The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
A/N: This is my favorite pairing now. Why? It's canon now, motherfucker. I felt like starting something. And actually finishing it for once. So, this is my submission. It's dark, heavy, and very graphic. Not for people who have an issue with real life being a bitch. Please, let me know how you feel about it.
This chapter contains: Swearing, molestation/sexual abuse, drugs, angst
Rated M
Marceline x Princess Bubblegum (Eventually)
Summary: The first time ever she saw her face; she saw the sun rise in her eyes. She felt a pull so strong, her heart felt like it might burst out of chest in a bloody mass of veins and muscles. But even that pain couldn't compare to the sudden, surprising pain she felt when she saw that she was distinctly disliked.
Disclaimer: I own zero—zip—nada.
Chapter 1: Premise
Decent. That's all she could chalk up this smoke to. It wasn't kush. Likely, something that would give her a headache if she smoked enough of it. Damn dealer had ripped her off. He was just so pitiful; she tossed him the cash for the questionable dime bag despite her doubts. The smoke funneled out of her nostrils after a long time suspended in her lungs. Fuck.
Marceline took another long draw of the burning blunt in her hand, only just starting to feel the familiar buzz come over her body. She laid back, blowing out smoke in a thick cloud. She looked out into the view beyond the grassy hill she was sitting on, drawing in another bud kissed breath.
Her sitting spot was a vast expanse of emptiness and complete calm. The sun was setting in the far off distance, the sky melting into a rainbow, the breeze sweeping her smoke away. Her toes were buried in the less than comfortable grass and her shirt discarded somewhere off to the side. Her hair was down, fluffing into the grass, and her wiry frame was exposed to the gentle rays of the sun like a goodnight kiss.
If anything, this was the ultimate vision of relaxation for any stoner, was Marceline's thought, just as her vision began to haze and the THC was embracing her mind like a lover. She reclined and took one last deep inhale. She stubbed out the last half of the blunt. Marceline closed her eyes as she let it out, the smoke curling into the never-ending sky.
And perfect it all would be, if not for the tears trickling down her cheek bones and off her chin.
- I
Simon was dancing. He was singing something akin to:
"I don't know why my heart flips, I only know it dooooes! I wonder why I love ya baby, I guess that's just becauuuuuse you're so squa-a-aaaare, but I don't care!" Singing isn't odd, given most do it when left alone, however, as Marceline was vaguely watching, Simon was naked, semi-erect and pouring an obnoxious amount of eggnog on himself.
As funny as if may have seemed to anyone else who was watching, Marceline found her ire brewing in the pit of her belly.
This was his mania again. And mania meant that somewhere in between, his mania would end and his borderline personality disorder would kick in. Unfortunately, Simon decided that right then was the time to bother Marceline.
"Marcy, Marcy!" He was bouncing over, practically overflowing with joy over God knows what. "You see me, Marcy? I'm happy." The way Simon said "happy" almost broke Marceline's heart in two. That is, until, his hand was sneaking up her jean-clad thigh. "Happy, Marcy. Can I share that with you, now?"
"Fuck you, old man. Get the hell off me." She shoved him, although half heartedly, pity encroaching upon her heart. He was elderly; 60 in a month. She just—he was so, so very confused, that's all. She looked away, feeling such pity.
Simon wrapped his crinkled hand around Marceline's throat, choking her unexpectedly.
"Now, Marcy." He came closer, his breath stained between eggnog, candy, and whiskey. "Its just happiness. I want to give some to you." Simon then grabbed Marceline's hand, pushing it to his hardening penis. "Please, Marcy. My happiness needs to be shared."
Marceline could see the instability in his eyes. Her guardian, caretaker—friend—was going insane. For so many years, she had known a much more loving Simon Petrikov. Maybe she could—just maybe—
Marceline's hand, loosely wrapped around Simon's now fully erect penis, shook dangerously. She was running out of oxygen quickly, so she began to stroke him up and down. Simon grinned, releasing her throat and grabbing her hair instead. His wrinkled frame stretched as he widened his stance and sat Marceline up in her sitting position by tugging her hair. Marceline stroked him a little faster, gripping him firmly. She looked away; eyes looked on the setting sun behind Simon.
In her head, she saw a much prettier day and age, Simon Petrikov smiling and playing with a young Marceline. She remembered distinctly the day he'd given to her Hambo.
"God, Marcy. You are so very good at this—I'm so happy." Came the low rumble from Simon.
Hambo was a beloved stuffed doll Simon had given her following her separation from her biological father. Hambo was ugly and disfigured from the moment she'd received him however Simon had told her that day something she'd never forget.
"Marceline."
"Marcy, please… My happiness is going to overflow soon—oh…" Simon's grip tightened on her hair, pulling her head down slightly.
"Marcy, if I may call you so." Simon grinned, his voice feather light and soothing to young Marceline. "I have something to mark this day as special."
"Marcy!" Simon was panting, releasing deep, needy groans into the air, his grip tightening to a nearly unbearable pressure.
"I have for you, a gift. It-Its not the cutest, but, I thought—you'd like him." Simon presented to her a raggedy, sorry excuse for a stuffed animal that resembled a bald bear-monkey zombie. The thing had patches of unmatched material and badly stitched on limbs. Really, it was pitiful.
"Oh-OH, Marcy!" His voice took on a loud bass and he pulled Marceline's head to his crotch, shoving her mouth onto his penis. "My happiness is going to overflow!" Marceline gave no protest, licking and sucking mechanically.
The tiny Marceline lit up, grabbing the doll, deeming it "Hambo". Simon laughed sounding like it was gentle chuckle right from his belly. "Hambo it is, Marcy." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "One more thing Marcy."
"I-I'm right there, Marcy! The happiness!"
"I-I'm not good with words but, you're so very precious to me, Marcy. I will take care of you the best way I know how. I-well—I love you—"
"Marcy!"
"Marcy."
Simon's lukewarm seed bubbled over into Marceline's mouth and spilled out onto her jaw. Simon staggered, snatching himself from her mouth even before his semen had finished spilling. It dripped onto the floor as he slunk away.
"My-my happiness has gone away now… Oh, Gunther. Comfort me!" He ran away, stark naked, into the upper division of the house the two shared.
Marceline, now finally awake from her visit in the past, ran to the dingy kitchen sink and vomited. It spewed from her mouth, hot and painful. Her stomach muscles clinched angrily, rejecting everything she had consumed through the day and even contracting when only a clear white liquid would pass through.
Finally, when Marceline's brain could take the emotional distress she was under, she slumped against the sink. She sobbed loudly. Fuck, Simon! Fuck him! She pushed the dishes off the sink. They crashed satisfyingly to the ground. Tears and snot dribbled down her face as she grabbed Hambo and left the creaky house.
- I
Slinking through the halls of Kingdom High School, Marceline shuffled into class 14 minutes late.
"Marceline. Late? Honestly." Mr. Bruno tsked and made some note on the attendance sheet sitting on his desk. "Sit down." Marceline, huffed, miffed that he would even have something to say given she never showed up on time. Bastard. She moved to the back, black jeans slinging low on her waist, revealing the black boxers underneath.
"Dyke." There was a whispered voice with the obscenity that caused a few snickers to be cast her way. Marceline flipped up the bird with no remorse and tugged down her red, plaid shirt. Running a shaky hand through her wild locks, Marceline was sorely regretting the blunt she decided to smoke an hour before out of anger. She was not a pothead. Smoking was a last result. C'mon Marce, you know better.
Fishing for a folded sheet of paper from her back pocket, Marceline smoothed it's crinkled, perforated edges out and began to take sketchy notes about oxidation equations.
Class ended quickly and Marceline walked leisurely from the classroom to a lone table in the cafeteria. Everyone else walked around her, ignoring her completely. Marceline wasn't bothered to very much care; frankly, friends seemed like a whole new can of shit she didn't want to open.
The high was still curling over her vision fluidly, her body buzzing merrily despite her grim mood. She put in her headphone buds, listening to The Fray crooning softly in her ear. She swayed to it, ignoring the odd looks she received as she pulled out a bowl of strawberries and munched on them slowly, zoning out completely…
Until a strange blond haired boy sat down at her table causing a rumble and her backpack fell due to his disruption and he had an odd smile and a white skully that attempted to cover his striking blond hair and such peachy skin and he was totally talking to her (no one else in Hell would, honestly) and he was looking at her and being so very chatty and—
Woah. Should not have smoked today.
"—Finn."
"Ah... huh?" Marceline uttered less than gracefully. The boy laughed openly and happily.
"I'm Finn."