Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marcel shouldn’t have come here. 

Why did they even let their friends convince them to come to this stupid frat party? These things were obnoxiously boisterous, hosted by pretentious traditionalists who don’t know whether to hit on them or insult them. 

Their hands rub at their arms, fingers anxiously tapping the brown fabric of their long sleeved shirt as they lean against the wall of the living room, acting as the night's wallflower. Their friends had disappeared into the sea of people, and Marcel was completely alone, with nothing to do but nurse the drink in their hand. They didn’t know anyone, and the only person they talked to was the guy who kept handing them drinks. 

They were pretty hammered, but they still managed to stand on their own two feet, even if they swayed back and forth on occasion. The night wasn’t really proving to be worth their time, contradicting their friend’s promise that this would be fun. They have yet to have any kind of fun so far.

But you know what they say—sometimes fun has a way of walking into you. Literally. 

“Hey, watch it!” Marcel yelled at whoever bumped into them. They looked up, and way too close and personal was a blonde, green-eyed man about their age—or perhaps a few years older—staring down at them with drunken interest.

They were chest to chest, and with the other man’s arm leaned against the wall above Marcel’s head, they were virtually trapped, unable to slip away. All they could do was look up at the taller male. He was incredibly handsome—or maybe it was just the alcohol—and Marcel didn’t have the confidence to say that out loud, even with a drink or two in his system. The man had a nice jawline that looked strong but had a soft edge to it, with nice skin, electricifying green eyes and amazing hair, to the point even Marcel was impressed. 

They were so enthralled in fact, Marcel reached up and held a strand between two fingers and their thumb. The blonde tilted his head, looking slightly confused. “Huh?” 

“You have great hair.” Marcel says, mesmerized by the blonde locks. They were ready to ask what products he uses to get it so shiny. 

“The name's Jackson, sweetheart.” He introduces himself with a clumsy wink and stupid grin. He had noticed Marcel standing alone, and was very interested to know why. “You should—hic—let me show you around.”

Marcel glances around, and with none of their friends there to stop them, they nod. Jackson smirks and wraps an arm around their shoulders, tugging them close as he begins to drag them along, speaking near gibberish about facts of the frat house and other things Marcel was too drunk to pick up. 

They exited the living room and crossed the foyer before they came upon a small study with an active fireplace—which probably wasn’t the best idea with a bunch of people running around. There was a bookcase in the corner, a desk, and a couch that could fit a whole person if they were laying down. 

Jackson kept talking, his honeyed voice reeling Marcel in like a fish on a hook. “And this room is—uh, I don’t… I don’t remember this room. It’s for… reading, I'm pretty sure.” 

“It’s stupid.” Marcel says after taking a good look from better they stood.

Jackson turned to them, looking offended. He did not care for the room itself, but he will not have anyone insulting his beloved fraternity house. “It is not!” He argues, removing his arm from their shoulders, leaving a cold, empty spot on their skin. 

Marcel shrugs absentmindedly. “It looks pretty stupid.”

“Your hair is pretty stupid.” Jackson muttered under his breath, but Marcel still heard. 

“Excuse me!?” Marcel gasps. The two stare at each other, and if angry glares could talk, there’d be a screaming match. There was something in the air, a thick tension that didn’t ease up. It was a overwhelming sense of annoyance mixed with an unusual feeling. 

Jackson tugs Marcel closer by the collar, smashing his lips into theirs. It was messy, uncoordinated, and completely uncalled for but Marcel did not pull away. On the contrary, Marcel refused to move, hands grasping the blue fabric on Jackson’s shirt. It was an awkward jumble of limbs that didn’t know where to go, and minds too drunk to care. 

Jackson pushed Marcel down on the couch with light force, their back hitting the cushions of the couch with a slight bounce. He adjusted his position and crawled on top of them, one of his thighs resting between their legs while his hands met their waist. Marcel meets Jackson halfway, catching his lips in a messy kiss. They wrap their arms around his neck, one of their legs lifting to Jackson’s side with the help of his strong, guiding hand. 

One of Jackson’s hands experimentally slipped past Marcel's neck, his fingers becoming entangled in the other’s hair. “Watch the hair.” Marcel warned with a small bite at his lips. Jackson responds by closing the gap between them again, slipping his tongue past Marcel’s parted lips, and for that stunt alone he earned a surprised sound from the latter. 

And Jackson made it his personal mission to see how many noises he could get from the quiet wallflower. 

He moved away from their lips, and moved down towards their neck, leaving kisses and pecks on every inch of their skin as he made his way down. Marcel leaned their head back, quietly gasping as Jackson smothered the crook of their neck. His hand slowly slides up their shirt, teasing the skin that’s been hidden from him this whole time, and their legs instinctively wrap around his hips, trying to force a rhythmic movement between them.

Marcel holds back a needy whine, fingers clawing into Jackson’s back. It’s not like they were completely unaware of what they were currently doing. Marcels snuck around to fulfill that urge before, it was just hard to find someone to sneak around with. They let out a gasp when Jackson’s hips pressed a bit harder down against their own, intentionally playing around with their barely hidden desire. Jackson was clearly far more experienced in this area than they were, and that was evident every time Jackson did something, reducing them to putty in his hands. 

They hardly had time to think before Jackson captured their lips again, their hot breaths mixing with his. Their hands remove themselves from Jackson’s neck, and slither down to his torso, feeling up the muscles underneath his shirt. He was incredibly muscular for a normal frat boy. Jackson let out a satisfied hum, nails pressing into the other’s skin. 

He removed his hand from underneath their shirt, fingers playing at the hem of their pants, feeling up the dips of Marcel's sides. 

Marcel replies to his actions with a gasp, breaking the kiss. A proud grin appears in Jackson’s face, and he drags his lips across their jaw like. He speaks softly, voice slurring slightly, but still intelligible. “If only you wore skirts like a normal girl…”

That sobers Marcel up quickly. They abruptly shove Jackson off them, and quickly get up, ignoring the hot feeling between their legs and focusing on the overwhelming aching in their chest. 

“Hey, what gives!?” Jackson yells, bewildered at their sudden mood change, but he isn’t even a thought in Marcel's mind anymore. They could only run, and run they did. 

Everseer—or, as many would call him; Dr. Ian Frost—was preparing to leave his office when someone knocked at his door. 

He swung the door open cautiously, but with an assurance that could scare off any intruder. But when he looks down to see who was disturbing him at such an hour, he’s shocked at who he sees. 

“Ever.. E-Everseer?” Macroburst spoke between quiet sobs. 

“Macroburst? What in blazes happened to you?” The tired Super asked, voice riddled with concern the second he saw them. Macroburst took a step forward and crumbled into him, arms weakly wrapped around the other Supers torso, pressing their face into his chest as a fresh set of tears escaped their eyes.

Everseer sharply inhales, feeling a burning sensation erupt through his entire body, mind screaming at him to remove the contact. He despises physical contact as much as he hates constant international conflict. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. 

The younger Super was clearly in a very vulnerable and emotional state—showing up in their civilian persona no less!—and Everseer seemed to be the only thing keeping them standing. Pushing past the feeling of his skin on fire, Everseer set a hand on Macrobursts shoulder. The younger Super leaned into his touch, breath hitching as another sob leaves them. 

“Let’s get you inside.” Everseer said, slowly leading them into the office. He sat Macroburst on the sofa, and made sure that they stayed there, keeping his eyes on them at all times. 

Macroburst merely did as they were told, unable to put up a fight in this state. Their conscience whirled with thoughts and questions. They haven’t felt this bad in a while. Everseer sat in the seat in front of them, but they couldn’t pay attention to him. 

Girl or boy, girl or boy—god, who cares? Can’t they go a day without their gender identity being a problem for people? Didn’t the world have bigger problems? 

“What’s wrong with me?” They ask, point blank. They wanted to feel… normal. Tonight was supposed to be normal—and despite how stupid it sounds, making out with a stranger on a couch was the closest they’ve felt to truly normal in a long time. Until Jackson ruined it with his little comment. 

Why can’t they just be normal about this? It wasn’t that big of a deal so why do they get so… so riled up whenever someone assumes wrongly? The government didn’t even have the right answer. Was there even a right answer to give when they ask? Their mind always goes blank whenever someone brings it up, whether out of sheer curiosity or complete ignorance. 

Everseer leaned forward, hands folded together. “Nothings wrong with you.” 

He has grown increasingly concerned in the last hour. Macroburst was clearly intoxicated, but they seemed both aware and utterly distant, as if they weren’t all there. It didn’t help that when Everseer had opened the door, they were completely inconsolable. It was worrisome, especially since he hadn't had the chance to check in on Macrobust's psyche in a while. 

“There has to be.” Macroburst replies, vacant gaze glued to the floor. “If there’s not, then why do I feel like this?” 

Everseer holds back his response. He wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was exactly. There was a lot of unpacking to be done here, something that would take more than one therapy session. He reaches out, and takes their hands into his—a genuine gesture coming from Everseer—and he makes their attention come to him. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, my friend. You are a Superhero, a vision! You are remarkable, and there is nothing wrong with you.” 

Macroburst sniffs, wiping away the remaining tears that inflicted their face, and through the internal suffering—smiled. 

The next day, Macroburst wakes up with a huge hangover in Everseer's home, but they’re still called in to the NSA headquarters. Not that they’re complaining, they needed a break from their pathetic excuse of a civilian life. They were just severely off putting to everyone else, with dangerously high mood swings, so most avoided them. 

But some very specific assholes were just gunning to piss them off.

Gamma Jack was determined to do whatever he could just to see Macroburst break, whether it be trying to trip them in the hallways or making snide comments, he just had to see what would happen if he pushed them too far. 

It was practically criminal to touch their hair without permission, and Gamma Jack was very familiar with Macrobust's way of law. He was silently giggling like a school boy when he came up behind Macroburst and slipped his hand into their hair. 

“Don’t touch the hair!” Macroburst screeched the second they felt his hands on them.

Gamma Jack froze. He hadn’t remembered much from the previous night, but that? Now, that was familiar. And suddenly very graphic images came flashing through his mind—the desperate moans, the picture of that brown haired beauty groveling beneath him, the feeling of unfinished business—He hadn’t realized that he was looking at Macroburst with a wide-eyes, slack jawed expression until Mr. Incredible asked if he was alright and Macroburst gave him a weird look. 

“Uh… I’m fine.” Gamma Jack coughs casually. He doesn’t meet Macrobust's eyes again, trying not to remember more of what he would only describe as a failed hookup. He did notice Everseer glaring at him in a mixture of disgust and utter disdain, but he didn’t know what that was about. “I’m gonna go, got places to be.” He says, quickly exiting the lunch room. 

“What was that about?” Pyschwave asked with a raised brow. Everseer groaned, and was already planning to have a very adult conversation with his former sidekick on what people you should be intimate with and why Gamma Jack was not on that list. 

Chapter Text

Gamma Jack hated waiting.

It was probably one of the worst things ever, in his opinion. It’s not like he couldn’t be patient, but having to actively wait, not knowing when the time was going to come, was figuratively killing him.

The night sky wasn’t pretty enough to be entertaining—it was the same everyday—neither were the bustling sounds of city life that actively played out in front of him. It didn’t have the exact time, but he knew Macroburst should be home by now. 

They typically were home by now—according to their friends, who he may or may not have borrowed the address and some other details from. They were easy to convince with a little taste of classic Jackson charm. 

It’s the reason he was sitting on the ledge of another building, eyes glued to their apartment balcony, waiting for the lights to turn on. He wasn’t entirely sure in his reasons to be here right now, but a part of him didn’t even care for logic. 

That… night. The party flashes through his mind, replaying over and over in a fit of hazy memories that he desperately wants to recreate. He doesn’t know why he found himself so enthralled by Macroburst—or, rather their civilian identity, Marcel—but ever since that night, god, he’s been needing to take a walk across the block to hold himself back for the sake of professionalism. 

But he’s been patient enough, and he wasn’t exactly thinking with his head if you get what he means. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, he mostly just wants to talk. About workplace relations—of course. 

When the lights in Marcel's apartment turn on, his heart skips a beat. It must be from the adrenaline he was feeling, because in the moment he felt like he was on cloud nine. 

He flies over, a bit too eager. He knocks on their balcony door, getting their attention. But just before Macroburst could see him, he hovered above, waiting for them. And as if he had Everseer's ability to see the future, Marcel opened the door and stepped out onto their balcony. It made Jack smile, feeling as though he knew exactly how their mind worked. They were too curious for their own good.

Gamma Jack took a second to admire the view. He never really paid any mind to what his colleagues did in their free time—nor what they wore, but this gets a pass. Marcel was wearing these skin tight jeans that hugged their hips, and a sweater that didn’t seem to want to settle on their shoulders, allowing the skin of their shoulders to tease.

Just before Marcel could return inside, Gamma Jack softly stepped on the railing of the balcony, as if he was dancing on the metal. Marcel jerked their whole body around, but they were shocked to silence, seeing Gamma Jack a few feet away. They felt a wave of unease and a bit of fear fell over them. 

But, as they often do, forget they’re in their civilian persona, and are not procured by the NSA and their guidelines. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Cool it, sweetheart.” He smirks, hands in the air, proclaiming innocence. “I come in peace.” He smoothly lands on the floor, and halts after taking a single step towards them. Jack takes a minute to examine their face. His memories were still a bit blurry, but he could never forget a face like that. 

Perfectly kept hair, big eyes, freckles decorating soft skin, begging for him—geez, it almost knocked the wind out of him just thinking about it. 

Marcel swallows, and straightens out their shoulders. “What are you doing here, Gamma Jack?” They ask, voice level.

“I was just checking out the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by.” He says, shrugging casually.

“That’s a stupid excuse.” They respond. 

Gamma Jack scoffs. “Your hair is pretty stupid.”

Marcel eyes widen, as if all the hair has left their lungs. A noise escapes their throat, their final breath of ignorance, before the true intentions of Gamma Jack's visit become subtly clear. Their recollection of the party was hazy to say the least—they already swore to Everseer that they would never drink that much again—but they still remembered bits and pieces. 

Very tantalizing bits and pieces. 

“You!?” Marcel glares at the hero in front of him. It was hard to tell if their face was red from anger or something else entirely. “What are you doing here?”

It’s the third time they’ve asked that, and they still don’t get the hint. Gamma Jack exhaled, “I was just thinking, maybe… we could talk?”

“Talk?” Marcel crossed their arms. “You’ve gotta be joking.”

Gamma Jack smiles stupidly. “Not in the slightest.”

Marcel mutters something under their breath, no doubt an insult—but Jack will take it as a compliment. After a moment's hesitation, Gamma Jack runs a hand through his blonde hair. . “And because I really need you.”

“W-What…?” Marcel breathed out quietly, shocked at what they were hearing. 

“Like, really bad.” He reiterates. He takes a step forward, forcing them against the balcony door. One of his hands finds its place above their head, keeping them pinned. “And, you know, I should be able to get over it, it’s not hard, but you…” A deep, shaky exhale escapes him. “You really know how to make a guy suffer.” 

“I…” Marcel swallowed, breath trembling. “Don’t understand.”

Jack looked away, “I just… think that we should finish what we started last night.” 

Marcel jaw dropped at the comment. At how sheepish yet cocky Gamma Jack looked. At the blush on the blonde's cheeks and the slightly aroused feeling in their chest. Macroburst grumbled under their breath, face flushed. Gamma Jack smiled proudly. 

Then he pondered, green eyes darting up and down Marcel form. His smile soon returned. “But, just to ask, what’s down there?” 

Marcel gaped at his question, which was not only entirely uncalled for, but way too intimate for him to know. They grabbed Jack but the collar of his cape, bringing him down to their level. “One, it’s absolutely none of your business,” they state firmly. “And you won’t find out unless you behave, do you understand?” 

Gamma Jack, although a bit confused by their sudden forwardness, nodded. He was kinda into their new spine, but it really only made him want to break it and make it his. 

“And reminder—don’t touch the hair.” They warned, and by the tone of voice, they meant every word. 

“Alright, alright…” Jack dips his head, catching their lips in an expected kiss, which is begrudgingly returned. 

Marcel shouldn't be doing this, especially not with him. But some deep, internal part of them wanted some sort of payback for that night, to make Gamma Jack feel as bad as they did. 

While one of Gamma Jack's hands feels up their sides, his other hand sneaks down their waistline, his thumb hooking on the hem of their pants. 

“Not out here.” Marcel hissed, hand fumbling for the door handle. They didn’t want to get caught, especially out here and Gamma Jack's flashy suit wasn’t helping their chances. They open the door, hurrying inside, and Jack follows. 

Gamma Jack takes a prolonged look around their apartment, admiring the simplicity. But his personal optic tour was interrupted by Marcel unexpectedly shoving him onto the couch. He was completely blindsided, calves and feet hanging off the arm of the couch. Marcel didn’t give him much to recover, already straddling him. 

He smirks, being driven wild so soon into the game. “Damn, you—“

“Shut up.” Marcel angrily rolls their eyes, before plunging back down into the depths. Their lips connect, and they waste no time, tongues slipping past and into each other. They felt Jack's hands grab at their waist, fingers feeling them up in more sensitive places, but still holding back. 

Marcel momentarily pulls away, slowly sitting up. They wipe the saliva from their mouth with the back of their hand, their eyes never leaving Jacks as they did. They were becoming increasingly aware of the others' desire, feeling said desire build up underneath them. But when Marcel shifts their weight, a particular sound leaves Gamma Jack that makes their mind stop for a moment, almost enthralled by it.

Before, during the party, Jackson had complete control over the situation. Putty in his hands, they had described it. But the tables have turned. Their dynamic has switched, whether Jack knows it or not. And for that, they have permission to be experimental. Macrobursts hands travel up his torso, getting a lay of the land. His muscular torso hidden under his Super suit left much to be desired. 

It also opened a bunch of questions.

“How’d you even find out where I live?” Marcel asked, hands freezing in place.

“Your friends can be…” Jack smiled, a bit cocky. “Easily persuaded.”

Marcel scowled. Of course, it was them. Their friends weren’t exactly the best at keeping their mouths shut, especially when it came to relatively cute boys. “What else did they tell you?” They ask, knowing there must be more. 

“Eh, nothing much.” Gamma Jack replied. “Although, I was very interested to hear about this one guy—“

For a moment, Marcel saw red. They knew exactly who he was talking about. Their friends just had to go on blabbing about their past relationships, hadn’t they? Sure, they've been romantically involved with other people before, but there was this one… guy. Their ex-boyfriend had really swept them off their feet, then dropped them without warning. It was the worst relationship they had been in so far, the one with the most regrets and anger involved. 

“Struck a nerve there, did I?”

“What did I say about behaving?”

Gamma Jack opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it, reluctantly deciding to play by their rules. Marcel rolled their eyes at his reaction, and grabbing the beginning of his yellow cape, pulled him up. They restitutate themselves in his lap, their hips rolling slightly. They catch Jack's lips in another messy kiss, arms wrapping around his neck. His hands hook on the dips of their thighs, further locking them together. 

Between briefly parted lips, Jack asks; “So, what were you doing before I showed up?”

Marcel waits a beat to respond, slightly annoyed at Jack's question. They would much rather continue their indulgent escapade. “Work.” They responded shortly, kissing him again.

“Really?” Jack hummed against their lips, hands rubbing into their thighs. “What do you do?”

“Who cares,” they reply, leaning forward. They move one of their hands behind his head, hands slipping into his roots, keeping him there. 

“I just wanna get to know you.” He murmurs. 

Marcel abruptly pulled away, breathing heavily, but they swallowed it down, responding coldly. “Pilot,” they say. “In training.” 

“That’s interesting.” Gamma Jack replies, eyes flickering back down to their lips. All the talking really made Marcel think, which is the last thing they wanted to do since pulling Gamma Jack of all people into their apartment to make out. All the questions, all the personal shit, it was just… really turned them off. Marcel exhaled and pulled themselves off Jack. The latter wasn’t a big fan of the sudden change. “What are you doing?” He asked. “Why’d you stop?”

Marcel pulled away and sat on the free space of the couch. They speak as they go about fixing their clothes. “You know, if you really want to ‘talk’ about last night, how about you take me to dinner or something.”

Jack scowled, dumbfounded. “You're joking.”

Marcel smiled proudly. “Not in the slightest. 

Macroburst walked into the NSA headquarters the next day feeling both annoyed and rejuvenated. It felt good to—in a way—finally put Gamma Jack in his place. 

They were still a bit upset at the way things had begun last night but they were savoring the taste of the aftermath, the memory of Gamma Jack solemnly leaving their apartment was still laughable to say the least. 

Echoing off the pristine halls of the government building, Macroburst hears a familiar voice call out his name. They quickly turned on their heel, watching as their mentor ran towards them. “Everseer?”

Everseer exhaled sharply as he slowed to a stop, as if deeply regretting something. “We need to have a talk,” he says, “a very serious one.” He glances around, noticing several NSA agents walking about. “Alone.” He adds. 

Macroburst looks at him funny but follows him to a private room. “About what?” They ask when they are finally alone. 

Everseer audibly sighs, “I know you are an adult,” he begins and Macroburst cringes a bit. “I am aware that you can make your own decisions, but as your superior and friend, you should know that I am only speaking out of genuine concern for your wellbeing.”

“Everseer, what’s this about?” Macroburst asks, growing deeply concerned. 

The other super blinked twice, seemingly nervous, a bit embarrassed, and very disgusted about what suddenly flashed through his mind. “No matter what Gamma Jack says,” Everseer begins and Macroburst feels their stomach drop. “Do not feel inclined to… do anything with him.”

Macroburst stared at him, dumbfounded. “…It’s a bit too late for that.” The words slipped past their lips before they could think. 

Everseer's expression sours, but there was a edge of concern in his voice. “If he forced himself onto you, I’ll—“

“What? No! He… he didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to—I-I mean!” Macroburst blushed heavily at their slip up, burying their head into their hands. A groan slips past, expressing their regret. At least, they think what they feel inside is regret, it was hard to tell. “Look, it was a misguided mistake I made when I got drunk, it’s doesn’t… it didn’t mean anything.” 

A long moment of silence passes before Everseer speaks again. “Well then… glad we had that talk.” He says, the awkwardness causing his shoulders to slump. 

“…How’d you even find out?” Macroburst had the gall to ask. They weren’t sure they wanted to know. Everseer let out a sound and mumbled something about his powers and such. They sigh and turn to leave. This really put a damper on their mood. And they were actually enjoying themselves after a shitty failed hookup for once. They quickly turn to leave, dismissive of Everseer's sad gaze. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Before Everseer can respond, they leave.