list

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the-house-of-rose-and-ember · 1 year

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TopGun Soulmate AU

Fates aligned with the help of an M-16

Chapter 1 A little bit of backstory

This is the story of how my whole world got turned upside down. And things happened that I never thought would happen. Anyway, My name is Kaley Leroy-Jethro Gibbs. But most people just call me K for LJ, except my dad who calls me his Sunflower. My mom and my twin sister were killed in a car accident when I was 9. And I got severely injured and was in a coma for 6 months. All of this happen while my dad was overseas fighting in a ‘Desert Storm’. You see my dad is a sniper for the Marines, well Technically after everything that happened with my mom, Kelly my twin, and myself he was honorably discharged, but Once a Marine Always a Marine. But will get into that later. Anyway after my dad got back we moved to Norfolk, Virginia, he became an N.C.I.S (Naval Criminal Investigative Services) agent which was just now getting started it wasn’t that big of a federal organization yet but it was still the best thing he could have ever asked for.

About 6 months after we moved to Norfolk I started 4th Grade which was normal for me I guess I mean I grew up moving from base to base so that means changing schools a lot but it was weird this time back because I didn’t have my twin there anymore. talk about a hard change. Anyway long story short I made 2 new friends that day that would later turn into my best friends. Natasha Trace and Callie Bassett, or as my dad and I loved to call them FireBird, and Angel, or as the U.S. Navy calls them ‘Phoenix’ and ‘Halo’. Know there are both Navel Aviators and I’m an N.C.I.S agent like my dad. I work on my dad’s team alongside agents Tony DiNozzo, Timothy ‘Tim’ Mcgee, and Ziva David our team’s M.E. Donald 'Ducky’ Mallard, and his assistant Jimmy Plamer, and our Forensic Scientist Abigail 'Abby’ Sciuto, my dads the leader of the crazy little team that is really more like a family. Who totally put the fun in dysfunctional. Then there’s the director and my dad’s boss Leon Vance who I see more as a grandpa than I do a boss which is why most of the time I just call him Pops. At first, he wasn’t a big fan of my chosen term of endearment but he has grown to love it.

In my world when you turn 16 the name of your soulmate appears somewhere on your body. Most people only get one, But some get two. Which is rare but still more common than most might think. Then there are the unbelievably rare three names which means three soulmates. Most of my family or the people in my life that I consider my chosen family. Have one but there are a few who have 2 and they have already met them. Which is amazing and I’m extremely happy for them. But for someone like me who has three and still hasn’t might any of them it kind of hard to see everyone who is important to me be happy. When I can’t seem to find my happily ever after.

When my names appeared as well as my two best friends we all agreed to not tell each other who they were until we found them. Why, I can’t remember then we had a reason it’s just been so long we can’t remember it. My dads was my mom even throw he has been married three more times since the accident none of them worked out. Zivas is Tony they refused to admit it for a while but there still each other forever. Tim, Abby, and Jimmy haven’t found there’s yet. Ducky sadly doesn’t have one but is still unbelievably happy he’s our Ducky. Now Nat and Callie both have two they meet both of there’s when they went to the academy. Nat’s are both Navel Aviators Reuben 'Payback’ Fitch and Mickey 'Fanboy’ Garcia. Callie’s are both also Navel Aviators Billy 'Fritz’ Avalone, and Neil 'Omaha’ Vikander. I have never met any of them but I have heard a lot about them. Between phone calls, Facetime, Emails, and plain old handwritten letters. The three of us stay pretty much in constant contact. Or at least we try to when they are serving on carriers in the middle of some ocean it gets a little bit harder. But we try our best.

Anyway like I said, I’ve got three Soulmates one name on each collar bone Bradley 'Rooster’ Bradshaw, Robert 'Bob’ Floyd, and one on the front of my left hip bone Jake 'Hangman’ Seresin. They all showed on the day I turned 16 all three names burned into my skin at the same time. Nat and Callie were surprised I didn’t blackout from the pain, but after the accident, I got a crazy high pain tolerance. My dad was a little taken aback because it meant that one day he was going to have to give his little girl away to three different men, not something any father wants to think about.

Anyway, back to now I’ve just got out of a meeting in Pops office. He came down earlier to tell the team about a case, But told me to stay and that they would handle this one without me. Of course, I was confused but now I couldn’t be happier. Pops read me in on the fact the N.C.I.S was working on putting new offices or more like H.Q.’s along the coastlines of the country. Because they currently only have four one in Norfolk, New Orleans, Los Angeles, And Oahu (Pearl Horbor) Hawai’i. But now they want to start a new team in San Diego working out of the Miramar base home to Top Gun. And Pops wants me to be the team leader which is something I have been wanting and working for my whole life so of course I said yes. Now I just have to figure out how to tell my Dad and the rest of my family that I am moving all the way to the other side of the country to California. I mean after I said yes Pop gave me the specifics and told me congrats but then started to cry saying how much he was going to miss having his first grandbaby around every day. This might be harder than I think.

#top gun maverick #ncis #jake hangman seresin #robert bob floyd #bradley rooster bradshaw

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d-lissa · 11 months

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Liveblogging TMA - Season 2 - MAG 50-53

"For there are things I have seen which I feel deserve a place among your asylum of letters."

Foundations :

... I love Tim. I love him so fucking much. Never change buddy, you are perfect in every ways.

On today's episode, we have a warden, architecture, Robert Smirke and his philosophy as well as his troublesome apprentice.

Somehow, the tunnels under the Archive sounds to me more like George Scotts was the one to make them, rather than Smirke himself, considering the whole walls thing, you know what I mean ?

I actually have very little idea on what all of this could mean though, so I'll have to let the story tell me.

Onto the supplemental, Jonathan is so not discreet that it is funny, Basira is still around with the tapes and Tim thinks his boss is getting laid.

Somehow, I don't think that sex is something that would interest him, but alright.

HIGH PRESSURE :

Oh, fuck me, no, not a diving episode.

... Shit.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Then it moved, slowly but clearly, and I realized how far away it still was, as it got bigger and bigger and bigger, and I could see nothing else, and I screamed."

Okay, that was not ... Too bad. I definitely had worse nighmares about being stuck under water in the twilight zone surrounded by sea creatures so awful they seemed like monsters, and this episode didn't reach any of the graphism I am used to, so it was pretty child. I was more scared by Michael's Stomach episode, really.

More liminal space, this one under water and, most importantly, Simon Fairchild being back and pushing people in situation that would trap them there.

The thing in the darkness made me think of the creature in the poem of "Ex Altiora".

I guess that my theory that this Trevor man, whoever he was, is different from "Simon", who was a con artist. All the better, because I was confused as to why Trevor would get rid of oddity happenings when Simon was actively throwing someone in there in "Freefall", so to know the truth helps put things into perspective.

Was Trevor a hunter, or something ? Him and his associate.

Onto the supplemental, I am guessing that the stranger's powers keep people from doubting them being who they claim they are. ? Otherwise, I genuinely do not think that Jon would just let all of this weird stuff happening without being suspicious, which is ... A problem. Not even seeing the table helped.

Anyway, more information about the stranger from the stranger herself ! She is linked to the table, trapped as it were maybe against her will, but the table doesn't have anything to do with fractals like I had thought, and more with webs, which is ... Concerning, considering the Spiders and their expansion in the tunnels.

Would restricting her access to the table make her weaker, maybe ?

And what is she doing so often at Baker Street ? The only thing I've ever associated with the street was Sherlock Holmes, but I somehow doubt this has anything to do with it.

And a ... Wax Museum ? Is Sasha trapped there ? Did she not get killed then ? Or she did and got waxified ? Does this mean that the stranger turns the people they take the place place of in wax and then just ... Expose them ?

Were Jonathan to decide to have a look inside, would he see Sasha ?

EXCEPTIONAL RISK :

... Holy shit, it's about Robert Montauk from "A Father's Love".

~~~~~~~~~~

"I feel it might be worthwhile getting a few more torches for the Archive."

... Are you sure buddy ? Do you really think it'd do anything ?

Ok, so again, Jon did all my job. I almost regret the times where he was denying everything and just never asking any questions ever, but that's on me.

The Darkness/Lightless Flame/Asag/What-the-fuck-ever back in a brutal way, and so did Maxwell Rayners. I was right before, and Robert WAS keeping the horror away from his family through his murders which is. God. I feel so bad for him.

The presentation of the prison hurt my soul, I just. It makes me sick. Not surprised that the guard ended up being an alcoholic abusive asshole, that environment just breed violence for violence's sake. Power trips are dangerous, and of course when he lost his main fix, he had to find it elsewhere, this time directed at his wife.

Understandable, if absolutely disgusting.

Basira is back and throwing shades left and right. I'm sure Jon is plenty handsome, in a geeky, stern teacher kind of way that'd probably get me giggling, ngl. I can picture him with slightly long hair slicked back very neatly at the beginning of the series but it slowly unravel and become more and more disheveled the more time passes and unhinged he becomes.

Although ... The scars would creep me out. It's just. Holes in the skin. Brrr.

But also, Tim is pulling everyone, so I think it's an unfair comparison. And Martin is adorable, how dare she. I'm sure he'd give great hugs.

Considering just how much Jon is kind of losing it, how much time before he starts breaking and entering in the homes of his assistants ? Oooooh, if he ends up doing that, he should try to go to Gertrude's house, if she had one and if her things didn't get moved, that'd be nice. Maybe she had things hidden there.

CRUSADER :

"Or perhaps… perhaps… it too was once an archivist.""

... Did Gertrude fucking explod the ancient archive ?

Metal. And also kind of crazy, this killed people. But dude, a part of the Alexandria Library though ? Just ... Blown up ? This hurts my soul.

Anyway, more Archive lore and I am kiiiind of losing my mind and crawling my walls and stuff. No big deal. But also, biggest deal because what the FUCK do you mean by that, Gertrude ?? Excuse me ?

I just. I am. Uuuuuurgh.

Ok, so the Archive has been a thing long before the Institute itself, I am guessing. And the "Archivist" has been too for just as long. But why ? And why did the Institute get created then ? Was it created around it, somehow ?

What is the Archivist, and why are the oddities so eager to destroy them ? Did Magnus know about this ? Why is the archive a thing ? And for whom ?

What is watching them, and why ?

Is that the other eye ? The open one, doing the "beholding" thing, compared to the closed one of the cult of Rayners, that plunge everything into darkness and the lightless flame ?

Uuuuurgh. I am. Fine.

I am fine.

Supplemental, Jon is worrying literally everyone around him and Martin seems to think that Jonathan is self harming and trying to keep an eye on him, because that man just cannot tell a lie for the life of him, I guess.

He's a pathetic wet cat of a man and I am in love with him, actually.

The quote of the post will be :

"I really thought that the murderous filth we were looking after were the closest thing this world had to real monsters."

End Liveblogging.

#tma #the magnus archive #liveblogging #liveblog-tma

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Even the Losers

Chapter 12

Chapter 1 Chapter 11

The dining room was only slightly less formal than the entry way. It was decorated in deep tones and dark wood meant to evoke grandeur and pageantry. It still spoke of old money and cold families. There was no evidence of laughter over inside jokes, gasping at stories about someone’s day, discussions of dreams, or fatherly advice doled out over a lovingly cooked dinner that everyone worked on together.

Marinette held back as everyone made their way into the dining room, letting them claim their usual seats, prepared to take whatever seat was left. She was hoping to cause as little upset and disturbance as possible. Her plan was foiled when Duke jumped up from his seat and moved down one spot. “Hey, Marinette. Take this seat.”

Marinette opened her mouth to object but stopped when Jason put his hand on her back to guide her to the seat. “Lost cause. Don’t even bother,” he muttered low enough for her to hear. Marinette looked back at him uncertainly but nodded in understanding. She breathed a small sigh of relief when Jason took the other seat next to her.

Dick pouted at the seating, but took the seat across from her instead, grabbing the seat quickly from the right as Tim was just about to drop into it from the left. Tim grumbled something about annoying puppies and took the next seat over, causing Damian to scowl and redirect himself to a different seat. “Damian!” Dick called out to him. He patted the seat next to him.

Damian huffed and sent Marinette a glare as he took his not normal seat beside Dick. He squirmed in the seat. It wasn’t his usual seat and he could feel the difference. It felt off. It felt wrong. He didn’t like it at all. This was not his routine. This was not what he was comfortable with and it was all her fault. They were playing a charade for her. They were making themselves uncomfortable for her.

Marinette watched politely as M. Pennyworth set the plates down in front of everyone. When he was done, he exited quietly. Marinette watched him leave the room as the rest of the family took bites of their food. M. Wayne had called M. Pennyworth a father and Jason had called him a grandfather, but he didn’t eat with them? And addressed them all as Master or Miss? Did none of them know what family was supposed to be? What it was supposed to mean? Because that, wasn’t it. And honestly, if that’s what they thought it was, she had serious concerns about joining their ‘family’.

She looked back to Jason and tried to send him a message with her eyes to ask him about it without having to say it out loud and draw attention to herself. She cleared her throat quietly, hoping it was quiet enough that just Jason would hear but everyone looked at her. She looked at their eyes before returning hers to her plate. “Sorry,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bruce said kindly. His eyes were filled with concern and a touch of worry. He wanted her to eventually feel like this was her home too and if he wanted that to happen, she needed to feel comfortable here. “Did you need anything?”

“No, no, no,” Marinette insisted, shaking her head and sending him a weak smile. “It’s nothing. The dinner looks amazing.”

“If there’s anything you don’t like…” Bruce started.

“No! Of course not,” Marinette exclaimed. “This looks really delicious.” She was waving her hands frantically. It was all going wrong already. She was causing a commotion. From the moment she’d walked into his life, she’d caused nothing but commotion. She was really hoping to break the cycle tonight and get closer to the kids in the family.

Bruce watched her uncertainly, but nodded. “Because if you want anything else, we have a huge kitchen and pantry,” Bruce tried to assure her.

Marinette’s eyes grew even bigger and her movements more frantic. “Jesus, B. Lay off her. She already said she was fine,” Jason grumbled. “You’re going to give her a complex.”

Somehow, Marinette’s eyes got wider and her face went slack. “No, no. It’s fine.” She turned to Bruce with a desperate look. “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Marinette,” Bruce stated with a touch of exasperation. He didn’t know what he had to do to get her relax, to get her to believe she wasn’t going to make him not want her. “Just let me know.”

Marinette nodded rapidly. “Of course.” She looked around the room taking note of the pasted on, polite smiles while they took silent bites. She could feel her shoulders curling in on her as the quiet continued.

“How was your day today?” Bruce prompted Marinette after the first few bites in uncomfortable silence.

She nearly dropped her fork in surprise. “Oh, it was pretty good,” she answered with a polite smile. And oh God, this was the most awkward thing she had ever done. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a breath. It wasn’t going to change unless she did something to change it. “I’m glad you had a meeting this morning so we missed out on the Penguin. I mean sorry about the meeting, but I think it worked out for the best.”

She fought the urge to openly examine the people around the table. They had all frozen at her mention of the Penguin, but all seemed to be trying to pretend like they hadn’t. Their smiles became forced. She wasn’t sure if it brought back bad memories or scared them how close M. Wayne had been to getting taken by the Penguin. If they had stuck to their original plan, he could have been able to take him.

Bruce chuckled politely, tightly. “Definitely a better result. I would still like to go to the art museum with you though.”

“Do you have room for someone else?” Dick asked perking up. “I’d like to get in on that. Cass?” He looked over to Cass to see how she felt. When she nodded excitedly he looked over to Damian. “Damian would love to go to, right Damian?” Damian leaned back in his chair and focused on the food, refusing to look at Dick. “Damian’s in,” Dick enthused.

Tim snorted but realized his mistake as soon as the sound came out. He looked warily over at Dick who was giving him an overly wide smile. Tim turned to Marinette with an artificial smile. “I’d love to.” Duke shaking his head caught his eyes and he grinned maliciously. “Duke loves the art museum. We can’t go without him too.”

Duke froze and narrowed his eyes at Tim for a fraction of a second before smiling at Marinette. “If you don’t mind the company.”

Marinette looked between them. The only one who seemed to actually be happy about it was Dick. Everyone else seemed like this was the last possible thing they’d ever want to do. She plastered on a smile, unwilling to be the cause of discord in the family. “No. Yeah. That sounds… fun.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re being insincere,” he accused harshly.

“Damian!” Bruce scolded loudly. “That was uncalled for.”

Dick looked at him with disappointment. “Damian. It is not okay to treat a guest… your sister like that,” he added after Bruce finished.

Jason was tense, preparing to step in if Damian said even one more word to Marinette. He knew she already didn’t feel welcome in Bruce’s life, let alone his home. He sure as Hell wasn’t going to let Damian solidify that belief.

Marinette stared at Damian wide eyed. He wasn’t wrong, but she thought everyone kind of understood the reasoning behind it. It wasn’t ideal, but it was expected. Not to mention she wasn’t the only one. She looked around the room and finding varying levels of disappointment, concern for her, and annoyance with Damian. She looked over at Damian trying to gauge his goal.

Roy and Jason had warned her that he would try to intimidate her, likely attack her. And she guessed she should have expected to defend herself. But again, he wasn’t wrong. What he was accusing her of; not being entirely honest, she wasn’t. None of them were. But when she looked in his eyes, it wasn’t hostility she saw, not completely. It was confusion, uncertainty, unease, and yes, a fair amount of hostility. And wasn’t that the issue she was having with them too? That they didn’t seem to be sincere with her? But while she curled in, he lashed out.

“You’re not wrong,” she admitted quietly. The room fell silent again and Damian looked up at her with a confused scowl. She met Damian’s gaze and gave him a small smile. “We’re all being varying levels of insincere. This is an awkward, uncomfortable, scary situation. For all of us, I imagine. Again varying levels of that. Maybe for you and me more than the rest. You’re the baby and I’m…” She let it trail off leaving ‘unwanted’ unsaid, hoping they would fill in the sentence with a more palatable adjective. One she wouldn’t have to discuss with concerned looks and sympathetic smiles.

“You guys don’t want to offend me and I’m trying desperately not to offend you, but we don’t know each other well enough to know how to do that or what we need to do to ease the tension. We’re trying to figure each other out, so nobody gets hurt. You or me.” She knew she was rambling but it was honest, coherent rambling at least. Maybe not completely, but it was the truth. And Damian was right. They weren’t being themselves and they weren’t going to get to know each other until they were.

“I don’t want to expose too much and scare you away or give you the ammunition to really hurt me, if that’s what you’re going to do. And I imagine you guys are afraid of driving me away by saying the wrong thing. And how do you know what the wrong thing is until you know someone? So we’re all on edge. Not ourselves. We don’t feel safe to be ourselves yet. And how can you be sincere when you’re not yourself?”

Cass smiled warmly at her and nodded in agreement. Jason wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Except me. She’s herself around me, so suck it.” He stuck his tongue out at the rest of the family, like the mature, tough, dangerous, vigilante he was.

“Oh my God, Jason.” Marinette shook her head and dropped it in her hands. “That’s because I was drunk off my ass and didn’t have the ability to pretend when we met.”

“That’s French for ‘because you’re the best’,” Jason assured them with a completely straight face.

“It definitely isn’t,” Dick rolled his eyes, but his lips were turned up in a smile. “If you want to talk about him behind his back in front of his face in French, let me know,” Dick winked at her. “I haven’t gotten to practice my French in a while.”

“It sounds like Jason took advantage of you in a weakened state. Terrible brother behavior,” Tim insisted. He shook his head in mock disappointment. “You deserve better.”

“Who? You?” Jason squawked, affronted at the suggestion.

“I was going to say Duke, but if I’m the first one that comes to mind when you think of best brother, I mean, I’m not going to argue,” Tim shrugged with a smirk.

“You say Jason is always wrong and you’re always right, so…” Duke added with a grin. He turned to Marinette. “Sounds like you and me are going to form an alliance. New Kids Club.” He turned his head slightly when Cass made a noise. “And Cass.” He smiled when Marinette giggled.

“Let’s not form alliances and cliques or hog Marinette, please?” Bruce asked, the resignation clear in his voice but affection clear in his eyes.

Marinette nodded and turned serious. “Absolutely. I will not form any kind of pact with Duke and Cass over lunch next week?” She looked between the two of them for confirmation. Duke and Cass nodded back at her and Marinette grinned. “Monday?”

“Hey!” Dick objected.

Jason gasped at her and dropped his arm from around her shoulder. “This feels like a betrayal. I’m betrayed.” He shook his head and took a bite of food. “You’ll fit right in.”

Duke shook his head. “Can’t Monday. I have a poetry thing.”

Marinette’s eyes brightened. “Are you presenting or watching?”

Duke looked down shyly and rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t even told the rest of the family about it. It didn’t occur to him that they would be interested. “Presenting actually.”

“Would you mind if I came too? Or do you not like people you know being there?”

Duke shrugged. “No, I don’t mind, but…” he cringed slightly, “it isn’t in the best part of town. It’s kind of dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, I can protect you,” Marinette winked at him. She ignored Damian’s scoff and Bruce’s choke.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll go too. I’ve never heard the kid read.”

“I’d like to come too,” Dick looked at them hopefully, “if you don’t mind.”

Duke made a noise that sounded like some combination of happy and resigned and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“You okay with Adrien and Max coming too?” Marinette asked.

“Yeah, bring them. It’ll be nice to meet them.” He waved off her concern. “Okay, that’s fun and all but we still need to decide when to not meet for the New Kids Club. And I’m not putting that in my nonexistent calendar for,” Duke looked up questioningly, “Thursday lunch?”

Marinette looked over to Cass who nodded excitedly at her. Marinette smiled back at her and Duke. “Sounds good.” She pulled out her phone and handed it to him. “Want to put your number in so we can coordinate?”

“Absolutely!” He took her unlocked phone and put his number in.

“Can I put my number in too?” Tim asked

“And me!” Dick exclaimed.

“Yeah, of course,” Marinette smiled at both of them. A real smile. Thank God Adrien was right. She kind of liked the kids… even though most weren’t kids and most of them were actually older than her.

“Why don’t you put all our numbers in there, Tim,” Dick suggested.

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “There’s no reason she would need my number.”

Bruce gave him a disappointed look, but Marinette shrugged. “Please, don’t put it in if he isn’t comfortable with it.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. What if she finds a cute animal? How’s she supposed to send you the picture?” Damian scowled but didn’t say more. Tim finished and handed the phone back to Marinette.

Marinette took it back with a thank you and scrolled through her contacts. “Huh… he didn’t put you in,” she assured Damian.

“What?” Tim looked at her confused then looked at her phone again. “Oh, it’s under Demon Spawn.”

Marinette gaped at him. “It’s under what?”

“Dem…”

“Yeah, no,” she cut him off. She pushed a few buttons and looked back at Damian. “Not anymore. It’s gone. You can give me your number when and if you’re ready.” Damian didn’t acknowledge her, but he did nod curtly at his plate and Marinette was taking that as a win.

She tucked her phone away and looked around the room. “Okay, so, Duke does poetry, I heard Damian does art, and I heard Dick likes to swing, what does everyone else like to do?” Marinette asked with a bright smile.

Jason and Tim burst out laughing. “Your reputation proceeds you, Lover Boy,” Jason managed to get out between gasps.

Marinette frowned and looked between them in confusion. “Did I say something wrong?”

Dick smiled warmly at her. He kept his eye contact with her as he threw a roll at Jason’s head. “Ignore them. Their minds are in the gutter. For clarification, I like gymnastics. I was a trapeze artist in a Haley’s Circus when I was a kid.”

“Oh that sounds fun!” Marinette almost squealed in excitement. “You must have loved flying through the air. That was always the best feeling.”

“It was. I loved it. The freedom of soaring before gravity took over was amazing,” Dick nodded in agreement. His eyes took on a distant look as he talked about it and a smile curled on his lips. “Did you do trapeze work in Paris?” Marinette froze momentarily. “You mentioned you liked the feeling. Is that how you know it?” he prompted gently.

“Oh… um… no.” She looked down at the napkin on her lap for a second, pretending to readjust it. “I was friends with a few of our local heroes. One of them, Ladybug swung around the city on a yoyo that worked kind of like a magic rope. That feeling of swinging up and breaking gravity was always heart racing. And the feeling of falling until the string caught.” She looked away with a smile. “Yeah, I understand what you’re talking about.”

“We have a trapeze in the manor. Did you want to try it out sometime?” Dick asked excitedly.

Marinette grinned. “That sounds like fun. I’d love to.”

“How about tomorrow?”

Marinette blinked. The Waynes definitely moved fast. There was no time to breathe. Just moving from one thing directly into the next. She needed time to think, time to process that they apparently didn’t require. “I can’t. Sorry.” Dick’s face fell immediately. If she didn’t have a legitimate excuse, she’d feel guilty. “I’ll be in New York tomorrow for business and I’m meeting with Lucius Friday.”

“Saturday then,” Dick offered. Marinette smiled and nodded causing Dick to almost vibrate in his seat. None of the other siblings ever wanted to go on the trapeze with him and he was beyond excited to connect with Marinette.

“Did they take you around often?” Bruce asked with forced calmness. “The heroes,” he explained when she scrunched her face in confusion. “You said they took you around often enough for you to know what it felt like… where Hawkmoth could see.” Spending time with civilians in suit was dangerous, incredibly so, even more so doing it in full view of the public. Something like that could have resulted in Marinette getting targeted. It was irresponsible and negligent. He should have never trusted the Parisian heroes or Diana that the heroes could handle Paris without him.

“No,” Marinette said as nonchalantly as she could manage, trying to pretend like she didn’t notice the tightness in his voice. “They rescued me a few times and once things were resolved they would sometimes take people who had gotten caught up in the attacks for short rides like that to bring up morality. To make them feel better. It wasn’t unusual or noteworthy, just a public service.”

Bruce relaxed minutely, but the tension in his frame was still clear. Marinette watched him carefully, trying to gauge if she’d used the right words to calm him. She could feel her body tensing at exponential rates the longer he was silent, the longer it took him to relax or smile. Marinette looked down at her plate and pushed her food around with tight lips.

“I like unsolved mysteries,” Tim threw in. Eyes around the table turned to him, most of them incredulous and tense that he would take the conversation there. She heard a whispered “Dude,” from somewhere around the table.

Marinette let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding and started laughing. The eyes that had been on Tim turned to her, making her laugh even harder at the awkwardness of it until another voice joined hers in laughter, followed by another, until most of the table was at least chuckling.

“My best friend gets into that too,” Marinette nodded with a grateful smile. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him. “Do you end up in all night benders following the trail of a mystery down incalculable rabbit holes until you get crazed and someone has to come and force you to sleep too?”

Tim looked shocked and slowly looked around the room before returning his gaze to Marinette. “No,” he said tentatively.

“Yes,” Cass, Dick, Jason, Duke, and Bruce all chorused at the same time.

“Oooohhh, remind me some time to talk about the Impossible Murder,” Marinette offered. Her eyes lit up with excitement. Unsolved mysteries and conspiracy theories she could do. This was her comfort zone. Not that she got into it, but years with Alya had taught her the rhythm of inquiry and questions. She took comfort in that rhythm. It was something familiar she could lean into.

“Yes!” Tim exclaimed, an inquisitive glint in his eyes.

“No,” Cass, Dick, Jason, Duke, and Bruce all chorused at the same time.

Marinette giggled and winked at Tim. “We’ll talk later,” she stage whispered to him. She grinned at the groans she heard around the table.

Tim turned to Duke and stuck his tongue out at him. “Sounds like we get our own club, just for Marinette and me. The Investigator’s Club.”

Jason scoffed and took a bite. “Like I’d want to be part of a club with that name.”

Cass cleared her throat lightly, drawing some attention to her. “And Cass,” Tim amended. Cass nodded happily.

“How about you, Cass?”

“Ballet,” Cass answered with a smile.

“Oh, I wish I could do ballet. Are you in a class or do you do it on your own? Or are you a professional?” Marinette asked trying to keep her voice from getting too excited or invested. Bruce had mentioned she didn’t talk a lot and Marinette didn’t want to pressure her to talk if she didn’t want to, but she also didn’t want to make her feel like she was ignoring her.

“Fun.”

Marinette nodded. “I bet it’s a nice way to relax.”

“Not as good as shooting guns though,” Jason grinned. “Or blowing things up.”

Bruce sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. “Jason…” he started, not even bothering to try to finish the sentence.

Marinette blinked a few times then nodded. “Uh huh. I like sewing,” she responded dryly. Jason laughed and shook his head at her. He took a bite of his food and looked back at her appraisingly, a happy glint in his eye.

“Right, B mentioned you’re a designer. Just graduated right?” Dick prompted.

“Yes. My final project was a few weeks ago. Now I’m figuring out my next steps.”

“Is that related to your trip to New York?” Duke asked.

Marinette nodded and swallowed the bite she’d just taken. “I’m meeting a few friends and someone at Style Queen to talk about styling a shoot. And Adrien has a job interview.” She took a quick bite of her dinner before continuing. “We’re also trying to get a feel for New York, see if that’s somewhere we would want to move.”

“Wow, Style Queen is really big!” Duke nodded. “That’s awesome!”

Marinette smiled at him. “Getting on her good side is definitely good for your career. Luckily, I’ve been able to impress her over the years.”

“Along those lines,” Bruce cut in, “I’ve commissioned her to create clothes for us. We were planning on her coming over to start on Tuesday, so I expect everyone to be here for it.”

Dick beamed at her but Damian grunted loud enough for everyone to hear. He had absolutely no interest in wearing something purely because ‘his sister’ designed it. He had a style and level of craft he required in the clothes he wore and he was not about to sit or stand around uncomfortably all day long purely out of some misplaced obligation.

He narrowed his eyes at Marinette. It still didn’t make sense. Why would she have come to Gotham if she was looking to break into fashion? She had to have had an ulterior motive. “So you just happened to consider Gotham as a place to reconsider?”

Marinette cocked her head to the side. “No…” she scrunched her face in a bit of confusion. “I never even considered it. Gotham was a side trip. I had no intention of staying past earlier this week. But things… changed,” she looked around sheepishly before looking back at him. “I was considering New York or Metropolis in America. Also Shanghai, I have family there; London, Adrien has family there; Milan, my… grandmother grew up there.”

“Is Adrien your boyfriend?” Tim asked.

“No. My... brother,” her voice petered out as she called the word and she looked down guiltily.

“Will he be part of your business?” Bruce asked, pretending like he hadn’t registered her discomfort, hoping that if they moved past it, she would too.

“Yes. No. Maybe.” Marinette grimaced as she went through all the options. She shrugged. “Whatever he wants. He wasn’t allowed to make choices growing up so now that his father,” she spit the word out with disgust, “is gone, I’m going to let him decide his next move. He wants to help, but he’s looking for a teaching job. He’s thinking of doing both for a while. I’m hoping I can convince him it’ll be okay for him to focus on him. It isn’t ‘abandoning’ me if he does.

“But, that's what's taking so long. I can work from almost anywhere. I’d prefer to be near a big city, but really, it isn’t necessary. It’s harder to find a place he'd like to teach and we want to live.”

“If he isn't part of your business...” Dick started, trying to figure out her motivation.

“We come as a set,” she said definitively and took a bite, staring him down as if daring him to challenge her. “He’s my emotional support grimalkin.”

“Will your future romantic partner, if you want one, be okay with that?” Damian demanded.

Marinette shrugged. She could feel Jason tensing next to her at Damian’s tone, but she wasn’t too bothered by it. “They will be or they won't be.”

“Those are the options, yes,” Damian deadpanned.

“Demon Spawn…” Jason hissed.

“I meant,” Marinette cut in before Jason could continue the fight he wanted to start, “they will be okay with it or they won't be my romantic partner. Adrien and I have been through a lot. We feel safest when the other is near, at least close enough to come running if there’s a problem. If someone can’t understand that about me, then I don’t need them in my life.”

Bruce nodded and gave her an understanding smile. “We should invite him next time.”

Marinette nodded in agreement. “He’d love that. He’s dying to meet you all.”

Bruce took another bite before coming up with an idea. “If he’s thinking of being part of your business anyway, why don’t you bring him with you when you do the commission? We can have a family dinner afterword.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll check with him,” Marinette nodded. “And apparently, as long as he doesn’t talk about pineapples with you guys,” she gave Jason a pointed look, “it should be fine.”

Tim groaned. “No. No! I’m not having this conversation again.” He glared at Dick. “Pineapple is the most disgusting topping to put on a pizza.”

Dick gasped dramatically. “You take that back!”

“It’s worse than sardines,” Tim hissed. “It’s an abomination. It’s an insult to pizzas.”

“How dare you! Pineapple is amazing. It adds a sweetness that perfectly contrasts the saltiness you get from other ingredients!” Dick defended.

Marinette blinked a few times as Dick continued to sing the praises of pineapple on pizza before she leaned over and whispered to Jason. “You weren’t joking.”

“Nope,” he said popping the p. “Told you it always finds a way to come up.”

“It came up because you mentioned it,” Marinette deadpanned. “Literally you’re the reason it came up.”

He shook his head as if he didn’t hear her. “It always finds a way. It’s like sorcery.”

Chapter 13

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@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8 @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone @ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn @loysydark

#maribat #bio!dad bruce #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt - siblings #It's canon that dick loves pineapple on pizza and tim does not

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

in the reciprocal

Words: 8.3k

Relationships: Jon & Martin (QPR)

Tags: Season 1, Scottish Safehouse, Light Angst, Queerplatonic Relationships, Gray-Aro Martin, Kiss-Averse Jon, Kiss-Averse Martin

Warnings: internalized arophobia, mild external arophobia, mild internalized homophobia, canon-typical Lonely depression and dissociation, teasing someone about a crush (in a friendly manner), mention of canon character death, Martin briefly pretending like he still has romantic feelings for Jon and participating in a romantic relationship that makes him uncomfortable (this is addressed and resolved)

Ao3 link in source

Martin’s relationship with romance has always been … complicated.

He has distinct memories of his early teenage years, when the major topic of conversation had shifted abruptly to who had a crush on who and who had kissed who after school and who had asked who on a date. Martin had never really participated in those conversations, though that could be owed more to the fact that he didn’t have many friends than that he wasn’t interested.

Because Martin was interested. The idea of romance had always intrigued him—a fairy-tale thing where there was somebody who would choose you and love you and never let you be alone ever again—and he wanted, more badly than he knew what to do with sometimes, to be in love.

The world, as Martin quickly learned, was not a fairy tale. No matter how much Martin tried to pretend otherwise. In fairy tales, when people got sick, they eventually got better. In fairy tales, parents always loved their children and showered them with affection. (Or were villainous and cruel, locking their children away in towers and treating them like objects to be discarded. Though Martin was never fond of those stories.) And in fairy tales, love was always easy. It wasn’t something that had to be learned or forced. It was instead like breathing—nearly effortless unless you thought about it too much—and, like breathing, it was something that everyone did.

So Martin couldn’t understand why he was so bad at it.

Just before he’d dropped out of school to work full time after his mother couldn’t anymore, he’d been asked on the first and only date of his entire life. Nino had been his friend for nearly a year and a half, and Martin loved spending time with him more than he loved most things in his life back then. School was growing more difficult as Martin had to take on a second part-time job, his mother was growing sicker and shorter with her temper, and he was quickly coming to the realization that he was … different.

After all, he’d never once felt the same kind of affection toward the girls whose names he attempted to doodle in the corners of his notebooks as he felt toward Nino.

Coming to terms with the fact that his first real crush was on his very lovely, very male best friend was … hard. But one day, Nino had bumped his shoulder against Martin’s as they sat in the library and had said something funny that Martin has long since forgotten, and he’d found himself smiling widely. His heart was a stuttering mess in his chest, his stomach twisted up into knots, and … things hadn’t been so bad, then.

Loving Nino had felt safe. Looking back, Martin is sure that Nino had been able to read all of Martin’s stutters and flushed cheeks and clumsy attempts at affection for what they were, but at the time, it had felt like a private indulgence. Just another way for Martin to spend time with the boy who was gradually becoming the most important person in his life. (Behind his mother, that is. She would always come first.)

What was funny about the whole situation, in a way that was actually not very funny at all, was that Martin was even considering asking Nino out. He liked to fantasize about what it would be like—creating clumsy scenarios in his mind where he would slip a note into Nino’s backpack before they parted ways or blurt it out on their way to the tube or whisper it quietly under his breath in the library so that nobody else could hear it but them. He imagined what it would be like if Nino said yes, his face lighting up with a smile and his hand reaching for Martin’s.

He tried to imagine what would happen after that—the date, the kissing (which he could never quite picture without grimacing and pushing the image quickly away), the hand-holding, the…

Well. He actually wasn’t quite sure what was meant to come after.

(Like breathing. It was supposed to be like breathing.)

It was funny, except it wasn’t. Because when Nino pulled Martin aside on their way home one day, face flushed slightly darker than normal, and hesitantly asked if Martin would like to go to a movie with him in a way that was very clearly meant to be a date, Martin expected to feel happy. He expected to feel relieved, that he hadn’t had to muster up the courage to ask Nino himself, or nervous, that he was finally going to be pursuing a romantic relationship with the boy he cared so much about.

Instead, he felt … stiff. Uncomfortable, like his skin was suddenly just a bit too tight. He felt the sudden urge to hide, or maybe to run, or to vanish into thin air so he didn’t have to be standing here anymore, now desperately trying to avoid the eyes of the boy who had just bared such a vulnerable part of himself to Martin.

Confused, Martin tried to look within himself for that warm, stammering affection that had been there a minute ago and found it transformed into something awkward and tense and devoid of all desire for romance. But that didn’t make any sense, he thought as he stared blankly at Nino, who was becoming increasingly nervous, shifting from foot to foot as his mouth pinched into a thin, anxious line. He remembered liking Nino. He remembered the fantasies, remembered coming up with a thousand scenarios just like this one, remembered stammering and stuttering and wanting so badly to take Nino’s hand in his own.

It was like remembering a story he’d been told. Just a fairy tale.

“You … can just say no,” Nino said finally, and Martin felt a curl of guilt in his stomach at the clear upset in Nino’s eyes. “If you have to think this long, it’s … probably not a yes. Is it.”

Yes, Martin tried to say. It’s a yes—of course it’s a yes, I’m just … surprised. Maybe things would make more sense if they actually went on a date. Maybe Martin would just … sort himself out. He was just surprised, or maybe in shock.

He loved Nino. He did; he knew he did. He just … had to figure out how to bring it back.

He didn’t get the chance. (Though, thinking back on it now, Martin knows that even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t have worked.) Nino pulled back slightly, hands going to the straps of his backpack self-consciously. “Right,” he said, sounding terribly embarrassed, and Martin felt himself mirroring the emotion. “S-sorry, I … I guess I was reading things wrong. I—I thought that you … never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Nino forced a smile then, and it lacked all the bright and shining things that Martin liked about it. “S-suppose I’ll … see you in school tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin managed to say. And then Nino was gone, and Martin walked home alone.

He dropped out a few months later. Nino said that he would call, but Martin has always been good at lying and even better at telling when somebody else is doing so. And Nino hadn’t been putting much effort into it.

That was … probably for the best. At least Martin didn’t have to feel that dizzying, sickening sensation of guilt and awkwardness every time he looked at Nino anymore.

So, there it was. The world was nothing like a fairy tale. His mother only ever got sicker, her affection for him only ever grew more a thing of the past, and love was…

Well, love clearly wasn’t for him.

That didn’t stop him from falling hopelessly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with Jonathan Sims.

Martin, as a rule, makes a habit of not talking about his love life. For one, because there is a distinct lack of it (a fact that he much prefers but doesn’t generally feel like explaining in detail). And for two, because Martin just knew it would turn into something like this.

Martin places his head in his hands to hide the flaming red of his cheeks. “Can we not talk about it?”

“I think we’re actually obligated to talk about it now,” Tim says with what Martin is absolutely certain is a cheeky grin. “Given that you’ve just admitted that your not-so-mysterious crush is Jonathan Sims.” He drops his voice to an exaggerated conspiratorial murmur. “Is he the one you’ve been writing poetry about then?”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Martin mumbles into the very clammy palms of his hand.

Tim, fortunately, drops the poetry topic. He unfortunately does not drop the crush topic. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “You’ve got good taste. The whole … sweater vest, ‘disgruntled professor’ vibe is attractive, and he’s funny, you know? In his own way.”

Martin lifts his head from his hands and gives Tim an exasperated look that he hopes screams can we please stop talking about this. Tim must misinterpret it as jealousy instead because he holds his hands up in the air placatingly. “Hey, no competition here. We’re just friends, and I’m not really interested in dating anyone at the moment.” A pause. “Though, I suppose if Jon asked, I wouldn’t say—you know what, that’s not helpful.”

“He is pretty hot,” Sasha pipes in from her spot on the break room couch. “I definitely get where you’re coming from.” Then, after Martin turns that same exasperated look onto her: “Just trying to show our support for the cause, Martin.”

“Yeah, well—don’t.” Martin stands, maybe a little bit too abruptly, and crosses the room to where the kettle sits on the counter. He fills it in the sink and then clicks it on, the blue light reflecting off the countertop and faintly illuminating his hands.

“Hey,” Tim says, leaning against the counter next to him and giving him a surprisingly serious look. “I’m sorry. If talking about this makes you uncomfortable, we’ll drop it.” He mimes zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key. “No questions asked.”

“I’m pretty sure talking afterward negates the ‘zipping your lips shut’ thing,” Martin says, which earns him an amused huff of laughter and a gentle elbow in the side. He finds himself smiling, if only briefly before it falls from his lips once again. “And it’s … fine. I’m not upset. It’s just…” He hesitates, considering, and settles on a suitably vague, “It’s complicated.”

Tim makes a noise of understanding. “Say no more, Marto. Consider the subject dropped.”

“Thank you.”

There are a few moments of silence between them, filled only with the gentle hum of the kettle. Martin reaches for the mugs, and as he pulls four from the cabinet, Tim says abruptly, “So wait—is that why you always bring him tea?”

Martin nearly drops the mugs. “Tim.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tim grimaces at him sheepishly. “I’m dropping it.”

Martin nods and pulls the box of tea from the cupboard. As he gets the mugs ready, however, he can feel Tim’s eyes on him, heavy and curious. Finally, it gets to be too much, and Martin sets the box down with a sigh. “I bring him tea because he never leaves his office and at least this way he’s hydrated. If you absolutely must know.”

“Caffeine is a diuretic, you know,” Sasha says from where she’s still sitting on the couch.

“Yes,” Martin says tersely, grabbing the kettle as it clicks off, “but it’s better than nothing.”

The tea isn’t related to the crush. It really isn’t. But Martin knows that the more he tries to make excuses, the more it’ll seem like he’s deflecting, which will just be counterproductive. So he prepares the tea and passes Tim and Sasha’s mugs to them. Then, fully aware that Tim and Sasha are watching, he grabs Jon’s mug and makes his way to his office.

He doesn’t knock. He found out his first week here that Jon doesn’t like it when people knock and prefers them to verbally announce themselves instead. It wasn’t because Jon had told him; Martin gets the feeling that Jon is too stubborn to admit to that sort of weakness in front of him. It was because of the subtle tension in Jon’s shoulders every time Martin opened the door after rapping three times on the doorframe; the way his voice sounded ever so slightly pinched when he asked what Martin wanted.

So Martin says, just loud enough to penetrate the thick oak door, that he’s coming in, and then, after a moment, he opens it.

Jon is sitting at his desk, mountains of papers and files stacked on either side of him. His laptop is open in front of him, and he’s currently focused intently on something on the screen, the harsh white light of the LCDs reflecting off his glasses. He doesn’t seem to notice when the door opens, but when Martin takes a few steps closer and gently clears his throat, he looks up from the screen, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the dimness of his office.

“Ah,” Jon says, his gaze landing on the mug. “Right. You can…” He looks at the disastrously cluttered surface of his desk and, after some consideration, pushes a stack of papers to the side to make a mug-sized gap in the mess. “You can place it there.”

Martin does. He doesn’t mean to linger afterward. Even though things are ... better between them now that Martin is staying in the Archives and Jon seems to have softened slightly toward him, they’re not quite at the ‘hold a casual conversation’ stage of their relationship yet. Still, Martin finds himself standing in front of Jon’s desk long enough for Jon to glance back up from his computer, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Did you … need something else from me?” he says, sounding more confused than annoyed.

No, Martin means to say. I’ll be going now.

Instead, he says, “How are you doing?”

Jon stares blankly at Martin, like he doesn’t understand the question. Martin briefly curses his complete lack of a verbal filter at the worst times and purses his lips, telling himself that frantically trying to rescind the statement will only make things worse. “I’m … fine,” Jon says with a hint of incredulity in his voice, like he can’t fathom any reason why Martin would want to inquire after his well-being.

Good, Martin opens his mouth to say. Let me know if you need anything else.

Why he says instead, “I just … noticed that you haven’t been going home lately,” he doesn’t know. He hasn’t had a crush in so long—is this what it was like the last time? God, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?

Jon still looks bewildered, though there is an edge of irritation to his voice when he says, “There is a lot to do here, Martin. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“Right, yeah.” Martin fights the urge to rub his hand along the back of his neck, settling for the inside of his wrist instead. “Just … I know I’ve taken your cot recently, and if you’re not going home at night, I—I would hate to feel like I’m making you sleep at your desk.”

“You are not making me do anything. I can make my own choices.” Jon purses his lips for a moment before saying, more gently, “Besides, you … have more need of the cot than me at the moment.”

Martin can’t help the little shudder that goes through him at the reminder of why, exactly, he is in need of the cot. “Yeah,” he concedes. Then, because it’s only been a week or so and he still feels like he hasn’t said it enough: “Thank you again, for … for letting me stay here.”

Jon’s expression softens into something almost sympathetic, just for a moment, before growing closed-off and shuttered once again. Martin’s traitorous heart thuds in his chest at the sight, just like it had when Jon had listened to his story impassively and then matter-of-factly offered him the cot like it was the only logical thing to do.

(He hadn’t understood why he’d reacted like that—pounding heart, sweaty palms, cottony mouth—until that night, staring at the dark, cracked ceiling of the Archives and running Jon’s words over and over again in his mind. But it wasn’t surprising, was it? Of course Martin would find himself attached to his prickly, no-nonsense boss who kind of hated him the first moment he showed him an ounce of kindness.)

“It’s … really no problem at all,” Jon says, sounding a bit stiff in a way that’s hopelessly endearing, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with Martin’s gratitude. Then, even more stiffly: “You’re … doing all right?”

The tentative concern in Jon’s voice is enough to bring a flush to the tips of Martin’s cheeks that he desperately hopes can’t be seen in the low light of Jon’s office. “Y-yeah. As well as I can be, I—I suppose.”

“Well,” Jon says in a businesslike voice, like he’s delivering a report, “if you need any further accommodations, please let me know. Given that this was a workplace incident and you were investigating the Vittery building on my request, the Institute and I are responsible for ensuring that you remain safe while you’re … displaced from your previous home.”

Martin has always been good at reading people. And for all that Jon wears various masks of professionalism and skepticism and authority, he’s still surprisingly easy to read. It’s easy to control an expression, to control a tone of voice, but Jon’s eyes are always so much more emotive than he probably means them to be. Right now, they’re flitting around the room, from Martin to the floor to his desk to the floor again, like they’re afraid to settle on one place for too long.

It’s easy to identify the emotion as guilt. It takes Martin a few more moments to place what, exactly, Jon is guilty for.

“It’s … not your fault, you know,” Martin says slowly. “What happened with Prentiss. You’re not … responsible for it.”

Martin expects Jon to brush him off—to tell him that he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t expect him to say, with a voice that leaves no room for argument, “I am not responsible for Jane Prentiss’ presence in the Vittery building, yes, nor for the fact that she followed you home. But I would be remiss not to acknowledge that you encountered her while following up on a statement, per my request, and that I … was not as cautious as I should have been with regards to sending you on dangerous assignments.” Jon’s eyes are sheepish now, and a touch concerned. “I will be sure to take the appropriate precautions in the future, as it would be unacceptable for you to be injured or … otherwise hurt whilst performing your duties as an archival assistant.”

It’s not a heartfelt statement by any measure. Really, it’s just common decency, and definitely what should be expected from one’s superior in a line of work that is (apparently) much more dangerous than it appears to be on paper. But Jon’s eyes when they finally turn to Martin are softer than he’s ever seen them, even as his expression remains carefully neutral and professional, and it feels like Jon has just said something profoundly kind.

Martin’s heart has some stuttering, skipping things to say about that particular fact.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently. “Th-thanks.” He considers mentioning again that Jon really isn’t at fault for sending him into a building that, for all Jon knew, contained nothing more than a few very persistent spiders. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds the little scrap of kindness he’s been given close to his chest, stammers something about getting back to work, and leaves Jon’s office before he says something embarrassing like I like it when you care or you have kind eyes or we could share the cot if you stay too late.

Tim wiggles his eyebrows at Martin as he takes a seat back at his desk, and Sasha gives him a much more subtle knowing look. Martin ignores both of them and busies himself with the statement sitting on the corner of his desk, diving back into the formatting he’s been struggling with all morning.

Jon is his boss. Jon doesn’t even really like him, when he’s not feeling guilty for almost getting Martin killed. It’s never going to work between them.

A bit of the tension bleeds out of Martin’s shoulders. His eyes drift back toward the door to Jon’s office—the golden nameplate outside it, embossed with Jon’s name, the frosted window, the old, warped wood—and he feels something light and comfortable settle in his chest.

Jon is prickly and lovely and blunt and awkwardly conscientious and completely unattainable. Jon is never going to look at Martin with affection in his eyes and ask Martin to run away with him to pursue a romantic, fairy-tale ending, and Martin is never going to feel that intense, awful discomfort that seeps into the gaps where the love once was. He can blush and stammer and imagine holding Jon’s hand and kissing the inside of his wrist and tangling his foot with Jon’s underneath a table, and nothing will change.

It’s never going to happen between them. And it’s better that way.

The car ride to Scotland is quiet. Jon keeps sneaking glances at Martin when he thinks Martin isn’t paying attention, as if Martin will vanish if he doesn’t keep a watchful eye on him. It should be irritating, but … maybe he’s right. Martin doesn’t feel fully here yet. He still feels empty and numb, like all of the emotion and life and things that make him him have been cut away, consumed by the salty fog that had filled his lungs and stung his throat as he inhaled.

Peter Lukas is dead. Martin had felt it happen with a sort of empty detachment—the ripples of fog as Peter disintegrated into nothing but mist and static. Jon hasn’t spoken about it since they left the Lonely, but Martin had seen the tension in his shoulders as they’d returned to their flats to pack and taken the keys to the car from Basira and made their way painstakingly through London traffic.

Martin had wanted to tell Jon that it was all right—that everything was going to be okay. But his throat refused to form the words. It took all of his energy to remain present and solid, and he just … couldn’t. So he remained silent and gripped Jon’s hand as tightly as he was able and focused on not giving in to the Loneliness that still lingered underneath the surface of his skin.

Now, both of Jon’s hands are on the wheel of the car, his fingers and elbows rigid and stiff. Generic pop music spills out of the radio, the signal distorted enough that Martin only catches about half of the song, the rest swallowed by static. Better than him, he thinks absently. Right now, he feels as if he’s only static.

He can’t remember if he was like this before the air opened wide in front of him and he was swallowed whole by the fog, the panopticon gone in an instant and replaced with nothing but endless gray. He was … close, he thinks. Every day, things grew dimmer, his own thoughts and feelings more difficult to get a handle on. It grew harder and harder to remember why he was resisting at all. What his goal was, other than to just … be alone. He thinks he would have forgotten entirely, had Jon not been three floors beneath him, alive and breathing and reminding him that he was doing this—all of this—for a reason.

It had been … lovelier than Martin ever could have imagined, falling in love with Jon. It grew within him like a garden, new flowers cropping up every day. Some were white and delicate, blooming in his lungs when he looked at Jon and felt the all-consuming need to bundle him up in a blanket and make him tea and hide him away from the things in the world that wanted to hurt him. Others were purple and angular, blossoming with every lunch they had together and story Jon told him. And some were red and thorny, roses with waxy petals that made Martin’s cheeks grow hot every time Jon said his name like it was special or treated him kindly or smiled.

So when things grew difficult—when the loneliness crept too close, when he grew too comfortable being invisible, when he had to look Jon in the eye and tell him that he didn’t want to see him—Martin retreated to the quiet garden in his soul. He ran his fingers along the petals and stems and leaves and reminded himself that he needed to do this, or he’d lose Jon again and the garden would shrivel and die.

It had been an easy decision, in the end.

There’s a soft crunching noise, and Martin breaks free from his thoughts to see that they’ve transitioned from the smooth asphalt of the motorway to an unpaved gravel road. It’s bracketed on either side by trees, and though the sun has long since set, Martin can still see the gentle swell of hills around them, outlined softly in the moonlight. He thinks, for a moment, that he sees fog, clustering around the bases of the hills and swirling around in tight eddies, but when he blinks, the image is gone.

“We’re almost there,” Jon says quietly. It’s one of the few things he’s said to Martin the entire trip. Then, after a moment: “It’s … rather nice out here.”

Martin supposes it is. The landscape around them had been a vibrant green before twilight had washed it out into deep blues, and there have been cows dotted around the fields, shaggy and brown and grazing contently. It’s a stark change from the grays and browns of central London, with buildings on all sides and people everywhere and no chance to ever really see the stars. If circumstances were different, Martin thinks he would be cooing over the cows and trying to get Jon to stop so he could take pictures and enjoying his first trip outside of England.

Instead, Martin just nods.

Jon seems to understand. He sneaks another glance at Martin—full of something soft that Martin, in his foggy state, doesn’t quite know how to parse—but remains silent for the rest of the trip. It could easily be a stiff, uncomfortable silence, but … it’s not. It feels companionable.

When did being around Jon become so easy?

Daisy’s cabin is small and squat, nestled between two hills and idyllic in a way that doesn’t match the rough-hewn, steel-eyed woman Martin had known. The inside is dusty and cold, and Jon mutters something about central heating before disappearing down the corridor and leaving Martin standing in the living room, staring at the place he’ll be living in for the foreseeable future.

The place he’ll be living in with Jon for the foreseeable future.

Martin feels something in his chest stir at that—a strange, twisting emotion that’s there and gone before he can put a name to it. He shivers, in a way he doesn’t think is from the cold, and goes to find Jon.

He … doesn’t think he should be alone right now.

They find an old, rusted radiator that miraculously still works, pumping out hot air with a groan of metal. Jon digs a set of musty sheets out of the linen closet and begins dressing the bed. Martin notes the lack of a second bedroom, and he thinks he might object to the implication that they’ll be sharing a bed if he weren’t aware of the fact that he might vanish if left alone for too long. (Or if he were himself enough to feel embarrassed. Or to feel anything.)

He doesn’t think anything shows on his face, but Jon’s always been keen, even more so now that knowledge drips into his mind like water from a leaky faucet. Jon’s hands flutter over the sheets for a moment before he says, “I … hope this is all right?”

Martin tries to find his voice to agree, but the energy required to summon it is too much, so he settles for a shallow nod. He doesn’t think it’s a sufficiently enthusiastic agreement, but Jon doesn’t question it. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then says, “And … you’re all right?”

It’s a bit of a ridiculous question, really. No, Martin isn’t all right. No, there’s nothing Jon can do about it. No, he doesn’t know when things will be better. Or if they’ll ever be better.

Martin just looks at Jon, eyebrows slightly raised. Jon lets out a small, dry laugh. “Right. I … suppose that was a silly question. I—I meant…” Jon hems and haws for a long moment before finally saying, “Do you feel … safe, here? W-with me?”

That question has a much easier answer.

When Martin nods without hesitation, Jon visibly relaxes. “Good,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “That’s … that’s good.”

They stand there for a moment longer, the silence between them thick and heavy but not uncomfortably so. Finally, Jon clears his throat and says, “Well, I—I suppose we should rest then. We can … talk tomorrow?”

Martin nods and tries to smile. He doesn’t quite manage it, but … that’s all right. For now, this is enough.

Jon retreats into the bathroom, and Martin finds himself overcome with exhaustion. He slips into the soft pajama trousers he’d absently stuffed into his duffle bag, climbs under the covers, and is asleep before the sound of running water from the other room abates.

Martin doesn’t remember what happened in the Lonely. Things had been foggy and disjointed, slipping through his grasp when he tried to hold onto them. He barely remembers what came after, when Jon had led him away from the sand and the fog and the waves, his palm a searing heat against Martin’s. His first few days at the safehouse are spent in a similar fog, like each muscle in his body is frozen solid and he’s slowly attempting to warm them with a matchstick flame.

His third day is … better. His fourth, better still. By the end of the first week, Martin feels more himself than he has in months, if still acutely aware of the fog that now lives in his lungs and creeps out of his throat when he thinks too hard about what’s transpired or when Jon is out of sight for too long.

Martin remembers what it’s like to be happy. He feels it when he shuffles sleepily into the kitchen on their eigth morning in the safehouse and sees Jon standing in front of the stove, hair tied up in a neat bun and eggs sizzling in a pan in front of him. He remembers what it’s like to be frightened. He feels it when he wakes at night, shivering and shaking with the lingering memory of dreams of nothing but endless fog and aching loneliness.

And he remembers what it’s like to be in love.

He remembers it just in time to lose it.

The worst thing, Martin thinks, is that he’d almost managed to convince himself that it would be different this time. He knows, logically, that it’s not that simple. He’d done a little bit of research after what happened with Nino, reading through a few web pages on aromanticism before becoming overwhelmed and closing out of every single one of them. He tentatively returned to them a few years later after realizing that this wasn’t something that he was going to grow out of or move on from.

He had difficulties settling on a label, partly because of the sheer number of them and partly because he … didn’t quite know how to categorize his feelings. How could he categorize something that he’d only felt once before? Gray-romantic seemed the safest option, so that was the one he settled on.

(Not that he ever told anyone that he was arospec. It never seemed important, even when Sasha would needle him about his crush and Tim would make too-loud suggestive comments that could surely be heard through the door to Jon’s office.

… Martin misses Tim and Sasha. He thinks, if he’d had the chance—if he’d had more time—they would have been the first people he told.)

Martin knows that his relationship with romantic attraction is complicated. Yet somehow, he’s still found it within himself to hope that this time, things will be different. This time, when he tells Jon that he’s very in love with him and has been for a while, those words will continue to be true even after they’re spoken. (He ignores the fact that the actual thought of saying them aloud makes his stomach twist and his mouth grow chalky.)

But, just like with Nino, Martin doesn’t get the chance to try. Jon beats him to the punch.

“I … I love you,” Jon says quietly. He has Martin’s hand in his, and he’s holding it so gently Martin might cry. There were things Jon said before this moment—a conversation that has led them here—but Martin is having a hard time recalling any of them. All he can think is no, no, not now, not here.

His skin crawls. His hands are clammy, and he’s sure that Jon can feel it. He has the instinctive need to get away, but he’s also frozen in place, the lump in his throat sealing away all of the words that he should be saying.

He should be saying something.

The silence stretches on between them, the vulnerability on Jon’s face slowly morphing into concern. “... Martin?”

He sounds so confused, and Martin … he can’t. He just can’t. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the moment when that confusion turns to hurt.

So Martin swallows sharply and forces his hand to squeeze Jon’s and says, “I love you too.”

And he does, in a way. He wants Jon here, by his side, eating breakfast next to him and rambling to him about whatever latest thing has piqued his interest and listening to Martin describe the cows he’s seen on his walks. The thought of Jon leaving—of losing him, the same way he lost Nino—makes his stomach twist into knots, because Martin loves him.

Just … not in the way that Jon thinks he does. Not anymore.

And Martin can’t help but feel guilty about that fact.

Jon frowns at Martin for a moment more, like he can tell that something’s wrong but he’s not entirely sure what. Martin breathes out slowly and gives Jon as genuine a smile as he can muster, trying to convey that everything is fine. That nothing’s wrong—why would anything be wrong?

It must work, because Jon exhales slowly, his expression softening into one of the gentle smiles that Martin has grown so fond of. He rubs a thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in a motion that should be comforting but only reminds Martin of the fact that Jon is doing it because he loves him.

Martin thinks that Jon is going to kiss him then—isn’t that usually what comes after things like this?—and dread coils in his stomach. But Jon doesn’t. Later, Martin will find out that Jon dislikes kisses just as much as he does (though for different reasons). For now, though, Martin can only feel relief when Jon squeezes his hand once more before letting go and standing. “I’ll go make us some tea,” he says quietly, then retreats to the kitchen.

Thinking back on it, Martin wonders if Jon knew then. That something was wrong. But for now, he just feels relieved that he has the space he needs to breathe.

It’s their second week at the safehouse, just a few days after Jon told Martin that he loves him, that Jon finally sits Martin down after dinner and says softly, “Martin, am I … am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Martin says, like he has no idea what Jon’s talking about. (Like a liar.) “No. What … what makes you think that?”

Jon wrings his hands together. He’s wearing one of Martin’s sweaters, and Martin doesn’t know how he feels about it. The clothes sharing is fine. The fact that Jon is clearly perceiving the clothes sharing as a romantic gesture is … less than fine.

Martin told himself that it would be okay if Jon perceived their relationship as a romantic one and Martin didn’t. He was good at pretending. And besides, how different could things be?

Very different, as it turned out. In all the ways that mattered.

Jon seemed to take any opportunity he could to touch Martin—a hand brushing against the small of his back when he passed behind him to grab a mug, an ankle nudging against his underneath the table as they ate, a head resting on his shoulder as they sat side-by-side and read. Martin had never been particularly touch-averse or touch-starved; touch was just … touch. He’d liked it when Tim had tousled his hair or when Sasha had thrown her legs across his on the breakroom couch, but he didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything on the days he went without any human contact at all.

Now, it’s all Martin can do not to flinch away from Jon’s touches, knowing that each one is delivered with love and affection that Martin can’t return. Though perhaps he hasn’t been doing as good of a job as he’d thought, judging by the concerned look Jon is giving him now.

There have been other things too—whispered I love yous in the early mornings and soft smiles that seem somehow more and little gestures that are so Jon but also so romantic—and Martin wants so badly to disappear back into the fog in those moments. But that … that wouldn’t be fair to Jon. It’s not his fault that Martin is like this, after all.

(It’s not Martin’s fault either. He knows this, logically. He’d spent a long time hating himself for what happened with Nino, for how he couldn’t just be normal and go on dates and enjoy something that the rest of society seemed to prize above all else. It had taken him years to finally come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t broken, and he couldn’t be changed. That this was just … who he was.

It doesn’t mean that sometimes, he doesn’t wish that he could be someone else. And he’s never wanted it more acutely than when he stares at Jon’s kind brown eyes and soft smile.)

So Martin lied and lied and lied. And he thought he’d been doing so successfully. But here Jon is, frowning at him, a careful distance between them, and Martin feels his chest begin to tighten.

“I just…” Jon begins, then stops. He looks down at the couch, studying the ugly floral pattern with apparent rapt fascination. Martin doesn’t know what to say, so he waits anxiously until Jon finally continues, “It doesn’t feel like you’re … happy. I know that things have been hard, a-and … it’s all right if you still need time after the Lonely, but it…” Jon swallows. “It feels like some of it may be because of me? W-when I touch you, sometimes you get … tense. And sometimes…”

“Jon?” Martin prompts after a moment, the word strangled by the growing lump in his throat.

“Sometimes,” Jon says quietly, “when you tell me that you love me, it … it feels like you’re lying.”

And the way Jon says it—tentative, with wide, hesitant eyes, like he’s the one that’s the problem—makes Martin’s desire to keep up the ruse crumble away in an instant.

It still isn’t easy to come clean. But he forces himself to do it anyway.

“It’s complicated,” he begins, then winces. Not a good start. Sure enough, Jon’s shoulders grow tense, and he shifts slightly further away, like he thinks Martin wants more space. Because he thinks he’s done something wrong. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Martin adds quickly. It’s not you, it’s me, he thinks wryly. “It’s … not your fault.”

Jon opens his mouth—to say what, Martin doesn’t know. He barrels on before Jon gets the chance to speak, his haste making his words harried and blunt.

“I’m aromantic.”

Jon blinks at him, clearly surprised by the abruptness of the statement. After a long, awkward moment, during which it becomes abundantly clear that Jon is waiting for Martin to make the next move, Martin continues, “My relationship with—well, with relationships—i-is complicated. I-it’s, um … it’s hard to explain? A-and I don’t want you to think that I—I don’t care about you. I want to be here, w-with you, just…”

“Not in a romantic capacity?” Jon finishes softly.

Martin exhales heavily, feeling a bit like a hole has been punched in his chest and he’s slowly deflating. “Yeah.”

Jon is looking at him with soft, kind eyes, and Martin doesn’t know what to do with them. So he buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice coming out muffled.

“Hey, hey.” Jon’s hand brushes against Martin’s shoulder before pulling away quickly, and that just makes Martin feel worse. “You haven’t done anything wrong either.”

“Yes, I have,” Martin says into his palms. “I lied. I let you think that I—I was still in love with you, and … Christ, that was shitty of me.”

“I … do wish you had told me sooner,” Jon concedes. “But … only because I care about you, Martin, a-and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.” He hesitates. “You … do know that I’m not mad at you, right? Th-that I wouldn’t have been mad, o-or upset, or hurt, if you told me that you didn’t feel the same way about me?”

Martin takes a deep breath, then another. “But I did,” he says raggedly. “For … for so long, I did. Ever since Jane Prentiss locked me in my flat for two weeks and you believed me when I told you about it a-and let me stay in the Archives. A-and I didn’t lie, in the Lonely. I did love you, a-all the way up until…”

Martin trails off. Jon lets the silence linger for a moment before saying gently, “If you don’t want to explain it to me, o-or if it’s hard, you don’t have to. But … if you can, I’d like to understand. For myself, a-and for you.” He wraps his hands tightly around his knees where they’re tucked against his chest. “This is important, and … I want to get this right.”

Martin exhales. He picks at a loose thread on the couch between them, focusing on it so he doesn’t have to meet Jon’s eyes and can pretend like he isn’t so extremely exposed and vulnerable right now. “I … I do want to explain. O-or I want to try. It’s … hard, though. Mostly b-because I’ve never had to explain it to anybody else? But also because … I don’t really understand why I’m like this.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know—you don’t … have to comment on that.”

Jon closes his mouth and tentatively shifts so his knee is pressing against Martin’s. Martin waits for the tingling of his skin, the pins-and-needles discomfort, but it never comes. Maybe it’s because he knows that this is an act of comfort rather than one of affection. It’s … really nice.

He presses back with a sigh, feeling a bit of the tension and nerves drain out of him. “I—I get that love is difficult for me,” he says quietly. “I’ve just … always had trouble with the fact that what makes it difficult is that I’m someone who apparently never actually wants their love … requited. And if it is, I just … can’t anymore. It all goes away, a-and I just … fall out of love?”

Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him, inquisitive and searching, but Jon doesn’t say anything. There’s a moment of silence between them, during which Martin tries and fails to collect his mess of feelings and thoughts and emotions into something that he can verbalize. Finally, Martin sighs and says, “It’s ironic, isn’t it. I’ve loved you for so long, a-and I still do, but … not in the way you love me. Not anymore. And now you’re the one who—who loves someone w-who doesn’t … who can’t…”

“Oh, no, Martin.” Jon’s hand is covering his then, and it’s warm and gentle and lovely, and Martin could cry. “I’m not…” He hesitates, squeezing Martin’s hand once. “Well. I am still in love with you. In the … romantic sense. I—I don’t want to lie to you about that. B-but I also love you in … so many other ways. Y-you’re my friend, Martin, a-and you’re someone that I can trust. You … you make me feel safe, e-even when there’s … so much in my life that’s dangerous and unpredictable, and I know that you’ll … always be there for me when I need you to be. I want to be here with you, always. I would … be happy in a romantic relationship with you, yes. But I would also be happy to just be with you. In whichever way you will have me.”

Martin’s throat feels very tight. “Oh,” he says faintly. He feels a pressure at the corner of his eyes and realizes, with a flush of embarrassment, that there are actual tears collecting there. He stares hard at the lamp just behind Jon, trying not to let any of them escape.”You, um … you really … mean that?”

“Of course,” Jon says, like there’s no question to be had about the matter. “You are … such an easy person to love, Martin. In all the ways it’s possible to love someone.”

Martin tries—he really does—to keep the tears back. But it’s just … so much, and Jon is so lovely, and this is more than Martin ever thought he was going to be able to have. So he takes a shaky breath in, and on the exhale, a few tears slip free and trail down his cheek. He brings a hand up and scrubs them away, mutters a sorry underneath his breath, but Jon just squeezes his hand tighter.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, I’m … I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” Jon hesitates. “Provided that that’s … all right with you, of course.”

Martin can’t help the shaky laugh that escapes him. “Yes, it’s all right with me. Of course it is.”

Jon smiles, and Martin aches with it. “Good.” He nudges his knee gently against Martin’s. “Because this cottage would get very dull without you in it. Who would I talk to about all of Daisy’s awful romance novels?”

Martin laughs again, and it chases away most of the lingering tension in his body. “Be careful what you wish for. I’m going to start doing dramatic readings next.”

Jon’s eyes sparkle with humor, but his voice is sincere when he says, “I look forward to it.”

True to his word, over the next week, Martin does increasingly dramatic readings of the worn, water-warped romance novels stacked haphazardly on the safehouse shelves. (Skipping the, quote, ‘unnecessarily erotic’ bits to avoid Jon’s pinched look of discomfort and his own beet-red face as he stares down at words that should really not be used in a sexual context ever.) He bakes cookies, laughing when Jon drops the cup of flour he’s holding and ends up covered in it. He spends the first three walks after their conversation wringing his hands together before finally asking, in a series of nervous stutters, if Jon would like to hold hands while they walk.

“But not in a romantic way!” he hastens to clarify. “You just have very nice hands, a-and I’ve always liked the idea of holding someone else’s hand, but—you know, th-the romantic connotations of it aren’t … great, and … you know, now that I think about it, this was a stupid question, you don’t have to—”

And then Jon takes his hand and squeezes it gently, and Martin feels a warmth spread through him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

That’s been happening a lot lately. He … doesn’t think he minds at all.

Then, a few weeks after their conversation, Jon turns over in bed to face him and says, without any preamble, “Have you ever heard of a queerplatonic relationship?”

Martin has, but only in passing, so he shakes his head. Jon explains, sounding very much like he’s reciting the wiki page for the concept, which is … more endearing than it has any right to be, probably.

“Does … does that sound like something you might be interested in?” Jon says nervously. “W-with me, of course. If that wasn’t … clear.”

Martin nods before Jon is finished speaking. “Yeah,” he says, maybe a bit too eagerly. Then, quieter: “Yeah. I’d … I’d like that.”

Jon smiles then, bright and wide and lovely, and it occurs to Martin—not for the first time, and probably not for the last—that he can have this. That he can be with Jon—maybe for the rest of his life, though that’s a … big thought that he definitely isn’t ready to look at head-on yet—without the dates and the kissing and all the other romantic gestures that Martin always thought were necessary for something like this. That they can be happy, together.

That Martin can have his fairy tale ending, and it doesn’t have to look like he’s always been told it should.

Martin smiles back at Jon, reaching across the bed to brush his fingers lightly against Jon’s. And for the first time in a long, long while, he finally feels like he’s home.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #(in a queerplatonic capacity)#my writing #my fic

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diegos-butt · 3 years

Text

Unnoticed (chapter one)

Summary: He had watch her grown up. He had seen her transform into a beautiful woman, with a strong will but insecurities. Despite being away from time to time, he had fallen for her, hard. She on the other hand, had seen him become a big, strong man. But deep down she knew he had a soft side. She had fallen, hard, for him too. Another thing they have in common? The believe that the other will never feel the same. Will their feelings for each other always stay unnoticed?

Captain Daniel Syverson x Kathy Davis (plus size/curvy/thick OFC)

Warnings: none. bad writing maybe. mention of beer?

Wordcount: 5.4k 👀

A/N: I tried something here so bear with me. Honestly curious of what y'all think.

•••

I was walking to my brother Tim’s house as the sun was settling down. He was throwing a barbeque for his best friend’s return, Captain Daniel – Dan – Syverson, or just Sy, as we usually called him. I smiled as I thought of him. I had known him for so long. He and my brother had been friends since I was born. So, I grew up with them, teasing me but when someone bullied me, they were there faster than the blink of an eye, ready to knock the bully down.

They always stood up for me, even though they knew I could take care of it myself. But they insisted. Every time. And that was nice, to know they would. To know I always had someone who would be there for me.

As we got older, our groups of friends intertwined, and we became one larger group of close friends. Me, Tim, Sy, Holly, Shane, Benjamin, and Brianna. We all lived in this town, went to the same high school. Some of us even went to college together. Now we were all working in this town as well, except for the captain. He was away from time to time. And I would never admit it, but I missed him so much while he was gone. My brother’s house came into my sight, and my heart skipped a beat. After all these months, I was finally seeing him again.

When I fell for him? I can’t even remember; it is like I have always been. However, I have always tried to hide it, so he doesn’t know. At least, that’s what I think. If he does, he’s being a good friend and doesn’t treat me any differently.

What our friendship is like? Teasing, and full of sarcastic comments. Unlike everyone else, he calls me Kat instead of Kathy. I’d never want to change that, so I will not ruin that by confessing my feelings. What’s the point? He does not and never will feel the same. Right?

I took a deep breath and opened the door of my brother’s house, hoping Sy would already be there. I walked through the hallway and living room until the garden came into my sight. Sy just disappeared into the shed, so I walked through the doors outside, and said hello to my brother.

“Hey sis,” he welcomed me and gave me a hug. “He’s already here you know. I’m sure he showed up early for you.”

“Oh, shut up! That’s not true, he is just happy to see his best friend again,” I laughed and slapped Tim on his arm.

“You might be able to fool him, but I can see the nerves in your eyes Kathy. Just admit you’re happy he’s back,” Tim teased. I wanted to smack him when we heard noises coming from the shed. Sy walked out carrying two lawn chairs.

Tim released me from his hug. “Go say hi to him,” he whispered. I took a step towards Sy, and felt my heartbeat increasing. He dropped the lawn chairs and proceeded to walk to me. Our steps became faster, and quickly he was close enough to wrap me in his arms. He lifted me up and I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting out a little squeal. He smelled good, manly, but so good. His buzzcut was starting to grow out, and I couldn’t help myself but to stroke his head. He buried his face in my neck, and I giggled. He was home.

“You’re back,” I said softly, the butterflies in my stomach going crazy. Contain yourself, he doesn’t need to know you missed him that much.

“Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here darlin’,” he answered, and I could see in his eyes that he was happy to be home again.

“Welcome home you big idiot,” I grinned, I loved teasing him.

After squeezing me tight one more time, he’d put me down again. Suddenly I realized the sounds that disappeared when my eyes met his for the first time in so long had come back. The sound of the flock of birds came back, just as the noises Tim was making while meddling with the barbeque.

“Oh, that’s how ya welcome me back home?” Sy said. I laughed and walked past him, while picking up one of the lawn chairs.

When he’d lifted me up, it was just me and him. He always does that when he comes back from a tour. I don’t even know how it started, but it had become a thing. He knows I like that, that I love that. He is the only one I trust enough for that, because I know he will never let me fall. I did fall though, but in a different way.

“I could also have started by saying you should trim your beard. It looks like shit right now,” I mocked, and walked past him. He’d placed his hand on his chest and pretended I had hurt him. His chest though, how on earth did he get even bigger? Quickly, I moved towards the sitting area, and placed the lawn chair down. He followed close behind, and when I looked around, I saw his eyes moving up. Was he looking at my bum? Why? I tried to not look puzzled, but I felt like I was failing hard.

“Ya know, being disrespectful in the army can get you in a lot of trouble,” he said and handed me a beer. His hand touched mine slightly, and I pulled my hand away quickly.

“Really? You’re going to punish me then?” I raised an eyebrow at him. You can punish me in a couple ways captain. No Kathy, he is your friend. He is just your friend.

“Who knows.” He cocked an eyebrow at me and finished his beer. I nearly chocked on mine, and thankfully Shane and Benjamin busted through the door and stepped outside onto the terrace, preventing the continuation of the conversation between me and Sy. They were cheering loudly, screaming Sy’s name, and hugging him. I chuckled and took a few more sips of my beer.

I watched as Shane and Benjamin tried to tackle Sy, they obviously failed. To be fair, Shane and Benjamin weren’t small guys either, but Sy was definitely bigger. I took a sip of my beer and watched as my brother joined them.

While watching the boys I noticed Sy’s physique, he looked even more broad than before. I had no idea that was possible. He currently had Shane in a headlock, flexing his bicep. I wanted to crawl under that arm myself, not in that headlock, but still. He could choke me though.

I was rudely awakened out of my daydreaming when Holly and Brianna suddenly stood next to me. The two girls tried to hug me at the same time, which failed due to their hight difference. Me and Brianna were both quite tall, while Holly was smaller.

“Kathy! Let me guess, the captain has already said hello to you?” Holly said and wiggled her eyebrows. Trying to hide the fact I had a thing for the captain from them was useless, these girls knew me better than I knew myself.

“Did he do that cute hug yet were he lifts you up?” Brianna added while hooking her arm through mine.

“Hello to you too, and yes he said hello to me, and yes he did that hug thing. Don’t make it look like it’s a big deal!” I said and took the last sip of my beer.

“No, did I miss it? That is my favourite part of Sy’s return!” Holly pouted. The brunette took the beer bottle out of my hand and placed it on the table. “Sy! Aren’t you going to say hello to us or what?” she shouted. The boys stopped talking and closed the gap between our groups.

“Hi girls.” Sy opened his arms for Holly and Brianna and gave them both a hug. The chatter immediately started, everyone asking Sy questions about how he was doing, and how happy he was to be back.

“Stop! Everyone, stop talking for a minute!” Brianna shouted. “Since Holly and I were a bit late, we missed the famous welcome back hug between Sy and Kathy.”

“I was there,” Tim laughed. “Maybe you should’ve known they would both be here early.”

“We were planning on being early, but sweet Holly over here was being incredible slow,” Brianna said and gave Holly a death glare which turned into a little smile.

“I think they should do it again,” Holly grinned. Oh no.

“I think they should too, apparently we all, except Tim, missed the highlight of Sy’s return. We should not be robbed of that moment,” Shane agreed, and a playful smile appeared on his face.

“Oh, come on guys!” I said. “The man has just gotten home! Give him a break.” If he lifts me up again, I might faint. This actually made them cheer even louder.

“C’mere darlin’. Let’s give the audience what they want.” He gave his beer to Benjamin and winked at me.

He caged me in his strong arms again, lifting me up, effortlessly. I threw my arms around his neck, and I heard everyone around us cheer. This was my happy place. I don’t know if it is the being lifted part, of just being held by his strong arms.

Far too soon for my liking, he had put me down on my feet again. His eyes locked with mine, and I nearly drowned. The blue in his eyes looked even brighter than ever before.

I was rudely pulled away by Shane, who cheered loudly while putting his arm around my shoulder. Everyone was laughing and cheering. Benjamin walked inside to grab the speaker, and a few seconds later music mixed with our noises in the garden.

“Hey guys, who wants to eat?” Tim shouted.

“Better give me a sausage, I’m in the mood for some meat,” Holly answered with a mischievous grin. I laughed at her; she was never afraid to speak her mind.

After we had finished eating, we all sat around the firepit. The sun was already gone, and the moon and stars shone above us. While we were eating Sy wanted to know what we had been up to. We were all doing great, we had jobs and nothing major had happened. Unlike last time, no pregnancy scare for Holly. Me and Brianna did start our own business, after our last employer went bankrupt. We were now the proud owners of our own interior design business.

After we were done telling Sy about the last months, Brianna had asked Sy about his. I saw the look in his eyes change, he looked down at the glass in his hand, and avoided the question. I knew he didn’t want to talk about it. Thankfully, Benjamin understood it as well.

“Sy, a toast to you!” Benjamin said, and raised his glass. “Welcome home man.” We all raised our glasses as well.

“Thank ya Ben, it’s good to be back. And I’d like to thank y’all for writing me those letters. They mean a lot to me,” Sy said. I thought about the letters I’d send him. There were many, so many. A few years ago, I had no idea what to write, but eventually I figured I would write what I wish I could tell him. I wished I could talk to him about my day, about things that bothered me, about things that made me happy.

Quickly I learned he liked it. When he got home the first time I did that, he had thanked me in private. He had told me it helped him get through tough days, that it made him feel like he was home. In that moment, I was so close of telling him how I felt. Yet I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk losing him as a friend.

He did write me back, but his letters weren’t as long as mine. They were usually a paragraph or two. He wasn’t that much of a talker, I knew that, but it didn’t stop me from teasing him.

“Well, next time you could try and write longer ones back you know,” I began. “I have put so much effort into my pages long letters, and all I get back is a paragraph from you just thanking me.” I attempted to pout but started laughing. “Nah, just kidding. We know it means a lot, so we’re happy to write them.”

I smiled at him. The letters kept him sane, and I was happy to send them. Just like the others. I looked at Sy, he sat opposite of me, and I wished he’d sat beside me. His body radiated a warmth that was always welcome, even if he just sat a meter away from me. But from this distance, I could not feel it.

“Don’t be funny darlin’. Might not answer yours next time,” he joked and pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Like you would ignore her Sy,” Shane mocked. Wait, what? What is that supposed to mean. Everybody started laughing, while I was starting to freak out. I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but the conversation around me continued, and the moment to ask a question about it was gone. My mind was going crazy, and I pretended to listen to the conversation, but I didn’t hear a thing. I know he wouldn’t ignore me, but why did Shane say it like that? And why did Sy suddenly look so awkward?

The fire slowly went out, and that was our cue to head home. We all stood up, and helped Tim clean the mess we made.

“Guys, why don’t you all just go home. I’ll help Tim clean up the rest!” Brianna suggested. I knew she had a thing for my brother, and this was her way of getting close to him. Of being alone with him.

Everyone laughed but agreed. A very nice thing of living close to each other, was that we were all able to walk home. Holly, Shane, and Benjamin walked home together, and Sy suggested he’d walk with me, since we both had to go in a different direction than the others. I walked inside to grab my cardigan, while Sy lifted two lawn chairs back to the shed. When we were out of reach, the others started talking.

“Are they seriously never going to notice they like each other? Or is it just obvious to me?” Shane said.

“Oh dear, it is painfully obvious,” Brianna added.

“I think we need to help them a little. They need a little push,” Holly suggested. They all agreed, but they couldn’t continue discussing their little plan because Sy and I appeared again. Completely unaware of the conversation that just happened.

We said goodbye to Tim and Brianna, and walked home. Holly, Shane, and Benjamin took a left, and Sy and I took a right. It was just us, walking next to each other. It felt nice to be in his presence again, and because I was so close to him, I could finally feel his warmth again. We spend the way walking to my home talking, he wanted to know everything about the business I started with Brianna and how my family was.

Far too soon, we reached my home. We stopped in front of the house, a small 2-bedroom home. But it was nice, and cosy. I liked it there, but I was ready for the next step. To settle down with someone. With him, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

We faced each other, and fell silent. I looked at him, the moonlight highlighted his face, and I spotted some new scars. I wanted to trace them with my fingers, but I restrained myself.

“Alright, well, it is so nice to have you back Sy,” I said.

“It is nice to be back here,” he smiled. We fell silent again, and I smiled back at him.

“I should go inside,” I spoke softly, and opened my arms to hug him.

He hummed and wrapped his arms around me. He squeezed me tightly, and I nuzzled my face in his neck. He smelled so good; I loved his cologne. We broke up the hug, but he kept me close and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. My heart was beating fast, and my breathing started to get heavier.

“Goodnight darlin’,” he said and winked, or at least he tried to.

“Goodnight captain,” I answered, and gave him a smile. He laughed, and started to walk away backwards, and watched me until I was inside. I waved at him before I closed the door and saw how he waved back and turned around to walk home.

I leant with my back to the front door and sighed. Will he for always not notice my feelings for him?

I watched Tim as he prepared the barbeque. The soft rays of sunlight spreading through the garden. The sunlight reminded me of her, Kathy, or Kat as I liked to call her. Especially the last time I saw her before my deployment. The sun shone on her face, and lit up her hair, making her look like a goddess. I almost broke my promise to myself and told her how I felt. I could never tell her; I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.

The teasing, the banter, the sarcastic comments. Even though I pretended she annoyed me sometimes, I missed her and our dynamic the most while I was away. She kept me sharp, a goal to come back to. Thanks to her I got through those months. Especially her letters. Those long letters.

She was actually the reason I had shown up early at Tim’s house. I was hoping she would be here early too, so we’d have a little moment of privacy. Well, Tim was there, but he knew how I felt. He had known for a long time. I had always seen Kat as Tim’s little sister, but the moment she started to become a woman, that changed. I had always fancied her presence, her humour and we got along very well. But ever since she had grown into a beautiful woman, it had been different. I wanted more, but I knew that would never happen. Nevertheless, I settled for being her friend because I could not bear not having her in my life.

I grabbed a beer and opened it, quickly taking a few sips. Too caught up in my own thoughts, I nearly missed Tim asking me to grab a few more lawn chairs from the shed at the end of the garden. I set my beer down of the table, nodded at him and walked to the shed.

The shed was dark, but I spotted the lawn chairs without any problems. Those nights in the dark desert had increased my night vision. I was about to step outside when I heard it. A laugh, but not just a laugh. Her laugh. It was like music to my ears. She was here, finally. Kat.

Hastily, I stepped outside, and my gaze immediately fell on her. She hugged her brother as they laughed. When Tim let her out of his embrace, her eyes locked with mine. Completely forgotten about the lawn chairs, I dropped them and started to walk towards her. Her feet moved as well, making their way to me, speeding up a little.

Before I knew it, she was in arms reach, and I wrapped my arms around her waist, lifting her up. She wrapped her arms around my neck and squealed. One of her hands stroked my hair that was starting to grow out, and she nuzzled her face in my neck while I smelled the rose scent of her hair. Even though she might not be the smallest, I could lift her up effortlessly and I loved reminding her of that. I could think of another few ways of throwing you around darlin’.

“You’re back,” she said softly.

“Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here darlin’,” I smiled. She removed her face from my neck and looked at me. She looked even prettier than I remember. I had no idea that was even possible. Don’t get mushy man, damn.

“Welcome home you big idiot,” she grinned at me, and I put her back down on her feet. Uh, not even back for a minute and she’s already teasing me.

“Oh, that’s how ya welcome me back home?” She walked past me and started laughing. She picked up one of the lawn chairs.

“I could also have started by saying you should trim your beard. It looks like shit right now,” she mocked as she walked past me. I placed my hand on my heart, pretending she’d hurt me.

Shaking my head, I picked up the other lawn chair and followed close behind her. She looked good, really good. The jeans she wore hugged her in all the right places. She placed the lawn chair down and looked at me. My eyes immediately left her behind, and I placed the lawn chair I was carrying down as well. She better not be standing with her ass towards me again, or I will smack it.

“Ya know, being disrespectful in the army can get ya in a lot of trouble,” I said and grabbed a beer for her. I handed it to her, our hands lightly touching. Quickly, I grabbed my own beer from the table.

“Really? You’re going to punish me then?” The sunlight caught her face, making her look like an angel. She tried not so smile, but the glistering in her eyes gave her away.

“Who knows.” I chugged the rest of my beer and cocked my eyebrow. I know a few ways I’d like to punish ya darlin’.

Before our conversation could continue, the door to the terrace busted open, and Shane and Benjamin stepped outside. Cheering loudly, chanting my name. They walked over to me and threw their arms around me. They tried to tackle me, but even though they were strong, I was the strongest one of the group. Tim joined us, and they let me go so we could talk.

“Welcome back man,” Benjamin said and slapped me on my back. “We missed ya.”

“I understand, my presence is gift. Y’all should be glad I’m back,” I declared.

“Whatever Sy. Don’t get too cocky,” Tim said, he stood beside me and lifted his arm to smack me on the back of my head. I simply shot him a look, and his arm fell down next to his body again. I chuckled, and from the corner of my eye I saw Holly and Brianna had also arrived. I liked the girls, they were nice and sweet, but most of all good friends.

“Sy! Aren’t you going to say hello to us or what?” Holly shouted. I walked over to them, the other men following close behind.

“Hi girls,” I said and opened my arms for them. I gave them a hug, and everyone started asking me questions. I tried to answer them, when suddenly Brianna yelled.

“Stop! Everyone, stop talking for a minute!” she shouted. “Since Holly and I were a bit late, we missed the famous welcome back hug between Sy and Kathy.” Might have been a reason I was here early.

“I was there,” Tim laughed. “Maybe you should’ve known they would both be here early.”

“We were planning on being early, but sweet Holly over here was being incredible slow,” Brianna said, and I noticed how she looked at Holly like she would kill her. Soon the look turned into a smile nonetheless. Thank you, Holly.

“I think they should do it again,” Holly grinned. I had to try not to grin too much. Being close to her, felt so good. I would love nothing more than to hug her more often, or to cuddle up on the couch together. The chances of that happening, were very slim, and my heart sunk a little in my chest.

“I think they should too, apparently we all, except Tim, missed the highlight of Sy’s return. We should not be robbed of that moment,” Shane agreed, and a smile appeared on his face.

“Oh, come on guys!” Kat said. “The man has just gotten home! Give him a break.” Her comment made them cheer even louder. Doesn’t she want me to hug her again? Well, that’s not my problem ‘cause I’d hug her anytime if it were up to me.

“C’mere darlin’. Let’s give the audience what they want.” I closed the gap between us and wrapped my arms around her. I could smell her perfume, and I didn’t know what kind of scent it was, it just smelled like her. It smelled like home.

Every time I hugged her, there was just one thing I was afraid of. That I would not let her go again, because that’s where she belonged. She belonged in my arms, and I wished she would realize that one day. But I had to let her go again. Shane immediately wrapped an arm around her, while everyone cheered. Soon I noticed someone had put on some music.

“Hey guys, who wants to eat?” Tim shouted. I’m starving but not for that kind of meat.

“Better give me a sausage, I’m in the mood for some meat,” Holly answered with a mischievous grin. She was a sweet girl, always joking around, but don’t you dare mess with her. Don’t you dare mess with Brianna or Kat either, they will make you regret it. I liked that about them, that they were strong women.

An hour later we had finished eating, and we sat around the firepit in Tim’s garden. The sun long gone, the moon and stars providing us some light. The last hour I had mostly asked them how they’ve been, and it did me good to hear everything was going well. Tim’s construction company, where Shane and Benjamin also worked, was doing great. They were happy I would soon be joining them again. Holly’s clothing store has made a big profit in the last month.

I was happy to hear that Kat and Brianna started their own interior design business after the company they worked for went bankrupt. Kat’s eyes lit up when she spoke about it, and I loved seeing her with this passion.

After they were done talking about what they’ve been up to, it was my turn. I told them quickly a few things I could tell them. That I wanted to tell them. Thankfully, none of them asked anymore questions. They knew I preferred to not talk about it.

“Sy, a toast to you!” Benjamin said, and raised his glass. “Welcome home man.” Me and everyone else raised their glasses as well.

“Thanks Ben, it’s good to be back. And I’d like to thank y’all for writing me those letters. They mean a lot to me,” I said. It was true, getting letters while being far away from home, is the best feeling ever. Especially her letters, she had written me long letters, talking about the little things in life. She’d wrote about the weather or an awful client at work. She would just write about her day-to-day life, like she would if I were there. I had kept every single one of her letters, safely stored away in a box that was now underneath my bed.

“Well, next time you could try and write longer ones back you know,” Kat spoke. “I have put so much effort into my pages long letters, and all I get back is a paragraph from you just thanking me.” She pouted, and looked incredible cute, but started laughing. “Nah, just kidding. We know it means a lot, so we’re happy to write them.” She gave me a smile, and I wished she sat closer to me. Instead, she sat across the firepit from me.

“Don’t be funny darlin’. Might not answer yours next time,” I joked.

“Like you would ignore her Sy,” Shane mocked. Shut up Shane. Everyone but her started laughing. Oh no, what is she thinking? Kat looked confused, and I knew she wanted Shane’s comment to be explained. Thankfully, Holly started telling a story about a client in her store, so the moment to address the comment was over. Thank god.

Soon, the fire went out and that was the universal sign for us to go home. We stood up, and started helping Tim clean the plates, cups, and cutlery. I looked at Kat, I liked watching her move. The way her hips swayed when she walked, was one of my favourite parts about her.

“Guys, why don’t you all just go home. I’ll help Tim clean up the rest!” Brianna suggested. I chuckled. Smooth Brianna. I had known for a while she had a thing for Tim, and I knew he felt the same. We all laughed and agreed with her plan. Holly, Shane, and Benjamin walked home together since they lived close to each other. Kat and I had to go the other way.

“I’ll walk you home darlin’,” I said to Kat, and she nodded in response.

“I’m going to grab my cardigan from inside, and then I’m ready to go,” she added, and quickly walked inside. I noticed the lawn chairs still had to be carried back to the shed, so I lifted two up and walked to the end of the garden. I heard the others talk behind me, almost whispering, but I didn’t pay any attention to it.

When I came back, the conversation between them stopped immediately. What were they talking about?

We said goodbye to each other, leaving Tim and Brianna behind. Holly, Shane, and Benjamin went to the left, while me and Kat started walking to the right. It was nice, to be alone with her. Calmness washed over me, while at the same time a fire inside me burned.

During our little walk, we talked. I wanted to know everything about her business, and she happily answered my questions. I watched her from the corner of my eye, when she talked, she uses her hands to gesture around, and it was an adorable sight.

Way too soon we reached her house. We stopped in front of it, and we fell silent. The moon provided a little light, bringing out the beautiful features of her face. I wanted to cup her cheeks and kiss her. Sy, dude, get yourself together. She is a friend. A. friend. You don’t kiss friends like that. Right?

“Alright, well, it is so nice to have you back Sy,” Kat said.

“It is nice to be back here,” I smiled. We fell silent again.

“I should go inside,” she spoke softly, and opened her arms for a hug. I could also go inside with you.

I let out a hum and wrapped my arms around her thick waist. I squeezed her tight, and she nuzzled her face in my neck. I loved it that she wasn’t fragile, and that I could just hug her like I wanted to.

We broke up the hug. I did not let her go yet, I wanted to kiss those soft lips so bad, but I settled for kissing her cheek instead. I hoped she did not hear my heart beating fast, or my sinful thoughts. She let out a little whimper, and I knew I had to let her go before I would drag her into her bedroom.

“Goodnight darlin’,” I said and winked. Shit, forgot I can’t wink.

“Goodnight captain,” she said and laughed at my attempt to wink. I shook my head and took a few steps backwards. I watched her go inside and waved before she closed the door.

I turned around and starting walking to my parents’ house. A few years ago, we had built a cabin at the end of our property. While I was serving, I lived there at the times I was back home. I was now back for good, but I still had to tell Kat, and my friends. It was time to come home, I was ready. I was ready to settle down. With her preferably, but I knew that would never happen.

I sighed, and dropped my head. Why won’t she notice me the way I notice her?

•••

> chapter two

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marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 21: Apologies (Father’s Day)

AO3

Marinette purses her lips as she looks at the neatly wrapped package in her hand. She knew she should still give it to her dad, shouldn’t let her hurt over the Gala stop her from celebrating Father’s Day with him for the first time. She’d already gotten confirmation from her Maman that her present for her Papa had arrived. So that was taken care of. A small part of her, the petty part, wanted to use Kaalki and go back to Paris for Father’s Day. But she also didn’t want to hurt her dad, no matter how much he’d hurt her. She had to be better than that, she is Ladybug after all. Sighing, she drops the present onto her bed. Grabbing the rest of what she needed for a movie night at one of Jason’s safe houses, she rushes out of her room. She knew that her dad’s conversation with Superman in the Batcave wouldn’t last too long, and then he’d be looking for her and Damian to lecture the hell out of them. Unfortunately for him, neither of them planned to be around to listen to it.

“Got everything Pixie Pop?” Jason asks as she rushes down the last of the steps, barely stopping herself from falling. She quickly balances herself and shoots her brother a small grin.

“Yup. Let’s go before I can get grounded.” She says, rushing past him and out the door, grinning as she hears his loud cackles behind her. It will get better. She’d talk to her dad eventually, and shove the bad feelings away. But she was going to let herself mope for another day. After all, letting herself feel negative emotions was part of the reason her parents agreed to let her stay in Gotham for the summer.

---

“What do you mean there’s an entire movie about you and Cat boy?” Jason asks, shoving another cookie in his mouth. Marinette shrugs.

“I mean we have a movie. It’s not my favorite, it’s kind of ridiculous. None of it is accurate. Except, Adrien did voice Chat Noir for the movie...still not sure why he thought that was a good idea.” She says, thinking back to the original premiere of the movie and all of the drama that came with it.

“Well shit. He’s not the brightest kid, is he?” Jason asks with a snort. Marinette opens her mouth to argue, then remembers some of Adrien’s….less brilliant moments. Okay, so maybe he’s not perfect.

“Ya know, we were once cast as Ladybug and Chat Noir in a music video.” She says, snorting at the look on Jason’s face.

“You’ve gotta be kidding. Really? Kid, please tell me you didn’t go through with it.” He says, looking mildly distressed. Marinette just rolls her eyes.

“No, we didn’t. The concept for the video changed and so no more hero costumes. I was terrified though. Kept losing the mask on purpose ‘cause I was convinced the mask would be what gave it away.” She admits with a small laugh.

“Ya know, that’s almost as bad as the time that someone at WE thought it’d be a good idea to enter B in a Batman look alike contest. Sent in his photo and everything.” Jason says with a snort. Marinette’s jaw drops.

“Wait, really?” She asks. He nods.

“Yup. But that’s not the best part.” He says. Her eyebrows furrowed together. What could possibly be better- Oh. No, oh my-

“He lost, didn’t he!” She cheers, laughing at Jason’s huge smile.

“Of course he did! You didn’t really think Brucie Wayne could ever be THE Batman, did you?” He asks with a smirk.

“Who entered him?” Marinette asks, kind of assuming that Jason did it with Tim’s computer.

“No one could ever prove anything, but Lucius Fox couldn’t stop smiling for weeks after it happened.” Jason says.

“No way, Lucius Fox? Oh my god!” She starts laughing again, the negative feelings from earlier almost completely gone. Disappeared. Times like these, she was beyond relieved that she wasn’t an only child anymore. She doesn’t know how she’d ever function again without her brothers and Cass.

---

Bruce takes a deep breath before knocking on Marinette’s door. He’d spent some time talking to Clark in an attempt to calm down. He still couldn’t believe his two youngest children had gone to the Watchtower without permission...well, he could believe that Damian went. But not Marinette. And then there was her attitude towards him at the Tower. Her posture was very Damian, but her words and tone were very much Jason. He couldn’t decide if he was glad that they were bonding, or frustrated with the way his sons were corrupting his daughter. Not hearing an answer on the other side of the door, he knocks again.

“If?” He says. Alfred nods.

“Marinette, I know you’re angry, but shutting yourself away in your room is not the answer. I’ll give you ten more minutes, but then we need to talk about your behavior today.” He says, nodding to himself. That sounded good. That was right, right?

“I’m certain that wouldn’t work on Miss Marinette even if she was in her room, Master Bruce.” Alfred says, giving him an unimpressed look. Bruce’s eye twitches.

“Indeed, sir. It seems that Miss Marinette will not be sleeping at the manor tonight.” He says, turning to walk away.

“And I’m assuming you know where she is?” Bruce says, doubting that Alfred will actually give up her location. He’d definitely been picking the kids’ side the last two weeks or so. It was different, and he wasn’t fond of the change.

“Of course I do, sir.” Alfred says, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“Will you tell me where she is?” He asks, trying hard not to huff when Alfred shakes his head.

“Of course not, sir.” He says before walking away. Right. So she wasn’t sleeping at the manor, but she was safe. If she wasn’t, Alfred would have told him where she was. He mentally runs through a list of possible places she could be. Dick’s apartment, one of Jason’s safe houses, the Siren’s apartment, Paris- He pales as he realizes that she could definitely be in Paris. Was she really so upset that she would go back to Paris? Would she ever come back if she left? He lets out an uneven breath. He messed up. He messed up and now she was going to go back to Paris and she’d never talk to him again. Unless- maybe she didn’t. Swallowing the guilt that appears at the thought, he pushes her door open. If she had left for Paris, she would’ve taken everything with her. The sight of her clothes and sewing supplies still scattered around the room makes him breathe a sigh of relief. She hadn’t left Not yet. He’s about to walk out when an envelope on her bed catches his eye. Frowning, he walks over and picks it up, ‘Dad’ written on it in neat cursive. Now standing by her bed, he realizes there’s also a neatly wrapped package (Batman wrapping paper) on it. He smiles, then glances back at the envelope. He opens it, smiling at the art on the cardstock. It was clearly Marinette’s art, but he was confused why it was addressed to him.

‘Dad, I just wanted to let you know that I’m so happy you’re my Dad, and I’m so glad that I got to meet you. Finding out that I was adopted was a little scary, but you’ve made sure I’ve been okay through it all. Happy Father’s Day! Love, Marinette’

Bruce blinks. She was scared. If he had to guess, she was most likely scared that the family wouldn’t accept her. They’d been getting along so well, until the Gala mistake. Until he’d decided for her. Assumed she wouldn’t want to go to the Gala. And now she didn’t even want to stay at the manor tonight, and she was angry enough earlier to throw a chair at him. He pushes a hand through his hair, cursing lowly under his breath. He had to fix this.

---

A sharp pounding at the door makes Jason leap off the couch. He holds up a finger and gestures for Marinette to hide. No one should be here. No one else knows which of his safe houses he was at today. Grabbing a gun, he walks over, glancing through the peephole. He scoffs.

“Get the fuck outta here Bruce.” He calls through the door, watching Marinette as she immediately tenses as if she’s gonna run. He shakes his head at her. She didn’t have to run, he sure as hell wouldn’t open the door if she didn’t want him to.

“Jason, open the door. I need to talk to Marinette.” Bruce calls, Jason snorts.

“Yeah, not gonna happen B.” He says.

“I would like to apologize to her.” Bruce says. Jason blinks. That’s new. Did the old man finally figure out that fuck ups warrant apologies? He glances over at Marinette, raising an eyebrow. It was her call. The unsure look on her face almost makes him decide for her. Almost. The kid’d had enough of people deciding shit for her.

“Let him in.” She says. He opens the door, glaring at the man.

“Is it okay if he comes in?” She whispers, and Jason nods.

“Up to you kiddo.” He whispers back. She stands taller, pushing her shoulders back before nodding.

“She’s the one who let you in. Don’t fuck this up.” He warns before stepping aside and letting Bruce walk in.

“Marinette.” He says, nodding at her. Jason groans. Yeah, B was totally gonna fuck this up.

“Father.” She says, shifting so that her arms are crossed, a neutral expression on her face. God, he really hopes her mimicking Demon Spawn is just a phase.

“I would like to preface this conversation by letting you know I went into your room.” Bruce says. Marinette just raises an eyebrow. Yeah, Jason wasn’t seeing the connection either. “I apologize for invading your privacy like that, Damian has definitely reminded me several times that your personal rooms are not to be messed with. However, when Alfred let me know you weren’t sleeping at the manor tonight, I was worried that perhaps you had gone back to Paris.”

“I wouldn’t have gone back without telling you. Well, other than akuma attacks. Do you really think I’d do something like that?” She asks, frowning.

“I know that I’ve done things I’m not proud of when hurt. Things that I came to regret. And I saw earlier today how hurt you actually are. I didn’t realize-” He pauses. “I also read the card that was on your bed.”

“What! No, that was- that was for Father’s Day.” She says with a sigh.

“I didn’t open the gift. I originally thought the envelope would have a note from you on where you had gone. Or that you never wanted to see me again. I thought the chances were pretty even.” He says and Jason snorts.

“Oh, okay. Wait, why would you ever think that? Yes, I was hurt. I still am hurt, if I’m being honest. But I don’t want to cut you out of my life.” She says, shaking her head.

“Nor do I want you out of ours.” Bruce says. Marinette blinks. “I realize now what it must have looked like, to you. Not informing you about the Gala, taking the rest of the family. It was, admittedly, not my best moment. I made a decision for you when I should’ve asked you what you wanted. You could have even come with us as MDC, but I took that option away from you. I am very sorry, Marinette. I am glad that you’re my daughter, sweetheart.” He says and Jason blinks. Well shit. The old man did have feelings. Too bad no one would ever believe him if he tried to say something about it. He watches as the tension in Marinette’s body drops almost instantly before she runs over and launches herself at Bruce. She wraps her arms around him and Jason can see the way her body shakes. Bruce just stands there, staring down at the top of her head in shock.

“You wrap your arms around her.” Jason snarks. Bruce blinks before listening, returning Marinette’s hug. Well, they were still dysfunctional as hell, but at least now he’d be able to take Pixie Pop to the manor without feeling like an asshole brother.

---

Marinette bounces nervously in her seat as she watches her brothers hand her dad presents. She’s shocked when Jason hands over a small gift, knowing that the two’s relationship wasn’t….great. She leans forward in anticipation, watching and waiting to see what he’d picked out.

“Thank you, Jason. Clark will never let me live this down.” Her dad says, the fondness in his tone not matching the frown on his face. He turns the box around and the room erupts in laughter. Somehow, Jason had found a company that made customizable bobbleheads. The body was probably just a stock body, dressed in civilian clothes with a superman suit peaking through the shirt. And the head, the head was hilarious. It was very obviously crafted to look like their dad, specifically with his ‘Brucie Wayne’ smile. It was awful and amazing at the same time.

“I think Jaybird wins best gift.” Dick says with a grin.

“Tt. Unlikely. The new katana that Cass and I gave him is obviously superior.” Damian says, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know Damian, I still haven’t given him my present.” She points out, grinning at the slight frown on Damian’s face.

“While I doubt your present could be better than mine, there is no doubt it will be better received than Todd’s.” Damian says. Marinette snorts at the look on Jason’s face.

“Listen Demon Spawn, there’s this thing called humor. That’s what my gift had. I know you wouldn’t know anything about humor, so let me explain it to you.” He starts, and Marinette jumps in to cut him off before they can start arguing. It was Father’s Day, the least they could do is avoid fighting with each other for a couple more hours.

“And this one’s from me.” She says, passing him the present wrapped in Batman wrapping paper. She grins as Tim and Dick both laugh, not having seen it before now.

“I think Mari might win just ‘cause of the paper.” Tim admits, taking a large drink of his iced coffee that Marinette had picked up for him. She’d had to fight an akuma right before they started presents, so she’d stopped and got Tim coffee from the shop that he’d tried when they’d all been in Paris. She watches in anticipation as her dad carefully unwraps the box, opening it and pulling out the black suit jacket. He smiles at her.

“Did you make this? It’s amazing.” He says, and her brothers nod in agreement (though Damian does so reluctantly).

“Look at the inside of it.” She says, gesturing for him to unfold it. His eyebrow twitches, but he does as she says. She watches his face for the moment he spots it, and grins when his face drops into a wide smile. On the inside of the left side of the jacket, she’d added a breast pocket. It wasn’t really for anything though. Instead, it was so that she could embroider all of his children’s names in a way so that it would rest above his heart. The jacket also had tiny bat logos embroidered at the cuffs of the jacket. The thread was shiny and very dark so that it would barely show up against the black of the jacket. It had to be lit just right to see it, but as he tilted the jacket again, she knew he saw it. It had taken longer than suit jackets normally do for her, but it was because she knew that it had to be perfect. It was, after all, the first piece of clothing she’d made for her dad.

“It’s perfect, Marinette.” He says softly, running a hand over the names. She lets out a sigh of relief before smiling at him. Things were still a little rough, but they were so much better than they’d been the night of the Gala. She was glad that she had stayed, that she hadn’t ran like she had so badly wanted to.

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

Useful Part 2

fluff with a little hurt and comfort. If you want answers as to the lack of angst, look through my recent posts for an explanation.

—* — * — * —* —*

“Wait, you have a WHAT?” were the first words that the rest of the Gotham-based vigilantes heard when they finally were able to track down where Damian had gone. Dick looked over at Bruce, who was noticeably tense. No surprise there, the man had just found out that he had a second biological child. One who was apparently a superhero already, without his intervention, and also apparently had a tragic background in the League of fucking Assassin Assholes. Not to mention that Damian’s track record with meeting siblings wasn’t great, even if this one wasn’t actually new to him. Nobody had any real fear of Damian relapsing on his no-kill rule, they knew he had matured far too much to be at risk of killing for something as immature as sibling rivalry anymore.

But there was still fear. Because this new Wayne was an Unknown Factor, and as a rule the Bats hated Unknown Factors. And they had no idea what the relationship between the two had been before they had been separated, or what it would become now.

“That wasn’t Damian’s voice,” Dick helpfully pointed out the obvious. Bruce only frowned, doing his best (and failing) to hide his anxiety about what they would find. Silently, the group inched forward to the edge of the abandoned building they were on top of so that they could look over at what was happening. What they saw was a girl, presumably the same one who had been in a ladybug onesie and had fearlessly begun to ask them to leave Paris— until she had laid proper eyes on Robin and fled, that was. That girl was sitting down next to an unmasked Damian, who had his arm around her shoulders and let her lean into his side. He even smirked cheerfully at her question before continuing to speak to her.

“A dragon-bat. I knew you’d love hearing about him, I’ll introduce you when you come visit the Batcave. His name is Goliath,” Damian admitted smugly. Despite the familiar attitude and pride behind his words though, his spying family couldn’t help but notice that he kept periodically rubbing the girl’s (they really needed to find out her name) shoulder in reassurance. None of them missed the tear tracks on both of their faces, or how red the girl’s eyes were. Clearly they had missed something big.

But nobody wanted to try to figure that out yet. This scene was too precious, too breathtaking for them to interrupt just yet. They had never seen Damian this vulnerable around someone outside of their little circle before, someone from the Time Before Bruce, no less. Most of the time, only Nightwing was able to see this side to Damian. And usually the roles were reversed, with Damian being the one consoled. They had never seen him in the position of the comforter before. The pillar of support.

It really cemented just how far he had come.

So they watched silently as the girl flinched, pulling away a bit and hunching in on herself. The laugh she let out was small and overflowing with self-degradation.

“You make it sound as if the rest of your family actually wants me to visit,” she replied sourly. Damian gently cuffed her over the head, frowning.

“Two things,” he held up two fingers from his free hand. “One: They will. They accepted me, and I was— well, you remember how I used to be. Once they actually meet you, and process the fact that there’s another Wayne now, they will bombard you with more welcoming than you will know what to do with. Two: It’s Our family, Marinette. Not mine, ours.”

Well, at least they had a name now. But it seems like they had bigger issues now, like Marinette’s clearly damaged sense of self. Jason and Tim traded knowing glances; it wasn’t hard for them to guess where, or how, she might have been damaged enough to think so lowly of herself.

They watched as Marinette shook her head.

“I don’t know. It’s one thing to try to… to get to know you again. We used to be close before… everything,” she haltingly argued, voice small and frail and uncertain. But she never once looked away from Damian’s eyes, trying to convey as best as she could what she was feeling. “But they’re different. They don’t have any reason to trust or like me, Dami. And I’m bad at, well everything, but especially,” she waved her hands frantically as if indicating the whole situation they were in. “I mean, listen to me! I can barely articulate right now, and I’m talking to someone I’ve known my whole life! I’m a mess. Nobody wants a mess.”

It was Damian’s turn to snort, and he pulled her right back into his side. “Please. If anything, that’s exactly the type of child Father goes looking for. We’re all a mess. Especially Father, trust me.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” she accused suspiciously, but sank into his sideways embrace anyway. Damian chuckled.

“No, I’m being honest. He’s terrible at emotions, not that I really have much room to talk. We all are pretty bad with them. But he’s the most obvious when it comes to that issue,” Damian smirked over at his sister conspiratorially. “For example. He still tries to tell people that he works alone, and pushes people away because he has this intense desire to protect, but doesn’t know how to say “I don’t want you to get hurt, stop worrying me,” so instead he says “Go away, I don’t need you,” only for us to see through that nonsense and remind him that the amount of people in his team is in the double digits already. He doesn’t want to admit he cares about us and is vulnerable—”

“Sounds familiar,” Marinette teased with a watery grin, startling a short laugh from her twin. He nudged her a little roughly (but not to roughly) and playfully glared at her. Marinette just giggled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied with a grin before waving his free hand in dismissal. “Anyway. Another example. He has no idea how to tell a stranger, “hey, I’m your father and I will not reject you. In fact, I’m completely willing to adopt you right this moment and whisk you away to Gotham and relative safety and hire an entire team of therapists to help you and buy you half the world if you asked for it,” so instead he and the rest of our emotionally constipated family just lurks on the edge of a building in broad daylight eavesdropping on us and expects us not to notice.”

“Wait what,” Marinette’s gaze instantly whipped up towards the sky, taking only half a second to locate the aforementioned eavesdroppers. Everyone except Bruce at least had the courtesy to duck down and pretend not to be there when they noticed she had seen them, leaving Batman standing seemingly alone on the concrete roof. Marinette blinked once. Twice. Then turned to Damian. “I’m gonna blame the fact that I didn’t notice them on emotional turmoil, because there is no way I’ve gotten THAT rusty.”

Damian smiled, but didn’t laugh. He knew that was a deflection to try and distract from Marinette’s quickly resurging self-consciousness. Her hands were already trembling again, and the fear from only minutes ago had resurfaced. The insecurity. He could practically see the words “I’m not good enough,” written in her irises.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered, standing up and pulling her with him. “If anyone has to worry here, it’s me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Marinette whisper-hissed right back, eyes wide in disbelief and confusion. “You’re— You! Mister Perfect!”

Damian rolled his eyes, and his self-deprecating smirk matched the laugh Marinette had given just a few minutes earlier. “For the League, maybe,” he shrugged. “Never the Wayne family. Which is why I know you’ll be fine. If they put up with everything I’ve done and still call me one of them, they’ll accept you with barely a second thought.”

Marinette’s next argument was cut off by the sound of a dozen soft footfalls stirring up dirt not far ahead of them. The BatClan had landed from the rooftop.

Marinette gulped.

But if there was one thing— one thing she still remembered from her days as Marie Al-Ghul, it was how to fake pride and confidence. She straightened her shoulders automatically, lifted her chin, and pulled away from Damian’s supporting arm around her shoulder. Damian let her.

A little bit of old resentment flared up in him as he saw Batman walk up close enough to comfortably talk with them. Resentment that he no longer held onto, but that had haunted him nearly every night of the first two years he spent with his dad. The realization that maybe his twin was the one that was meant to be a Wayne. Marie had the blue eyes, the compassion, the more specifically detective-oriented mind. The calm head. Sometimes. Marie was exactly who he imagined when he thought of a naturally born member of the BatClan. Stubborn, clever, morally just. She had risked immediate death just because she refused to fight him, for crying out loud. Because she didn’t want to hurt the boy who used to be her best friend. The only ally she had ever had, growing up.

Meanwhile, he still had issues reigning in his anger sometimes. He had too much blood on his hands, he was more of a battlefield tactician than a long-term strategist. Still stubborn, but also completely unaware of the pain he brought others with his words or actions a lot of the time. He used to be such a rage fueled little demon, and thinking about how his sister fit the classic Wayne outline more thoroughly than he did had made him destroy more than a few practice dummies in frustration.

But now, looking at Marinette trying so hard to appear strong and proud when he knew she was still so shattered inside, relief overpowered the old and dull resentment. This was what she needed, he could sense that easily. She, just like him all those years ago, needed Bruce and the others to start to heal her and reforge what the League had badly molded.

“... Marinette, I suppose?” Damian nearly facepalmed at his father’s awkward attempt at a conversation starter. Marinette herself was clearly too keyed up and overthinking things to even register any amusement at the lame attempt, merely nodding with an overly serious expression on her face.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Monsieur Wayne. Or that’s my name nowadays, that is,” She stumbled a little in her response before clenching her fists and forcing herself to continue as calmly as she could muster up. “My birth name was Marie Al-Ghul.”

Bruce’s eyebrows visibly furrowed underneath his cowl. “Was?”

“I…” Marinette finally looked away, shame creeping back onto her face. “I was explicitly told that I was stripped of the Al-Ghul name and would be killed if I ever dared lay claim to it again. So I not-so-legally changed it. And I was later adopted.”

Several sharp gasps or the hiss of breath through teeth bit through the quiet breeze. Nobody was necessarily surprised, Marinette could see it when she looked through her eyelashes and examined the winces and sympathy on the faces of the vigilantes before her. Batman’s shoulders were stiff, as if someone had paralyzed only his shoulder blades.

“And the people who adopted you?” Batman pursued. Marinette couldn’t read his tone very well, but it sounded vaguely angry so she quickly raised her hands in a placating gesture and her eyes widened significantly.

“They’ve been amazing! They don’t know anything about my past, or who raised me, but they are endlessly patient with me. I mean, honestly! Sabine caught me when I was trying to steal one of her gold bracelets in Hong Kong— and I know I’ve never been as good of a combatant as Dami, but I’ve always been better at sleight of hand and stealth so honestly that’s impressive— and she saw my dirty eight-year-old face and for some reason decided, ‘yeah I want this one as my daughter’ and roped Tom right into it and next thing I know they somehow tailed me to my hideout? I still don’t know how the hell they managed that, but Tom had a huge plate of steaming buns and I was so hungry and suddenly it’s two years later and I’m adopted and we’re on a plane to Paris—” Marinette threw up her hands. “I still don’t fully grasp what happened sometimes.”

She belatedly seemed to realize that she had just gone on an entire breathless rant at the speed of sound, and slapped her hands over her mouth before lunging into a deep bow. “I apologize! I spoke horridly out of turn!”

To her surprise though, she was met with a soft laugh instead of a scolding. She jerked in surprise, whipping her head up only to see Batman holding a hand over his chin to hide his large grin. It only took another second for the boys behind him to laugh a lot LESS softly. Nightwing strolled over casually and swung an arm around both her and Damian’s shoulders, playfully nudging her brother with his knee.

“I think she fits right in, don’t you little D?”

“Of course,” Damian scoffed, though his eyes were playful. “She is a Wayne by blood. She ‘fits in’ more than you strays.”

“Dami!” Marinette whipped back to him and puffed out her cheeks. “That was uncalled for!” she barked. Damian held his hands up in surrender.

“Relax,” he said as soothingly as he could manage. “They know I’m joking,” he dropped his hands and a knowing smirk took over his face. “And besides, now you’re relaxed so my plan worked,” Marinette could only blink at that. She… did feel more relaxed, actually. “Also. I told you you’d be accepted easily. They already consider you one of us.”

“Wha— there’s no way—” she frantically looked at each of the older men around her, but each of them just shot her a smile or grin and a short nod. Her shoulders and jaw both fell, and it broke a little of everyone’s heart.

Marinette looked so utterly shocked, bewildered to be accepted as if it was still something profoundly foreign to her. And there was that disbelief in her eyes, that distrust that screamed that she expected some sort of lie here. That told that she thought this would all crumble away at any second. If anyone had any reservations about bringing her into their inner circles, it vanished right that moment. She needed support, or she’d crumble away and they all knew it.

“How about we start by talking about the situation with Hawkmoth?” Red Robin spoke up, walking forward to stand beside Batman. “I assume that’s a little more in your element?”

Damian silently vowed to thank Tim later for that. In a silent, completely anonymous way of course. Couldn’t have Tim thinking they were friends or something now, could he? Marinette instantly straightened up and nodded, her confidence returning with a little more sincerity this time.

“Yeah. Yeah, let me transform again. It’ll be easier to explain.”

—*—*—*—*—*

It was three weeks later, on Marinette’s third now-weekly visit to the Batcave, when the question finally came up. Jason had asked to spar with Marinette for the first time, having seen her in action as Ladybug and wanting to test the girl when she didn’t have superpowers to rely on. Damian hadn’t been down in the cave to warn him, and the result was Jason’s gut sinking as Marinette scrambled as far away from him as she could, eyes wide and chest heaving in the beginnings of a panic attack.

“Shit,” Jason muttered before he quickly knelt down and did his best to talk her down, to calm her until her breathing slowed and her pupils were back to normal. It wasn’t long afterwards that Marinette started hugging herself, refusing to look at him. But he wasn’t going to just back down, he wanted to solve this issue. If even the mere suggestion of a spar was enough to set her off, he needed to figure out why and fix it.

So he carefully lowered himself so he was sitting only a foot away from her, resting his arms across his knees casually.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Didn’t think it would be a sore subject. That’s on me.”

Marinette just shrugged, but didn’t answer him. She just buried her face in her arms and took a shaky breath.

Jason let the silence linger for a while before trying again. “Does this have to do with certain Asshole Assassins?”

That startled a slightly hysterical bark of laughter from her, and she had to wipe away a few tears when she raised her head and finally turned it in his direction slightly. Not enough for her to be looking at him, but just a subtle turn to show that she was listening and speaking to him. “Yeah.”

“You know, you never told us why you got disowned,” Jason tried to make his words as casual as possible, but wasn’t surprised when Marinette still stiffened and took a sharp breath. He didn’t push. The stage was set, and he’d wait until either she took the opportunity to open up or told him to leave well enough alone. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and her foot tapped on the ground a bit. Clear signs of her anxiety around the subject, and Jason’s hopes vanished a little. He would probably have to wait longer for her to be ready to share.

But, to his pleasant surprise, he was wrong. She took another few minutes to gather her thoughts, but she did eventually open up to him.

“I refused to fight Damian,” she admitted. “It was… We were seven. It wasn’t supposed to be a fight to the death, but it was a very important spar. We were using live weaponry, and we were told to fight until we couldn’t anymore. Whoever fell first would be relegated as a mere soldier, and have to fight for status like any other assassin in the League. The winner would officially be named as G— as Ra’s Heir. I didn’t want to fight, because I knew Damian would win but I also knew that it wouldn’t be as easy as Ra’s probably expected if I gave it my all like he wanted. I knew both Damian and I would be heavily injured if I did as he asked, and it wouldn’t be worth it. If I misjudged anything, any single hit, I could have accidentally injured Damian permanently and ruined his worth in Ra’s eyes, and that wasn’t an option. I didn’t care that throwing the fight was as good as giving up my life, because at least I could be sure that Damian kept his. I could make sure that he was treated well, or as well as anyone could hope for in the League anyway. I could, with only a few words, make sure he became indispensable. Ra’s and Talia never liked me as much as Damian anyway, I figured… I figured it was nobody’s loss,” She swallowed heavily, clenching her eyes shut. “I was always just the spare. The extra. Damian was their crown prince, the one with actual value. Even to me. I saw him, and I saw everything I wanted to be. I… I tossed down my weapons and let him stab me, because I figured I owed it to him for being such a failure in comparison to him. That I owed it to him to do everything I could to make things easier for him, since I was just an unnecessary obstacle—” strong arms wrapped around her, and she turned to sob into Jason’s chest as he just silently held her.

“Idiot,” Damian whispered, making Marinette jump. Her twin sat only a few feet away, though only Jason would have known when exactly he had gotten there with them. He shook his head at her. “I never would have gotten as far as I did without you,” he whispered, looking up at the cave ceiling. “You were the only real rival I had. When you left, everything was either too easy or nearly impossible, nothing was the same as trying my best against someone who was just as good as me. And when I got here and met the others, I didn’t think any of them were worthy of taking your position, you know,” he scoffed a bit as he got lost in his memories. “That’s why I hated Tim for so long, I think. He reminded me of you so much that I wanted nothing more than to punch him for daring to replace you—”

“Heh, the Replacement twice over, huh?” Jason joked. Damian chuckled with a small eye roll.

“Plus, he just has a really punchable face,” Damian added, trying to distract from the emotion behind everything he had just admitted. “Part of me thought you were dead. The other part refused to believe that. And seeing Tim and how some of his mannerisms were the same as yours,” Damian shrugged a little. “It stung. Especially that second year, when I started to regret that you never had the chance to come here and join them with me. Meet them with me.”

Marinette sniffled. “... Who are you and what have you done with Dami? He’s never this sappy.”

Damian flicked a pebble at her head with a good natured glare, successfully diffusing the serious air a little. Marinette wouldn’t ever be normal, and it would take a while before she was no longer fragile, but she could get there. Especially now that her bridges with her brother had been mended, and and a whole new family had cropped up to help support her.

She was glad Damian had convinced her to try, again.

#maribat #platonic daminette #sibling daminette #bio!dad au #bio!dad bruce wayne #ml x dc #mlb x dc #Useful

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anothertimdrakestan · 3 years

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2 Times Jason Todd Took Your Breath Away (Jason Todd x Reader)

this is for the ppl who requested jason todd x super!reader fics!

words: 1.4k

“I thought we were city heroes, why the hell am I trekking through a forest?” you whisper-yelled into your comm, but Tim was having none of it.

“You know as well as I do that we’ve gotta win this shit, best team remember?” you rolled your eyes, but agreed nonetheless. It was the once-every-three-years trip when the supers and bats were forced to go on a “family” trip. The term family is used quite loosely by the bats but your family was quick to coin it as the family trip even against Bruce’s disgust.

“Um, I think I’ve got sight of a flag, oh- yup! Blue flag spotted let’s fuck ‘em up.” Kon came over the comm, you’d gotten paired with the love birds for capture the flag, but it was fine because your team was way overpowered, which meant when you won you’d get the pick of the night's dinner. The goal was to capture as many flags as possible without losing your own.

“Okay, stealth mode get the flag, y/n head back to base, if there’s no one at blue it means they’re going for the rest of us which is a code 2 alarm, especially with Todd and Dami on the blue team.” you suppressed a laugh at the literal make-believe codes Tim had decided on for this game, for the bats this game held some sort of bragging rights, but for you Kon it was just a chance to stretch your legs.

As Kon secured the blue flag you knew your team had won, Tim was at home base sitting on 2 other flags, and there was no shot anyone was getting past him. Strolling back through the woods you picked up on the light breathing on someone to your left. Whipping your head to the side you saw your own green flag waving in a pair of gloved hands.

“What the fuck?” you paced up to the tree. “Little birdie forgot to watch their own nest!” Jason’s laughter bubbled up as he twirled the little green cloth on it’s wooden stick.

“I- I wasn’t even at base? Isn’t Tim there?” you tried to play innocent, knowing if you got close enough you could snatch the flag and run. “Mhm he was, but he was too busy talking to Kon to notice me,” you inched closer, trying to look upset, “No fair! They’re always distracted.” you pouted, looking up at Jason who nodded in agreement. “So distracted,”

In what felt like a flash you were suddenly pinned to the ground, the air knocked clean out of your lungs. “GO GO GO!” Jason shouted; from your position flat on the ground you tilted your head to the side, watching Damian and Jon book it from your base towards theirs, a blue flag in Jon’s hands.

“Brats!” you called after them. With a breathless sign you brought your head up, face to face with Jason. There were black lines on each of his cheeks, and his hair was pushed back by a makeshift blue cloth he’d clearly ripped from the collar of his shirt, as it was ragged and ribbed from where he’d ripped it apart.

His face was just an inch from yours, warm breath fluttering on your lips. “Always too distracted y/n” he whispered with a grin, eyes flitting down to your lips which were parted, gasping for air.

You knew you could overpower him and stand up, his weight wasn’t fully crushing you, like he wanted to know if you’d stand up and leave.

You didn’t. There were far more fun things to do on the forest floor.

You used to be scared of heights. It was the dumbest thing too, a superhero with the ability to fly scared of falling? Your brothers had given you the most shit, especially when Jon was up in the clouds before you were flying above three story buildings. But you proved time and time again that you can be a damn good superhero and not fly like a plane- or whatever the old saying was.

You’d gotten better, months of forcing yourself to jump off varying heights just to prove you could fly, sometimes even hitting the ground just to assert that you wouldn’t even go splat if you tried, but it wasn’t ever really rational was it? Most fears aren’t.

Jason knew too, you guys weren’t exactly “dating” more like just being friends that do whatever friends do, it was easier that way. You’d gotten into a rhythm of visiting Jason after the sun set in Metropolis, swiftly sailing through city streets once all the lights were off. That’s how you’d landed perched on a lower roof in Gotham, sharing milkshakes and trying to point out stars through the Gotham haze.

“So this isn’t scary? We aren’t too high up?” Jason sat up, scooting forwards to dangle his feet off the ledge of the building. You sat up, letting your own feet hang, “not terrifying, there’s like butterflies in the stomach at the thought of falling, but I guess I know I’ve tested my ability to catch myself from here,” you explained, looking down at the sidewalk as your stomach did somersaults.

“Well, okay. Look at that building, how high up could you got before it’s too much?” he pointed to a Gotham skyscraper. Taking a gulp you assessed its height, “right there, sixth story, god that’s only like halfway up.” you mused, shaking your head at the thought.

“Cool, let's go then.” Jason snatched your drink out of your hands and grappled towards the top story of the building with light-hearted laugh. Your first reaction was to stand up, starting after Jason as he grappled higher, and higher, and higher, focussing solely on the familiar frame of one of your closest friends, and- suddenly you were standing at the top of a Gotham skyscraper.

“How the fuck am I up here right now,” you felt your knees buckling, your breath was staggered. Jason was at your side, letting you lean on him while he tilted your chin up to the sky.

As you looked up you leaned more into his embrace, your head resting on his shoulder as you looked at the stars.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, unable to fathom how beautiful they looked up close, god you were so high up you felt like you could reach out and touch the stars. But it wasn’t scary, because you had your rock there to ground you.

“There is so much more to see up here, so much beauty, why not fly a little higher?” Jason’s voice was deep and full, as you met his eyes you realized they’d been solely on you. With your face getting increasingly warm you let yourself hover just a little bit, trying to swallow the nerves as Jason took your hand, leading you to the very edge of the building.

“I’ve gotcha, look I won’t let go, just go a little further.” Jason was smiling, taking both your hands in his as he spun you towards the air. Letting yourself float with his support you focused on his eyes, trying to breathe as you know the only thing beneath your feet was air. “You’re doing so good, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, letting the silence of your achievement soak into your soul.

You could feel your hands shaking in his, but you mustered your strength to look down, noticing just how far you were from the ground.

“I’m doing it.” you said, almost astonished at your own feat. “No one ever doubted you except yourself.” Jason replied, letting go of one of your hands to twirl you in the air. With a giggle you allowed yourself to spin, it felt like power was soaking into you, you’d gone from feeling the air sucked out of you to truly breathing for what felt like the first time in your life.

Confident with your power, you let go of his hand, steadying yourself with a grin. Jason’s hands covered his mouth as he let out a strangled noise of pride as you began to twirl around in the sky.

Rushing up to him you crushed him in a hug, unable to show your gratitude. He hadn’t fully cured you, your hands were still shaking, but it felt so good to know you could fly as high as you wanted and there was always a person to turn to, a person to call home.

short n sweet! hope you enjoyed :)

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #tim drake #damian wayne #batboys #batboys x reader #dick grayson #batfam #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfiction #timkon

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supersilversleuth · 3 years

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Your Words Aren’t Real (So Why Do They Hurt So Much?) by SuperSilverSpy

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Fandoms: DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Dick Grayson & Batfamily members, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson & Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson Whump, Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I seem to be doing a lot of that these days…, Whumptober 2021, Mind Control, fear toxin, Hallucinations, anyway, Angst, SuperSilverSpy, SilverGrayson, SilverWhump, Taunting, Insults, ”who did this to you?”

Summary:

“Sometimes I wish you were my father, but I know you could never be. Bruce will always be my real father. You were just an inadequate stand-in.”

Dick choked, barely noticing the swift kick to his ribs before he was already stumbling back, ducking around Steph’s fist as he fought to regain his balance.

“You were a terrible brother,” said the voices of Jason and Tim. “All you ever did with me was make mistakes.”

OR Mind Control with a heaping of Angst

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT… taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”

Series:

Part 3 of 2021 Most Whumperful Time of the Year - Dick Grayson-centric

Language: English Words: 1,645 Chapters: 1/1

Nightwing awoke in a warehouse, surrounded by Batman, Red Hood, Robin, Spoiler, and Red Robin. They were all passed out on the ground, strange devices wrapped around their heads. They seemed relatively unharmed, not a bruise or laceration or twisted limb in sight. He sighed in relief.

Looking around, Dick noted the absence of visible hostiles. He turned to Robin, who was closest to him and inspected the device around boy’s head; whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He felt along the smooth metal, searching (or feeling) for a way to remove it.

A moment later, several ding! sounds echoed in the warehouse, emitting from the head devices. Damian’s eyes opened, glowing a vibrant yellow. Dick backed up as the rest of his family began to rise around him. He knew mind control when he saw it, though that didn’t stop him from asking, “Uh…guys? You still in there?”

Their faces remained expressionless as they turned threateningly towards him.

“Guess not,” he answered himself. “Looks like it’s just another exciting day in the life of the great and eternally stressed out Nightwing.”

He’d probably have to come up with yet another insightful and compelling speech to snap them out of it, par for the course for him at this point. Oh but how he wished it wasn’t. Every single time somebody in his family got brainwashed, or mind-controlled, or possessed (all of which happened way more often than it should), he was pretty much always the one to talk them down, or get beaten up and nearly killed for his efforts. It had reached a point where he wondered if Bruce was actively trying to get one of Dick’s siblings to accidentally kill him.

Well, at least one thing was different this time—he was facing off against five family members at once, instead of one, or two, or his entire f***ing team. But that was a story for another day.

Maybe, he could actually fight close to his full capability against them, without too much fear of hurting them. He didn’t have to knock them out or sedate them after all, he just needed to damage those device things around their heads.

Hood lunged at him first, guns drawn. Dick dodged, wrenching one of the man’s guns away with a grunt. He threw it across the room, knowing it did nothing for him in close quarters combat wherein he was attempting not to hurt, kill, or maim any of his would-be killers. There was no time for him to contemplate Jason’s likely reaction to the discovery of his ruined gun that would surely come later. Batman was already springing into action, fists swinging through the air in an unnaturally aimed-to-kill way.

Dick flipped around, dodging attacks from the two. He needed to bide his time, wait for the right opportunity to strike. He tried to electrocute them to short-circuit their metal head-band device things, but it didn’t really seem to do anything. He did, however, manage to get in a good hit to Jason’s head, which disoriented the man—and likely the person in control of him. Bruce went down next, Dick slipping the man’s belt out from around his waist in a move no one else in the world knew, and throwing a flash bomb in his face.

Pocketting what he could from the belt before tossing that too away (the emergency beacon didn’t work), he turned to face his new opponents. Spoiler and Robin, the short little duo wreaking havoc to his right, with Bruce and Jason getting back up on his left.

Whoever was controlling his family wasn’t the best at it, though forcing them to attempt murder against their own instincts was a feat in itself.

“You failed me,” said two very familiar voices in unison. It was Bruce and Damian.

Dick was so startled he almost didn’t manage to dodge the sneak attack Red Robin was attempting from behind.

“You failed the mission, our mission, you’ve failed the family I’ve given you, and the city I put in your responsibility.” It was just Bruce now, speaking blankly, words flowing out with no restraint.

Dick swallowed, but forced himself to ignore the man, ignore the words. It was probably just a program to detect negative emotion associated with thoughts of Nightwing and force the mind-controlled victim to...to say the thoughts out loud. Logically, he knew this.

Logic couldn’t prepare him for what came next.

“Sometimes I wish you were my father, but I know you could never be. Bruce will always be my real father. You were just an inadequate stand-in.”

Dick choked, barely noticing the swift kick to his ribs before he was already stumbling back, ducking around Steph’s fist as he fought to regain his balance.

“You were a terrible brother,” said the voices of Jason and Tim. “All you ever did with me was make mistakes.”

His vision had blurred at some point in time, he wasn’t sure when. A fist slammed into his jaw, a bow staff swiped at his feet. Purple flashed in the corner of his vision as his wrist was brutally snapped. Dick opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“They say never meet your heroes. I guess they were right then, hmmm? Except you were never my hero, and yet you still managed to disappoint me anyway.” Steph’s tone was sharp and biting as she jammed a shuriken into his shoulder.

Dick pushed her away, doing a messy backflip to land on Bruce, using what little momentum he had to push off towards Jason, tackling him for the umpteenth time.

“You were unfit to be a mentor, just look at you now. And the students become the masters…” said the scathing voices of Dami, Steph, and Tim. Laughter echoed in his ears, sounding cruelly amused. No, this wasn’t them, they would never say such things…

“Oh it’s all true,” said a voice from behind him, Jay’s voice. “What is it, Goldie, can’t handle the pressure?”

Dick tried in vain to block the voices out, focusing just long enough to knock the device around Tim’s head askew.

The boy fell to the ground, reality mixing with fantasy as Tim’s eyes looked up at him, cold and lifeless, as blood pooled around Tim’s twisted body, as if he’d fallen… Corpse-pale lips parted, harsh words spilling out onto unforgiving ground, “You think I’m just like you, but you’re wrong. I’m better. You couldn’t beat me if you tried. I’m too pure, somehow untainted by your doomed soul, even after all this time.”

Crazed laughter echoed in Dick’s ears, even as he blinked and saw Tim as he actually was, lying unconscious—and alive, on the ground.

“Look at that, failing to protect those you love most? You’re worthless to them, and to me. I should never have taken you in.” The words were growled in a familiar deep register, and yet...the tone was unusually cruel—

Dick found himself sprawled on the ground, back still smarting from where he’d been kicked. He struggled to his good hand and knees, only to hear the sound of a gun cocking. He looked up. Jason stood above him, Steph and Damian on either side.

“Tt, Grayson, always so pathetic.” For a moment, Dami seemed to be wearing an older version of his uniform, from when he was still Dick’s Robin…

Steph tossed her hair back, giggling, and Dick saw her in a different costume, that of Robin, and then it changed to Batgirl. Gah, he was so confused.

She wasn’t. “You’re not going to make it this time around. How does it feel knowing we’d all be glad? You’ve hurt us more than helped us, Dick. It’s time you’ve faced that fact.”

Jason smirked down at him. “Any last words? We all know you don’t deserve them, but, well,” he smirked, “I’m feeling charitable today.”

Dick lunged upward, body tensed as if to tackle, arms outstretched as if to hug. Dick himself wasn’t quite sure what it was meant to be, what he wanted anymore…

Bang!

The gun went off, bullet burying itself in Dick’s side.

Three pairs of feet began to kick at his prone body from all sides. He curled in on himself, clutching desperately at the bullet wound, mind hazy with blood loss and something...else… A scraping noise, close to his ear. Dick barely registered it through the pain of the systematic blows raining down. Another pair of feet entered his vision, Bruce’s Batman boots. Dick panicked, using one hand to staunch the blood flow while the other went to his neck, to where he instinctively knew the real problem was. There was a device, attached to his neck, like a mini version of what the others had, but missing a few parts. He yanked it off, and immediately, he heard the thumps of his hopefully just unconscious family members falling to the ground.

Dick squinted at the device, as he felt himself joining them in the land of darkness. A familiar scarecrow label stared back at him, Jervis Tetch craftsmanship was practically written all over the thing as well…

—

Jason woke, groggy and disoriented. He found himself amongst other bats, all lying on the floor in a circle like some kind of crazy sorcerer spell gone wrong. The others were slowly waking, blinking and shaking their heads as if to clear the fog away. And in the middle of it all, at the center of their little coming-back-to-the-land-of-the-living circle, lay Dick Grayson, covered in blood, close to passing out.

The guy was nearly unrecognizable, but Jason would recognize that ridiculous hairstyle anywhere. Scrambling over to his brother’s side, Jason ignored the way the room spun, placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder and looking down at the man, brow pinched in concern.

“Dickie?” he asked, “Who did this to you?”

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odos-bucket · 3 years

Text

In Which Each of Bruce’s Kids Come Out to Him

and then he comes out to them

Dick

They’re working on opposite sides of the coffee table in one of the manor’s more habitable sitting room’s. It’s become a regular part of their weekday routine: Bruce finishes up whatever office work he has to do, while Dick does his homework, and talks about his day. Usually there are snacks involved. A parenting book Bruce had read recommended trying to get their work done together. It’s a good way to keep connected with their increasingly busy schedules.

“So anyways…” Dick’s story is starting to slow down a little bit, and the shift in tone has Bruce glancing up from his paperwork. “I should probably tell you, since, well, everyone knows at school now.” His voice is still conversational, and relaxed, but a little distracted.

Bruce shifts him his full attention.

“See, what happened was Cameron Josephs in my third period biology class came to school with nail polish on today, which I noticed with my clever detective skills, and promptly dismissed as unimportant, and everyone else noticed with their nosy pre-teen skills, and promptly lost their shi- I mean, minds over. And that was Mrs. Horton’s class, and she has absolutely no control over her students, so it sort of became this whole big thing. Kids were making fun of him, and other kids were yelling at them to knock it off, and he was just trying to do his work, but the rest of the class got into a big fight. And then Brad Cormick- he’s on my basketball team- made a homophobic joke, and we were sitting at the same table, and I could tell that he wanted me to laugh at it. So I told him to shut up, and said that I was bisexual, not that any of it really had anything to do with anything else that was going on, but it did get him to shut up, which was good. Except that I think it may have been because I have more friends than Cameron does, which is totally unfair, and everyone should just be nice to everyone else no matter what, but also I guess not really the point… The point is, yeah, I’m bi. Oh, also frog dissection got moved to tomorrow because one kid threw up.”

Dick takes a deep breath (finally) and a long sip of his juice, before immediately returning to doodling athletic stick figures in the margins of his algebra homework.

Bruce studies him for a moment, trying to figure out what kind of response is expected of him, what would be helpful for Dick to hear. He’s really not very good at this kind of thing.

He’s saved from the risk of putting his foot in his mouth when the science class story continues.

“Are frogs really that gross? I don’t think they are. But I guess our basement is filled with guano, so maybe my tolerance is heightened by regular exposure to the substance most frequently equated with insanity.”

Dick hadn’t seemed nervous before coming out, or relieved after. And if he’s not going to make it into a big deal then neither is Bruce, even if a part of him feels pleasantly warmed by the casual show of trust.

Jason

Bruce loves picking up his kids from school. It’s not something that his schedule allows him to do very often, and Jason- as Dick had been before him- always seems pleasantly surprised to see him. It’s a little thing in the grand scheme, but it’s just nice, normal. And he would never say it out loud- he’s not sure why, he knows he should- but he cherishes the little bit of extra time spent with his boys.

But today Jason isn’t happy to see him.

Bruce pulls up to the curb, and only has to scan the crowd of teenagers for a few seconds before spotting him. He’s on a bench with another student, their shoulders pressed together despite wide swaths of free space available on either side of them. Jason’s pointing out something in a textbook, while the other boy plays with his free hand.

Bruce pulls slightly to the side to let another car drive around him, figuring he’ll give Jason a few minutes to finish up, and notice that Bruce is there, rather than call out and risk embarrassing him.

It’s not even a full minute before they make eye contact across the lot, and immediately something in Jason’s expression changes. His eyes go wide and startled, his posture suddenly tightened. In one fast motion he shuts his book with both hands, muttering something to his friend as he practically throws himself off the bench.

Now feeling on high alert, Bruce sweeps an intense gaze over the school yard for anything that could have upset his son. He doesn’t manage to spot anything before Jason arrives at the car and pulls himself into the backseat (where he never sits, unless the front is already occupied). He starts talking before Bruce can ask what’s wrong.

“That wasn’t what it looked like!”

Bruce frowns, and looks over both Jason and the area in front of the school in an attempt to identify something that isn’t like how it looks.

“He just-“ Jason flinches, seemingly realizing something wrong with whatever he’d been about to say, and cuts himself off with a sharp breath. “I mean-“

Feeling lost is by no means a new part of parenthood for Bruce, and he’s sure it’s something he’ll experience many more times going forward. But, god, he really hates not understanding what’s going on, not knowing what to do, and he doubts that he’ll ever get used to it.

“Jason,” he tries. “Slow down.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason answers automatically. “Sorry.”

It’s been over a year since Jason’s called him ‘sir’ and the sudden reintroduction of the honorific sends a cold chill down Bruce’s spine. For a second they just stare at each other, with what Bruce is pretty sure are matching expressions of partially concealed horror.

“Jason,” he says more quietly.

“I know,” Jason interrupts. “I’m sorry. Please-“ He stops himself, covering his mouth before he can finish the thought, and then just as quickly lowering the hand back to his lap.

Another silence follows, short but harrowing. Then finally Bruce makes a rare admission

“I have no idea what’s happening right now.”

Jason stares at him, and the wider his eyes get the younger he looks, and the more Bruce wants to scoop him up into his arms. But he just waits, and tries not to look too expectant.

“I-I was holding hands with Derek,” Jason breaths out.

“…Alright?” He’s heard that name before. Jason doesn’t have as many friends at school as Dick had, so they’re a little easier to keep track of, even if Bruce has only ever met any of them in passing. “Is this someone you’re worried I’ll embarrass you in front of?” He asks after a brief pause.

Jason keeps staring at him, expression crinkling as his breathing grows erratic.

Bruce finds himself automatically exaggerating his own inhales and exhales, resting the side of one hand against his sternum, to remind Jason of some of their breathing exercises.

“That’s it, chum,” he says as he sees it slowly begin to work. “Everything’s okay.” For all he knows- or doesn’t know- right now it might not even be true, but dammit for his kid he will make everything okay.

“Everything’s okay,” Jason obediently echoes.

Bruce takes his hand off his chest, and starts to reach towards him. But Jason flinches away from him, not as violently as he had back when they were still new to each others’ lives, but it’s enough to make Bruce feel sick. He can practically feel the wrongness of it squeezing his heart into shards as he slowly withdraws his arm back into the front seat. He had truly thought that they had gotten past this.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” he says softly, a small concession to the part of himself that wants to beg his son’s forgiveness for whatever he’s done to make him afraid. “I’m so sorry.”

Jason’s not looking at him anymore. His head is down, and his gaze is fixed on his knees.

Bruce hesitates.

“I’ll never hurt you.” It’s a reassurance he had thought they were past the point of needing, but if they aren’t he’ll say it as many times as he has to. “Never.”

“Are you mad?”

“Is there something particular that I’m supposed to be mad about?” Bruce asks carefully.

“... That I was holding hands with a guy,” Jason elaborates, after a steadying breath.

Oh, Bruce is an idiot. What kind of detective is he if he can’t even- He cuts himself off, realizing he can’t wait too long to respond to that.

“Of course not. That’s what this is about?”

“I never meant for you to find out,” is the response he gets. And doesn’t that just hurt like hell to hear?

“That you like boys?” Bruce confirms.

“And girls, both. But I didn’t know what you’d think, so I figured if I couldn’t be sure it was better to keep it to myself.”

Bruce closes his eyes, taking a second to calm his own breathing.

“I never want you to feel like that,” he says. “About anything. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear. I love you, Jaylad, that isn’t contingent on anything.”

I wish I could have protected you from whatever it was that made you feel like this was something you had to hide. He doesn’t say it.

Jason is finally looking at him again, gaze thoughtful and careful. A long moment passes, before he surprises- and momentarily terrifies- Bruce by getting out of the car. But before he can react to that, Jason’s climbing into the passenger seat, and after a second of hesitation, leaning into Bruce’s side.

“Okay,” he says quietly, sounding a little choked up.

Bruce puts an arm around his shoulders. The closeness is a balm after the pain of having his son flinch away from him.

Tim

Tim isn’t supposed to come over today. His parents are in town, and Bruce had made a point of hiding his reluctance when he’d given Robin the week off, chastising himself for the empty nest syndrome he has no right to be experiencing- at least in regards to this particular child.

So he’s surprised when he hears Alfred’s throat clear, and looks up to see both Alfred and Tim lingering in the doorway to his office. It would be odd to see him here at this time of day even if they had been planning to go on patrol; sunset is still a few hours off.

Bruce immediately has a bad feeling. He knows it’s commonplace for the Drakes to disappear unexpectedly partway through whatever length of time they were meant to be spending at home. As Batman it’s made his life easier numerous times. As a parent it’s beyond his comprehension. If he still had his boys at home- but he can’t think about that, not without breaking down, and if Tim’s just been abandoned that’s the last thing he needs.

As he approaches the door, Alfred’s pointed look, and Tim’s vacant expression confirm that he’s right to be concerned.

“Tim.” He keeps his voice neutral. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

He picks up on Alfred’s glare a fraction of a second too late to realize that he’s said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry.” There’s something miserable in Tim’s voice, that makes Bruce want to bundle him up in a blanket. Before he can assure him that he has nothing to apologize for, Alfred cuts in.

“I told Master Tim that he’s welcome to stay with us for as long as he needs.”

Bruce nods automatically, looking down at Tim, who’s glassy expression looks a million miles away.

“Tim,” he says gently, eventually drawing the boy’s gaze, but feeling disconcerted by how delayed the response is.

Alfred leaves with a comment about putting a kettle on for tea, closing the door firmly but softly behind him. The sound it makes as it pulls all the way shut still makes Tim twitch.

“Do you want to sit down?” Bruce offers.

Tim stumbles a bit on his way to the couch. He’s so out of it; He won’t be patrolling tonight, even if his schedule’s suddenly open for it. Bruce sits down on the other side.

“Are they gone again?” He asks, trusting fully that the vaguely worded question will be completely understood.

There’s a worrying delay before Tim shakes his head, giving Bruce ample time to wish for Alfred back before he can register the response enough to be surprised by it.

“So...“ he begins uncertainly, before being cut off.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says again. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“You aren’t a bother, Tim.”

The- admittedly somewhat monotone- assurance just gets him a shrug.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He tries.

“Do I have to?” Tim asks after a long silence. “Can’t I just stay here?”

Bruce frowns.

“Of course you can stay here. But I think I really need to know what’s going on.”

Tim stares at him, eyes shining, mouth opening and closing several times before he speaks.

“Can I- Alfred says I can tell you something, and you won’t get mad?”

“Well, that depends on what it is,” Bruce says, thinking back on every time a robin has had something to tell him, but first wanted confirmation that he wouldn’t be angry.

Tim seems to shrink at his words, his breath catching audibly as he curls in on himself. Fuck, Bruce is bad at this.

“What do you have to tell me?” He asks.

“Well now I don’t know if I want to!” It almost comes out as a yell, strained by the sound of held back tears, and Bruce is a little taken aback.

“I’ll probably find out at some point,” he reasons.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Tim chokes on something that sounds like a suppressed sob.

No, no, no no. This isn’t supposed to happen. Bruce reaches out for him in an awkward and hastily aborted movement.

“I can’t,” Tim says after a minutes, tears streaking over his pale cheeks. “If you don’t-“ His voice catches. “I need you to let me stay here.”

Bruce’s heart hurts as he scooches a little closer, reaching out to rest a hand- hopefully not too awkwardly- on Tim’s shoulder.

“Of course you can stay here,” he reiterates. “I told you you could stay here. Even if I’m mad at you you can stay here. If you-“ He searches for a moment. “-Took the batmobile out on a joyride, and drove it into the harbor, I’ll be mad at you, but you’ll still have a place here. One will never have anything to do with the other.”

Tim makes a noise that’s over too quickly for Bruce to be able to tell if it had been a laugh, or just more crying.

“Did Jason do that?” He asks in a hoarse voice.

“Dick,” Bruce corrects.

This time Tim definitely snorts, which has Bruce smiling in spite of himself.

“Did you do something worse than that?” He asks.

It’s meant to be a joke, but Tim makes an unhappy face at the question.

“I- no!” He says, defensive, but confident. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Bruce gives his shoulder a squeeze before releasing it.

“Then why would I be mad at you?”

The humor that had begun to make its way into Tim’s expression disappears again, and Bruce curses himself.

“Mom and Dad were mad,” he says quietly.

Bruce scowls. He tries pretty hard not to let his dislike of Jack and Janet show around Tim- though he’s long suspected the young detective can tell- but it’s harder to hide sometimes than others.

“You said they were still home,” he remembers. “Tim, did they kick you out?” He does his best to keep the anger out of his voice.

And then he finds himself doing his best to keep the anger off of his face when it takes Tim a moment to answer the question.

“I don’t think forever,” he says uncertainly. “Just- They said they needed time to think about it, to d-decide what to do.”

The slight stutter puts him over the age, and fury starts to trickle into Bruce’s voice.

“To think about what?” He demands. Hell, that place is more Tim’s home than it is theirs. They have absolutely no right to ask him to leave! And where the hell do they expect him to go? Bruce forces himself to clench his jaw, and take deep breaths.

“...I’m gay,” Tim finally says.

Bruce stares at him for the second that it takes for the words to register, and connect back to the rest of the conversation.

“That’s it?”

He’s wincing at himself before the question is all the way out of his mouth, immediately convinced that he’s said the wrong thing again. But then, to his immense relief, he realizes that Tim has started laughing. It isn’t deep, or sustained. His voice is still a little weak, and his eyes are still a little red. But he’s definitely laughing, and Bruce realizes vaguely that a robin laughing is still his favorite sound in the world.

“That’s it,” Tim confirms, on the tail end of his laugh.

“Oh, Tim.”

Bruce doesn’t give himself a chance to second guess the motion before he pulls the boy into a hug, satisfied that it was the right course of action when he feels Tim melt against him.

“Of course I’m not mad, of course I’m not mad,” he repeats like a mantra. “I’m sorry I let you think I would be. You’re right, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

A few seconds pass, and he realizes there’s a wet patch at his shoulder where Tim’s face is buried. Bruce freezes, totally unsure of what he’s done wrong this time.

“I’m sorry,” Tim breaths out. “I- thank you. Thank you! I don’t know what I would have done if- I- I don’t want to be alone!”

“Not alone,” Bruce promises. “You’re not alone. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Tim presses closer, and Bruce takes it as a cue to tighten his hold.

Alfred finds them like that a few minutes later, Tim curled up in his arms, while Bruce cycles through reassurances. The look they exchange is enough to confirm that they’re both thinking the same thing: this kid is ours.

Cass

One day Cass hangs a little pride flag up on her door. Later in the week when she catches Bruce glancing at it, she comes up to him, gives the flag a meaningful nod, before just saying, “Girls!” in a happy voice, giving him a hug, and disappearing down the hall.

Damian

Bruce can identify every member of his family by their knock, but Damian’s is particularly distinctive. Not just because it tends to come from a lower part of the door, but because Damian has cultivated a strong knock, the way businessmen cultivate a strong handshake. It’s a very confident and determined sound, that he often finds himself stifling a smile at, knowing that that isn’t at all the intended reaction.

“Come in,” he calls, and there’s no pause before Damian strides into his office, confident as ever. When he speaks however, the undercurrents of his voice tell a different story.

“Father, there is something I wish to discuss with you.” There are a few hesitations, that don’t quite manage to turn into stutters in his voice, ones it’s unlikely anyone outside of their family would notice.

Bruce doesn’t comment on them, just nods for Damian to sit down and continue.

His legs don’t fully reach the floor. Something else that Bruce has learned not to let himself smile at.

“Grayson says…” he begins confidently, before trailing off.

Bruce just raises an eyebrow for him to continue, not feeling like he has enough information to put anything together from at the moment.

“Richard says,” Damian continues more carefully. “He came out to you as bisexual when he was around my age?”

Bruce nods. He has a feeling that he knows where this is going this time.

“He did.”

“He said that you were okay with it?”

Bruce nods again.

“Dick is my son. My love for him isn’t conditional, certainly not on that. There’s nothing wrong with not being straight.”

Damian had broached the topic using Dick as a proxy, so Bruce had followed his lead and assumed that Damian would know to automatically apply the assurance to himself. But Damian’s face just falls into a puzzled frown.

“So why…” he begins, before changing track. “Richard isn’t your biological son.”

Bruce frowns back.

“Damian, you know that doesn’t make a difference to me. I don’t love your siblings any less because they’re not-”

“I know,” Damian cuts in. “It isn’t about loving us differently.” He says it very matter of factly. “I have the ability to carry on your bloodline, whereas they do not.”

“That ability isn’t an obligation,” Bruce says, wondering why his kids never seem to be able to just worry about normal things. “And it’s certainly not something that you need to be thinking about at thirteen years old.”

Damian nods slowly, staring down at the desk with a look of intense concentration, before slowly raising his gaze to Bruce.

“Mother and Grandfather said that you wouldn’t like it, if I wasn’t interested in girls,” he says quietly.

Bruce sighs. of-fucking-course they did. He gets up from his chair, and moves around the desk to kneel in front of Damian.

“Well they’re wrong,” he says simply. “And they had no right to lead you to believe that it would make any difference to me. Just like I don’t love your siblings any less, my love for you is no more conditional. Understand?”

It takes a moment, but Damian nods.

“All right. In which case, I suppose... I’m gay.”

“And I’m proud of you,” Bruce says, before pulling his son into a hug.

Bruce

Bruce looks at his assembled family, and begins to feel a strange sense of trepidation tickling at the edge of his consciousness.

They’re all here. Trying to get the whole family together all at once is like pulling teeth. But he told them it was important, and they all came. There have been plenty of points over the course of the years when that wouldn’t have happened. And even though they’ve all been pretty settled with each other for a while now, he never wants to take for granted having his whole family together- not that he thinks the part of him that only seems to settle when he has all of his children within arm’s reach would let him.

The comfort of having them all be together is overwhelming, but the trepidation is still there, just like it probably always will be any time he manages to round up the courage for anything resembling feelings talk.

They’re all in one of the living rooms, sprawled in a comfortable half circle across various couches and chairs.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you all,” Bruce starts to say.

“Are you dying?” Stephanie asks casually.

Beside her, Cass freezes, looking horrified.

“I’m not dying,” Bruce says quickly.

At the same time Steph rubs a hand up and down Cass’s arm and assures her she was kidding.

“Not like he’d tell us if he was,” Dick says.

He knows it’s meant to be a joke, just like Stephanie’s question had been, but it still sends a chill through him. Mostly because he can’t say for sure that Dick is totally wrong; it’s the kind of thing he easily could have kept to himself. But then he sees the uncertain frown that Damian is giving him, and Cass’s wide, anxious eyes, and decides that he has to be wrong.

“I’m not dying,” he repeats, reaching out for Tim who’s sitting closest to him, and who’s been staring very intently at the floor since the topic came up.

Tim leans into the touch without shifting his position.

“And I would tell you,” he adds seriously, feeling absolutely wracked with guilt over the fact that up until this moment he doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to claim that with any certainty.

“I swear, if there’s anything wrong with me, all of you will know as soon as possible.” By the time it comes out of his mouth, he knows he means it with total certainty.

“I think we’re all pretty tuned into the fact that there’s something wrong with you,” Jason offers, and the tension in the room breaks.

Bruce smiles despite himself. That was agonizing. Compared to that getting on with the conversation he’d previously been so apprehensive to have will be a relief.

“What did you want to tell us?” Duke asks.

“It can be… difficult for me to articulate what it means to me whenever one of you trusts me enough to share something about yourself. I thought that I owed it to all of you to return the favor, and share a… recent discovery of mine.” He stumbles through it as awkwardly as he’d expected to.

“This is weird,” Stephanie stage whispers.

“I’m bisexual,” Bruce admits.

“Bruce!” Dick says excitedly.

“Unacceptable,” Jason cuts in. “We already have enough of that nonsense in this house!”

Tim kicks him in the side.

“Well, seeing as it’s an option, I for one prefer the idea of you pursuing romantic entanglements that bear no risk of resulting in pregnancy.”

“Noted, Damian.”

“I’m happy for you, B,” Tim says. “It can be hard figuring yourself out.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Is that it?” Duke asks. “I mean, not that it’s not a big deal- and I’m happy for you too by the way- it’s just that most of our family meetings involve addressing some kind of crisis.”

“That’s it,” Bruce admits.

“Perhaps- seeing as we’re all here anyways- we could take this opportunity to have dinner together as a family for once,” Alfred offers.

#batfamily #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #cassandra cain #damian wayne #batman #batfam #dc #my writing #fluff and angst

106 notes · View notes

heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

Till Death (a Halloween one shot)

…in which Y/N and Harry share a flat but he cannot see her.

Warning: DEATH, MENTAL ILLNESS, MENTION OF SU1C1DE AND SELF-HARM (inexplicit). There's a happy ending tho 😬

Inspired by Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride and this song.

Word count: 3.9k

“Oh, you’re home!” she said as he shut the door and kicked off his shoes. His hair was a mess, his eyes dark and weary. He leaned against the wall and released a long heavy sigh.

“Trouble at work?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He never did. But it was okay. She was used to it.

She watched him trudge toward the couch and slump into it with his head buried in his hands. It was so quiet. It was always quiet here, and most of the time, she enjoyed the silence. After all, it was all she ever knew. But she also liked his laugh and his voice when he talked on the phone. He never talked to her. He was a great listener though, and she liked to talk anyway, so she had nothing to complain about. He never interrupted her, never commented; he only listened.

He rested his head on the couch with an arm over his closed eyes. She sat down beside him, her legs together, her hands on her knees.

“Guess what I did today,” she said.

He let go another long breath.

Silence.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya.” She rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin. “I made a new friend. A bird. I saw him on our balcony this morning. I named him Steve. Can you imagine? A bird named Steve. I think Steve likes me as much as a bird could like someone–”

“Oh, shit!”

She flinched as he jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, slightly worried.

“Shit, I forgot,” he murmured, shoving his fingers into his already unruly hair as he reached for his phone on the coffee table. He sat back down and unlocked the screen. His handsome face was illuminated as he typed something into the chat. She rested her head on his shoulder and stole a glance at the screen, just enough to see who he was texting.

It was that name again.

She’d seen him text this person every day for the last couple of weeks. She didn’t know who they were or what they looked like or if they were male or female. All she knew was that they always got Harry’s full attention.

She thought it’d be rude to read other people’s texts, so she never did even though he would never stop her. Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t dying to know what they said to each other. She would watch Harry as he talked to the person either on the phone or through texts. And he would always look so happy whenever a notification came and he saw the person’s name.

She bet they talked about more interesting topics, not just birds with human names. That thought alone gave a throbbing feeling in her hollow chest.

Sometimes, when she was with him, she forgot about its absence, which was good, because she wanted to forget.

But whenever she saw his eyes sparkle as he talked to this person, she would remember that there was somebody else out there with that thing in their chest, somebody he could feel and see and hear…

...and love.

Then she would remember what he was, what she was, and what they could never be.

After all, she was dead.

She didn’t remember how long she’d been dead. She only knew that she’d been alone for too long. Time didn’t really matter when you stopped growing older. She was stuck like this. Forever 21, as she would joke to herself. She didn’t know how old Harry was, but he had a job that stressed him out every day, so she assumed he was older than she’d been when she’d died.

She’d been trapped in this flat ever since. She’d watched people move her stuff out and other people move their stuff in. She’d forgotten about her loved ones or if she’d ever had them in the first place. She didn’t have any recollection of the life she’d had. She couldn’t even attend her own funeral. If she’d known that she’d be stuck in the place where she’d died, she would have probably not chosen to die here. She missed being outdoors, seeing new people. She wondered if she’d still be in love with Harry if he weren’t the only person she knew.

Honestly, she had never been in love when she’d been alive. She knew that, because even though the memories ceased to exist, she still would have remembered what being in love had felt like. It was funny, actually. When she’d had a heart, she hadn’t been able to use it, and now that she didn’t, she could feel it every day. Could someone love without having a heart? She didn’t know what love felt like to be sure that this was love, yet she knew that she’d rather spend an eternity with this man than to reincarnate into someone else.

They’d been living together for two years. Before him, there had been an elderly couple and a family of four. They’d been fun and lovely. But Harry was...different.

He was alone like her. She felt a deep connection with him in that way, as it was rare to find a person who appreciated isolation and not let it drive them insane. Almost everyone was terrified of being alone. Harry, however, found comfort in being alone. He always knew how to entertain himself. He read books. He sang in the shower. He cooked dinner for himself. He’d call his family to tell them about his day.

Sometimes, as she watched him talk to his mum and sister, she wished she remembered her own family. Would she still want to be alone if she remembered them? Well, she didn’t want to be alone now that she had him. It scared her sometimes. An attachment was a scary thing when you knew that you’d forever be temporary to the people around you. Like the elderly couple and the family, one day, Harry would leave, and she’d have to get used to new flatmates who would most likely leave again.

But that was for the future. Right now, what they had was enough.

“I’m seeing someone,” Harry said one day.

Y/N didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she was sitting by the window talking to Steve while Harry was on the phone with his sister. It was the first time Y/N heard him say the person’s name. He was smiling the entire time as he talked about her. Y/N loved seeing Harry smile, so it didn’t matter what made him smile. She just wanted to see him happy.

He told his sister that the woman he was seeing was coming over tonight. He seemed excited. Harry had only ever looked this excited except for when his favourite show came on. That was how she knew he loved this woman as much as he loved that show, which was a lot.

“Can I join you guys tonight?” Y/N asked him when he ended the phone call.

He put his phone back down and looked right at her. If she had a heart, it would combust right then and there. But what she didn’t expect was him marching towards her, thrusting his hand right through her chest and shutting the window. Steve flew away. Harry turned and left.

The place where his hand had been burned with its absence, leaving her frozen as she watched the bedroom door fall shut. He couldn’t feel her, but she could feel much more than a dead person was allowed to feel.

Dinner was nice.

And so was the other woman.

It was funny how Y/N would refer to her as ‘the other woman’ when she’d been the one getting all Harry’s attention. She was sweet, blond-haired, great smile. She sat at Y/N’s spot at dinner. Y/N didn’t mind as she wasn’t eating anyway, yet it saddened her that she didn’t get to tell Harry her boring stories; the other woman was doing most of the talking.

Harry listened to her and laughed at her jokes. He never responded to Y/N that way. She’d been fine with it before, but seeing how he interacted with someone else made her want to vanish into thin air.

It was the first time in two years that she’d seen another living person beside Harry, and yet she had never felt lonelier.

After dinner, Harry asked if the woman wanted to spend the night and she said yes, so Y/N retreated to her spot – the bathroom. For some strange reason, she found comfort there. She would just get into the empty tub and lie there until morning.

Before Harry had moved in, she’d stayed in the bathroom at night while the living were asleep. Since Harry, she would usually spend the night outside his room. He’d always sleep with the door open and a lot of pillows. She didn’t want to be intrusive, but she’d heard him crying one night. His stepdad had just passed away and she’d stayed with him to keep him company, even though he hadn’t been aware of her presence.

She’d sat beside him on the bed as he’d cried. She’d told him that dead didn’t mean gone, that his stepdad might still be around, or have gone to heaven to get a new better life.

To be honest, she didn’t know if heaven existed for she didn’t get to leave this place, but maybe heaven only existed for the ones who deserved it. She was too good for hell, not good enough for heaven, so she was still here.

That night, as she was lying in the tub, gazing at the shadows of objects cast on the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen at dinner. A happy Harry. A truly happy Harry.

She’d always wondered what he looked like when someone made him laugh so hard he forgot about everything else, or when he blushed because of the things someone said to him, or when he looked at someone like they were the only person that mattered. Now that she’d seen it, it felt like torture.

She would never make him laugh. She would never get to hear him call her beautiful or tell her jokes just because he wanted to see her smile. He’d never get to know her. That was the worst part. It hadn’t bothered her before, and now it was too late to undo her feelings for him.

She didn’t have a heart, but as she lay her palms on top of her chest and shut her eyes, she could feel it breaking.

Ever since that night, the other woman would come over very often. It had hurt at first, then Y/N learned to get used to it. It didn’t mean it stopped hurting. She’d still feel invisible tears rolling down her cheeks every time they kissed in front of her. She’d spend most of the day avoiding them. It was hard to do so when she couldn’t leave the flat. She’d tried before. She’d tried to follow Harry outside, but the second she stepped through that door, she was back in the tub.

She was imprisoned in her own home where she felt like a guest. She had no one to talk to, and it had never been a problem before but now it was driving her insane.

Sometimes, she even wished that the other woman was dead. It was bad that love made her blind and envy made her cruel. Whenever that malicious thought crossed her mind, though, she’d think about Harry and instantly felt bad about wanting his girlfriend dead. It wasn’t a nice thing to wish onto anyone, especially when Y/N herself knew how overrated death was.

It wasn’t a solution. Just more problems.

And at the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter if she was hurt. After all, she was dead. Dead people couldn’t feel pain. This was just an illusion. Her pain wasn’t real. If Harry lost someone he loved, that would be real. And she’d take all the hurt just to keep him happy. Always.

Tonight, Harry came home alone.

She asked him what was wrong, knowing he wouldn’t answer. He went straight to the couch and buried his face into his hands. She wondered if he’d forgotten to take his pills again. She’d call them his happy pills. He’d been taking them for a couple of months now. He was always so sad and numb without them. Lately, it seemed like he hadn’t been taking them.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s on your mind,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Silence sank in. The heaviness in her hollow chest became too much to bear.

Then, his shoulders began to shake.

He started crying.

She’d seen him cry before, but this time she could feel everything he was feeling. And it was even worse for her because she could not do anything about it. When a person cried, they’d feel better afterwards. There was no better for the dead. Just forever numbness. Forever pain. Maybe she hadn’t gone to hell because this was her hell. What had she done to deserve this?

Whatever. This wasn’t about her.

She wished she could wipe away Harry’s tears and tell him things that’d make him feel better. She felt powerless. There was nothing she could do to help.

She sat and watched him cry for what seemed like forever. When he finally stopped, he took out his phone and texted the other woman.

This time, Y/N read.

They’d broken up. The messages didn’t say why. All Y/N knew was that Harry was madly in love with the other woman. He’d sent so many messages asking her to stay, telling her he couldn’t live without her. And she never responded to a single one.

“Harry…” Y/N murmured.

Harry shook his head gently as if he’d heard it. Then, he got to his feet and padded to the bedroom. The door fell shut, leaving Y/N with the uncomfortable silence that could smother her.

She started pacing back and forth outside his bedroom. Her head swam with half-formed regrets. She wished she’d done something to stop him from getting to know the other woman and falling in love with her. But what could she have possibly done? She was dead. She was a ghost, floating around, haunting this place. She couldn’t keep two living people from falling in love. She couldn’t stop the woman from breaking Harry’s heart.

But that was one thing about not having a heart, you’d hurt twice as much trying to protect a heart that wasn’t your own.

Something crashed.

Glass shattered.

The world stilled for a second as Y/N burst into the bedroom.

There he was. Staring right back at her.

But there was also him. On the floor. The real him.

Those weren’t his happy pills.

“Harry!” she screamed and rushed towards the Harry on the floor. His ghost stood there watching in silence as she tried to wake him. She couldn’t touch him. She could only scream and if he’d never listened before, he wasn’t listening now. “Harry, please wake up...Please wake up…”

She lay her palm on his chest. He wasn’t dead. She could still feel his heart beating. His skin pale and his breathing slowed. Half of him was still fighting to live and as long as the other half didn’t overpower him, he might be saved.

“Who are you?” asked the ghost standing beside her.

She looked up. The other Harry was looking right at her, not through her. This one could see her.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, still in shock.

“Y/N,” he echoed.

She’d heard him tell the other woman that he would repeat a person’s name so he wouldn’t forget it. He could hear Y/N, see her and now he knew her name. Her invisible heart swelled for a second, but then she could feel it, the beating of that living thing under his chest. He was still half-alive. But he wouldn’t be for too long.

“You must hold on,” she told his ghost, panting heavily as she started freaking out. “You can’t...you can’t die...you must...I don’t know....get back into your body before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know how, and I don’t want to,” he said, staring at himself, and then at her. She didn’t like the look he was giving her. It was as if she was an exotic animal and he was a curious child going to the zoo for the first time. “Are you a ghost?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet, trying to avoid his gaze. “I-I died here…”

Silence.

“How long have you been here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember. When you’re dead, your memories start to fade. Now I don’t remember anything from when I was alive.”

“So there’s no afterlife?” Harry asked, his voice breaking a little. She looked up and saw him staring at his own body with a pained expression that could be regret. “You just...stay here?”

“I don’t know about the other ghosts, but that’s what it is for me,” she said, rubbing her arms.

“Aren’t you lonely?” he asked.

“Well, not really. I’ve got you.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. He blinked. “But I couldn’t see you or talk to you.”

She raised a soft smile. “But I could see you and talk to you. That was enough.” Harry was giving her an expression she could not interpret, so she hurriedly went on, “Believe me. Death is overrated. You don’t want it.”

“But what if I do? I lost my job and someone I loved. I have struggled every day for the past few months, so why bother?”

“So you think it’s easy for me?” she asked. “I don’t have a heart, yet I still feel things and I can’t cry and the feelings won’t go away. They’ll still be here when everyone else leaves. Dead doesn’t mean gone but it’s the end of second chances. I’ll never get to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I’ll never get to graduate. I don’t remember my family or if I ever had one. I don’t get to make friends. I don’t...don’t get to be loved…

“And if that doesn’t sound bad to you, just think about all the people you’d leave behind. Your mum, your sister. You won’t remember them but they’ll remember you. And they’ll have to carry the pain of losing you until it happens to them. I didn’t get to see them one last time because...if I tried to leave this flat, I’d just...just keep coming back here. I’d never get to apologise to them for abandoning them. I regret it every single day. And I don’t want it to happen to you.”

The Harry in front of her was quiet for a moment. The Harry on the floor was struggling to breathe.

“If I die,” he spoke, his eyes meeting hers, “you won’t be lonely anymore. Why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

She took a moment to think. Then, “Because I love you.”

His eyes widened as he parted his lips. He didn’t believe it. For the first time, Y/N could see herself in him. She wouldn’t believe it if someone told her they loved her, either. She thought she couldn’t be loved. That was why she’d chosen the easier way out. It wasn’t easy; she knew that now. So she wasn’t going to let him make the same mistake.

“You think no one cares, but I do,” she said, reaching for his hand. She held it, lacing her fingers with his. “So please hold on. If you fully give up, you cannot be saved.”

He looked at himself and then back at her. “Where did you die?”

A pause.

“The bathroom.”

Sadness set over his features. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “I’ve never been better than I am now.”

“Harry!” shouted a female voice as the front door burst open suddenly and frantic footsteps rushed into the room.

The moment Harry saw the woman he loved, hope lit up his entire face. The woman screamed as she collapsed by his body and pulled out her phone to call an ambulance. She kissed his face and told him how much she loved him, that she was sorry, that she’d take back all the things she’d said, that she wanted to spend many more years with him.

Y/N felt herself losing grip of the other Harry. He started to fade. She tried to hold onto him, but it was no use.

And before he was completely gone, he smiled at her and said, “Thank you.” And she thanked him, too. For seeing her. And not giving up.

Harry didn’t remember anything when he came back from the hospital. He got back together with his girlfriend, who finally moved in with him. They lasted for two years and their relationship ended on good terms. After that, Harry, now with the job that he loved, started seeing other people and stopped taking his happy pills. He’d got better. He was happy all the time. He didn’t remember his conversation with Y/N, but sometimes she’d catch him staring at the bathtub. She’d pretend that he could see her and she’d smile and wave. Maybe he could, but he didn’t want to freak her out. Who knew?

He moved out of the flat after a few more years. The last night he was there, she’d lay on the floor beside his bed as he slept.

The ones after him were fun. Y/N liked meeting new people. One couple even had a pet and she finally had someone to talk to. Still, sometimes she would think about Harry and wondered what he might be doing now.

One night, while lying in the tub, she discovered a tiny word someone had written on the bathroom wall.

Hello.

She’d been here long enough to know that it hadn’t always been there. She recognised that handwriting. Though she wished she’d found it sooner, it made her happy as she traced her fingers over it and imagined him thinking of her.

Y/N didn’t know how much time had passed.

But Harry did return.

When he came in, she almost didn’t recognise him. He was an old man in a wheelchair. She’d overheard him talking to his caretaker that he wanted to spend his last days in this flat. He stayed in bed for that whole first week and she’d lie beside his bed and talk to him each night.

He died of old age.

One night, he went to the bathroom and lay down in the tub and fell asleep and never woke up.

She stood in the doorway, watching him.

Then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. When she turned, she saw the same Harry who was young and handsome and wearing the same clothes as the day he’d first seen her.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

Apparently, when you died, you got to choose the age you wanted to be. She’d chosen to be twenty-one, the age she’d died. Harry had chosen to be twenty-four, the age he’d met the ghost girl who had saved his life.

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