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#the backgrounds are killing me… curse me need for perfection

adanseydivorce · 1 day

Text

assigned each TTPD track to trc/td3 chars/pairings because I was bored.

Main Tracks

•Fortnight — post TDT & BLLB era Bluesey. not every lyric fits perfectly but the tone/overall subject (requited but forbidden love, especially the implication it’s both literally forbidden (other people involved/kiss curse) and self imposed forbidden (they’re from two different worlds and need to bridge that gap) is so them, pining and yearning, Literally “we can pretend this once then never speak of it again” and then mourning that as they try and keep their distance, also the “your wife waters flowers I want to kill her” bit in my head is Blue being jealous of Henry when she meets him. It makes sense. To me. Primarily a Blue pov song and then the Post Malone bits can be Gansey.

•The Tortured Poets Department — The Gray Man x Maura, The Gray Man’s post TDT break up anthem. When you give up your hit man life for a woman and she runs off to a cave to find her ex boyfriend, a tree! Will really mess up an Anglo Saxon Poetry lover.

•My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys — DC Party Adansey from both their povs, Adam fearing Gansey only can value him as a possession and can’t love him in a way that Adam would want and Gansey fearing Adam secretly hates him + his heart breaking when Adam smashes the figurines. But the bridge is very Adam pov “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens” Adam’s relationship with projection and both hating Gansey’s facade and being infatuated with and attracted to it, also there are so many ways they pretend seperately and together.

•Down Bad — Pynch, first verse and chorus definitely Ronan pov in trc, the second verse and chorus as Adam pov in mi then after that could be both of them although still would lean more Ronan pov for the vibes.

•So Long, London — Noah song. A lot of it could be his pov talking to Whelk, but then the friends he’s referring to could be the Gangsey and the Gangsey pov could be the final chorus saying goodbye to him.

•But Daddy I Love Him — Niall x Mor. Niall’s pov as he tries to get his mother/his family to accept that he loves Mor.

•Fresh Out The Slammer — Jordeclan. Self explanatory.

•Florida!!! — at first I was going to give this one to Blue because of some of the themes about feeling conflicted about your hometown, then I wanted to make it a Hennessy song because some lyrics really fit her, but then eventually I decided this is actually a song about The Fairy Market. Different parts could be from Hennessy Jordan and Declan’s pov and maybe a little bit from Mor’s and/or Henry’s.

•Guilty as Sin? — this song has both Bluesey and Pynch vibes but to me it’s a Bluesey song overall. Blue pov, yearning for someone you can never touch it’s perfect…

•Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? — Ronan song fits him in the first two trc books real well imo. In the second verse he’s addressing the Gray Man but he could be addressing a number of people from Declan to Kavinsky to Niall to Gansey throughout the song.

•I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) — Maura Sargent and her terrible taste in men! First verse and chorus about Artemus and Calla and Persephone shaking their heads in the background, then the second time with The Gray Man Calla again shaking her head.

•loml — Jordeclan, but specifically a Jordan pov song after Declan chooses death by fairy market over her could either say this is her thought process in a middle bit that we didn’t get to see or an au where Declan did die and/or she did leave him for a bit after this.

•I Can Do It With A Broken Heart — Adam song. I think you could read it as in the first verse / go of the chorus the “him” being referred to is Gansey post DC but then in the second verse/chorus it’s Ronan in mister impossible era. His whole thing with masking/not paying attention to his feelings through both series and literally “faking it to make it” at Harvard… I can pass this test… the tonally upbeat music and devastating lyrics. Soo him.

•The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived — Rovinsky break up song. I think the first verse and chorus is K pov but the rest of the song is Ronan’s pov.

•The Alchemy — another song with both Pynch and Bluesey vibes but this one I’m giving to Pynch overall. The whole high school relationship currently long distance but I’ll always come back to you thing.

•Clara Bow — for a minute I thought I really would have to give up on making this one about trc, but then I thought about the whole theme of women mirroring each other Blue and Gwenllian and the tapestry of girls with Blue’s face, their literal mirror powers, the 300 fox way women and how you see something of all of them in Blue / she’s a product of them, Hennessy and her clones, Mor and Aurora. So yeah general vibes of that theme.

Bonus Tracks

•The Black Dog — Pynch divorce bop. Adam pov.

• imgonnagetyouback — Bluedam, now you may be thinking that I’m just assigning this one because I already think get him back! by Olivia Rodrigo is a Bluedam song (see previous web weaving) and this song is just a worse version of that song, and you’d be right that’s why I’m saying it.

•The Albatross — Bluesey. Gansey associating the color blue with death, learning Blue is his death, being fascinated by her and falling for her more and more the more he accepts his own death…

• Chloe or Sam or Sofia or Marcus — this is all about romantic drama/a love square between Blue Henry Gansey and Adam, different parts of it are from Gansey or Adam’s pov primarily about each other but they refer to Henry or Blue at different points. The Adansey divorce to Sarchengsey to Chengsey divorce pipeline song essentially.

• How Did It End? — Adansey!! literally “he was a hothouse flower to my outdoorsmen, our melodies were such we could not cure them” I won’t just go through every lyric but every lyric just screams Adanseycore, as many of her songs about divorce do.

•So High School — Pynch. “You know how to ball I know Aristotle” referring to Ronan playing tennis is an especially fun aspect.

• I Hate it Here — Adam, first verse and chorus could be DC party Adam and then as it goes on it’s Adam at Harvard thinking all the things he won’t say to the crying club, and then it’s Adam about Henrietta.

•thanK you alMee — Declan song centered on his conflicted grief/hatred of Niall.

•I Look in People’s Windows — Adam observing the wealthy/people he envies.

•The Prophecy — Blue song. Elements of Bluesey obviously but mostly about Blue who won’t let fate define her and is brave when she’s afraid, begging for a different fate for Maura when she’s missing for Gansey and Noah, for herself when she wants things from the future that seem impossible for so many reasons. “And I look unstable gathered with a coven around a sorceress table” so the bath tub scene with her and her mom and Aunts!

•Cassandra — Gwenllian Glendower anthem!

•Peter — Adam pov Adansey song 😭 I already made a web weaving explaining this and if I tried to again with words I’d throw up and die, but this is the most trc coded song on the album other than the prophecy.

•The Bolter — Hennessy song. First verse refers to her childhood trauma, The chorus fits Jordanessy and their mi scene with the cars so well and the whole repeatedly dying thing is obviously very Mister Impossible plot coded and also the cyclical nature of her lace dreams are reflected here.

•Robin — Adansey. “way to go tiger”.

•The Manuscript — Blue x Henry pining era song post Sarchengsey divorce.

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propertyofyoutube · 1 month

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I HAVE A REQUEST

So the fic could be a Sam X reader, and it starts with just pure smut and him being dominant, then after right, the reader Is laying in bed and Sam's editing. The reader takes out her phone and does the trend 'this man just took my ability to walk and now he's editing' and the reader, who is publicly dating, posts it and it gets millions of view and likes and Sam gets a notification too and he opens it to see that, and then he stops editing and starts cuddling the reader, ending the fic in fluff or smut, your choice. Sam could also ask at the end 'you happy now?'

Are you happy now? - EXPLICIT

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, dom!sam, controlling during sex, rough but passionate, angry!sam, creampie, oral, gagging, pure filth and love. Oh and bad language lol.

Not edited.

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You sat peacefully on the sofa in yours and Sam's shared bedroom, happily scrolling through your TikTok foryou page. You suddenly came across an edit of you and Sam. Your eye fell wide as you watched the skills of the talented fans, highlighted moments in your relationship in the most amazing way. You and Sam had been public for almost 2 years now, and it still was hard for you to see yourself in this way. Something you'd probably never get used to. As you watched the quickly changing clips your heart dropped as you saw a text message from Colby drop down the top of your screen.

Colbs: yooo, warning! Shitty day, Sam's pretty angry about this last meeting...

You: oh fuck... is he okay? Are you okay? When you say angry, like shouting angry or silent angry?

Your thumb twiddled across your keyboard as you watched Colby's typing bubble show up. You wasn't sure which you'd prefer right now. Shouting angry Sam meant he would probably have to offload his stress on you with a monologue of curse words and exaggerated arm movements. But silent angry Sam, could be two things; 1- headphones on/movie on and cuddling in silence, 2- breaking your back in an outburst of dominance and frustration, most perfect stress reliever. Lowkey, you were hoping for the latter.

Colbs: I'm okay, Sam will probably explain it to you... but let's just say he hasn't said a word since he started driving home...

You: right okay... thanks for the heads up x

You sighed after texting Colby back. You hated when Sam had a shit day, it killed you to see him upset, and we're always willing to do whatever it took to make him feel better.

>>>>>>>>>

It had only been 20 minute you were waiting, still sat on the sofa, before you heard the front door open. You waited nervously as you closed your phone placing it down beside you. You could hear Colby's voice muffling in the background and suddenly the sound of footsteps making their climb up the staircase. You knew those angry footsteps anywhere.

You took a deep breath as the bedroom door opened and Sam walked in, throwing his bag down quickly, his jaw clenched and his fists stiff.

"Hey baby, are you okay?" You asked, trying to make it seem like Colby hadn't already told you that he wasn't okay.

Sam instantly began to take off his jacket, your eyes fell wide as his gaze met yours as he walked further into the room. You knew that look anywhere. His hands quickly unbuckled his belt as you felt your stomach do a flip and your heat twitch. “Clothes off. Now.” He spoke firmly as your eyes fell wide with both concern and excitement. “I need you.” Sam said his voice shaking with so much emotion.

You instantly stood up and began to remove your clothes your heart beating fast. As you quickly managed to strip completely naked, you looked up to see Sam, his expression softening ever so slightly at the view of you. “Fuck me…” he said, his voice low. “Get over here now.” He said firmly.

You bit your lip in anticipation as you began to head over to him. Sam stepped forward meeting you halfway as he crashed his lips onto yours. The kiss was instantly hot and passionate. His hands wandering around your body.

“I’ve had… such a shitty day…” Sam mumbled against your lips as his grip on your skin deepened.

“I know baby…” you whispered back between kisses.

“All I thought about… was you..” he continued, as he suddenly tugged on your hair, pulling your head back earning a moan from you. “And taking all my frustrations out on that perfect little pussy of yours…” Sam suddenly bit on your lip as his voice sent shivers down your body. “Do you want me to feel better baby?” He asked, his voice low.

“Uh huh…” you managed to squeeze out through moans.

You felt as Sam smirked against your lips, he quickly moved to near your ear as he spoke firmly, “then be a good girl, and get on those knees.” As he suddenly nibbled on your ear your eyes rolled back as you nodded.

Without question, you instantly dropped to your knees, his throbbing cock now directing in your eye line. “Don’t make me ask again.” Sam said with a smirk across his face. You smiled back up at him as you licked your lips, his hand grazing across your chin.

You quickly grabbed his cock as Sam’s jaw slacked open. Your eyes gazing up at him as you suddenly took the head of his dick into your mouth. Sam moaned low as you swirled your tongue around. “Fuck baby… if you don’t stop teasing me… I’ll fuck the back of your throat until you gag.” You loved this side of Sam. When his dominant side really shines through, the control he has turned you on more than anything.

You obeyed and quickly began to bob your head back and forth, taking as much as you could whilst stroking the rest of him.

“Fuck… that’s it baby girl.” Sam spoke between groans.

You couldn’t help but smile, you always felt proud of yourself when Sam praised you like this. His hand stroking the back of your head and the feeling of your lips surrounding his cock making both of you melt.

Suddenly Sam started to buck his hips slightly, you could tell his desperate for more. You looked up at him as you suddenly opened up your mouth wider, giving him permission to take over. He quickly looked down at you with his eyes full of love as they suddenly turned much darker and he bit his lip, grabbing the back of your head with both hands suddenly began to face fuck you. “Atta girl!” Sam groaned deeply as his cock hit the back of your throat. Again and again. Sam held his cock there for a moment as your eyes began to water and you couldn’t help but gag.

“Fuck…” Sam groaned as he pulled out slowly. Allowing you to catch your breath. After a moment, the air back in your lungs, he pushed his dick straight back in, repeating the same steps. As you gagged once more, he pulled out once again as he breathed heavily. “Fuck baby, come here.” He demanded as you stood up wiping drool from your chin.

“Jump.” He said firmly as you quickly hopped up, his hands grabbing your legs as they wrapped around his waist.

You couldn’t help but let out a squeal of excitement as he threw you onto the bed. He immediately followed you as he hovered his body above yours. He reconnected your lips in another moment of passion as he took his hand, moving it down along your body until it reached your heat. As Sam’s fingers found your clit and began to rub in fast circles, you moaned against his lips as he kissed you. Your back arched off the bed as your soaking core finally had some relief. But you wanted more, you needed him, you needed to feel him inside of you.

“You… are the only thing… that gets me through the day.” Sam groaned as he kissed down to your neck, rubbing faster.

“D-don’t stop baby…” you cried out, your head throwing back in pleasure. That knot forming in your stomach as you bucked your hips against his hand.

“What happened to your manners?” Sam said firmly, as his hand slowly lowered its speed.

Your jaw fell wide open as that ache returned, “p-please Sam. Please, just fuck me.” You begged as a smirk formed on Sam’s face.

“Be careful what you wish for…” Sam said catching you off guard as he suddenly took his cock, pushing it deep inside of you with no warning. Both of you simultaneously moaning loudly.

As Sam began to thrust in and out of you, your hands gripped onto his back as you slowly dragged your nails down, earning an even deeper groan from Sam. The knot in your stomach quickly reformed as you were now desperate to feel that release of pleasure. “Fuck Sam.” You moaned out as Sam felt your walls clench around him. Suddenly he lifted himself off you slightly as he began to pound into you, deeper and faster as your legs began to shake.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.” Sam spoke with demand on his voice.

His speed consistent as you felt it build up quickly, until it suddenly exploded. Your whole body filled from top to bottom with a rush of passion and pleasure. “Sam!” You cried out as Sam felt you cum all over him. Sam’s thrusts slowed down slightly as he rode out your high before pulling out of you. He quickly raised onto his knees.

“Turn over.” He demanded, the way his voice changed with his dominance was breathtaking. You obliged immediately flipping over as you tried to catch your breath.

Sam bit his lip as he began to tease your entrance with his cock. “If only… my employees could be as obedient as you…” he spoke as his heart pounded, remembering why he was so angry.

“Please Sammy…” you begged, your body now becoming more exhausted but ready for more.

“As you wish, princess.” Sam said as he quickly pushed himself back inside of you, hitting your g-spot instantly in your still sensitive core.

“Oh shit..” you gasped as he pulled back out before pushing deep inside of you once again. Sam groaned lower than ever as he began to pick up his speed with each thrust. His hips smacking loudly against your ass, loud enough for the neighbours to hear as he pounded into you.

“Fuck y/n…” Sam groaning your name sent shivers throughout your entire body. Suddenly, Sam leaned forward grabbing both of your hands as he pulled them behind your back, allowing your chest to fall onto the bed. “I’m gonna split you in half.” Sam spoke through gritted teeth.

“Yes baby!” You cried out as Sam pinned your arms by the wrist to your lower back and he instantly sped up once again, his dick deeper inside of you with each powerful thrust. “Fuck fuck fuck!” You cried out as the side of your face rested on the mattress.

“Fuck, I’m close baby.” Sam groaned as he refused to lay off. “Cum with me, okay?” He said as you whined nodding your head, unable to form words.

“Good girl.” Sam praised once again allowing that knot to instantly form, quickly expanding in your stomach. You both became moaning messes as his pounded you to your limit.

“Fuck now, y/n!” He practically shouted as a string of curse words left both of your mouths. Your walls clenched around him, as you came all over his cock. Quickly followed by his hot cum filling you up entirely.

Sam’s thrusts slowed down, riding out both of your highs, until he slowly pulled out. His hot cum spilling out after him. “Are you okay?” Sam quickly asked, it was rare he was that hard on you, and he always needed to make sure you were okay.

“Uh huh…” you nodded with a smile as you breathed heavily, your heart pounding out of your chest.

Sam suddenly leaned down, kissing your cheek gently, as he moved your hair out of your face. “Why don’t you go take a shower baby?” Sam suggested before kissing you on the lips, much more sweet than before.

You nodded your head sloppily as your energy had gone from 100 to 0.

“I’ll be right here, waiting when you get back.” Sam said with a smile as you kissed him once more.

>>>>>>>>>

The shower was exactly what you needed after that. However, your legs were weak, and it was truly a challenge to stay stood up right whilst you washed. But, you managed to pull through.

As you walked back into the room, you looked at the bed to see Sam not there. You sighed slightly, as knowing this boy, he probably was working once again. Even after such a shitty day. Once you put on your pjs and brushed your hair, you left the bedroom and walked down the hallway, stopping at Sam and Colby’s shared office. As you peeped around the door, you saw Sam, headphones on, clicking away. You smiled as you watched the concentration on his face, however, this bitch promised to be waiting for you for a cuddle. You leaned on the door frame as you lifted your arm, knocking 3 times. Sam’s eyes quickly darted to the door as he lifted one side of his headphones away from his ear.

“Hey baby, I just thought I’d start editing next months video.” He said as he smiled at you. You smiled back with a sigh as you rested your head on the frame.

“Tonight?” You said with sadness in your voice.

Sam sighed as he glanced at his screen and then back at you, “just 15 minutes, I promise…” he said softly, which you knew full well would turn out to be a lie.

“Okay…” you said with a smile as he smiled back with so much love and appreciation on his face for you. After the pounding you had, you truly did just want him to hold you, you never really was one for much aftercare, but you felt so exhausted you just wanted to be with him.

You scrunched your face up, trying to think of a way to get him to bed, but unfortunately nothing came to you. You took a deep breath once again, as you looked over at him, his eyes glued to the screen as he clicked away. You took out your phone as snapped a video of him editing away. You chuckled to yourself as you walked back to the bedroom.

As you climbed into bed, you headed straight onto TikTok, immediately opening to another edit of yourself and sam. Which immediately gave you a bright idea. You bit your lip mischievously as you selected the video of Sam editing. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as you joined the TikTok trend by typing, ‘man just blew my back out and now he’s editing🤔’ and added a sound. You paused for moment before hitting post, unsure of how Sam would take you posting this, but also knowing that the fans would absolutely love it. As you battled with yourself for a moment, the fans won. The fans will always win. You hit post and within 3 seconds, the comments, likes and shares started rolling in. Your phone going crazier than usual.

As Sam felt his eyes falling heavy, he already wanted to call it quits after 5 minutes. He just wanted to be with you, holding you after such a long day but such an amazing night. ‘Just one more clip’ he thought to himself but he suddenly noticed his phone flashing like crazy, as much as when they post a new Sam and Colby video. He frowned confused for a moment, as he removed his headphones picking up his phone. His mouth and eyes simultaneously fell wide as he watched your TikTok and the read the comments as they continued to roll on. The corners of his mouth slowly began to turn upwards as a smile spread across his face.

Almost 5 minutes had passed and you continued to scroll through your foryou page. You weren’t even sure if Sam had seen the video, so when he appeared in the bedroom, you kept your eyes on your phone as you spoke, trying your best to hold in a laugh, “finished so soon babe?” You asked with innocence in your voice.

Sam continued to walk across the room before climbing into bed beside you. He grabbed your phone out of your hands, locking it and putting it back down as he lifted his arm up over your head, signalling for you to cuddle him.

You looked up at him with a smile as you wiggled yourself into his arms. He squeezed tightly as he kissed your head and you exhaled deeply in a sigh of relaxation.

“Are you happy now?” Sam asked with a chuckle.

You gazed up at him with a mischievous smirk across your face, “I’ve never felt happier.”

Sam glared at you but he simply couldn’t resist that smile and those eyes, “it’s a good job I love you more than anything.” He said as he made himself more comfortable.

“It’s a good job I’m incredibly patient.” You said sarcastically knowing you are the completely opposite.

Sam looked at you his eyebrows raised, “hmm, so patient!” He laughed as you suddenly leaned up kissing him deeply.

As you pulled away he looked deep into your eyes as you spoke, “I love you more.” You said softly as Sam smiled, pulling you in and connecting your lips once again.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Authors note: hey guys, I hope you enjoyed this one! I know I enjoyed writing it! Make sure to leave your requests! 🖤

#sam and colby #smut #sam golbach #fanfiction #sam golbach smut #samgolbach #sam golbach dirty imagines #sam golbach imagines #sam x y/n #sam golbach fluff #sam golbach one shot #sam golbach x reader #samgolbach dirty #samgolbachdirty #sam goldbach smut

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ponyosmom35 · 7 months

Text

welcome to hell

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Liability series, chapter one!

synopsis: reader is transferred to a new base as a medic. upon meeting the Lieutenant she realizes that she may have gotten in over her head.

warnings: cursing, ghost is rude

Link to full Liability series!

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

“What do you mean we’ve got a new medic on the base?” Ghost asks as Price slides her file across the desk. He picks it up and reads through it quickly, his eyes skimming the qualifications, more the lack thereof. “What the fuck is this Price”

“Miss y/l/n is a young woman whose been sent here by Laswell. She’s good at her job, she’ll do just fine here”

“Shes not military”

“No she’s not”

“Then why is she here?” he questions once more

“Between you and I, Laswell sent her in because her sister is training for 141”

“Emma” Ghost realizes as he puts together their last names.

“In order to get Emma here, Laswell had to pull some strings. One of the requirements was the transfer of her younger sister”

“Its a waste of space!” he states, crossing his arms in annoyance “what good is a medic who has no military background or field experience? Sounds like a fucking liability to me”

“She’s strictly on base, she won’t be in the field”

“So I say again, what’s the point of her? We need medics for the field! She’s only 26!”

“Ghost I don’t make the rules, I just follow them. When Laswell gives me a transfer I deal with it, just like you’re going to listen to me when I say that this girl is more than welcome here. If she’s the price we pay for Emma then so be it” Price says, taking the file out of his hands. He nods to the door and Ghost shakes his head before exiting the office. He was livid, just one more mouth to feed. One more person he’d have to worry about. He didn’t care if this girl was the best in the world, without military or field experience she was as good as useless to him. He fucking hated useless people.

He walks through the base angrily, searching for Soap and Gaz to inform them. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of Emma with her arm wrapped around a much shorter woman’s shoulders as she led her through the room. She was gorgeous, her long hair fell down her back, she was wearing a pair of scrubs, with a long sleeve underneath it. She had large golden glasses sitting uptop her small nose. He watches as she spots him, she stops in her tracks and stares at him in confusion.

“Oh perfect timing, y/n I’d like to introduce you to our Lieutenant goes by Ghost” Emma says

“Nice to meet you Ghost, I’m y/n, I’m excited to be here” she says with a kind smile on her face, holding her hand out for him to shake.

“A medic with no combat experience, I’ve heard about you”

“Yeah, I’m on base only”

“Fucking useless” he grunts before walking away and leaving the women in shock.

“Excuse me?” she calls out to him, dropping her bag and walking over to him, he stares down at her, his dark eyes boring into her. If looks could kill, she’d be dead. “How dare you speak to me like that!”

Ghost is taken aback at her words, he hadn’t expected her to react this way. Nobody ever talked back to him, this was quite new. “I’m your Lieutenant” he reminds her

“Okay got it, that gives you no right to be a dick!”

“Oh fuck!” Emma calls out, hurrying over to her sister. “You can’t talk to him like that”

“I’d listen to your sister” Ghost warns as they continue to glare at each other

“I’m so sorry Ghost, please ignore her, it’s been a long day she just got off a 10-hour flight, and she’s a little delirious” Emma rambles

“No I’m not delirious, I’m just-”

“y/n!” Emma snaps, clutching her sisters arm tightly. “We’ll be on our way now”

Emma pulls her sister out of the room, trying to ignore the whispers and small laughs from the others in the common room and. They hurry to her room and set her things on the ground. Nobody had ever seen anything like it, this young woman, fresh off the plane looked Ghost in the face and yelled at him, calling him out for being rude.

“What the fuck were you thinking? That is my fucking Lieutenant! The only person above him on this base is Price!”

“He was a dick Emma!”

“He’s allowed to be a dick! He’s the Lieutenant!” she exclaims

“I really don’t care who he is”

“do you have any idea how lucky you are to be here? You aren’t a trained military medic, you don’t belong here! Ghost knows it, that’s why he reacted that way! The only reason you’re here is because Laswell wants me on his fucking team! You forget that I’m in training with him right now, that’s why I’m here, I can’t have you fucking it up for me!”

“I’m sorry Em, I don’t want to get you in trouble”

“Then don’t pull that shit again okay?” Emma asks, she sits down on her bed and nods watching as her sister sighs angrily before leaving her alone.

Later that night she walked out of her room for the first time in hours. Admittedly she was embarrassed about what happened earlier. She shouldn’t have lost her cool with the Lieutenant, but she was hurt by his words. They were simple yet they cut so deep. She walks to the dining hall and all eyes turn to her. Whispers spread through the soldiers and her cheeks burn.

“Don’t worry about them, they’ll be over it in a day” a man says as he walks up to her with his own plate of food, his was stuffed so high she wasn’t sure how he’d gotten it all to fit. “I’m John MacTavish, call me soap”

“Why soap?” she asks

“I clean house” he answers with a smirk, as he walks over to a table with several people sitting there eating “come sit”

“Oh it’s okay-” she starts

“Come on lass we don’t bite” Soap says holding his hand out to the empty seat across from him. She nods and takes a seat next to another young man with a hat on.

“y/n this is Kyle aka Gaz”

“Nice to meet you love”

“It’s nice to meet you, Gaz. How do you guys know my name?” she asks

“That was quite a scene you made earlier, you’re a celebrity”

“Great, my sisters gonna kill me”

“Yeah if Ghost doesn’t get ya first” Soap jokes

“You’re a brave soul” Gaz chuckles “in all my time here I never seen anyone do that”

“Oh so you guys know him?”

“Yeah he’s our Lieutenant”

“Oh you guys are on the taskforce?”

“141” Soap nods as he shovels food into his mouth.

“Thats what my sister is here for, she’s training”

“Emma”

“Oh you know her?” she asks in surprise

“Of course, we train with her daily, she’s one hell of a solider”

“Yeah she is” she responds

“So you must be y/n” a deep British voice says, she looks up to see a tall man with mutton chops.

“Yes”

“I’m Captain John Price, it’s a pleasure to meet you” he says holding his hand out to her, she takes it and shakes it.

“Its nice to meet you too Sir”

“I hear you’ve made quite an impression already” he smiles

“Seems like it” she says nervously

“Between you and I, you’ve got guts I like that. Keep your head up, you deserve to be here. Stop by my office tomorrow at 7 and I’ll introduce you to the other medics”

“Yes sir” she smiles

“Have a good night guys” he nods before leaving their table

“Looks like you might survive, if Price isn’t mad at you then you might have a chance” Gaz comments

“Great” she smiles sarcastically

“Eh you’ll be find lass, just takes gettin used to is all” Soap says

“Thanks guys”

“Anytime you wanna go toe to toe with LT let me know so I can get front-row seats” Soap says causing them all to laugh.

"welcome to hell, love"

161 notes · View notes

madaqueue · 11 days

Text

eternally, yours

chapter 3 | nonmaleficence

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff. language, mentions of blood, mentions of death/loss. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i had a really bad tummy ache last night but powered through to finish this chapter tell me i'm brave (also...may or may not have started the next chapter and there will be smut in it if it kills me)

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The next week blows by, moments blurry as you await your time with Choso. The only clear moments are the ones with Megumi, taking him to the park to play with his new friend or helping him care for his remaining shoulder injury.

As you hold an ice pack to him a wince leaves his lips, nevertheless leaning into the cool touch of the plastic.

“M’sorry,” you mutter as he adjust uncomfortably beneath your touch.

Gathering all the strength a six-year-old can muster, he turns to you, a false grin plastered on his face. “It’s okay,” he chirps, “it’ll make me stronger.”

“It’ll make you stronger,” you hum in agreement, ruffling his hair as he laughs.

Things weren’t easy, but they weren’t nearly as hard as they had been. The warm summer air seemed to settle something within you, and within the ‘father’ who claimed to share a house with you.

He wasn’t home nearly as much, and while you wanted to ask, to pry, to understand, you just couldn’t bring yourself to; your curiosity was overrun with the need for protection. You had to keep Megumi safe, and pestering the man who housed him was not the way to do so.

As Friday finally approached, you found yourself nervous to spend time with Choso again, fear threatening to override your excitement: Would he still like you? Would he still want you?

The sound of knocking hits your ears, faint at first, but growing stronger with each passing second. Like he needed you to hear him.

Your legs carry you to the front door of your apartment, the only home of yours that Choso had seen, as your hand hesitates over the handle. Determination overtakes you, twisting the handle and opening it.

Choso stands in the hallway, a beautiful dark red shirt under the black of his suit. God, he looks perfect.

A slight grin spreads across his features. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, “you look gorgeous.”

Your cheeks flush as you feel his eyes cover you, taking in the unintentionally matching maroon dress that covers your body. Despite the velvet that wraps around your torso you felt deeply exposed to him, as if he could see into your very being.

“Thanks,” you hum, “so do you.”

His grin widens, cheeks threatening to blush as he reaches out a hand for yours.

“Shall we?” he asks.

Grabbing his hand, your fingers intertwine with his, a coolness overtaking your body as you step into the hallway. “We shall,” you smile, grip tightening on his as you lead him from your apartment.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Sage.

The first thing you notice upon entering into the restaurant is the scent of sage, a mellow earthiness meeting your senses as you step inside.

It’s dark, only lit by the occasional candle, soft piano playing in the background. Despite having rented this apartment for years you had never ventured into this restaurant, feeling it was too far above you, a place you never dared go.

Yet, now, with Choso’s arm wrapped around you, it feels comfortable, as if you belonged here.

Something about him, something inexplicable, put you at ease from the moment your skin made contact with his. As the host led you deeper and deeper into the building, you never failed to appreciate the safety you felt around him.

Sliding into a booth at the very back of the space, you glance across the menus placed in front of you. Your eyes widen at the prices, but almost as if he could sense your discomfort, Choso preempts. “This is my treat, of course - consider it a ‘thank you’ for letting me stay over.”

“Choso-”

“Besides, it was my idea to come here,” he smirks. “Maybe you can pick the next place.”

Warmth covers your body as you turn your gaze to the table. He wants another date? You can’t help but smile at the prospect.

Shortly after being seated, a waitress takes your drink orders and you’re left alone with Choso once again. Your eyes stray from his face down his body, the threads of his dark suit taught around his biceps, the dark red perfectly contrasting his pale skin.

“So,” he hums, pulling you out of your thoughts, “how’s Megumi doing?”

Quickly meeting his eyes, you nervously try to hide your obvious ogling. “He’s doing better,” you smile, “thanks to you.”

A soft chuckle rumbles in his throat. “I’m glad to hear it, he’s a good kid. He reminds me of my brother.”

Pausing, you tilt your head. “I didn’t know you had siblings,” you observe.

“Yeah,” Choso grins, “I have two, actually. My younger brother, Yuji, is probably around Megumi’s age. He’s sweet, and funny, and strong, and-” he cuts himself off, cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. “Sorry, I don’t mean to ramble about him.”

“He sounds amazing,” you smile. “I’ll have to meet him someday.”

“Yeah,” Choso sighs contentedly, “you will.”

Raising your glass to your lips, you take a sip in the comfortable silence. “So, are your parents doctors too?”

The man across from you stiffens momentarily. “No, um, they weren’t.”

Shit. You of all people should know not to ask about family, given how fucked up your own is. “Sorry, I-”

“It’s okay,” a gentle smile, the same forgiving one he gave you the first night you met, forms across his features. “They died a long, long time ago, and I don’t really even remember them anymore. It feels like it’s always just been me and my brothers.” Our own little family, he thinks to himself.

“Oh…I didn’t know.”

“I know,” he follows, understanding and empathy lacing his tone. “What about you, what do your parents do?”

An ironic laugh bubbles inside your mind. You opened the door for him to ask, of course he would step through it. Now, you just have to navigate through the maze of your past. “They, um, shit, I don’t know.”

Your gaze falls to the table, hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. Choso doesn’t prod, doesn’t press, waiting patiently for you to be ready as you attempt to steady your breathing.

“My…my dad left when I was pretty young, and my mom died after Megumi was born.”

Raising your eyes slightly you meet his, the darkness of them offering comfort, as if to say ‘it’s alright.’

A soft chuckle escapes your lips. “I guess we’re kinda similar in that, huh? Both of us taking care of a kid when we’re just kids ourselves.”

Choso nods sincerely, reaching out his hand to take yours from across the table. His touch is cool as his thumb traces your palm. The lightness, the love, that seems to seep through his body hangs in the air. It’s almost enough to make you tell him more, tell him everything, but the dark hallways of your past haunt you, too afraid to turn around and face them yourself, let alone with him.

Besides, he doesn’t deserve that; he shouldn’t be haunted by the ghosts of your memories. Would he still want you if he could see the shadowy outlines of the things you left behind, the things that left you behind?

A comfortable silence falls between you as he continues tracing his fingers over your wrist, pure adoration flowing from his hand to yours.

Before you know it, you have both finished your drinks as Choso stands to guide you from the restaurant. His arm wraps around your waist, finding their new home along the small of your back.

Outside, the night air pricks at your skin, shockingly cool compared to the heat of the day. It was barely dark when you arrived, but now the moon shines brightly above you, illuminating your path home.

“Pretty,” you murmur to yourself as you glance at the sky above you. The stars shine against the dark blanket of the night, the full face of the moon casting a soft glow over you.

Leaning your head against his shoulder as you walk, you can’t help but feel a sense of peace, a deep tranquility, as your body presses against his.

“You really do look beautiful,” his low voice breaks the silence as he glances down at you.

A giggle erupts from your lips at the compliment. Stepping away, you move to twirl in your dress, before your ankle suddenly catches on the sidewalk.

Tumbling down, your body caves above you, concrete scraping against your skin. A string of curses leave your mouth as you land on the cold ground, sharp pain coursing through your body. Focusing your eyes on your hands, all you can see is red, blood pooling from your open wounds. Tears begin falling from your eyes as the pain settles, your ankle throbbing and palms aching.

Choso stands frozen above you, unable to move from where his feet plant him. His senses are screaming, overtaken with the sudden urge to consume. Flames of desire cover his body, heat building as his hands form into fists, afraid that the slightest motion may cause his control to crumble before him. “Y-you’re bleeding,” he whispers to himself.

A broken cry leaves your throat, hands reaching down your leg as bloody handprints imprint on your calf. “Ow,” you sob, unable to form any coherent thoughts above the pain.

Your voice pulls the man from his thoughts, breaking the cast of his panic as his mind switches to focus. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he murmurs to you, bending down. His gaze quickly covers your body, assessing the damage. “I’m gonna get you home and get you patched up, okay?”

All you can do is nod weakly, tears continuing to spill down your cheeks.

Choso loops his arms under your body, picking you up with ease as he carefully avoids your ankle. Your hands fall into your lap as your head leans against his shoulder, whimpers occasionally falling from your lips as he hurriedly carries you back to your home.

You arrive at the front door almost impossibly fast before he unlocks it and swings it open. Kicking his shoes haphazardly to the side he moves through your apartment, finding an available bathroom and setting you on the counter.

Taking in a deep breath, Choso steadies himself before returning to the task at hand. He knows if he loses focus, if he allows himself to linger, he risks losing control, losing you.

Rummaging through your cabinets he finds the tools he needs, laying out bandages across the table.

“This might hurt a little, okay?” he hums, prepping a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol.

“Okay,” you murmur, “I trust you, Cho.”

His eyes lock on yours, a carnal desperation behind his irises you nearly don’t catch, before he fixes his attention to your hands. He gingerly holds your wrist as the gauze makes contact with your palm, searing pain shooting up your arm.

“Ow,” you can’t help but whimper.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers, “you’re doing great, just a little bit more, okay?”

Biting your lip in an attempt to quiet your cries, you nod again. Something about his voice, the empathetic deepness to it, truly does put your body at rest. As he continues talking you through the next steps of cleaning and dressing your wounds, it really does feel less painful the more you hear him. Each coo of “it’s okay,” calms you down more and more, until you’re nearly unaware of the aches that once roamed your body.

Shifting back he begins the process of wrapping your ankle, carefully avoiding excess pressure that could evoke even a twinge of discomfort.

Stepping away, he smiles up at you. “All done,” he grins.

Glancing down, you admire his work: your hands are cleaned and bandaged, your ankle held in place, no lingering remnants of the bloodied mess you had been moments prior.

As he washes his hands in the sink next to you, Choso finally feels like he can breathe again. Pride blooms in his chest at his self-restraint, his ability to care for you even when his body demanded something else, something more.

Prior to this, he had never had trouble with blood, something he was normally nearly bored of. To him it was mundane, a necessary part of survival and nothing more. He encountered it at work and when he fed, but it had never distracted him quite like this. Something about it, something about you, taunted him, drawing him in.

But of course, he can’t - he knows he can’t. He never even intended to be this close to you, hoping your few chance meetings would have been easily forgotten, blending into the memories of his life. Yet, another part of him knew that wouldn’t be possible, the moments with you bright in contrast to the darkness he had been living in. Once he got a taste of the sun, how could he be content with the moon?

The feeling of your hand on his shoulder shakes him from his thoughts. “I think your hands are clean enough, Choso,” you chuckle from beside him.

Looking down, his hands had begun to turn red from the hot water pouring over them, an unnoticed sensation. “Oh, yeah,” he laughs distractedly.

“Thanks again,” you hum, the pain of your fall now fully subsided, leaving only a dull ache in its absence.

“Just doin’ my job,” he grins meekly.

Reaching your arms out to him, you pull him into your embrace. Still seated on the counter your legs wrap around his waist as your hands loosely hang around his neck.

So close. You are so close. His thoughts threaten to spiral again as he looks at you. He can smell the mix of your perfume and lingering metallic scent on your skin; he feels electric, his entire body vibrating as his mind begins to cloud.

“I, um, I guess I should get going,” he nervously blurts, beginning to pull from your grasp.

He can’t stay here, he can’t be here any longer. He has to go, now.

You can practically feel his breath on your face as your eyes lock on his, your grip on him tightening. “Choso,” you purr, pulling him closer.

God, do you even know what you do to him? It has to be on purpose, right? The way you lick your lips as your eyes travel to his, the warmth of your body against his chest making his breath hitch.

“Why don’t you stay? I couldn’t let you go home this late, what if you get hurt?”

His mind is swirling, he feels a million miles away as your hands trace small patterns against the back of his neck. He needs to go. He needs to. But, fuck, why can’t he bring himself to pull away? Why can’t he leave?

“O-okay,” he stutters, barely aware of the affirmation leaving his mouth. A grin tugs at your lips before he continues. “But I’m on the couch, alright?” His last ditch effort at maintaining his control, too afraid to tempt the fates and share a bed with you.

Smirking, you sigh. “I’ll grab you some blankets,” you hum.

Gingerly hopping down from the counter you make your way through your room as Choso practically bolts outside.

Shit, shit, shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t be here. He should have gone home, he shouldn’t have even come on this date, he shouldn’t have kissed you at all. He should have ignored you, shoved down whatever feelings blossomed inside him, and continued his life the way he had always known: alone.

He can’t hurt you, he can’t. And deep down, the fear that he might, haunts him. Staying the night with you is a bad idea, prompting him to take risks he can’t afford. Solidifying his resolve he stands from the couch, grabbing his sport coat from where it had been thrown against the back of your kitchen chair and walking towards his shoes at the front door, before your voice calls from behind him.

“I just got you the same ones as last time, I hope that’s okay. You weren’t too cold or anything, right?”

Turning on his heel to face you, an involuntary smile, one torn between gratitude and fear, tugs at his lips. “No,” he murmurs, his resolution cracking as he returns to stand in front of you, collecting the blankets in his arms, “everything was perfect, thank you.”

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topguncortez · 1 year

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An Ugly Beast

Spring Break Kickback | Masterlist

synopsis: Addiction is a beast. An ugly, horrible, unbeatable beast. But the beast can be tamed. . . if you work for it

prompts: 14. “Should you be drinking that much?” 17. “Am I the reason you cry every night?”

word count: 2.6k

Warnings: drug addiction, alcoholism, suicide by alcohol, talks of suicide, cursing, talks about drugs, mentions of overdosing, mentions of physical and verbal abuse

requested by @sufferingophelia

Addiction.

It was an ugly demon. It was never a beast that could be totally conquered and destroyed. You could beat it down as much as you could. But, it was always there, lurking in the shadows, ready to rear its ugly head again. You watched for years as your daddy drank himself to death after your mother ran away. You made a promise to him on his deathbed that you’d never turn to the bottle. No matter how hard life got, you’d never pick up the bottle to help cope with it. And you kept that promise. . . until you met him.

Jake Seresin.

You knew that there was no one else to blame for your addiction but yourself, but boy did it feel great to curse his name when you threw the empty glass bottle against the wall. Jake had been your reason for drinking. Jake had been your reason for getting fired from your job. Jake had been your reason for not being able to leave the bathroom floor most mornings. Jake had been your reason.

But Jake wasn’t the one to blame and you knew it.

Your daddy also made you promise that you’d never fall in love. Falling in love only leads to heartbreak. You didn’t want to make that promise. You had been so naive and optimistic about marrying your perfect prince and living happily ever after. But that was only shit that was made up by Disney. Jake had made promises to you. He made promises to love you. To care for you. To be by your side until you die.

But where was he now as you were slowly killing yourself?

Your head was pounding as you sat on your couch. Your head was tilted back slightly and you pinched the bridge of your nose trying to relieve the pressure. The dust in your nose burned and you knew it would be over soon, and then that blissful high would settle in. But waiting until that moment absolutely sucked. You now realized why most coke heads turned to injecting their veins instead of snorting. The high was quicker and your nose wouldn’t have holes the size of planets in it. Blinking a couple times, you pulled yourself to sit up, and grabbed your phone. You squinted at the bright light and saw the same screen you were met with night after night.

Not a single notification.

“Fuck you,” You muttered and tossed your phone back on the couch cushion. You had learned that as an addict you were extremely impulsive. Even though every fiber in your being, well those left that hadn’t been shot to hell from the alcohol and pills, were telling you not to call him. To not leave another nasty, slurred voicemail. But you couldn’t help yourself. You liked the idea that maybe he got mad when he listened to them. Picking up your phone, your eyes were half open as you dialed his number. The dial tone went on for a bit until you were met with the familiar sound of his voicemail box.

“Hey this is Jake, sorry I can’t answer, please leave a voicemail and I’ll get back to you.”

“You need to change your voicemail message,” You slurred, “It says ‘I’ll get back to you’ but you have never gotten back to me, you fucking liar. I guess everything you fucking say is a goddamn lie.” You shook your head and started laughing uncontrollably, the high finally getting into your body. And that's how the voicemail ended, with your maniacal laughter in the background.

— — —

The bar by your house was a hole in the wall, dive style type place. Before now, you would’ve never been caught dead at this place, but it was only a two block walk from your house. You were a smart addict, never taking your keys when you were to fucked up. The walk to the bar was always fine, it was the walk home that was the struggle. Somehow you always managed to get into the house you grew up in and fall asleep by the front door.

You weren’t sure how long you had been at the bar, but clearly it was long enough to start your usual argument with Dave, a retired Army Vet who always said that his branch was superior. You were biased, being raised by a Naval Aviator and having dated one for the better part of a decade. Intoxicated you loved to get into arguments though, and you’d say just about anything that made you sound somewhat intelligent, even if you were just arguing the same point over and over.

“Listen here, asshat,” You pointed your beer bottle at Dave, “The Army can fucking suck it. How the fuck did Bin Laden die? Oh yeah, Navy fucking Seals.”

“Quit your bitchin, girl!” Dave yelled back. Clearly you were ruining his drunken bliss but you couldn’t care.

You tilted your head back in a laugh as you grabbed the small baggy from your pocket. You needed this, and you didn’t care if you were about to do a line on the dirty bar top. You placed your credit card and a dollar bill on the bar as you dumped out the white substance. It was almost all in a line, when Jerry, the owner, came and wiped it away.

“What the fuck!” You yelled.

“You know my rules,” Jerry said. He was a burly looking man, long hair that was thinning on the top and a beard that made him look like he should be on Duck Dynasty.

“Man, Jerry, fuck you,” You snapped. You were a mean drunk, something you inherited from your daddy. The things you said in an alcohol induced haze were ones that you would never say if you were sober.

“Don’t you start,” Jerry pointed his finger at you. You scowled at him, twirling your empty bottle around the bar top. He knew what you were planning before you could even do it. He moved first, reaching to grab your phone on the bar and dodging the bottle you threw at the wall. Before dealing with you, Jerry dealt with your father. He had learned a few things over the years, like how neither of you never changed your emergency contacts. Your father had your mother’s number saved as his for years, even after she left him.

You were still stewing in your anger that Jerry wiped away the coke that you had paid a hundred dollars for. That’s one thing no one told you about drugs, they were expensive. It was no wonder that addicts usually switched to other things that were cheaper to get their high. Jerry returned your phone back in front of you and sat down another drink. He didn’t care if you drank yourself stupid, it was better than snorting china white into your nose.

You looked up at him, “I’m lookin out for ya kid,” Jerry shrugged and you nodded, taking the drink in your hand.

You sipped this one slowly, knowing that this was more than likely your last one for the night and Jerry was gonna send you packing. It was peach crown and coke, the drink you used to make your daddy all the time. You hated peach crown. It was what took him from you and left you with Jake and the terrible gene of addiction.

Jerry was humming along to some song on the jukebox when the door opened, the bell overhead ringing. You were leaning your head on your hand, your eyes barely awake. If anyone walked in earlier in the night, you would turn around and greet them as if this were the bar in Cheers. Jerry glanced up from the glass he was washing and smiled softly at the man walking over to you. Even in your near sleepy state, you picked up your rocks glass and brought it to your lips. Except, a warm hand was placed on yours and lowered the drink glass back down. You looked over your shoulder and rolled your eyes.

“Fuck you, Jerry,” You sneered and the bartender pretended not to hear you.

“Let’s get you home.”

“I’ll stomp on your shoes,” You threatened, but still turned around on your barstool and let him help you off of it. He put one arm around your waist and held your hand in his opposite hand. You weren’t the most coordinated person sober and being under the influence made it worse.

“Thank you, Jerry,” He said over his shoulder to the bartender.

“No problem, Jake, get her home safely,” Jerry waved towards the blonde man.

Jake usually got a call from Jerry at least once a week to come get you. And without fail, he always did. You’d cuss at both of them, and then Jake would help you climb into his truck where you’d fall asleep and he’d carry you to bed. However, this time you were going to put up a fight. You weren’t high like all the other times you got into Jake’s truck. Jake looked over at you as he clicked his seatbelt into place. He clenched his jaw taking in the sight of your sunk in face and tired eyes. You looked like you hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks.

Jake sighed, “Should you be drinking this much?”

“Why do you care?” You asked, not even looking over at him, your eyes staring straight ahead.

“Because you’re killing yourself.”

“Not fast enough,” You mumbled.

“Listen,” Jake shifted in his seat to look over at you, “I made some calls, and I found a place not far-” You bursted out laughing and Jake’s eyebrows furrowed.

You turned in your seat to face Jake this time, “You listen to me. . . Go to hell.”

“Y/N, this isn’t healthy! The drinking, the drugs. . . This isn’t you.”

“This is me!” You yelled and Jake flinched. Your voice when you yelled was almost so much louder than he expected, “I come from a long fucking line of addicts, I’m surprised it’s taken me this long to start.”

Jake shook his head, and turned back to face the steering wheel. Tears were falling down his cheeks as he sat there dejectedly. He was out of options. The girl sitting next to him was not the girl he had fallen in love with years ago. You have changed in more ways than one. And Jake wasn’t the only one concerned about you. His mother is after you left her a strange voicemail. Your sister is after you texted her in a coke psychosis. Bradley is after he drove by your house one night and saw you struggling to get up the stairs. Even your mother had reached out and asked Jake if you had fallen into the trap of the addiction beast.

You leaned back in your seat, and looked back towards the car parked in front of you. A sniffle was heard throughout the cab and you looked over to see Jake, wiping a tear from his cheek. Jake Seresin doesn’t cry. He watched as you held your dad’s hand in the hospital as the doctor’s unplugged the machines keeping him alive, and didn’t cry. He watched as his sister held onto the body of her child that succumbed to cancer, and didn’t cry. He watched his dad butcher his favorite cow at the age of six, and didn’t cry.

“Are you fucking crying?”

“Yes,” Jake said, swallowing thickly and turning to you, “I’m fucking crying.”

“Am I the reason you cry every night?”

Jake let out a shaky breath and nodded. He spent every night crying as he ignored your call, watching your contact photo flash across the screen. He spent every night crying as he listened to your voicemails. He spent every night crying as he thought of your funeral he would be planning too soon.

“Good,” You said and turned back to face the front, “You deserve it. You deserve to cry every night because of me. Cause I spent too fucking long crying over you!”

“This isn’t my fucking fault!” Jake yelled back at you with the same level as you did, “Quit being a fucking child and own your shit! This whole thing is your fault. I didn’t hold a fucking gun to your head and tell you to drink.”

“You might as well have!”

“Get out,” Jake shook his head and unlocked the door, “Get the fuck out of my goddamn truck.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, standing your ground. Jake waited a moment, seeing if you would move, and when you didn’t he cursed and got out of the driver’s seat. You jumped as he slammed the door and watched him walk over to your side and pulled the door open.

“What are you-” Jake grabbed your arm and tried to pull you from his vehicle, “Let me fucking go!” You fought against him and Jake tried to grab you to get you out.

“Get out!” He yelled, trying his best to ignore you as you swiped at his face, “Get out!”

“No!” You screamed as he overpowered you and pulled you out. You let out another scream as he basically tossed you on the ground, your drunken stupor causing you to fall on your behind, “Asshole!”

Jake ran his hands through his hair as he realized what he had done. He promised God and you that he would never lay a malicious hand on you, and now, he had physically removed you from the truck. He put his hand on your hip and looked down at you, your eyes hard and jaw clenched.

“Ya know,” Jake chuckled, “If you wanted to kill yourself, you would’ve done it by now. Your dad has guns in the house. There’s plenty of knives in the kitchen. Hell, you can probably figure out how to use your bedsheet to get the job done. In yet. . . you are choosing the slowest way to fucking go.” You looked down at the ground, pulling your knees to your chest, “So to me, that says ‘I don’t want to die’. That tells me, you are a fucking coward.”

“I am not!” You hated being called that. Your father had yelled at you one night when you tried to hide your face from the beer bottle he threw at your head.

“You are!” Jake yelled back, “You could get this whole thing over with! Could take you and us out of our misery. However. . . you wanna drag this out. Make us watch like it’s a fucking execution.”

Your lip quivered and the dam broke open. As much as you hated him for saying it, you were scared to die. And oh how many times had you sat on the couch with your dad’s shotgun and pistol in front of you scared that the creatures in the trees were going to break in and get you. Oh how the thoughts of just putting the gun under your chin and blowing your top off would protect you from the red eyes that were tapping at your windows. But every time, you’d pick up the phone and call Jake, leaving a voicemail about how you were hiding under your bed with one of the knives from the kitchen because you were scared that the man with no eyes and mouth had broken in.

“I can’t make you get clean. I can’t make you stop drinking,” Jake said, “All I can do is help plan the funeral.”

You nodded and looked up at Jake, “Make sure my casket is white."

You smiled at him and Jake choked back a sob as you laid back on the concrete, an eruption of laughter falling from your lips. You didn’t even bother to sit up as Jake walked away from you and got in his truck. It started up and you closed your eyes as the F-150 pulled away from the sidewalk and drove off into the night.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow my library page for notifications on when I post:) @cortezslibrary

if you or anyone else is struggling with addiction please call the Substance Abuse, Mental Health Service Administration hotline: (1-800)-662-4357 for help with addiction and mental illness. The hotline is available 24/7, 365 days.

If you or anyone else is struggling with thoughts of suicide, please call the United States National suicide hotline: 988 for help. This hotline is available 24/7, 365-days

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krash-and-co · 4 months

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haven't done this in a while, so here !! l&co as stuff I've heard/said in the past few months, bc I don't remember exact exchanges before then 👍👍

arguably more unhinged for reasons unknown. fate of Gods favorite clown idk

Lucy: I thought Billie Joe Armstrong went to the moon for a long time, honestly.

Lucy: [calling Barnes] there's a stranger at our house. she tried really hard to get in, and--

Lockwood, in the distance: we broke all the stranger danger rules.

Lucy: we broke all the stranger danger rules.

Holly: Lockwood, you have the coolest style.

Lockwood: thanks!

Lucy: what?!? she just tells me I look gay.

Lucy: and homeless.

holly: I want to help disabled kids ride a tricycle. wait, I meant to say horses.

lockwood: you want to help disabled horses ride a tricycle??????

Lucy: I don't have mommy issues I just don't like my mom.

Lucy: you gave me a framed photo for my birthday

Lucy: and within thirty minutes you stepped on it.

Lockwood: but then I bought you a new frame!!!

Lucy: and then I opened it, and it looked like you stepped on it.

Lockwood: well I'm not buying you another one.

skull: ugh, theyre so obsessed with how they look.

lucy, nodding: yeah, they're all "oh I'm so perfect!" preps. they definitely shave their legs.

Lockwood: I need to work on my swearing problem, cuz there are adults around and they don't li-- *drops thermos* ow FUCK

Lockwood: shut the windows. shut the fucking windows, I feel like we're being watched.

Lucy: hahaha, this is fucking terrifying.

Lockwood: here are the knives.

Holly: do you have any baseball bats? I don't want to stab people.

George: no, but we have crutches. we can hit people with them.

Holly, nodding: that's good.

Lockwood: I'm stupid.

Kipps: no you're not- yes you are. I don't know why I said you're not, so I had to correct myself.

holly: if we kill someone, we'll get in.... trouble.

George: shit!! I mean fuck!!! I mean crap!!!

Lucy, hitting him repeatedly: stop CURSING YOU FUCKING-- DANG IT!!!!!

Holly: do you ever get the urge to be randomly violent, like-

[loud clatter as lockwood and kipps beat each other up in the background]

holly: yeah like that.

Kipps, on searching for Bobby: I used to just grab any kid I saw about his height with brown hair, but that caused problems.

Lucy: what's your biggest fear?

Lockwood: what? spiders.

Lucy: no the other one

Lockwood: change.

Lucy: no the-- the other one.

George: what do you WANT FROM HIM-

lucy: you're going to make me have a gambling addiction.

skull, nodding: that's the idea.

George: pff my mom says im special.

Lockwood: im also special! they put me in classes about it.

[Lockwood and George burst out laughing while everyone else stares]

[Lucy and George are punching each other, screaming, and spewing out profanity in sign language]

George: literally nobody even looked up

Lucy: we're at the point where it's normal

George: yeah, haha!

Lucy: haha!

[a moment of heavy breathing and grinning before they begin fucking attacking each other again]

George, to Lucy: ugh im so sore. why do you keep punching me.

[Lucy punches him]

ok last one but this was a hell of a fucking convo and it was so funny everyone just jumped in with random twists 😭😭

[kipps crew, l&co, and flo are all sitting in barnes otherwise empty office]

George: kipps sounds terminally online, but I can't figure out yet if it's the normal kind or if he has. like. a kin list.

Lucy: the two extremes. normal or homestuck.

George: I read all of homestuck but it's okay I'm normal now

skull: im-

lucy: skull YOU'RE terminally online, but like the video gamer kind. kipps sounds like he had a my hero academia phase.

Lockwood: I was friends with someone who would roleplay mha all the time.

George: like pretend to have powers or something?

Lockwood: no, like pretend to be the characters. interact as them.

bobby: I don't roleplay, but I like to imagine I'm a different person with powers sometimes :)

ned: ha, furry.

flo: furry? one of my friends knows a furry who got her tail stolen, and she's in the office right now.

Lockwood: like today??

flo: yeah today. she's there right now.

Lockwood: [silence] oh.

flo: yeah they just. yoink.

[silence]

bobby: .....im not a furry but--

Lucy: aaaand gonna stop you right there before you make things worse for yourself

kat: why can't we EVER have normal conversations

#pov the most insane person you know has friends and theyre just as bad #bonus points if you can guess who was me bc a lot of these things i said some of lol #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #holly munro #quill kipps #george cubbins #george karim #bobby vernon #ned shaw #kat godwin #flo bones #montagu barnes #lockwood & co #incorrect quotes #sort of lol

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lovecanbesostrange · 8 months

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ouattober2023 Day 6: Fav Rarepair

Red Warrior (aka Mulan Rouge, fandom, it was right there, come on)

The gif speaks for itself already, Do I need to say more? No. Will I? Absolutely.

Back in S2 I was very happy. I had Sleeping Warrior to ship and also Red Beauty. Two good ships. But over the years there was the question "what if Mulan and Ruby ever met?". It seemed like a fun constellation. The honorable warrior, serious, focused, happily doing her duty. And the werewolf waitress who effortlessly talks to people, who can be mean if need be (and the full moon is out). Imagine Ruby showing Mulan around Storybrooke. She'd have her start her own gym so fast. (After being teased for so long, somebody should have taken Mulan to Storybrooke and let her watch a film already.)

I watched S5 spoiler free. No promos. It's fun. But there is always the guest cast list and seeing the names Jamie Chung and Meghan Ory when The Bear King started? EXCITEMENT! I was then mesmerized by the Mulan&Merida scenes, I almost forgot I was waiting to see Ruby again. And oh boy, THE WOLF! Once again foiled with magic, but that was okay. When Mulan arrives at the Witch's Hut next? A different kind of magic happening indeed...

Meet Cute noun; (in a film or television programme) an amusing or charming first encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship between them.

Yep, I'd say Mulan almost getting attacked saying "you're not a wolf" with a big smile "you just need a little help remembering who you are", then splashing that potion to reveal Ruby, now sorta sitting above her? Perfect meet cute you can talk about for ages. It calls back a pivotal point from Mulan's past and we get to see a mostly decent CGI wolf (in broad daylight). Especially because we know that Red has killed people before and it's so unclear how much control she has, what exactly the Witch has done to her, ending it with her all smiling as well, is great. Of course I have to cry about "My name's Ruby. My friends call me Red." (Sorry, Mulan should have called her Red later on, to hammer that home.)

Mulan has hearteyes from the get-go, Ruby sits there panting. Frame this and put it in a museum. A clashing meeting that is definitely cute. I mean, there's a sword and fur involved.

It's funny how Mulan forgets to even introduce herself and Ruby has to ask her name later on (because suddenly it's night, how long did they sit like that?). And for somebody who likes to overanalyze it's hilarious how they do manage that Mulan mentions Aurora - with the sad music swelling in the background, to remind us all how their last meeting went - and then we cut to Ruby saying goodbye to Snow. In my mind a good reason this pairing works is, that they can get drunk together and lament how terribly in love they both once were with a princess. It's a fun thing to bond over.

Mulan is clearly the rare holder of the braincell, she also brings in a lot of training, so a good fighting form. Ruby is the muscle, but especially for the EF she has a special kind of wit thanks to the curse!persona. The Bear King allowed us to see a darker side of Mulan, hitting rock bottom, being selfish and looking for a fight.So Ruby is a great person to have her enjoy life and find a balance between duty and fun. This is kinda the promise at the end of the ep, finding a path for Mulan, while Ruby searches werewolves.

Obligatory Doylian rant: Red Warrior was the plan. Whatever you wanna say about the writers, they knew this episode was a romantic set-up. There was a cryptic tweet, some drama and so it's all speculative, but I have made my peace that this came down to studio interference. The live action Mulan film was in the works already, it was coming, Mulan is an official big Disney princess and even though everybody with a bit of media literacy understood that Mulan was very much in love with Aurora, there was this plausible deniability and she wasn't like... that gay. Oh no. And this is why Dorothy got squeezed in, Mulan left with nothing. Clearly not what was promised to Jamie Chung. I have no proof, but it is the best explanation how we went from The Bear King to Ruby Slippers (zero hate for that episode or the Red Kansas ship!!).

I want to know what kind of adventures they had together. How did they go about this search? Any rumors about wolves? The maddening thing is how they managed to end up in Oz at all. I know there's a mysterious BTS pic for the ep. But nevermind, what we do get in the beginning is a duo with a routine, complete with a badass back-to-back protective stance. I always pictured them together in Storybrooke, Ruby showing Mulan around. But I guess what I needed was them out in the woods alone, traveling realms and kicking ass (I'm a simple girl, with simple needs).

Two wonderful interactions at the end of TBK are when the Witch arrives at the coronation. Ruby is ready to go on the offense, but Mulan holds her back. Just a few frames, but it's perfect. And then there's their little banter Ruby: "I might not be the best person to ask for dating advice. I kind of ate the only boyfriend I've ever had." Mulan: "Yes, that disqualifies you." [...] Ruby: "It's better than wallowing in self-pity." Mulan: "I don't wallow!"

THEY ARE ALREADY PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER! Endless teasing and running head first into enemies (don't worry, Mulan has a plan; Ruby dramatically takes off her cloak... sometimes even when there is no wolf moon, just to distract enemies).

#ouattober2023 #Red Warrior #Mulan Rouge #Ruby Lucas #OUaT Mulan #I shipped them before they even met - I flew too close to the sun with this

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henghost · 3 months

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Twig Liveblog for Arc 15

great arc!!!! it all felt so french, somehow, very may '68, with feckless anarchists and student rebellions. sy even starts smoking!!!!!! that was probably my favorite part, sy nervously smoking more and more. i'm beginning to understand how everyone around him finds him so irresistibly attractive...

speaking of: jessie and sy are literally TOO CUTE!! jessie explaining how she likes trains, sy and jessie sleeping with their heads on each other, and then a little peck on the cheek 🥺 they are so perfect for each other! the interlude is probably one of my favorites so far. god that line about how she didn't know jealousy until that episode with lillian killed me. the discussion of "anchors" is so fascinating--and heartbreaking when we realize that the central anchor for all her memories is sylvester. she is cursed/blessed to recount in perfect painstaking detail every encounter, every little instance of neglect. she reroutes every new experience through the complex web of memory, and it feels so agonizing to have even this small exposure to that. every new happiness is tinged with the pain of nostalgia.

there's some kind of parallel between jessie/sy and fray/avis, i think. people who can, by virtue of being victims of fucked up biotechnology, only find solace in one another. the phantom amalgam-fray joining evette was another standout moment--the not-quite-sisters.

fray continues to be enigmatic. her motivations, plans, and pathology are all so murky. does she really have a scheme lurking in the background that she doesn't need to be there for? how will this circumvent the sore-loserdom she describes? (very excited to learn, by the way, that the infante is one of the people who gets to personally condemn whole cities.) sy's long discussion with fray wherein he details how he felt like a dog for the academy was so good.

fray is so fucking cool!! it's crazy that she gives mauer a run for his money in terms of being a badass rebel leader. dolores the octopus 😍😍😍

sad to narrowly miss the lambs :( i hope they can still meet up sometime soon! i want to know what's going on with them too, like for instance if mary and lillian have kissed yet.

final predictions!!!!! (or embarrassing myself for your amusement):

fray is probably right to be more cautious than sy wrt fighting the crown, and sy's recklessness will lead to some unspeakable catastrophe

this catastrophe will probably involve some plan to disseminate the nobles' big secret that backfires horrifically

the plague will be what ultimately does the crown in--too thematically appropriate to have eruptive, spontaneous life triumph over the crown and academy's regime of biocontrol

the duke and the lambs will unite to try and defeat the infante, but will lose

the king will be larger than the infante

sy and jessie will kiss a lot and make love and get married and find some way to have children and name them all sylvester junior or jessie junior and live happily ever after forever :)

#twig #twigblr #twig liveblog #henghost's twig arc #sylvester lambsbridge #jessie ewesmont #yes my lord infante

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ladycamillewrites · 1 year

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Against the Odds

Chapter 10 - Don't be sorry

warnings: pregnancy stuff, emotional scenes, cussing

masterlist

“Chris? Can you hear me?“

“Tom! G’day mate! I know I might’ve overstrained your nerves yesterday“ Chris sighed, suddenly feeling a bit guilty for throwing the overwhelming piece of information at his best friend on a random Thursday night. Wile he was out with Benedict.

“No, it’s- I… fuck, man“ Tom’s husky voice echoed through the Aussie’s phone, self-doubts were battling rays of hope for a brighter future in his voice. “I’m in Dubai right now“

Short silence.

“Erm, you are where?“

“Dubai. It’s a three hour layover but those guys have quite the comfortable business class lounge“ Tom replied, the rattling of cutlery adding to the background noises.

The gears in Chris’ head shifted fast, the realization of what his best friend was doing set in like a lightning. But honestly he didn’t expect anything else. Tom was a good man with a strong heart.

“Oh god, thank ya. Y/n is” he stopped for a second “Well, she needs you“, his voice vanishing in a whisper as he heard your high-pitched curse from upstairs. Perhaps the baby was giving his sister some thundering headaches again. A muffled giggle resounded from the actor’s vocal cords whereas Tom was on red alert.

“Is she alright? God, I should’ve come far earlier“ the Brit sighed, doing a desperate facepalm and his left forearm landed on the table with a dull smack. The Arabian specialties he ordered smelled tantalizing however, his hunger was gone.

“Bro, calm down. It’s probably just the baby doing it’s first moves. She always complains about how it tickles on the inside and she can’t do anything about it“ the Thor actor explained, trying to take the guilt from his friend. There was no real need to make him insecure by telling the first conjecture about the reason of your cry.

“Thank god. It sounds like her“ Tom chuckled lightly, freeing his forehead from the strong grip of his hand. Planes were taking off and pushing back behind the thick windows giving him hope to finally be reunited with the woman he loved more than anything else.

And his unborn child.

“So, If nothing gets in the way I’ll be arriving in Brisbane at 2pm“.

“I’ll pick you up, bro. Have a nice flight“ Chris hurried to say goodbye before his secret phone call would blow up.

You were bustling all around the house, finding something new to do every five minutes. The second trimester, despite of small movements of the baby and occasional migraine, was flooding you with energy and motivation to do the most random stuff at even more random times.

“Arielle? Where are you?“ Liam’s voice echoed from downstairs. “Bathroom. Thor tries to eat my bikini bottooooooms“ you yelled back, the panic in your voice amusingly audible. The fluffy Australian Shepherd was a sweetheart. Mostly. But sometimes he turned into Satan himself and tried to annoy the hell out of you.

“Thor tries to do what?“ Your youngest brother asked, the wicked entertainment obvious. Of course he found that funny. “When you finished laughing could you please get your pretty ass up here and put that dog away-ahhhhh!“.

Liam bit his hand to repress a roaring laughter while Chris fist banged on the counter top. Another desperate try to keep it in whereas your agitated curses echoed from above. Their gazes met and both knew they were absolutely defeated. Bursting out in crippling laughter the brothers bathed in your suffering.

“Liam and Chris fucking Hemsworth! I know y’all grinning like a shot fox. M’ gonna kill you by drowning in the sea“ you cried out before dull thuds announced you descending the stairs and approaching your brothers with the chewed string of wet fabric menacingly in your hand. “Nooo, don’t“ Liam cried out running away from you like a scared, giggling child. You were a mess with your brothers but hell, no one cared so it was just perfect.

“You’ll buy me a new crossie, friend“ you pointed at Chris who was still choking on a slice of mango. “Why should I?“ He threw his hands up in despair before the salivated fabric hit his naked torso with a wet smack. You weren’t to play games with right now but secretly you enjoyed the childish banter.

*ding-dong*

“Arielle, could you please accept the mail?“ Chris yelled from out of the garage. He just got back from grocery shopping and you were the only one dry and inside since your nephews were having quality time with their mother in the pool. Reluctantly, you got up, hasty legs carrying you towards the big, white door.

Lost in thoughts about Tom, the few months you relished in a perfect life with him London, you twisted the doorknob.

“Hello, my love“.

Your jaw dropped, hands flying up to cup your cheeks as the man you were thinking about nonstop stood in the doorframe, a pretty bouquet made out of lilies and roses in his hands. It felt like you were frozen, as if the person who played you as character just paused the game while Tom’s coy yet incredibly charming smile dazzled your widened eyes.

“May I come-“ he began, but the baritone voice you had missed so much died as your lips sealed with his. It was as if there had never been a second of pause, not even the slightest touch of difference. It was beautiful whereas you felt horrible inside. Hot tears teetered in the brink of your eyelids, ready to stain Tom’s notorious blue sweater.

“I missed you, darling“ he breathed as you parted for a second, causing the dam of your eyes to breake and gushes of salty tears streamed down you reddened cheeks.

You had basically abandoned him, left him without a trace and only a ludicrous excuse of a letter. Nevertheless, the man stood right here in front of you smiling thorough his own emotionality with the biggest doe eyes. He wasn’t angry, was he?

Honestly, you couldn’t even blame him if he was.

“Listen, Tom I- I am so fucking sorry” it blurted out of you, unable to meet his ocean blues and turning away from the door instead. Your step away allowed the Brit to enter, however, you were trying to get a safe distance. A few feet that would spare you from his beautiful face contorted in disappointment like a Bernini statue.

“Love, please”

“No, I can’t. There’s no adequate excuse for what I have done. I should have spoken to you before I left. I should’ve told you that I am…” your voice died in the sore passageway of your throat. Tom was unaware of your biggest secret, wasn’t he?

A whole damn child spending it’s thirteenth week of live in your belly was a hell of a secret. You felt like crumbling apart.

“Pregnant? I know, y/n” Tom’s soothing voice hoisted your gaze from the floor, rays of hope sparkling in your eyes and the broadly smiling man came closer. Was he alright with it? Would he possibly want to have a child with you? A thousand scenarios rumbled through your agitated mind, images of your happy family life fighting the idea of raising him or her alone.

“How do you-“ you began, your boyfriends sharp jawline pointing at your brother as he nodded agreeing wordlessly. Chris sat in the staircase grinning like a Cheshire Cat and holding both thumbs up in an affirmative gesture. Of course. How could you’ve been so stupid to tell him and not expecting him to tell his best friend who happened to be the father.

You scoffed, grabbing Tom’s hand and pulling him across the whole living room until you reached the terrace, elaborately peppered with exotic plants and a few loungers. Peaceful and peace was definitely what you desired the most. Inner peace with yourself and the man you were ready to lose everything else for.

“I found out the night of the London Awards but I was already in the tenth week. Remember when I stumbled and you dragged me to the ER?” you whispered, hands playing with vivid petals of the bouquet Tom had bought you. Oh, the scent was heavenly reminding you of the unique lilly-scented washing powder Tom used for his dress shirts.

Probably not a coincidence but a gentle innuendo.

“Oh god. Why- Why didn’t you tell me?” He panted, looking up from the glass table that separated you like bars of a mental prison. His question weighed heavy on your delicate shoulders, the tickle of your baby’s first tries of movements added oil to the fire that spread across every single sense. It felt shitty, as if you had committed a felony.

“Fuck“ you sighed, hiding your sensitive face in the last fortress of small hands. You had hurt him and blatantly so. Shifting uncomfortable on the soft leather, you stopped as his gentle fingertips brushed your bare knees, slowly pushing the hem of your dress upwards, calculated wave-like motions. “Thomas, I didn’t mean to fool you. I really didn’t. It was just… I-“ you began to stammer mid-sentence.

“Shhh“ he calmed your troubled mind, squatting from the leathery surface and reaching to grab your waist. A gentle flex of his exposed forearms lifted you upwards, coaxing you to straddle his lap. His scent invaded your nostrils like sedative gas, his touch melted your spent muscles like lava melts snow. It felt like the exact same home you left three weeks ago.

Guilt. That was what fueled your tears as soon as your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck. You had left him. Pregnant. You could never properly excuse this although your choice had been influenced heavily by the greedy, destructive voices that wanted nothing but drama and heartbreak.

“I know, darling. I could never reproach you for what you did“ he whispered, the big hand continuously tracing little circles and other swirling patterns on your back. “But I sincerely hope that you can give us a second chance“ the Brit purred carefully. “Please, love. I need you“ the last words flew silently in the Australian breeze like a heavy promise. A promise to your ears only before it got carried away.

“Would you want me back? After…well, I left you?“ You murmured barely audible against the drenched fabric of his signature sweater. Your tears had devoured his whole shoulder but the relentless sun would dry it in an instant anyway. A bit of wetness was Tom’s smallest problem at the moment.

“I’ve never not wanted you, y/n. Since the day Chris introduced me to you again I knew you would play the leading role my own, personal movie. God, I have thought about you since that day. Nonstop, not until this very second“

“Can we take a break from the world? Just us and the people who don’t judge for a little while? I need to get my life- we need to get our life sorted“ you paused for a little sigh, slightly hesitant to mention the ‘issue‘. “Especially since she’s with us“.

“So… you think it is a girl? Our baby?“ Tom breathed, the words sinking in like hot ash burning all his previous experiences and nurturing the new life he would be building with you. And with whoever little wonder was hiding in your womb. It was much to take in. “Our baby“ he repeated almost absent-mindedly, thoughts trailing off to how he would be a father in about… wait.

“How far along are you, love?“ The question dragged you out of the gleeful bliss of watching Tom’s gorgeous face contort in pure awe. “Fourteenth week so in the beginning of the second trimester“ you began to explain, your boyfriend’s lips twitching with every new piece of vulnerable information he got. You could almost smell his adorable excitement.

“Wow” his soft baritone cooed, almost in sync with your giggle. “With you wearing this loose dress I could never have guessed”.

“And yes, somehow I have the feeling it’s a girl. She’ll have your beautiful curls, Tommy“. You smiled so freely and happily for the first time in a long time. Your cheeks wandered up to give way to proud, curling lips and your pregnancy glow reflected the sun like a touch of divinity. He always wanted to have children once and with you being their mother, the actor couldn’t be any happier. He never had been to be exact, in none of his earlier relationships.

Tom hummed in approval, returning your smile before your delicate hand grabbed his, guiding it towards your stomach but he stopped, steel blue doe eyes searching for consent. He was a gentleman of the first waters. Always. Even if it was about his own flesh and blood growing like a wonderful flower.

“Go on“ you smiled coyly, gaze fixed on the Brit’s unique facial features scanning them for any sign of reaction as he touched your small bump. It wasn’t too big yet but clearly visible now that you brushed the fabric of the dress. “Christ“ he breathed, a sudden warmth spreading from his palms like a calming balm. You could feel how she was enjoying her dad’s touch.

For the first time knowingly.

“You’re gonna be a father, Thomas Hiddleston“ you snickered. The angelic sound of your words and their overwhelming meaning dragged the curly haired Brit out of his trance and back into the reality he would cherish and treasure like a guard dog.

“We- we’ll have a baby“ he eventually whimpered with a sniffy tone. The man had lost control over his words or expressions. “I thought it was impossible for me“ you mused, smiling to yourself at all the comments and bottomless accusations Nate had planted in your mind.

Bullshit. It had all been bullshit and Tom, the real love of your life, had proven it.

Nate could proudly go fuck himself because you had everything you wanted.

But deep down you knew this triumph wouldn’t be for too long. In a few months the premiere of ‘The Moralizer‘ would take place with compulsory attendance for you and Tom. Logically the world world would know if you came.

However, you wanted to keep this piece of heaven for as long as it lasted. In private.

“God, y/n. You're growing a wonder. I can’t wait to meet him“ he chuckled pulling you in a gentle kiss and lavishly toying with your lower lip. He was devastatingly seductive as always but suave in his tender touch.

“Him? So you don’t think it’s a girl?“ You mused against his wet lips, both of your mouths curling in fond smiles and giggles.

“Hmmm“ he hummed, the dark timbre of his voice always remaining you of Loki, the Asgardian god you had a massive movie-crush on since the first Thor movie and naturally it got progressively worse. To your defense, you weren’t alone. “No. It’s gonna be a daddy’s boy“.

“Tommy! What even is my role then? You cannot just claim little Hiddles!“

“Excuse me? Little Hiddles?“ Tom chuckled, butterflies swirling in his belly at your face all scrunched up in mischievous laughter and of course the cute nickname you had given the baby. He would copy that most definitely. ‘Little Hiddles’ he repeated in his head, pride swelling in his chest, the thought of you as the mother of his child was simple in it’s nature but utterly beautiful.

“Y/n, Tom? Can we talk for a second?“ A shy Elsa peeked around the corner of the brick column. She had been an angel since your arrival, the second person to know of your pregnancy in general and the best source of productive help you got so far. She had three kids after all.

“Sure, and thank you for letting me stay, Elsa. Truly“ Tom unwrapped his charming, British smile making Elsa return it a mere blink of an eye. This man was a honeytrap for every breathing being, a fluffy looking predator that could lure anyone he wished. But it was you who owned his pure heart. You and baby-Tommy, of course.

“You’re something like my brother-in-law so how could I say no?“ She giggled, sitting down opposite of you. “Have you told him about the appointment and the little thing we’ve planned?“

You but your lower lips, sudden nervousness cursed your veins at the thought of today’s ultrasound appointment. The biggest one in a while and with a little luck, the doc would be able to determine the gender. Hopefully, everything was alright with your little wonder. You couldn’t bear any complications in this emotionally vulnerable state. Not with the newfound happiness Tom brought with him from London.

“Well, erm I thought you c- can“ you begun to stutter like a child, your gaze jumping from Tom’s right eyes to his left. “She has a big exam today and now that the daddy is here…“ Elsa tried to help you, nodding affirmatively until the words slipped from your tongue.

“Would you like to come with me?“

“If you would have me, dove“ Tom cooed with excitement tugging at his lips.

Chris’ wife was slowly melting but not from the Australian sun, no, from the utter cuteness of the whole scenario. It felt like the final, happy reunion in a rom-com with the best actors on the planet. To her you definitely were.

“And Elsa wants to organize a gender reveal party if that’s okay with you, baby“ you snickered against his muscular chest, the training for Skull Island and the Moralizer was still showing off so seductively. If everything was going well later, Tom would definitely not be allowed the leave the bedroom tonight.

You were touch starved and so was he, his hips subtly bucking as you leaned back, temptingly putting your cleavage on display for him.

Oh, the passion never died.

“I can hear it in your voice, dove. You would love this, wouldn’t you?“ He mocked playfully, long digits flying to hold you in place. “Maybe“. The giggle spoke volumes, making the handsome Brit set up the serotonin-boosting smile you loved so much about him. The shiny teeth reflected the sun like luxurious pearls while you drowned in the ocean and sky blue shades of his almond eyes.

A beautiful man and all yours. Hopefully, forever.

“Ready? It could feel a bit cold“ the doctor asked for consent before applying the ultrasound probe on your bump. It tickled, felt weird but Tom was sitting right next to you caressing your arm and smiling like an exited kid. You wouldn’t know whether it was a girl or a boy since Elsa planned the party for you.

The doc knew so everything that came out of his mouth were the standard affirmations. You smiled at Tom, watching him look at the monitor with an awe-struck expression painting his sharp facials.

Fuck Nate. This was exactly what you wanted. This man and this little family.

But his smile died, brows furrowed in confusion as the doctor mumbled incoherent phrases to himself, moving the probe across your belly as if he was searching something.

“Ehm, is everything alright?“ Your dry voice was shaking and Tom’s big hand grabbed your left hand. The tension was palpable and thousands of bad scenarios began to flash in your irritated mommy-mind.

“Oh, sorry! Yes, it is actually all good twice“ he explained, fingers moving on the monitor to make measurements or whatever this device was capable of.

Your confused gaze met your boyfriend’s equally puzzled ocean blues, both unable to process what the doctor was trying to imply.

“You didn’t know?“ The older man asked again, an exited grin on his thin lips. “Sorry, know what?“

“You’re expecting twins, Ms Hemsworth“

“I beg your pardon?“ It blurted out of Tom, disbelief written all over his gorgeous face like an emotional love letter. The shock turned into a sweet realization as the monitor got turned and you saw the two tiny beings sharing your belly like roommates.

“Well, the babies are a bit small for your stage of pregnancy but it's nothing to worry about. Both seem perfectly healthy“.

Two babies.

“Oh my god“ you breathed, mouth agape from feeling you couldn’t even describe properly. Of course, you were overwhelmed for more than just a blink of an eye and maybe would need some days to really process this. However, the main emotions were pure luck, happiness and pride swelling in your fast pounding heart when glassy eyes met Tom.

* beep beep *

“Oh, excuse me for a minute“ the friendly doctor nodded, the honest smile on his face silently congratulating the happy couple before the he left.

“Twins, darling! You’re a wonder“ Tom sobbed, sweet tears rolling down the sharp path of his cheekbones until they hit your naked belly. It felt so wholesome yet utterly distant as you sat up, back against Tom’s chest and both staring at the on-hold image the doctor captured.

At first you thought you would never have a baby and now… two little creatures sleeping safe and sound in your bump. The natural consequence of your love to the most perfect man on earth.

“I- I don’t… we have to buy twice as much clothes?!“ It blurted out of you, realization slowly setting like dawn. Tom just chuckled, the deep sound intertwining with happy sobs and vibrating against your neck. He held you tight, one hand sinking down to cup your belly in such loving manner, the twins would surely notice.

“Looks like I have to order two Loki jumpers then“. “Sorry, you ordered what?“ You bursted out in laughter swiftly turning your shoulders to face the grinning man. He was Loki, there was no doubt. But the stubble of his beard was kind of distracting to the image of the ethereal trickster nevertheless, you loved it as much.

“You will be an amazing father, Tom“ you snickered, the tip of your nose touching his before his pointer brushed your chin and coaxed you into a passionate kiss. Tongues were swirling around each other, tears were mingling at your touching cheeks. This moment was one to treasure, one that was burnt deep in your memory. One that you shared with Tom forever and maybe would think about again when your twins had kids of their own…

“I’m so sorry I left you. Is there any way I could-“ but Tom was quick to interrupt “Love, we talked about this. No more apologies because I am happier than ever“ he breathed in between the heated kiss. Perhaps it grew a bit out of control, his greedy hands melting in the curves of your hips.

“Guys, I’ve heard you’re-“ Elsa stumbled in the room, the handle of her bag getting caught on the doorknob. With heavy pants you parted, mentally thanking the door for distracting your sister-in-law. There was no need for her to see you almost making out in the examination room of the local hospital, right?

“Twins!“ You grinned like a Cheshire Cat while it was still dawning on you that this meant twice the work, twice the fatigue and twice the bustle.

But hell, as if you couldn’t manage it with Tom on your side. You were ready for this luck of a challenge and so was your boyfriend, agog to tell his mom. You’ve met her already, even visited her a few times and she was so adorable. The perfect grandmother, you were sure.

Elsa squeaked like an overly exited child, jumping around to pull both of you in a hug. “Congratulations, you two“ she chirped, suddenly pulling back to stare at you with eyes widened and a silent o on her lips. “Oh gosh! I have to double up all the decoration and stuff“ it blurted out of her bestowing you a good round of laughter.

Unbeknownst to you the doctor returned, your documents and files in his hands.

“Mister Hiddleston, do you know your blood type by any chance?“ He intervened, the smile in his voice audible as the sweet serotonin swirling in the air infiltrated him as well.

“A negative, sir“ his answer came like shot leaving Elsa and you startled, exchanging funny looks as the doc completed the entries in your maternity record. “Well, you could shoot me in the leg and I wouldn’t know“ your best friend quipped nudging Tom in the side to elicit some kind of explanation.

Tom’s amused chuckle warmed your heart as you smoothened your blouse again, turning on the medical couch, your legs dangling freely. “While filming Skull Island they needed to know in case anyone got injured in the backland of Vietnam“ he explained, smiling at all the interesting memories he made.

“Have you heard that mini-Hiddlestons? Your daddy is a pretty cool guy“ you cackled, caressing the small bump hidden by comfortable leggings.

“Twins? Are you kidding me mate?“ Chris’ deep voice echoed through the whole house as Tom proudly presented the ultrasound picture the doc gave you. “What?“ India squeaked running towards her daddy and swiftly grabbing the photo. Logically, it was just a weird black and white image of something she was far too young to realize but her youthful joy was unstoppable.

“Like Tristan and Sasha?“ She asked Tom, small eyebrows furrowed in concentration to process the gleeful situation. India had idolized her aunt y/n since the day she was born and finding out there would be more kids in her family soon was totally awesome to her.

“Exactly. Maybe this kind of luck runs in the Hemsworth-blood?“ Tom joked patting his bro’s shoulders; the man as hard as rock yet fighting happy tears like a toddler. “You have no idea what multiplying this kind of work means“ your big brother tried to detract from his emotionality but Tom just laughed it off.

There was no space for worries or fears right now. Just bliss.

“Chris, what the hell?“ Liam intervened crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively. The youngest brother sometimes actually was the most reasonable. “Are you really just terrifying him? Give this man a break“.

“Exactly, Chris. Listen to your brother“ you feigned seriousness while jumping on Liam’s back letting him carry you around the house like a human horse. “To the fridge“ you commanded strictly, extending one arm with your fingers pointing to the kitchen.

The mini-Hiddles were hungry so the mango in the fridge was destined to die.

The other mango you knew was certainly better suited for more private times…

“Lucky you. The last few days she wanted me to drive her to Macca’s“ Chris sighed, getting up to indulge his begging daughter’s wish to go play with Thor. Tom was left turning around on the couch, his right arm resting on the backrest so that he could watch his beautiful y/n bickering with her brother. She was perfect, curling the corners of lips upwards with ease.

After you were finished arguing with Liam on how to cut a mango the right way, you were huddled up in Tom’s strong arms, the two of you enjoying the privacy at the pool. Light blue pool lights were creating flickering and swaying rays with the tiny waves rippling across the water surface. It was so peaceful, and so was your heart. Almost.

“Tommy?“ “Hmm?“ He hummed, eyes closed and tired from the excruciatingly long day. A stop-over flight, a fateful talk and finding out he was gonna be the dad of twins had the Brit’s mind dizzy.

However, it was a good kind of dizzy, the way you would feel after a fun rollercoaster ride.

“What do you say about taking some time off? I want to to savor this with you before we have to face reality again“ you spoke, barely audible in the valley between his biceps and torso. You knew it was going to happen and the media outcry would be heavy. Needless to say you weren’t keen on Nate’s fucking stupid comments.

But they would meet your ears soon enough and you wanted to be prepared.

“Of course. I already told my manager about a break due to personal reasons. Are three weeks fine with you, darling?“ He cooed, dexterous digits toying with a strand of your hair sprawled across his bare chest. You could feel his defined pectorals flexing as his arm reached out to cradle your figure lovingly.

“More than fine, my love“ you grinned up at him. “We will be stronger than ever“ He added while his ocean blues wandered your bikini clad body greedily. Oh, how well you knew this look and what would follow.

“I hope so, Tommy. But let’s not waste time on those idiots, shall we?“ You chirped, his subtle beard tickling your delicate skin as your lips sealed agin.

a/n: twins guyssss 🎉 let's see if the newfound happiness lasts

tags: @crimson25 @kikster606 @huntress-artemiss @123forgottherest @lovingchoices14 @ozymdias @vbecker10 @coldnique @lokixryss @simplyholl @peaches1958 @lokibadguy @jennyggggrrr @stephenstrangeaddictions @holymultiplefandomsbatman @mischief2sarawr @mypsychoticlove @mochie85 @muddyorbs @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @simping-for-marvel @lady-rose-moon @goblingirlsarah @kats72 @vickie5446 @buffyfan2833 @12-pm-510 @ladymischief11 @somewiseguy @woooonau @cabingrlandrandomcrap @alchemxx @honeyrydernot

#against the odds #Hiddleston fic #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston fic

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davosmymaster · 2 years

Text

Fallen from Heaven, Grown on Earth -Part 3-

Part 1, Part 2.

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, very obvious hints to Marc’s alcoholism, alcohol consumption, underage drinking, Marc’s parents, panic attacks (mentioned), weapons (mentioned), near-death experiences, dialogue heavy, smut, very graphic descriptions of sex, nsfw, blood, injuries.

PAIRINGS - Steven Grant x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 22k

A/N - I decided to divide it again (please don’t kill me) part 4 will be out this week. Probably in the next 3 days or so, maybe even sooner. Epilogue too.

FALLEN FROM HEAVEN, GROWN ON EARTH - PART THREE

June 2006

Marc's very much awake when he receives the call.

He is sitting in his desk chair. He is all nerves and stiff muscles as he fills out the application papers for military service. It's late. Almost four in the morning. He woke up from an anxiety-driven nightmare two hours ago, chances are it has something to do with the maths final he failed and the fact that he's so stressed out that he can barely hear anything beyond his own thoughts these days. He needs a good night's sleep, maybe drink something apart from energy drinks and coffee; but his worries continue to keep him awake at night and drinking the equivalent of a half-kilo bag of sugar is the only thing that keeps him lucid. So his body will have to suck it up.

Not like he cares if he has a heart attack, anyways.

He decided to do something to distract himself. Be productive, in a way, anything to avoid lying in bed wide-eyed until seven in the morning. That's why he took the papers and started filling them up. He had no trouble with the first few pages, with his basic information and the section about his overall physical health. It almost surprises him how easy it is. He was born in Illinois, in 1987. He has double citizenship. No surgeries. No allergies. His eyesight is perfect.

And then they ask him if he has any mental illnesses.

It's like his mind reboots when he reads that, because he wasn't actually expecting it, although he should have. Marc could write a whole essay about how his DID was more of a blessing than a curse, even though he had just recently started to think that way. Steven allowed him a moment of peace when he was unable to function. Sometimes he felt as if his conscience was simply turned off, which was exactly what he needed in those cases. Other times, he was not as far in the headspace and he could actually see and hear through Steven, and even feel his emotions sometimes. Having Steven Grant in his head was a relief. Even for his parents. His mother treated Steven with more attention and affection than she had ever given Marc, even if it was not much. His father was more attentive to him, gentler. More than once Marc had found money in his pockets that his father had given Steven, right after he told Marc he would not give him a single cent.

He felt like a parasite in that house. He was unwanted. He almost would have preferred to live knowing that he was an accident, a broken condom, rather than knowing that he was a wanted child until he wasn't. When Randall was born, Marc had that typical jealousy older siblings have (not like he remembered that, but his mother had reminded him over and over again), and he thought that Randall was their favourite child.

Well, if Randall wasn't their favourite back then, once he died, he sure as hell was.

So he checked the 'no' box next to the question, despite having read the warning at the beginning about lying in the form being a reason to be expelled. He needed out, and the military was one of his last options after the rest didn't work. He knew he would have to pass a psychological test; but he wasn't too concerned about that. If he was able to lie to all the therapists he had ever had, then he sure as hell could lie to some psychiatrist too bored to do their job properly.

He looked at the page, getting lost in the black ink and the white background. He didn't even wonder if he would regret his decision; he knew from the beginning that he would. Not because of the lies, that didn't matter to him, but because of the future he was giving up on.

The university application was abandoned on the board, right next to the papers he was filling up instead. Marc had driven all the way to London Metropolitan University to get them for both of you. He didn't know what degree to choose, but as ironic as it might sound, the idea of teaching young children didn't entirely leave him cold. He thought he might even like it. His other options were philosophy, sociology and archaeology. The last one was more of a Steven thing than his, but given the choice, he preferred studying something Steven liked rather than a degree neither of them were interested in. Besides, if Steven liked the ancient world so much, maybe he would too.

He looked at both piles of papers, painfully aware of the two futures he could unfold. But as much as he wanted the second one, he couldn't afford it. Maybe when he came back from the service. Maybe in another life, if he was killed in action. Who knows.

His ringing phone brought him out of his stupor. It was violent, the way he jumped on the chair and his nerves spiked through the roof. The house had been completely silent until it rang, and he hurried to answer the call before his parents woke up, part of him wondering if something was horribly wrong. It wasn't as if people got plenty of good news at four in the morning. Plus, the only person who had his phone number apart from his parents was you.

A ragged breath was all he could hear on the other end of the line, music playing in the distance and people arguing in the background. He heard a faint sob for a split second, but it was so low that he wondered if he had imagined it.

"Marc?" you asked. "I'm... so sorry," he heard how you slurred the words. "I didn't know who else to call. I didn't know what to do. I'm so-" your voice broke. "...s-sorry I woke you up."

He heard you crying, his heart breaking in his chest and getting nailed like splinters in his lungs. He was standing up a second later.

"Hey, hey," he said, trying to sound calm, although he was the furthest from calm. "Hey, listen to me, okay? Take a breath, calm down, okay? Do it," he waited, listening to the way you breathed in a shaky mouthful of air. "Now tell me what’s wrong."

"I know it's selfish of me to ask..." you started, and he rolled his eyes. "... but I need a lift. I don't have any money on me, and my friends all left."

He cursed under his breath, but before you finished the sentence he was already grabbing his favourite jacket and shoes. He usually slept with an old t-shirt and he didn't mind being seen in his pajama pants either. He took the military application and hid it under the mattress.

"Where are you?"

As he heard you speak, he grabbed the keys to his father's car in the hall. It was in moments like these that he missed Chicago, because he'd have gotten his license way earlier than he did in the UK, which was barely a few months ago, and he'd probably have his own car by now too.

He didn't put his shoes on until he closed the front door behind him. He didn’t want to wake his parents up.

"Don't hang up," he said, holding the flip phone between his cheek and shoulder as he opened the car door. "I'm coming to get you."

There's a fight outside the club when he arrives. He can feel his heartbeat hammering behind his ears, in his wrists when his hands grip the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white, in his forehead when the vein there swells. He doesn't even park the car, but simply switches off the engine in front of the main door of the pub. He's sure he has more adrenaline in his veins than blood, and gets out of the car ready to punch his way in and out if he has to.

Then he sees you. In his peripheral vision, you are just a shadow coming out of an alley. In other circumstances, he would gawk at you in that tight black dress, but not now, not when you're shivering and a light drizzle is beginning to fall.

He closes the space between you in a couple of strides, his legs responding before him. His fingers dig into your shoulders as he searches for your gaze, your eyes locked on the dirty pavement beneath your heels. Your arms hugging yourself.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, anxiety pouring from his mouth. And you shake your head, finally looking at him with teary eyes and an unfocused gaze.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He wants to shake your shoulders, to let you know that you're not a burden, that he doesn't mind being there, that it's the least he can do as your friend for swallowing up every single one of his problems. He has always wanted to tell you how much you mean to him, but he can never find the right words.

He insists.

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you're hurt. Did someone touch you?"

"No."

He sighs, relief washing over him.

"How drunk are you?" he says, but he watches as the corners of your lips turn downwards and a black tear stained with mascara falls from one of your eyes. Your gaze is so unfocused, restless, that he wonders if you're even looking at him or behind him. "Hell, you’re wasted."

He’s affirming, not asking. You nod.

He sees a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Marc turns around, practically pushing you behind him. His nerves are on edge because he’s not a fan of the atmosphere the place holds, even if he can no longer hear the screams or the fighting. But when he turns around, there is no threat behind him, just a bouncer with an ID hanging from his neck.

"I need you to move the car, kid," he says. Then, he squints, looking directly at you. His gaze shifts from your face to where Marc's hand is squeezing your wrists behind him. Marc assures him that you are both leaving, but the man is not paying attention. "Do you know this guy?"

Despite the fact that he is the one on the line here, Marc cannot help but feel glad that there's people out there who still care for others.

"He's my boyfriend. He came to pick me up," you say, Marc eyes widen for a split second before he remembers he has to follow your lead, or the man will probably not let you go. Neither of you can risk to have him ask for your ID. After all, you're still seventeen, and as much as your parents have always treated him well, he's not sure what they'd do if they see you in the state you're in.

Luckily, the man lets you go.

"Get in the car, come on," Marc whispers, holding the door open for you as you get in.

He even goes the extra mile, in case the man isn't quite convinced and decides to look back. Marc's upper body looms over you as he gets inside as well, reaching for your seatbelt and securing it around your hips. He's secretly wishing his fingertips brush the fabric of your dress. What he does, instead, is touch your cold thigh with his hand, just over your knee. He hopes you see it as a comforting gesture, but the truth is he just wants to feel you close.

Marc barely registers when your fingers brush the hair out of his face. It's 2006 and he keeps it long, a few inches above his shoulders, but he knows he will have to cut it all off once he gets accepted into the military. You kiss his cheek.

"Thank you."

He feels his heart flutter.

"A-anytime," he mumbles.

Then, he leaves a kiss on your forehead. He's pushing it, a little too much, but when he looks back and the man is looking at the scene, he feels glad he let himself act on his impulses, for once.

Marc's driving. He's been doing it for a couple of minutes now. Although you're not sure how long you've been in that car. It's like there's a dirty window in front of your eyes. You can see, but you're not sure you're really watching or focusing on anything. You close your eyes when the car bounces into a sinkhole, your head lulling to the side when it weighs too much for your neck to hold. You almost moan when your temple hits the cold window.

"Shit," you hear Marc say. His fingers are brushing your leg immediately after. "You didn't faint, did you?"

"No, Marc," you reply, mouth dry and eyes still closed. Your sweaty forehead resting on the window. "I'm just resting my eyes..." you purse your lips, you keep slurring the words. "Where are we going?"

"I was driving to your house," he says. "Not anymore, though. I can't take you home like this."

You're happy with his response because you didn't feel like being alone in your room either. If his parents weren't as strict as they were, you'd even work up the courage to ask him to crash at his house. You told your parents you'd spend the night at your friend Sarah's, but she left the club ages ago, and if they see you at home in the morning they will ask you. You don't know what you're going to say, but you do know they are not going to trust Sarah anymore.

You'd say they will love Marc instead for what he is doing, but that they already do.

"Then, what?"

"This is the plan. We're gonna stop at some store, buy you food," he says. You grimace. "Don't look at me like that, you're gonna eat something because you'll be dying in the morning if you don't. You're gonna drink a bunch of water too. Then I take you home. How does that sound?"

"I guess that's okay."

You don't sound convinced, but he doesn't care.

"Great," he says, still gripping the steering wheel as if he wanted to choke someone. Then, he whispers. "I wasn't asking for permission anyway."

Marc keeps his promise. He parks the car but doesn't wait for you to follow him, so you guess it's okay if you stay there. You don't feel like moving from your seat either, and your feet hurt like hell because of the high heels you were wearing. Marc buys you your favourite snacks and a huge bottle of water. He buys a beer for himself and shares a bag of sour patch, his favourite candy.

While you're eating, he asks how you even got in the club. It's not the first time you drink, he took care of that at eighteen, when he gave you a taste of his beer in the shed in your parent's backyard; but it is your first time in a club. Which makes sense, having in mind you're only seventeen.

You tell him about Sarah. He knows her because he joins your group of friends sometimes. Marc said from the beginning that he didn't like her, but you didn't listen. Her boyfriend is a couple of years older than her, and the two of them wanted to go clubbing with other friends. You were the only one who wasn't legal yet, and being surrounded by people who were older gave you an advantage when it came to not being caught red-handed when you entered the club. It worked, but honestly, you now wish it hadn't.

"Did you already fill out the application papers?"

For a second, he thinks you refer to the military application; but then his muscles relax as he remembers that there's no way you knew about that.

He takes another sip of his beer.

"I'm on it," he responds. "but I got stuck on the choose your degree section."

You respond with words of encouragement that he doesn't hear. He usually doesn't have trouble lying to most people: his parents, teachers, anyone... But it does hurt him to lie to you when he hides the fact that he’s not going to attend university. The words get stuck in his throat before he says them, and he's thankful that you never notice.

Marc forces you to drink half of the water. He also witnesses how your eyes start to focus, how the fog slowly disappears from them and your tears dry. He knows you were only crying because of how drunk you were, he's seen you cry for the silliest things while drunk -and sober-, but he had never seen you this drunk.

Having in mind you almost exclusively drink when he’s present, so he’s been a witness of every time you’ve gotten hammered, to say that he has never seen you this drunk is to say something. For a moment, when he had just picked you up, he thought you'd throw up all over his dad's car.

Marc's distracted while you finish eating. And yet, somehow, he keeps giving you some sour patch when he gets one himself. You take a sip of water, making sure there's nothing in your mouth or teeth. It takes both you and him as a surprise, when the alcohol makes all the ignored feelings impossible to avoid and you call his name. He answers, barely whispering but completely focused on you from one second to the next, and before you can process it, your lips are pressed against his.

Marc has his eyes closed, but doesn't reciprocate.

There's a moment, a single second of pure bliss when it’s over. Marc ravishes in the feeling before absolute dread sets in. The feeling, the good one, is nowhere to be found. It abandoned his body as soon as it arrived. Marc sighs through his quick heartbeat and the trembling of his hands, suddenly aware of what he's always known: he's not made to be loved, he doesn't even think he has that ability.

If there's anything he fears more than losing control, that's loneliness. Marc already suspected that you liked him, but never had the guts to say anything about it. There's a reason why dread is stronger than pleasure, why the bliss vanished so quickly. He knows love and hate are very closely related, he often experiences the former before it eventually fades into the latter. It's happened with almost every person he has ever formed a meaningful relationship with. And that's something he can't risk with you. He just can't.

It's not that he doesn't love you, he does. That he has always known. Just maybe not in the way you need him to. Maybe it is in that way and he's only lying to himself because he can't cope with the idea of his selfish ass yearning for such a kind and loving soul. He could not forgive himself if he corrupted that with his messy ways.

But he can't let himself drown in those fantasies, either. Having his brother's blood on his own hands, there's no way in hell there's a happy ending waiting for him, and the last thing he wants is making you suffer.

"Well..." your voice is the only thing to bring him back from his own personal hell. "There goes my first kiss."

There's a kind of sadness in your voice, the kind that leaves you wounded for life. It's no secret for him that you've always been a hopeless romantic. You love rom-coms, st. valentine's, flowers and chocolate. You were watching Love, Actually when you told him how you wished your first kiss to be. It had nothing to do with his dad's old car, the smell of alcohol in your breath, or Marc's resting bitch face as his brain processes what just happened.

Oh, guilt. His old friend.

"Not like that could be considered a kiss, anyway."

He watched as your eyes filled with unspilled tears. He told himself he was an asshole, but he hadn't even meant it to sound so harsh. It was a fact that he didn't consider a peck on the lips to be a serious thing.

Marc leans forwards, his knee digging on the fabric as he maneuvers his own body so he is kneeling over the seat, his eyes never leaving yours. And then, the sensation of falling into a void, not a single hand for him to hold, nothing he could reach as he fell. Fear, again, stronger than ever. He lunges forward without thinking, knowing that if he hesitates he would never do what he is about to do. And he kisses you.

It’s just a gentle brush at the beginning, little more than a peck. Then his hand landed on your neck, urging you closer. He parted his lips slightly and you followed. It was a dance that he expertly led. His tongue licked yours, gently, slowly, savouring the bittersweet taste of candy. He almost moaned, almost.

It felt like the kiss lasted years, in the best of senses. He'd later wonder how he would ever get over it. Forget it, move on. Truth be told, he wouldn't.

Before separating, his teeth caught your lower lip, pulling gently and sucking on it. A current of pride settled in his chest as he heard you moan. Your nails digging into his arms.

Just like that, it was over.

It took all of his willpower not to kiss you again as he watched you, lips parted and eyes closed as you breathed in shaky breaths. When you finally looked at him, your eyelids slowly opening as if they weighted a ton, your pupils had almost entirely swallowed your irises. If you were someone else, someone he didn't care for as much, he'd have laughed and said some cocky remark. But this was you, and his own heart was beating so fast that when he finally spoke, he had to put a lot of effort into not looking out of breath.

"Now, that's a kiss."

Marc sits properly in the driver's seat again. He starts the engine, his fingers still trembling on the gear lever as he reversed out of the car park. He needs to do something, keep his mind occupied, eyes on the road. Anything so he doesn't look at you and falls into the trap of your lips.

"Seatbelt," he orders.

"Okay."

The seatbelt is merely a distraction. All so he could make sure you were not looking when he pulled at the fabric of his pajama pants. He checks the bulge there isn't visible. It's embarrassing, really. He's half hard in his boxers with just a kiss.

He can't wait for his hormonal teenager years to be over.

"We never talk about this again, okay?"

He's been such a prick, but can't afford to give you any hopes.

"Okay."

He hates himself.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, that's okay," you respond, there's a smile on your face when you look at him. No trace of resentment or hate. "Thank you for being my first, Marc."

He hates himself even more, if that is even possible.

Marc Spector doesn't like breaking his own rules, but when he sets foot in your house after promising himself that he wouldn’t, that's the second time he does in less than an hour, counting the kiss. If he could be completely honest —and that's absolutely a him problem— he would say it out loud. He would praise you for being capable of achieving such a thing.

You ask him to keep you company. His chest still feels sore for your okays and your thank yous, so he says yes despite the threat of your sleeping parents on the first floor.

Before he knows it, he's in your room. He's been there a thousand times before and yet he still surprises himself by looking at everything as if it was his first. He looks at your posters, your notes splashed all over your desk, your pictures nailed to the wall. He takes a moment to admire the photos. Marc sees Sarah's face in some of them and all he wants is to rip them off and tear them to pieces. There's also a picture of him from last year. Marc's holding a guitar despite not knowing how to play a single chord. In his defence, he was just playing around with it.

Marc appears in most pictures. While some of your friends appear and disappear throughout the years, he sees himself in almost every single photo. Some of them are just pictures of him alone. He cannot help but wonder how he didn't see it sooner. It's so painfully clear how much you love him. He doesn't feel deserving of it. In fact, he has never felt deserving of any of your attentions. To this day he still wonders why you chose him as your friend.

"I'm gonna get changed," you announce, and before you can say anything he's already facing the wall.

Once you're done, he encourages you to wash your make-up off while he gets everything ready. Marc is so used to being in your house that he doesn't ask anything as he dives into your wardrobe and gets a thick blanket. The fabric will be an improvised mattress for him, given the fact that he's not supposed to be there and cannot get the couch instead. There's also a cushion. He does not get another blanket because if he does, he'll fall asleep, no doubt. His father leaves for work at seven o'clock. The car needs to be there by then and, if he can get home sooner than that and avoid questions and arguments, that'd be lovely too.

"Marc?" you ask as you come back from the bathroom. "What are you doing?"

He's sitting on your bed, but you're looking at the blanket on the floor.

"I don't plan on staying," he says. "I'm just gonna rest my eyes a little bit until you fall asleep."

He made sure to get the blanket as close to your bed as possible. He wants to make sure you're fast asleep before he leaves.

"You're not sleeping on the floor."

He blinks. He's trying really hard not to think about the alternative. He cannot believe you'd ask him to sleep with you, that's not even a possibility in his mind. He wonders if you're still drunk enough to make such a proposition.

He'd love to argue, but this is your house and if you don't want him messing around with your things, he won't. He's not used to sleeping on other people's houses. Hell, he's not used to be in other people's houses. And he's always been extremely respectful when it comes to your living space, your parents and their rules (or lack of them, if Marc compares your rules with his rules). That's why he says nothing as he puts the cushion back in the wardrobe.

"No resting my eyes then," he says, his lips pursed trying to hide his discontentment. At least, it's Sunday. He will get some sleep when he gets home. He kneels, about to start folding the blanket again.

"Marc, you can get on the bed with me."

He chuckles.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Why?" you ask him. Your face is full of amusement as he watches you wide-eyed. "Can't two people get into the same bed without having sex? You're my best friend, I thought we were past that."

There's a stupid grin on his face when you finish the sentence. Your best friend. It sounds good, even better when referring to him. He always knew you were his best friend, but he was never sure about that feeling being reciprocated. He would lie if he said he didn't feel self-conscious when you talked and hung out with other people, but he never acts on his feelings because he knows it's a fucked up thing to say, think and do. Marc always knew you were his friend, but the way in which you said best friend leaves him feeling butterflies all over his body.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

He refers to the proposition of sharing the bed. He doesn't have the strength to keep pushing you away tonight.

"Why? Are you planning on touching me, Spector?"

He's trying really hard not to fall for those bedroom eyes of yours.

"Nineteen," he says, pointing out at himself. Then, he points at you. "Seventeen. Don't wanna go to jail yet."

There's only one thing on his mind as he says that. The age of consent in the UK is sixteen yers old. But he will not do it. Not only because he doesn't want to, he just can't. He was trembling just from you pecking his lips. He'd probably faint if you kissed him again now. Not like he'd ever admit that.

"Just give it a few more months," you respond.

"Think I'm gonna stay on the floor," he finally says, kneeling on the blanket and turning his back to you when he lies down. "Good night."

"Marc..." you chuckle. "I was kidding. Get on the bed, come on."

He knows you were. At least, that's what he chooses to think. He wasn't kidding, though.

"No."

"Okay, then."

There's a brief moment of peace in which he thinks you will listen to him and just go to bed, but he should know you better than that by now. Next thing he knows, you're cuddling up with him, hugging him from behind as he becomes the little spoon. All his muscles become impossibly stiff as he feels your warm touch on his naked arms.

He feels powerless. His heart is aggressively hammering in his chest, and his worst fear right now apart from losing control is that you might hear how his body reacts to yours.

"Get on the damn bed,” he groans, shifting his arms gently, away from your touch.

"No."

He snorts.

"Okay, okay, fuck," he finally gives in. "I don't see the fucking point of sleeping on the floor if no one's taking the bed."

He tries to ignore your giggles as both of you get on the bed and under the covers. You're now facing the ceiling, while he keeps looking at your face. His hand grips your shoulder as he encourages you to face him. Your body moves slowly, turning until you finally catch his attentive gaze on your features.

"Never sleep on your back when you've been drinking," he says, although he's probably exaggerating a little bit, but one is never sure. He doesn't want anything bad happening to you. "you could choke if you throw up during the night."

You whisper back. "Okay."

Marc crosses his arms, trying not to fall asleep as he watches you, but also because he feels that’s the only way he can keep his hands to himself. Your body's warm against his, despite the minimal contact both of you share. Your pillow smells of you. He could get drunk on it. Marc's only wish is that you fall asleep soon, before either his willpower or his desire to sleep falters and he ends up doing something that he might regret.

"Sleep now," he whispers, then yawns. You do too. "Come on..."

It's not difficult to fall asleep while looking into Marc's chocolate eyes, the warmth of him right next to you. You smile, unaware of how terrible the next months will be, once the two of you get to Brighton and he confesses his plans for the future, once he leaves and never comes back.

When you wake up, he has already left.

That night you dream of bittersweet kisses and cars taking you home.

Marc had no idea why all of those memories were torturing him now.

Steven almost fucked everything up, almost got the two of them killed tonight, but Marc was smarter than blaming it all on Steven. In fact, he wasn't blaming Steven at all. He should've followed your advice and talked to him before something like a jackal attacking them happened. But he never listens, does he? No, he has to hit rock bottom at least twice, before he even considers it.

It was a close call. But if he's absolutely honest, Marc never thought his fronting problem would go as far as not being able to front even in life or death situations. Marc didn't think about God much these days —except the one god of the moon that permanently called him ungrateful in his mind, that is— but he did thank his God, the one he's always believed in, that Steven had been lucid enough through the panic attack to let him front.

Of course, he had to get alcohol after that.

He went directly for the beer. He's been drinking too much whiskey lately, and even if he didn't care what happened to him, he hated having to witness Steven taking care of a body Marc was slowly but surely getting rid of. That's how he ended up looking at the beer cans on the fridge, in a store just in front of the museum. But once he had in his hands the cheapest brand of beer he could find, he remembered that it was the same beer he had you try when he turned eighteen. You hated that specific brand of beer, hated it with a passion.

Marc remembered then you were in Steven's flat, waiting for your beloved ex-boyfriend to come back home. One thing led to another and now it seemed that Marc was reliving each and every single one of his core memories with you.

All because of a fucking can of beer.

"Are you gonna get the beer or not, mate?" a man appeared next to him, complaining because he was taking too long choosing if he wanted it or not. Marc sent him a deadly look, one that forced the man to take a step back and get lost in the crisps aisle.

If he was going home to you, then he might as well get something stronger than beer. He was going to need it, after all the memories he had remembered and his own heart breaking for the millionth time when he compared the happy memories —even the not-so-happy ones, the ones in which he was a complete asshole— to the situation you both found yourselves in.

The one friend, the one person he had always loved, the only one who was always there and the only one who he couldn't risk losing... you. Well, he had already lost her. It took you a while, but you eventually ended up hating him like everyone else did, just like his parents, just like all the friends he had ever had, just like Layla, just like Steven.

Yeah, he definitely needed more than a few cans of beer.

He left the can where he found it and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from a nearby aisle, telling himself that once Harrow got taken care of, he would stop drinking so much. It wasn't until he reached the counter and saw a bag of sour patch, that he decided he was getting one of those too. Marc started drinking before he even set foot outside the store.

You were half asleep when you heard the metallic click of the door lock. It wasn't until Marc got in that you got startled, jumping slightly on your end of the couch —the furthest from where he was standing— and rubbing your eyes to get rid of the remnants of sleep. You weren't one to get sleepy easily in difficult situations, but you hadn't had a proper night's sleep since the night before you broke up with Steven.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said, almost a whisper.

"Marc?"

He was wearing Steven's clothes, but that was the only thing that could lead to confusion. The rest, it was all so indistinctively Marc. His demeanour, the squared shoulders held high, the dark curls brushed back because of his hair-pulling mania, the wrinkle between his eyebrows that Steven never had, that constantly annoyed expression on his face, even the way he walked. The accent, despite being the most obvious difference between the two men, was also the most irrelevant.

"Yeah," he said. He walked in, carrying a plastic bag and little more than a three-quarter full bottle of whiskey. "Not who you were expecting, I know. I'm not gonna bother you much. I'll just eat something and put Steven to sleep."

The way in which he talked, pure misery pouring from his lips, made you nauseous. You had heard that tone a few times before, but never strictly linked to you as a person. All you wanted to do was grab him by the shoulders and ask him how was it possible that, after so many years of friendship, a friendship that had survived the distance and the traumas and the heartbreak, how could it possibly end like this. How could he talk to you as if you were a stranger, how the two of you could be at square one once again, not knowing how to talk to each other or what to say. At the end of the day, it had been walking on eggshells that was killing the both of you.

You didn't know what to say, so you followed him to the kitchen.

"I ordered Indian take-out," you told him as he opened the fridge looking for something to eat. "I was expecting Steven so it's vegan food, but you can have it if you want."

He took the container out, inspecting it, and held it in front of you as he locked his eyes on yours.

"Is it poisoned?"

You chuckled, shaking your head slightly.

"No, I forgot to poison it, but you should totally remind me next time."

He smiled too, a little smile that barely reached his eyes. He got the food into a plate and tried it before deciding that it was, in fact, too cold to be edible. Then, he pointed at the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen table.

"Do I pour you some?"

"Sure," you answered, taking a seat. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and served you some whiskey just before he grabbed his plate, and you took a sip and said. "Maybe I should do that, having in mind your history of burning the popcorn."

"It was actually you who almost burned the house down every damn time."

And as he said that, he was putting his plate of food, fork included, in the microwave.

"Marc!" you shouted, rushing to his side and almost smacking his hand when he tried to turn it on. You opened the microwave, got the fork out. "You can't put metal in the microwave, you idiot," you said, chuckling just a second later. "So I was the one to almost burn my house down, right?"

Marc crossed his arms over his broad chest, leaned back against the counter.

"You got me distracted."

"Yeah, it's always my fault somehow, isn't it?"

The flat fell into a strangely comfortable silence. Marc didn't respond as he kept giving large gulps of the bottle of whiskey, until you finally reached for a glass and served him some. Not because you were disgusted at the sight of him drinking straight from the bottle, but rather because, seeing the state he was in, you wanted to at least keep track of how much he was drinking, which already seemed to be a lot.

"I already bought another coffee table for Steven," he responded so casually while he ate, now sitting on the kitchen table, right in front of you. "He was the one to clean the couch, though."

"I'm so sorry about that," you responded, a blush quickly settling on your face. "I'm sorry about all of it, actually."

Marc swallowed and cleaned his mouth with a napkin before responding.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"That's not true, Marc," you said.

It had always angered you the way he always let you get away with anything and everything, the way he never stood up for himself when it came to you and things that were really important. Some stranger on the street telling him to fuck off? Hell, he was already snapping back before the other man even finished. But when it came to friends that betrayed him or you accidentally saying something that really hurt him. Well, he always went silent. Marc Spector was a walking contradiction. He was too much of a fuckboy with any girl that showed interest in him, but with the one he truly loved… Oh, that's a different story.

You wanted to say that you were sorry for all you said. You wanted him to clarify what had happened the day Layla's dad died, because you hadn't given him the chance to explain himself. He got shot, you had just experienced how frightening it was to have a gun pointing at you, and you could not even begin to imagine how hard it had all been for him. Maybe some part of you wanted to defend him, give him the chance to say why he did it, or even tell you he didn't do it. You just wanted to have an excuse, to find out Marc was still the same good man you had once admired.

He talked first.

"I-..." he started. His hand flew to his face, he brushed the skin over his mouth with his palm, an almost nervous tick that he used to give himself the courage to say something. "I am sorry," he said. "I don't even have the words to express how much I regret putting you in the middle of everything. I know why you're here. I know about Harrow. And I'm sorry for what happened. With me, with Steven," he said. He took another mouthful of alcohol as if he needed it to breathe. He was actually choking with his own words. "I'm really sorry for what happened the other night. I'm not sorry about what I said, though. I'm not sorry for falling for you," he breathed in, brought the glass to his lips again. "I will never be sorry for that. I don't care how selfish it might sound."

One of your fingers touched the rim of the glass, not allowing him to bring it to his lips. When he stopped, you took it in your hand and left it aside.

"Was that so hard to do?" you asked him. "We could have saved ourselves so much trouble if you had said that earlier. Because you already knew how I felt, didn't you?"

"Of course."

"Since when?"

"I always knew," he responded. His eyes didn't look at you when he next spoke. "Do you really think I would have worked up the courage to kiss you that night if I thought there was the slightest possibility that you might reject me?

You shook your head and brought your own hand to your eyes.

"You fucker," you whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "You made me suffer so much, all these years..."

"Believe me, you weren't alone in that," he said. "I didn't even know what I was feeling, not until I understood the meaning of wanting to be with someone. Ironically, it was Layla's aunt who made me wake up. It's ridiculous, I know, but the lady just said the right words at the wrong time and then I knew, but it was too late. And by then you had suffered enough and I had just gotten married, so I decided that letting you go was the best for both of us."

"You could've talked to me, at least."

He shook his head.

"I've never been one to talk things through," he said. "I've always been better at hiding or running away."

"And you did both."

He looked at you in the eyes, for the first time in a few minutes. Marc pursed his lips, just then realizing that it was true. He had hidden his feelings for the longest time, even from himself. When his relationship with his parents became impossible, and what he felt for you was so confusing that he could barely talk to you before he left, he fled under the pretext of his military service. He hid his feelings, then he ran away.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess I did."

After a few minutes, once he was finished eating and pushed the plate out of the way, he spoke again.

"I can see why you prefer Steven. I don’t blame you for that."

You couldn't help but laugh, it erupted from the back of your throat, started small and only grew as Marc's confused stare kept getting more intense.

"What?"

"Steven said the same thing earlier about you," you drew circles with your index finger, over the rim of your own glass. "You two are so different, and so exactly the same sometimes." When he didn't say anything, you explained the situation. "He found your phone and asked me what I knew. I couldn't just keep quiet, he thought you were blackmailing me."

Marc just nodded.

"Marc...," you played with your own fingers over the table. "when you told me you worked for your old commander officer, I thought you had stopped after what happened with Layla's dad..."

"I didn't kill him," he said, his eyes suddenly wide, looking at you with such an intensity and fear that it was impossible not to believe him. "I know that's what you think, but I swear to God I didn't."

You held his nervous gaze, finding no trace of lying on his words. And he visibly relaxed under your watchful eye when you caught his fingers in yours, gently caressing them.

"So you didn't kill anyone," you said, but it was more of a question than a claim. The way he sat in silence before you, made your heart sink to the ground. "Did you?"

He wetted his lips, seemingly thinking twice about what he was about to answer.

"Not because I wanted to."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Marc made a gesture, his touch slipping away from yours. He tried to reach his almost empty glass of Jack Daniels, but you got it out of the way.

"Marc," your voice sounded desperate. You couldn't believe you had just talked and fixed so much just for him to keep lying to you, hiding things from you. "If you were having money troubles, if you needed help, you could have told me before going to your old commanding officer. He shot you, and now you're back at stealing things for him... and, and- now Steven and I, and Harrow..."

Your voice broke, your mind was rushing so much you had no idea what you were saying, or if it even made sense.

"Hey, hey," he said, grabbing your hands in his, drawing comforting circles over your palms with his thumbs. "Calm down, okay? What are you talking about?"

You took a shaky breath, your unspilled tears making it difficult for you to keep looking at him. The image around you distorted.

"Are you not working for him?"

"For Bushman?" he asked, he grimaced as if the idea repeled him. "Of course not."

You furrowned, a perfect question mark drawn on your features.

"They told me you stole something from them," you whispered, as if they were there to hear you. “I thought you had stolen it for Bushman. Why else would you steal?”

Marc almost instantly regretted denying your words. It was probably easier to explain that he still worked for Bushman, that he stole relics and ancient artefacts for a living, rather than going into details about how he was resurrected by an ancient Egyptian god of the moon who tasked him with killing and stealing from all sorts of people.

"That's what you kept talking about," you said. "Wasn't it? When you said you'd explain it all to me when it was all sorted, when everything was over."

He silently cursed himself, now that you had seen the recognition in his eyes, you wouldn't stop until you got the truth. He sighed, letting your hands go and pulling his hair back, his fingers getting knotted in his own messy curls.

"I told you," he tried to reason with you, tried to get out of trouble without explaining a single thing. But you were so dangerously close to the truth, and he could not risk that either. "I told you, I promised I'd told you everything once it was over. It's obviously not still over, is it?" he said, a pleading look into his eyes. "So please, it's not time yet."

"It's not time?!" you almost shouted. Your hands slammed on the table. "They almost got the three of us killed, Marc! I think it's very much time."

The tip of his tongue wetted his lip just to bite his lower lip later, a desperate look in his eyes. This time, he did reach for the whiskey and swallowed the entire contents of the glass as if it were water.

"This is what you kept talking about, isn’t it?" you tried again, hoping that he would finally snap out of it. While you talked, he rose up from his chair and walked a few steps, brushing his hair back, until he finally turned around and shouted.

"Yes! Yes, it is!" he said. "And frankly, (y/n), the less you know the better."

"You're just so impossible, Marc," you responded, shaking your head. "Can't you see? We already played that game! And look where it got us!”

He took ragged breaths, his chest repeatedly rising and falling as if he had run a marathon.

"I don't care about your fucking opinion!" he raised a hand in front of him, considering the matter closed. "If you dont trust me that its better this way, I don't care. I'm not telling you shit this time.”

His words shook you to your core. Would it be possible that Marc had closed off again because of what happened the first time, when he told you everything that happened in the tomb? Was he still mad at you for telling him he should feel guilty?

"I- I know I hurt you Marc, but I said sorry- I thought..."

"It's not about that," he said. "You could not say a thing that kept me away from you, or made me hate you, or whatever. It's not about that," he sighed, now leaning against the kitchen counter. "Listen, this is heavy shit. This is a world I don't wanna drag you into. I tried very hard to keep both you and Steven safe and very far away from it, I did.

"This is the kind of thing people will torture you for if they think you have information about it. I cannot let that happen. They won't touch you, I swear, but you have to do as I say and not ask questions. Then you’ll never see me again, I promise, and you’ll have Steven and both of you will live the rest of your lives happily ever after and pretend I never existed. That’s what you want, that’s what he wants. Your wish is my command. Now, do we have a deal?"

You could not believe the tone in which he spoke to you, nor the words that came from his mouth.

"That's..." you whispered, taking a step back. "That's what you think I want, to get rid of you?"

Marc bit his cheek.

"Is not?"

"Of course not," you responded. "I want you with me."

He shifted his gaze, now looking at the tiles under his shoes.

"More than you want Steven?" he asked, you didn't respond. He pursed his mouth into a thin line just as his lower lip started trembling, shivers taking over his body. "That's what I thought."

Marc closed his eyes shut, biting his lip trying not to spill the tears piling up behind his eyelids. It was fair, really. He wasn't crying because he wanted to, but because even though he understood, it still hurt. He could only compare it to when he hit some furniture by accident. He was okay, he didn't have anything broken, he wasn't bleeding; but the damn thing still hurt like a bitch. It was exactly the same thing. He was okay with your decision, he understood it, maybe even more than you yourself did, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

You walked up to him, quickly getting your arms around his form. Soon his tears were flowing, his tired and weak body falling forwards as you caught him in your arms.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, burying his face into your neck. "...for everything. I'm sorry. If I could take all the pain I've caused you, I'd gladly do it."

You grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to get him away from you, just a few inches so you could look at him. You cupped his cheek, wiped away his tears with your thumbs.

"Marc," you said. "I love both of you, the exact same amount. The only thing keeping the three of us apart is the lies, the confusion, all the pain we've inflicted upon the others. I'm no saint. I lied to Steven, lied to you when I thought you'd turn me down, lied to myself when I convinced myself that I didn't want you anymore. But I do, I always do.

"I'm not just asking you to be honest," you said. "I want to help you, because I know you're too stubborn to ask for help. Even if all I can do is being there for you, I want to do that. Can't you see that I'm trying to forgive you?" you asked. "I'm willing to forget everything, to start over as if you've just arrived in England again, but I can't do that if you're not honest with me."

His glazy eyes widened, a new and restored hope filling them. One final tear fell from one of his eyes.

"Do you understand that?" you asked.

He nodded profusely, biting his lip, his teary, blood-shot eyes never leaving yours.

"Would you do that?" he asked, whispering, his voice the most frightened you'd ever heard him speak. He almost looked like a lost child, like the Marc you'd first met. "Would you have me?"

Now biting your own lower lip, you considered his words. You didn't want to break his heart, not after seeing the spark of hope in them. It had been a long time since you last saw him so alive and full of hope, so hopeful. But the truth was, there was a long list of conditions that'd have to be met in order for the two of you to be together.

"Will you be honest with me?"

He nodded once again, his hands digging into your waist, bringing you close.

"Give me a few days, okay?" he asked, then looked at the disappointment in your face. "Okay, okay, give me a day. Just a day. And I'll tell you everything, I promise."

"Okay," you responded. His forehead rested against yours, the smell of alcohol in his breath didn't allow you to drown in him, in his smell and his warmth, but the closeness still filled you with comfort. "I don't wanna give you false hope, Marc," you said, separating from him. He frowned. "You have to know that I don’t think I could get into a relationship with any of you now. Not if the other doesn’t agree with it. Surely you understand that, don't you?"

He nodded.

"I don't wanna hurt Steven. I can't keep any more lies. I need the two of you..." your voice broke, and you swallowed. "...to be okay."

Marc hugged you, his strong arms securing you tightly against his chest. A few tears fell from your eyes, staining his shirt.

"I don't want to hurt him either," he said, his hand stroked your back, up and down. "There has to be a way to fix this mess. We'll find a way. That, I promise."

It took the both of you a while to recover from the rollercoaster of emotions you had just experienced. At this point, neither of the two knew who was holding who. Both souls felt as shattered as the other, both bodies were just as tired. It had already been late when Marc appeared on the front door, but it had now become an ungodly hour in the morning.

Marc was the first to talk, almost dragging your body to the bedroom.

"Let's get some sleep, c'mon," he whispered over your ear. "Promise I'll get on the bed with you," he said. You smiled, and he mirrored you. "Yeah, I remember. No sleeping on the floor."

It was as if he could read your thoughts. He knew exactly what you were thinking.

A moment of lucidity came over you both just as your bodies hit the mattress, suddenly aware of the fact that you were going to share a bed again, for the second time in your whole lives. Neither of you did as much as getting rid of one piece of clothing. For you, it was your jeans, too uncomfortable to sleep in them. For him, it was his jacket and shirt. You wrapped yourself under the sheets and duvet, and despite doing it yourself, Marc's fingers brushed your shoulder as he secured the sheets over you, just to get his body under them a second later.

Marc found himself lying next to you for the first time since he was nineteen. Everything had changed, neither of you were children anymore, and despite that, he still felt like a helpless teenager when his eyes met yours. His desires weren't childish, either, not anymore. Now what he wanted to do to you went beyond what the flesh could offer.

Everything had changed, yet it all remained the same somehow. You had the same glint on your eyes he had always admired, the same expression even if your face had changed over the years. If he squinted he could still see the little girl he met in secondary school, the first person who befriended him when he had just moved from the states, the only person who dared to stay despite his many flaws.

He wanted to touch you, in a much more frenetic way than he did before. You were not seventeen anymore, neither was he. You're just two grown-ups who don't know how to unleash their feelings because they have bottled them up for so long that they're not sure if it will all explode in their faces once they remove the cap.

He wanted to touch you. You wanted him to touch you. In fact, you were secretly wishing for it, not daring to make a move in case you scared him away. If Marc wanted, he could slide his fingers inside your panties and not only would you allow it, but you'd be waiting for him, so deliciously drenched. He could make you come in his fingers without breaking a sweat or getting rid of one single piece of clothing. He could taste you then, undress you and bury his tongue in your wet folds as you repeatedly clenched and relaxed around him, still massaging your clit so you kept squirming under him.

Then he would whisper how long he's been waiting for that, how many times he had to take care of himself when he couldn't stop imagining your flavour, or the way you'd scream his name, eyes squeezed shut, fists gripping into his sheets as you came. He'd be embarrassed to admit how many times you were the main character of his wet dreams, so he'd keep that to himself. He'd tell you someday, eventually. You'd kiss him. He would kiss you back, put one of your legs above his shoulder, your lower back resting on his thighs as he entered you.

He wanted to. You wanted him to. Your eyes were begging him to ruin you, show you how much he cared. There was nothing to stop him now.

And yet he was still too scared to touch you.

So he closed his eyes under your watchful gaze, rejecting you, and after a while, he drifted off.

Some things never change.

You might have fallen in love first, but Marc fell harder and all at once. On his wedding day, out of all days, and with the person he was not getting married to.

He didn't believe in that feeling back then. He thought that, in the end, all love came to be was another imbalance in the chemicals of the brain, different to the one that had fractured his own mind to create Steven, and very different to the one that pushed him to almost put a bullet in his skull the night he became Moon Knight, but an imbalance nonetheless.

Contrary to all the other beliefs he had, he could proudly say that he himself had put that thought in his brain; no one else. This time there wasn't an abusive mother to blame, or an absent father, or a traumatic experience serving in the military. The thought was all his, his own work. And he was madly proud of it.

Because when he was younger, he craved it. He craved all kinds of love: friends, family... He craved it so much and it was so obvious, that he was terribly embarrassed by all the things he'd done trying to earn it. Because when you're a kid and your needs aren't met, you become an adult way too soon, desperately trying to give what you need to yourself.

Marc had read once, somewhere, that when you're not fed love on a silver spoon; you learn to lick it off knives. He hated the fact that the sentence shook him to his core the way it did, that it felt so intimate and raw, yet so accurate. To this day, he has yet to find a better way to describe his childhood.

After many years of seeking the feeling, begging for it, he got tired in the end, as we all do at some point. When this happens, some people turn to religion and different systems of beliefs, saying things like god will provide, and everything happens for a reason. But he didn't believe there was any other reason beyond the suffering itself, and God sure as hell hadn't provided. So he had nothing, not even a comforting thought. Nothing.

After the third stage of grief: bargaining —trying to make people like him, trying to love her mother so she would love him back—, came depression, but he had been juggling between those three stages —anger, bargaining and depression— for so long that the sadness and emptiness were already there, and so he jumped straight to the fifth, acceptance.

There was not much to accept other than the fact that he was unloveable. He got to the conclusion that he didn't deserve happiness, that he was too different and too broken to fit in. He believed himself to be a piece of glass; someone broke him, and now he couldn't stop hurting people with his sharp edges. But he also believed himself to be a bomb: he had swallowed so much anger trying to be the good kid, that he couldn't stop the imminent explosion falling over the heads of everyone around him.

Then he met you, but he was way too far gone by then.

For some time he thought he loved Layla. She was smart, beautiful, and brave. Layla had wanted Marc from the very first moment she saw him. And it didn't take him long to find out Layla was one of those people that got everything they wanted. Neither did it take him long to find out that what she wanted, was in fact, him. She liked to tease him, even in public. The first time they had sex, Marc wanted her to know they weren’t exclusive, told her he didn't want her to think he was using her either, and she chuckled and said:

"Too bad, because I am using you."

He didn't feel used. In fact, those words only turned him on more.

They had been dating for a year when Layla mentioned something about wanting to get married young. Marc didn't want to, he had never understood those kinds of rituals, he didn't get the point of them. He wanted to wait some more. In fact, he never thought about getting married before. It also didn't feel right to get married to someone he always felt only half-full with, but she insisted and he wanted to make her happy. He let her father die, after all. She deserved all the happiness he could provide.

Now they were getting married, and even then, there was something still missing. He had always wondered why he couldn't fully love Layla. She was wonderful, precious, perfect, they had many things in common. She could have anyone she wanted and she still chose him for some reason.

And he still did not love her.

He felt affection, sure, something along the lines of what he had once felt for his brother Randall before his mother tortured him into resentment, but there was no romance in his relationship with Layla. There was good sex, sure, but no unbridled love, no butterflies in his stomach, no burning in his flesh, no sense of belonging.

And yet there he was, giving his vows surrounded by a crowd of people he didn't know the names of, and the only family, the only home he had ever had. You.

The reception took place at a venue on the outskirts of Cairo, near the banks of the Nile River. It was far enough away from the metropolis for no one to bother them while the music became almost deafening. Once anyone stepped through one of the glass doors into the terrace, decorated with artificial grass to give the feeling of being in an oasis in the middle of the desert, the pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx stood proudly in the distance.

Marc felt sick to his stomach being there. He wanted to get married in England, maybe in Brighton, by the beach; but those desires were never voiced. The tomb of Pharaoh Seti wasn't far, either, and that was yet another reason behind his constant discomfort.

For Marc, it was the place where he had been enslaved by Khonshu. But for Layla, it was just the place where her father died. She said she felt closer to him there, near the pyramids and under the watchful eye of the noseless Great Sphinx of Giza.

Marc could almost feel the judgemental look on the back of his head.

"Oh, Marcus you look lovely today."

Layla's aunt took him by surprise, her hands on the collar of his white shirt brought him back to Earth in an instant. He had to actually put some effort into understanding her accent, but he was thankful because she wasn't speaking Arabic. Although he might have prefered it.

"Don't scare him away, auntie," Layla responded in her language. Marc let out a relieved sigh, one he didn't know he was holding "And for the last time, his name is Marc, not Marcus."

"Surely the name has to come from somewhere, right?" she insisted in Arabic, her voice the most high-pitched he had ever heard. Then she switched to English again. Marc wondered if she didn't know that he spoke Arabic just fine. "Tell me, aren't you excited to share the rest of your life with our Layla? Should we expect children soon?"

The rest of his life? Children? He hadn't thought about that. He just stood there, his eyes wide for a second before he relaxed his featured and looked for an appropriate answer in his brain. He had swallowed the concept of marriage as just signing a paper for so long that he had forgotten what it usually meant: a life together, shared hopes, dreams and goals; in most cases, children.

In the first place, he didn't expect the rest of his life to be much longer; not if he kept serving Khonshu, at least. And children? It's not that he hated children. He actually liked them, but on other people's laps, with other people's DNA and being the responsibility of someone else. If he wasn't going to be a good father, then he didn't want to be a father at all. As long as he served Khonshu, children were not on the table.

He couldn't say those answers out loud, though; especially not to Layla's aunt. He panicked, hands wet with sweat.

"Uhm..."

"We'll see about that," Layla answered, giving him a look of concern. "We just got married, there's time."

Marc felt that presence, those eyes on the back of his head as he nodded, and he turned on his heels hoping to find Khonshu, but it wasn't him. It was the Sphinx again, looking at him.

Then his eyes caught something, a pale pink dress opening the sliding glass door to the terrace and walking outside.

You.

He hadn't stopped looking at you since he picked you up at the airport, and once you had shown up at the ceremony with that dress, he sure as hell couldn't.

One of the reasons why he wanted to get married in England, was that he wasn't so sure about you being able to attend if it happened in Cairo. The thought made him miss a few nights of sleep until your boss finally responded. He couldn't get married to Layla if you weren't there. He needed you, in every big step of his life, the same way you'd always been there before.

He wanted you for the rest of his life; however long that was.

The thought was simple, yet so revealing. It came to him in the most natural way. Accepting it was easy too. It felt like breathing or blinking, something you're not always aware of, but sometimes something happens and there it is, hidden, the only difference was he couldn't consciously stop it.

Perhaps it was more like his beating heart. There, occurring unbeknown to his eyes and mind, yet beating all the same. With you he felt full, he felt free from judgement, he felt a better person. With you, he forgot about the rest of the world.

If that was what love meant —the longing, the feeling of finally being at home, the desire of being alone but together, the comfort, the safety— he knew then, he finally knew, he loved you.

"Marc?" Layla said, pulling him from his elbow. "Shall we go with them?" she gestured to where the rest of the crowd was, but he didn't listen.

He loved you. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you. His mind couldn't let go of that thought, clinging to it as if it was the only thing keeping him sane. He felt himself falling. From where? He didn't know. But the abyss behind his feet looked terrifying. He looked at his hands and he felt small, a little child, a scared child with his hands clean again; no trace of blood. Forgiven.

"Marc..." Layla said, again. Her eyes showed a type of concern that's there only when you truly care for someone. "Marc, you're panting."

He remembered it then. Something so obvious yet so easy to forget; the reason why he, you, and all those people were there, the wedding.

His wedding.

Marc felt how his heart skipped a beat, but tried to keep himself calm, fearing that Steven would make a sudden appearence. For a second, he wished he flatlined. He wished this whole situation was some kind of cruel joke, finding out he loved someone else the day of his wedding; but it wasn't, and his heart kept beating nonetheless. The Earth kept spinning.

He breathed in and out for a second; trying not to freak Layla out.

After a short while, Marc smiled —it was crooked, forced— and took Layla's fingers out of his shoulders. He didn't remember her grabbing him, but her nails were buried in his shirt. It was too late to pretend nothing happened, so he told a half-truth.

"I'm not feeling so good," he said, his voice was barely a broken whisper. "I think it's just the heat. I'm going to get some fresh air."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, no," he responded, perhaps too quick. "No, I'm fine. I just saw (y/n) outside too. I'll talk to her for a minute. Don't worry."

The sky was full of stars that night. The full moon was surrounded by endless sparkling spots. It was beautiful, not even comparable to the polluted air of London that barely gave a chance at stargazing. You thought it was a pity no one was enjoying the view outside, but you guessed that if you were having a good time, you wouldn't be giving any attention to it either.

There was no way of denying it; being there was one of the most painful things you had endured, and you were also horribly uncomfortable. But all those people were there because they loved Layla, and you had to be there because you loved Marc, even if you didn't know anyone, even if no one spoke a word to you, even if the only people looking at you were nosy relatives.

"Hey."

You almost jumped at the sight of Marc next to you. Instead of apologizing, he leaned on the wall while you scolded him for scaring you. He seemed not to be interested in that, so he crossed his arms over his broad chest and said nothing. He stood there, looking at you, and when your eyes looked for the night sky again, so did his.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone for so long," he said.

You turned your head towards him. Marc squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, as if it was a pain reflex. He took a breath, held it.

"What's wrong?"

"Uhm?"

"I know that face, what's wrong?"

He froze. You witnessed how his mind became a blank canvas, devoid of any kind of thinking. His dark eyes became even darker if that was possible. Marc, from his perspective, felt his body failing him. Not a single logical thought crossed his mind, except for the fact that you were waiting for an answer.

He had tried to bury his feelings, which usually worked with most people. You had seen through it, though. Marc didn't want to scare you, didn't mean to worry you; but you had unmasked that veil of arrogance he wore everywhere and he felt naked, exposed.

"Marc..." you muttered, the words almost didn't reach his ears. "Why are you crying?"

He felt a single tear falling from his eye. His pupils looked at you as if he was a startled animal. His relaxed posture —part of that mask of arrogance— vanished from his body language. Thankfully, no more tears followed. Thank god.

He shook his head, then wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue. He said the only thing that came to his mind, the only reasonable thing, at least.

"Everyone cries at weddings," he said; but you didn't look convinced. He'd have to try harder. "I'm fine. Really, I am. I'm just happy and very tired."

You nodded, but he saw in your eyes that he could not fool you.

"What happened to your date?" he asked. That was actually one of the questions he had wanted to make you. Not that he wanted you to come here with someone else, but all invitations were double. "You didn't use your plus-one. I thought you'd bring your boyfriend, what was his name?"

You shook your head. Now that was unbelievable, the fact that you were in your best friend's wedding and he didn't even know the name of your last ex.

"I don't know, you tell me."

It worked, he successfully changed the subject.

"Was it... Kyle?"

"Not even close. James, actually" you said.

"What happened to James, then?"

Up to that point, Marc had never given much thought to the people you were dating or sleeping with. He'd always get a bit uncomfortable at first, yes, especially on those rare occasions when said men wanted to meet Marc for some reason. He sometimes got jealous, but never acted on his feelings because he knew it was not his place. Plus, he had always thought that all that jealousy had more to do with the fact that he felt protective of you, that he was scared of losing his only friend, rather than the fact that he loved you. It never occurred to him before, such a wild idea. He'd known you his whole adult life and half of the rest, for so long, and he had never suspected anything.

You pursed your lips, a look of disappointment on your face; but no trace of sadness.

"Oh you know, I blew him once or twice," you said, almost laughing at the thought. "...and for some reason he thought he owned me after that, so I told him to fuck off."

Marc couldn't help but laugh. It was a relieved laugh, almost sounded like that too. And when it died out, he said:

"That's my girl."

It made you blush. Marc saw the pink on your cheeks and felt the urge to kiss them. He had never been very affectionate. In fact, Layla used to mock him saying he was one of the most frigid people she had ever met, except in bed, of course. He didn't consider himself to be a cold person, you'd never complained about that.

"I'm so happy for you," you said. "You have a lovely wife. I might soon be an auntie, right? I don't know. You've found your other half. I'm happy for you."

But Marc saw through your mask too, the same way you watched through his. Your words didn't match the tone of your voice, that trembling whisper falling from your red-tinted lips. Your smile was a sad one, deprived of all joy, of every good sentiment, lacking all that makes a smile something pleasant. It made him uncomfortable, the sight of you being miserable, hiding from him.

"Why do you sound so sad, then?" he asked.

Except he thought he already knew the answer.

"I don't know," you shook your head, an absent stare on your face. "I guess I'm scared of losing you now that you don't need me."

His heart sank, he could feel it dead and bloody at his feet. He felt many times that sour feeling, the same one that you had now. You didn't deserve that kind of pain, and he wondered, with awful terror, if he did something cause it.

"Don't say that," he responded. "I will always need you."

"You won't say that when you're changing nappies."

He gave a long, discontented sigh, rolling his eyes. He bit on his lower lip.

"Why is everyone so obsessed with us having kids?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else's ears. Then his eyes locked on you, his fingers gently brushed yours before taking them into his grip. "Listen, I will always need you. I'm not just saying that. I mean it, I really do."

Once again, that blush on your face. He wondered at the sight, just as you looked away.

Marc was having none of that. He wouldn't deprive himself of the pleasure of looking at you. Never again. If he couldn't do anything else, at least he would look, just look. That was something a married man could do without consequences, something that you'd allow, at least. The pad of his fingers barely touched your chin as he forced you to look at him again.

"I hope you're enjoying and marking my words, 'cause I won't be saying them ever again."

That made a laugh tore from your throat.

"Things don't have to change," he said, releasing you from his touch as he turned back to observe the moon. "I'm not dying. I'm not going to vanish into thin air," he said. "you're my best friend, and you know I love you, right?"

His head tilted to the side, closer to your own lips. There were mere inches between the both of you, and he could feel your breathing and smell your scent. It made him dizzy, so much so, that the desert started spinning around him. Terrified, he took a glimpse of your parted lips. He was too close.

For a horrible, awful, second, he thought he'd kiss you.

For a horrible, awful, second, you thought you'd let him.

Gathering all his willpower and strength, he stepped back, blinking and staring as if nothing had happened. Those were the only good news, nothing had happened, he had not caused a scene at his own wedding. Although he couldn't care less about what all those people thought about him.

It was at that moment that he knew it was too late. He'd have to live for the rest of his life with yet another thing to feel guilt for.

"I know," you finally said. "I love you too, Marc."

The words slipped out of his mouth. "You'll always have me. You're my only friend."

"You know I don't like it when you say that."

"But it's true," he insisted. He needed to say it, to let you know what he felt before the weight of everything crushed him down. He wouldn't be able to say it again after that, so he thought he'd enjoy it, savour it on his lips. "It's true, you're my best friend, the only one I've ever had, the only one I've ever needed. I love you, and I will always need you."

Despite his words, the whole scene felt like a farewell.

He squeezed his eyes shut once more, cursing all the Egyptian gods he knew the names of; specially Khonshu. If fate existed, he also cursed that, wondering why his destiny was so ironic and cruel, why the universe enjoyed seeing him suffer so much.

He was actually kidding, though. He didn't believe himself to be so important to have a designated path, or have gods pointing and laughing at him.

In the middle of his internal rambling, he heard a faint whimper. It broke his heart because it came from you.

"Why are you crying?"

You shook his head and wiped your tears. Then, another smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

"Oh you said it yourself," you responded, putting the cherry on top with a smile. "Everyone cries at weddings."

You left the flat in the middle of the night, before Steven could wake up next to you and everything became even more complicated than it already was.

Steven didn't call you in the morning, although he was on the verge of doing so when he thought that everything that had happened the day before was just another one of his nightmares, albeit a horrible one. If just he wouldn't have waited until he got to the museum, and checked that everything was, in fact, not another one of his nightmares, you could have talked to him for the very last time.

Instead, once he witnessed the mess the jackal had caused in the toilets and how Marc had saved both their lives; he decided that it was enough. Steven didn't know if you were aware of the supernatural that surrounded the life of your life-long best friend. In fact, there was still many things he didn't know about, but if he was sure about one thing, that was that he didn't want to put you in any more danger. Wether you knew everything about Marc or not —and he didn't trust Marc for one single second, so he doubted it— he wouldn't be the one to risk it.

Marc was ready to step in if Steven tried to go to you for answers. He didn't have the need to, though. And that was the first time in a while that Marc really felt connected to Steven. That maybe, somehow, they could talk things through and become something more than two strangers who fought for the body.

Steven, in turn, decided to seek the answers himself.

"Khonshu?" he asked, looking at his own reflection in the metal wall, but the man in front of him didn't look as incredulous as Steven was sure he looked. "The Egyptian god of the moon?" he turned around. "Oh my god, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

And it was, in fact, stupid. But as ridiculous as it might sound, a very low voice in the back of his brain told him that it did make sense.

"Is that rubbish what you told her?"

In other circumstances, Marc would have laughed it off, said something other than the truth; but right now he was forced to explain everything to Steven in the hopes that he would stop interfering in his matters with Khonshu. The sooner everything was over with, the sooner he could come back to you and fix that horrible love-hate triangle that had been summoned around the three of them.

"No," Marc said. "I wouldn't drag her into this. She doesn't know," he said. "Listen, I can't have you interfering in what I have left to do. For both our own sake and hers. So this is what you're gonna do. You're gonna lay in that cot there, and take a nice nap-"

"Sleep?" Steven could have hit his own reflection if he didn't know that all he would get in turn was a broken hand. "I'm never gonna go to sleep again!"

That was the moment Marc knew they had a long way to go.

The sensation became almost unbearable after Marc got rid of the second jackal, when Steven blamed him for eating parts of his life like a parasite, for making him lose his job, killing his goldfish, turning his life into a living nightmare, and taking away the only person he had ever loved. Little did Steven know that Marc believed it to be all the other way around. After all, Steven had gotten everything he always craved but never had: loving parents, an easy life, and the woman he had always felt undeserving of.

Hours passed, and the more you waited for a call the more obvious it was that Marc had lied to you, again. Calling him would mean to risk your relationship with Steven further into the grave now that he had Marc's phone, and calling Steven would, without a doubt, also end in disaster having in mind that you had run away from his flat. With those odds, your hands were tied. In a desperate attempt not to hurt either of them, nor to exacerbate the hatred Steven now felt for you, you were inflicting worse pain onto yourself.

Eventually, after endless hours of turning your phone on and off and walking back and forth the whole length of your flat, you couldn't take it anymore. Baby steps, you thought. You asked yourself what could be the smallest step towards easing that feeling of uselessness, what it was in your power to fix, and that's how you ended up surfing through teacher job offers. Because ironically, that was easier than thinking about Steven hating you for life or Marc lying to you and putting himself willingly in danger for whatever his reasons were.

And yet, once day gave way to night, a strange sensation settled in your chest, too overwhelming to ignore. A few minutes later you were taking the tube on the way to Steven's flat. And it wasn't until you left the underground, finally a few minutes from the flat, that you saw that Marc had called you four times.

"Where are you?" It's the first thing he said. "I need to talk to you."

"You sure do. Give me a literal minute and I'm on your doorstep."

Silence filled the line for a second before he agreed, not exactly comfortable with your angry tone. Marc sighed, tired of fighting, and the words slipped out of his mouth.

"I love you."

You hung up and walked faster. Something had to go terribly wrong.

"Oh my god, Marc."

He opened the first time you knocked on his front door, although hit might have been a more appropriate word. You heard him hiss under his breath once the door was half-open, and you couldn't help but push it all the way back into its hinges. Even under the dim orange light of Steven's flat, you could see the crimson on his knuckles. Blood pouring from the open wound, staining the door knob, Steven's colorful shirt and the floor as it flowed in large red rivers.

"What the hell did you do?" you asked him, taking his arms tightly into your hands, avoiding the blood. He, on the other hand, brushed the skin of your forearms with the pad of his fingers, leaving blood-stained fingerprints. A look of pure longing in his eyes, ignoring his wounds as if he had barely a paper cut.

"I have to talk to you," he said, almost in a dazed state. When you insisted, shaking his shoulders and looking for answers, asking him if he was hurt anywhere else, he shook his head. "No, no. I just came here and had to break all the mirrors. Steven was giving me a hell of a headache."

"I'm gonna grab the-"

"No," he pulled your arm as you tried to leave. "It's fine, really. This is perfect."

You were beginning to doubt his sanity.

You squinted in his direction, looking into his brown eyes for answers. There was a time in which you were capable of almost reading his mind, know exactly what went through his brain, his emotions. That was not the case anymore.

"Please," he said with pleading eyes, his fingers digging into your flesh. Marc got closer, his nose almost brushing yours. "Please, trust me."

And you nodded, because what else could you do.

Marc gently kicked the door shut, barely pushing it with the heel of his shoe. He guided you to the kitchen, the place in which all your fighting and making up seemed to happen lately, the now designated place for ruining and fixing and ruining again your relationship with the two of them. You shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold.

"Did you speak to him?"

"Yeah," then, he regretted his own words. "Well, not like speaking. More like screaming at me and telling me to fuck off. But you know the deal."

With your lips parted, an incredulous expression on your face, you almost facepalmed. Anxiety boiling just under your flesh.

"Oh, Marc... please, tell me you're having a laugh."

He shook his head.

"He became co-conscious earlier. Told me I was a parasite, kept being a fucking asshole, so I had to smash every single mirror here, just for him to vanish now," he said. His hand flew to his face, trying to soothe his own nerves, but he stopped it midway. "He can't hear us now. I know you wanted to talk to him, but it will have to wait. I can't give him the body now, or he won't give it back, and there's one last thing I have to do."

You couldn't stop thinking about his bloody knuckles.

"Marc," you talked with the gentlest tone you could harbor. He was anxious, restless, you didn't want to scare him further. "Marc, baby, listen. You're bleeding. Let me take care of you."

He had a blood stain on his cheek that made him look even more animalistic, deranged, than his messy hair and mud-stained clothes already made him look.

"That's the thing. I thought I could take care of myself," he said. His hands gripped the backrest of one of the chairs, right in front of you, as you stood next to the kitchen table. "Turns out I've never been able to do that. There's always someone looking after me. In my worst days, it was always you. And when something like this happens, now," he lifted his hands in the air. "Is Khonshu."

You frowned, not knowing what to say or what he meant, and he went on.

"You wanted me to be honest," he said. "I can promise you, this is the last thing I'll ever keep from you. I have no more secrets. I'm all yours from now on."

You blinked profusely, not knowing if you could trust him.

"No more lies?" you asked. The same hope in your voice you had heard in his a day earlier. "No more lies from now on? Can you promise me that?"

"I can," he said. "and I do. But you have to promise me you won't freak out, and won't put yourself in danger. Okay?" you nodded, and he insisted, walking closer. "I wanna hear you say it."

"I promise you Marc," you said. "I promise I won't put myself in danger," you repeated his words. Once he was mere inches from you, your fingers traced the line of buttons on his shirt. Something beyond reason urging you to slide your fingers under the hem of his shirt, but you didn't listen. "and I promise there's not one single thing you could say or do that could keep me away."

A little smile appeared on his face. Then, he left a peck of his lips in your forehead. He stepped back, away from you, and even if you wanted to follow him you didn't.

He stretched his arms on either side of his body and then you saw it. You saw the bandages rising from somewhere on his back, and quickly wrapping around his whole body, the hood forming over his curls until they weren't visible anymore, the cloak falling behind his back. His eyes began to glow, two bright moons growing into full moons and then covering his whole corneas. Everything in the flat seemed to be either broken or stained with blood; but not him. The suit was pristine white and gold. There were hieroglyphs written in black ink all over it.

There was something mystical, ancient and out-of-this-world in the air. You could feel it, magic blooming around you, in every single atom that surrounded you. And even if you didn't understand it, how that was even possible, you accepted it, because it was your Marc the one who wore it, the person under the suit.

Both the cloak and the bandages on his face disappeared in the blink of an eye. And Marc appeared underneath, now without a trace of blood on his face, as handsome as he had always been. He walked a hesitant step in your direction and you hit the table behind you when you backed off.

It wasn't as if you were scared of him, you never could. It was the fact that your mind could barely process how intimidating, and majestic he looked. You were having serious trouble with keeping your thoughts on track. The suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, the muscles in his thighs too. He even looked taller, if that was even possible.

"It's me," he said, his open palms, covered by the bandages, stretched out in your direction. "You don't have to be scared. It's still me."

"I know," you said, your voice low. "I know."

Marc walked his way back to you, as he always did. His covered fingers touched your hands, stained with his blood, but even then, the suit didn't get stained. You brought your hand to his chest, to the piece covering it, your fingers traced the golden moon there, and you swore you would've gotten an ugly cut if Marc had allowed you to reach the pointed edge of the half-crescent moon.

"When I got shot in Egypt last time," he started. "when Layla's father died, Khonshu, the god of the moon, gave me a chance to live," he said. "He exchanged my life for my servitude. I owe him. Neither Steven nor I would be alive today if it weren't for him," he waited, trying to find some kind of recognition in your eyes. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

You frowned, looking at him but still speechless. You said the first thing that came to mind.

"Are you an Avenger?"

That made him laugh, but he simply shook his head, a wide grin still lingering on his lips.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

Giving a hesitant touch, both your hands gently brushed his biceps covered by the suit. The fabric was strangely soft, but it was secured, attached to the body like a second skin. There was not one single thread out of place, and when you tried to pull from one end of the bandages, tried to find his own clothes or skin, you only found more cloth underneath.

When you looked into Marc's eyes again, he had a cheeky expression on his face. His eyes weren't glowing anymore, but they had a glint in them that was so characteristically Marc's.

"I think you like it a bit too much," he said.

"Oh," you chuckled, "I do."

Your fingertips caressed the fabric, travelling upwards until they reached the hem of the suit in his neck. Marc held his breath as your cool fingers made contact with his warm skin. He took your hand and pulled it away, placing it on his chest, close to his heart. He stepped forward, even if you thought it wasn't possible for him to be closer, cornering you against the table. One of his knees was now between yours.

"I meant it," he said, the most honest expression you had ever seen on his face. "...when I said I didn't want to hide anything from you anymore. That's why I'm here, telling you this. I'm leaving tomorrow morning for Cairo-"

"What?"

"I have to. Harrow has the scarab, he's trying to unleash ancient powers he won't be able to control," his hand cupped your cheek. "I have to stop him. If this goes right, it will be my last mission for Khonshu. It it goes wrong... well, the whole world's fucked."

You shook your head.

"No," you bit your own lip, anxiety blooming on your pupils. "How- how is any of that your responsibility, Marc? That's- that's madness."

"Shh..." he shushed you, his arms holding you tightly against him. "I'll be back soon, you don't have to worry about me."

"What if you don't?" you tried to get rid of his arms around you, but no matter how hard you struggled, you couldn't do it. "What if you get killed?"

He sighed, finally letting you free. Marc got rid of the suit. It shattered around him, disappeared without a trace, the bandages vanishing into thin air. Then, he held his knuckles high, just so you could observe the state of them. There was nothing there. There wasn't blood, or splinters, or one single scratch. Nothing, not even a thin white scar.

"The suit protects me. See?" Marc gently grabbed your chin and lifted your face to look at him. "I swear I'll be back. We both will. Then, the three of us will have a nice and long conversation. No fighting, no more Khonshu, no more mercenaries or weird artefacts, no more lies. I promise."

Your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke, the tears that had pricked your eyes moments earlier had vanished, but the knot in your throat did not suffer the same fate.

"How long will you be in Cairo?"

"I'm sorry..." he pursed his lips. His face pressed against your temple seconds later. He left a kiss on your hairline. "I don't have an answer for that. But I'm gonna call you every day and let you know we are okay, alright?" he smiled, now his forehead resting against yours. "How does that sound?"

"Horrible, actually," you bit your lower lip again, eyes squeezed shut in front of him. "I don't want you anywhere near that... genocidal maniac."

Marc's fingers caressed your skin, his gentle fingers barely touching you when he brushed some hairs our of your face. Despite everything, he was smiling.

"You've always taken such good care of me," he said, "but you don't have to worry now. I promise I'll be back."

You wanted to contadict his words, tell him that there was no way he knew how everything from this point on would unfold. Sure, his suit and god protected him, but to what extent? If Marc had these abilities, what were the chances of Harrow getting similar powers on his side? Still, you couldn't voice your concerns. It was a lost cause to argue with Marc when he was so sure of his decision.

So you sighed.

"I suppose you won't let me go with you."

His lips formed a thin line. He shook his head.

"Too dangerous," he said. "The only positive thing about Harrow having the scarab is they won't be here to bother you. They don't need us anymore," he paused, looked at his right, his eyes focusing on Gus' tank. "And I need someone here to take care of Steven's fish."

You rolled your eyes, a huff leaving your lips. He chuckled for a second, amused by the current of emotions showing on your face. He took one of your hands, his fingers intertwined his yours. And your other hand was quickly buried in his curls.

"You have to come back to me," you said, then he sensed a shift in your look, a more intense gaze, and he knew you weren't talking to him anymore, even before you parted your lips. "You too, Steven. You take care of each other."

Steven wasn't conscious at that precise moment, and Marc didn't want to bring up chaos in that situation, so he didn't dive into the headspace looking for him, but he would definitely tell Steven about it. Marc owed you that, now that he wouldn't allow the two of you to do something as necessary as saying goodbye.

Add to that the fact that Marc wasn't as sure of coming back in one piece as he made it seem, and the thoughts were soon tugging at his heart.

Marc wasn't so sure about Steven covering his back, but Marc wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. He wouldn't let anyone take Steven's happiness if he was there to prevent it. Once he came back, Marc would give him everything he took from him, he would mend it all. How, he didn't know, but if Marc was something, that was stubborn.

He wouldn't lose another brother. Or another part of himself, for that matter.

It wasn't until he felt a gentle pull from his curls that he snapped out of it.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked.

There it was, those kind eyes on your face. Your tone, sweetened with honey-flavored affection. He shook his head before your question, getting closer, his nose brushing your cheekbone as he worked up the courage to kiss you.

"Can we sleep together?" he asked, although he didn't mean it to sound as bad as it did. "Like we did last night. I really liked that."

He sounded so Steven right now. So soft, so unlike himself. And it wasn't until then that he remembered. Steven was him, a more gentle and open and vulnerable side of him, but him nonetheless. Marc was letting himself be vulnerable and soft, for the first time in a long while, and he would not feel guilty about it.

"Of course," you answered, your finger quickly crawling up to his neck, looking to start unbuttoning his shirt. It surprised both of you, even himself, when Marc didn't stop you. But his breath was still caught in his lungs. "What about your luggage? Do you need help with it?"

He drew a breath, as the cool air of the living room hit half of his chest. His eyes looking down at where your fingers tried to unbutton the last pair of buttons.

"All my things are in a warehouse in Central London," he said. "I'll grab a few shirts on my way to Victoria station."

You sighed, not entirely convinced with the sound of that. He was most certainly going to forget many things behind, but you figured he would have to manage.

He slid the sleeves of his shirt off his body. His now naked torso was warm, warmer than you remembered, and you had to fight the urge to bury your nose in the hole between his collarbones, looking up at his face instead.

"Can I at least accompany you to the station?" you asked.

Marc smirked, but shook his head.

"Don't make things more difficult," he said, then kissed your temple. "But I really appreciate that."

Soon, the two of you were back on Steven's bed, avoiding the sand on the floor as best you could. You took one of Steven's old t-shirts, expecting that to make you, at least, feel a bit closer to him. You needed them both with you, as you were sure Marc would leave in the blink of an eye; as he always did. And then you'd have none of them for god-knows-how-long. You also took one of Steven's shorts, even if they were most likely to slip from your hips. Part of you was begging for Marc to take those off as soon as you hit the bed; but you weren't so sure of that, having in mind how he had closed his eyes and drifted off the day before.

You hated the fact that your last conversation with Steven before they both left for Cairo was so tumultuous, so full of hatred. But you should have thought that before, both of you, because we never know what your last words to someone will be.

"Do you want me to say something to Steven?" Marc asked, knowing that you would have liked to at least say goodbye, and that he was taking that chance away from you.

"Tell him I love him," you said. Marc's mouth turned into half a smile. "I love you too, you know that."

Marc nodded. You might not be only his, but he is only yours.

His head rested on the pillow. Both your gazes locked into each other. Marc got closer, his body warm with only his boxers on, his big hand crawled its way under your arm and got hooked on your back, splashed there, covering as much flesh as he could. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed.

"I love you too," he said.

It was the first time he said those three words sober, meaning them, really, truly, meaning them. Marc had always avoided saying them, even the first time he let you know about his feelings a few days before, he had not used the verb love. And now that it was out of his mouth, out of his chest —finally— and lingering in the limited space between your mouths, he felt finally free from a baggage he didn't know was holding.

"Say it again," you whispered, and he loved that.

"I love you too."

His warm breath was all you could breathe in, being in that position, body pressed against him, eyes closed and heart wide open.

"Again, please."

"No," he chuckled. "Words aren't enough. Let me show you."

There were mere inches between your mouths, inches he closed as he threw himself against your lips with urgency. His hot breath in your mouth, so indistinctively him, tasted sweet in a way nothing else could. By then you had long forgotten how good of a kisser Marc was, and it took you by surprise when both of you found yourselves fighting for dominance, frenetically trying to taste each other as much as you could. His hand then left your back, that kept you pressed against him, and crawled its way to your jawline. The moment his fingertips touched your neck, and you moaned, Marc felt himself die and come back to life. You melted under his touch, and the kiss went from violent to lazy and wet and almost dumb.

This time, it was you who nibbled on his lower lip. Marc moaned, fingers digging into your shoulder as he tried to find and keep his sanity. The other hand, the one under your body, fisted the sheets.

Neither of you could believe what was happening. If you ever told your younger self —or even just a version from a week back— that you'd have some day Marc Spector moaning from your kisses, she would have lost her shit. If Marc had ever told his younger self, he'd have freaked out.

He pulled himself away from you, barely enough to admire your face, with the last ounce of willpower he had. You were both panting, out of breath, a faint red colour adorning his features, curls pointing in all directions.

"I think that's clear enough," you said.

He frowned for a second, seemingly having forgotten what led him to kiss you in the first place.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Hope it is."

"...because you won't repeat it?"

His smirk grew bigger.

"Who said such a thing?"

He pecked your lips a couple times, with a big grin still on his face, just before he moved and kissed your exposed cheek, the one that wasn't against the pillow. His hand buried itself under the hem of Steven's shirt, finding your waist below and pulling you against him, once, then drawing gentle, lazy circles over your naked flesh with his fingertips. He fell like a deadweight over the pillow just seconds later, still drawing circles, caressing all the skin he could reach; legs entangled with yours.

Goosebumps erupted on your skin, but he wouldn't be able to say if the cause were his attentions, the cold, or any other thing. Before he could stop himself, his touch dived further into your body, your stomach sinking away from his touch as he brushed the flesh there, but he didn't stop. Before he realized, his middle finger found the hem of your panties.

His eyes were locked in yours, and they hadn't changed its expression, as if nothing else was happening beyond two lovers looking into each other's eyes. But you knew somewhere, deep down, he was asking for permission. It was either that, or he wanted you to beg. And you did.

"Marc..."

The sound that came out of your mouth was half a whisper, half a moan, but beyond that, it was clear as day what it really was: a plea.

He parted his lips, drawing in a heavy breath. His fingers played with the hem, just to leave it alone and deciding to touch you —gently, without preassure— over the fabric.

He faked a puzzled face, frowning, as if he didn't know exactly what you wanted from him.

"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

You closed your eyes, now laying on your back and hips looking for a friction you couldn't find because he retrieved his hand, slightly, but never too far away. You looked at him, head lulling to the side.

"Marc... please."

He could have played with you all night, teasing you, making you beg. You saw it in his eyes, that he was capable of that and much more. But that night he was too eager, too needy. He had waited and imagined that moment for years, and now that it was happening, he was hard as a rock in his boxers. He couldn't wait, and a voice somewhere in his brain told him that it was cruel of him to make you wait any longer. But that didn't mean he had to rush things.

Marc leaned in and left a kiss on your clothed shoulder.

"Want this?" he said, a breath getting stuck at the very end of your lungs as his fingers pressed and massaged over the fabric of your panties.

"Yeah...," you gasped. "I want you. Marc, please."

He caught your mouth in his, savouring not only your mouth, but also the feeling of having you under him moaning his name, having you exactly as he had always needed you, imagined you. His open-mouthed kisses only made the pleasure and excitement more obvious, a pool of warmth growing in your insides.

Marc threw the covers away from you, leaving his laying position at last, now kneeling next to you on the mattress. With one hand he grabbed the hem of Steven's shorts, and pulled them so hard you could hear the seam unravel. You helped him pushing your hips over the mattress and prayed that the damage to the piece of clothing wasn't very serious. Not before you drowned in the sudden lightning bolt of pleasure that the sound brought to your body.

Then, Marc leaned in over you, trying to find the light switch just over the headboard. The bedroom space, only lit by the moonlight that poured through the window, became brighter as an orange-toned light bathed both bodies. You had to actively retain a gasp as you looked at Marc. The shadows created by the light definitely suited him, created shadows and light points making him look broader and his eyes darker, pupils wider.

His lips parted, breathing heavy as he looked at the way you slipped out of Steven's t-shirt. Your breasts on display, only for him to ravish on the sight.

"Lights stay on," he said. "I wanna see your pretty face when you cum."

He didn't even wait for a reaction, his fingers setting aside the fabric of your panties, his fingers now massagging up and down your naked flesh, not really with a path or a plan in mind. His other hand palmed his erection, hidden by the tent the fabric of his boxers had formed.

Marc kept the fabric out of the way with one hand, while he brought the fingers of his other hand to his tongue, wetting it with his spit. He buried those fingers in your folds, once, a low grunt leaving his lips when you moaned. Once he had them soaked, the pad of his fingers drew tight slow circles over your bundle of nerves.

"Oh, Marc..." you moaned. From your spot, you had a perfect sight of his shoulders and back, but also part of his face. Many of his dark curls fell over his eyes, but he didn't seem to notice. "...Ah... I-isn't it- better if you get..." he looked at you, not leaving his work unfinished for one single second and proud of the way you weren't able to finish a single sentence. "...get them off."

He pulled harder from your panties, the fabric getting deliciously buried in all right places.

"What's the fun in that?" he smiled.

You gasped, the pressure too intense to keep any type of chit-chat. Panting, you tried to reach for his arm. As your grip tightened around his hot flesh, your head left the pillow to get a visual of what he was doing. You could barely see anything beyond your abdomen rising and falling with your spasm and heavy breathing, but that accompanied by Marc's stoic and focused face, was enough to send you back to the pillow, your body way too heavy for you to hold any of it, your muscles and bones melting over the mattress.

"Marc..." he looked back at your face when he heard you whimper. "Marc, I need you closer."

He left everything he was doing, earning a huff from you, but even then, you felt the luckiest woman on Earth when he leaned over you, this time resting his weight on his elbows at both sides of your body. One of his hands brushed a hair that you hadn't noticed on your face, and he kissed your lips, quickly pulling away just a few inches.

"I'm right here, baby," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

That was just a blatant lie, but one that could comfort you for the time being.

He lowered his face to lick a long stripe of skin on your chest, in the valley between your breasts. The sound that came from your chest sounded like a wounded animal, but Marc didn't mind. He massaged one of your tits, creating the perfect preassure right before he caught the nipple in his mouth. He licked, sucked, until they were perky and standing proud in the cold room. Although the flat seemed everything but cold in that moment. He gave the same attentions to the other one, not wanting to neglect a single inch of your body.

You buried your fingers in his hair as he did, massaging his scalp, pulling gently from his curls and drawing little moans from his mouth. When he was done —because it looked like he would give you a death glare if you interrupted his meal— you pulled his hair, trying to catch his lips again in yours.

He kissed you again, wet, hot and heavy tongue playing with yours, the saliva falling from one corner of your mouth for a moment before he kissed it away. The palm of your hand slipped over his hard flesh, not even stopping against his abs but instead going even lower. When you finally found the fabric of his black boxers, your fingers touching over the sensitive skin of his head by accident, he let his head fall over your collarbone. His heavy breath on your skin making you shiver.

You tried to reach for his member, but it wasn't like you had the best sight from that angle, so you failed. Luckily, Marc was too needy to behave as he normally would and guided your open palm to his covered cock, grinding against your touch.

In his mind, he was being harsh, not letting you touch him without asking permission first, not having all those gentle touches, caresses and complicit looks he was having with you. It didn't even feel like fucking. And he figured that maybe he wasn't fucking. Not at all.

He moaned when you pulled his hair, yanking his head back from your collarbones. You kissed his cheek, your lips never leaving his skin. And as you did, you touched him, pressing your hand and moving it up and down on his long shaft. When it became ridiculous the fact that he still had those boxers on, you pushed him back on the mattress, laying on his back so you could get rid of his boxers. He let you, looking at your much smaller hands pulling from the hem of his boxers until he had them around his knees. And he kicked it off of his body, while you took his heavy cock in your hands and gave him a stroke. His thighs trembled.

"You're so good to me," he said, his thumb caressing your neck while his other fingers rested on your nape. "I don't deserve you."

You quickly turned to him, almost snapping your head in the process.

"Don't say that ever again," you said. Marc gasped as you stroked him, his head leaking pre-cum, coating your fingers. But even with that serious expression on your face, you didn't stop jerking him off. "You deserve me. You deserve good things."

You leaned, now laying next to him on the bed. Marc's arm surrounded your body, he hooked his fingers in your waist. Reaching for his cock again, you kept giving him gentle strokes. He nodded in your direction.

"No, I wanna hear you say it now."

You increased the speed, barely, but even with that, he wasn't able to do so much as keeping his eyes open and take ragged breaths.

"Say it, say you deserve good things."

"I-" he tried, squeezing his eyes shut, panting. His other hand digged in your arm. "I deserve good things."

How had he ended up in that situation, that he kept wondering about. He rarely ever let a woman take control, but for you he could get used to it.

"That's my boy.”

He felt the familiar rush, the ticking bomb inside of him trying to implode just as you said that, and he quickly yanked your hand out of his body. He couldn't come yet, he wouldn't.

He behaved like a madman. He certainly felt like one, while getting over you and getting rid of your panties the same way he did with Steven's shorts earlier. He pushed your knees, your legs open for him; and before you could get used to the feeling of having nothing to cover yourself, he was already leaving wet kisses on the inside of your thighs.

Your weight was resting on your elbows, because you wanted to be able to see his pretty face. Even if he did nothing, you still wanted to look at him. You never got tired of that face, of his expression and focused gaze. Marc's too perfect not to be admired.

There was a moment of hesitation when he looked at you, as if he was asking for permission before lowering himself against your folds. You nodded for him to continue, and without breaking eye contact he buried himself between your legs, wet lips and skillful tongue eating you out, kissing, licking. Whatever he did, whatever pace he set, it felt like an thunderstorm suddenly bursting through your insides.

Between moans, you saw him roll his eyes, close them. That was when you knew that he was doing it for his own pleasure, not yours. His hands stopped you in your tracks when you tried to move your hips, slapping the tender skin of your thighs and leaving an angry red mark with the shape of his hand. He didn't let you move, long fingers and open palms keeping you open, still and available under him. His heavy tongue felt as if he was licking fire into your skin. Then, he put two fingers in and pumped, opening you up and getting you ready for what was about to come.

Marc said something, but you could hardly hear anything beyond your pulse, your own moans and half-hearted screams. You had never been as loud in bed as now, and it was frankly embarrassing how much you wanted —needed— him right then and there.

Even when he spoke, he never stopped pounding his thick fingers into you.

"You taste so fucking good," he said, before licking a long stripe between your lips. "I can’t believe I’ve missed this," he licked again, enthusiastically lapping at your bundle of nerves. "Come for me, baby. Come in my mouth."

He curled his fingers, knowing damn well what he was doing, sending you directly to rapture. His praise was well-received, triggering one of the most shattering orgasm of your life.

Marc held your hips, pushing you into the mattress as your thighs tried to close around his head. He moaned as if he was the one coming, his tongue licking around as if you were made of the most delicious sweet.

"That's it, there you are," he said, chin glistening below the dim lights, a cheeky smile on his face as he propped himself on his elbows, took the fingers out of you and licked them clean. "...my sweet girl. You come so good."

He lunged forward, looking for a kiss. You tasted yourself in his tongue, in the way he was passing the flavour into your mouth; and you couldn't help but moan into his mouth too. The whole thing was so nasty that it turned you on even more, the all-consuming fire burning in your skin —longing for his body— never fading, not for one split second.

You pushed at his chest and shoulders back, guiding him on a sitting position in front of you. He had a frown on his beautiful face, and you couldn't help but lean in and kiss the small wrinkle between his eyebrows and the swelling vein on his forehead.

"What you're up to?"

Marc said it with a grin on his face, but even then you could see the confusion.

"You'll see," you responded, crawling your way up to him, Your fingers looked blindly to grip the soft curls in the back of his head. Your lower body sitting over him, facing him, your thighs over his and his erection twitching when it brushed the inside of your thigh. "I think you'll love it. No one will ever fuck you like I do."

Marc's breath was caught in his lungs, he never thought you could talk like that; and it was certainly a first that he wasn't expecting.

He loves it.

"Are you gonna ride me?" he asked, looking into your eyes with so much desire and impatience that even if you weren't, you wouldn't have denied him anything. "Are you gonna ride my cock like a good girl?" then he brushed your hair back, the pads of his fingers lingering over the skin of your neck for way too long. Then he whispered. "Do you want me to lay back?"

"No."

He hissed when you touched his erection, hard as a rock in your hand, and held his breath as he watched how you propped yourself on him, just to slowly —almost cruelly— lower yourself on his cock, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, your thighs once again sitting on his lap, your heels digging into his lower back as you hooked yourself around him in a tight hug.

Marc had to close his eyes to keep himself from floating away, but still held your body against his chest. It wasn't until he felt your face against his collarbone, your ragged breath over his skin, that he came back to reality.

"You okay?" he asked, almost whispering. His open palm caressed your back in a comforting manner, up and down.

"Yeah, yeah," you responded. "Give me a second."

"All you need."

You were way too full, full to the brim. You could almost feel the pressure of him in your lungs, not letting you breathe. But soon the uncomfortable sensation faded, only leaving the pleasure and eagerness behind. Your arms embraced him over his shoulders, hugging his broad back and all of him as best you could. You'd never have enough of his boiling-hot flesh. You lowered your face against his neck and sucked and licked until he had a cute love bite blooming over his tanned skin.

"If you do that again," he sucked in a breath. "...I'm not taking responsibility for the things I'll do to you."

You chuckled, kissed the bruised skin and wondered if you felt like pushing his limits; finally concluding that maybe today wasn't the day.

“Just a little gift” you whispered against his ear, goosebumps erupted on his neck and shoulders “to remember me by.”

“I could never forget you.”

Your forehead rested against his, heavy breaths coming from the both of you; breaths that became even heavier as you rolled your hips and slowly sank yourself into him. Marc grunted, fingers digging deeply in your hips as the pace picked up.

"You'll be the end of me," he said between breaths.

He then hooked one of his arms around your waist. He held your lower back, but also pushed you up and down on his length, quick to begin thrusting from underneath as best he could. Even with those odds, his hips didn't falter, his thrusts were hard, slow and deep. You moaned his name against his mouth, and that's when his hand grabbed your neck, thumb and index getting buried just under your jaw.

Were those stars or black dots in your vision? You didn't know, maybe both.

"So precious," he said, and his grip on your neck faltered as you reached for his wrist, nails scratching his flesh. "Do you like that?"

You didn't respond, but your fingers cupped his hand and squeezed, urging him to do the same. Marc chuckled, and brought you in for a peck on the lips. "No, that's..." he gasped as he felt you tighten around him "...already too much. Fuck, I'm so close, already. What the fuck are you doing to me?"

Finding strength in his words, you gripped his shoulders and rode him. Faster, deeper, if that was even possible. Marc opened his mouth to complain, but went silent as his own eyes rolled back.

"F-fuck."

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady himself, trying not to cum yet. He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking there from the force. His fingers dug deeper into your waist, succeeding in their task of trying to slow down the pace when, finally, your muscles started to ask for a time-out.

"You little bitch," he complained, his hand left your neck and gripped your cheeks, a dull ache spreading beneath the grip that, unexpectedly., made you clench around him. "I'm not coming first. You are coming first. Am I clear?"

"Y-yes," you responded.

He didn't wait, couldn't wait. Marc reached for where you both joined, quick to find your swollen clit almost brushing his own groin, not without coating his fingers in spit. And he drew tight circles, his arm guiding you to keep sinking yourself around him. The head of his cock pulsing and hitting the right spot inside of you, time and time again. He was determined to wear you out.

"Give me another one, come on," he said, muttering to himself. "I know you can do it. I can feel you."

And so you did, the powerful blast of pleasure spreading everywhere from your centre, thighs stiff and unmoving over his, both your hands fisting his hair until a low grunt left the back of his throat. Your vision went blurry just before you closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his.

"I got you," he said through clenched teeth, following closely behind.

All he needed was a few more thrusts, feel your warm and tender skin against his. You were everywhere, all his senses could record were you against him: your back under his touch, your fingers on his nape, your body sitting over him, thighs drenched with a mix of sweat and cum. He grabbed your body closer, as if it wasn't close enough, and let himself fall into the void. His eyes squeezed shut as his own orgasm shattered everything around him. You heard him moan and struggle against your ear.

Both of you panted as you came down from your high. Marc never let you go, he knew better than that now. Your hand slipped over his shoulder, falling over his heart and feeling his quick pulse underneath.

Marc buried his head deeper into your collarbone, trying to quiet down a mix of contradicting thoughts clouding his mind. It wasn't until then that he realized he should've, at least, pulled out; instead of spilling himself inside of you without even asking. It wasn't until then, either, that he realized that leaving for Cairo would be a hundred times worse, that being away from you would be one of the worst things he would've to do. Again.

And he would still not have it any other way. Never. Not in a million years.

"You're alright, baby?" you asked him, caressing the back of his neck and shoulders with one hand.

"Mine," he whispered, the sound so muffled you hardly heard it. "I can't believe you're finally mine."

He felt tears pricking in his eyes, but didn't let go of them.

"Oh, silly," you chuckled and kissed his shoulder. "I've always been yours."

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hwanchaesong · 2 years

Text

"As It Was"

Yunho X Reader

Synopsis: When will you realize that everything is bound to be perfect?

genre & warnings: fluff, angst, f2l au, soulmate au, university au, mention of cheating, cursing

word count: 1.9k

When two people meet for the first time, how would the cosmos tell them that they are soulmates?

No, this is not fantasy, no matching tattoos, dreaming about them, and all that fiasco that we read in books.

Certainly, there would be some signs that are difficult to notice by the naked eyes but aren't that difficult to feel.

April 12, 2004

It was a nice day out. The sun is up in the sky, the breeze is lightly blowing against your skin.

What a nice d-

"Ouch!"

Your 5 year-old self yelped, tears springing into your eyes as you clutched your head. Well, you did not expect a ball to be tossed on you.

"I'm sorry!" a boy your age went closer to you, giving you a cold beverage for apology.

You looked up, a sheepish smile on his face but you only sneered at him, averting your eyes once more.

"Hey! I said I'm sorry." there was some rustling, then you felt him sit down beside you.

It was awkward as hell, hearing his friends call for him but he only held a hand at them, silently saying that 'I still have a girl to coax for forgiveness.'

You sniffed, not giving him attention until he introduced himself.

"I am Jeong Yunho, by the way."

"L/N Y/N."

He smiled a bit, well that's a step.

Back to the present day.

If anyone told you that the child who killed 10 years worth of braincells would be your bestfriend, you'd laugh at them.

But that wasn't the case.

"Y/N! Did you wait that long?"

Speaking of the devil. There he was. The said child, now 23 years old, is marching towards you with a foolish smile on his face.

"No," you lifted yourself up from the wall that you're leaning on, "but what got you all giddy, buddy?"

His grin widened, excitedly shaking your shoulders, "I just landed a date with Mina tonight!"

Mina who?

Ah, Kang Mina, the princess of your school.

Pretty, intelligent, kind. The kind of girl that all boys would chase even until death.

Yunho's smile dropped when he noticed your unresponsiveness, "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean t-"

You held your forefinger up, lightly wiggling it, "Nope, don't be sorry. I'm totally fine and I'm happy for you."

That was a half lie and half truth.

Half lie because you weren't truly fine. How could you? You just got out of a messy break-up with your ex, Mark Lee.

Nobody would be okay after spending 3 years with someone, only for it to be shattered by unfaithfulness and disloyalty.

Half truth because yes, you are happy to hear that your friend has finally gotten a date with his long time crush.

"Are you sure?" he asked you again, skeptical on your answer.

"I am!" you laughed, linking your arms with him, "Now let's go and get you ready for tonight's fun."

There's this weird feeling while watching Yunho run around his room, coat after coat, shoes after shoes, and fretting over his hairstyle.

It always happens whenever you see him around other girls or when he's talking about his crushes or past girlfriends.

At first you thought that it was the fear of losing him as a friend. Then your mother told you that it's an another kind of terror.

You quickly dismissed that idea, not wanting to delve deeper into an unknown territory.

"You think I look good?"

"You always look good."

He scoffed, turning around to glare at you, "You're just buttering me up, are you?"

You shrugged, smirking at him, "That's what you need, lover boy."

You shrieked when he tackled you, effectively making you lie down on the mattress. When you opened your eyes, he was positioned atop of you and was greeted by his handsome face.

Silence.

The sound of the clock ticking is the only sound in the background, and even if no one can hear it, the beating of two hearts is perfectly synchronized.

"Yunho." you whispered his name and something within him seemed to awaken.

He slowly leaned down, noses almost touching... Ding!

That was your phone, ringing continuously and that snapped you out of your trance.

You blinked rapidly, awkwardly laughing and gently pushing the man away from you.

"Let me take this." you mumbled, grabbing your phone from the nightstand.

"Yeah, yeah go." he gestured, standing up and fixing his hair.

It was all good, the racing beats inside Yunho were slowly calming down, yet his blood boiled when he heard you say the name of a jackass who dared to hurt you.

"Mark? Why are you calling me? I thought I said that we're over."

More grumbles and hushed curses then your phone call ended.

You heaved a sigh, anxiousness pooling at the pit of your stomach that manifested itself in your face.

"Looks like you're not the only one who will have a meet-up tonight." you say, walking over to his door and getting ready to leave.

You wanted to make it look like a joke, but the heaviness in your voice is a big hint that you're not looking forward to your own rendezvous.

"Hey." Yunho voiced out, "Call me anytime, if ever you want to get out of there. I'll come get you."

"Thanks for the offer."

You will not do that. Not when it means that you'll ruin the date that he worked so hard for.

You will have to settle this on your own.

June 14, 2022 - 8:14 PM - Han River

"Mark."

You talked under your breath when you saw the silhouette of the man that you thought you'll never get a glimpse of again.

"Y/N. God, thank you for coming."

Your ex went over to you and tried to hug you, something that you rejected.

"I deserve that." he laughed off the humiliation he felt, "Okay, please listen to me."

"My ears are all open." you gestured sarcastically, not really in the mood for his poor excuses but still, you wanted this to end once and for all.

"Alright, first, I apologize for cheating on you."

You winced at that, not expecting him to throw that right off the bat.

"Second, that was a mistake. It wasn't meant to happen again. I promise. So please." he inched closer to you, holding your hand that you didn't resist.

"Please be with me again."

You let yourself breathe again, smiling bitterly at the boy that you once loved with all your heart, "I'm glad that you're still pursuing me but," you detached your hands from him, hiding it behind you, "I'm sorry, I don't want to give you the chance that you're asking."

"What?" disbelief painted his face when the clear refusal hit him, "Come on, Y/N, it's not that hard."

He reached out for you, only to be forcefully pushed back into the concrete. A looming figure shielding you from your ex.

"Back off man, she said she doesn't want to."

That voice... Yunho?

"What are you doing here?" you glanced up at your night in shining armor, confused as to why he's standing in this place instead of sitting in front of his date.

He craned his neck, eyes absorbing your distressed state, "To save you from this asshole."

June 14, 2022 - 7:37 PM - Kyungsung Coffee

"Is something bothering you, Yunho?"

The bubble that he's in popped, staring wide eyed at the girl across him.

"Uh, yeah. I mean," he shook his head and flashed Mina a bright smile, "no, I'm fine."

She stopped sipping at her drink, opting to scrutinize every single detail of the puppy-like boy.

"Sure you are," she snickered before tapping her fingers on the table, "now spill."

Yunho took a hold of his hair, "I'm just worried about my friend."

"Ooh, the cute one named Y/N?"

"You know her?"

Mina chortled, "Of course I do you dumb dumb! I always see her with you. The whole school actually thought that you two are dating."

That's new information, and it somehow made Yunho's heart flutter. The idea of you and him as an official couple had always crept into his mind a lot.

He had this feeling that you two clicked so well. It was given that misunderstandings and arguments ensued, but for some reason, the both of you had always found ways to compromise.

"I-"

"Go to her, you idiot."

June 14, 2022 - 11:28 PM - Daecheon Beach

"Thank you for saving me back there." you uttered, shivering a bit when the cold wind made contact with your skin.

"No problemo, kiddo." he replied in a sing-song voice, "You wanna go back in the car?"

"Nah, I'm perfectly fine here."

By that, you meant that you're fine being here with him. His presence close to you, and even if you can barely feel it, the heat that he's radiating is comfortable.

It was quiet until he made a move to speak.

"Do you still remember the stupid promise we made? Ya know, five years ago after that disaster of a prom."

That.

It was actually funny now that you had the time to reminisce about it.

Your gown was soaked with orange juice, Yunho's right shoe was ripped open, and the worst of them all, you didn't get to enjoy the food that you paid for.

Under the night sky full of stars, in your school rooftop, you both made a pact.

"In ten years, if we're still single, let's marry each other."

You giggled a bit, gazing at the scenery presented to you at this hour.

It's kind of the same, you think.

Pitch black heavens with splotches of twinkling balls of gas, the only difference is that you're staring off into the ocean instead of tall buildings.

"What about it?"

You were caught off guard when a calloused hand grasped yours. Enveloping it in its warmth, ultimately making your head spin.

"I say screw that."

Glancing at your bestfriend since childhood, there's a fire that sparked.

Similar to that when you first met each other. Or that time when you accidentally kissed inside the cramped locker while hiding from a teacher.

It was always there, but neither of you was brave enough to address the lingering sentiment.

"What do you mean?" you inquired, not wanting to jump into conclusions.

"In three seconds, when we're still single, let's date."

He bent down, height the same as yours as his chocolate orbs filled with love peered on your own eyes, and you couldn't help but wonder.

Why didn't you notice the way he looks at you sooner?

The tip of your noses are grazing each other, hot breaths are mixing.

How on earth can you describe the calm fireworks in your veins?

Lips touching, sealing a destiny that was in there the whole time.

That must be it huh?

0Pulling away, a smile on both of your faces, you finally discerned that this was the hint that the universe has been giving you since you were young.

The ball that bonked you square in the head, it was beautifully designed for you to meet the man who will stay with you even in your next life.

You and him, looking at other people for love when it was already presented to you years ago.

It took a while for you to accept reality, but fate works in a mysterious way that it lets you choose yet makes you reconsider every decision until you reach a path that is yours to walk on.

It's nice.

Perfect even.

Knowing that the life you'll lead will always be with Jeong Yunho.

When you're together, everything shall remain as it was.

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

Taglist:

@hyuckilstan @hwadump @minkiflwr @ateezbabysitters @kpopcrossworlds @atzduskmeeting @dreamtof0rget

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decembermoonskz · 7 months

Text

+ stray kids : ROCK-STAR (樂-STAR) | my comeback review/thoughts °˖✧

time for another skz comeback hehehehehe i have some thoughts about the mv so i'll jot them down as well but we're talking album first! if you're interested click under the cut >:D

album ;

★ - favorite

:: MEGAVERSE ★

!!!!! okay i love this song so much! it's a great intro!

i was getting a lot of maze of memories vibes ngl

the BEAT DROP THO :00000

i loved seungmin and jeongin's vocals

jisung and hyun's raps were my faves

chris doing the outro >>>>>

already i like it more than lalalala ngl but onto that one

:: LALALALA

the bass is so nasty /pos

i'm happy changbin opens the song hehehe

rap line really popped off fr fr

the pre-chorus is so heavenly 😩 i love it so much

the drop again is soooo good the key changing in the background is so satisfying hehe

HYUNJIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (start of verse 2)

kinda wanted seungmin's part to last a bit longer afterwards

jisung needs to chill /pos

CHRISTOPHERRRRRRRRRRRRRR (pre-chorus 2)

kinda not a fan of the song format this time around but lix saying "oh shit" is so good lol

jisung doing the second chorus start is perfect

CHRISTOPHER FALSETTO IS KILLING ME (I will never get over that ever. you hear me? ever.)

the hype ending reminded me of a yg song highkey (ikon/treasure vibes)

overall good title track solid 8.5/10 for me

:: BLIND SPOT

!!! oh! this is more upbeat than i expected!

jisung vocals!!!! >>>>>

jeongin 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

oh this is so uplifting.. 🥺🥺 heart feeling all warm and shit

OH HELLO THE SYNTH!!! i actually like it those really high synths sometimes bother but not this time

changbin!!! *head bops*

the pre-chorus feels really nice. like it's building up to something so happy and satisfying

the chorus is so cute tho!! 😭

hehehehe chris..... (read: FALSETTO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

oh i like the switch up for the last chorus/outro

this one is so cute. very tmt vibes ngl it's so cute

:: COMFLEX ★

👀 oh? (classic skz sirens)

HEY NOW! *starts jamming*

that intro tho was perfect

jeongin!!!!!!!!!!!???????? YOU DON'T GIVE A WHAT????? (are skz saying fuck it when it comes to cursing now LOL fuck yeah)

oh the message is awesome

CHRISTOPER?!?!?!? AYO FUCK YEAH

THE DROP IS SO GOOD!!!

hyunsung you better fuck that rap up

i love the embracing all my scars and imperfections

i knew felix would do the drop intro this time

OH I LOVE THIS SONG

the bridge has such a goof melody tho

vocalracha is killing it

CHRIS I WILL SCREAM (that intro to the drop is so hot i love that for chanlix)

oh i love that one so much

:: Cover Me

omg that first 10 seconds is so peaceful i love it

omg i'm kinda speechless. this song is so beautiful 🥺🥺🥺

my brain is so smooth for this song HAHA

that whole first section was so pretty i felt like i was being carried through it (if that makes sense)

chris has so many falsetto moments in this album and i'm loving it

"the sun will always be there waiting after the rain" damn i'm crying ig

i'm not usually one for ballads but this one hits so nicely

i think it has to do with that electric guitar in the back

hyun!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺

SEUNGMIN MAIN VOCAL!!

omg him and chris holding those notes was so satisfying!!!

this is my new fave ballads they have (right next to waiting for us)

what? nooo i don't want it to be over 😭😭 that was so nice

need to see this in concert

:: Leave ★

WHAT IS THIS PERFECT LOFI INTRO???????????????

OMFG I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

THE JAZZY LOFI VIBE I'M IN LOVE

changsung serenading with rap somehow i love this

i thought this would be the ballad (i mean it kinda is) but this has more chill than ballad omg

feels like a jisung song

CHRIS PLEASEEEE

the chorus is soooo nice

omg electric guitar again!!! it's so good the way they use it

oooh the second verse with minho is so nice yesssss

hyunjin better stop...

ah i almost that it was over but i was like "there's one more isn't there" lol

CHANGBIN VOCALSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS FUCK YESSSSSSSSSS ALL I ASK FOR GOD

seungmin backup vocals are so good

that was so nice def a fave

:: Social Path Ft. LiSA (KR Version)

i wasn't sure how they could change much since it's a english predominant song but okay?

i'm very biased and don't like their language switch-ups most of my time but this one is okay

the lyrics sound fluid actually LET'S GO

LiSA vocals (i'm in heaven)

this is literally my dream collab you have no idea

my fave group and one of my fave vocalists ever they did this for me actually

i love the "now or never" melody so much still

i don't have that many thoughts about this one bc i liked this one before

the korean lyrics fit fine since there weren't that many to start with but this is an okay language switch-up imo (this is rare for me so know that's good lol)

:: LALALALA (Rock Version)

OH GUITARS FUCK YES

OMG FUCK YES THIS IS SO GOOD THE DRUMS!!!!

oooooo the pre-chorus is more intense instead of heavenly I LIKE IT

oh the drop feels so different ngl bc of the inst. it makes it feel like a diff song

oh seungmin's part after hyun is better in this version ngl the hits are nice

changsung raps >>>>>>

the guitars are so fucking good

the rock inst. + chris' voice is amazing

OOOOOH THE BRIDGE IS AWESOME SO INTENSE AND HYPE-BUILDING

THE MUSIC DROPPED OUT AND CAME BACK WITH HYUN LET'S GO I LOVE THAT

more caps in this version bc it's so hype

oh the hits with lix's la la la is so satisfying

hehe 24/7- anyway

this feels like this should be the live version (i hope it is)

OH! different outro i liked that outro more i think

overall i like the alterations in this version but i like the og more still

mv/performance ;

so i'll keep it brief on the mv. it's not good for me. i love the color palette (browns and blacks are so so nice for me) but i really don't like it overall. they've had so many better ones imo.

it's just not for me. it kinda tainted my first impression of the song but i like it a lot more after watching music bank (i'm so excited for the studio choom)

it was a bit too frenetic and chaotic for me. it didn't go with the song that well and felt too random (a bus, a pirate ship and clowns? alien cg creatures too? too much and it doesn't go together). the editing for this mv was some of the worst i've seen for a skz mv and that's shocking to me bc they are so well-known for the editing of their mvs but i just really have no words for how messy it felt.

also the way the screen time for the vocal line felt so much more scuffed compared to the rap line tilted me a lot (i barely saw jeongin and chris in the mv and that bummed me out a lot).

overall i won't need to rewatch the mv that much. i am content looking at stayblr's gifs of the mv.

now as for the performance aspects, i really like the choreo and it really feels intense and hype. it's perfect for a concert which is always smth i think about in terms of them.

the chorus choreo is so powerful and i love the pre-chorus stuff it reminds me a bit of back door's pre-chorus choreo. like the vibes and stuff

the outro chorus choreo is so hype and it makes me bop my head as i watch.

tldr: i dislike the mv, but the choreo and energy are great!

final thoughts ;

i'm so happy my boys are back and they definitely did great with this one. is it better than 5-star for me? mmm i don't think so if i were to compare them i still love the 5-star album more. HOWEVER i really think the b-sides are amazing on this album. megaverse and comflex are so amazing and cover me and leave are so nice. i love when skz show their more gentle and softer sides in their songs since they're known for bangers. the mv nearly tainted my whole love for this cb tho so i'm def gonna overlook that. however skz never disappoints with bringing the hype energy and once again they've shown out with this comeback. they definitely made it rock (lol lemme stop). overall out of 10 i think this comeback was an 8/10 bordering 8.5/10 bc i really like the album itself. i can't wait for their next tour i need to see this stuff live >:)

#izzy talks comebacks #stray kids #skz #stray kids comeback #skz comeback #skz rockstar #stray kids rockstar #stray kids lalalala #skz lalalala

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skulduggery-pleasant-bp9 · 1 year

Text

Part 5 – A bit of Background to Erskin

WARNING!: Mention of suicide, Mentally unhealthy and emotionally unstable Reader, Cursing, mention of murder/killing, AND MORE ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

Read THIS to understand why the reader has a name !

Our faforite subject...DRAMA.

After they finished eating, Valkyrie and Vile finished their round of eyes of Kali, then got Melancholia clothes for later to put on and played with Erskin drinking Ludo, without shot glasses of course. They didn’t plan to get drunk after all.

After two more hours, Melancholia suddenly started to wake up. Lord Vile grumbled and hissed in pain as he made the flesh melt away and became a skeleton in the armor again. He stood up and towered over Melancholia. Soon enough she opened her eyes and when she saw Vile tower over her, her eyes grew wide, freezing in fear.

She spotted Valkyrie and Erskin too and she tried to throw shadows at them, but nothing happened.

“W-what ? No ! Where…?!”, she yelled in fear and confusion.

Vile lifted the blanket and took a look at Melancholia’s body again, to make sure no more carvings were left behind or returning.

“Fight me and I might get forceful, Miss Clair. You haven’t seen me be forceful yet.”, Lord Vile threatened darkly.

She froze up and looked at the three of them.

“What the hell did you do to me ?!”, she yelled in horror.

“We removed your carvings from your body. It would have killed you at some point. You were too unstable to be a Death Bringer and the sigils made it just worse. Now let me make sure nothing stayed behind. Otherwise I will get forceful.”, Vile explained.

“WHAT ?! I was PERFECT !”, she yelled.

“You were a lost cause.”, Lord Vile replied and checked her arms.

“I wasn’t !”, she protested.

“You were working like a broken battery. When you used too much of your abilities you discharged and were in immense, unnecessary pain and when you recharged you felt a wave hit you, but it would discharge very quickly as soon as you used it. It is like a battery that is broken and can’t be fixed. It discharges randomly and when it is used too often. You would have exploded and never been able to open the Passage.”, Lord Vile disagreed.

“I was WORKING on it !”

“You CAN’T work on it. A real Death Bringer doesn’t have such issues in the first place. I would know. I AM the Death Bringer after all. I just refuse to do what these idiots of Necromancers want from me. The Passage isn’t all that great. Nothing would change. No one would envelop to better or worse. We would be stuck forever on the same page. No one would be able to have a family of their own. Nothing new would happen. It would get boring really quickly. It. Is. Not. WORTH. It.”

Melancholia fell silent at that. She never thought about those things before.

“I suggest for you to go see Kenspeckle and a Sensitive for a while. You need emotional and mental recovery. You might have seen Craven only doing what was best for you, but he did sadistic, forbidden, criminal things to you and your mental and emotional state needs help to recover from all the trauma. You hear me, child ?”, Lord Vile asked.

Melancholia looked at him and nodded.

“Not a word about Skulduggery and me to anyone. We plan to tell everyone when the time comes. You understand ?”

She nodded again.

“Good. Then I will leave you now and Skulduggery can take back over. Until we meet again, Valkyrie, Erskin.”

“Bye Vile.”, Valkyrie said.

“Goodbye you old sock.”, Erskin joked.

Lord Vile snorted and let the armor melt away. The skull fell forward and after the armor was gone, it rose again. Skulduggery came back and looked at the three of them.

“I am pretty surprised that he kept his word…”, he then said.

Erskin scoffed.

“I am pretty surprised as well, that he let you go again. He is way more decent than you.”, he said and then left the room.

“That was a poor choice of words Skul. You know how protective Erskin is over Lord Vile. And I can see why. He was very nice actually. Just like you were when we met the first time.”, Valkyrie informed.

“It could all be show.”, he denied.

“Like you pretend all the time that you are fine, since the Faceless Ones ?”

Skulduggery stayed silent at that. She gave him a glare. He sighed and looked away.

“Fine I will shut up about it. Now what of our guest ?”

“As Vile said, to Kenspeckle’s. He might be able to help her a bit to recover.”

“What about Erskin ? Will he come as well ?”

“I will ask him.”

With that she left the room, going to Erskin’s. She knocked and then entered his room. He looked at an old picture with a grim face.

“Hey…”, she said softly.

“What do you need ?”, he grunted.

“Do you want to come with us ? We are bringing Mel to Kenspeckle.”

“No thank you. I don’t want to listen to Mr. Perfect and his complains about his counterpart any more than I already have to. I think I rather kill myself.”

She frowned and was silent for a bit.

“Are you that mad at him ?”, she asked.

“Sometimes, I wish I never missed him when he died. He was always so collected and ready to rescue others. But since that day…the day his Family died, he died and came back…he is different. He became irresponsible and uncaring. He just lets everything go with a shrug of his shoulders. When he was alive, he would have scolded you and me on a daily basis. Like, we can’t just kill someone, never judge a book by its cover, everyone deserves a second chance, just because they were bad at the beginning doesn’t that mean that they can’t change, don’t attack people as long as they don’t start a fight with you, don’t run head first into danger and all that shit. He would have scolded us like a Dad. It all went missing when he came back.”

She stared at him with wide eyes. Erskin let tears slip when he said all of that.

“It was one of the many reasons I looked up to him and saw him close to a Father figure. He taught me cause and consequence, strategy, when to act and when to let it go, what was right and what was wrong. He tried to keep all of us safe. Where did HE go ?”

“So he…didn’t go back to at least a bit of normal ?”, she asked.

“No. He didn’t. When he came back, I hoped that he would…you know…be at least still 50% of the man I used to know and partly grow up with…But there wasn’t even 20% of him left. I don’t know how the others see it, but I see it as clear as crystal. It is night and day to me. He tried to keep me away from the war, you know ? He didn’t want me to join. I did anyways and he was very unhappy with me, told me I had no idea what I will have to see…naïve as I was, I told him that I knew. I thought I could deal with it all. He was right…I had no clue and I was left traumatized.”

They didn’t know, but Skulduggery listened in on them. He just stood near the slightly ajar door, listening, not moving.

“Were you hoping he would replace his kid with you ?”, she asked Erskin.

“God no ! I wasn’t even hoping to be adopted. But…I guess he partly did ? He was the one who took me everywhere with the others and himself alone, he taught me a lot on his own…I did feel like he adopted me at some point. I don’t think he noticed that though. It was war and he always stuck together with the people that were on the same side as him. I think it was normal for him. But as a 16 year old that never had loving nor caring parents, it was a big thing to have someone suddenly care.”, Erskin chuckled saddened.

“Your parents never loved you ?”, she asked.

“No. My Mother was an abusive, manipulative whore and I never met my Father. I have no idea who he was, nor do I have a name. My Stepfather was very abusive too. One of the many things that made me run away with ten years of age.”

There was a silence and Erskin sighed shakily.

“I was practically in the world of Mages in infant age. I was still considered a ‘Baby’ as I joined. I thought I couldn’t see more horror than the shit I was already forced to face, since I was three years old, from my own Mother. Skulduggery warned me. Told me I was practically still a Baby and that I shouldn’t be joining a war with that age. But I really wanted to help and I saw no value in just sitting around and doing nothing. He helped me with my abilities a lot, so I can control them very quickly and got way more powerful than a 16 year old was supposed to get. But I really needed it in the end.”

“Was he against a lot when he taught and trained you ?”

“Yep, he was. I was not allowed to drink, not allowed to stay awake as long as the rest of them, was not allowed to keep watch at night, was not allowed to be alone on the field, nor was I allowed to leave the camp without anyone with me. He was also against me knowing how to handle a gun, but Vex and Hopeless talked him into it, for my own safety.”

“Wow…very responsible of him.”

“Yeah. It was annoying back then to me, but…it felt nice to finally have someone that looked after you… My Mother didn’t give a shit, she never checked on me and my Stepfather kept me awake all night or tore me out of bed in the middle of the night. It was…the first time someone cared a bit about my health.”, Erskin said softly.

“Let me guess, when they got angry you called them by their last name, in fear they would hurt you.”

Erskin shook his head.

“Not quite. When they were angry, I wasn’t allowed to call them Mother, Father or by their first names. It was always Mister and Misses. I was to only address them by their last name when there was more than one person in the room, or strangers. I was not allowed to utter a word of their abuse or I would get it tenfold worse. I was not allowed to ask for help to get me out. I was not permitted to let anyone know that they were my parents. I was nothing more but a butler. Not even that was right, but they couldn’t say that I was a slave.”

Valkyrie covered her mouth in horror.

“Your own Mother treated you like that ?”, she asked in horror.

“I was never wanted by her. Because I was unwanted, but still born, she wanted me to make it up to her. To show her I was worth her time. I never reached it, though. Even if I did everything right, she was never proud. If you thought I got once in my life a hug or a small praise from her, you are deadly wrong. I was always the useless, waste of space and time child.”

“Did really no one ever love you ?”, she asked.

Silence.

“I…I had an Uncle. He barely came to visit, but he did care, I guess… He never really showed it, but he knew about the abuse and when he was around, he made sure nothing happened to me the whole day. He helped me around too. But…I had no idea where he lived, so I stayed a stray kid.”

“Did you ever have a birthday with him ?”

“No…When my Birthdays came around in that house, I got more abused than usual as a present…A constant reminder that I am nothing but unwanted. Well…besides that ONE last birthday in that house…I had a gift on my bed… It had no name on it, so I don’t know if it was from my Uncle.”

“What was in it ?”, she asked.

He gave a sad smile.

“An animal plushie. It was handmade too. I hid it away from them, never had time to play with it, but I loved it all the same. When I ran away, I took it with myself and used it as a small comfort. I lost it one day and never found it again, sadly.”

“Did the Dead Men ever celebrate your Birthday ?”, she asked him.

“Well…yes and no. I never told them my Birthday. I hated my Birthday. They celebrated it though, just on a different date. The day I joined the Dead Men unofficially, was the day they decided would my Birthday be. We barely had time in the war to do much for one another’s big day, but we tried.”

“Who wanted to give you a Birthday party ?”

Erskin laughed softly and wiped his tears away.

“Saracen, Vex and Ghastly to be honest. They annoyed Skulduggery until he agreed. They only insisted on it, because I was still so young. It was war and there was a high possibility that every day and Birthday could be my last, so they wanted to make every day and Birthday as great as possible.”

“What did you get ?”

“Mostly clothes from Ghastly, weird stuff from Vex, Saracen always tried to get me stuff that could help me in the future, Anton gave me a hug and a card most of the times which is a lot from him he doesn’t like hugs, Hopeless got me new ammo and once or twice also knives and daggers, Erskine got fancy looking stuff for me and Skulduggery, when he was alive, always tried to bake a cake for me. When he died and Larrikin was with us in the mud, he always tried to get a pastry and give it as a cake. He was very sweet and nice. Such a goofball.”, he chuckled.

“Mud ?”

“I call the difficult war times, mud. We had to mostly hide in mud and stuff, so yeah.”

“Oh…”

She then looked at Erskin again.

“Then when did you join the Temple of Necromancers ?”

“Well…I stayed a few more days maybe two months longer with them after Skulduggery’s return, and then I went to Ghastly’s Mother. I needed advice of what to do and that I thought I was going crazy. I saw spirits…Even Skul’s, when he wasn’t back.”

“Really ?”

“Yeah. She said it is a Necromancy trait and I should learn some of it. It might help me in the future and so I did. I went to the Temple and they took me in and educated me. Vile came two months later. I was just like him, a fast learner and we quickly were equally powerful, but he easily overpowered me at some point. I tried really hard to make friends with that idiot and nothing was for naught.”

“But one day they kicked you out.”

“Yes… Lord Vile told me what he was planning to do and I wanted to be a part of it, to get revenge on Serpine. But they figured it out and threw me out two months too early. Vile taught me everything he still learned before he, himself, dropped out and went onto the battlefield. I returned to my siblings and the Dead Men then.”

“You had siblings ?”

“Yes. Two males and one female. They are not worth mentioning though.”

“When did they join ?”

“Fifty years after I joined the war. I wish they never did.”

“Because they died and you were sad ?”

“No. Why would I be sad with traitors that Vile warned me about ?”, Erskin scoffed.

She stared at him in shock as he said that they were traitors. Skulduggery was in disbelief.

“What…?”

“I told you, rats were hard to detect. All three of them were rats.”

“So they worked for Mevolent ?”

“Oh you wish they did. They worked for our dear, beloved, abusive, good for nothing Mother.”, he spat out.

Her eyes went even wider at that.

“She knew you were still alive ?!”

“Of course she did. There was never a body. To be honest, I didn’t think she would care to look for me. But she only did to kill me anyways and she failed very much in that.”, he chuckled darkly.

“Tenebrae did mention that you are hard to kill.”

“Ah, yes. He did that slimy Bitch. He can curl up and die in a corner of his fucking Temple for all I care. He could choke on a stick right in front of me and I would laugh.”

“How did Vile find out about your Mother and your siblings trying to kill you ?”

“She wanted to use him as a tool for her own shit and told him everything, because she thought she had him under her spell. Sucks to suck for her.”, he said laughing.

It only gave Valkyrie more questions, but she didn’t dare to ask them. She could push him into silence again. Erskin looked back at the picture in his hands.

“I am thinking about burning it.”, he informed her.

“May I see it ?”, she asked.

He gave it to her. When she looked at it she saw Ghastly instantly, Anton too, his face was obvious, Vex’s smile was easy to recognize, Erskine had almost the same hairstyle too, Saracen was in between a man Valkyrie never saw before and Dexter Vex. The man didn’t really smile but also didn’t frown. Erskin almost seemed to look the same in that picture. Only the clothes were different. And then there was another man she never saw before, he had a warm smile while he looked at Ghastly and Erskin. Ghastly had put his arm around Erskin and pulled him close, which made the boy smile brightly.

“Who are these two people ?”, she asked and pointed at the two men she never saw before.

“The one that tried very hard to smile is Hopeless. He never could smile on command, just as Anton. The other one was Skulduggery when he was alive.”, Erskin told her.

Her mouth fell open and if she would have been a cartoon character, her jaw would have been on the floor. Then she snapped her eyes back at Erskin.

“Why would you burn that ? You all are so happy and it is the last memory where Skul was alive and well !”

“Exactly. A constant reminder, that he once WAS that man and that he NEVER will be that man AGAIN. Why cling onto such a silly memory ?”, Erskin asked her.

“Erskin, you aren’t thinking straight. You are mad at Skulduggery and I understand why, but you don’t have to destroy memories that you valued so much, only to later most possibly regret it.”

“I am not MAD at him ! I am still GRIEVING over someone WHO DIED A LONG TIME AGO ! Sure I am mad for a second when he talks bad about Vile, but he doesn’t KNOW the truth YET, so I understand why he acts like this ! I am grieving EVERY FUCKING DAY, since he DIED, the person that I looked UP TO ! This fucking photo is a constant reminder of WHO THE HELL I LOST THAT DAY ! HOW MUCH I LOST THIS PERSON ! It is a constant scar that gets ripped open again and again ! A constant reminder that I FAILED TO SAVE HIM ! I WAS TOO LATE ! I FUCKED UP !”, he yelled at Valkyrie with new tears in his eyes.

“That you were…too late ?”

“I had the antidote ! I made Anton, Dexter and Ghastly help me as fast as possible and I went on a hunt to find him ! I didn’t tell them why I hurried so much, nor what the potion was for ! When I had his location and the antidote, I hurried as fast as I could, but I came 20 fucking seconds too late !”

Silence.

“You knew about the trap ?”, she asked him.

“No. But I was there as well. I saw him running off and leaving us behind. It seemed like he was chasing someone and I followed. I…I never saw him so rageful before…It scared the shit out of me, Valkyrie. You never saw him THAT pissed off.”

“You saw Serpine kill his family and you didn’t do anything ?”

“Val, I was a Teenager ! Not even, I was a kid ! It was the first time I saw Serpine do that, I was frozen in utter horror ! I wanted to move, I wanted to shoot him ! But my body wouldn’t move ! I had no idea how to get out of that situation ! I could just stand there and watch !”

“You saw it all…”

Erskin looked away from her.

“It was all my fault. I will NOT deny that. I know for a fact when Skulduggery finds this out, he will never want to see me again, if he doesn’t consider killing me already. I was there, I could have done something, and I couldn’t fucking move to do anything. And I messed up my last chance by 20 seconds. All of the Dead Men knew, on the day Skul was burned, what I was trying to do. They all did. God…I couldn’t look them in the eyes for years, after my failure. All I wanted was to stop existing.”

She didn’t say anything. Skulduggery was in utter shock and Erskin was hugging himself tightly.

“I really tried to make up for it… I just…how do you fix something like this ? I practically HELPED to kill his Family, without meaning to ! Ghastly found out about all of that with Anton. They told me for years that it wasn’t my fault that I froze up, that they would have too, but-but what if they were lying to me all along ?! God they must have been disappointed with me ! Do you have any idea how many times Ghastly and Anton told me to just tell Skulduggery already ?! That he would understand ?! At first I believed them, I really did, but when he came back and was so hell bent to kill Serpine for revenge, I backed out ! I couldn’t tell him ! How would I have explained that ?! As soon as you mentioned his family, he would have pulled the trigger on you ! How was I supposed to explain ?! He would NEVER forgive me, nor would he want to make the effort to understand ! This was his FAMILY ! Not just some random people ! He…he would never want to see me again.”

“Hey, hey…calm down. I think the same as Ghastly and Anton. He would understand. He would need time to get around it and to process that information, but he would understand.”, she tried to soothe Erskin.

He shook his head wildly.

“He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t ! All his rage would return and I would be so fucking destroyed to have all his anger thrown at me ! I can’t see that rage again, Valkyrie ! It scarred me the first time and it scares me since ! Ghastly and Vex know how emotionally sensitive and unstable I am ! Skulduggery doesn’t know that. If he would shout at me again, like he did three weeks ago, I might have a breakdown and NEVER recover from it !”

“Did you…have a breakdown once before ?”, she asked.

He looked away.

“Ask Anton, Ghastly, Dexter and Erskine. I…I need to sleep right now…I’m over thinking again and it will cause me a panic attack. Have fun with Kenspeckle and Melancholia and get home safely….Maybe I will see you tomorrow… Or next time something serious is going on. I-I need a break.”

“What about the picture ?”, she asked.

“If you don’t want me to destroy it, then keep it. I…I will ask for it when I want it back…”

‘Spying is rude, Skulduggery.’, Vile tutted in his head.

‘Shut it. You knew this, didn’t you ?’

While he talked with Vile in his mind he silently left the hallway and went back to the living room, watching Melancholia sit on the couch, dressed in the clothes Vile and Valkyrie picked for her to wear. They fit her perfectly.

‘Of course I did. He told me everything after he knew that I was NOTHING like you.’

‘He is scared of me.’

‘No. He is not scared of YOU. He is scared of YOUR RAGE. He just doesn’t show it. That’s why he is always so blunt with everything and is quickly angry. You are not the man he used to know. Who he needed in the war. That man died, didn’t he, Skulduggery Pleasant ? That man died when his Son died. Am I right ?’

‘I don’t think I changed that much after death.’

‘You acted way more like a Father when you were alive. You scolded Erskin, like he was a kid. You fed him, protected him, cared for his wounds, cared for him in general…you treated him like your own kid. He grew to like you as a father figure, something he never had before. You even bothered to celebrate a birthday just for him. No one else ever did that for him before. I would almost bet that he didn’t just see you as a father FIGURE, but as a real Dad. And then you were snatched away from him. He wanted to help you, pay your kindness back in saving you, but he was too late. When you came back, you were cold, distant, ignorant and just not who you used to be anymore. You didn’t CARE anymore. Since that day…Erskin blamed himself for everything that went wrong.’

‘I wasn’t cold at all. I needed time to process-‘

‘Stop lying to yourself. You didn’t process ANYTHING. As soon as you came back, all you cared about was killing. You forgot about Erskin. You forgot that he was only a child. You forgot that you were the ONLY one that had a very strong bond with him. You forgot EVERYTHING about yourself and Erskin’s relationship. It led him to a downfall, something you swore silently to yourself, you will never let happen. You didn’t see all the red flags, didn’t hear his cries of help and closure for you. You. Let. Him. DOWN.’

‘I didn’t let him down ! I-‘

‘He is scared of YOUR rage. He is scared to tell you something that was out of his control. He was scared to tell you about me and him knowing each other. He was scared to mention your family. He is scared to let you know anything, that could trigger your anger. He wasn’t scared in the past. He told you everything that was on his mind and was necessary, when you were still alive. He would have told you about me, if you would have been the same after death, but you came back totally changed. He would only tell you any secrets he has now when you were really six feet under. But not while you are still roaming around here. Your Rage was scarring to witness and he saw it. It destroyed him mentally and emotionally. And after you came back, you didn’t bother to talk to him much. Everyone saw him suffering, but you didn’t care.’

Skulduggery was silent and looked back into the hallway where Erskin’s room was.

‘The special bond you two had is damaged and it gets worse each day. You were the one he looked up to and trusted you the most. You rarely got angry and that was one of the many reasons he talked to you so much. Now you are in constant rage. Don’t you remember how hard it was to get him to trust you in the first place ? I remember it clear as day.’

‘He barely talked, then he would never answer our questions about his past. He was a troubled kid and it took so long to get him to talk and to not pretend anymore. He was good in it. A real faker.’

‘Well, now he is even more skilled in it. He trusted me with a few things. I was less anger driven than you, but it wasn’t the same for him. He wanted to talk with YOU. He needed closure from YOU. Not from me. But you never saw how damaged he was and how he continued to crumble. And now…he hid away entirely from everyone. It is rare that he falls apart like that and reveals what he really feels at the moment. He thinks that you gave up on him, that he was a lost cause after all and you never tried assuring him that everything was okay. He feels used, betrayed and stupid for trusting someone…for hoping that after death when you returned you would still be there. He decided to take steps in directions he shouldn’t have and he had no one to guide him anymore.’

‘What did he do…?’

‘…How many times do you think he tried to commit suicide, Skulduggery ?’

At that Skulduggery froze in utter shock and horror. Erskin tried WHAT ?

Masterlist HERE !

#valkyrie cain #erskin is male!reader #male!reader #skulduggery pleasant #derek landy #read warnings above #not the canon au #Skulduggery Pleasant x Reader Universe

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writtenonreceipts · 2 years

Note

feysand single parent au, seren runs to rhys while a distracted feyre checks in at the doctors office. Love this fic!

Lighter than the last few updates, hopefully. Also, I feel the need to apologize--this update just feels so bland and forced. I hope it’s still enjoyable.

An Intimate Display Masterlist

…

Of Meetings and Greetings

“So. Are you going to tell me who that was?”

It was a few hours later and they were back at Feyre’s apartment getting ready for dinner. Seren was playing in the living room with her blocks and a plastic toy grocery cart. She was chattering happily while Gwyn and Emerie were on the couch with a movie playing in the background.

“No,” Feyre said simply as she chopped up some mushrooms for the homemade pizza they were making.

“Feyre,” Nesta pressed, “I know who Cassian Madura is, he hit on me enough in High School. And there is only one person that I know of who spends an unholy amount of time with him.”

“Well if you know who it was then why are you asking?” Feyre asked. She could feel her skin start to heat and it wasn’t just from the oven behind her.

“Feyre,” Nesta said, going for a different angle. “You’re allowed to be happy and have someone in your life--”

“What?” Feyre bit back a screech and stared at her sister. “No, no. Nesta, no, no.”

“Feyre--”

“Nesta,” she sighed and shook her head. She didn’t want to get into this not now.

In the living room, Gwyn dropped onto the floor with Seren and showed her how to stack the blocks to make an arch. As always, Gwyn was such a kind soul. Emerie snapped a photo and laughed when Seren knocked the blocks over.

“I’m just saying,” Nesta said.

They assembled the pizza’s in silence and put them in the oven.

“Rhys just stopped by to help out,” Feyre said, finally. She leaned against the counter. “And he’s just been nice with making sure the shop’s doing well.”

“Mm-hm,” Nesta hummed. “To be nice.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Yes. He’s the mayor and he actually owns the building I’m leasing out of.”

“There’s something else going on there,” Nesta said. “I saw the way he was with Seren, Fey.”

Yes. Rhys was good with Seren. Really good. And it was nice to see, nice to know that there were good people out there. It helped that Rhysand himself was a good person too. But Feyre knew that she also needed to be honest with her sister about what was really going on.

“Nesta, I need to tell you something and you have to promise not to freak out.” She wrung her hands together as she faced her sister.

Nesta arched a perfect brow in invitation for her to continue.

Exhaling slowly, Feyre looked at her feet. “Tamlin knows where to find me.”

There was a beat of silence before Nesta let out a string of curses. She spun around to grab her purse from the edge of the counter.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Nesta said.

“No!” Feyre ordered. “Nesta it’s fine. Rhysand told him to go and he left. It’s fine.”

Her sister wasn’t convinced. Her knuckles were white as she clutched her purse and her steel blue eyes flashed intently.

“He knows how to find you,” Nesta repeated, “and he knows about Seren?”

Feyre nodded.

“What can I do?” Nesta asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, what is there? He hasn’t tried anything, but just seeing him there…hearing him talk about Seren. It scared me, Nesta. What if he tries to take her? I can’t handle that.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Nesta told her. She set her purse down and came around the counter to rest her hands on Feyre’s shoulders. “We’re not going to let that happen. And I will commit murder if I have to.”

Feyre wiped a hand over her face quickly, forcing herself not to cry. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with. Because honestly, as foolish as it was, she’d thought she could ignore her past. She thought that now that she’d left Tamlin he would never be able to touch her again. She was a fool.

“No one is committing murder,” Feyre said firmly.

“Really? I think Gwyn would be down for it,” Nesta said.

“What would I be down for?” Gwyn called from the living room.

“Nothing!” Feyre yelled at the same time Nesta said, “Murder!”

Gwyn let out a laugh and scooped Seren into her arms before heading into the kitchen.

“I’m down for anything. Revenge? Treason? Espionage?” Gwyn’s clear blue eyes sparked delightedly as Seren tugged on her hair. “I am trained in three different forms of karate.”

“No.” Feyre intoned. She checked on the pizza. “He just wants to get under my skin. It’s fine.”

She knew her words weren’t very convincing but they were the best she had. So instead of throwing around more negativity she decided to make the best of having her sister and Gwyn and Emerie here with her. Even if she still wasn’t close to any of them, it was nice to have the little apartment full and a promise of safety tangible with them.

Everything was going to be fine.

…

She’d never liked the doctor. Never liked the hospital. Never liked anything that involved someone examining her too closely.

After Tamlin, Feyre’s trust in humanity had spiraled. And while she was doing a decent job at picking up the pieces of her life and holding things together--she still struggled with trusting people.

And now that Tamlin knew where she was and that Seren existed--well Feyre found herself struggling more than usual. It had been almost two weeks since the incident at the shop-- and Feyre’s complete breakdown in front of Rhysand--and there hadn’t been any sign of Tamlin. Feyre tried to tell herself that was a good thing.

Good things did not typically happen to Feyre so she chose to be on guard rather than lulled into a false sense of security. Which was why Aelin was running errands with Seren firmly at her side rather than letting Elain or Nesta watch her.

And yes, Feyre knew that it wasn’t practical or whatever to bring her almost two-year-old to her own doctor’s appointments, but screw it. She wasn’t going to let her daughter out of her sight. Not if she could help it.

“Alright, Miss Archeron, here’s those forms to sign,” the nurse said.

After the night with Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie, Feyre’d been a bit more cautious about what she did on a day to day basis. But she knew she couldn’t forgo a doctor's visit.

They’d done a basic exam to make sure everything was in order. Back before Seren and before she’d left Prythian, there’s been an incident with the stairs. And Feyre’d nearly dislocated her shoulder. Because she refused to take drugs for the pain and refused to explain in full what had happened--the shoulder had never quite healed. On occasion holding something for long periods of time or twisting her shoulder at just the right angle sent spasms of pain through the right side of her body. But that was fine. And as Madja said, there was nothing really to be done. Residual pain, unless she wanted surgery.

In any case, that hadn’t been her main concern. Ever since seeing Tamlin again, Feyre’d been paranoid and hadn’t been sleeping. And then her old anxieties were acting up so she hoped to get a new prescription that would help her out, at least a little.

“Mamamama,” Seren chanted lightly in her ear. The little girl had been a trooper the last few days, but Feyre knew that Seren was tired of being forced to stay by her side. Even subconsciously. Seren was always adventurous and wild and free that Feyre’s restraints were surely driving the girl insane.

“In a second baby,” Feyre murmured as she signed the documents the nurse handed her. Seren immediately grabbed Feyre's arm, yanking her hand across the page.

“Mama, bottle,” Seren said.

“Sorry,” Feyre told the nurse who, while kind, was growing more irritated by the second. “Baby, Mama’s taking care of something.”

“Mama!” Seren’s voice grew into a high whine.

Sweet mercy. This was not what Feyre needed. She adjusted Seren to her bad arm nad bit back a wince. Maybe she had been carrying her daughter around more than usual and the consequences were starting to show, but could anyone really blame her?

“I’ll just need a copy of your insurance card,” the nurse said, her smile growing thin.

Dammit.

“Of course,” Feyre said. And then because finagling a baby and a purse and keeping your sanity in check was going to be the death of her--Feyre crouched and set Seren at her feet, digging a bottle from the diaper bag.

The office was quiet with only a few other patrons waiting. And Feyre had to be the one to muck it all up. But really, this was a doctor’s office. Even if it wasn’t necessarily geared toward children, it was fine. It was fine. It was fine.

The mantra repeated in her head and she dug out the insurance cards and handed them over. Seren was still on the floor sucking down her bottle of apple juice.

“Okay,” the nurse said, “the doctor just wanted you to look these over too.”

Feyre tried not to roll her eyes. She just wanted to take her fussing baby and get out of here.

“Mama!” Seren cried excitedly. “Mama!”

She kept talking but with the bottle in her mouth the words were garbled. Feyre looked down just in time to see Seren toddle off and run into the legs of one of the other patrons.

“Seren,” Feyre called, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

But then, heaven help her, she realized she knew who her daughter had found.

…

“Rhys!”

If there was one voice that Rhysand was becoming quite familiar with, it was the high trill of the almost two year old that he’d become enamored with. Seren charged into his legs for a second time, bottle in one hand and a mischievous grin on her cherubic face.

“Seren!” He was more or less surprised to see her but she seemed so pleased to have found him that he found himself laughing along with her and not bothering to stop her and she clambered up into his lap.

“Found you!” Seren said. Her golden blonde hair fell into her eyes as she stared up at him.

“Yes you did,” Rhys chuckled. She’d been the last person he’d expected to see while waiting to pick Azriel up from his doctor’s appointment. But he couldn’t help but a feel a bit lighter at seeing Seren’s cheeky grin directed at him.

He looked up to see Feyre still standing at the nurses station. There was a mix of embarrassment and relief on her face before she mouthed sorry and turned back to the nurse who had just asked her a question.

Seren hummed as she stood in his lap and then, she pressed a hand to his cheek and patted lightly. She grinned before pointing at his eyes.

“Puh-ple,” she said, “puh-ple eyes.”

Rhys couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes my eyes are purple aren’t they. What color are your eyes?”

“Boo,” Seren replied, pointing to her own eye. “Boo and puh-ple.”

Now extremely proud of herself, Seren dropped down into his lap and took one of his hands to draw patterns on his palm with her finger. She babbled on in a small, lilting voice. It sounded as though she were making up a song about purple and blue.

It was such a simple action that Rhys almost didn’t think anything of it. Kids often were playing games and making up songs, drawing patterns--it was natural. People often came to the doctors with their kids, had them close at hand to distract and care for. It was natural that Seren had almost instantly gravitated to him before he’d even noticed her.

And that’s when a pang shot through his chest.

Because this was just a fluke.

“I am so sorry.” Feyre hurried over to where Rhys and Seren waited. Her eyes were wide and her hair was pulled into a loose braid that spat out dozens of tendrils.

“It’s fine, Feyre,” Rhys said immediately. Because it was. He didn’t think he’d ever mind being interrupted by Seren or Feyre no matter what.

Feyre reached for her daughter to haul her out of Rhys’ lap but Seren latched on to Rhys’ arm.

“No, Mama!” The little girl had an impossibly tight grip that Rhys wondered if there was any way of getting her back to her mother. “Rhys.”

“Seren,” Feyre began, but then a deep flush rose to her cheeks as she glanced around the small waiting room. They did seem to be drawing a bit of attention.

“Let me walk with you,” Rhys suggested. He stood from his seat and adjusted Seren to his side. She giggled and burrowed against him.

Feyre agreed only until they were outside.

It was another hot summer day for Velaris. Beautiful with the mountains and the forests stretching up to the impossibly blue sky. Bright, golden light added an extra glow to everything. It was something that Rhys has always appreciated about his home city.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said again as soon as they were outside. Seren still refused to let go of Rhys. “I think she’s kinda obsessed with you.”

Rhys only grinned as Seren pointed to a bird that landed in the grass just outside of the office.

“I dunno why,” Rhys said, “I’m not that interesting.”

Feyre smiled at that as she adjusted the diaper bag on her shoulder. She was beautiful, Rhys always thought so, even without a lick of make-up on there was just something so striking about her. But he could also see the tension in her body. The way she kept her arms tightly tucked to her body. And then no matter what, her gaze always snapped back to Seren.

Rhys would be a fool if he didn’t know why.

“Hey Seren,” he said, “why don’t you go back to your momma?”

Seren pouted, but she finally extricated herself from Rhys’ side and went to her mother’s waiting arms. That at least had Feyre relaxing.

“I think she’s sick of me,” Feyre muttered. “I haven’t let her out of my sight for the last week and a half.”

She smiled softly at Seren who squirmed a bit, mumbling about blue and purple again. Rhys was struck then by seeing how much Feyre cared about her daughter. Oh, he’d known it from the first time he’d seen them in the shop nearly two months ago now. But this--this was different in a way that he didn’t know how to explain.

“Is everything alright?” He asked.

He knew the answer though, he could see the anxiety in her eyes or the way she shifted Seren in her arms.

“It’s fine,” Feyre said. She shrugged with a smile. “Just the usual.”

Her hesitance was palpable and Rhys knew he shouldn’t push her. He had no place to. But he couldn’t just forget the look he had seen in her eyes after Tamlin had shown up. He couldn’t just forget the way she clung to her daughter and loved her more than Rhys had seen anyone love before.

“Feyre,” he began, and then found himself hesitating. “I don’t want to overstep in anyway but if you need help with him--”

A look of pain flashed across her face and Rhys immediately wished he hadn’t said anything. But Feyre looked away quickly and moved Seren to her other hip, dropping the diaper bag to the ground.

“It’s fine, it’s just my shoulder,” she said. “And thank-you. He hasn’t tried to contact me. I don’t even know if he will.” She cleared her throat, eyes bright with restrained tears. “But I have a sister with friends that are very eager to commit crimes should anything happen.”

She flashed a brief smile before pressing a kiss to Seren’s forehead. The toddler’s energy seemed to have completely vanished and she now leaned against her mother sleepily.

“Alright,” Rhys said. He still wasn’t satisfied with her response. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let Cassian and Azriel look Tamlin up? That was a bad idea. One that could only lead to more pain.

“Thank-you,” Feyre said again, “I do appreciate the help. Especially when this one--” she pinched Seren’s belly and the girl giggled “--won’t leave you alone.”

Rhys grinned and shook his head. “She is always a welcome interruption.”

That small comment seemed to draw all the tension out of Feyre and she returned his smile. Though, he didn’t miss the way she tried to roll her free shoulder.

“I’ll let you get back, I don’t want you to miss your appointment,” Feyre said. She reached down to grab the diaper bag.

“It’s fine, my brother just has physical therapy and I’m giving him a ride,” Rhys acknowledged. After an accident at work, Azriel had long been dealing with the repercussions of the injury to his hands.

Feyre nodded and turned to head to her car. She paused before glancing back at him.

“My sisters and I are having a barbecue tomorrow,” her voice was breathless and rushed, “you and Cassian and Mor and whoever are all invited if you want. It’s just friends getting together and…well, consider it my way of thanking you for everything.”

She sounded so unsure of herself that at first Rhys wondered if he should turn her down just to ease her discomfort. But another part of him, one that sounded suspiciously like Cassian, told him to suck it up and go for it.

“Yeah alright,” he said, “we’ll stop by.”

The soft smile that she gave him then was enough to captivate him for a very long time.

“I’ll message you the address,” she said.

And then she was weaving through the parking lot to her car. Rhys watched her for a few minutes to make sure she got to her car before he headed back into the doctor’s office. He was treading in dangerous water, he knew. Getting involved with someone right before an election could prove to be disastrous. Crossing Tamlin would only incite drama. And letting himself feel for someone--someone who was so genuinely good--well, he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth Feyre who deserved so much better than him and his own set of baggage.

Shaking his head, he entered the office just as Az was being released.

His brother met him with a raised brow.

“Everything alright?”

Rhys nodded. “Just a phone call. You ready?”

“Yeah,” Az replied. “Let's get you to that press conference.”

Dammit.

“Fine,” he sighed, letting Azriel lead him back out into the blazing sun.

...