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jinxthighz · 3 years ago

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Panic

In which the only place you can go to after a fight with your parents is Eddie's house.

18+

Eddie x GN reader

Warnings: ANGSTY(don't say I didn't warn you). Use of princess(once), mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of religious abuse, smoking weed, Eddie being his amazing self.

Word count: 1.5k

The sun had already set by the time you reached Eddie's trailer. Sweat rolls down almost every inch of your body, making your clothes stick to you in an unbearably claustrophobic way. You sucked in greedy breaths, eyes darting in the ominous darkness of the trailer park. You had run all the way from your house, terrified out of your mind after the life-threatening argument you had with your parents.

Every movement, every sudden sound made your nerves spike and your legs tremble. Slamming your fists against the trailer door so hard it would leave bruises on the side of your hands, you screamed, "Eddie! Eddie let me in, please! Eddie!"

Eddie swung the door open. He looked down at you, eyes bloodshot, body trembling, hair sticking to your face, hyperventilating. A single word popped into Eddie's mind as he hurriedly looked you over.

Fear.

He quickly moved to the side, using his hands to usher you inside. He stepped out of the trailer to run his eyes over the lot, stepping back inside when he saw no one behind you.

Closing and locking the door, he looked over at you. You were just standing there, shaking like a cat in the rain. You held yourself tightly, fingernails digging into the skin of your arms. You stared blankly at a hat on the wall. Mind numbly blank.

It wasn't until you felt a hand on your shoulder that you hazily drew your attention to him. You finally noticed his grey t-shirt and black sweats. You probably interrupted him smoking a joint, evidence being his bloodshot eyes. You heard a clink and immediately flinched to find the source of the sound. It was a large metal bat, held tightly in Eddie's right hand.

"y/n, baby, what happened?" He tentatively rested his free hand against your cheek, thumb wiping away the tears you hadn't registered.

"My parents- they, um..." You finally released the iron grip you had on your arms, sweaty palms covering your face as you let out a sob. Eddie took his hand away from your cheek, wrapping his arm around your head to bring him close to his chest.

"They called me 'satan's whore' because they found out I was in the hellfire club. And when they told me to leave the club, I said no." You removed your hands from your face, hugging Eddie tightly against you.

"And then they told me that if I didn't leave, I would be forsaking God, and the church. So I told them, I told them, 'I don't give a shit about the church.' and then my father grabbed me saying he would drag me to the church to Father Martin. I tried to run, Eddie, I really did, but he grabbed my hair and started dragging me to the car." Eddie began to pet your hair, trying to listen to you while also listening for your parents who might be trying to find you.

"It isn't the first time that my parents have gotten physical with me. But I just didn't want to see Father Martin again." You sniffed. You both stood in silence for a few minutes, Eddie trying to process everything you had said to him. He had to mentally calm himself, hands shaking at the thought of finding your abusive parents beating their heads in with his metal bat until it was coated in blood and chunks of flesh. But he pushed the thought away for now, you needed him more. Then something you said caught his attention.

"Why didn't you want to see Father Martin again?" This time, he moved back a bit. To look at you while you answered his question, arms still holding each other. You gulped, unable to answer.

"I-I," It was like your tongue grew ten times its natural size. You wanted so badly to tell what had happened with Father Martin, but disgust and fear had stuffed themselves down your throat, unable to speak. He brought his face close to yours, dropping the metal bat to hold your head in both of his hands. You tried to ignore the loud clank of the bat, but the sound only seemed to vibrate around the room and stick into your skull.

"It's okay, it's okay." He said it so low, his voice soothing. Like the steam from your favorite hot drink wafting on your face on a cold snowy day.

"He, uh-um... He did things," you violently shook your head.

"No. No, I can't talk about it. Please don't make me talk about it-"

"Shh, shh, hey," Eddie tried to make you look at him.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me. And I don't ever want you to feel like you have to tell me things, because you don't." Eddie knew damn well what Father Martin had done. Your tone of voice and visible disgust tells him everything he needs to know.

"Come on, let's get you to my room, away from the windows." You nodded as he let go of your face, picking up the bat. He led you to his room, which you knew the way to already, you were too distraught, mind busy with too many bustling intrusive thoughts.

"You can stay in here. I'll sleep on the couch." Eddie said as he closed the curtains so nobody could see inside. You noticed a half-smoked joint in his ashtray and suddenly you wanted him to finish it.

"Why don't you finish smoking?" You said a little too desperately. Eddie looked at you, unsure.

"You sure?" You nodded.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Eddie sat on his bed, feet planted to the ground in case you changed your mind. Eddie looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to join him and sit next to him. But he didn't say anything, wanting you to go at your own pace. Finally, you sat down, right next to him. Close enough to make you feel at ease, but not so close that you were touching. You felt the sheets in your hands, rubbing the soft fabric between your fingertips. As more time passed, the more your heartbeat slowed, anxiety slowly easing away as you smelled the familiar scent of Eddie's room.

Eddie turned on the blunt, silently smoking. You inhaled the smoke, ingraining the serenity into your body, trying to assure yourself you were currently safe. That you were with Eddie.

"Can I have a hit?" You ask suddenly. You didn't even feel the words form on your tongue as you said them, feeling so unbelievably discombobulated that nothing felt real.

"y/n?" You look at Eddie.

"Yeah?"

"Did you hear what I said?" You cleared your throat, feeling it dry.

"Um... no, I don't think so." Eddie sighed, unsure of what to do.

"I said I don't think it's a good idea." You scoffed, looking at him with an annoyed look that Eddie would have normally found cute, but in this instance, he just felt lost.

"Look, all I'm saying is that you've been through a lot these past few hours. I don't want you running to weed expecting it to fix all of your problems."

"I am not running to weed every time I have a problem in my life, and I have plenty, believe me." You pause, looking for his reaction. He doesn't have one.

"I have no say in what I do, what I dress, what I believe in, I don't even have my own dreams. All of that is constantly being taken away from me and the way I cope is by seeing you and watching you smoke." At this, he finally looks at you.

"Every time you do it, you always look so at peace. Like you're finally being relieved of whatever stress you've been carrying with you. And I just want to feel like that." Eddie looked over your face, nodding as he passed it to you. You took it gingerly.

"Thanks, Eddie."

When you both finished the blunt, you laid down on his bed. Your mind was fuzzy, thoughts blurry and slurred in a swirl of incomprehensible chatter. Eddie sat up, moving the blanket over you so you could sleep comfortably. He reached over you and kissed your forehead, a kiss that lingered in complete adoration for you.

"Good night, Princess." He shuffled off of the bed, trying not to rock you with his movements.

"Goodnight, Eddie." He left, leaving you alone in the darkness of his room.

You fiddled with your fingers, chewed your bottom lip, and stared at the ceiling. You blinked rapidly, feeling the familiar warmth of your tears filling your eyes. Slowly, you sat up, looking down at the blanket. You felt so strange. Your chest felt empty, but also overfilled. Everything was heavy, everything was light. You looked at the door, wanting to call Eddie, wanting to make him stay with you as you cried on his shoulder and he ran his fingers through your hair.

But you didn't. Blinking slowly, you laid back down. You turned away from the door. And you cried into Eddie's pillow, alone.

#eddie munson #Eddie x reader #stranger things #Eddie stranger things

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ashes-in-a-jar · 4 years ago

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The Purrfect Alternative

Premise: Why would there be a cat in the archives? An archive cat fixit.

2.7K words

Rated G

(Tw: A bit of violence but it's against Jurgen Leitner)

This is a fic dedicated to the @jonsimsandcats event! Hope you enjoy it :)

"Sorry, you haven't seen a cat, have you?"

Jon gaped at the larger man who suddenly barged into the office.

"I-I'm sorry, a what?"

"Uh, a cat, tabby I think." The man hurriedly explained.

"No. No I haven't. Is it.. Supposed to be here?" Jon knew book shops sometimes kept cats. Perhaps archives did as well. Maybe Gertrude had a soft spot in her after all.

"N-no actually. I, uh, I was feeding it on the way in but when I got up with my things, well, my hands were full you see, so when I managed to open the door it sort of slipped in with me? I'm so sorry, I have to find it before-"

"Okay okay calm down, stop." Jon held up his hand and let out a sigh. First day of the promotion and he's already stressed. But it's fine. He's fine. He can handle a cat. He's good with cats.

"Where do you work? Upstairs? Are you sure it came down here?"

"Yes, I saw it. And I just started working down here today? I'm Martin. Blackwood." He offered a hand. Jon automatically took it. Big and soft. He let go a bit too quickly and coughed.

"Work here? Are you certain?"

"Yes, I'm supposed to let Jonathan Sims know about becoming an archival assistant. He's the head archivist Elias told me to talk to."

"Well that's one thing to cross off your list." Jon smirked. "I'm Jonathan Sims. Jon, if you please. And Elias did not mention you. Tim and Sasha were supposed to be the only new recruits." Jon frowned to himself. He'll have to have a word with Elias about this. It's fine now that it happened but keeping Jon updated could really help in preventing these kinds of awkward introductions with people he's supposed to work closely with.

"O-oh! Well, here I am now too." Martin chuckled nervously, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper.

Jon hummed "So you are I suppose. Well, let's not waste time on trivial matters, there is a cat that needs to be found." Jon got up from his chair.

"O-oh god, you're right. I'm so sorry for this." The other man apologized, remembering why he was there in the first place. It was clear that he now realized that the fact that the person he's asking to help him clear up his mess is his new boss could be very problematic for him. Jon easily sympathized with that kind of familiar pressure.

"It's alright, let's just, get this sorted." Jon was not willing to admit that a part of him was also just looking forward to seeing the cat. It would help distract him from his own stress, as it were.

Ten minutes later the two of them sitting on the floor in the stacks with a chubby tabby cat sprawled on Jon's lap. Jon was petting it affectionately while amicably getting acquainted with his new assistant. The man turned out to be a library veteran with useful cataloging skills that could help with the mess that was left down here. Having calmed down considerably, Martin had stopped fidgeting and was cooing at the cat who was head butting his large palm. Their presence soothed Jon in a way that surprised him. In the tranquil, quiet atmosphere of the stacks, sounds of cat purrs and Martin's low murmurs, he felt almost optimistic that despite his lack of experience and the large task ahead of them, he would be alright.

-------

Paper meowed loudly behind him as Martin hurried down the tunnel with Jon and Tim at his tail. Martin glanced back as he reached an intersection and noticed they were too far behind, Jon limping on his injured foot. He hesitated, stopping and waiting for them to catch up. Paper came up and rubbed his leg before trotting down the tunnel on the right, tail held high and confident. Martin inhaled deeply to catch his breath, starting to walk again, this time more slowly. They managed to leave most of the fast worms behind and the ones down here were few and sparse enough to easily stomp down individually. Paper was making a game out of it. He kept leaping onto some that crawled ahead of them, squishing them loudly with his paw.

Jon and Tim caught up and the three followed Paper down the dark passage.

"Yeah, get the damn crawlers." Slurred Tim. The CO2 he inhaled was not helping his coherency.

"You know," gasped Jon, "I actually think they're larvae, given Jane's statement and-"

"Jon, I'm going to have to ask you to stop now." Martin said, as calmly as he could, his voice a tad too high and loud.

"... Sorry." Jon said sheepishly.

They followed Paper down the forking paths, hoping the cat knew where in the seven circles of hell they were.

Eventually they stopped seeing any worms as the path sloped up, ending in a sudden door. There was daylight filtering in from beneath it. Paper was eagerly pawing at it.

"Uh, I think we found a secret way out of the institute." Martin could hardly believe their luck.

"Excellent, now I can ditch work and no one will know I even left." Tim mumbled.

"Tim, if you wanted to succeed in that endeavor, you should have not said that next to your boss." Jon commented dryly.

The worm threat no longer being imminent, Martin allowed himself a nervous chuckle.

They pushed at the door and with a bit of group effort, eventually managed to pry it open into fresh air. They came out into a narrow alleyway which turned out to be not far from the institute. As they walked (limped) down the street to find access to a working phone they heard someone cry out.

"Jon? Tim? Martin!" They spotted Sasha hurrying towards them, carrying heavy bags of cat food.

"Sasha! You're okay!" Martin exclaimed. "We were worried you'd get back and be caught in it like Tim had."

"Where have you been?" Jon inquired, straining to stand upright on his own. Martin came closer, gently supporting him by the hip on the opposite side of Tim.

"We ran out of food for Paper, I figured I'd pop by the store for a moment to get some." Sasha said. "I came back when the building was being evacuated."

"Oh good, at least the alarm worked." Tim said tiredly.

"What in god's name happened to you three?" She inquired worriedly.

"Prentiss, we'll fill you in later. We need to make sure the ECDC is informed regarding the CO2 in the fire suppression system that needs to be activated."

"And get you to a hospital." Martin chastised, squeezing Jon's side.

"Yes yes." Jon waved dismissively but all the while leaning further into Martin's side. He really wasn't discreet, Martin thought smugly.

Sasha was about to say something else when a loud meow interrupted her. Paper was nosing into the bag, fully aware of its contents and who they were meant for.

Jon dislodged from Martin and Tim and hobbled towards the cat.

The cat turned and moved back into Jon's welcoming arms, as the archivist picked him up and stroked him fondly.

"We are lucky on all accounts that Paper is such a smart cat." He murmured into the soft fur, injury forgotten for the moment.

Tim chuckled, "cats always ruin evil people's plans, it's a well known fact. Anyway, Sasha, please call an ambulance for us?" He said, and promptly sat on the floor.

Martin sighed with relief. For now, they are all safe and together. And that's all that matters.

-------

It was all almost too much to take in. Luckily Paper was held tight in his arms as he listened to Jurgen Leitner ramble on about powers and fears and monsters and Jonah Magnus. He had been chased by a distorted form of his boss, who was apparently replaced by a monster Jon and the crew tried and failed to destroy, thus separating in the ensuing pursuit. In light of these events Jon now needed something soft to ground him in the face of so much new information.

The discovery of Elias' death was a shock, especially given the fact that apparently it happened when he was trapped in artifact storage during the Prentiss siege a half a year back.

He (that is, his doppelganger) told them back then that he was trying to reach the suppression system switch when he tripped down the stairs over one of Paper's many scattered toys, alerting Jane in the process and was driven back into the storage area. His account seemed to check out given he was rescued from there by the ECDC after Jane was dealt with. And given the few toys strewn about the stairs leading to artifact storage. Why Paper kept scattering his toys all over the building was beyond Jon but that wasn't the main issue at hand. After trapping the creature in the walls of the tunnels, Jurgen Leitner proceeded to reveal himself. Once Jon dragged him back to his office, and picked the protesting Paper up to calm himself down, he unveiled the truth of Elias', or Jonah's, whole operation.

Turns out Jonah Magnus decided life was too short to enjoy once and did exactly what eventually happened to him. Talk about karma. Leitner explained that Gertrude's plan was to stop Jonah from... Something he was planning. Perhaps a ritual to end the world in a way the others would fail to do. That bit of information was on a tape of Gertrude which Leitner played for Jon. By the time they reached the part where Leitner said, “they needed to kill Jonah's main body then burn down the archives.” Martin, Tim and Sasha had arrived back at the office as well.

"Jon? Jon! Are you okay?" Martin rushed forward, hugging Jon tightly, ignoring Paper's loud yowling at being squished in between them. Jon sighed, "Martin, thank god. I-I'm fine." He hugged him back, relieved his boyfriend was safe, as well as his other assistants of course. "It chased after me but he stopped it."

Tim raised his axe, "Jon are you sure he's not... Another one?"

"Yes I'm sure. That" Jon took a deep breath, "is Jurgen Leitner."

After the team's loud exclamations of disbelief he and Leitner updated them on everything they had discussed. As he was being hugged by Martin and holding the fluffy cat he slowly began calming down.

After Leitner was done a long moment of silence ensued.

"So," Sasha said slowly, "Gertrude's dead?"

"Yes, she was shot and then hidden by Jonah in the tunnels. Unfortunately I couldn't get out to allow for a proper burial, so I had to leave her there." He seemed sad admitting it. Jon did not feel sympathy for him. This man deserved none for his past and cowardice.

"And now, we need to, what, somehow find the center of the maze of tunnels to kill Jonah completely and burn the archives?" Sasha asked skeptically.

"Yes, the whole institute in fact. I have a gas main in the tunnels ready to be ignited once we find the center." Leitner said.

"How do we do that?" Martin frowned.

"Maybe Michael knows?" Tim quipped. "He just helped us out of that situation with his own… corridor labyrinth. Maybe he'll be able to help."

"Okay, okay let's first take a breather and calm down. We'll figure out how to solve this." Jon said, raising his hand to slow them down.

"Yeah, I'll make us some tea." Martin added, "At least now that... Thing won't bother us for a long while."

"Let it burn along with this hell of an institute." Tim said harshly. Knowing how his brother was killed almost the same way, Jon felt strong sympathy for Tim rush over him.

Which was replaced with a different emotion the moment he turned to the man who saved him.

"Thank you for your help, now Martin, I need you to hold Paper for a moment."

Martin, looking baffled, took Paper out of Jon's arms. "Jon wh-"

Jon swiftly approached the older man and proceeded to sock him in the nose with the full force of his fist. The crew gasped in unison.

"That's for everyone you hurt with your idiocy, you stupid old coward." Jon seethed and punched him again. He heard Martin chuckle and Tim whoop as the man whimpered and attempted to protect his face.

Jon was glad they were spared the horrible plans of a 200 year old evil man and that they had some semblance of a strategy moving forward. He was, however, equally elated for this opportunity to do what he fantasized about since learning of Leitner's existence.

And, he supposes, all of this can be indirectly attributed to Paper, the archive cat.

-------

Jon woke up to the warm snuggle of his lovely fiance and a mouthful of cat fur.

"Pffff, Paper geerroff," he mumbled, uselessly trying to push the stubborn cat away. The chirping of birds mingled with the sound of highland cows grazing in the field near their cabin.

After the success of their plan to end Jonah, after the fire had already burned down the horrors of that evil place, it took a while longer for their troubles to be resolved. They had to endure endless questioning and investigations of the police. Jon, who was weakened by the ordeal to the point of needing hospitalization, took a long time to recover and regain his strength. Leitner claimed it was lucky he was cut off from the Eye this early, or the consequences would have been much more serious. The others seemed to have been less affected, but once the archives were completely reduced to ashes they recovered, their jobs burned down along with everything else.

Sasha found a new job as a researcher in a prestigious institute, nothing supernatural involved. Tim moved on to journalism, utilizing his curiosity and charm to their full potential. Jon and Martin opened a tea & book shop, if only to make Paper a real bookshop cat. They have been slowly setting it up and settling down until... Well, Jon proposed and they took a break. Traveled to Scotland with Paper on an early honeymoon to see the cows and enjoy the quiet.

And quiet it was. Until Paper shamelessly began purring as loud as a train right in Jon's ear. Jon huffed in fond annoyance and got up, leaning down to give Martin a kiss on the head and then shooing the crime of a cat off to the kitchen.

"You can't give me a moment of reprieve, can you?" He stretched and followed the cat out the bedroom.

He filled Paper's bowl and sat on the floor leaning his back on the cabinet, closing his eyes as Paper chewed his food noisily.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he was awakened by a soft tap on his head. He looked up blearily and smiled. The cat had long since finished eating and found a home in Jon's lap.

"Morning love." Martin murmured softly, matching his tone to the serene atmosphere. After hesitating a moment, he bent down and sat next to Jon. Jon looked at him adoringly as he absent-mindedly stroked Paper, humming along to his purrs. Martin joined him, petting Paper, their hands occasionally (and very purposefully) brushing against each other.

After a few minutes of calm silence, Martin spoke up.

"You know, this reminds me of that first day we met. In the stacks."

Jon smiled at the memory. "Ahh yes, all three of us had a very fateful meeting there, didn't we? God, I was so stressed back then."

"You handled it pretty well I have to say. Handled my nervousness pretty well too." Martin chuckled.

"I was lucky you were there. You really helped me calm down." Jon admitted. "Well, you and Paper." Jon added fondly.

"Paper was a really good archive cat wasn't he?" Martin said, leaning into Jon, pressing a warm, still sleepy kiss on his cheek. Jon closed his eyes, grateful for the events that led up to this moment of pure happiness, with his fiance and his cat.

"Yes, the best cat in the world."

#Had fun speculating with this one #Hope you enjoy!#tma #the magnus archives #Tma fic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #s1 archives crew #Jonah magnus #elias bouchard #jurgen leitner #Jonmartin #Fabric Rustles #My tma fic #jonsimsandcats2021 #Jon&cats

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iceeckos12 · 4 years ago

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and he sees dawn before the rest of the world

or: a fucked up little au of 200. intended to be unsettling so just be warned warnings for: unreality (i think that’s the appropriate term? please lmk if not), implied self harm, fucked up relationship dynamics; lmk if i should tag anything else

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face, as though he could stop the barrage of sound just by covering his eyes. His alarm was unsympathetic to his whinging, continuing to scream its daily mourning dirge, grieving the end of another period of blessed rest. “Fine, fine! I’m getting up, christ…”

He reached clumsily for the phone on his bedside table, only for his fingers to scrabble uselessly around the ghost of its presence. He was momentarily so stymied by the absence that it took him longer than it should’ve to remember that he’d moved it to his desk, to prevent him from giving into the temptation to hit the snooze button just one more time.

Letting out another slew of curses, Martin shuffled onto his other side and reached for

A jaw-cracking yawn near split Martin’s face in two as he hunched over the gleaming tea kettle, steam beginning to pour from the spout. He shuffled his feet, eyes meandering sightlessly over the cow-shaped mug drying on the counter, the cluster of crumbs that he must’ve missed when cleaning up after dinner last night.

He hated mornings. Maybe it was the preemptive dread he felt at the thought of going to work; maybe it was because he hated having to be upright this early in the morning. Either way, he felt strangely disconnected from his morning routine, each motion carried out with habitual, distant efficiency as his thoughts raced along like a hamster on a wheel just below the surface.

It...was a bit silly for him to be worried about work, though. The stuff he was doing was interesting, and he had the loveliest coworkers a guy could ask for. They’d even offered to teach him a thing or two about artifact restoration once they learned the truth about his CV.

He drew himself up to his full height and rolled his shoulders back, clouded sigh mingling with the fog from the boiling water. Things were going well. Hell, he was actually going to get top surgery sometime in the next year or so, which was amazing considering his teenage self would’ve laughed at the very idea of being out.

There was no reason to dread going to work.

Martin carefully poured the water into the mug, letting the tea steep before adding a splash of milk and sugar. When he picked the mug up, the heat from the tea had bled into the ceramic, so warm as to be uncomfortable against the delicate skin of his palms. He didn’t let go, just kept on gripping the mug, like trying to contain the last gasp of a dying star.

Martin stared around his kitchen. The waterstains on the inside of the cow mug slowly evaporating into the still air; the crumbs that had sat there for who knows how long. The empty, blank face of his fridge.

Martin lifted the mug, and steam collected on his glasses as his breath wafted over the surface of the tea. He drew away, waiting for the lenses to clear, before leaning in for another sip.

His reflection stared back at him, a monochrome facsimile of his face rimmed in white smoke, and he recoiled, the mug slipping from

Working nine to five, what a way to make a living…

Martin stared out the window, his hand pillowed in the palm of his hand as Dolly Parton crooned in his ears. Split second by split second, he let his eyes catch on a point in the darkened surroundings, only letting his vision blur into incoherence when that fixed point whipped out of sight. It was a game he sometimes played when he got bored of reading or playing cards on his phone.

The old woman across from him let out a quiet grunt and shuffled, drawing his attention back inside the train. She was a gnarled old thing, bowed by the gravity of grief and time and life, though Martin couldn’t say for certain whether it was one well-lived.

Barely getting by, it’s all taking and no giving...

That was the thing about people watching: Martin was never quite sure if it was disrespectful to make assumptions about a person’s life based on a passing glimpse. He could never be sure if the person with the grumpy expression had a foul attitude, or if they were just a kind person on the tail-end of a truly awful day.

The old woman was knitting though, and Martin generally found it safe to assume that knitters were nice people.

For a moment he thought about taking out his headphones and striking up a conversation; the pattern looked devilishly complicated, and as a beginning knitter, he always appreciated tips. There was an unfinished set of fingerless green gloves in the back of his closet; it was easy for hands to get cold in the Archives, and the color suited

“Alright, Martin?”

Martin startled, his pen clattering to the floor. He looked up to find Sasha perched on the edge of his desk, grinning like the cat who’d just eaten the canary. Or, he thought she was. His eyes kept skittering from one corner of her face to the other, like a smooth stone skipping across a lake.

“Uh…” Frowning slightly, he let his gaze travel over the shelves of books, the humming lights, his cluttered workstation. He removed his glasses so he could rub at his aching eyes, and let out a deep sigh. Probably just the stress. “Yeah—yeah! Sorry, I’ve been distracted all morning.”

Martin got the impression of Sasha’s grin being tempered with genuine concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”

“I think so. Just...work, and my mum…” he gave an expansive you know sort of gesture at life in general. “Thank god the weekend’s coming. Anyway, is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come get drinks with Mel and Tim and I after work, but…” She cut him a meaningful glance, the bottomless holes where her eyes should be boring bright spotlights into the back of his skull. “We’d understand if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Is Georgie coming?”

Sasha shrugged. “Probably. Mel didn’t say so, but they’ve been all over each other since they started dating.”

Martin laughed. “True.” Tried to gauge how he was feeling, whether or not he was up to a night of socializing. You should go, a strangely posh little voice murmured in the back of his head, and he found himself saying, “Actually yeah, I would like to come. I could use a night out.”

Sasha clapped him on the shoulder, and the impact rattled through him like a gong being struck. The echoes of it vibrated all the way down to his toes. “Excellent.”

Martin hesitated, and then, not entirely sure of what he was asking, “What about J

“Thanks for waiting with us,” Georgie said, smiling beatifically up at him. Passed out on her shoulder, Melanie let out a drunken snuffle and curled over, like she was thinking of climbing through the spaces of Georgie’s ribcage and sleeping in her chest cavity forever.

“Not a problem,” Martin replied, scratching the back of his neck.

To be honest, waiting with her was as much for his benefit as theirs. At first, he’d thought it was just stress; now, he was very sure that something was wrong. It wasn’t anything specific, or even bad; more like there was a sepia camera filter tinting the world dusty and nostalgic.

After his third drink, he’d looked into Tim’s laughing face and thought he might burst into tears. And he still didn’t know what Sasha was supposed to look like.

But he didn’t want to worry her, so he just bit his lip and rocked back and forth on his heels, even though the motion made his head spin that much worse.

(Maybe he needed to take a couple of days off. Have a lie-in. But that would—that would delay his work. The Institute’s work. Delays were bad; he felt strongly enough about that to carve it directly into his skin so that he’d never forget. He could roll down his sleeve and take a peek at it whenever his motivation slipped, like checking a watch for the time.)

For lack of anything else to say, he nodded toward Melanie. “She’s really out, huh?”

“She’s always been a lightweight.” Her tone was wry, but her eyes were soft and fond as she brushed Melanie’s bangs back from her face. “Never gets hungover though, the lucky bastard.”

“The nerve!” Martin said, affecting offense, which sent them right into another giggling fit.

Once he got his breath back, Martin mentioned offhand, “You know, considering how similar they are, I’m surprised that her and J̷̧̱̜͕͕̤͉̣̺̺̝͖̠̹̜͙̣͉̩̺̤̟͉͓̞̹̗́̆̂̋͆̊̎́͂̑͋̌͊͘̚͠ͅo̶̧̨͕̖͔̬̖̝̪͚̻̟̠̜̣̰̅n̶̥̉́̎͑̀͂͆̿̾͛̾̔̐͌́̅̂͂̒̆̐́͊̄̾̍̅̅͝

“Stop it!” Martin screamed, grabbing the mug from the counter and throwing it across the room. It shattered against the wall, scattering shards of ceramic across the floor. “I know

“What you’re doing,” Martin gripped the bathroom counter, ignoring the persistent ringing of his alarm, staring deeply into his reflection, “Stop it, stop it, nononon̴̡̡͚̮̠͙̻͔͎͈̜̓̈́̈́͜͜ͅǫ̸̯̠̱̖̲͙͍͎͒̇̑͒ṅ̶̨̩̳̩̝̹̳͎͈̬̦͆́̈́́͐̏̈́̕͝͝o̸̡̻̱̗̥̮̙̳̞͗̄͋̈́̀͝n̸̢̛̟͙̘̱̩͕̦̫̤̮͆͑̊͋́̂̽͜o̶̘̱̗̘̘͑̿͜ņ̶̥̞̠͕͓̠͔͚̮͈̬͕̀͗̄̓͑͑͛̕ͅő̸̮̫̓͌̾̌͋́̂̏̒̃̃̄̚n̵̗̫͕̺̻͔̭͖̉͒͗̀̈́̃̅o̴͓͉͉͗͋̎̕—”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s okay—”

“No!” Martin shrieked, shoving Jon’s hands away, skittering backward across the broken and cracked stones of the Panopticon. Through the arched windows, the sky was a poisonous green and black, and multitudes of eyes orbited the room, watched his every movement with sickening fascination. “Just—stop.”

Luminous gaze weary and resigned, Jon did as he was bid, dropping back onto his heels.

Rubbing sweat and grime and tears from his face, breathing harshly through his mouth, Martin took a moment to remember where he was, why he was here. It always took a moment for everything to come back.

As though unable to keep silent any longer, Jon asked, “So what was it this time?”

“Don’t,” Martin hissed, dragging his hands through his greasy hair.

Though his expression went mulishly annoyed, Jon raised his hands placatingly, a silent, alright, you win. It was a familiar gesture, one that he’d done so many times while they were living in Scotland, while they were traveling the devastated landscape of the apocalypse. It made Martin ache for when things were simpler, when his heart didn’t just feel like one big bruise.

He gently set the thought aside, and turned a more assessing eye on the Panopticon. Normally the changes were insignificant, but something thick and red and black had started to coil around the windows, weaving in and out of the floor, cracking the stonework. Martin traced the strange things with his eyes, frowning—

“Christ, Jon,” he whispered in horrified realization. “Are...are those corpse roots?”

Jon bobbed his head. “They’ve long since overtaken the rest of London. It’s just us, now.”

Martin sucked in a long, frustrated breath through his teeth. There was no point trying to talk any sense into Jon, not after so long, and force would only result in immediately getting kicked back into that horrible dream world.

“And the others?”

Jon shrugged, tracing the cracks in the earth with his fingers. “Still alive, and living happily in the dream I made for them.” He didn’t say, unlike you, but the implication was so loud he might as well have screamed it.

“Shut up,” Martin muttered, pushing to his feet and limping to one of the windows.

Corpse roots, as far as the eye could see. They covered the city of London in a blanket of tangled black, so thick that it was impossible to see the buildings beneath.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, sagging against the side of the window, too tired to be angry.

When the silence persisted a second too long, Martin turned around to find Jon with his head tilted back, examining the corpse roots consuming what had once been the Beholding’s seat of power, expression distant and thoughtful. The eyes, ever-watching, never understanding, drifted closer, greedily drinking in the sight.

When Martin realized that Jon wasn’t planning on answering, he let out another sigh, ruffled his bangs away from his face, and said, “You’re never there.”

Jon’s gaze snapped to him with a laser-edged focus. “Sorry?”

“If you’re going to trap me in a dream,” Martin said, each syllable clipped and precise, “You could at least be there.”

Like it always did, Jon’s face crumpled, and he looked away. “...I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, we’re well past that and you know it!” Martin shrieked, striking his fist against the stone. “You made your fucking decision to damn the world, to hell with whatever we thought, the least you could do is stop hiding behind your pointless guilt and act like this is what you actually want!”

It would’ve been better, if Jon had simply become drunk with power and was no longer listening to reason. The fact that he’d made this same decision every single day with clear, unclouded eyes and sound judgement—as Jon the human, rather than Jon the lynchpin of the apocalypse, pupil of the Eye—made Martin want to scream.

“I do want it!” Jon snapped back, then quieter, “I do.” He looked up at the corpse roots again, eyes going misty. “I just—I should witness every second of misery and pain that I’m causing. I don’t deserve to just...forget.”

Wind snapped and howled around them like a creature mad with rage, and Martin idly wondered what would happen to this world once Jon died. If it would all go back to the way it had been before, or if the shell of the apocalypse would remain until the end of time, a corpse husk of a reality warped beyond repair.

“You shouldn’t have to experience this alongside me though,” Jon continued, rallying. “So I would really appreciate it if you’d stop breaking your dreams.”

“Tough,” Martin snapped back, folding his arms obstinately over his chest.

“You could be happy!” Jon reiterated, stabbing his index finger into the palm of his hand. “You could just...live your life! Forget! There’s no point in being here.”

“It’s a deal, remember? Where you go, I go. Fuck you very much, but I don’t break my promises.”

Jon stared at him for one beat, then another—and then promptly burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Martin stared at him, utterly bewildered, as the laughing slowly began to dissolve into desperate, heaving sobs, as he began rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around himself in a mockery of comfort.

“I miss you,” Jon gasped out, half-crazed. “So much. I miss you every day even though you’re right in front of me. But I can’t go to you, because I don’t deserve to, not when I’m the one who trapped you here. I’m everything that’s wrong with the world. I always have been.”

“Jon,” Martin sighed, low and tired.

Jon buried his face into his knees. “No, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t forgive me just because you pity me, that’s not what I—I don’t—”

“Who said anything about forgiveness?” Martin shook his head. “Fine. You’re an asshole, and I hate you. But it’s like I said.” He gestured toward the Panopticon, the roots, the poisonous sky. “When has deserving ever mattered?”

Jon lifted his face from his knees, though his gaze stayed rooted to the floor. “...I suppose.”

“Right,” Martin agreed. “I’ve accepted that you’re not going to change your mind, but...at the very least, I don’t want to die alone. So can you please just…”

There was a long, weighted pause.

They’d had arguments like this what felt like hundreds of times before. Martin begging for Jon to change his mind, Jon refusing with that same resigned, determined expression on his face, before sending Martin back into his dreams.

Maybe it was because Martin wasn’t asking him to change his mind this time. Maybe it was because they were so close to the end of all things, and soon they’d be the last two people on earth. Maybe it was because Jon was tired, had been for so, so long, and he had won anyway, so there was no point in fighting any longer.

“Alright,” Jon whispered.

…

...

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face.

Somewhere in the far distance, the toilet flushed. A moment later, a pair of feet padded lightly into the room, hesitated at the edge of the bed, and then made their way over to the desk. The alarm abruptly went silent.

Martin uncovered his eyes and grinned up at Jon as he tentatively slid back between the covers, every movement careful and deliberate, like he was reading stage directions from a script.

“Look at Mr. Workaholic, having a lie-in,” Martin teased, pulling Jon into his arms and inhaling the scent of his coconut shampoo. “Must be the end of the world, or something.”

Jon stiffened for just a moment, before turning around and burying his face into Martin’s chest. “Or something.”

#iceeckos12 writes #my writing #tma #jonmartin but make it especially tragedy flavored

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celosiaa · 5 years ago

Text

you can talk to me

Summary: Jon may or may not be questioning his gender. Either way, Martin is there to listen.

CW: dysphoria, periods, panic, self-deprecating thoughts, food mention

for a prompt from @transcendentalbf! <3 hope you all enjoy!

Sasha: you wanted channa masala, right?

Martin: yes! got it in one!

Sasha: of course I did! be back in 15

Martin: <33

Setting his phone back on the desk, Martin tips back in his chair and lets out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Though it’s been nearly three weeks since he’s started living in the archives, that doesn’t mean that he’s gotten used to it—if anything, the long hours of being constantly on the lookout for anything creeping or crawling across the floor has only served to heighten his pre-existing anxiety. It’s so lonely here. The low ceiling of the basement seems so vast when you wander beneath it in the dark—and even now, with his friends promising to return with lunch for him shortly, he can’t help but feel the weight of their absence.

Christ, Martin. You’re pathetic.

Can’t even handle a bit of pain.

As if the thought alone had caused it to happen, the aching roar of his cramps flares up once more, causing him to bend over the desk to breathe through it yet again. It’s just so embarrassing—he’s been on T for years now, surely the bleeding would have stopped—but alas, no such luck to be had. Of course he would be one of the people for whom it gets worse. Of course.

I’ve got to text her.

Martin: hey, do you have ibuprofen? didn’t want to look through your desk without asking!

Sasha: course! middle drawer. you okay?

He wants so badly to lie to her, say it’s fine—but he can’t really do that after asking for pain relievers, can he?

Martin: fine!! just having some cramps is all, it’s okay!

Sasha: aw, I’m sorry, Martin :/ need anything else? I can stop by the store later if you need

Martin: not yet. might soon though

Martin: I’m sorry.

Martin: please don’t tell Tim

Sasha: I would never. and don’t worry about it! it’s no trouble. I’ll get you some stuff later, alright?

You’re a burden you’re a burden you’re nothing but a burden

Martin: thanks, sash. you’re the best!

Sasha: <3

Returning his phone to its place on his desk, Martin has to stop to take a few deep breaths—heart pounding with embarrassment over the entire discussion. He knows it’s alright, knows Sasha means it when she says she doesn’t mind…right?

Jesus, stop it.

Just…take a walk, and you’ll feel better afterwards.

Standing a bit painfully on swollen legs, Martin swallows a few of Sasha’s ibuprofen before he makes his way toward the stairs, hoping for a chat with Rosie while waiting on lunch. At the very least, he could get some sunlight, escape from the windowless basement for a while. He could only hope that the worms aren’t too bad up there.

The lift dings its arrival to the main floor, where Rosie immediately turns to greet him with a warm smile.

“Ah, Martin! How are you, my dear?” she says as he approaches, looking genuinely glad to see him.

“Can’t complain!” he beams, leaning against her desk with one elbow. “You doing alright? Staying out of trouble?”

“You know I’m not,” she laughs, swatting playfully at his arm. “But neither are you, I’m sure.”

“Got me there.”

Martin can’t help but smile back, pleased at the thought of bringing happiness to someone’s day, satisfied to listen to her stories of cats and knitting circles and whatever soaps she’s been watching on telly. It reminds him of his mum, a bit—the nicer parts of her, anyway.

“Oh, that reminds me—“ she bends down beneath her desk to pull out a thin package, handing it over to him. “This was delivered for Jon this morning. Probably listed the Institute on the order form by accident again. Would you be so kind as to take it to him when you go back down?”

Holding it in his hands, Martin can feel the shape of the thing within it—some sort of soft fabric, stamped on top with a return label indicating a very nice clothing brand.

Date clothes.

He’s got a date.

Even as his heart sinks, Martin curses himself for it—it’s none of his business, Jon wants nothing to do with him, has no interest at all—after all, how could he? How could he when he’s…well, him?

“Stop making this about you, Martin,” he hears his mother say, closing his eyes against the memory. “You’ve always got to spoil everything, don’t you?”

“Martin? You alright, love?” Rosie asks quietly, and Martin looks up to see her worried face—hand coming to rest lightly on his arm.

Damn it.

“Oh, ha, of course, Rosie! S-sorry, it’s just—“

He backs away from the desk, pressing the call button for the lift.

“I’d better get back downstairs, then. Don’t—don’t want to keep Jon waiting. For his package, I mean.”

The lines of Rosie’s face only deepen, staring concernedly at him as he steps into the lift.

“Oh—alright, dear,” she says, a bit surprised at his sudden retreat. “Come back and visit sometime, alright? I’ll make us tea on your next break.”

“That sounds lovely,” he replies, forcing a wide grin to his face, flooded with guilt that she feels the need to make tea for him, when that’s supposed to be his responsibility.

“Nasty child, always making things about yourself.”

God, stop it.

“I’ll see you later then,” he continues with a wave, begging the lift doors to close quickly and hide his face.

—

Breathing deeply a few times before Jon’s office door, Martin finally gathers the courage to knock.

“Come in,” comes Jon’s baritone from behind the door, and he swings it open with a gentle creak.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt—Rosie had a package for you at the desk,” Martin says in as cheery a tone as he can manage, holding out the floppy package to Jon.

At once, Jon’s eyes go wide—he snatches it from Martin’s hands, setting it quickly out of sight with a blush rising to color his cheeks.

“Oh, th-thank you, Martin, erm—must have, must have accidentally sent it here,” he stammers, hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, no longer meeting Martin’s eyes.

Just get out just get out

“It’s no trouble,” he replies, and it’s far too happy, too sharp, too loud to be natural. “Sorry! Sorry. I’ll just be going, then.”

He closes the door on Jon’s shocked face, clearly surprised that Martin had not kept trying to make conversation, as usual. Stepping away from the door, he tilts his head back against the tears springing to his eyes—Jon was so clearly flustered by the package, confirming what he already knew: he’s seeing someone else.

Stop it stop it stop it

Furious with himself, at the hollow cavern of his chest, he turns toward the break room—determined to at least make this lunch normal and pleasant.

Just be normal.

For once, just do it right.

—

Though the hour is just barely approaching 8pm, Martin is more than ready to settle in for what he hopes might be some half-decent sleep. He’d been on the lookout for worms all day, as usual, but had really found very few—and certainly none within the sealed doors of document storage. Even if the air feels a bit stuffy, it’s nice to have a bit of added security that those things couldn’t possibly reach him in here. Or so he hopes.

It’s as if the cot has its own gravitational pull, beckoning him to just tip to the side, to let it all wash away into sleep—the only problem being that he cannot yet bring himself to take off his binder. To put it mildly, it’s been a day, even with the lovely lunch Tim and Sasha had brought him, even with the warming cup of tea he and Rosie had shared. The idea of kicking his dysphoria into an even higher gear is enough to set his heart pounding again, so much that every time he tries to just take it off, your lungs will thank you—he can’t get past even touching the hem sitting tightly against his ribcage.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, he smacks the back of his head against it a few times in frustration, before ceasing at the pain reverberating through his skull.

Just take it off just take it off just—

He pulls it up just a little higher.

Nononononono I can’t I can’t I can’t—

Bringing it back down against his pounding pulse, he forces himself to take deep, grounding breaths, shuddering and hitching a bit as his frustration builds up to form a lump in his throat.

Pathetic pathetic pathetic—

His thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of his phone against his thigh.

Sasha: hey, Martin—I popped some tampons and pads into your desk drawer. saw your door closed and thought you might not want company right now.

Sasha: and I got you some ice cream. double chocolate fudge. I’ve left it on the top shelf of the break room freezer.

Sasha: hope you’re alright—love you <3

Oh god.

Martin feels his eyes welling up as soon as he starts reading, the tears causing the words to swim almost too badly to see. God, Sasha—she always knows what to say, just what he needs—and he barely had to say a word about it.

Martin: love you too, Sash. you’re unbelievable. I can’t wait to tuck in! love love love you <3

Sasha: good man! I don’t want to see any left by the time I get in tomorrow. goodnight, handsome <3

Oh god oh god oh god

He can’t help but clutch the phone tightly to his chest, allowing a tear or two slip down the side of his cheeks with a soft smile. “Good man,” “goodnight handsome—“ even if he knows she’s saying it because of the dysphoria, it means everything to him that she would even think about it. That she would even notice it.

That she cares enough to want to make him feel better.

Dizzy with happiness, Martin slips out from under the covers and heads into the archives to retrieve his ice cream.

—

Spoon and his wonderful frozen gift in his hands, he makes his way back to document storage—knowing that if Jon were there, he’d be livid to see him take any sort of food or drink into a place where such precious pieces of spooky history are kept. In spite of himself, he lets the corners of his mouth turn up at the thought, imagining how terribly cross he would be, hands on his hips, shouting up at Martin, who stands a foot taller than him—

There’s a light on in Jon’s office.

Surely he’s…not…

Worry pooling in his stomach, Martin pads as silently as possible over to the partially-open door, peering inside just in case, hoping against hope that he’s not going to find more worms, or someone covered in worms, or Prentiss herself—

His heart leaps into his throat at once.

Inside the room, he finds Jon—with no worms in sight, no injuries—staring at the full length mirror on the wall. Hanging from his frame is a loose and flowing dress, thin shoulder straps drooping down into a dark navy ‘v’ across his chest, blue and white striped skirt falling graciously around his hips and to the floor. Slits in the fabric run from the hem up to his knees, giving the entire piece such a feeling of freedom—and the look on Jon’s face says he feels just the same. His eyes sparkle as he moves about in the skirt, feeling the fabric against his legs, reaching up to let his hair hang loosely over his bare shoulders. It’s lovely, it’s soaring, it’s—

Intensely private.

Oh god, I shouldn’t be here.

Desperate to leave as silently as he came, Martin takes a step back—right onto a worm wriggling beneath his foot.

“AAGH!” he yells, dropping the ice cream and spoon at once, scrambling backwards to grab a book from the desk behind him, smashing into the horrible little thing until it is well past dead.

“God, sorry,” he pants, swiping a hand across the sweat of his brow, setting the other to rest over his chest as he bends over to catch his breath. “Sorry, I must have scared you, I just saw the light on, and I—“

When he looks up, he’s greeted with the sight of a man frozen in place—eyes wide with shock, and…fear? He stands with his back pressed against the opposite wall, no breath visible in the movement of his shoulders as he stares back into Martin’s eyes.

“A-are you alright? Jon?” he asks carefully, taking a cautious step forward.

He receives no reply in return—the only movement visible to him the shakiness of his legs.

“You don’t look w—oh, Christ,” Martin yelps, rushing forward to catch Jon as he starts to slip to the ground.

It strikes Martin suddenly that he still hasn’t seen Jon take a breath—and he begins heaving at once, lungs gasping for oxygen.

“God—that’s it, just take a breath, just--just take a breath,” Martin encourages nervously, sweeping his eyes over him for some sort of injury. “Are you alright?”

Jon does not reply for a few moments, eyes still blown wide and wild, before at last turning them up to meet Martin’s gaze as his breaths begin to slow.

“Y-you—“ he begins, before his eyes sweep downwards for just a sliver of a moment. “You’re wearing…a binder.”

Oh, Christ.

With a start, Martin looks down at himself—only just realizing that he’s crouching in his boss’s office, wearing nothing but his boxers and a skin-tone binder.

“O-oh, God, I—“ he instinctively brings up his arms to cover himself. “S-sorry, I just—I didn’t mean—“

“N-no, Martin—that’s not—that’s not what I meant,” Jon assures in a anxious rush, reaching out to touch his arm—before hurriedly jerking it back.

“No?”

“No, I—“ he cuts off again, pressing a hand over his chest as he takes another grounding breath. “I’m really—I’m actually…relieved.”

Now Martin is properly confused.

“You’re…relieved?”

“Yes, I—“ he looks up, laughing a bit wetly before continuing. “I suppose you…you wouldn’t…I suppose you would understand. Perhaps.”

“Understand…”

It hits Martin like a train, now that the panic of a possible crisis has been averted: the dress.

“OH! Oh, I—I’m so sorry I burst in on you, Jon, I didn’t…I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that. On purpose. I can leave you alone? Or to change, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I—I think I would like that. To change, I mean. You can—“

He drops his gaze to the floor.

“You can come back. If you want.”

For a moment, Martin allows hope to swell in his chest—before quashing it rather forcefully.

“O-Okay! Sure, I’ll just—I’ll be back in a mome, I’ll just…put some clothes on. Right.”

Elegant exit made, Martin briefly allows the shock to wash over him before dashing back to document storage—popping on a pair of pyjama trousers and a band t-shirt, sure to grab a canister of CO2 for proper protection this time. On his journey back, he spots the ice cream he’d flung to the floor at the sight of the worm—a bit melted now, perhaps—but if anything warrants some slightly-melty ice cream, it’s the conversation that he thinks Jon wants to have now. Turning on his heel, he grabs two spoons from the kitchen, and by the time he gets back, Jon’s office door has been propped back open. He knocks against it lightly all the same.

“Jon? Alright if I come in?”

“Y-yes—erm, have a seat, if you’d like,” he says from his desk chair, now back in his typical work-day cardigan, hair pulled into a bit of a messy bun.

“Right, sure,” Martin replies, settling in the chair opposite him and offering a smile. “Feels like I’m about to give a statement or something.”

To his complete surprise, the corners of Jon’s mouth actually turn up a bit at this—and though he still will not meet Martin’s eyes, something about the openness of his expression tells Martin to mark this moment as one to remember.

“I suppose it must feel rather like that,” he agrees, beginning to fiddle with a pen on his desk, staring intently at it.

They sit like this for quite a while—letting the silence settle, as Martin tries to intuit whether or not he ought to say something. Worrying at his bottom lip to keep himself from speaking, he tries not to stare at Jon, wanting him to feel comfortable, just wanting him to know that he’s there for whatever he needs to say.

It’s the most unnatural thing in the world for him to do—but it appears to have been the right decision, as Jon at last begins to speak.

“I haven’t,” he begins, before clearing his throat. “I’ve never worn a dress before.”

Ah. So it is what I thought.

Leaning forward against the table, Martin tilts his head in an effort to let Jon know that it’s okay, you can look at me, you’re safe here—but he’s not quite ready yet, and Martin is certainly armed with patience.

“I think that’s great, Jon! I think that’s really great that you tried it,” he begins, hoping that this is what Jon needs to hear in this moment. “Do you want to—I mean you don’t have to, but—do you want to talk about it?”

Brows furrowing, Jon stops twiddling the pen long enough to glance up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I just…I mean…how did it make you—feel?” Martin clarifies, and Jon nods in response.

“Ah, I see. I—erm—“ and away he looks again, back to staring at the pen, perhaps more nervous than Martin has ever seen him. “It’s…difficult to say, I suppose. I’m not quite sure yet.”

“That’s okay, that’s perfectly natural,” Martin is quick to assure, running a hand over the bits of stubble that have crept up over his chin.

He remembers this, remembers the doubt, the exploration of what he did and did not want, what he did and did not feel—it was far from easy to do, and he’s starting to think it’s much the same for Jon.

Perhaps I ought to start at the beginning

“Are you—and you don’t have to answer this, but—are you…thinking about your gender identity?” he asks, watching Jon’s body language carefully.

He seems to curl up further into his seat, shoulders hunching in a way that makes Martin’s own hurt just looking at them.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Jon mutters, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. “I’m…hesitant to say, really, I just…”

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes, arms braced against each arm rest.

“I happened to see that dress a few months ago, and it wouldn’t leave my mind, and I had some extra money to spare, and…and I bought it. I don’t know why.”

All of this spills from Jon in such a rush that it winds him, still not opening his eyes.

“That’s okay, Jon. Really. You don’t need to know why right now, okay? This kind of stuff can be complicated,” Martin soothes, letting out a little huff of laughter. “Believe me, I understand.”

At this, Jon opens his eyes again, bringing them up to meet his ever-so-slowly. Once they land there, though…Martin has a feeling that they will be fixed on him for the rest of this conversation, though he cannot put a finger on why.

“Would you tell me?” Jon asks in a near whisper, leaning against arms which he’s propped up on his desk. “I mean—I would like to know how you found out, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah. Right. Erm…well, I suppose I was pretty young when I started to figure it out. I’d never…I’d never really felt like me in my body, you know? The long hair, the school uniforms, just…it wasn’t right. At least not for me.”

He pauses for a moment, half expecting Jon to interrupt, to tell him he’s heard enough—but Jon still appears transfixed, as if he’s drinking in every word he has to say.

“But I didn’t really understand what that meant until secondary school. I was…well, let’s just say it was an upsetting time for me all around, right? One day I felt upset enough to chop off my own hair in the bathroom. And it was long by that time—nearly down to my waist.”

He laughs briefly at the remembrance, running a hair through his now-shorn locks.

“I cut it off—and it was like some small part of me started to understand. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I tried to dress in what I thought boys should wear, walked around dressed like that to see what would happen—and the first time that someone called me “Mister Blackwood,” I just…it’s was like a great big wave of relief. It was like someone finally saw me. Like I finally saw me.”

Pausing there, he looks back up at Jon’s face—still reverently focused on his own. It sends a chill up his spine, in not an entirely unpleasant way.

“Thank you, Martin,” he murmurs at last, lowering his hands away from his face to stretch out across the table. “Thank you for telling me. That’s very…insightful.”

“Is it?” he replies, leaning towards him once again. “Can you tell me why?”

He can almost hear the gears turning in Jon’s head—the lines of deep-seated thought clear on his face. After a rather long silence, he begins to speak again, voice more certain than it has sounded all evening.

“The feeling of it. What you said about not being able to get it out of your mind, I just—” he breaks off to sigh, frustrated with the way the words are stringing together. “I’m not saying I understand completely, because it’s obviously your experience and not mine, but…”

He swallows, setting his face with such strength of intention that Martin finds himself bracing for the impact.

“I liked it. The dress. I liked the fabric, I liked the way it…the way it looked on me. I…I liked feeling…feminine, I suppose you could say.”

In this moment, Martin is not sure he has ever felt such a surge of affection for the person before him—which is saying quite a lot, all things considered.

“I’m really happy for you, Jon! Thank you for sharing that with me, I know that’s not always easy.”

Jon’s only response is a curt nod, his penchant for decorum and professionalism shining through even in this moment of relative vulnerability.

“Could I ask you—have you thought about pronouns? Or names? I mean—I’m happy to call you however you want to be called. Or perhaps even to try something new out, if you want. Just to see,” he quirks up a little smile at him, pleased that Jon feels comfortable enough to look back at him.

“Erm—I suppose I had thought about it a bit,” he says as he wraps his arms around his middle again, a gesture that Martin knows to be one of self-comfort. “I…I don’t think I would want to change my name. Not now, anyway. I rather like how it sounds.”

“That’s alright! I…I think your name is lovely, if that matters,” Martin replies—flushing as he realizes what he’s just said. “Erm—anyway, what about pronouns? Do you want to keep using he/him? Or do you want to try something else?”

Again, Jon seems perfectly at ease to think about this in silence for a bit—turning away and twirling a loose strand of his hair with his right index finger. That all-too-familiar twinge in his chest returns with a vengeance at the sight, endlessly endeared to everything about him.

God, stay focused for one moment, Martin.

“I—would you mind to try they/them? I don’t—I don’t think I want to try it around the office yet or, but…would you? Try it?”

“Of course!” Martin breathes at once, hand reaching out instinctively to cover Jon’s own where it rests on the table—and to his utter shock, Jon does not even flinch at the contact, nor try to pull away. “Of course I will, Jon. Do you want me to try it now? I can say some sentences so you can feel it out.”

“I…yes. Yes, that would be lovely, Martin,” Jon replies softly, still not moving his hand away.

“Right. Erm…okay. This is Jon. They work at the Magnus Institute. They’re the Head Archivist, and their work is very important. I like to bring them cups of tea in the afternoon, and they wear cardigans almost every day,” he pauses there, reading the smile creeping up on Jon’s face like the sun breaking through the clouds—and knowing in that moment, that they must have gotten it right.

“So? How did it feel?”

The smile takes on a full-bodied appearance now—eyes sparkling dark and gentle across the table, boring into his own with such depth of meaning that Martin is not sure he could ever fully take in.

“Yes,” they reply simply, smile spreading even wider. “Yes, I—I rather liked that.”

“I’m really glad, Jon! I mean—I would have been glad even if you didn’t like it, of course—the important thing is that you tried it out,” Martin stammers, nervousness somehow creeping back into his words.

“Thank you, Martin. I’ve…greatly enjoyed this talk,” Jon says, at last pulling their hand away from beneath Martin’s to point it at the forgotten tub of ice cream, currently sweating a circle of moisture on the wood of their desk. “I think you might want to get back to this before it melts, however.”

“Oh! Oh, right—I forgot I sat it there!” Martin replies, grabbing it quickly and rubbing a sleeve over the damp spot it created on the wood. “I actually—“

No no no, stop.

Don’t make it awkward

Don’t ruin it don’t ruin it don’t—

“Would you like some?” Martin presses on, against every voice that tells him to do the contrary. “I—I actually brought two spoons, I thought…I thought maybe you could use a pick-me-up. After I barged in on you like that.”

The expression Jon gives back to him now is a mixture of things—incomprehension, confusion, disbelief—and perhaps, just perhaps, a small bit of delight.

“You don’t—you don’t need to do that, I—“

“I insist, Jon. Please have some with me,” he interrupts, handing him one of the spoons. “Sasha told me to have it gone by morning, and there’s no way I can do that myself.”

“Well,” Jon replies, taking the spoon from him with just a whisper of a grin. “I suppose we’d better get to work, then.”

“Let’s.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #jonmartin #hurt/comfort #trans martin blackwood #nonbinary jonathan sims #cw dysphoria #cw periods #cw panic #cw self hatred #cw food mention #my writing #lmao tumblr deleted all the text from the first post #so that was exciting

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purrincess-chat · 4 years ago

Text

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH14

Things are changing ;) The next 10 chapters look a lot different than the original, and most of them are brand new.

Previous First Next AO3

---------------------------

Chapter 14: Death by a Thousand Cuts

The crowd waiting for Ladybug and Chat Noir outside the Louvre grew thicker as another van pulled up, and a crew of reporters hopped out. Alya drummed her fingers on her phone, shifting when the new additions forced their way into the throng. She just wanted answers. Being selected to be Rena Rouge meant she had some sort of bond with Ladybug, right? So why did Ladybug replace her without warning? Was it out of necessity? Or did the fox Miraculous have a permanent new owner?

Camera bulbs flashed as the heroes exited the museum, and several microphones competed for their attention, swallowing Alya in a sea of limbs. Lila promised a private interview, and if her stories were to be believed, she’d better come through. This was the moment that would define their friendship, and more importantly, Alya would finally learn if Marinette and Adrien were telling the truth.

“Ladybug!”

“What’s the story on this akuma?”

“Can you confirm that you and Chat Noir are dating?”

“Do you have any leads on tracking down Hawkmoth?”

“A student got punished for wandering off on a field trip. No, we’re not dating—stop asking! And as of right now, we have no leads, but Chat Noir and I are doing everything in our power to keep you all safe,” she said smoothly. She never once looked at Alya in the crowd.

“Ladybug,” Alya spoke up.

Ladybug shifted to face her, though her face bore no sense of recognition or familiarity. Her expression was blank, cold, business-like, distant—a steely mask hiding her emotions.

Alya bit her lip and continued. “Um, I was hoping to get an answer to a question many of my followers have. Do you have time for an interview?”

Ladybug’s earrings beeped frantically—a reminder that the heroes were on literal timers.

“I’ve only got a couple minutes,” she replied. “Make it quick.”

Strike one.

“My viewers want to know what happened to Rena Rouge. Will Malin be a permanent replacement, or was he a temporary stand-in?” she asked.

Several reporters rolled their eyes. As far as they were concerned, these questions were yesterday’s news. No one else seemed to care that Rena Rouge was replaced. They clung to whoever wore the suit in the moment, but it was the most important question in the world to Alya.

Something flashed in Ladybug’s eyes, an uneasy expression Alya saw in the mirror a lot as of late. Those big blue eyes were filled with pain, hurt, and regret, but Alya couldn’t figure out why. What had she done to receive such tortured expressions from someone who once trusted her?

“Malin will wield the Fox Miraculous in all battles moving forward.” She grabbed her yoyo. “No more questions. Bug out.”

Reporters glared daggers at Alya for wasting their opportunity to get the latest scoop. Alya could see it in their eyes. As far as they were concerned, Rena Rouge was old news. Her heart dropped to her feet, shattering like glass on concrete.

Strike two.

“I’ll be happy to take a few more questions.” Chat Noir stepped to the center of the crowd. His eyes skipped over Alya too, lengthening the chasm growing between them.

Strike three.

All the microphones pointed at him, pushing Alya aside just as Ladybug had done to Rena Rouge. Her heart hammered in her chest, a painful lump blocking her throat as tears welled in her eyes. Did Ladybug not trust her anymore? What did it all mean? Lila was supposed to talk to her and set up a private interview, but Ladybug treated her so coldly. Why?

Because she’s a liar.

The thought flashed in her mind, Marinette’s familiar voice ringing in her ears. Alya had to wonder if knowing the truth was any better than living in ignorance. One thing was certain: if Lila really was a liar, then Alya had a lot of apologizing to do.

♪♫♪ Sanctuary ♪♫♪

“Hey, you made it!” Macy took Marinette’s hands and planted kisses on her cheeks. “Is Adrien coming?”

“He said he was.” Marinette retrieved her phone from her purse to check her messages.

“You two should sit together.” Macy insisted, and when Marinette’s eyebrows raised, she added, “I’m a huge fan of his, but you two seem really close, and I’d never want to start anything over a boy. It’s not worth ruining our friendship.”

“Macy…” Marinette pulled her in for a hug. “You’re the best.”

“No, you are, and if Adrien can’t see that then he has poor taste,” Macy said. “If you ever need a wingwoman, I’ve got your back, and I’m sure Eliott can teach you all kinds of ways to flirt.”

“I might take him up on that. I’m hopeless.” Marinette admitted. “Sometimes when I talk to him my words come out wrong.”

“Why don’t I set up the perfect scene for you two tonight?” Macy offered. “Afterall, the play is packed with romance. He won’t know what hit him.”

“Who won’t know what?” Adrien asked as he and Martin approached.

“Oh, nothing,” Macy said with a coy lilt. “Just girl stuff, you wouldn’t be interested.”

“I get it. Keep your secrets.” Adrien smirked.

“Come on, Eliott reserved us box seats!” Macy took Marinette’s wrist and led the way.

As promised, Macy sat Marinette next to Adrien and toted Martin off with her to “get a drink.” Adrien seemed oblivious to her plans but unbothered by the extra alone time with Marinette.

“So, your dad let you come, huh?” Marinette said conversationally.

“He’s more amicable toward other rich people, and he thinks theatre is a more…enriching activity.” He rolled his eyes. “I guess he figures I’ll behave.”

“Either way, I’m glad. It means we can spend more time together.” Marinette offered him a shy smile.

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a downer. I’m really glad he’s letting me out. Ever since you changed schools, I don’t get to see you as often, so I always look forward to spending time together,” he said.

Marinette’s heart skipped three beats. “Yeah, it’s great! N-Not that he doesn’t trust you, but that we can hang out, I mean. It stinks that he doesn’t trust all of your friends and keeps you at home, and I’m sure it must be hard for you, and… I’m gonna stop talking.”

She turned to face forward, slapping her palm to her forehead. Maybe she should have hit up Eliott for flirting advice before she let Macy push them together.

“No, no! It’s fine. It is hard, but I’ve got really great friends like you who understand, so that makes it better,” he said.

“You know I’m always here for you if you want to talk about it. Any time.” She reached out, hesitantly at first, to place her hand over his. “You’re…really important to me, Adrien.”

Adrien searched her soft expression before a smile curled on his lips. “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.” He gave her hand a squeeze as Macy and Martin returned.

Macy nudged Marinette with a giggle, and she bit back a smile. Maybe she wasn’t as hopeless as she thought. Adrien kept hold of her hand until the lights dimmed, and the theatre hall broke into applause. It was a small gesture, but Marinette would take it.

Eliott played an amazing Chat Noir, and even Margot didn’t do too bad as Ladybug, despite being a total brat behind the scenes. The play was fun, and a reminder of how much Paris trusted Ladybug and Chat Noir to defend them. Though, she did find fault with their kiss at the end seeing as she and Chat were so not like that, but Paris wanted what it wanted even if it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“You. Were. Awesome!” Macy tackled Eliott the moment they met up afterward.

“Thanks,” Eliott chuckled. “I think that was my best performance.”

“You play Chat Noir so well, Eliott. Are you sure you’re not really him?” Marinette teased.

“I’d believe it,” Adrien said. “I’m impressed by the quality of your playwright’s puns.”

“They’re almost as cheesy as the real Chat Noir’s,” Marinette added with a grunt.

“Not feline the cat puns, Marinette?” Adrien folded his arms over his chest and cocked a brow.

“Purrhaps she just doesn’t find them funny,” Eliott said with a wink.

“Then she has a very purr sense of humor.” Adrien smirked.

Marinette rolled her eyes, shooting him a playful grin of her own. “I just think his comedic timing needs work. They’re saving Paris; shouldn’t he take his job a little more seriously?”

“Meowch. No appreciation for good comedy with this one,” Adrien said.

“I may have to reconsider purrmitting you to attend the after party on my yacht,” Eliott said. “You have to make one cat pun to be admitted.”

“Do I have to?” Marinette groaned.

“We can chat about it on the way.” Macy giggled as Adrien and Eliott praised her contribution.

“Yeah, we’ve gato go.” Martin pointed to the door, only adding fuel to the fire.

Marinette sighed. “Betrayed by all of my friends at once. That’s cold.” When they all gave her expectant looks, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Please leave meowt of this.”

She rolled her eyes as they all applauded, curtsying and blowing sarcastic kisses. If anyone knew more cat puns than they ever wanted to, it was her. Chat Noir certainly kept them coming.

“Alright, I guess you can come.” Eliott draped an arm over her shoulder as they walked.

“You guys are insufferable,” Marinette said.

“You love us though.” Adrien wrapped an arm around her waist on the other side, and her cheeks warmed.

Across the lobby, Lisette was chatting with other stagehands, and Eliott stiffened. He might be good at flirting, but when it came to Lisette, he always clammed up. It didn’t help that she was shier than Marinette either.

“Go invite her.” Marinette urged, elbowing his side.

“What? Who? I wasn’t- you’re…”

“Hey, Lisette!” Marinette called, breaking out of his grip and beelining for her.

“Marinette!” Eliott chased after her.

Lisette tilted her head to one side. “Hey, you’re…”

“Marinette.” She held out a hand. “Eliott’s friend.”

“Yeah, you were at our dress rehearsal last night.” Lisette nodded, cheeks flushing when Eliott latched onto Marinette. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s up.” Eliott clamped a hand over Marinette’s mouth, and she gave him a prompting look. “Um, just I’m having a party on my yacht if you wanna come. Just a few friends and family, super casual. Margot won’t be there.”

Lisette clutched the hem of her shirt and bit her lip. “Sounds fun.” She rocked back on her heels. “Let me go home and change, then I’ll come over.”

“Okay, great!” Eliott said a little too loudly. “I’ll- We’ll see you there.”

“Great.”

“Cool.” He turned abruptly, dragging Marinette away by the wrist. “Okay, I deserved that revenge.”

“She likes you!” Marinette said.

Eliott couldn’t hide his smile. “Shut up.”

“She’s coming to your party.”

“Yeah, I got that. Thanks.” He let a breath pass his lips. “I’m just nervous. I’ve never liked someone before, and I’m scared that everything could go wrong.”

“Talk to her tonight. Let her get to know you, and I’m sure she’ll like you no matter what,” Marinette urged. “Have confidence.”

Eliott searched her expression, pursing his lips. “Okay.”

The rest of the group was waiting in the limo, and Marinette crawled in beside Adrien. Macy was prattling on about the play, particularly the big kiss at the end, teasing Eliott for having to kiss Margot.

“Do you think her snobbishness can infect you like getting bit by a zombie?” She poked his cheek.

“Shut up, we’ve rehearsed that kiss a 100 times over the past few weeks, and I’m fine.” He swatted her hand away.

“You really are a good actor if you can pretend to be in love with Margot for an hour and a half,” Macy said. She fanned her cheeks. “Even still, that kiss was so romantic! I would love to have seen the real thing on heroes day.”

“Oh, come on. That kiss so didn’t happen in real life. The playwright just added it in for dramatic effect,” Marinette said.

“How do you know?” Adrien quirked a brow.

“I- just Ladybug is always saying in interviews that they’re not a couple, so of course they didn’t kiss.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh, that’s just a cover story. They are totally in love. Chat Noir is head-over-heels for Ladybug, and she just hides her feelings so Hawkmoth can’t use it against them,” Macy said, not bothering to mask the ‘duh’ in her voice.

Marinette rolled her eyes. If only they knew.

When they arrived at Eliott’s yacht, her friends continued their chatter, and a small smile curled on Marinette’s lips. She really was lucky to have them, even if they all believed Ladybug was in love with Chat Noir—she’d convince them eventually. After everything that happened with Lila, Marinette was spiraling, feeling unappreciated, abandoned, and angry. Martin and Eliott said she helped them, but truthfully, their friendship saved her first. They showed her that real friends did exist, and that they don’t abandon one another.

Finally, her gaze rested on Adrien, the one thing she still had left from her old school. He’d grown quiet after their conversation. He flashed smiles and laughed when appropriate, but something hid behind those green eyes, an intensity Marinette had never seen from him before. After a while, he disappeared from the party, and Marinette wondered if he’d gone home until she found him on the upper deck looking out over the Seine.

“I’ve always thought the Seine was prettier at night,” he remarked as she approached. “The reflection of the lights on the water calms me down.”

“Are you okay? You’ve been quiet ever since the limo ride,” Marinette said. She leaned against the railing next to him. His eyes were fixed ahead, barring her from the emotions brewing inside. Another gray wall with a locked door between them.

Finally, he flicked his gaze over to her, searching her face as if she were a puzzle that needed solving. He looked at her like that a lot nowadays. Several times when they spent time together, she’d catch him staring. A month ago, she would have done anything to get Adrien to look at her, but now as they stood only centimeters apart, eyes locked, she didn’t know what to say. Her heart fluttered.

The last time they hung out, Adrien almost kissed her—a fact that haunted her every day since. What did it mean? Was Adrien in love with her? Was he going to kiss her now? Oh god, she shouldn’t have eaten the Camembert from that cheese platter.

His eyes bore into her so intensely, she thought she was going to pass out, but instead of kissing her, he bit his lip and asked, “How are you holding up with everything?”

Blinking in surprise, she breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m doing better now,” she said. “Some days are still rough, but I’m grateful for my friends. They’ve really helped me overcome everything.”

“I know you’ve been through a lot lately. I’m just glad you and I are still friends,” Adrien said softly. “You’re someone I don’t ever want to lose.”

Her cheeks warmed as he tucked a loose strand of hair into place. Taking a leap, she took a step toward him, curling her arms around his waist. He held her close, resting his head against hers.

“I’m really glad I still have you,” she whispered.

“You’ll always have me. I’ll always be watching out for you,” he said in her ear. “Always. I promise.”

♪♫♪ Careful ♪♫♪

“Hey, bestie.” Lila smiled as Alya approached their usual table at their favorite café. Her face fell when Alya flashed her a pensive frown. “Why the long face?”

“I talked to Ladybug yesterday,” she said. “She totally blew me off. I thought you said you were going to get me a private interview.”

“Oh no, I am so sorry, Alya!” Lila’s face fell into her hands. “I should have warned you, but I just don’t know what happened. I tried texting the private number Ladybug gave me, but she totally ghosted me. I don’t know what’s going on with her lately. She hasn’t been replying to me at all.”

How convenient.

Alya crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m having trouble believing you.”

“I’m not lying to you, Alya! Ladybug has been pulling away from me lately, and I don’t know why.” Lila’s lips curled into the perfect pout. “I find it really hurtful that you don’t trust me. I thought we were friends, but you’re starting to sound like Marinette.”

“We are, I just… I don’t know what to think anymore. I-” Alya averted her gaze with a sigh. “I need some time to clear my head, okay?”

“Of course. I know you have trust issues after what Marinette did to you, so I completely understand,” Lila said. “But please, don’t call me a liar like she used to. If you leave me, then everyone else will too.”

Alya chewed her cheek, searching Lila’s expression. Her eyes seemed so genuine that Alya almost apologized on the spot, but she knew that not everything in life was as it seemed. Be a journalist. Investigate.

“I gotta go,” she said. “My sisters want to see a movie this afternoon, and my parents are at work.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lila offered, but Alya held up a hand to stop her.

“That’s alright. I can handle it,” she said. “Thanks, though.”

Lila sank back into her chair with a pout. As Alya turned to leave, Lila’s face shriveled into a glare that sent a chill down her spine, but she kept walking. Maybe she imagined it. Her mind played all kinds of tricks on her lately. She only hoped the truth would reveal itself soon and free her from all of this doubt.

♪♫♪ happiness ♪♫♪

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Ladybug sat on the edge of a roof, staring out over the city. She heard Chat Noir touch down behind her, but she didn’t turn around as he approached. Her head was drained, empty, lifeless as she stared ahead.

He didn’t question as he sat beside her. They knew each other well enough by now that she didn’t need to explain when she was upset. He just knew. The silence stretched on, but Chat Noir waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts.

“I knew it would happen,” she said finally. “I knew she would wonder.”

“Alya?”

Ladybug nodded. “I never told you, but she was Rena Rouge.”

Chat Noir’s mask raised, and Ladybug lowered her gaze to her lap.

“She must hate me now,” she murmured, lip quivering.

“You did replace her without an explanation,” he said pointedly.

“I had my reasons.” She swung her legs over the edge. “I need people that I trust by my side.”

“I wasn’t questioning your decision,” he said. “You know I trust you 100% no matter what.”

“I guess it’s not that I don’t trust her.” Ladybug sighed, chewing her lip. “I mean, I don’t doubt that she would still work with us, but she’s hanging out with Lila, and after everything…I can’t work with her.”

“I understand.” When Ladybug gave him a disbelieving look, he brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckle. “Really. I do, Bug.”

“I know it sounds selfish, but I can’t put my feelings aside,” she said. “I know we have a duty to protect the city, but if I can do that with someone else, then why go through the trouble?”

“No one’s asking you to.” When her face fell, Chat Noir reached out to cup her cheek. “Bug, you did the right thing. No one is doubting you. We need people we can work with and count on, and if Rena Rouge isn’t it, then it’s time for Malin to step in.”

She leaned against his shoulder, watching cars crawl up and down the street with sad eyes—a city full of people counting on her. They seemed so small from up here.

“It’s hard sometimes,” she said. “Having the whole city looking at you to fix all of their problems… The weight of the world gets so heavy.”

“Don’t worry about stepping on toes. We have to do what we can to save everyone, and we can’t do that if we’re working with people we can’t trust,” Chat Noir said. “It’s not selfish. It’s our job.”

Ladybug smiled, Chat Noir’s familiar warmth flooding her chest. Chat Noir could be sweet when he wanted. He could give Adrien a run for his money if he acted like this all the time. Nah, that was a stretch, but she’d always love Chat in her own way.

Ladybug stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, kitty.”

“You’re welcome.” He smirked, then added, “I just hope you’re not thinking of replacing me.”

“Of course not,” she giggled. “I know I can always count on you.”

“Good. Then we’re on the same page.” He leaned his head against hers, and they sat for several minutes, watching the city lights twinkle on the skyline.

She spent a lot of time leaning on blond boys lately, but in her defense, she had two of the best. Chat Noir trusted her even when she didn’t trust herself. Sure, he was goofy, full-of-himself, and his puns were terrible, but… Somedays she needed someone like that. Someone to make her laugh and roll her eyes. He was her best friend, and she hoped that even after they defeated Hawkmoth that they would always stay this close.

“Until next time, m’lady.” He bowed theatrically when they stood to leave. “I’m always here for you if you need me.”

“I know.” She pulled him in for a tight hug. “Thank you for being someone I can lean on. It means the world to me.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

Ladybug swooped down to the street, ducking behind an ad stand and letting her transformation drop. Clara’s presentation was in a week, and she was going to pull an all-nighter. Coffee was a must. She was getting close to finalizing a few of her designs, and now that she’d gotten everything off her chest about Alya, her mind was a lot clearer.

Rounding the corner, she crossed the street to a quaint little café before a waterfall of silky, red hair wiping a table in a dingy green apron caught her eye. Was that…

“Gabrielle?”

#mdcsp #mdcspr #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #my writing

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reginadaita · 4 years ago

Text

La squadra: apologising after taking a joke too far

Risotto

He was slapping himself mentally. Seeing you getting hurt is something he doesn't like, especially when it was him. You left the hideout for some fresh air and clearance, meanwhile you didn't notice what a turmoil was going on in the house.

Risotto is searching like a maniac the whole apartment. What if you got kidnapped? Have you left him behind? A car accident?

When you came back he rushes like a dog to the door and stares at you. “Im sorry carina/carino...can you forgive me? ”.

Prosciutto

At first he doesn't want to apologise. His ego and pride are taking over him, making him believe that you should now that he didn't mean it like that.

You locked yourself in your shared room and didn't even bothered your lovers loud knocks. “Tesoro you know I don't mean it!”, you hear from the other side.

After 5 hours of ignoring him, you opened the door just to see expensive gifts and a handwritten letter. You smile and accept the apology. But before you could do anything, a big hand held you up, just to make eye contact with the person you was going to look for.

“I wholeheartedly regret treating you this way. I want to make it up for you. I am truly sorry my love”.

Melone

Why was a cooing sound coming from your door. You were in your room, hiding from your boyfriend. “AMOREEEEEEE PLEASE COME BACK TO MEEEE”, you heard him crying from the door. “Are you making these pigeons sounds melone?”.

“YOU LOVE BIIIRDSSS SO I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE NICE TO MAKE SOME SOUNDS THAT YOU LIKEEEE”.

You had enough. You opened the door, just to be greeted by a crying melone who immediately grabbed your legs, preventing you from moving.

“BABY I LOVEEE YOUUU, I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART”, he snorted.

“Come here”, you said and opened your arms. I feel sorry for your back, melone pushed you down like a rugby player. OUCH. At least you both are back on good terms.

Ghiaccio

Everyone was quiet. You were packing your things whilst Ghiaccio was screaming downstairs. “HOW CAN SHE/HE/THEY NOT KNOW THAT I DIDN`T MEANT IT LIKE THAT?!”.

All the members were convinced that this was the final straw, but little did they know that you planned to pull a more or less mean prank on him.

When you head downstairs, bags in your hand and your partner ring in your left palm, Ghiaccio froze immediately.

“Arr...are you leaving?”.

You nodded. You placed the ring right on the counter and headed without looking back to the door. You felt kinda bad but he had to learn his lesson.

“Y/n wait”. You could hear hi trembling voice.

“Im breaking up with you Ghiaccio. You hurted me so many times, I can't anymore”.

You were about to open the door when you felt a hot tear falling onto your shoulder.

“I love you with all my heart. Please don't leave me....I can't imagine how boring my life would be like without you”. Ghiaccio whispered.

Your heart was aching in pain. Immediately you turned around and hugged him with all you got. “Don't cry. You will never be alone again Ghia. I love you till the end of time”.

“Does that mean that were....?”.

“Yes it does”.

Illuso

Almost the same as prosciutto but more bratty. You fled the mirror world and made sure to ignore him for the next hour. “Oi y/n what's going on?”, Formaggio said. “Illuso being obnoxious as usual”. After chatting with Formaggio, you didn't notice a jealous Illuso standing behind you.

“y/n”. You turned around.

“What is it Illuso?”

“We need to talk. NOW.”

He quickly dragged you into his room. Before you could say anything he already had you in a tight hug”.

“ I am sorry my amore. Forgive me”.

Formaggio

You had to held your laughter back. Formaggio was outside your room singing “When I fall in love” by Dean Martin with a really bad ukulele accompaniment. He knew that he messed up, so he tried melons “special technique”.

When you heard a loud thump, a off sound coming from the instrument and a squealing Formaggio you just knew Ghiaccio had to end this cat singing session.

“ Y/N PLEASE COME OUT AND STOP THIS NONSENSE! THIS VOICE IS A DANGER TO SOCIETY AND A TOTAL MENACE!, Ghiaccio shouted.

With a big laughter, you slowly opened the door just to see a Formaggio on the floor with a broken ukulele.

“I forgive you Maggi”, was all you said when Formaggio pulled you in for a big hug. “I can't live without you my lil bean!”, he exclaimed.

Pesci

Everyone was quietly shocked to you see both in such a upset state. Pesci was such a kindhearted person, especially to you.

You were outside, drying your tears whilst catering to the flowers.

You heard footsteps behind you. “Y/n can we talk about it?”. You could feel the pain in pescis voice. You sighed.

As you turned around, you saw a big bouquet with your favorite flowers in his hands. “I love you so so so so much y/n. You are my sunshine, my world, my sweetpie my butter to my bacon, my sugar to my tea-”.

A kiss from your side stopped him from ranting.

#la squadra headcanons #la squadra

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spacestationdaedalus · 4 years ago

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Happy ending JM + cat = :)

I wrote 90 percent of this in a fit of inspiration at 1am, do with it what you will. The cat in question may or may not be inspired by one of my own cats who passed away this year, may he rest in piece <3

"Mraw."

"Oh hush, please."

"Mraaaaw"

"You're not giving her what she needs, Martin."

"What do you mean? I've been petting her for the last five minutes!"

"Yes, but you're distracted. She can tell you aren't putting your all into it."

Jon puts his book down on the coffee table. He shifts towards the opposite end of the couch, where Martin is scrolling on his phone with one hand and absent-mindedly petting their cat with the other.

She's an older cat, certainly not purebred but definitely part Siamese, if her blue eyes and piercing meow had anything to say about it. They hadn't had her for long, and half of that time she didn't even have a name - Jon insisted that cats needed formal titles to match their regal nature, something dignified. Like The Admiral. Whereas Martin was surprisingly attached to food names for how adorable he found them.

"Oh come on Jon," Martin had supplied. "Beans is the perfect cat name! Or Cheese, even."

After a week of deliberation, the compromise was she could have a food-inspired moniker so long that it was more dignified than Beans. And so Miss Butternut Squash was given a name.

With well-practiced motions, Jon scratches underneath Miss Butternut's chin, her favorite spot. With both hands, of course. It's what she deserves.

"You spoil her Jon, she knows if she makes enough noise you'll give her exactly what she wants." Martin chides, not trying to hide the fondness in his voice and failing all the same. "Like how you bought her that posh cat food Georgie recommended and now she won't eat anything else."

"Well, we can't help that she has good taste." Jon scoffs. He bends down to press a little kiss to Miss Butternut's forehead, who mmrps in response without opening her eyes. She's gone from loaf formation to laying haphazardly on her side, legs splayed and head squished into the couch cushions.

"It's something we have in common." Jon looks up.

A grin sweeps across Martin's face, and as many times as Jon's seen it he can never look away. "Yeah, well, it might take a little more than canned meat to sway me."

"Oh really? Well," Jon leans forward to press a kiss against Martin's cheek. "I'll be sure to give you extra scritches to keep you around."

"If you don't give me enough, I'll scream,” Martin punctuates this with a stern finger. “Especially if you're already busy." Martin turns his head to meet his lips with Jon's. Jon hums against it, relishing the feeling. After a moment he pulls away, giving Martin an apologetic look.

"Well I'm sorry to say I'm already booked for the evening." Jon hadn't stopped his pets the whole time, and Miss Butternut Squash is the picture of Decadence. "But I think I can make an exception."

Jon brings his hands up to Martin's face, one hand cupping his cheek and the other carding through his curls. He sees Martin's smile, feels it against the palm of his hand. His blue eyes are a bright spot in the low light of the living room, and-

"Mmmraw."

Miss Butternut sits up to rest a paw on Jon's leg, eying him with a balanced mixture of expectation and displeasure. Martin makes a little "hm" and is giving him a look that he is definitely not going to acknowledge. Jon sacrifices one hand to pacify her, keeping the other in Martin's hair.

Martin leans into Jon's touch, sinking just a bit further into the couch. "Oh, so when I pet Squash with one hand it's not enough, but when you do it everything's peachy?"

"It's about technique, Martin. The finesse." Jon is sure to sound like as much of an arse as possible, which is unfortunately very easy. "I can't help having prior years of expert cat experience on my CV.”

"Gee, I guess I'll have to start taking notes."

#if you're reading this i appreciate you #the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #tma fics #my posts #my writing

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xeo-kunsatan · 4 years ago

Text

Dissatisfied One shot +14 (Part 2)

Warning

This story contains sexual themes, gore, Domestic abuse themes, Suicide, cigarettes use, bad words and prostitution references. If you are sensitive or underage please don't read this story.

8:00 pm

???: Son.. Son!

Bradley: Father?...

It was one of my father's camera larvae.

Betrayus: can you please come?

Bradley: what's wrong Dad?

Betrayus; We need to talk...

Bradley:.. uh?.. okay.

I escaped from round house as i used to do while Quartzy was following me and keeping me safe to go to the labyrinth and then go through a portal to the netherworld.

Now there, My Father was waiting for me, his Expression was different, he seemed worried..

Betrayus: Son we need to talk...

Bradley: What's it Dad?..

Betrayus: I respect your privacy .. but with all respect.. you have nothing to do selling your body like this, You are still so young And this is absolutely not sexual freedom.

Bradley: I know...I can't avoid it..

Betrayus: first Bradley if you needed money or something, you most told me..

Bradley: But i Don't want to bother you...

Betrayus: *pets him* C'mon my shiny Ruby.. it's not a bother for me, i am your father and it's my duty to give you all you need.

Bradley: If i were death.. my life can be better here.

Betrayus: Honestly yes, but Bradley you have a life and all you can do is enyoi and experiment for more things, suffering is not just the only thing is you will have, more wonderful things would be waiting for you.. i am sure it would be.

Bradley: It's strange to hear you saying this.. even when you want to take over Pac world.

Betrayus: Well yes, but i want you to enjoy it before Id destroy it.

Bradley: Sounds reasonable.

Betrayus: Second and very important, what you are doing for your emptiness is wrong.

Bradley: I know.. i just can't avoid it.. I'm just trying to felt filled but not.. i really don't know what exactly i need to feel less pathetic that i already am.

Betrayus: Selling your body with people who treats you as shit will not fill your emptiness

Bradley: And then.. what the fuck you think i need!?

Betrayus; I don't think so.. Bradley what you need is love and support.. and you know what's another problem.. you already have love and support.. from me, your sister, the netherworld.. and not just the netherworld.. maybe it's incredible but you have it from your cousins, even when they tried to separate you from them and of course from your best friend and your dog, and believe me.. you have enough with it, it's just thing about having time for it.

Bradley: I didn't.. think about it.. I'm sorry Dad

Betrayus: So please Bradley, stop selling your body for Money nor even to make you feel filled, here you have all you need.

Bradley: Okay okay Dad, I will try..but hey a good side is that i have a better way to insult my classmates.

Betrayus: Ok you're a Goddam genius and all me, when i was from your age i used to sleep with others and the next day when they pretended to don't know me i used to make fun of them related with their bodies's features.

Bradley: *chuckles* you can't be serious

Betrayus: Really, It was so funny, even a good way to bother my awful brother.

Bradley: Okey

Betrayus: Remember son if you need something, you can tell and i can give it to you, like new clothing so you can have new clothes and not just your sister's clothing.

Bradley: It's not that bad that i inherited my sister's clothes, they are so cool and warm, she had a really good taste in dressing..

Betrayus: All from me and your mother

Bradley: By the way, where is she this time?

Betrayus: In Pacopolis scaring people with Blinky and Inky, both are having fun, also she took my champagne bottle.

Bradley:*chuckles* oh Man

Betrayus: That's my boy, i love to see you smile, so cheer up son.

Bradley:*sighs and hugs Betrayus* i love you Dad..

Betrayus: and i love you too my son, now go before Stratos founds out that you escaped from home.

Bradley: Alright Dad.

I left the netherworld, Quartzy was waiting for me to then walk together to our way to The round house.

During the way, i found out that Bryan, Lexy's boyfriend was laughing next to a girl while they were cuddling up, i didn't helped to feel mad by it and Quartzy was growling at it too.

Bradley: Hey Smallhead!

Bryan: Huh! Me!?

Erika: Eh?!?

Quartzy: Grrrghh...

Bradley: No.. i was talking with the stone behind you..

Bryan: Alright weirdo...

Erika: Ignore him, sweetie

Bradley: You don't catch the sarcasm, right?

Bryan: Now i see you better, Bradley or i mean..The Play-Bunny, you don't have a Dick to eat or something?

Quartzy: *thinks* "Don't make me bite you"..

Erika:*giggles*

Bradley: Didn't you had a Boyfriend to be loyal?

Erika: Wait what!? You have a Boyfriend?

Bryan: E-Eh!? No i can explain!

Lexy: Explain what!? About you cheated on me!!?

Bryan: Lexy!!? What are you doing here!?

Bradley: How did you found us?

Lexy: Biscocho have lost and me and my father are looking for him...and i heard all..

Erika: Eh!? Bryan you told me that you were straight!

Lexy: You told me that you would never disappoint me!

Bryan: I-I..

Bradley: You disgusted me from the start.. now i know i wasn't wrong..

Bryan: You awful slut! *Starts hitting Bradley*

Lexy: Brad!!

Quartzy: Grhhh!! *Bites Bryan in his leg*

Erika: *attacks Lexy* How dare you to take my man!?

Lexy:*stops her* It was my Boyfriend!

Bradley: *defending himself* I am not guilty about that you cheated on my friend!

Bryan: And you judge me? You are the one who is sleeping with all the boys in maze high

Bradley: At least i don't have a partner to be unloyal..

Bryan: Shut up!! *Throws Bradley against the wall, breaking one of Brad's Badges*

Quartzy: Ok.. so you choose to play dirty..

Bryan: What the-

Bradley's right fist temperature was getting higher without him noticing, he hitted Bryan's face burning his face in the process.

Bryan: AAAAAAAAARGH

Bradley: Holy shit.. your face..

Quartzy: :0..

Lexy: Qué?..

Erika: You monster!! I'm leaving!! I will call the police right now!.

Bryan: Aargh!! Please!! And call the ambulance!! My fucking face!

Mitzy: Oh no you don't..*pushes Erika to the road just in time when a car was passing by to then crash her* you're safe now.

Bryan; Erika!!

Lexy: a la puta madre [Holy Shit] A Talking doll!!?

Mitzy: Hehehe

Bradley: Mitzy what the fuck!!?

Quartzy: *thinks* what a chaos

Blinky: We saved you butt your majesty~

Inky: a "Thank you" would be nice.

Bryan: Ghosts!!! Ugh! It's not over yet!! *Leaves*

Bradley: Guys thank you so much, but Mitzy what the heck!?

Mitzy: Don't worry she would be fine~

Quartzy:*sniffs Erika's corpse* ...

Inky: Be careful your majesty, the cups would pass by

Lexy: Ok Bradley.. thank you for defending me and giving that jerk a lesson but.. *takes Bradley's Hand* Run!!

Bradley: I'll go!..

Quartzy: *follows them*

Lexy, Bradley and Quartzy quickly ran away to meet up with Martín.

Martin: Lexy, you came, i finally found Bizco-.. Bradley? What are you doing here?

Bradley:*panting* long... Story

Quartzy:*thinks* a really burning story...

Lexy: Bizcocho! *Hugs the big fat cat* Dad.. my boyfriend cheated on me.

Martín: He what!!??

Lexy: But don't worry, Bradley gave him a lesson, he deformed his face with a punch.

Quartzy: *thinks* Honestly he looks better with that new face hehehe

Bradley: My fist was in fire Lexy.. i don't know why..

Martín: I think i know, please give me your right hand.

Bradley: B-but.. what if i hurt you sir..

Martín: Dear, I'm a chef, i play and work with fire.

Bradley: if you say so...*gives Martín his hand, his palm was covered with tiny flames*

Martín: Bradley, You have powers.. and *shows him his badge of his same hand* your uncle and Grandmother have hided that from you for really long time.

Bradley: What!?.. what do you mean?

Martin:*takes off that badge from Bradley's right hand* do you know what is this?

Bradley: Uhh.. the Badge my grandmother wanted to not take it off, don't think i didn't had my suspicions about it.

Martín: I'm glad that you already suspect about it, this is a badge used for powered Pacworlders so they cannot have problems with their powers, mostly related with stress, some of this Badges used to be to force that, Pacworlders to hide their powers *turns on the badge again* this shit is easy to repair..

Bradley: Are you telling me that.. all this time i.... Oh no... Oh no...

Lexy: Bradley?...

Quartzy: *Thinks* Not again.. not this..

Bradley: Now it was sense... I finally know why my Grandmother and uncle treated me like that... Now i understand why did they used to separate me from my cousins... It has sense.. I'm an actual monster.

Quartzy:*cuddles with Bradley*.. Hmm *Thinks* No Bradley.. you are not a monster.. quit telling that.

Bradley:*takes his badge and puts on it* I'm sorry Mr Martín.. Lexy..

Lexy: Bradley.. no..

The Round house Limo have arrived

Stratos: There you are!, You will be punished by escaping from home!..

Bradley: ..sorry...

Lexy: No Bradley! Wait!!

Martín: With all respect Mr president you..

Stratos: Nope!..

Quartzy: Grrrghh!! *Attacks Stratos*

Stratos: Argh!!

One of the bodyguards shoots Quartzy to make her leave alone Stratos.

Bradley: Quartzy NO!!!

Bizcocho escapes scared by the shoot

Stratos and his bodyguards take Bradley to the Limo and drived away without.

Martin: Viejo conche su madre... [Bitch]

Lexy: *sees after Quartzy* Oww no.. Bradley...

Quartzy:*moves*

Lexy: Oh shit is alive!!

Martin: *takes off the dart* it's not an actual bullet.. it's a Dart

Quartzy: *thinks* Ok I'm a little unlucky with shootings.

Martín: what a relief she is alive *holds her* let's take care of her while she recovers.

Lexy: Oki Doki.

9:49 pm

Stratos have seended Bradley to the Round house jail as a punishment.

Stratos: You cross the line young man.. I told you million times to don't go outside in the night, anything you want to say?

Bradley: You killed Quartzy..

Stratos: don't avoid my question..

Bradley: You killed my dog..and you left her behind as a trash..

Stratos: I didn't killed her, my bodyguards actually shoot her with a pacifier Dart.

Bradley:*sighs*...

Stratos: You would be here all the night and the rest of the next day..*leaves*

Bradley:*sighs* If you already consider me as a monster.. i would give you a real monster *Takes off his right badge*...

His hand started burning again but not with more strength.

While that Betrayus have watched everything with full of rage.

Betrayus: My Son have finally discovered his powers and a part of the truth.. Dear brother you will pay for this.

#pacman and the ghostly adventures #pmatga #pac man and the ghostly adventures

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disaster-fruit · 4 years ago

Note

67 with the pairing of your choice?

67) “If you want to cum you’d better beg.”

I wasnt gonna write this one with brarg since oxiosa already did it but then i realized we didnt actually get to see martin begging, so yep, its brarg.

Trans luci again because im in a mood these days apparently

CW: sounding

Martín considered himself a simple man in love. Love, the feeling, could be messy and intense and painful, but was, at its core, extremely simple. So was love the act. He never quite got the appeal of complicating it, of adding to it more than what came naturally and easily.

Loving Luciano challenged this a little. Martín, who had never used a single toy before, now had memorized the different sizes and feelings of each option in Luciano’s small dildo collection, and interrupting a make-out session to announce in a breathless whisper his choice for the night had quickly become a habit. He got used to these small changes, these moments of interruption and of waiting, but loving him was still, at the end of the day, extremely easy and extremely simple. Most of the time.

But once he got used to one type of toy, curiosity about others got the best of him. And Luciano, who had more experience with those things, was always more than happy to indulge his curiosity, but he had his own curiosities too. Mostly, about Martín himself, like an object of study, of a fascinated pursuance on how best to break him.

And that’s how they ended up like this.

Martín was on his back on the bed, with his hips settled on Luciano’s thighs. He wasn’t restrained, in theory, but in practice Luciano’s order – said softly like a request, a mere suggestion, but with a firm edge underneath – was very clear. Martín had both hands busy holding his legs spread up in the air, offering himself, granting Luciano full access, which was somehow much more embarrassing than having the choice completely taken from him with a physical restrain. And he was to remain like this, because Luciano needed both hands free.

Luciano was comfortably seated over his ankles, with only the tip of his vibrator inside Martín, buzzing lowly at minimum speed. All his focus was on the shiny metal rod on his hands, sliding on his palm to generously cover it with lube. It was about the size of a straw, but silver and cold, with small ridges along the length and a ring on top. It was something called a sound, and it was more intimidating than it had looked on the website.

“Remember,” Luciano said with a small lazy smile. “That you can’t come with this inside.” He took Martín’s erection in one hand, holding it straight. “But don’t worry, I’ll take it out when you’re close.” His other hand positioned the sound hovering over the small entrance on Martín’s cock. “If you ask nicely.”

Martín swallowed at the hidden threat behind these words. He closed his eyes shut when Luciano gently pushed the tip of the rod inside, but a hiss escaped from his mouth. The sound slid down easily with its own weight, controlled by the little ring on the top so that it would go slowly. Its ribbed body somewhat reminded Martín of Luciano’s textured dildos, but the feeling itself was quite different, and completely new. Every tiny ridge seemed to go through a thousand nerves in his cock he had never known were there, and though it burned, the pain itself was surprisingly little. Martín groaned in approval and slowly opened his eyes to find Luciano smiling it him, holding the sound still by the ring before it was fully in.

He pushed his hips slightly forward, making Martín moan in surprise as the vibrator went in a little further, stopping also not fully in, but very close to his sweet spot. Luciano moved again, very little, and when Martín let out a helpless cry of pleasure as he hit it, he halted.

He turned the vibration up a few points, making Martín’s entire body shake. He was used to being pounded and filled, but that constant, loveless stimulation of the vibrator only in enough to hit his spot was its own experience. Satisfied with his reaction, Luciano remained still and let the sound slide down all the way, and that was when Martín understood the trouble he had gotten himself into.

He gasped at first then threw his head back in an open moan. His heart was racing on his chest, his nails dug deep on the soft flesh of his tights to the point of hurting as a lightning strike seemed to destroy the whole world around him. It hit, so, so right, so strange yet familiar, overwhelming and maddening and new.

He read on the internet about how sounds could be used to hit the prostate from inside, in a way that was even better than the usual way. That had seemed very interesting, but Martín wasn’t expected to get both at the same time, and certainly no one could’ve prepared him for this. And Luciano was using a free hand to calmly stroke him from the outside, in such a combination of sensations, so much at the same time from every direction, yet Martín was thankful for the warm touch of skin, soothing him, taking care of him. The position didn’t let them kiss, but Luciano was softly rubbing his cheek against Martín’s leg, that was what he had closer at reach, grounding him to his loving attention.

“Good?”

Martín nodded a little more desperately than he would’ve liked, but Luciano looked very pleased. He pulled the sound slowly and Martín had to bite his lips to hold a moan as he slid it down again. He settled into a rhythm, sliding a little further every time, but pulling back before he could quite hit it again, at least most times. He would randomly let it slide down all the way to drink from Martín’s helpless reactions, but making each time a complete surprise. Martín had never imagined he could be fucked there, but yes, there wasn’t another word for it. Fucked inside out, there was nothing simple, nothing easy, nothing natural about it, but it was so, so right.

At some point he didn’t even quite see, Luciano raised the speed of the vibrator a little more, and Martín felt himself close incredibly fast, but using every will in his body he held it back.

“Something wrong, honey?” Luciano asked in an infuriatingly smug tone. “Close already?”

Martín refused to answer.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Martín bit down his lip harder. Luciano let the sound down completely, and his world was spinning. He was so close, if he talked, if he moved, if he let it go for even a second, he would come.

“Just say it, baby. Just say it and you can cum.”

His voice was so sweet, like warm honey luring him in. Martín was decided not to ask, Luciano couldn’t torture him forever, he told himself he couldn’t, but he was shaking and his body was promising such delicious release, he couldn’t hold back forever.

“Please, I-”

Luciano giggled, and, looking at him with his eyes full of love, thrusted his hips forward and buried the vibrator completely in him for the first time. Martín screamed in shock, and he would’ve come, he would’ve come beautifully but the sound was still fully in place.

“You can do better than that.” He whispered, so softly it could’ve been sweet loving words, if Luciano wasn’t evil. “I love making you feel good, baby. But if you want to cum, you’d better beg.”

Martín wanted to cry. He had held back orgasms before, to make a moment last longer, but he had never been denied one. He’d never let someone have such power over him, such control of his pleasure as to demand something like this. He didn’t beg, he- But Luciano was fucking him again with that evil little sound, pulling it by the ring like an evil puppet master about to make him say anything he wanted. Martín held his breath, not ready to give in even as he pushed it down, slow, always slow, and the vibrator now fully in him and at maximum speed, and well, at least Luciano wasn’t properly fucking him there too, it was already too much as it was. But he was smiling, such a relaxed little smile.

“Spread your legs a little wider for me, love. You’ve closed them a bit.” He asked, or it sounded like an ask, but it very much was an order.

And Martín hated following orders, so it was incredibly frustrating that the hidden authority in his words were more arousing than anything else. And Martín obeyed.

“Good boy.”

He would die on that bed, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t survive this man. Luciano started rocking his hips slowly, settling everything in one single rhythm, from the hand stroking his cock to the sound and the vibrator inside him. Martín felt his whole body shiver, his denied orgasm wasn’t even allowed to dissipate, and now Luciano was sliding the rod all the way every time, making sure to drive him mad. It was so much, from all directions, the tension pooling in his stomach was begging for release, begging for him to beg.

There was just so much he could take.

“Please, Luci, please. Please my love, I’m-” his voice came in breathless desperate gasps. “Let me- Please.”

He heard a chuckle. Luciano pushed his entire body forward, buried the vibrator all the way inside him, and pulled the sound out in one swift move. The way out was in itself maddening, with every single ridge passing through again, and the moment it was out Martín felt his orgasm take over completely.

After such delay, so much accumulated lust, it crashed like an ocean wave breaking against stone, magnificent and perfect and so intense and everything promised to him and more. Then, as it faded, Martín found himself floating, satisfied and relaxed from head to toe. And Luciano was smiling.

“How are you feeling, love?” Luciano asked in a whisper, running his fingers softly through his hair. “Was it too much?”

Martín opened his eyes slowly to meet his lover’s. All he wanted now was to bury his face in the safety of his chest.

“A little bit, yes. But I liked it.” He answered, doing exactly that.

“I’m glad.” Luciano kissed him on the crown of the head and closed his arms around him “I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Don’t worry…” Martín raised his face to give him a peck on the lips. “It’s hot when you get all bossy on me.”

Luciano let out a laugh.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could make you beg. You’re stubborn like a mule.”

Martín laughed too, snuggling closer to him. That, at least, was still as simple and easy as breathing.

“You’re very persuasive.”

#im actually happy with this one!! earth is healing #thank you for coming to my sub bottom martin ted talk

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beholdme · 4 years ago

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 13

Chapters: 13/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

If someone had asked Martin where he had least expected to be on the day after his thirtieth birthday, the veterinarian probably wouldn’t have been at the top of his list, but it definitely would have made the top ten.

Honestly, Martin didn’t think he had ever stepped foot into a vet clinic before in his life. He had never owned so much as a pet hamster, and now here he stood, clutching a tiny ball of mewling fluff and trying not to get distracted by the pet toys.

He felt positively inundated with new information on all sides. There were about a million different types of pet food lining the walls, and everything seemed to be a new bright colour to draw his distracted eyes. Warning signs that made very little sense to him filled the space, most memorably ‘Large birds must be kept leashed at all times inside the practice’, and ‘Reptiles need to be secured inside their travel enclosures.’

There was indeed an iguana in a massive glass enclosure sunning itself under a heat lamp, but it appeared to be a permanent resident, not a guest. Seemingly opposite to this was the massive tabby cat draped across the reception desk.

Martin begins to panic slightly.

He desperately wished he had allowed one of his lovers to accompany him, but he had sent Gerry back to bed to sleep and Jon had been shooed off to work, both quite thoroughly hung-over.

Now here he stands, alone with his new fluffy friend, and doesn't even know where to start. Neither of his partners have ever actually had a kitten before, but at least they had both owned cats before.

Gerry had been adopted by Saturn as a full-grown boy when he arrived at the window of his shitty little flat in Edinburgh and demanded to be let in. Gerry had confessed to a romantic feeling of instant affection for the fluffy beast and had taken Saturn in without a moment’s hesitation. They had moved together as he traveled the country, eventually settling together in London, where he had found Jon again.

Jon had been raised with several cats that had all been born before him and had liked them, but he had told Martin once that he heavily associated cats with his Grandmother and his slightly cold upbringing. That was all the pet experience he had until he met Saturn and fell in love with him as easily as they’d both fallen in love with Gerry. Like goth, like feline companion, apparently.

Nevertheless, Saturn did not appreciate being taken to the vet and had never gone once since Martin had met him.

"Can I help you, sir?" A kind-looking older lady sat at reception, and she beaconed Martin forward gently.

"I- I-" He started, stuttering badly. He closed his eyes and shook himself to dispel the unfortunate remnant of his childhood. “I found this kitten, and I was hoping the vet could check on it for me?”

“And will you be wanting to surrender it into our care?” She asks, tapping away at her keyboard.

“What?” Martin shies away, pulling the cat protectively even closer to his chest.

“You’re more than welcome to keep it, but we do also take in strays if you aren’t able to.” She smiles at him soothingly.

“Oh, I want to keep her please.” Martin flushes a bit. “I already gave her a name.”

The woman smiles at him knowingly. “The vet can see you in 15 minutes then.”

She takes his contact information, and they weigh Martin’s new friend. She guesses the kitten's age to be about 2 weeks and sends him off to sit close to the iguana.

An hour later, Martin stumbles out the door, armed with more supplies than he could ever have imagined he needed to raise one small animal. His head is spinning, alternating between fond adoration and complete anxiety over this new task that he has given himself. Luna meows at him supportively, happy to be clean and have a full belly.

Out on the street, he finds Jon. It’s raining slightly, and he’s wrapped in a long peacoat, with a scarf Martin is certain was once his.

“What are you doing here?” Martin demands, shocked. He stumbles over to his partner, and Jon reaches out to steady him. “I thought you were at the library."

Jon presses a quick kiss to his shocked mouth, before taking several things out of his overcrowded arms.

"I know you said that you were going to do this on your own, but I wanted to be nearby in case you needed me, so I called off." He shrugs a bit, "I reckoned that I had earned it, what with all the overtime I work and don't get paid for."

Martin is filled with warmth, eyes welling a bit. "Oh, Jon."

"Oh no, don't cry. I'm sorry." Jon's face pinches in concern. "I can go if you want me to."

"No, I'm so happy you're here. I was just wishing for you, and there you were. Thank you." Martin steps towards him as best he can, and they kiss softly for a few moments, out in the rain.

In time, the kitten, haphazardly clutched to Martin's chest, makes her displeasure at the soggy conditions known. Gripping hands tightly, Jon and Martin set off towards the bookstore, just a couple blocks over.

It’s quiet when they arrive, the morning pre-work rush over, and the student and lunch crowds far off yet. The two baristas and Tim descend upon them immediately when they see the small head poking out of Martin’s coat. There is much cooing and fuss over Luna, and Martin recounts the tale of discovering her in the back alley of Gerry’s bar.

Once they return to work, Jon and Martin settle on one of the sofas, a coffee table before them. They make up a small cat bed, which Luna explores for a few moments, before sitting at the edge and staring at Martin imploringly. He scopes her up and plops her inside, before placing the tiny bed right in his lap. She happily passes out after that, the wild adventures of the morning catching up with her little kitten body.

Deciding to truly have the day off, Jon does not take out his laptop and start working on it, instead ordering their tea, picking a book to read from the store, and bringing it all over to settle with his partner.

“Thank you for coming,” Martin tells him, a soft look on his face. He leans an elbow on the back of the couch, head resting on his fist. “I didn’t even realise how much I needed you until I saw you there.”

“I know,” Jon starts, frowning in concentration, “that I’m not always the best at sensing these things, that sometimes I can be too focused on myself and the things going on in my head. I do hope that I always manage to catch the important moments, and I trust that you’ll always let me know when I don’t.”

Jon pauses, and sighs, a self-deprecating smile lining his face. He continues, “I want to learn to be who you need me to be. I want to be for you, what you always are to me. I love you, Martin.”

“I love you too, Jon.” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand, before placing a sweet kiss in his palm. “You are exactly who I need you to be.”

It is a soft, hazy sort of day. The rain pours outside, and Jon lies against Martin and reads two books before lunchtime. Martin practices bottle-feeding Luna, every few hours, and Jon sits nearby watching nervously. He wonders vaguely if his partner is alarmed to be around an infant of any kind for a while, but on the third feeding, Jon seems to rouse himself and offers to give it a try.

Each time a new client comes in, there's a round of cooing and petting, and Martin worries that she’ll be spoiled rotten in no time. He imagines that if she spends much time here, he’ll have to sell cat treats and Luna will one day be as fat as a house.

At one point, Jon starts to read aloud, and Martin seems to fall asleep gently propped against his shoulder. He wakes to find Jon laughing softly and Luna learning to use him as a climbing frame.

"I think she likes you, love," Martin whispers into his hair.

"Well, I think I might like her too," Jon confesses, a world away from his scepticism of just this morning.

After lunchtime, Gerry flies into the store very manically, clutching a very strange backpack to his chest. It has a weird clear window, reminiscent of a ship’s porthole, and the rest of it is hard structured plastic.

He ducks down to kiss first Martin, then Jon, before thrusting the backpack into Martin's hands.

"What is this?" Martin asks, holding it away from himself as if it might bite.

"It's a cat backpack. Saturn has always preferred it to a normal cat basket, and I thought it might be useful if we need to take her to work with us and then back to various flats." Gerry walks around the table, bodily picking up Jon's legs and sitting beneath them. He looks like nothing so much as a large, damp bat, black trench coat flapping around him like over large wings. "I ordered her one of her own, but it won't be here for a few days, so I brought Saturn's in the meantime."

There's a beat of shocked silence, so Gerry adds, "Only if you want it, obviously."

"I- I do, thank you." Martin can feel himself blushing with odd pleasure.

He had made sure to ask them if they were okay with Martin keeping Luna, but he hadn't really expected them to embrace the situation with such gusto, and his heart burns with an odd intensity at their gestures of support.

It's almost-

It's almost like they love him, and care about all the things he cares about.

Martin sits, staring at a cat backpack, and allows the realisation to wash over him. It hits him like a tidal wave, despite the dozens and maybe hundreds of times they've said the words to him.

He feels very foolish, left floored by the fact that his lovers- well, that they love him!

Martin knows, understands even, that he has been left slightly broken by his father leaving, his mother hating him, the things that he chose to do to survive in his early adulthood. He does understand that, and yet he never realized that he was hearing Jon and Gerry say they love him and saying the words back, and yet subtly holding on to the (clearly mistaken) understanding that they don't really mean them.

It makes a sick kind of sense, clinging to the idea that they don't really care about him, so when they decide that they don't anymore, it doesn't leave him broken beyond repair.

Martin puts the cat bag down on the table, hands Luna to Gerry, and gets up. He waves at them reassuringly when they try to ask him what's wrong, before walking to the bathroom, locking the door, and sobbing like a child for several long moments.

As Luna grows, she spends time with each of them.

Gerry takes her most of the first nights, feeding her through the evenings and then handing her back to Martin as he leaves for the bookstore.

This means she spends quite a lot of her formative life in a bar, but when Martin goes in to check on them, he finds Gerry's plastered clientele just as enamored with the kitten as his own tea-drinking patrons.

Jon likes to have her in the late afternoons, keeping her at the library for a few sleepy hours before he leaves for the day. He tells Martin once that the children's reading group comes in during that time, and he likes to sit in with them and let Luna listen along.

The children, of course, adore her and Jon tells Martin very primly, "Listening comprehension is a very important skill in a developing infant."

Martin finds it hilarious and adorable and can't help but pull Jon into his arms and kiss him breathless, an unimpressed Luna trapped between them.

Saturn does not appreciate Luna at first, disappearing in a huff the first few times Martin brings her over to the studio.

"Don't worry about it, love." Gerry had waved away his concern casually. "He's just a jealous baby. He'll figure out that she wants to play with him eventually, and then they'll be the best of friends."

Indeed, Martin walks into the kitchen one morning to find the two cats curled together in a shaft of sunshine. Saturn is gently giving her a bath, and Luna purrs sweetly at the attention.

When Saturn notices him watching, he untangles himself, shows Martin his bum, and then disappears. He's reminded of nothing so much as Gerry himself, caught eating ice cream for breakfast, or smoking during the day, an activity he would insist is a nighttime pursuit only. The same drama is employed as a distraction technique, and Martin wonders whether the cat learnt it from the goth, or the goth learnt it from the cat.

Luna grows and settles, and Martin adores having her more than almost anything.

He takes the time, as they raise her, to force himself to accept his life for what it truly is. He puts aside the constant nagging fear that Jon and Gerry will lose interest in him one day and begins to notice all the ways they show him they love him, which makes the words all the more precious to him when they take the time to tell him.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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imalwaysintune · 5 years ago

Text

Do You Trust Me?

“Do you trust me, Jon?” Martin asked as he extended a hand to his lover.

Another soft JonMartin! I got softness on the brain and quarantine has been kicking my ass, so I wrote this! I’m quite proud of this one and I hope you guys enjoy!

Story below cut!

--------------------------

“Do you trust me, Jon?” Martin asked as he extended a hand to his lover.

Martin would do just about anything to see his Jon smile again. He’d been so down on himself and wouldn’t let Martin take some of the stress of his shoulders. It was eating at Martin, watching his love suffer alone.

Jon looked up with mild annoyance from the couch that sat in their shared flat. Martin knew it wasn’t real, Jon was just putting up the walls he was so used to barricading behind. Martin’s hand still stood extended as Jon sighed and took it, standing up so he had to look up at Martin.

“What is this about, Martin?” Jon’s eyes were scanning Martin’s face quickly, darting from his eyes to his lips to his cheeks, until it all seemed like too much and he had to look away. Martin started to worry about the plan he had put together, but was reassured when Jon brought their clasped hands to his face and kissed each of Martin’s fingers sweetly.

Martin gently untangled his hand from Jon’s and used a finger under his lover’s chin to guide it up and towards him. “Can I kiss you?” The words were barely a whisper, but he knew Jon heard them.

Jon didn’t say anything, he just went up on his tip toes and wrapped his arms around Martin’s neck, pressing his lips harshly against the other man’s.

Martin didn’t react for a split-second, the boldness of initiating that contact was rare for Jon, and Martin wasn’t used to it. Finally his body kicked into gear and he wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist, drawing him close.

Their kiss then brought them to the couch. Martin sat down and pulled Jon with him, sitting on Martin’s lap with both his legs on either side of him. The position was so intimate that Martin couldn’t help but smile against Jon’s mouth, and soon the pair were laughing against each other.

Jon’s laugh was like music to Martin’s ears, something so rare and melodic that it almost sent him into shock. So he let Jon know.

“I love your laugh,” He has, using his hand to cup the right side of Jon’s face. He pushed his head further into Martin’s hand, like a cat, and Martin melted.

"I love your eyes,” Martin continued, making direct contact. “I love your hair, your cheeks, your neck, your shoulders,” He kept going, touching every part he mentioned as he said them.

Jon started to blush the lower Martin got, and started to laugh even more when Martin got to his hips and started to tickle him. He started to thrash on Martin’s lap, so Martin laid him down on the couch and climbed over him.

He rested his forearms on either side of Jon’s head and smiled down at him. The attention caused Jon’s cheeks to flare bright red and look away, deciding to stare at a houseplant across the room. It just made Martin more persistent though, as he started planted kiss after kiss all over Jon’s face.

He trailed his kisses down Jon’s jaw to his neck, where he bit softly into the flesh there. A small groan left Jon’s mouth that made him blush even more, and Martin smiled. He buried his head into Jon’s neck, resting there while Jon caught his breath.

“Martin, what is all this for?” Jon asked, his voice sounded strained, as if the question hurt to ask. Martin removed himself from Jon and sat on the other side of the couch, giving him room to sit up himself.

When Jon settled in next to him, Martin took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “We’ve been dating for a few months now, Jon. I just want you to be able to trust me and let me help you. It pains me to see you dealing with everything surrounding the institute by yourself.”

Jon sighed long and hard and looked at Martin steadily, moving his body so he was facing him more directly. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” was all he said.

“So you think you deserve to take on all this by yourself? I can take care of myself, Jon. Let me help. Please,” Martin realized he was practically begging, but it didn’t register as Jon looked at him with such a pained expression.

“I know you can take care of yourself, i-it’s just...” He trailed off, looking down at his hand tangled in Martin.

“We can do this together now,” Martin pleaded, using his left hand to cup Jon’s face. Again, Jon sank into the gesture thankfully, and used his right hand to grasp Martin’s wrist.

“Okay, Martin.”

As the words left his lips, Martin could see the tension leaving Jon’s body. His shoulders sagged a little more, his jaw wasn’t as sharp, and his face looked more relaxed. Martin felt himself breathe a sigh of relief as he watched Jon.

Jon disconnected his head from Martin’s hand and pressed his lips to his lover’s palm softly. Martin felt the air leave his lungs as Jon kissed all the way down Martin’s arm, stopping every so often to look up at him.

Even though the gesture wasn’t erotic, Martin felt blood rush up behind his cheeks. It was his turn to blush, and he couldn’t hide it from Jon as the smaller man smiled against his skin.

“I’ll go make us some tea,” Martin said, quickly getting up off the couch and making his way to the small kitchen. He was reaching up into one of the cabinets when he felt a pair of scraggly arms reach around his waist. Jon was hugging him from behind and burying his face in Martin’s back.

“Jon, what are you doing?” Martin asked, finally grabbing the tea from the cabinet and placing the box on the counter in front of him. He smiled to himself as he felt Jon mushing his face harder in Martin’s back.

Martin heard a sound come out of Jon that sounded similar to ‘elephant food’.

“Elephant food? What about elephant food, darling?” Martin asked, placing his hands on top of Jon’s on his waist.

Jon huffed and let go of Martin, allowing him to turn around and face the smaller man.

“I... I love you, Martin,” Jon said, looking down at his feet. Martin felt himself almost fall over, like a wave crashed into him and was trying to knock him over.

It wasn’t the first time Jon has said those three words, but it was the most direct he’d ever been. Martin couldn’t contain his excitement as he wrapped his arms around Jon’s torso and lifted him into the air.

He was so happy. He’d been living with his lover for a few months, seeing him everyday and sharing their lives with one another. And now Jon had said the three words that could stop anyone’s heart.

“Martin! Put me down, you big oaf!” Jon was shouting at Martin and throwing mock punches against his back. They weren’t meant to hurt, and Martin could feel the jerking of Jon’s chest that signaled that he was laughing.

Martin hoisted Jon up higher to that he was carrying the tiny man like a potato sack, and he could hear Jon’s shouts of protest that weren’t going to change his mind.

Martin left the kitchen and carried Jon all the way to their bedroom where he proceeded to throw the protesting man on the bed. Jon stared up at Martin and raised one eyebrow, presumably wondering what he had in mind, bringing Jon to the bedroom like this.

“Relax, I just want to go to bed. It’s late,” Martin said, climbing up onto the bed beside Jon.

Jon looked at the small alarm clock and was shocked to find that it was past 11 pm. Guess their shenanigans had lasted longer than he thought.

The couple got under the covers on their bed and assumed their usual position. Jon curled into Martin’s chest while Martin wrapped his arms around Jon, locking him in the embrace.

Jon had found that this position was the easiest to fall asleep in, and he tended to dream less when Martin was this close. Martin was all too happy to comply.

And so they slept, curled around each other, comforting the other if one of them woke up suddenly. He thought that things would be alright if they stayed like this forever. With Jon, Martin would always be happy.

-----------------------------------------

Whoop whoop! This was a lot of fun to write. I definitely need more music playlists though or else I’m going to tire of the stuff I have quick. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed. If you would like to see something written, shoot me an ask! I don’t bite and there’s a 99% chance I’ll write it!

Words: 1421

#the magnus archives #tma #my work #tma fic #tma fanfic #got romance on the brain ig #i miss my partner #our two years in coming up soon #so i gotta get all these gushy feelings out somehow lol #sorry for venting in the tags lmao #enjoy!

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jovialyouthmusic · 5 years ago

Text

Special Delivery

Fabio moves in, and Martin questions my judgement.

Word Count 2987

A/N Just a fluffy piece of self indulgence. A few swear words.

No under 18s please

7 A New Lodger

The morning dawned bright with autumn sunshine, and I woke to find Ginger on the bedroom windowsill looking longingly out at the field behind the house.

‘Sorry Ginge’ I apologised. ‘It’ll be a while before you get to explore.’ He turned back to me, making a noise that told me he was a little disgruntled before he jumped down to demand breakfast. ‘Well it’s a good job you like Fabricio, he’ll be moving in today’ I said, leaning down to scratch his head, and he rose up to meet my hand and leaned heavily on my leg as if to say less talk, more food.

As I left him to scarf up his kibble, my phone dinged with a message from Martin.

Hey Lisa, Sue’s out for the day, want me to come up and do some gardening?

I’ll be busy today, soz

Well duh, was offering to help. I have cake.

I looked at the phone and sighed. Martin would find out sooner or later, so I’d better call, I thought. He picked up almost instantly.

‘Hey Martin, we need to talk.’

‘I can be there in ten.’ he replied eagerly, scenting gossip.

‘I – uh, I’ll be out in half an hour, that won’t work.’ Martin’s tone changed.

‘Okay Lisa, what have you done?’ he said darkly.

‘Funny story.’ I laughed apologetically ‘My friend slash brother is gong to be my new lodger.’ I heard him suck his breath in.

‘Please tell me you mean at Jackson street – no, wait – that would make him a tenant. For fucks sake Leese, he’s moving in with you?’

‘Kind of.’

‘He either is or he isn’t. Shit, you only met him less than a week ago.’

‘Please don’t freak, Martin. It will be fine. Ginger likes him, and he’s a great judge of character.’

‘Ginger also likes chasing mice and leaving their corpses by your bed.’ he scolded ‘This guy delivers pizza for fuck’s sake.’

‘Okay, if you’re going to carry on being negative I’m going to cut you off.’ I took a deep breath as Martin remained silent. ‘It’s just a temporary thing, he’s looking for modelling jobs. It’s what he does, he’ll be off on a shoot for a few days and then come back. He just ran short of funds and had to hole up for a while. This way he has somewhere nice to live and will be able to make more money before he goes home.’

‘Why don’t you just rent him your old place?’ Martin asked.

‘It’s not ready yet, and it would be too expensive.’ I paused for a moment, and he waited, the silence oozing sceptiscism. ‘It’s different here Mar, the neighbours are too far away to notice if I fall down the stairs, break my neck and Ginge decides I’m dinner. I’d feel safer having someone around. I was going to advertise for a lodger anyway. This way I have someone to help out straight away.’

‘Right. Did he pressure you into this, Leese? Because that’s manipulative.’

‘No, he didn’t. It was my idea. He did say he was getting bad vibes off some of the others in his building, but that was after I offered.’

‘Think hard now, Leese.’ Martin persisted ‘No big hints, no puppy dog eyes?’

‘Puppies have brown eyes, Mar. Fabio’s eyes are grey.’

‘You know damn well what I mean.’

‘No, no hints, no pleading, no sob story. I’ll be fetching him soon. He’s got Dad’s old bike and he’ll take that to work and back.’

‘Well I suppose it’s too late to stop you.’ he said reluctantly ‘But the moment anything seems off – anything negative, let me know. I’m going to be checking up on you – every day, you hear me?’

‘As long as it doesn’t trigger Sue.’

‘To hell with Sue. If she doesn’t understand…’ he paused ‘Look, I can still come over today, so he knows I’ve got your back.’

‘If you want to bring over a housewarming present I guess I couldn’t stop you. Even if it’s only a pot plant.’

‘Cake.’ he said assertively. ‘How does two this afternoon suit you?’

‘I can make sure we’re in – I’ll make like it’s a surprise.’

‘That sounds like a cunning plan. Okay Les, see you later.’

-------

Fabio rang me later, and I went to his flat to pick him up. He was waiting outside with a large wheeled suitcase and his backpack. I got out to open the boot, and he came round to swing his suitcase in before lightly touching my shoulder and kissing me on the cheek.

‘Gracias, Lisa.’ he smiled ‘This means so much to me. I love to stay with people who live in the places I visit.’

‘De nada.’ I said, and he grinned even wider as I told him you’re welcome in his native language.

‘Your accent is very English.’ he said. ‘But I also have an accent, so we are even.’ He smiled ‘Wait a moment please, there is something else’ He vanished back into the house and came out again holding a large bunch of flowers. I blushed furiously as he handed them to me and again kissed me on the cheek.

‘Oh Fabio you shouldn’t have’ I protested. His lips lingered near my ear for a moment, sending shivers down my spine.

‘I have a bottle of wine in my bag. Tonight we get drunk together, no?’ I laughed nervously.

‘Just a little.’

‘Si, solo un poco, just a little.’ He pulled away and I put the flowers carefully onto the back seat. We got into the car and belted ourselves in before setting off. he leaned back in his seat and watched the passing streets.

‘How was the gym?’

‘Muy bueno. Very good, my belly will be flat soon, you will see.’ he said, patting his stomach. I swallowed at the thought of his muscled torso. ‘How is your cat? Is he happy in his new home?’

‘He wants to go outside.’ I said, glad of the distraction. ‘He has to stay in – you must be careful when we get there. Don’t open the kitchen door until the porch door is closed, and don’t leave your window open.’

‘Cómo no – of course.’ he replied. ‘Tonight we eat together, yes?’

‘Yes, I thought perhaps some salmon and salad, will that suit you?’

‘Muy Beuno, delicioso.’

‘Ginger will be happy, he loves fish.’

Once at the house, Fabio took his suitcase into his room and I put the kettle on for tea.

‘I’ve got some soup for lunch, you can have some if you like.’ I offered as he came out of his room a little while later. He accepted, and I set about getting things ready. Ginger came down from the upstairs bedroom and rubbed himself around Fabricio’s legs.

‘Can I pick him up?’ he asked. ‘He won’t bite?’

‘No, Ginge is very chilled – relaxed. If he wriggles put him down.’ The cat allowed himself to be hoisted up and started to purr as Fabio scratched his chin and ears.

‘We get on well, you and I.’ Fabio said ‘together, we look after Lisa, yes?’ Ginger wriggled, and he put him carefully back on the floor.

‘I think it’s me looking after you two.’ I joked as I handed him the bread to take through to the dining room.

‘We all look after each other then.’ he smiled. We sat and ate lunch quietly.

‘Is there anything you want to do today?’ I asked ‘There’s a wood nearby, we could go for a walk, and perhaps tomorrow we could go out to the coast.’

‘There are beaches?’

‘Yes, but it’s too late in the year and too cold to sunbathe or go swimming. It’s mostly estuary here anyway.’

‘Estuary?’

‘Where the rivers go into the sea. It’s tidal, not proper seaside.’

‘Ah entiendo – I understand.’ He reached out to take my empty bowl and stood to take the dishes to the kitchen. ‘We walk later – now I must read my emails and send one to my mother.’

‘The internet’s all set up, I’ll give you the password.’

‘Let me wash up, senora.’ he said, and I blinked at the formality of ‘senora’, but said nothing.

‘Okay, just leave it to drain and I’ll put it away. I have some sorting to do upstairs. Remember, don’t let Ginger out.’

‘Lo siento. Call me when you are ready.’

Once upstairs I spent some time sorting out clothes, and calculated when to go out so that we would be back before Martin came. I decided not to leave it to chance and texted him to delay him a little longer, then went down to find no trace of my lodger, so I tapped on his door.

‘If you’d like, we can go out now.’ I suggested. He appeared quickly, pulling on a jacket and holding a pair of boots to replace his trainers.

‘It’s not such a tough walk as the hills.’ I explained ‘But if you wanted to go running it’s a good route.’ We set off down a nearby side road until we hit the entrance to the wood, and turned off to take the path. He agreed that it was an excellent place for running, save for the odd dog walker who had omitted to clear up after their pet. We were out for just less than an hour, turning back when the sky started to darken and arriving back as the first drops of rain started to fall.

‘Lisa.’ Fabio said ‘We should talk more about me being here.’ I felt a little thrill as we stood together in the kitchen, me fussing with cups ready to make more tea, more to occupy myself than anything else, feeling a little awkward. Martin would make an appearance soon, I thought.

‘Oh yes?’ I asked ‘What did you want to say?’ He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned back on the kitchen counter.

‘Well’ he said ‘I said I want to be more than a brother to you.’ I tried to keep my expression neutral, wondering where he was going with the conversation, a sick excited feeling in the pit of my stomach. As I hadn’t answered him, he went on ‘Before you invited me to live here’ he continued.

‘Yes, that’s so.’ I responded, and he stood clear of the counter.

‘I don’t want you to be uncomfortable’ he said, holding his palms out to me ‘I would never do anything you don’t like.’ My heart hammered in my chest. ‘You have no boyfriend?’ he asked as I remained silent, mind whirling. ‘Do you like men? Did someone hurt you?’ I laughed awkwardly.

‘That’s a lot of questions.’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘No, I have no-one special right now, yes I do like men - and no, nobody hurt me. I’ve had – a few relationships but nothing that lasted more than a year or so.’

‘You look for your someone special?’ he asked ‘Someone who’s not just staying for a few months?’

‘I don’t know’ I said ‘I’ve not had much luck so far. I think – Fabio, it’s not easy. My heart tells me one thing and my head another.’

‘Your heart tells you what?’ he smiled. I felt a little dizzy.

‘It tells me…’ at that moment the doorbell rang, and I jumped violently.

‘Hey Leese!’ Martin’s voice came from outside the porch. I was frozen for a moment, and Fabio looked startled. I tore my gaze away from him to go and answer ‘I was just passing, can I come in? I brought cake to celebrate your move.’ Martin said, winking broadly. I cursed his sense of timing and plastered a smile onto my face.

‘Martin, what a surprise. We were just making tea.’

‘We?’ he asked innocently, handing me a box.

‘Umm yeah – you met Fabio.’ I lead him into the kitchen and Fabio shifted self consciously, flashing his white toothed smile. ‘He’s my new lodger.’ The two men shook hands.

‘Hello again.’ said Martin ‘You’re a lucky man, finding a place like this to stay – and Lisa, of course. How did you meet again?’

‘Now come on Martin.’ I said ‘I know how you take your tea. Go through into the lounge and I’ll put this out onto a plate.’

‘Excuse me.’ Fabio said. ‘I go to the bathroom, wash my hands.’

‘Here, let me see to the cake.’ said Martin loudly as Fabio left the kitchen.

‘Well that was fucking subtle.’ I hissed at him ‘asking him how we met. I don’t want you to scare him, just be polite and interested.’

‘You know how I feel, Leese’ he answered in a low tone.

‘Well your timing was just great, Einstein. Here, take the cake through, we’ll have it in the lounge.’ In minutes we were all seated, Martin on one end of the couch and Fabio at the other, the cake and plates on the coffee table. Martin sat back, foot balanced on his knee, and Fabio leaned toward me, elbows on his knees. I took a slice of the cake and offered it to Fabio

‘Just a little.’ he said. ‘remember, I must look good for work.’

‘It’s easy to work this stuff off.’ Martin assured him ‘special low calorie stuff.’ I snorted

‘He’s lying.’ I sighed.

‘Joking, not lying’ he retorted.

‘So, Lisa didn’t tell me very much about you’’ Fabio said, regarding the cake before turning to Martin and asking ‘How did you meet?’ I laughed.

‘Well played, Fabio. We met at Tai Chi class, and Martin also did yoga. He takes his own classes now, in Ashtanga yoga’ Martin sat up straight and puffed his chest out a little.

‘Oh, my brother’s sister does Ashtanga’ Fabio said. ‘Es muy dificil – very difficult. You must be very fit to teach it.’ Martin smirked a little, his ego stoked.

‘Oh, do you do yoga?’ he asked in a slightly superior tone.

‘No, I go to the gym, I run.’ he replied. At that moment Ginger came into the room, obviously disturbed from a nap by our voices.

‘Hey little man.’ Martin said. ‘How’re you enjoying your new home?’

‘He’s not allowed out yet.’ I explained.

‘Oh bad luck, fuzzface’ he said, reaching down to scratch his head. Ginger ducked away from him and sat by me, regarding the cake with interest.

‘No cake for you.’ I said ‘If you’re staying in, you’re not getting enough exercise, so short rations I’m afraid.’

‘Oh pobre gato.’ poor cat Fabio said, reaching out with his hand and flicking his fingers. Ginger went over to him for some attention and sympathy.

‘Well will you look at that.’ said Martin. ‘the little fella likes you.’ Fabio shrugged

‘Cats like me. Ginger is muy chulo – a cool cat.’

‘El gato churo?’ I asked. Fabricio threw back his head and laughed.

‘I am here to learn English better, not teach Spanish.’ He turned his gaze to mine ‘Have you been to Espana, Lisa? It is a beautiful place. I go to Madrid, to Barcelona. Muy hermoso’

‘No, I’ve not travelled outside Britain, I get stressed out travelling.’ His face fell.

‘Oh but travelling is so exciting.’

‘I love going to new places, it’s getting there that I’m not keen on.’ I explained ‘I’m scared that I’ll miss my flight or get lost.’

‘That is very sad.’ he said, then his face lit up ‘You should come with me on a shoot, I look after you.’ Martin cleared his throat and glared at me.

‘Well I need to get Ginger settled before…’ my voice trailed away.

‘Is just an idea.’ Fabio said, and took a bite of the cake. ‘This is good.’ he waved it at Martin. ‘You make this?’ Martin made a sour face.

‘No, my partner did. Stress baking.’ he looked at his own slice and took a bite ‘I think she makes it to make me fat so I can’t teach yoga. Most of my students are women, and she’s very possessive.’ Fabio’s eyes widened for a moment. He reached over and patted Martin’s knee sympathetically.

‘That is too bad. Take her some flowers, make her feel special.’ Martin’s eyes flicked to the flowers in the window, the ones that Fabio had bought for me.

‘She’d just think I’d done something bad and was trying to compensate.’ he sighed ‘Honestly Leese, I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I can see me moving back in with my parents.’

‘I have a spare house for rent.’ I grinned. He rolled his eyes.

‘I’ll stick it out a bit longer, thanks.’ We all chatted on, and the atmosphere settled to a relaxed ambience, albeit with a few undercurrents. Before long we had finished the cake and tea, and Martin announced he had better go back before Sue got home. I walked out with him to his car, the grass wet from the rain shower earlier.

‘Well I guess either he is a nice guy, or he’s not shown his true colours’ Martin said ‘But did you see how he put his hand on my knee earlier? Gay.’ I snorted.

‘It’s just his Latino mannerisms.’ I reassured him. ‘You can’t judge him by our buttoned up British standards.’ He tutted, then threw his arms wide for a bear hug. I leaned into him, feeling his reassuring solidity. He drew away and smiled ruefully.

‘You take care, Lisa. Any funny business, any steps out of line and call me. I’ll be here in a shot, never mind Sue.’

‘Thanks, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary.’ I assured him. ‘I’ll keep you updated.’ He got in the car and wound down his window.

‘Knickers on, legs crossed.’ he told me gravely before he reversed, turned, and pulled out carefully onto the road and I waved him goodbye.

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catgirlthecrazy · 5 years ago

Text

To Love and To Cherish

After being extremely mean to Jon and Martin in my last fic, I had to make it up to them with 2,000 words of domestic softness (and a side helping of character development)

AO3

Summary: What if the Scottish Honeymoon lasted through retirement?

***

Martin was washing dishes when the fog rolled in. He didn't notice it right away. He was bent over the kitchen sink and didn't see much beyond the plates and soapy water. It wasn't until Martin straightened to work a kink out of his back that he saw the soft white curtains of vapor drifting across the yard. And Jon was down in the village at the moment, and hadn't said when he planned to come home.

When he'd first come to Scotland for years ago, that had been enough to send him into a panic attack. Slumped against the kitchen counter, knees hugged to his chest, sweating and struggling to breathe for god knew how long until Jon came home and found him like that. He'd held Martin's hand, softly rubbing circles in his palm. Come on Martin, breathe with me, he'd said, voice soft and steady as a highland cow. Breathe in to a count of ten.

Decades had passed since then. Somewhat less since his last real panic attack. Martin knew now, with a rock solid certainty, that Jon would come back. He knew he had friends waiting for him.

Still. Martin Blackwood might not be Lonely anymore, but that didn't mean the scars couldn't ache in the wrong weather. He stared out the window into the fog, hands still dripping with suds. He could remember the day when that fog had filled his eyes and lungs and heart and mind. When he'd been certain that no one in the world cared if he lived or died, and that he would spend the rest of eternity with that numbing fog. Without even the mercy of death to look forward to.

Martin closed his eyes and breathed in. One. Two. He thought of Sophie and Rasheed, who ran the chemist's shop down in the village and invited them to dinner every once a week. Three. Four. Their children, Maryam and Noah, who Martin had known since they came home from the hospital and were now graduated from university. Five. Six. Robin and Daniel, who ran the pub that Jon and Martin went to every Wednesday, and had done so ever since taking it over from Robin's father ten years ago. Seven. Eight. Georgie and Melanie, who hosted Christmas every year down in London. Nine. Ten. Daisy and Basira, who came up to visit for two weeks every summer. Now hold.

Jon. Who woke up beside him every morning. Who could go on and on about the strangest things. Whose brusque demeanor hid a surprising depth of kindness that still delighted Martin even to this day. Who'd plunged himself into that cold and numbing fog to save Martin, and pulled him out again with love. Who'd given up his own sight for a life with Martin, away from eyes and fear. Martin breathed out to another count of ten. He opened his eyes, and the fog was just fog. Just water vapor brought about by a closeness of air temperature and dew point. He went back to washing dishes.

Some time later, something meowed at his feet. Martin looked down and smiled. "Hello Percy," he said to the regal ball of fluff twining itself around his ankles. Percy looked up and meowed again.

"Don't give me that. It's not dinner time for another hour."

Percy gave him a withering look and meowed again, as if to say You are most certainly mistaken. Your clocks must be running slow.

"I think you'll find it's your clock that needs winding, not mine."

Another plaintive meow. You must make an exception! Can you not see how I am malnourished and dying?

"Not falling for that one either."

Percy gave him a look of pure pleading, and mewed.

"That won't work on me. Jon's the cat person, not me."

Percy's expression grew more plaintive. He mewed pitifully. Martin turned back to his dishwashing before he could give into weakness.

Percy's full name was Sergeant Major Percival Pike. The naming of cats was one thing Jon and Martin had never really been able to see eye to eye on. One day many years ago, Jon had come home with a stray kitten and informed Martin that they were calling her The Commandant. Martin hadn't had the heart to argue at the time. Jon had been so adorably besotted with the tiny thing, how could he tell him no? But Martin always felt a little ridiculous calling such a squeaky little fuzzball by such a weighty title. So he'd nicknamed her Manda, and called her that until she passed away from old age in front of the fireplace. Jon had only lightly teased him for it, and Manda didn't seem to mind answering to two different names.

When they adopted their second cat, three years after rescuing Manda, Jon had wanted to name him Lord Chancellor. This time, Martin put his foot down.

Please Jon, can't we give the cat a normal name?

Jon scoffed. What self respecting cat would accept a normal name?

You think a cat's going to care if it's called Whiskers? Or Mittens? Or Fluffy?

Yes, and their owners should be hanged for lack of creativity.

In the end, they compromised, and the cat was dubbed Lord Chancellor Reginald Roberts III. Martin called him Reggie. And so it continued for every subsequent cat they owned, down to their current pair. In addition to the Sergeant Major aka Percy, they were also graced with the presence of Brigadier General Eleanor Evans, aka Ellie. People who didn't know them well sometimes assumed they actually had four cats instead of two.

The scraping of a white cane on concrete announced Jon coming up the front walk. Percy alerted to the sound and trotted over to the front door to wait. A moment later Jon came in, Ellie following closely on his heels like a mother shepherding a slow kitten. She did that often these days. There had been a time some years ago when Jon had been clipped by a drunk driver while walking up the lane, fallen into a ditch, and broken his leg. Ellie had found him on her daily ramble outside, then gone home to Martin and refused to stop screeching until he followed her to see what the problem was. She had appointed herself Jon's official outdoor chaperone ever since. Jon didn't put up with overprotectiveness from humans, but apparently he could tolerate it in cats just fine.

"Sophie and Rasheed say hello," Jon said. He shuffled over to the counter and set down two bags. One had the logo of the chemist's shop, containing the month's assorted prescriptions (arthritis medications for Jon, blood pressure and thyroid medications for Martin). The other had a container of something thick and brown and spicy-smelling. "They insisted on giving us some of their leftover curry, so I think we're having that tonight, unless you have any objections."

Martin smiled. Percy leaned his front paws on the counter walls and meowed insistently, as if to say Yes, that is clearly meant for me, please serve it up straight away. "Sounds better than omelettes. I'll go put on some rice." He leaned in to kiss Jon on the cheek.

***

The curry was excellent. Rich and warm and exactly as spicy as Jon liked it. After dinner found him and Martin on the couch, Jon leaning sleepily into Martin's shoulder. The fabric of Martin's sweater was soft against Jon's cheek, and it smelled faintly of lavender scented soap. Somewhere close by, the Sergeant Major was purring like a well oiled car engine. No doubt he was using Martin's lap as his own personal heated cat bed. Good taste in laps, that cat.

"Let's see, where did we leave off," Martin said. Jon heard the distinctive paper scrape of flipping pages. Real paper books were something of a rarity these days, but Martin wouldn't hear of replacing his collection with more convenient electronic versions. Jon couldn't afford to be as picky. Paper books were satisfying to hold, but they didn't come with built in text-to-speech software. Except when Martin owned those books, then they sort of did.

"Ah, here we are." Martin cleared his throat.

"Nevertheless I long—I pine, all my days—

to travel home and see the dawn of my return.

And if a god will wreck me yet again on the wine-dark sea,

I can bear that too, with a spirit tempered to endure."

Martin read in a calm, gentle voice. A slight shift in the cushions told him the Brigadier General was settling herself down above them on top of the couch. Aloof, but still part of things. With care, Jon reached up, found her chin, and offered scritches. The Brigadier General graciously accepted. What a picture they must make.

Jon didn't actually know what Martin looked like anymore. That was a statement that was true on a couple of different levels. Jon's mental image of Martin was still of a smiling, round-faced man with freckles in his late twenties. Jon knew Martin couldn't look like that anymore. His skin was dry and papery, his arms soft and flabby his hair thin and wispy and bald on top. And that was before considering the visual changes that other people (including Martin) commented on, like white hair and liver spots. Jon tried to overlay those facts onto his mental image of Martin, like a police artist trying to age up a photo of a long-missing person. But Jon would never know how closely that image matched the real thing.

On a deeper level though, Jon wasn't even sure if his image of young Martin was still accurate anymore. He'd made a point of memorizing every feature of Martin's face the day he'd decided to take his own sight. Every night for weeks after that, he'd conjured up the image in his mind, gone over every single detail with a mental microscope. He'd hoped that by sheer repetition Martin's face would wear a groove on his memory that could not be wiped away. But memory didn't work like that. Like an image that had been through the photocopier too many times, each act of recall changed the memory, altering and embellishing it until it was a caricature of its original form.

Once, that would have horrified Jon. He'd already had Sasha's face stolen from him, and no amount of terrible eldritch knowing power had been able to retrieve that knowledge for him. The thought of losing Martin's face? That had kept him up nights in a cold sweat. But if the decades since had taught him anything, it was this: the Not Them might have stolen Sasha's face from him, but it had also stolen every other part of her. Her voice, her laugh, even her manner. Jon still had every other part of Martin, waking up beside him each morning.

Jon awoke to gentle shaking. "Jon? Jon, you'll get a crick in your back if you fall asleep like that."

Jon grumbled and sat up. His spine screeched at him for forcing it back into a normal alignment. He grimaced. "What time is it?"

"Half past nine. You want to go to bed? Or I could make Percy let you have my lap."

Half past nine. In his younger days that barely counted as night. One of the lesser known adjustments of old age was the way it had completely obliterated his night owl tendencies. Jon considered Martin's offer. One last nap on his beloved's lap before moving to bed? "Tempting. But I think if I stay much longer I'll stick to it permanently."

With some considerable effort, Jon levered himself out of the couch. He offered a hand to help Martin up, which he readily took. "C'mere a minute," Martin said, tugging Jon gently back before Jon could turn towards the bedroom. Martin placed a hand under Jon's chin and tilted it up slightly. The gesture was both invitation and request, codified through decades of habit together. If the answer was no, Jon just needed to pull away, and that would be that.

Instead, Jon leaned in. There was the subtle but unmistakeable crackle of electricity that came before their lips met. Martin pressed his mouth into Jon's with a somewhat surprising level of intensity. Had something happened while he'd been out that day? Well, if it had, Martin would tell him. Or he wouldn't, if he didn't want to. Either way, it wasn't something Jon needed to know. Jon reached up to caress one cheek. It was dry and cracked, but covered in a soft peach fuzz he'd always been fond of. His other hand stretched around Martin's back, still soft and warm and huggable as an overlarge teddy bear. Jon might not know what Martin looked like anymore. But he didn't need to.

#jonmartin #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #my fanfic #i will handwave as much canon as I have to to give these boys the soft ending they deserve

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messyworldfanfictions · 5 years ago

Link

Summary: You work at the same hospital as the famous surgeon Dr. Martin Whitly, during a drunken evening, you slept together and since then he has been avoiding you and acting as if nothing had happened. But you can't forget the intense pleasure you felt that night and you want to feel his skin against yours once again… And you always get what you want.

Pairing: Martin Whitly x reader , Martin Whitly x you

Warnings: Rough Sex, Dom/sub, oral sex, anal sex, rough sex, anal fingering, hair pulling, deep throat, etc...

A Notes: Hi guys ! This fanfiction is a one-shot but maybe I'll continue the story, I don't know... What do you think?

Constructive criticism are welcome, English is not my first language so I apologize for possible mistakes. If you see errors, please tell me! :)

I'm so thirsty for Martin Whitly, I needed to do this. Please, check the tags, it's going to be rough, don't like don't read.

Have fun !

You can add you to the tag list here

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

Your office was barely lit, your lab coat delicately placed on your desk chair. You took off your black pumps and slides your skirt along your soft legs and you gently folded it back on your desk. Then you unbuttoned your white blouse which joined your skirt a few minutes later. Now you were only wearing black and red underwear made of lace. You put your labo coat and your pumps back on. Feeling so naked under your pure white coat excited you so much, you were imagining his face the moment you would open it and a smirk began to show on your angelic face. You walked towards the mirror you have installed in your office and you painted your lips with a bloody-red lipstick, his favorite color.

You were now walking in the surgeon's hallway towards his office, the nocturnal silence of the hospital made the sound of your heels resonate at every step.

*Knock knock knock*

" Enter ", he growled

You opened the door slowy, he did not look up from his paper work.

" Good evening, my sweet Martin " You whispered in a husky voice.

The surgeon looked up and a cold mask of indifference fell across his features.

" Y/n, what do you want ? " He sighed before reporting his eyes to his paperwork.

You knew that Martin Whitly was known for his selfishness, narcissism and arrogance, but he wasn't going to be able to play this game with you for very long.

The silence stretched out between you and him but you decided to break it.

"Why are you acting like nothing happened, Martin?" You asked. You locked the door and leaned lasciviously against it. Hearing the lock, the surgeon looked at you with an irritated expression.

He cleared his throat and crossed his arms on his chest and leaned against his seat before sighing "Look, we had a lot of fun, but it was a big mistake. I don't think we should mix our work and relationships. I was drunk and I had an argument with Jessica before the party... But I love my wife. I don't want to hear about it anymore. Now, if you don't mind..." he was showing the door with his hand.

You were staring at him with an arrogant smirk. You stepped forward to take the free chair in front of his desk and placed it against the door, lowering down so that he could have a nice view of the curve of your butt. Then you sat on that chair and while you were making eye-contact with him you slowly spread your legs so he could see that you had nothing under your lab coat.

He took a look between your legs “Y/N, stop it.” there was a note of warning in Martin’s tone.

" Stop what ? " you asked innocently, mimicking a child's pout.

" Stop acting like a whore and get-out of my office, now. " he growled. His chest was rising fast now and you could see that his eyes were darker, his pupils dilated. You could see his little pepper and salt curls shaking due to the speed of his breathing.

You made a fake outraged expression. His words were rough but you loved it when he dirty-talked to you. You started to unbutton your lab coat while getting up from the chair

" You want me to get out of here… ? " You asked, biting your bottom lip.

" Please Y/N, stop… " he muttered, closing his eyes. You knew he was trying to contain himself, you knew what was driving him crazy. You knew he liked to be in control, especially during sex. You knew you had to provoke him to make him tick.

You smiled at him with a defiant attitude and you whispered " Make me. " You had completely unbuttoned your coat and let it fall to the ground.

In a matter of seconds, you were shoved up against the wall, Martin’s hand having a firm grip on your hair, his face mere inches away from yours.

" Waaaw, it seems the little boy is upset, pathetic attempt of domination. Do you think you're scaring me? Do you think you're hurting me ? " You mocked.

You knew you were playing a dangerous game. You didn't know what Martin was capable of and you knew he had a rather unconventional temperament but you didn't care, you just wanted to feel his cock filling you up like that night. His hand let go of your hair to hold your chin firmly and you whimpered in pain. You were pretty sure his fingers were going to leave bruises on your cheeks.

"Oh, did I hurt you ? " he mocked," but that's why you came dressed like a slut in my office, right ? " he whispered.

You felt the heat rising between your legs, you leaned forward to kiss him when he pushed you brutally against the wall.

"T-t-t-t-t-t, no. You want to behave like a whore? So I'm gonna treat you like a whore. No kissing. " Your cheeks were burning with lust. He grabbed your hand and pressed the palm against the front of his pants. You could feel his thick, hard cock pressing against his pants.

"You feel that?" he growled. " That is your fault and you’re going to pay for it. " He roughly turned you around and shoved you hard against the wall. You were too aroused to speak. You could feel his clothes scraping your skin. His hot breath in your neck made you shiver of desire.

He couldn't see it but now you were smiling, satisfied. He was going to give you what you wanted. In fact, you were in control, but he didn't even realize it and it was even more satisfying.

"You want me to hurt you, don't you ? " he whispered in your ear. But you couldn't say a word, you felt his bulge against your butt and you couldn't think of anything else. "What's going on, Y/n ? Cat got your sassy tongue? " Then you felt a strong hand falling against your left buttock, leaving a red mark.

You shuddered in pain and pleasure. " Answer me, whore. " he ordered

" Yes " you whispered out of breath.

You heard him unbuckle his belt. « You want me to fuck you ? Huh ? Beg for it. "

" Please Martin… " you begged

“Please, what ? You know how to address me.” he pressed against you, his lips so close to your ear.

" Please Doctor Whitly… Please fuck me… I need your cock so much… " You said desperately, rubbing your ass against his hard cock.

He growled in pleasure and ripped your panties before burying his full length in your wet pussy, you screamed with surprise and pleasure the intrusion was so brutal but so exquisite. You loved feeling your pussy full of his cock. Martin covered your mouth with his hand so your moans could not be heard by the other employees.

" Shhhh, you-don’t-want-them-to-here-what-a-slut-you-are, don’t you ? " He punctuated each word with a wild thrust against your already reddened skin. The sound of his hips banging against your ass was obscene. You were so turned on, the release was coming.

" Doctor… W-Whitly i-i’m… " He immediately understood that you were going to come and suddenly he took his cock out of your pussy. You gave a growl of frustration and he made you turn around. Your irritation crackled, you knew he was deliberately frustrating you to get control. You looked at him with angry eyes, your eyebrows frowned. The arrogant smile was on his face now but no longer on yours.

" You fucking twat… " you whispered between your clenched teeth.

He giggled before stroking your hair gently and then had a firm grip on it and pressured you to get down on your knees. You let yourself slide against the wall to find yourself a few inches from his hard cock. You could smell the scent of your wetness on his manhood.

"What are you waiting for? " he urged. "I'm a little surprised you haven't started to swallow it yet, that's what you do best... » he mocked.

You raised your eyes to his grinning face and said " Go fuck your… " but before you could finish your sentence, he took the opportunity of the opening of your mouth to put his full length in your throat. You didn't have a gag reflex, you practiced for him, to be able to give him as much pleasure as he wanted to take from you. He started moving his hips slowly, coming out of your throat completely and getting in deep again and again. Despite the intrusion of his member, you didn't want to throw up, but the friction in your throat was a little painful and a little tear ran down your cheek because of your filled throat, he erased it gently from your cheek with his thumb.

"Mhmmmmm ooohhhhh yeah..." he moaned as he speeded up the movement of his hips, you could feel your nose hitting the bone of his pubis with each thrust.

After a few minutes he pulled himself out of your mouth and raised you up to turn you face against the wall, smashing your cheek against the cold and hard material. He pressed against you and spread your legs with his knees, he started biting your back and leaving little bruises, it was a little painful but very satisfying. You wanted to belong to him, you wanted him to leave his imprint on your body. You felt his beard irritated every inch of your skin.

"Did you think I was done with you? Huh? What did you taste like? Tell me, did you enjoy the taste of your pleasured wet pussy that I ravaged against the wall? " he whispered a few inches from your ear.

You were breathless with arousal, the situation was exciting because you didn't know what he was planning to do to you now.

"I-I loved it Mar... Doctor Whitly" you answered, your eyes full of lust. "Please... Fuck me... I need more..." you begged so desperately.

He giggled, "Look at you, so impatient for me to fuck you over and over again..."

You felt his hands moving towards the opening of your ass and you stiffened up. You never had......

He kissed you on the neck and pushed a finger into your mouth so you could lubricate it before whispering, "There's a part of your body you haven't let me visit yet, but you're so eager... I think it's time to let me in." He punctuated his words by pushing his finger inside your untouched hole and you groaned. You didn't expect this penetration to bring you so many waves of pleasure in your belly.

After a few thrust you wanted more "Please... More..." you begged. Martin obeyed, adding another finger. You had never felt anything so good...

After a few minutes of preparation Martin burried his head in your neck, and pulled his full member into your ass in one thrust. You moaned in pain, but the pleasure very quickly replaced that unpleasant feeling, he let you adjust to his cock and then started to move his hips very fast.

"Ohhhhhhh ffffuuuck" you screamed. You knew you weren't going to be able to last long.

"I knew you'd like it," he growled in your neck.

Each thrust was a wave of pleasure, you were tasting ecstasy. It wasn't long before Martin came inside your tight hole, grabbing your hips firmly.

After a few seconds, Martin pulled out of your ass and attached his pants. You had a lot of pleasure but you didn't come.

"Martin, are you really going to stop there?! You can't leave me like this, please..." you begged, imploring him with your eyes, your face still blushing from the rise of your orgasm that hadn't had time to arrive.

Martin cleared his throat and sat in his chair, trying to catch his breath. "You got what you wanted, and you didn't come because I didn't give you permission," he said with a smirk. "You've been a very bad girl, you've provoked me and you've defied my authority... Maybe next time you'll earn your reward. " When he finished his sentence he got up and left his office, leaving you frustrated and soaked.

#martin whitly #michael sheen #martin whitly x reader #martin whitly smut

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