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davosmymaster · 2 years

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Fallen from Heaven, Grown on Earth

A/N - Hello everyone! Long time no see. Here is a story I wrote for @beautifulbows924 's writing challenge. Thank you so much for this! <3 Before you start reading I'd like to say I'm very proud of this, even if it's not as good as I'd like it to be. I had never written such a long story, (and finished it) and obviously not in English. As always, English is not my first language, and this had no beta reader so forgive me and please, laugh out loud if I write something that doesn't make sense. Also, my first time writing smut, please don’t come at me.

Also, this fic turned out a bit dark near the end, I'm obviously against any type of violence. If you need help, there's plenty of resources out there for you. You're not alone.

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, eventual smut, graphic descriptions of sex, blood, mentions of self harm and suicide (they do not happen, they are only mentioned but just in case), dubius consent because DID (?), DID probably not accurate, canon-typical violence, angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, panic attacks, sleeping disorders, jealousy, alcohol consumption, no beta, probably more warnings but I'll update if I find more.

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

WORD COUNT - 25k (yes I know, I started writing a one-shot and this happened)

SUMMARY - The arrangement was to become friends with Steven Grant, that was what you'd promised to your lifelong best friend, Marc Spector; but things quickly get out of hand.

FALLEN FROM HEAVEN, GROWN ON EARTH

The ride to Steven’s workplace was calm, calmer than you had expected it to be. The driver hadn’t talked to you apart from asking where you wanted to be dropped, and you had wondered if your face was revealing that much about your current emotional state that people knew better than to bother you with small talk. You didn’t really know. And in the end, you didn’t really care either. What you did care about, though, was that you hopefully seemed nice enough not to scare a certain person away.

The taxi slowed down as it took a soft turn at the last intersection. Behind the maze of buildings that was London, the British museum emerged like a vision.

From afar, the British museum looked intimidating. That thought hadn’t changed since your last visit. It was an enormous monster in the middle of the city, a bleach type of white emerging from the road, a minotaur in the maze pushing the rest of the world outside. You couldn’t stop looking at it, but shook your head to get rid of the anxious thoughts anyways. You were about to go inside. You had work to do.

You had promised.

You decided that biting the bullet was the best way to end the nightmare soon, so you rushed inside. Maybe if you focused on the exposition it would be easier. After all, you quite liked it las time you were there with the school. At least the small cardboard pyramids didn’t look as bad as the gigantic building did, and the mummies were fairly interesting even when you didn’t have a class full of kids to keep busy and entertained.

The hall was surprisingly small, and you crossed it as quickly as you could trying not to look like a madwoman. In the exact same second that you could see the first sarcophagus in the room, majestically standing up on the floor behind their protective glass, your heart seemed to slow its pounding in your chest. The icy cold air and the ringing in your ears dissipated into the nothingness at the same time, leaving you with a warm sensation in your chest and trembling fingers.

Don’t worry, you thought to yourself. You’ve seen him a million times. You grew up together. Surely he cannot be that different, right?

In the middle of your soothing speech, a hand gently grabbed your shoulder. All your muscles instantly flexed, and suddenly your heart was back at a hundred per minute. You turned slowly as if you were about to be caught doing something you weren't supposed to be doing; which was the case. But instead of a pair of brown orbs and dishevelled curls, you stood in front of a security guard.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re closing in half an hour. I thought maybe you’d like to know.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Yeah, I’m aware of that”

He seemed confused, which was fair. The exposition was an hour-long, at least. That was without the videos and documentaries streaming in the adjacent rooms. It had taken you the whole day to reunite the strength to come here, but not just the strength; also all the doubts swirling in your mind asking if you were doing the right thing. It was an unending carousel in your head, always looking for an answer you were satisfied with and never getting one. It was madness.

You hardly knew the name of the person you were looking for, and at the same time, you had known him your whole life. You didn’t even know why you were so scared.

Fucking Marc, you sentenced. Fuck Marc and fuck my inability to say no to him.

The guard went back to his monitors, not entirely happy with your answer.

The exposition was impressive, you could give them that. Once you saw the recreation of the Great Pyramid of Giza, everything got easier. The walls were full of old artefacts behind stainless glass. If the sarcophagus were not real, and they probably weren’t, they seemed to be very accurate. Most importantly, the subject you were looking for wasn’t in his spot. Maybe he had finished sooner today. Hopefully. Maybe you could leave and create an elaborate lie for Marc. Some little white lies had never hurt anyone.

You were looking at the faded colour of one of the sarcophagus when you heard his name.

“Stevie!” it was almost a whisper, but a very loud one. “C’mon, go there and try to sell something!”

You couldn’t help but stare at the woman. After all, the word curious was something people had always associated with you. She had your whole attention as she almost shouted (whispered?) at his employer. You felt a pang in your chest as Marc… no, Steven, walked into the circular room from behind a column anxiously fixing his name tag. In exchange for her disrespect, Steven successfully whispered something back at her without looking too much into her eyes and positioned himself behind the counter. He tried to fix some of the candy and the postcards in their small glass containers, but as soon as the woman vanished he stopped and looked ahead.

His eyes locked on yours, while you were looking at him.

Swallowing every last bit of pride and listening to your self-preservation instinct, you broke free from the enchantment. Your eyes locked with the red staining the lines of the sarcophagus, except your mind was in an entirely different place. Your body was screaming at you to run, it didn't say where, just to run away from such an open room without walls to keep his eyes away from you.

You felt guilty. You felt caught red-handed. You could feel his eyes piercing you in the head and getting his hands on all your thoughts and intentions. Marc had warned you Steven was incredibly smart, after all. And he had said that if you thought you couldn't do it, it was better not to try. Steven couldn't know about Marc. Never. No. Nada.

In the pockets of your jacket, your hands became a pair of fists. And although you were stuck in place, frozen for god-knows-how-long, you managed to take a calming breath and walk slowly in the opposite direction; pretending you were looking at some scriptures that were hanging on the wall. The circles and edges of the complicated hieroglyphs caught your attention, your eyes stuck on them as you felt someone walk behind your back. The whole scene looked like something out of a horror movie.

"Are you reading those?" Steven asked, pointing at them "because if you are you must be a bloody genius."

The accent shook you to your core, even though it wasn't the first time you heard it. A sudden, soft chuckle came out of your mouth and you had to keep yourself from laughing in his face and say `My god Marc, you sound so posh".

In your mind, you were eighty-seven, in a nursing home and still making fun of Marc because of it. The image was enough to calm your nerves enough to talk. You'd have to thank him for that.

"Not really. No," you said "but I have to admit I tried..." you squinted at the black lines. "...very hard, actually."

"Well," he said, jokingly, both hands in his pockets and moving slightly on his feet as he looked back and forth from the scriptures and yourself. "You can try as hard as you want for the next twenty minutes, but I figure you won't get anything out of the bloke who wrote this just by killing the words with your looks."

His gaze shifted, slightly scanning you up and down in a quick glance; so quick and subtle you wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't been staring at him without blinking for the whole interaction.

He expected an answer, but you were so astonished by that look, the way that this person who looked so much like Marc had given you, that you had entirely forgotten the question by the time you snapped out of it. At the same time, you saw the lightbulb lightning inside his pupils and turned instantly self-conscious.

"I- I mean- I didn't mean it like that," he stumbled upon his own words, a soft laugh emanating from his lips. "I meant, you know, if looks could kill... it's a set phrase, you know?"

Something weird moved in your chest. It was something warm and fuzzy, and you couldn't help but let the feeling sink in. His struggle was cute, despite how bad it might sound.

You had never seen Marc act like that with anyone. He had always been very reserved, only talked the exact amount not to seem rude and sometimes not even that. He hurt your feelings many times and broke your heart many more. Sometimes you wondered if he even cared about you in the slightest and other times you were certain that the only person he cared about in the world was Layla. He looked at her as if she held all the answers in the universe.

Marc had never looked at you the way Steven just had. No matter how much you wished for it or how long you waited. In fact, it was obvious that he hadn't even given you a second thought. Because if he had, he would have figured out by now that you had loved him for sixteen years.

It was a thorn in your heart that you could never get rid of. No matter how many boyfriends, friends with benefits or one night stands you had. It was a lost cause.

"Don't worry, Steven," you said, trying to calm him down with a smile and getting rid of all your thoughts regarding Marc. "Of course I get it, I'm a teacher after all."

His eyes lit up at the mention of his name. It had slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it, yet it didn't really matter because he was wearing a tag with his name. Maybe next time you'd need an elaborate excuse.

There could be no more slips.

"Yeah, I recognized you. Saw you here at the beginning of the week with the primary school, right? I thought you looked familiar, but I didn't want to bother you or look like a creep."

"It's alright, you don't like a creep at all," you said, although you wondered if he was flirting or he in fact thought you looked familiar.

Maybe if he squinted very hard he could see you in Marc's memories, right? No, obviously not. If I'm gonna be doing this, I definitely need more research, you thought.

"That's good, 'cause I don't know your name and I'd like to change that."

Your gaze went straight to the floor as if something had stained your shoes. The faintest blush began to cover your cheeks and you cursed yourself for that. You introduced yourself trying not to make much eye contact, looking at the black lines on the wall instead.

'Oh, he's really good.' you thought 'How did he get in this situation, even? How is he as lonely as Marc said?'

You were seriously starting to doubt his words.

In that next instant, he quickly glanced behind him and his whole body became tense. Her boss was a blonde shadow in the back of the room, luring over him like a hawk waiting to get his next meal. At that very moment, you thanked fate that you loved your job and your superiors were mostly nice; because she looked terribly angry.

"Woah... looks like I'm in trouble here," he muttered. "It was really nice to meet you. I'll let you try to decode the rest before she eats me," he said.

Steven took a step towards the cash register and then turned back again.

"By the way-" he spoke, raising his voice. "We have wonderful stuffed gods-animals and delicious sweets on the counter."

You couldn't help but laugh. Then he took a step forward and tilted his face an inch closer to yours, completely unexpectedly. His fingertips touched your arm. You could feel the gentle pressure above the fabric of your jacket. A flash of lightning started where his fingers landed and ran up and down your spine. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, and goosebumps erupted in both your arms.

He smiled and you could have sworn that he lit up the room. Then he whispered, just for you.

"Enjoy the rest, will ya?"

You nodded.

When he turned and left your side, you physically felt your lungs deflate like a balloon. You were by yourself again, looking at meaningless black lines. You asked yourself why you had been so anxious and concerned and on the verge of a panic attack for so long. Marc had said you two would get along. He wasn't wrong.

You checked the time on your phone. You still had time but not enough to finish the exposition in the room.

'Too bad,' you thought, almost laughing. 'I'll have to come back again'

A pang reappeared in your chest, harder than ever before in the face of such a hostile fate. The fate in which you accidentally ended up falling for Marc Spector again. You breathed through it. After all, you were setting yourself for failure. You could not feel like that again. It was nonsense. You couldn't possibly make up fantasies in your head, not again.

It was exhausting to get your heart broken, but it was even worse to try and pick up the pieces of yourself from the floor and realize some were missing while others were barely splinters and impossible to reach. You couldn't do that again. You couldn't witness someone you loved break you apart again, insult your feelings and spit at your image and then ask you why you were so sensitive. You just couldn't.

You swore you would not fall in love with Steven Grant. And it only took you the realization that Marc would beat the shit out of you if you did to get convinced of your own words.

You could have ended your interactions with Steven for the rest of your life right there, tell Marc some dumb excuse and go on with your life. Hell, you could even tell Marc to fuck off and he would never bother you again. After all, he had been too busy for a while now to even call. He wouldn't realize. He wouldn't care.

However, Marc was very concerned about Steven. According to him, Steven had no one around. He had no friends, no girlfriend, no one to take care of him when he got ill, no one who missed him if he abruptly disappeared, no one to call if he found himself in trouble. Now setting Marc aside, you felt sorry for him; because he seemed like a genuinely nice person waiting to show the best of him. You just hoped you weren't making it up just because he had Marc's face.

So you could have stopped everything right there, you really could, but didn't want to.

Steven was starting to get everything into boxes when you approached the counter. To say you were nervous would've been an understatement because you were about to ask him for a date, and you had never been the type to ask guys on dates, not in high school and certainly not after, but fate had a fun way to mess with things, especially with your things. You had no doubts about that. You couldn't possibly find any other way of getting to know him and getting his phone number.

"I'd like one of these," you said, taking in your hands one of the stuffed animals. It was a hippo, or so you thought. You tried to read her name on the label. "What's his name... Uhm.. tawel-"

"Taweret," he answered, a grin on his face. "Egyptian goddess of childbirth and fertility. Certainly not towell. And her pronouns..." he pointed at her raising his eyebrows "...are she/her."

Steven took it from your hands and put it in a bag. He gave it to you and leaned over the counter until his chest almost hit the surface.

"Oh, wow. You really are passionate about this"

"I am," he answered. "It's a bit of an odd hobby to have, but I mean some people like football."

He chuckled first and then you couldn't help but follow. Would he ever stop being so goofy? You hoped not. Being Steven's friend could be easier than you expected.

"How much is it?"

"This round's on the house."

Your jaw slightly dropped, your lips parted. "Oh, that's really not neccessary."

"It's not, but I want to," he said. "You seem like a really nice person."

"Tell that to my students, they are wishing a get in a car wreck or something."

He laughed, then ran a hand through his hair seemingly anxious and took the receipt out of the cash register. With a pen, he started writing something in it.

"I was wondering if- well..." you started. "...if you'd like to go for a beer, or coffee or whatever, some time."

Steven stopped writing, his head shot up.

"Sorry..." he said, mumbling, the accent was music to your ears. "Are you asking me out? Like... I'm not going to say no, but I was writing my number here hoping..." his gaze shifted between the receipt and your face. "...woah, yeah, sure. Coffee or tea is fine. We can do that."

It had been easier than you thought it'd be, and you couldn't believe your luck when you saw his number and name written on the receipt.

Problems started with the next step of the plan; hanging out. Steven was difficult in that aspect, and you started to understand why others seemed reluctant to form a meaningful relationship with him. After work, you had plenty of free time that you silently loathed, so it wasn’t difficult —at least on your part— to meet your lifelong group of friends and coworkers. You figured finding time for a date and eventually getting to know Steven would be effortless, but that was far from the truth.

For the first date, you had chosen something informal, just grabbing up some coffee on a Saturday afternoon; but he never showed up. You dialled his number and called. He picked up the phone on the last ring.

"Steven?"

"No, Marc."

On the other end of the line, he breathed heavily in short quick breaths.

"You got his number, that's a start. Congratulations."

He said it in a way that made you feel bad about it. Which was fine to an extent, because forcing a friendship out of pure pity and lying was the last thing anyone wanted. But the charismatic, kind and fun nature of Steven made it feel as if you had known him your whole life —which wasn't technically a lie— so at the end of the day it was easy not to think much about it. Besides, you figured that at least part of that guilt was completely justified.

"Don't say it like that," you said. "We were supposed to be meeting for coffee. Twenty minutes ago. So you, Steven, you're body, whatever are late."

"Can't right now," he said.

A loud thud filled the line. A shuddered breath, the sound of metal clacking and something crushing.

"What is that sound? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm busy at the moment. I'm confident Steven will make it up to you later somehow. Bye."

And just like that, he hung up.

Marc had never been the social type. Already in high school, he had loved a good friendly get-together to get drunk on cheap beer and play cards; but he didn't like parties with loud music; especially if he didn't understand the lyrics. He loved renting films on Blockbuster and watching them on his then brand-new VHS player, and if he did it with the right person, he also loved everything that followed.

Despite not being very social, he was certainly not ugly. He was no Casanova and had no desire for it, but he found out pretty soon in life that if he wanted he could have any girl he liked. That is, if he actually put just a little bit of effort into not being a dick.

He got too drunk once, and you suspected that also high. His brown irises were completely engulfed by his pupils. Both of you were on the end-of-school-year trip to Brighton. It was his last year in college (Marc was a year behind what he was supposed to), and you had just started it, but lived as if it was your last because most of your friends were Marc's age and you didn't really care. He appeared from nowhere in the lounge of the hostel and pulled your arm up from where you were seated on the floor. It was so sudden and violent that you almost slapped him in front of everyone. However, your anger quickly dissipated when you saw the state he was in. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair messy with curls pointing out in all directions; his soul lost somewhere in the empty space between you and him.

"I need to talk to you for a second," he whispered.

Some of your classmates, who you were talking to before he showed up, tried to convince you not to go, worried about his state, but they ultimately gave you a look of disbelief as you left. By then you had already known Marc for a few years and he was your closest friend. You knew they were worried he would hurt you, but they didn't know Marc at all, not like you did.

He did apologize once you were outside, but didn't say anything until the beach was visible. He took a seat on a bench on the promenade, facing the sea. You sat next to him, crossing your legs on the bench on a warm summer night; and waited.

His eyes welled up with tears without saying a word, and your nerves spiked up. Something had to go horribly wrong for him to act that way. You had never seen him cry before. So you did the only thing you could, you hugged him, squeezing him in your arms as if you could make anything that might cause him the slightest discomfort disappear. You knew you couldn't, but you had to try anyway.

You let him go eventually. Marc gave a long sigh, trying to get his pieces together. And he spoke.

"I left my parents' house last week," he said, solemnly as he watched the waves break against the shore. "And I'm not going to uni. I'm going to join the military."

You had the awful realization that being drunk and high was the only way Marc was able to open up to you. The pang in your stomach became unbearable, the pain blooming there threatening to open a wound that would never close. Tears began to stream down your face without warning. Marc broke crying again, covering his face with his hands. Your arms surrounded his whole figure, even though he was much bigger and taller.

Until then, you had a clear image of what your future would look like. At least for the next three years following college. You wanted to apply to London Met when you finished A-Levels, to pursue teaching. Marc, on the other hand, had always been unsure about his options; but he had never even considered doing anything other than university. The thought of the two of you living in the same student flat or even in the same building on campus kept you up at night sometimes. You'd often surprise yourself by searching for rent prices, figuring out which areas in London were best to live in. How wonderful would it be to wake up in the same house as your best friend? To talk for endless hours about your hopes and dreams and fears and nightmares and stories you've told each other a thousand times; to come back home wasted from a party, have a bowl of cereal and attend classes only half sober. He was reluctant as to look way too much into the future, Marc was a pessimist as good as they come, yet at some point, he had declared that he would happily do all the cleaning and laundry as long as he didn't have to cook anything other than a sandwich.

Now the image was shattered, broken, as each tear and sob tore your throat apart. Still, your eyes didn't leave Marc's now small figure as you cried. You were frightened that if you did something as insignificant as blinking he would disappear into thin air. It was the first time in your life Marc Spector had actually looked his own age, his own personality and demons looming over him and often making his features sharper, darker and overall angrier than he really was.

Then it happened.

His hands fell from his face and landed on the bench. His fingers gripped the metal under his flesh as if it was his only anchor to the human world. The vein in his neck swelled, his pulse clearly visible from where you watched. His face twitched as if he had taken a bite out of a lemon. His eyes rolled back to his head.

"Marc?"

Pure panic, as a hot white flame, rushed through your veins and infected every cell of your body. The world around you gave a sudden turn around you as you reached for him, burying your nails in the tender flesh of his shoulder.

"Marc!"

As soon as it started, it stopped. His features changed, and his beautiful dark eyes appeared again. They had a glint you couldn't quite comprehend, one you could only describe as the look children had in a toy store. It was subtle, very subtle, something you'd have missed if you weren't leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder and the other not-so-gently grabbing his face.

He mumbled something you didn't discern. All you could hear back then was your pulse beating behind your ears and your gasps for air. The image was burned into your eyelids forever. That night you'd have nightmares about it.

"Are you alright, Marc?" you asked.

He squinted, bewildered and petrified at the same time. Then turned his face away and Marc fronted once more. That was the first time he told anyone about his DID, and the first time he got some comfort about it. That was, also, the first time you heard about Steven Grant.

The army posted him two weeks later and Marc left without saying goodbye, only calling you after he landed and just before reaching the out-of-range area. During those two weeks, Mr Spector called your home landline every other day. You refused to pick up the phone. He was a reasonable man, a good man. At least that was what your mother said each time, after hanging up the phone on a desperate father in the search for his son.

"I'm sorry, Mr Spector. She doesn't know where he is. No. She doesn't know. No, she will not do that. I hope your son gets in touch with you soon. I'm sorry. Bye."

Saturday passed and at midday on Sunday, there he was. Steven calling. The phone hadn't reached your ear yet but you could already hear his apologies.

"I'm so so sorry," he said, his voice quick and reverberating and stumbling over his own words. "I don't know what happened. I think I slept through the whole day yesterday. Please don't hate me."

It broke your heart to hear him talk like that about himself, and given the fact that Marc would quite literally kill you if you said anything to Steven about him, your hands were tied.

"It's okay, Steven. You must've been very tired. Surely you needed it."

It took him a solid minute to respond.

"Oh, Woah... I actually thought you'd be fuming," he said. "As in I-don't-want-to-see-you-ever again fuming. Don't get me wrong, I-"

"Steven," you interrupted, playing with the remote's battery cover in your other hand. "I swear I'm not mad at you. Actually, I was a bit late and thought you had left already," you lied.

"Oh, god" he answered, he let out a soft relieved laugh. "Sounds like a hell of a date right? You know...we can grab some Starbucks near the museum in an hour or so- I mean, if you fancy it."

You shook your head at his words, the smile on your lips not wearing off for a second, and thanked the universe that he wasn't looking. Steven was too much of a nervous wreck sometimes. You took a mental note about it. That was something so unlike Marc that it was even comical that they were, in a way, the same person.

"See you in an hour, Steven."

"Alright, yes! See you."

Steven was still wearing his name tag when you met him at the museum's front door, which fought the urge to call him Marc when he appeared in your field of vision. Despite that, you absorbed every detail about his features to find out if it was actually Steven or not; you didn't want to fuck up.

It wasn't difficult to differentiate them, not when Steven held a box of chocolates close to his chest and he had two coffees to go waiting on the base of one of the museum's columns.

"I'm so glad you could make it," he said. His smile was genuine, you didn't get used to seeing it on his face.

His greeting was a quick hug, too quick for your liking. Despite being a completely different person and sounding like one, Steven still smelled like Marc. That, is, at least behind the smell of the rubbing alcohol at the entrance of the building. There was a desire burning for Marc's closeness somewhere near your heart, in that tiny spot where you always felt it empty no matter what you were doing. His fingers were hot against your cold skin.

"I'm so sorry about yesterday," he said once it was over. Even though you tried to talk him out of it, he didn't let you. "No. No. Don't be nice. It was a bummer for ya, you don't have to hide it. I brought you a little something to make up for it."

You took the box of chocolates and couldn't help but think that Steven could be a dream for someone whose love language was gift-giving. The stuffed hippo he gave you was now one of your favourite things, along with The Killers' concert tickets Marc got you for your birthday after the last time he came back from Egypt.

"You didn't have to. Thank you very much."

"You're very much welcome," he answered, his brown eyes shining. "I have thirty minutes I saved from my lunch break, forty if Donna doesn't catch me; 'til then I'm all yours."

The confession shouldn't be as cute as it was. The fact that he didn't have time for you and still made an effort to create it was a kind gesture that you were not used to. It was well-known the fact that people who want to see you, will go out of their way to do it, even if they have scarce time for you. You'd hear it everywhere, even from your friend's mouths, but had never actually experienced it. In the end, you were the one to always say it was okay when others cancelled plans or when Marc said he was busy, which had been a daily occurrence even after he left the military.

You took a sip out of your coffee, and you had to admit it was better than what you usually ordered

"I didn't know how you liked it so..."

"It's perfect, really."

"Good," he said, nodding and looking at the stairs as he hid a smile. He was just mumbling to himself. "Yeah... that's perfect."

Steven was going to kill you with his awkwardness, in the best of senses. He grabbed his coffee and the two of you turned and walked away from the building. He was still wearing his name tag.

"Steven," you called him, stopping in your tracks for a second, your hand gently touching his elbow to make him stop as well. "Let me help you with that."

He frowned and for the first time he looked a bit similar to your childhood best friend. You took the tag out of his ash-coloured jacket, careful not to poke him with the sharp end of the pin, and when you tilted your head to look into his eyes, there were merely a few inches of empty space between the both of you. Steven's lips opened slightly, his eyes fixed on yours and red blood taking away the paleness in his light brown skin.

You wanted to stay right there. Steven had a twinkle in his eyes that you couldn't get out of your head, a way about him that you can't help but be drawn to. You couldn't understand how others didn't see it, as difficult as his circumstances were, you couldn't quite understand that no one wanted to befriend him just because he had some small flaws.

You extended the pin to him, who looked at it in bewilderment and put it away after thanking you.

You can't fall in love with Steven Grant, you told yourself. But knew it was already a matter of time before your ultimate fall. It was impossible not to be attracted to him physically, you dreamed of kissing his cheeks and long lashes and burying your fingers in his curls. And for what little time you had spent together, you knew his personality was awkward and somehow also calm and kind, and that was something you liked as well. You'd seen him talk to several of your students, sell sweets with a smile and return lost phones. Back then you'd been so impressed by the sight of him that you didn't dare to get any closer, but the kids laughed and asked and talked and despite not being a guide, the kids referred to him as such when they got back on the school bus.

You just hoped you weren't making everything up just because you loved Marc, or still loved Marc. No, loved. That's right. Past tense.

It only took you another date, this time in a vegan restaurant in Soho, to realize you actually liked him. And not in a friendly way. More in a we've-talked-for-five-hours-and-the-waiter-is-kicking-us-out kind of way. You drank wine until you felt like figuring out what colour Steven's sheets were; despite promising yourself you wouldn't get drunk in case the word Marc spilt out of your mouth by accident. It didn't. Maybe Marc didn't give you much thought, but Steven definitely did, and wasn't that everything you'd dreamed of? Happiness looked real nice on Steven. You didn't want to break that for anything in the world.

Just before leaving he excused himself to the bathroom; and after waiting for a while, you decided to do the same thing. It wasn't your intention, but the walls were thin enough that you distinguished Steven's weird accent without effort, and as drunk as you were, you didn't have the morals nor the self-discipline not to eavesdrop

"You have to meet her, mom," he said. "She's absolutely gorgeous, I swear. I'll bring her soon. I mean... if she stays long enough..." a long pause. "Uhmm, sorry for that. Yeah, forget it. I drank a bit. Yeah, I know, me drinking. Pfff. Anyways, she's awesome. I think you'll love her. Looks a lot like an actress but I can't quite think of who, maybe that's why she looked so familiar the first time. I have to go now, she's waiting. Love you. Laters, gators."

It was a stroke of luck that there was no one else in the toilets because the alcohol made you start crying. Marc didn't talk to his mom, never had, really. And now certainly he couldn't. Marc's dad called you when the shiva for Marc's mother started. He didn't attend, and his dad wanted him to have someone by his side. You figured he didn't have Layla's phone or he'd have called her, and you weren't even sure he knew that Marc had gotten married.

That call was everything Marc always wished for but never could. You wondered who was Steven calling, and which number he dialled. You didn't even know how the whole thing worked, what was the arrangement, how Marc was so good at it that Steven never noticed any traces of Marc in his life.

You splashed water on your face, but that didn't take away the sadness or the alcohol boiling under your flesh. You hoped Steven didn't notice. He did anyways.

"Hey, what happened?" he was on his feet as soon as he saw your face. You hated it. "What's wrong, love?"

His hot callous fingers caressed your red cheeks. He took the wet baby hairs out of your face and tucked them behind.

"I drank too much, I'm so sorry"

He hugged you and blamed himself for filling the glasses so many times. Of course, you denied it.

"Let's get out of here, alright?" He said, left some notes on the table, took your handbag and carried it.

His arm tried to embrace you and pull you close to him as you walked out of the restaurant. You backed off, suddenly feeling like a child in need of comfort —and refused to feel that way—, but he didn't take it like that. The hurt showed on his face, in his pressed lips, in the way he walked next to you at a safe distance.

Your fingers slid around his wrist and curled around his fingers once you crossed the entrance, and a small dimple appeared again. It was so easy to make him happy, you liked how effortless everything was. He stopped in his tracks.

"Everything alright?" he whispered, slurring his words.

You nodded profusely, more than you should have. Your sight fell on his shoulder — for some reason— and you couldn't help but leave a kiss there.

Steven's breath was caught in his throat.

It's so easy.

He leaned against you, still holding your hand as an anchor. He ran his fingertips along the back of your neck, and pulled you closer to him slowly. He left a chaste kiss on your forehead.

Squeezing your eyes shut, a different kind of warmth spread through your body, different from the uncomfortable hotness of wine. Letting go of his hand, you grabbed the fabric of his shirt above his ribs, fighting the urge to slide your hand under it. You wanted him a little bit closer, but he took a step forward and you had to take one back, you hit the wall. His fingers still hidden in your hair.

He silently gasped, his laborious breathing against your cheek, the smell of wine in his breath, his lips parted.

"M-May I kiss you now?" he said. His eyes closed shut, nervously, his forehead pressing onto yours. His hot breath sweet over your own lips.

A soft chuckle came out of your chest. You leaned over him and left a kiss there, where his neck and jaw found each other.

He gasped, hard.

"You don't have to ask, Steven."

Even though he had warned you, you didn't see it coming. His kisses were supposed to be calm, loving, at least you had imagined them as such. Instead, he furiously joined your mouths, a moan reverberating in the depths of your throat as he grabbed both sides of your face and lifted you to have more access. You thought of returning the favour and buried your fingers in his hair and pulled. The moan he let out was animalistic, his breath was hot in your mouth as he quivered and it became raggered a second later.

If Steven didn't kill you, you for sure were.

His forehead pressed against yours. With his eyes closed, he kissed you on the lips once more, and then your cheek. You took a deep breath, drunk in every way.

"Thank you," he whispered. "You've no idea how long I've waited for that."

Oh, Steven, if you knew.

"I'd take you home if we weren't so drunk," you mumbled, although you hadn't meant to say it out loud.

It was pure delight to see his eyes get drowned in the darkness of desire. A look so strange and new in him and still, the naive glint didn't leave.

"On the second date?" he whispered, the tip of his tongue wetting his lower lip. "People do that?"

"This is our third, technically, but yeah, they do," you chuckled.

Steven shook his head and apologized before taking a step back. You wondered why he was saying sorry for, but then he looked down and you could see exactly why. It was impossible to take your eyes out of him, of how big he seemed even with jeans on. It was an astonishing surprise to still find out things that belonged to Marc —in part— that you didn't have a clue about.

Steven closed his eyes shut and tried to hide the bulge in his trousers by standing face to the wall. Redness engulfed all his features in a split second. "Think about deserts, think about deserts," he mumbled.

You can’t stop looking at his face.

“It’s easier if you think about our English teacher in college”

As soon as your lips stopped moving, you felt every organ in your body descend to the core of Earth. Your skin tingled uncomfortably and you felt yourself start shaking. The comforting smile on your face vanished completely. The dimly lit street gave a soft turn around the confused look of Steven.

“That actually works, mine was a nightmare,” he chuckled. “But you said our.”

You frowned on purpose and took your sight to somewhere behind him. You were not the best liar and hated to look at people’s eyes when you had to become one, but that probably only made you look more suspicious. Then you looked back at his face.

“I didn’t.”

“Actually you did,” he said, all smiles. Every muscle in your body relaxed, slowly. And all the blood in your feet seemed to go back where it belonged. He kissed your cheek. “It’s okay, it’s the alcohol talking. I guess every English teacher’s butters,” he said, then he looked down and grabbed your hand. “Yezz, look at you. You’re shivering.”

“Am I?”

Your voice was almost a whisper, and again, you shouldn’t have said that. In your defense, the world was a bit blurry, everything still doing circles around you even with your eyes closed. Steven took his coat and placed it over your shoulders.

“I’ll cab us home, yeah?” he says, his voice was calm and kind with a touch of worry. “You can stay at mine”

“No.”

“It’s okay. I’ll give you my bed.” Steven said “I don’t even sleep much, I promise. It just doesn’t feel right to leave you alone now.”

Before you could think about where you were heading, Steven was already opening the front door of an old building in Brixton; which you had no idea of. Last time you had been in Marc's house, it was also Layla's. And after that, you had only met Marc a few times, always in cheap cafés or bars after the sun had set.

Once he opened the door of his flat, he stepped aside and gestured with his hand for you to come in. It was almost a bow. "Welcome, my lady."

His flat was a one-bed studio without walls. It had a bookcase in the middle of the room, full of books and vintage decorative figurines, although it was fair to say the entirety of his home looked like the backroom of any library with more than fifty years. Although the sheer amount of clutter made it look dirty, it really wasn't. It was cosy and inviting, but also a comfortable and disorganized mess. You took off your heels before you had hardly taken a step into the flat.

"Give me a second, yeah?" he said, his smile trembling over his lips. "I have to hoover first. It's a bother, I know. Stay there."

You couldn't stop but frown at his words. "Steven, what are you talking about? I don't care about that."

You wondered if he was about to laugh, and followed him. He scratched the back of his neck, turned on his heels and quickly walked. Then you saw it.

The shelves were blocking your vision, but not anymore. His bed was barely a mattress on the floor inside a wooden structure with four columns, almost like a cage. And around it, a circle of sand. You stood there, feeling confused and awkward at the same time.

"Steven, why do you...?"

"It's just a second, sorry," he said, as he struggled to take the hoover out of a small wardrobe with cleaning supplies.

"Steven, Steven," you caressed his shoulder in a comforting manner but failed at trying to take his attention. "Please, leave that alone and look at me."

He did after a few seconds, and stepped aside when you asked him to. You left everything inside and closed the door behind you.

"That's an awful lot of sand."

He replied crestfallen, with both hands behind his back, as if he had just been caught doing something he shouldn't and punishment was about to be announced. "I know."

"It's okay, it's your flat. I'm just curious about it."

He bit the inside of his cheek and finally looked at you, a look of embarrassment plastered all over himself. Then he sighed, his shoulders falling like a dead weight. He started walking towards the kitchen.

"Fancy a cuppa?"

You followed him, and he served a cup of tea for both of you. He left them on the table and fetched two glasses of water as well.

"I have a sleeping disorder," he said. His fingers were trembling around the cup, and his eyes looked at you almost waiting to read your body language. "I sleepwalk sometimes. And other times I sleep for more than ten hours and still manage to be exhausted. I have dreams, very vivid dreams. And-"

You took one of his hands in yours. He was going to break the cup if he kept imprinting his fingers in it. You held his hand, and he frowned at you, the corners of his mouth turned down. He looked just like Marc.

"Nightmares?" you asked.

The lines on his forehead became deeper as he recalled his memories. "I wouldn't say nightmares. Well, yes, sometimes they are; but they don't usually feel like nightmares. I don't know."

You wondered if it had something to do with Marc, with the fact that he also had to have some kind of life beyond all the time Steven took to live his.

"Look, I know I'm a walking red flag," he pressed his open hands to his forehead. "But I promise I'm not bonkers, I just have a little trouble sleeping. I use the sand and the restraints to check I haven't left the bed during the night, that's all. I know it's crazy to have strains on the bed..."

"I didn't say that."

His eyes shot open, and the most incredulous and relieved laugh you had ever heard left his mouth. You couldn't help but chuckle as well.

"Oh, you didn't just say that," he replied.

The atmosphere was light again between both of you. His frown had vanished from his features. Steven's face was Steven's once again; with his bright dark orbs, raised eyebrows and little smiles. His shivers had stopped almost entirely, you could notice by the way his hands rested over the table and you couldn't stop yourself from taking one of them in yours. He looked at both your fingers, yours on top of his as you slowly traced a path to his palm. You witnessed how his sight lost focus for a few seconds, and waited until his eyes fell on you again to talk.

"Steven, we all have problems, but that doesn't mean we don't deserve love and understanding," his brows frowned slightly, while his puppy face remained; he was trying not to cry. "If someone, anyone, denies them to you, just because you're not perfect, you're simply asking the wrong person. There are plenty of people out there who'd love you for the very same things other people would despise you for..."

He wiped away a treacherous tear with his free hand and you kissed the back of the other.

"...and that's okay. Not everyone has to like you, you don't like everyone either. Some are just pricks."

Another chuckle. Another tear. He wiped it away and covered both his eyes with his palms. He sighed, hard. He seemed tired as his shoulders fell.

"God, I shouldn't be crying my eyes out."

Getting up from your chair, you left a chaste kiss on his cheek. Your arms went around his shoulders from behind, and you couldn't help but leave another kiss on his temple.

Steven was suffering, and it was something you had never thought about. Since you had met him in person you had begun to understand him a little, but before that, since Brighton, you had never thought of Steven as a person who lived and suffered. The few times you had thought of him before —because Marc never talked about it again—, you had imagined Steven as a drugged version of Marc: a quiet boy, almost like a rag doll o a puppet, who took all the pain that Marc couldn't bear without complaint, taking and taking like a punching bag. Feeling no discomfort, no pain.

The more you got to know him, the more you realised that Steven embodied the best parts of Marc. No, not the best parts of Marc, the best parts of himself. He was a wonderful man, shy and charismatic at the same time. Talkative and awkward and a true gentleman who opened doors for you and bowed and laughed a lot.

You could love him, and that was not even a new realization, but you had never felt it as true. Steven didn't have to do any of the things he did to be charming, and yet it was part of his persona, part of what Steven really was. Marc and he shared a body, maybe half a life and time on this Earth, but nothing else.

Steven Grant was unique, without a doubt one of the most beautiful souls in the universe. And you thought you might regret it tomorrow, but Marc would have to get used to it if things went further. Maybe you could find a way he could understand. He had to. The possibility of him reacting badly tied a knot in your stomach that made you suffocate with every passing second. He was still your best friend. And you still loved him too.

Steven stood up from the chair, took both cups and left them in the empty sink. His face was as red as it could, his nose a bright red colour and eyelids wet by the tears. He put his hands on his hips and sighed.

"You should go to bed. I'll lend you a t-shirt to sleep in if you want," he said, looking at the black dress you were wearing.

Steven opened a drawer in the space that belonged to his bedroom and took a t-shirt and a pair of grey joggers. You took them from his hands.

"Thank you," you whispered. "I really shouldn't be here."

"That's bollocks, you can come here whenever you want."

He ran one hand over his eyes again, even though there were no tears.

You didn't say anything back because he had no idea of what was happening, but you knew you shouldn't be there. The closer you got to Steven the more you liked him, and you had never stayed the night at Marc's. Never. You wondered what would happen if Marc fronted in the middle of the night and found you sleeping there. Maybe you could come up with something. Either way, you squeezed your eyes shut, tried to shake off the feeling and finished getting dressed.

You had wrapped the elastic of your pyjama bottoms around your hips, but you could still step on some of the fabric. The T-shirt was beyond repair, but you usually slept in T-shirts and sweatshirts two sizes too big anyway, so that was fine.

"It's so big on me," you said, jokingly as you walked out of the bathroom.

You caught him getting dressed too. He was just pulling his t-shirt over his shoulders when you opened the door. From where you stood, the views were immaculate. The muscles in his back stretched and contracted before he pulled the t-shirt over his shoulders. His bottoms were a tartan printed pyjamas.

"Maybe you should just... jump right into bed," he said, now approaching you and glancing at the sand on the floor. "You know, don't get your feet full of sand. I'll be in the living room. Having fun with..." he joked as he took a book from his desk and showed it to you. Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt. "...Mrs Pinch."

You got into bed without jumping, somehow, taking a long step from the floor to his bed. Steven stood closer as you did, almost grabbing your arm to help you. Before he could turn on his heels and leave, you kneeled on his bed, right in front of him. His eyes were still glossy from the crying.

"Try and get some sleep," you said. He gave a long sigh and shook his head.

"It's better if I don't."

"Please, Steven..." you almost begged. "Get in here with me, just try, I'll leave when you fall asleep."

You saw the doubt in his eyes, the indecision, but also the fear below all of that. Finally, he shook his head again.

"Maybe we could try next time, if you still feel like it," He raised the book in the air and gave you a smile. "I have a second date tonight, don't be too jealous."

"Why don't you read to me, then?"

He considered it for a brief second, then he instructed you to get comfortable under the sheets while he locked the front door. Steven turned off all the lights except for the kitchen lights, which plunged the room into semi-darkness, but still bright enough to read. He also took a long stripe of blue tape and stuck it just above the locks in the door. Then he got into bed.

You laid on your side, looking at him. His pillows smelled of him. It was a pleasant smell, the same smell that had flooded your nostrils when you had kissed his jaw earlier, only with less cologne. He didn't get under the covers. Instead, he crossed his legs on the mattress and leaned a little towards the headboard. He almost looked like a tall child.

He gave you a quick glance from the text, almost waiting for you to stop him; but you didn't.

"Let me know if you get tired of me."

He smiled, half-joking, but you knew he was been very serious about it. Then he started reading.

"Originally the Egyptian reverenced on God only whose likeness was never represented, “he is being worshipped in silence. His characteristics, however..."

The next thing you knew, you were woken up by the morning light, slowly and calmly, bit by bit regaining consciousness of the context around you. It was an odd feeling, not to wake up in your own room, or by the loud noise of your alarm app, to see a different ceiling and furniture around you. In the usual morning amnesia, you looked under the sheets to check if you were still dressed. You were, but those clothes weren't yours.

You got up, and there was something yellow in your vision for a second. It was so sudden that you wondered if a ray of sunlight just blinded you, but then you looked at your lap and saw it. It was a sticky note. It was probably on the headboard before it peeled off from the headboard.

We need to talk. -Marc.

It was raining when you left your own studio that evening, and it was almost nine when you got to your destination, a cafe just a few blocks from Steven's flat. Marc had chosen it because it was the only one in the area which stayed open until half-past ten.

By then you had been ignoring his calls for thirty-six hours, which should have been easy given the fact that Marc barely used his phone anymore, but he had called you twice yesterday and you had ignored them, giving him some excuse about having too many assignments to grade. It wasn't a lie, he had to understand that you had a life beyond him and Steven. And you knew nothing about Steven, so you guessed Marc hadn't given up the body yet.

You couldn't help but wonder how poor Steven managed not to get fired or get burnout from work if every time he had a free day Marc decided it was his time to reappear. It was incredibly selfish of him to let Steven earn the money for both of them. After all, as far as you were concerned, Marc had been unemployed since he left the military.

You weren't looking forward to meeting him, because you knew once you did, you'd have to tell lies. You couldn't possibly tell him about the kiss. You would, eventually, once you knew how to address the situation; but you didn't want to. Losing Marc was something you'd never forgive yourself for happening, and abandoning Steven now didn't seem like a good choice to make, at all. On the other hand, however, Marc had been extremely vague about the arrangement you two shared, you needed to know how the whole thing worked; for their sake as well as yours. You needed to know what to expect from Steven and Marc, when to worry if any of them vanished for too long, how the fronting thing worked, how he managed to figure out everything from Steven's life when Steven wasn't even aware that Marc existed.

At the end of the day, you couldn't postpone meeting him anymore. It had been two weeks already, two wonderful weeks with your phone full of good-morning texts and calls lasting as much as two hours. You had hoped to have Steven as a friend, but he was too much of a boyfriend material.

Your eyes were fixed on Marc even before you got in.

The cold air suddenly disappeared from your cheeks. The cafe was cosy, but the heat inside was almost sultry. You could see it in the navy T-shirt Marc was wearing. You both came prepared for the heat, you had been there before.

He subtly waved at you as you walked in. The table he had chosen was in a corner, away from everything and everyone even though the place was half empty. It was the same table you had been to other times, and you wondered if the waiters —who most certainly already knew your face— wondered if any of you was cheating on your partners.

You walked to the table asking all the gods, the universe, and whatever else was out there to please not trip over your own feet. The last time you had been this nervous about meeting Marc, he was getting married in Cairo.

He greeted and rose up from his chair to hug you. The hug was short-lived but much needed, yet you couldn't help but wonder if he could hear the frantic beating of your own heart against his chest.

"I'm not gonna beat around the bush, I want you to answer a simple yes or no question," he asked.

There he was, direct and blunt as a knife. There was no hesitation, no trembling in his hands. His accent almost came up weird now, that American accent that he had not left in Illinois when he moved to the UK in his teenage years and never quite vanished.

"Are you and Steven together?"

That was too easy of a question.

"We obviously are not," you replied, but he still waited in silence. "If you're wondering why I stayed in his flat, we had dinner and I got drunk. I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted that he didn't feel good about me getting home by myself."

He rolled his eyes and drank a sip of his black coffee.

"You're quite the grown-up."

You ordered your own tea and waited until the waiter left to keep up the conversation.

"Yeah, I am, but this is still London and I'm still a woman. So there's that."

Marc left his coffee on the table and leaned back in his chair, resting both elbows on the backrest. That's when his eyes scanned you, maybe he wasn't buying your half-truths. You kept your eyes on his until it was ridiculous how long you kept looking at each other.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing. I just don't think you've ever stayed at mine."

You chuckled, that was easy to respond to. The waiter left your cup of tea in front of you and you took a sip out of plain curiosity, a smile still lingering on your lips. Then you looked at him through your lashes.

"Are you jealous, Marc?" you asked him, his mocking smile soon turned into a thin line. "Don't worry, I'm sure we can have a... how is it? a slumber party some time."

You thought he would laugh at your imitation, but he did not. He gave you a look, the most disgusted look you'd ever seen on his face.

"Did you fuck him?" his angry gaze pierced your soul, his elbows pressing into the table as he leaned over it. "Because I don't know if you're aware, but Layla and I aren't officially divorced yet."

Low blow. Fucking moron.

"I'm obviously not aware of that because you never talk to me anymore."

"You didn't answer my fucking question.”

A wry laugh bubbled up from your throat. Rage reddened your face with every passing second, you could feel the blood under the skin of your face, burning and boiling. You didn't know whether to tell him to fuck off or what. It was his fault that you were in this bizarre predicament, to begin with. Your muscles were stuck in place, you knew the answer to his question, but the fact he was asking was simply insulting. He didn't own you and neither did he own Steven.

"You know what, fuck you, Marc," you rose up from the chair and smashed the palms of your hands against the table. "If I knew you'd turn into a freaking child I wouldn't have signed up to all of this. Now I'm basically lying to someone who has done nothing but treat me with respect. I cannot say the same about you."

You left the place in a hurry, without even thinking about the bill you left behind. He called your name but you didn't give him any attention. Yet Marc still ran behind you and grabbed your arm once you were outside. You got rid of his grip and smacked his arm. He did not wince.

"Don't follow me, Spector" you warned. "I'm tired of you."

It did seem to pain. He grimaced as if he had been hit, blinked repeatedly and clenched his jaw.

"You do not understand," he almost growled. "I just needed to make sure of it. I don't want to hurt you, I don't want you to get hurt in any way. I did say I shouldn't ask you for such a big commitment, but he is very alone. I was scared he would end up hurting himself. I knew you two would get along. There's no one who could not like you, (y/n)," he said. "You can't imagine how much I freaked out when I woke up and saw you next to me."

His words hurt, so much so that you wondered why on earth you were still listening to a word that came out of his mouth. The thought of Steven hurting himself in any way was hard to swallow. You couldn't even begin to imagine such a sweet soul giving up on all the joy this life could bring him, of all the people he would indeed meet, all the people that had and would love him, all the experiences fate still kept for him.

Then you had Marc's words. Did it hurt so much to wake up next to you that he had to leave? Was it so hard for him to look at your sleepy face in the morning? Did he find you that disgusting?

"I will keep on seeing Steven," you said. "Not because of you, but because he genuinely has become a good friend," you finished. "I won't apologize for how disgusting you find me, though."

He looked down. From that angle, he looked like a lost soul. He was absolutely drenched now, his curls sticking up to his warm skin, the ends dripping, the jacket now a shade darker because of the rain. Marc shook his head and looked back at you.

"I didn't mean it like that," he mumbled. "I didn't..." his lips formed a thin line as he thought what to say. "Look, it's complicated. I am not always aware of him or his surroundings, but I am aware of his feelings because I can feel them too. You have to be only friends. I know I'm been annoying about it but it simply cannot happen."

You gave a long sigh and pushed both you and him under the awning of another nearby restaurant. You tried not to think about his words.

"You're right Marc, I don't understand. I don't know what you're doing" you confessed. "I don't know how the whole thing works, but it's straight-up ruining both of your lives. He's alone, not because he wants to, or because people find him irritanting, but because he can't commit to anyone, because he lives in a constant nightmare in which he does not know when or where he's waking up."

"I'm not saying it's easier for you," you whispered as some pedestrians walked near the scene. "But at least you know what's happening. You used to live your own life, now he is the one doing it most of the time. He will eventually find out, so you should talk to him, however that works. Steven already thinks he's a lunatic," you said, as you remembered your conversation that night. "And I can't possibly understand how could you expect him to be happy in these conditions."

Marc bit his lip and took his eyes away from you and into the road.

"So you have talked that much, uh?" he crossed his arms over his chest. "I knew all the calls couldn't be about the weather."

You stood there for a minute in silence, not knowing what else to say.

"Things are getting out of hand, I know I'll have to do it at some point," he said. "I just can't right now. I need him to be calm and happy while I figure some shit out."

You frowned at his words, nervousness and curiosity equally dancing in the pit of your stomach.

"And what is that?" you asked, but when he did not respond you tried to guess. "Is it about Layla?"

He shook his head. "It's more complicated than that."

"You know you can tell me anything that's bothering you, Marc," you whispered, reassuringly. You actively fought the urge to caress the back of his head. "I'll try to help you. We've known each other for so long, it is actually insulting that you don't trust me yet."

Marc smiled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Then he looked at you and the glint in his eyes sent you off balance. It wasn't naive like Steven's, it was different. You couldn't quite tell why or what differentiated them.

"I know," a pause. "I know I can, and I will once it's over. I promise."

Marc was not a person who used to make promises, let alone empty ones. Throughout your life, he had made you perhaps a handful of them, and he had always kept them to this day. He took his word very seriously, it was a matter of pride.

So you believed him.

The staff room was almost empty two weeks later, as it was lunchtime and most of the teachers were in the school cafeteria. It was torture to be there alone, with only one of the history teachers marking exams and photocopying worksheets. You had forgotten your lunch box at home and complained to Steven profusely via text. You refused to eat anything from the cafeteria, and you were positive that anyone who visited the kitchen would, really, so you were just starting to mark some exams when a movement far out of your field of vision caught your attention.

The sight in front of you was so out of place that your brain had difficulty processing it. Steven stood next to the door frame, shoulders down and a timid smile on his lips, trying not to draw any attention to himself while waving a hand in front of his face to catch your attention.

"Hey," he whispered. "You alright?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" you mouthed from where you were seated.

He lifted into the air a rectangle-shaped plastic bag and pointed at it with the biggest and proudest grin you'd ever seen on that face.

Oh, he didn't.

"I brought you lunch," he whispered once you were standing outside of the teacher's lounge. He opened the plastic bag and began pointing out things. "I got you some chicken with gravy and mashed potatoes. I made it myself so I don't know if you'll like it, I haven't actually tried it."

You looked at him, impressed and incredulous as he talked. He looked at you, then at the food, then at you again.

"What?"

His thick accent made you giggle in this disbelief.

"You should be resting, it's your day off," you said. "What are you even doing here? And where did you get the chicken to cook? You're vegan."

His whole face relaxed, his eyelids half-closed, his smile a funny one saying you're not really asking me that.

"From the supermarket, where else would I get food?"

"Oh you're something else, I swear," you whispered. "You know what I meant."

You took the bag in your hands and got into the staff room again. The history teacher, Graham, took a glimpse behind him at whatever you were carrying. He rolled up his sleeves to continue using the photocopier, a tattoo of a black scale standing prouder on his pale skin.

You caught Steven looking at it as well, his mind far away from that room, but once you were out of the other teacher's sight, his focus came back.

"Thank you very much," you said, voice low and clear. You hoped he could read on your face the intent, the longing. After all, there had been many more kisses since that third date. "I'd kiss you right here if I could."

"I can fix that."

He took a glimpse of every corner over his head, looking for security cameras. There was none. Then he kissed the inside of his fingers and pretended to slap you in slow motion.

You shook your head.

"You're very much welcome, by the way," Steven said. Then he shoved his hands into the pockets of his grey coat, the one you loved so much on him. "So the thing is I might have gotten a bit too much chicken and you know... I'm vegan so..."

You squinted at the way he was jokingly talking about it.

"... so I thought maybe we could have dinner tonight. Maybe watch a movie afterwards, read a bit."

"Oh, you cheeky bastard," you jabbed an accusatory finger in his sternum. "If you wanted me to come over, you should have just said that."

"I know," he responded, his happy grin was breathtaking. "But I did want to make sure you ate, and I actually love cooking even if I'm not very good at it."

You had to resist the urge to pull him by the collar of his jacket and kiss him on the lips.

"You're perfect at it. And that was an awesome tactic," you replied. "The whole I'm vegan so you should come over and we could have dinner and have you-know-what after. You can't fool me, Grant."

He shook his head.

"It's a good one, right?" he said, his flirtatious tone completely foreign to him. "All jokes aside, I don't have any expectations about it, you know that." He gestured, his hands moving in the air. "Whatever you wanna do is fine. We could play chess all night if you wanted."

That's why you liked him so much, everything was easy with him. He was happy with your company, loved doing indoor plans and both restaurant and coffee dates. That didn't mean everything was up to you, though, or that he didn't have any preferences. Last weekend he had miraculously gone to karaoke night with some of your friends, —you were lucky none of them knew Marc personally— and he had completely slain the stage. You had asked him to attend, but you didn't think he actually would. You slept in his flat again, and he was so drunk that as soon as his eyelids closed he ran to puke on the toilet. Then the next morning you fed Gus while he turned the kettle on and later both of you took a walk around Hyde Park; which was his plan in exchange for the karaoke.

By now you were basically a couple, but avoided having that conversation nonetheless. Steven was a pro at reading your facial expressions and changing the subject when you didn't feel comfortable. That was pretty much the last thing he wanted, and he also had to remind himself that you had barely known each other for a month now, that things had started extremely fast and seemingly sped up a little bit more every second. And with those odds, Steven refused to crash his relationship against any tree, it’d simply not happen.

The day went by too slowly after he left, promising that he'd see you that same night and sending good wishes for the rest of your workday. After that, you went home just to change the sweaty clothes you'd been wearing all day. You took a shower and rubbed some lotion on every inch of your body. And at the end of the routine, you openned your underwear drawer to find the most beautiful piece of lingerie you owned.

Part of you couldn't help but wonder what Marc would say if he saw you wearing that, how he'd react, what he'd do; but you were mostly thinking about Steven both when you bought it and now that you were fastening the hooks of the lace bra behind your back. Shaking your head, you decided not to think about Marc anymore, it was simply not his business.

When Steven opened the front door of his flat, dinner was almost done. You hugged him despite the baking powder on his apron, but he still refused to hug you back because he had food smeared all over his hands. You grabbed his chin to pull his face against yours and kissed him, but you shouldn't have. An explosion of flavour flashed through your tongue when you did, a bolt of white lightning suddenly appearing behind your eyelids. It made you moan, and in the middle of the fog, you realized Steven had sugar on his lips.

He chuckled. One of his hands falling on your waist and keeping you against him, one of yours on his chest, your knees weak and your mind all groggy.

"Woah... what was that?" he grinned.

"You have sugar on your lips," you answered and squinted, pretending to be annoyed. "You did it on purpose."

He shook his head, half incredulous, half amused.

"No, I didn't, I was baking dessert for us."

"...and what were you baking?"

"Vegan cheesecake"

You bit your lip at the thought and broke away, slowly, waiting for him to either tighten his grip against your waist or let you go. He finally opted for the latter but didn't seem entirely convinced about it. You dropped your purse on his desk without asking, as if it was already your own flat.

"I'm going to-... yeah-the food..." he anxiously shifted in place, randomly remembering —finally— he had other things to do rather than just stand there and look.

You couldn't help but chuckle as he walked to the kitchen space, not without looking back at least twice to check if you were following.

"I got invited to watch you work today," you said, arms crossed over your chest. "Apparently one of the teachers is sick and they invited me to visit the museum with the ten-year-olds on Monday. They were very persistent about it."

Steven smiled. "Sounds like good news to me."

"Can I help you with anything?" you asked once in front of the oven, changing the subject, but he simply stirred the sauce for a second and rapidly focused his attention on something else.

"No, no. Well- yeah... I mean, you can help me eat it-" he joked. "Not a good idea if I invite you for dinner and have you starving, right?"

You took a spoon from one of the drawers, which seemed to catch his attention, and dipped it into the sauce. Even with the taste of sugar from his lips still camouflaging the flavour, it was delicious. You moaned for the second time.

"Oh," he laughed. "Cheers, angel."

All his body language shifted completely, while you stood there blinking at the new pet name, speechless. Steven squared his shoulders, looking proudly at the food, and turning off the cooker. He gave a long sigh and started serving the food.

"I have to say I was a bit shook about this," he confessed while serving the chicken. "I've never cooked for anyone before, so I don't even know if my cooking skills are decent," he smiled. "I mean, most days I forget to have at least one of my meals, can't say that's good, can I?"

He extended the plate at you and his smile vanished.

"Did you just call me angel?" you asked.

A pause, as if time had stopped.

"Did I?" he said, leaving the plate on the counter, a nervous little laugh ripped out of his throat. "I mean- I know I did. You don't like it?" he had puppy eyes now, then turned and kept on serving the food. The plate trembled in his hand. "I won't say it again."

"No, no. It's okay. I like it," you cooed as you caressed his cheek with your thumb. "It's okay."

You took the plate from his hands and left it on the counter. Steven shifted in place, now facing you with sloping shoulders. The corners of his mouth turned down, his eyes glossy.

"Hey, what's wrong?" your hands took his in yours and gave him a soft squeeze. He didn't talk. "Steven, please." he gave a long sigh and his whole weight fell against the edge of the counter. "This is not for the nickname, is it?"

He shook his head, still with the same expression.

"I mean-" he finally talked, his voice low. "That's part of it, yeah..." he took some deep breaths and you couldn't help but witness, your heart ached while you took his arm and stroked his forearm with your nails, then he talked. "I like you more than I should, I mean, it's only been a month and I'm all head over heels for you and I want to do so many things and- then- yeah... I don't know. I really do think you were sent for me, sometimes, like a blessing or a fate thing. I don't know. Call me cheesy if you want," he stopped, he was almost choking with his words, then he studied your reaction and resumed.

"...after all, you appeared right in time. I was really, like really, freaking out about never being able to love anyone or never settling with anyone. I mean- I don't mean we will, I'm just saying..." he huffed, looking at the ceiling as if looking for answers. "I want to have a family, and how could I do that without a partner? And now I'm just... so scared of losing you," he brought both fists to his chest and closed his eyes "I don't know why I have this feeling that I'm going to lose you. And then I found-" he abruptly stopped and covered his eyes. He wasn't crying, not yet at least.

"Steven. What did you find?"

He shook his head, his fingers still covering his eyes. Then he sobbed.

Panic surged through your veins. Your mind started rushing, a thousand questions running through it. You tried to have your breathing under control, after all, you didn't know yet what he was talking about.

"C'mon," you felt as if an electric current had surged in your muscles and before you knew it, you were walking. You took two chairs from the table and placed them one in front of the other. Your voice shivered and broke when you said: "We're gonna fix this, Steven. I don't know what I did but," you were almost whispering to yourself, a hand ran through your hair, anxiously. “… we are."

His cheeks were wet, yet his eyes were still fixed on yours. You tried to take his arm to guide him to have a seat but he just stopped midway and begged.

"Please," he said, both hands on your cheeks, "calm down. Please. I don't wanna upset you. It's nothing, I just got all freaking emotional about nothing."

His words were soothing, a sweet remedy for your nerves and doubts. If he had discovered Marc or your dealings with him, he wouldn't be caring for you the way he was .

It felt like a bucket of cold water over your head anyway, because at that moment you realised that Steven might never forgive you if he found out about Marc. You would be losing forever the only two people you had ever loved. His words inadvertently had the opposite effect.

You clenched your jaw and lips as your nose twitched and your eyes filled with tears. You tried to turn away so he wouldn't see you, and still, he wouldn't let you go. With his hands still on your cheeks, he forced you to look at him. He whispered words of reassurance, pleading while he asked for forgiveness. You closed your eyes tightly and the tears came.

"Please don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I didn't mean to." he said, he took you into his arms and kissed your hair. "I can't stand it. Please."

You finally started fighting against him, getting rid of his hands and hugs and kisses. He didn't let you go at first, but then he did. You wiped your tears and sat on the chair. The feeling of dread was still present, but you repeated in your mind that you wouldn't let it happen, like a mantra. You had to focus on the present. Steven hadn't found out about Marc, as long as that didn't happen, you'd be good.

"What did you find? Explain it to me." Your voice was so steady and cold that you surprised yourself.

Steven nodded and went to his desk, then came back with one of his hands turned into a fist and took his seat right in front of you, his fist tight on the table.

“I was cleaning before you came,” he said. “Before you see it I want you to know that I might have thought something I shouldn’t have when I saw it, that’s true, but I trust you. Always have. I just tend to overthink constantly and then I saw it and I shouldn't have.”

Your breath was caught in your throat. You knew what it was even before he even showed it to you.

Steven opened his hand and there it was, the post-it; the one Marc had left for you the first night you stayed the night in that very same flat, you had forget to take it with you when you left that day. Your eyes caught a glimpse of Steven and for a second everything felt unreal. The fact that he had cried for a note that his very fingers had written for you… and the fact that he thought you were seeing someone else, was simply overwhelming.

Then something clicked in your brain. Everything came back to you in a second. You had to react somehow, or he’d think you were cheating on him.

So you smiled, although you weren’t sure how it looked from other's people's eyes. You tried to chuckle, but it only came out as half a sigh, half a moan.

“Steven… that’s what you were so worried about?”

He didn’t look entirely convinced.

We need to talk -Marc. The words, especially his name, felt like accusations; and wrong. They felt wrong in Steven’s hands.

“I didn’t,” he said. “At first I thought the worst, but… it’s not what you think. I saw it and felt bad and then I realized that it was just my brain making up scenarios and giving me a sight of what I thought I was seeing, a sight that it’s probably not real. I mean- I don’t have the context…”

You silently thanked that Steven took so long to say anything, because it helped your nerves and gave you a minute to think about what to say next.

“… and you think I can give you context?”

“I mean, no, you don’t owe me anything,” he shook his head. “I’d like to think that if you were seeing someone else you wouldn’t be here with me. I was… I am scared of losing you, that’s the thing. I have this sensation in the pit of my stomach that something bad is about to happen, like something really bad. And I found this and I wasn’t in a good place, mentally. That’s what I’m saying. I’m scared, but I don’t think you’re cheating. Well, would it even be considered cheating if we’re not officially dating yet?” He laughed it off, but you saw the hurt in his eyes. “I hope I was clear, because I’m not very good with words.”

“Yeah, you were” you answered and took one of his hands in yours. You sighed happily, relieved. “Marc is a friend of mine. He’s my best friend, actually. We met in high school. He thought I was mad at him because he’s been a bit of an asshole lately. He barely answers my calls anymore and he’s one of those people who has trouble speaking his mind, being honest… the whole lot; and he left that in my purse a few hours before our date because we had a fight. I’m sorry it triggered you so much.”

Now he seemed convinced, maybe because a big part of what you’d just said was true. Maybe the timeline wasn’t exactly correct, but all the rest was true.

“Did you two make peace?”

Oh, Steven. He looked just so concerned about it for no reason. He was a real sweetheart.

“Yeah, yes, kind of,” you responded. “We talked on the phone.”

“I’m so glad. That’s important, to talk things through... pun intended” he chuckled.

Steven kissed your knuckles and, in a swift motion, rose up from the chair. You saw him as he placed one of the plates in the microwave. Your heart ached at the sight, at the domesticity, at all the gestures and the kindness.

You saw the face of Marc in his features as he reheated the food. It felt wrong, the fact that you had just explained who Marc was to the face that you had grown up with, the very same face and body you had associated with Marc Spector your whole life. You felt like saying it, the truth barely hanging from your lips.

Steven deserved to know.

Ultimately, you decided to give Marc an ultimatum.

A radio station was now playing in Steven's flat. None of you gave much importance to it; it had just been Steven's way of lightning up the mood while both of you had dinner. It surprisingly worked, given the fact that both of you joked about hating BBC Radio One while neither made an effort to change it. Steven would mimic Nick Grimshaw every once in a while, making you laugh and therefore laughing himself too.

For dessert, Steven turned on the television and put on a documentary about Egyptian history. Now two half-finished plates of vegan cheesecake were left alone on top of his coffee table, while Grimshaw's voice became white noise in the background. On the sofa, you had started by sitting next to Steven with one of your legs over his knees, leaning slightly towards him as you ate the cake. But half an hour had passed and now the monotone voice of the history channel couldn't keep your attention anymore, you had both legs over his lap now; and watched him silently while stroking his hair. Then you went down, your nails barely touching his flesh as your fingers ran down the length of his arm, from the shoulder to the wrist and back up again.

After a while, he stopped paying attention to the documentary.

"Am I boring you?" he asked, sinking into the couch and pressing his forehead against yours. "We can watch something else."

You shook your head. "It's fine. I like to see you all invested on the ancient world," you answered.

"Uhmm..." he closed his eyes and sighed. "I stopped being invested a while ago, love. Plus, I thought you fancied to learn a bit about it"

That was true, you'd asked him to give you egyptology classes.

"Yeah," you chuckled. "I wanted you to teach me because you put so much love into it, I didn't mean watching history channel; but that's okay, I can do that too."

Steven put the TV on mute and patted your legs on his lap signalling for you to let him go. He took a book from the large stack on his desk and when he returned to the sofa, he wrapped his arm around your legs and returned to the first position. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held the book open with one hand.

"Mythology’s fine?" he asked.

You nodded. "Mythology is perfect."

He started reading, and you occasionally stopped to ask questions. After a while, he simply opened a family tree on the first page of the book.

"Let's get the basics first, shall we?" he mocked you, making fun at your lack of knowledge. "We can start with the Ennead. You remember what I said about it, right?"

You nodded, he had complained profusely about the marketing campaign of the museum. It had so many gods missing, and he was fuming about it for three days.

"Yeah," you kissed him on his jaw, unable to help yourself. "Who are they?"

"There's nine of them," he shivered behind your touch. "Atum, Tefnut, Shu, Geb and Nut, Set, Nephthys..."

With every name you planted a kiss on his cheek; and after a while, you realized you were now leaving kisses on his neck. Steven closed his eyes and shivered; then you stopped.

"And the other two?" you asked him, with the most innocent face.

Steven opened his eyes slowly, dizzy and astonished at the same time.

"Are you having a laugh?"

You smiled and shook your head. "Not at all, I'm interested. I really am."

He squinted at you, then he pointed out some drawings on the family tree.

"As I was saying... Atum, Tefnut," he said, you resumed your kisses on his neck and he made a hissing noise. "Geb, Nut, Isis... ugh." he pushed the book aside with closed eyes and you stopped.

His eyes shot open and you asked him:

"Why are you stopping?"

He huffed, "I don't know, I seem to have a leech on my throat."

A laugh erupted from you.

"Oh, thanks for that. Really, cheers," you answered. "I wanna know the other names though. Poor deities, they are not important enough to be named."

He squinted at you, making a face as if he had been insulted.

"Atum, Tefnut, Isis..." he spoke quickly.

"You already named those," you crossed both your arms. Then you started to hear new names and you brought your lips to his Adam’s apple. Steven groaned, his body trembling under your touch.

"Alright, that's it."

With the arm he had around your shoulders, he pushed you against him; his other palm cupping your cheek. Soon, you were breathing the same air, or rather not breathing at all. Steven kissed you hungrily, intensely. His tongue still tasted like blueberries and cheesecake, and under it, the own taste of his mouth. It sent a lightning bolt to every nerve ending of your anatomy; a single wave of pleasure straight to where you needed Steven the most. Your knees sank on the couch when you got on top of him, both of them at each side of his hips; Steven grabbed yours with a slight touch at first and nailed his fingertips on your thighs after. His kisses stopped for a second, his breath loomig over your throat. He looked at you through his eyelashes, seemingly asking for permission; just to leave a trail of lazy kisses down your throat a second later.

Steven reached the hollow space at the end of your throat. He wetted his lips and left a kiss there. As a consequence, your hips rubbed against him, and for the first time, you noticed the prominent bulge growing against your inner thigh, dangerously close to your entrance only hid by your jeans.

Steven groaned, his brown eyes rolling into the back of his skull for a split second.

“Don’t stop,” you begged when his sight came back. His breath hot against your collarbone.

His puppy eyes looked at you through his eyelashes, and his jaw tightened.

“It’s been a long time since…” he whispered, gasping. “I’m sorry, love. I don’t know what to do.”

His voice came out low, weak. He looked almost miserable.

You took his face in both your hands. Steven didn't get his eyes out of you, admiring you with such love in his dark gaze that you wondered if you were seeing things. The way he eyed you, as if you hung the moon, made your heart ache.

"Steven, your body is asking for something; give it to it," you whispered. His lips parted as he watched you, he was full of desire but unable to move. "Don't think so much. Just get what you want."

He was trying, you could see it in the way he planted another kiss just above the neckline of your top. He was really trying; but you needed him quicker. Before he could get his hands on you, you were already taking your shirt off.

You heard Steven's breathing change when your covered breasts fell right in front of his line of vision, the lace bra catching his attention. He swallowed loudly, his lips parted at the sight.

"Do you always wear these?" he asked.

You lightly chuckled, the reaction was better than anything you'd imagined. "I wish I could say I do; but no, I'm wearing it just for you."

He bit his lower lip right before burying his face in your cleavage, leaving wet kisses on his path. One of his hands slid under the bra, your skin erupting on goosebumps all over your body; and he squeezed, applying the right amount of pressure. You took his other hand and placed it under the other side of your bra. You gasped for air and moved your hips, trying to get some relief inside your drenched, ruined underwear. Steven cried out at the contact.

You couldn't stand the position anymore and got off, laying next to him on the couch just a second later. Steven, still fully dressed, rushed over you like a hungry beast; positioning himself between your legs and throwing the book somewhere behind him. He kissed you, wet tongue heavy inside your own mouth; oxygen kept inside your lungs because you couldn't quite breathe. Your chest seized, but you didn't care. You grabbed the dark curls at the back of his head, pushing him further as if it was possible. It was almost a breath-holding competition. And he lost, gasping for air while resting his head on your collarbone.

"You're too dressed," you complained, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt. He took it off in one swift motion.

When his skin made contact with yours, you realised how hot it was. He was warm, comfortable. The star of David fell cold on your skin, hanging from his neck. You ran your fingers down his chest, touching soft body hair, and became perplexed at how his muscles seemed to be both soft and rigid at the same time. He was sweating and you couldn't think about anything you wanted more than to lick the tears of sweat out of his flesh.

Steven licked your pulse point in your neck, and you couldn't help but let out a cry.

"You alright?" he asked, appearing again above you, fear staining his face, but you couldn't do anything else than nod. His features softened and he leaned in to taste your lips again, He was careful and tender this time.

"Tell me what you want, Steven," you sighed, your mind clear for the first time in minutes as you realized he needed another push to keep going. His eyes lit up at the nickname. "You can have everything you want, touch anywhere you want, I'm yours tonight."

Steven hesitated, but something awakened in him nonetheless. You saw it in the way his gaze darkened even more. He kneeled on the couch, straightening his back above you. He watched you as he slowly unbuttoned your jeans, waiting for a reaction that signalled him to stop. Your breathing became ragged and your eyes got stuck in the way he unzipped your trousers.

"Look at me, angel," he whispered.

His features appeared again in your field of vision, but your focus remained where Steven touched you. He slid his palm over your wet underwear.

"Bloody hell, you're drenched," he said, his flat hand cupping all of you. "I want to touch here, can I touch here?"

You tried to take a deep breath. "Yeah. Please, do."

He didn't waste time. He took both your jeans and panties off, completely, without so much as getting a quick glance at the lace. He threw them somewhere on the floor. Your knees were on either side of him, so he had full access and nothing to stop him. His thumb drew circles on your clit without warning, slow-paced and watching your reaction. Steven could not, for the love of him, do anything without making sure you were okay with it.

He then pushed a finger through your entrance, his breath getting stuck on his chest as he wondered at the sight. You were so wet that he added two right away and pumped.

"Harder, please, Steven.”

He obeyed, fingering you with passion. He made a face, his eyebrows frowning and his lips parted. His eyes back at you soon enough.

"Better?" he asked. "Is that good? That's how you like it?"

"Yes, yes," you answered, watching his perfect fingers disappear inside of you.

Steven accommodated himself, his free hand now next to your face, supporting himself on top of you so he could be closer. His fingers reached all the right places, the exact perfect angle inside of you.

"C-can I have another one?"

You couldn't help but think that you sounded like him now. He chuckled softly and another finger got in. Steven had them all the way buried to his knuckles, you could feel it.

"Of course you can," he said. Then he leaned in at your quivering form, he kissed your temple. "You look lovely right now, with my fingers inside of you. Wish you could see it."

The words sent another wave of pleasure right to your core. The man was really good at dirty talk, even if he had barely opened his mouth. He must have felt it too, because he smiled as if he remembered an inside joke.

You exhaled with difficulty as he moved them again, slower but deeper. You buried your nails in his shoulder, not realizing you could hurt him until he hissed. At some point amidst the fog of pleasure in your mind, he intertwined his fingers with yours, the back of your hand now useless against the fabric of the sofa.

"I wanna taste you.”

You thought you had imagined the words that fell from his mouth, a hallucination, although a pleasant one. After all, you couldn't quite form any rational thought at the moment. But then he stopped fingering you. Steven kneeled on the floor, took both your thighs and put them on top of his shoulders. Before you could even get adjusted to the idea and the perfect sight of Steven Grant between your legs, he gave a long lick and sucked.

"Steven!" you cried out, getting his attention.

He gave you a look asking for permission. Your face said it all.

His fingers were buried in the flesh of your thighs to keep you in place. His tongue flat against your core until he started licking and doing circles, and you needed him closer. You tried to reach his hair, his face, anything, and lifted your hips slightly to meet his tongue; but he was having none of that.

"No" he mumbled, hungrily, his breath hitching against your most sensitive part. "Stay still, please."

One of his palms extended over your abdomen. Your orgasm starting to build up, right below his touch and threatening with tearing you apart. In the back of your mind, you marvelled at the thought that he was doing all the right things while —most probably— not having the faintest idea of what he was doing.

You quivered as he ate you like a starving man.

"Don't stop," you moaned, your voice strange to your own ears, an octave higher. The heat was unbearable, your orgasm making its way afloat, threatening to wreck you from the inside out. "Steven..."

All your muscles got rigid in an instant, locked in place. A blast of pure bliss extending through every inch of your body. The ceiling vanished as your vision got clouded with black spots. The man between your legs kept his pace even then, guiding you through it, until you couldn’t keep it anymore and, becoming aware of your struggling, he stopped.

The sight was the most twisted and beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Steven leaned his head and kissed your inner thigh with his eyes closed, the wet mark he left there, a ghost of his own lips. He rested his head on your lap and you saw it, his chin glistening with the mix of fluids under the dim light of the living room. He thought you looked lovely? He definitely did.

“Sorry, got a bit carried away there. You taste like heaven,” he said. “Was that good?”

Oh, this motherfucker.

“Oh, cheers, those are lovely words” he laughed. You’d said it out loud, hissed it under your breath. “I’ll take that as a yes”

You smiled, exhausted and satisfied. The baby hairs sticking to the surface of your skin, drops of sweat on your temples, your collarbones, the back of your knees. Steven looked down, just to close his eyes and curse under his breath.

When you looked at him properly, you realised he was stroking himself. His black boxers down just enough to free his boner and take it into his hands.

"Steven..." you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, as if you were trying not to scare a wild animal. "Come here, let me touch you."

He let out a pleased sigh, his cheeks blushed. "You don't have to, really. You don't owe me anything.”

Not only his chin was glistening under the light now, but the tip of his member was also wet enough not to need any kind of lube. Steven was big, as you had already noticed, but it was impressive to see him that way: naked, flustered, needy.

You shook your head.

"You're such an idiot sometimes," you responded, and pulled his arm so he'd get into a seating position next to you. "Come here, let me see how pretty you are."

Steven held his breath even before you took his member in your hands. You stroked him once, slowly, all his muscles relaxing at the same time, his eyes rolling back into his head just to close them shortly after. He moaned your name in such a way that you wondered how he had kept himself from fucking you when he did it to you. Your own pulse throbbing in your most intimate part with every moan of his.

"Stop, stop," he whispered, almost as if he didn't mean it; but you obeyed, even though you were just about to put him into your mouth. "I'll cum if you keep doing that."

You softly chuckled, looked at him with the most innocent face you had, "but babe… that's the point."

He smiled with his eyes closed, "I want to... I want to be inside..." he timidly requested, not finishing a single sentence. "Can we do that? I have condoms."

A warm sensation filled your heart. All you did was brush Steven's hair back, he was sweaty and just like that he looked amazing. He was the most angelical, sweet man you'd ever met.

You stood, waiting for him to do the same. You took his hand when he did and walked to his bedroom space. He let you go just to get to the bedside table and fetch a condom. Your feet accidentally stood on the sand, but you didn't give importance to it and laid on the bed.

"Should I be jealous?" you asked, as you buried your elbows on the mattress. "Who are you using them with?"

He smiled as he walked his path back to you.

"Well, hopefully, you." he joked, his feet covered in sand when he finally got to your spot. "I bought them this morning if that's what you're asking."

Steven stroked himself twice before putting it on, one of his knees on the edge of the bed. And you took the opportunity to finally remove your bra. You watched him fascinated and so did he. Once he was done, you backed up on the bed and he followed, grains of sand over the white sheets. His thumb touched your entrance and circled around your clit when you gave him access. He took his member, the tip barely touching your entrance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, mindlessly caressing the top of your thigh while he read your body language. You smiled, nodded and cupped his cheek, hoping that gave him some kind of reassurance. "Alright, stop me if it hurts, or anything, really."

Sparks of pleasure exploded and expanded through your veins as Steven pushed slowly into you. The impossible pressure building up around your walls, knocking the air out of your lungs despite the sluggishness of his action. Closing your eyes you tried to take a deep breath.

"...alright?" you just heard the last word of what he said, focusing on the sweet pain surging through you. He was big, indeed. And when you didn't open your eyes he ran his thumb over your lips and called your name.

"I'm fine," you huffed between breaths, annoyed at him for stopping.

"Sure?"

"I can take it, Steven," you said, your heels digging into his backside, urging him to follow.

And so he did. With one last swift movement he was completely buried in you. You watched him trying to regain his composure, but he was gasping for air as if any breath could be the last; and so were you. He bowed his head to look at the show, the place where his body and yours became one, and his lungs deflated as he groaned.

He gave you time to adjust, barely a few seconds as you revelled in between pain and pleasure. Meanwhile, Steven licked his own thumb, circling and pinching your left nipple a moment later, the gesture sending shivers to your spine. He kissed you one last time and he pulled his hips back.

Steven began pounding into you, slow-paced and sweet first, squeezing his eyes shut while he kept your knee around his waist. Frenetic and mindless later. With each thrust, you felt as if he could split your body in two, but you could take it, you could. You repeated it in your mind, sometimes mumbling it in a low voice as he kept his rhythm. His whole studio was filled with the noises of both your bodies crashing into each other; it was disgusting, dirty, obscene, all in the best of senses.

Your vision became blurry at some point, and you couldn't see anything else beyond the spots in your vision. Your eyes were filled with tears; he was hitting right into your g-spot. And he clung to you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to this cruel earth. His hands were stuck in your waist, just below your ribs. You were certain you'd have bruises tomorrow, you thought as you gasped, unable to form a word or take a breath.

"Oh, lord, look at you," he hissed as if he had cut his finger with a piece of paper. "Look at you, my goodness, look at you."

He was completely out of his mind, repeating your name and the exact same three to four words time and time again.

"Steve- Steven," you gasped between thrusts. "Shut up. You're-You're hyperventilating."

He slowed his pace, finally, just for a second. He bit his lower lip and pounded once, hard; and kept the intensity.

"Let me hyper- ugh... in peace," he said, he let out a moan that sounded like half a laugh ."You look so perfect right now, my angel, my piece of heaven...

An orgasm was building up once more, warming every single inch of your insides. Steven drew circles over your clit as you watched his desperation, his despair, trying to get you closer. He pounded twice more and his whole body went rigid, pressing his hips against your core as far as possible, deeply buried in you; your own pleasure slowly fading as his body collapsed.

He fell almost like a dead weight over you, somehow getting enough strength and willpower to prevent his body from crushing you.

"You were so good, baby, so good for me," you muttered as he closed his tired eyes, his cheek against your stomach, drops of sweat falling from his temples and on your naked body. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. "You're okay, I got you," you said, stroking his dark curls. He smiled through the pleasure. "I got you."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled after a couple of seconds. You got annoyed at just the thought of how many times he had apologized in the last hour. "I told you I wouldn't last much."

You shook your head and stared into his saddened eyes.

"It's fine darling," you said. "It's our first time together, we got ourselves all worked up-... ah…"

You sighed at the loss of contact, Steven backing up and getting himself out of you. The condom was soon tied and back into the package when he said, "let me make it up to you."

It didn't take you long for you to come again, also in his mouth. It was difficult not to when he put so much effort into it, barely breathing through his nose. Steven didn't let go this time either, hungrily eating you out until the tears you had left in your eyes wetted your hair and stained his sheets.

He stroked your hair, laying next to you, as you made it back from your high; hugging you and admiring you with that look of amazement perpetually on his face. He covered your naked body with his sheets and buried his nose in your neck, his breathing hot over your pulse.

"That was so good," you gasped, looking at him as he still ran his fingers through your hair. "You're so good at it, it's mental."

He chuckled. "Don't say that after what happened," he said, his cheeks blushing again. "I swear I'm not letting myself cum before you ever again."

"I swear I'm gonna slap you if you don't shut the fuck up," you said.

Steven made a gesture of zipping up his mouth. He kissed your shoulder and one of your cheeks as he cupped the other, and kept talking nonetheless.

"Remember when I said I wanted to do so many things?" he asked. "I thought maybe we could have a weekend together. I got a flyer promoting Brighton from the museum," he said, a pang pulsed in your stomach. "Must be somewhere, probably on my wallet. I'll show you tomorrow..." he stopped then, noticing your frown. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head slightly, your lips a thin line on your face. Your fingers played over his chest, your legs entangled with his.

"Not Brighton, I don't wanna go there."

His gaze softened, his gentle touch placing the baby hairs behind your ear over and over again, even though it was a lost cause.

"Not Brighton, not the beach, or not anywhere?" he asked.

His words directly translated into your brain, he was wondering if you simply refused to go on a weekend getaway with him.

"Just not Brighton."

He gave a long sigh. "We can easily fix that, I've heard Bournemouth or Torquay are really nice at this time of the year."

You smiled, your eyes half-closed, and he mirrored you.

"You might not want to hear it," he said, slurring his words. "Because it's too soon, whatever people mean by that, but I really do love you and can't wait to see what we build together."

You giggled softly with your eyes closed, your mind quickly drifting off and into the darkness.

"I love you, Steven Grant."

His fingers drew circles on your back, half your body on top of him. You felt him shift underneath, kiss your temple one last time. Then you noticed the warm heat of his comforter above your naked shoulders.

"Sleep tight, love."

Next thing you know, a loud thud woke you up.

Your eyes opened to Steven half-dressed, a pair of navy boxers hiding his perfect arse from you. He muttered something under his breath, his voice an octave deeper. You saw him intend to pick up the books he'd just knocked off, but left them on the floor just before he reached them instead. He put one of his fists between his teeth, you saw it in the reflection on the window. The muscles in his back trembled as if he was silently crying.

"Steven..."

He jumped in place, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. He didn't turn.

"Put your clothes on and get the fuck out of my house," the American accent harsh, his voice even deeper than Steven's usually was in the morning.

But he was not Steven anymore, and it was certainly not morning yet.

Your heart sank inside your ribs, the air suddenly knocked out of you. You jolted upon a seating position, dragging the white sheets to your chest so you didn't feel as exposed as you were. Marc let out a sarcastic laugh from where he was, walking toward the living room. When he came back he threw your clothes on the bed without saying a single word. If you weren't awake before, now you were.

"I don't know why you're even trying to cover yourself," he said, words sharp like a knife.

Pain flooded through your veins, a knot growing in your chest and throat that didn't quite let you breathe. You let the sheets down and they fell off you. Your jeans were cold when you reached for them, the fabric suddenly felt dirty on your hands. All your limbs were heavy when you got out of bed, your own weight too heavy for your knees to hold.

Marc didn't even give you a glance, he just took a pair of grey joggers from a drawer and stood there, eyes fixed on the door, hands on his hips, while his mind sailed far away from that room. With a new pain blooming in your chest now, you guessed that was how getting shot must have felt.

"No words, uh?" he turned finally, just when you had finished zipping your jeans, only the bra covering your breasts. His face was red and contorted into a grimace, half pain, half disgust.

You clenched your jaw until your teeth hurt. You hadn't said anything because you didn't find the words, and couldn't figure out what he was thinking either. It hurt even more that fact, to realize that the person you had known your whole life, the same person you shared so many memories, inside jokes and a whole inner language with, the best friend you once only needed a look to share an opinion with, was now unreadable to you.

The sole idea that he woke up and, oblivious to him, you were naked laying on his bed was horrible, to say the least. He'd said once, a long time ago, that he considered you the sister he never had. You couldn't even begin to think how violent it was for him to be in this situation.

"I- I don't know..."

"Don't cry," he said, a disgusted look on his face as he turned away from you. "Don't do that, seriously. It's pathetic."

You touched your face to find that your cheeks were wet. Somehow, you hadn't noticed before. His words, on the other hand, felt like a knife impossible to escape from. Your tears were obvious and falling without control now. If he was planning to murder you with insults a disgusted looks, you'd rather have the final blow now.

"Marc," you said, following him as he walked to the living room and then, the kitchen. "Let's talk about this."

"No."

First, he turned off the radio, the low whisper of music coming to an end.

"Marc, please. I can explain..."

It didn't matter how much you begged, because he wouldn't hear you. A hot rush of adrenaline ran through your veins before that realization, your fingers trembled over your arms while you hugged yourself. Marc circled the sofa and took the remote of the coffee table, the history channel finally turned off.

"What happens when he wakes up in the morning, uh?" you tried to reason with him. "He's a human being, Marc. What happens then?"

"That's the only thing you care about, uh," he said, jaw clenched. "Him. Well, I don't fucking care. You didn't care about me either."

"You know that's not true."

Marc pursed his lips, taking his angry stare away from you. His pupils danced around the empty space, as if he was trying to find somewhere to hide. Then he saw something, his whole face shifting to one of pure disgust once again, his kuckles turning a concerning shade of white as he clenched them. Your heart fluttered in your mouth when you followed his eyes, finding a wet stain on the fabric of the couch.

Your whole perception of reality was shattered as you covered as much of your exposed flesh as you could. It happened so quickly that your mind didn't even acknowledge his actions until all of it was over. When you opened your eyes again, the couch was upside down, the coffee table shattered, the floor covered in sharp pieces of glass. He had throw it as if it was as light as a feather.

Taking as many steps backwards as you could, you hit the kitchen counter. All the scene felt like a nightmare, in fact, you prayed that it was a nightmare. There was no way in hell that was Marc, Marc would never be so violent, but the other option was even more impossible.

It was as if time had stopped. Marc turned around, looking for you, his whole body visibly less tense. And he found you trying to hide yourself, become one with the black shadows of the kitchen.

"(Y/N)," your heard him mutter. "(Y/N), what are you doing? Come here."

"You're out of your mind, Marc," you said.

He stopped in his tracks and put a hand to his stomach, as if he had been shot. "I'm sorry. I really am. I blacked out. It's just a couch, I'd never hurt you. I won't hurt you."

Tears streamed down your face, worse than before. You tried to cover them up just as faint sobs arose out of your chest, and Marc sprinted to your spot in the kitchen. He hugged you, his strong arms embracing all of you, his warm calloused hands on your back.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his chest trembling behind your ear, his heart on a cruel race without a finish line. "Don't be scared, please. Don't be scared of me."

His beg awakened something in you, the part of you that had always wanted to protect Marc Spector from everything and everyone. It was a silent throb in your chest, a painful one. It had always been like this, after all, you were his protector even if it didn't look like that.

He had always been there for you. He picked you up with his dad's car when you went out partying, he made sure you didn't drink too much when both of you hanged out together without other people, he was the shoulder you'd cry on when something bad happened, even if he could only speak on the phone because he was so many miles away from you. And still, you were the only one who saved him; even if you didn't know that yet.

His sobbing eventually came to a stop, the same as yours. Your fingers were buried in his curls, running your fingers through his hair. Your cheek was against his chest, listening as his heartbeat slowed. The star over the hollow space between his collarbones shone.

"Can we talk now?" he pleaded, to which you just nodded.

He took a step back, his face a sad stare far away from where his body was currently standing. He blinked a few times, his eyes fluttering as if he was trying to see something in the darkness.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

It felt like magic at the time, because as soon as he said it, a burning but faint pain crawled up on your shoulder. Marc stretched his arm behind you, reaching for the light switch in the kitchen. Bright yellow light engulfing the whole space. Then you pulled your stare back down at your shoulder; there were small cuts there, maybe a handful of them barely bleeding, a single drop of blood in many of them. Some glass splinters must have grazed you, but nothing was stuck there and you almost didn't notice, so that's what's important.

Marc, on the other hand...

"Marc, look at you..."

You couldn't help but stare at his arms, he had at least a dozen of them, not bleeding enough to bleed out or get stitches or staining the floor, but enough to have a few paths of half-dried blood down his arms and definitely worse than the ones you had. Even though this was without a doubt his fault, you couldn't bring yourself to be mean to him; and Steven didn't deserve waking up with infected cuts, so you got a first aid kit from the bathroom and two pairs of flip flops because you were both still barefoot and half naked.

"Where's your shirt?" he asked when you were back, gathering everything from the kit and arranging them while he was sitting and resting his arm on the dinning table. "I didn't see it."

Taking a look around, you saw the piece of fabric on the floor. It was barely a dark stain under the couch.

"Shit, I didn't see it there," he said, then got up. "I'm goona get you something."

"Sit down, Marc."

He's not one who likes orders, never has been, but the look you gave him said it all. Marc didn't even think about it, he just sat down again as if you had hit his rewind button. His lips parted, he breathed in, as if to say something, but then his mouth shut again and he allowed you to patch him up.

The cuts weren't deep, and there was only a single, small shard on his biceps not deep enough to worry about. He took it out with his fingers before you could get the tweezers. You bandaged his arm in white gauze while scolding him. A little smiled appeared on his lips while he watched you get all worried for him.

"Steven's gonna freak out when he wakes up," you said, finally breaking up the uncomfortable silence after a couple of minutes.

"Yeah... he will, in a couple of days," he watched you frown and explained. "I have somewhere to be over the weekend. I'll be back on sunday, probably."

"With Layla?"

He huffed throuh the nose. "No, not with Layla. Why does everything have to do with Layla?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. "I really don't have any idea of why you'd have to be anywhere. You quit the military, Steven provides for you, and you don't talk to Layla anymore-"

"It's complicated."

You pressed the cotton harder against the last cut visible. He hissed.

"You always say that."

He bit the inside of his cheek, in his face a look of desperation.

"I said I'll tell you, can't you trust that either?" he said. You watched him hesitate for a second, but finally talked. "I did trust you, though, and look where it got us."

You had just finished putting on the last band-aid, his left arm half covered in white gauze. Your body jumped out of the chair, unable to keep your muscles still anymore. The moonlight kissed your features as you supported yourself against the closed window frame.

Guessing it made no sense to hide anything anymore, because you'd lost them both either way, you decided there shouldn't be any more lies between you and them.

"Can you blame me, Marc?" you gasped, turning back to him and suddenly out of breath at the thought of what you were about to do. "Can you blame me for falling in love with someone who's charming and fun and looks exactly the same way as you? Someone who, apart from being a wonderful person, has all your best characteristics and isn't even a fraction of how much of a prick you are?"

You ran a hand through your hair and pulled your stare away. Your chest was tight, but you refused to cry anymore. It had been enough.

"I've loved you for so long... I've loved you for so long" you repeated, looking up at the ceiling of his home; you weren't sure you could bear the look of pity in his eyes.

The weight fell from your shoulders inmediately after your confession. You felt so light that you wondered how had you lived until then with such a heavy burden on your back.

"How did any of us expect this to work?" you asked, but didn't think he'd answer.

"I wonder the same thing."

Even if you thought he meant he regretted asking you for that favor, that arrangement, when you looked at him you bumped into his sorrowful gaze; he wasn't blaming you, he was genuinely wondering.

"He loves you so much, and I should have known." he said.

You crossed your arms in front of him, his sight back up again to meet yours. Curiosity and bewilderment loomed over you, there was something you were not seeing, something he was not saying.

"You couldn't have known, Marc," you reassured him, although you guessed he didn't deserve any comfort right now. "You couldn't."

He chuckled. It was a bitter one, little more than a long, defeated sigh. His face contorted into a grimace, his gaze turning into a thousand-yard stare, looking at the couch on his left side. His jaw clenched, the jawline sharp and visible.

"Are you not going to ask me how I know how much he loves you?" Marc asked, eyes still unfocused as he watched you. "I told you last time I saw you, but you didn't listen."

Memories flooded in front of you, your grasp on reality leaving your mind. Last time... what had he said last time?, you asked yourself. The whole interaction happened again, the angry stare of his, the accusations, the rain soaking his jacket and wetting your hair. He had said he knew how he felt, because he could feell it too.

"I did listen. You said you could sense his feelings."

Another laugh without humor, without sense. He stood up, walked a few steps in your direction almost in slow-motion, as if he was trying not to scare a wild animal in need.

"I did not say that."

The realization hit you then, and everything made sense in your mind. It was so sudden that you felt absolutely overwhelmed. All the worry, the threat of him, all of it made sense, like some kind of twisted puzzle whose image you couldn't make sense of before.

You backed off, your back hitting the closed window. Marc's features shifted from sadness to concern in a split second as he tried to make his way to you. He whispered your name.

"Marc?" you said, as if you were threatening him with his own name. You pointed at him, your index finger jabbed him in his chest once he was mere inches away from your face. You could feel his warmth, his smell the same as Steven, the red-stained bandages rubbing your hip by accident when he went to cup your cheek. You got out of his way, almost smacking your head against the window by accident. "Have a long, hard think about your next words. I mean it, Marc."

His lips parted, his breathen uneven, his face turned into a look of dismay. He looked miserable from where you were and after all he had done and said tonight, you still wanted to comfort him.

He watched you as if he was a lost man and you were the only map he could find, but also the only one he wanted.

"I don't have to think anything," he said. "I've thought about my feelings long enough, I'm tired. I just want to feel them, not think-"

Your palm burnt when you slapped him, his face turning an angry red almost instantly. You were certain it had hurt you more than it'd hurt him.

"You piece of shit," you spat. He turned his face back to you, licking the blood flowing from his lower lip. "Who the hell do you think you are? You come here, you insult me, and now this."

You turn away from the window, practically pushing him away as you walked. He follows you with his eyes, a hand wiping off the blood from his face.

"If this is you trying to-"

"This is me trying nothing," he said, stern look on his face. "This is me trying to be damn honest."

"This is you trying to get me away from Steven, that's what it is," you said, walking back to where he was. "This is not funny. Do you have any idea how much I've suffered for you?" you anxiously ran a hand though your hair. "Why do you hate me so much, Marc? When I'm finally happy again, you try to take that away from me. What have I done?"

He clenched his jaw for a few seconds, and you waited with your hands turned into fists. Under the yellow light of the kitchen you witnessed how his eyes welled up with tears.

"Why do I even try?" he breathed, a single tear falling from one of his eyes. "You don't understand anything, do you?" he asked. "I've loved you for so long, and I couldn't say anything. I thought this was what you wanted..." he stopped, mindlessly biting the wound on his lip and grimacing. "Steven and I might seem like different people but we are actually just a fracture of the same mind. He loved you from the very first moment he saw you, because I loved you too. He's just better at showing it than I am."

You shook your head, your heart sinking in your chest.

"That's not true."

"He did say you felt familiar, right? Why do you think that is? He's seen you before."

"No." you shook your head again. "Shut up, I don't wanna hear you."

Your stomach flicked in it's place, the room suddenly too small. You walked back to the bedroom, looking for another window that you could open and try to get some air into your lungs, some logic and reasoning into your mind if possible, too.

"You remember him, don't you?" he shouted as you walked away, the sound of his voice following you. "In Brighton, do you remember him?"

The final blow was brutal, merciless. You barely reached the wall when your knees started trembling. Brighton was the place where everything started to go wrong. It was the night when your life and Marc's separated, the day you stopped almost instantly seeing your best friend everyday. The day your plans for the future were wrecked, the day your Marc left and never came back the same, the day you became lonely and grew up into an even lonelier adult. If he already was a somewhat timid and quiet person, he came back from war even worse, but also as a dark, sarcastic and stubborn man. You had dreaded that place and that day for years, decades. You had cried and mourned the person you could have become and the happy memories you would never have.

"Breathe," Marc said as he caught your shoulders, hugging you from behind. "I know it's hard but you need to breathe."

A sob broke out of your throat, and he held you as your knees gave up. Rather than try and pick you up, he kneeled on the floor too. The sand became an uncomfortable pain on your flesh, but it didn't hurt as much as you heart. Marc kissed your hair, your temple, he whispered something you could not hear above the blood running behind your ears. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears rolled down your face.

"I can't breathe-"

"Yes, you can. Look at me," he said, but you didn't.

He manoeuvred your body so that you were now sitting against the wall. He put your head between your knees and stood up for a millisecond to open the window. Then he sat in front of you.

"In and out, in and out" he squeezed your hand, trying to give you some kind of comfort through the attack, while he himself breathed loudly trying to guide you. "That's it, baby. You're doing so good."

A long and painful minute followed, but even though he himself had been the cause, in a way, the fact that it was Marc who helped you was enough to make it a little bit easier. At the end, it eased enough to for you to look at him again. Your lashes were wet and full of tears, but you could finally talk to him again.

"That's good," he muttered to himself. He gave a relieved sigh. "You're okay now."

"When did you realize?" you finally whispered, feeling your whole body numb and tired, but you needed to know. The need was stronger than the tiredness, and you deserved it after so many years.

"What thing?"

Your words came out barely a whisper.

"...that you loved me."

He shook his head, his frown a concerned one. "You don't need to hear that now."

"I deserve it Marc," you said. "I deserve it."

He looked at you as if asking for permission to an unconscious part of your brain, seemingly making sure that you were not going to break again.

"In my wedding with Layla," he said, he bit the inside of his cheek. "I married her because I thought I had finally met someone I liked more than I liked you, but all I felt was affection; not love," he said. "I was full of guilt and I thought that if I couldn't have you, I might as well mary someone who I owed something to. I was convincing myself that I loved her because of that, but I didn't."

"What did you owe her, Marc?"

"(Y/N), please..." he begged. "It's going to hurt, and you're going to hate me."

A wry laugh came out of your mouth. "I already hate you." you said. "And I'm already hurt."

A solid minute passed in silence. Marc knew he would earn your hatred for life after that, he knew you would never want to see him again. And you had been the only constant in his life for so long that he couldn't bring himself to face those odds. But in the end, he did.

"I went work-for-hired after I got discharged from the military, for my old commanding officer. The job was to raid an Egyptian tomb. Layla's father was an archaelogist there, and my superior changed his mind and wanted no witnesses. I tried to save them all, but I couldn't."

Every word felt like a stab, but tonight you seemed to get used to that, and you were so tired that you couldn't feel anything anymore.

"You lied to me. You never told me you got discharged. Marc, you became a mercenary."

He seemed not to react at the word, but you knew it hurt him. Good.

"You would have asked me why, why I was still out of the country too," he said. "And I didn't wanna lie to you so I just omitted the truth. After what happened in that tomb, I was so... just so tired... I almost died, he shot me and I was in the middle of nowhere with a pile of bodies around me; but I survived," he said, then his eyes looked at you with longing and tears. "All I wanted was to come back to you, and I did. It was your birthday," he smiled and the tears fell from his eyes. "I hated that music but you loved The Killers and I loved being there with you, and I loved being alive."

You got flashes of that day. You had always wondered why he had suddenly decided that he liked that music, and how clingy he was for weeks after that. He said they had given him another job in England.

"You've lied to me... for so long?" your voice almost a whisper.

"I am so sorry."

"You keep saying that, Marc," you said, your voice with so much disgust and hatred in it that it surprised even yourself; but you couldn't help it. "I felt dirty, all this time lying to Steven, and then here you are, telling me all of this and saying how much you love me as if it mattered now."

The expression in his face changed, and even then you weren't angry, because you couldn't bring yourself to feel anything.

"I hate you, Marc," you finally said. "You ruin everything you touch. You ruined Layla's life, you ruined mine, and you're ruining Steven's. You should be ashamed of yourself," then the final words came out, as a wrecking ball ready to end it all. "This is all your fault, Marc. You got yourself into all of this. I hope you die with the guilt."

His body froze. You saw it, the exact second in which his mind stopped functioning like a toy being turned off. He fell backwards, his back hitting the bed behind him. He gasped for air, his lips parted while he was still looking at you, with those dark brown eyes devoid of all life.

"Steven and I..." you muttered. "...We could have been happy. Tell him that when you talk to him, he will hate you as much as I do."

You weren't sure how, but now you seemed to have enough strength to maybe get home. You were certainly not staying there with him. And with that in your mind, you stood up from where you were and walked to the kitchen for the last time; leaving the limp body of Marc Spector behind you. Silently looking at everything, you tried get that flat burned in your brain as much as you could, because despite all of your plans for the future with Steven unravelling and ending out of nowhere, you still had your best memories in that flat with him, with Steven.

But you couldn't do that anymore.

On the chair, you took your jacket; you didn't want anything that belonged to Marc, not even if his shirts smelled like Steven. And before putting it on, you walked to the window and had a glance at the night sky; the full moon shining up there.

"Oh, my, god."

The british accent felt like a punch to the gut. The words reverberating in all the walls and into your ears made you uneasy. Was this nightmare of a night ever going to end? Your stomach turned at the thought of seeing Steven now, you wondered if you'd be able to look him in the face, to see past Marc's features staining his face like bleach. It made you wonder if you even had food in your stomach to throw up.

He ran, literally ran to the kitchen. His eyes shot open before the debris of the coffee table and the couch; but his expression seemed to get relieved at the sight of you. He took your hands in his once he was in front of you. You felt disgusted at the thought of those hands with weapons and blood in them, but didn't have the heart to do anything else than let him hold them.

"W-What happened?" he said, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He was frightened, that you could tell; but you couldn't do anything about it. You couldn't tell him it was okay, because it wasn't. It would never be okay again. You had dreaded this day for a month, and in every kiss you found the bitter taste of the future, but now you couldn't do anything else than leave Marc alone to fix his shit. Maybe then he would become a person again, maybe even a decent one.

"Please say something," he begged, tears in his eyes; but you didn't know what to do, what to say. You didn't want to hurt him, it wasn't his fault to be a part of Marc's fractured mind. "Please tell me you're okay, tell me I didn't hurt you. Please."

Then, his eyes caught a glimpse of your wounds, those that were not covered yet, on your shoulder for everyone to see. And you were suddenly walking to the door again.

"No, no, no," he said, following you and pulling your wrist gently, gentler than anything Marc had done.

"Let me go, Steven, let me go." you whispered, it sounded more like a plea, like a cry, than anything remotely close to what you intended.

"Listen- Listen to me, listen to me for a second, will ya?" he said, now in front of you, his eyes locked on yours, both his hands in your cheeks. "You can hate me all you want. Bloody hell, you can leave now and I won't bother you ever again. I just need to know you're alright, love. Please, I only care about that. Please."

Your chin trembled, the wound in your chest open once again, bleeding and with no sign of getting healed ever again. He was so desperate, and he had no idea what was happening. You felt devastated at the thought that he had simply fallen asleep after an incredible night with you, and had woken up to find his arms bandaged, his flat wrecked and his girlfriend dumping him.

"I'm fine, baby," your voice broke, your tears fell again.

He hugged you tight, his strong arms trying not to hurt you, his face trying not to touch the small cuts in your shoulder.

"I'm so sorry-" he cried. "I'm so freaking sorry. I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot the restraints, I'm such a fucking mess."

You pulled away from the hug, just enough to kiss his temple, squeezing your eyes shut because you knew it would be the last.

"Let me take care of that, alright?" he said, getting your hair out of the cuts. His fingers trembled when he did. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry," his breathing uneven.

"I have to go, Steven. Please, let me go."

He covered his mouth and sobbed. His chest inflating and deflating as he weeped; and you couldn't help but keep crying with him. You hugged him, because he needed it and you did as well, and all of this wasn't even his fault.

"Please tell me this is a nightmare," he begged, looking for answers in your eyes. "...or a joke, anything. Just-"

You shook your head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry this happened to you, but I cannot stay. I can't do this anymore."

Despite the whimpers and the harsh truth, he still nodded.

“I understand,” Steven said, calmly, so calm that you feared for his psyche. “You can’t do this anymore, I understand.”

“Steven," you begged. "Don't do this to yourself."

"No, but I do get it," he nodded again. "I do get it, love. I knew this would happen. It's just... we could have been happy, you know that, right?"

It was karma, it had to be. Steven had hurt you with the same words you had hurt Marc with. There was no other way, one in which it wasn't whatever god out there giving you back all the pain you had caused him. But you didn't need to be punished, your torment was already this whole mess of a situation.

"I know," you said.

He took your hands in his, kissed your knuckles; and then leaned in and kissed your shoulder.

"I promise you, I'll get help, I'll get rid of this curse. And then, if you want, I'll come for you. I'll give you the happy ending you deserve. I'll give you all the kisses and all the happiness, all the memories and all the kids if you want that too. You're the only heaven, the only one out there for me. I hope you know that."

Your lips parted, the knot in your throat tight and relentless. You didn't know what to say, except the only thing left.

"I love you Steven Grant."

Only twice you had ever said those words. The first, happily in his bed, making plans for the future, loving him in every way a person can be loved. The last one, you were breaking his heart; leaving him behind with questions and doubts, believing a lie that he had told himself so many times throughout the years that he had finally believed it: that he didn't deserve to be loved.

Part 2

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight spoilers #steven grant #marc spector #marvel x reader #marc spector x female reader #steven grant x fem!reader #moon knight smut #moon knight fanfiction

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venbetta · 5 months

Note

This is Tumblr, we're all wild animals with zoomies. Please share your thoughts.

You right... you're so right

Time to vomit all of my thoughts then-

I’m gonna have to be so sparring with the pictures due to the 10 image limit *sob* whatever i'll figure it out,,

Also I'm gonna say this- Freddy isn't possessed by Michael Afton in this. I don't mind Glammike, but I love the idea of Freddy just becoming a “deviant” I guess. Robots becoming human. They should totally make a game or something… wink wink.

I'm gonna just dig into the lyrics and breakdown my thought process for some of the frames… (I'm not doing every lyric, only some that stood out)

So, the meaning of “My Way” is based around self determination, that's the basic gist. I personally interpreted it as individualism, seeing how the lyrics have certain phrases based around it.

I had heard this song at the beginning of this year and immediately thought of Freddy. I also remember hearing the ai cover version at one point… (moving on)

And it was pretty obvious that most people agreed that this was his song.

Let's break it down >:]

And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

I started the scene with Freddy walking on the third floor atrium, and I guess I took “I face the final curtain” literally since he's looking at the main stage lmao

My friend, I'll say it clear

Small side note, it's literally the most miniscule detail, but I felt like he was referring to Bonnie when he said “my friend” … It doesn't help that he's on the same floor as Bonnie Bowl.

I've lived a life that's full

Freddy reflecting about his “life” performing alongside his friends, I specifically added Chica because she's one of the remaining members of the original trio. :)

Regrets I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption

This verse was the best way to describe Freddy's situation. He had to not only escort this kid around the pizzaplex but he had to make sure Gregory wouldn't get hurt. He didn't want to hurt his friends but he couldn't let them hurt Gregory either. While it's shown that the other glamrocks were shattered, him saying he has regrets, I thought about whether or not he did the shattering himself or it was Gregory.

I mean, canonically, it was all Gregory's doing, Freddy was an accomplice… (sort of), but in the back of my mind, a messed up part of me wanted it to be Freddy's doing. Especially when we get to the confrontation scene. Honestly it can be interpreted both ways. I've read a fic where Freddy killed his friends… very gruesome but badass.

Anyways have a Freddy ear wiggle... cutest fucking thing ever.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all, when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all, and I stood tall

And did it my way

Another one of those verses where I went fucking crazy and said “THAT'S HIM.”

So as it's seen in the animatic, Freddy is trying to keep Gregory safe. Gregory was originally going to be in his stomach hatch during this fight scene, but as I mentioned, Freddy wouldn't have wanted him to be in serious danger, so.. I changed it to him carrying Gregory.

“I'm sure you knew when I bit off more than I could chew” refers to Gregory being aware of how much he was in danger, and Freddy deciding to bite the bullet towards confronting his friends. Even if it meant someone was going to get hurt.

“When there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out.” God, I loved drawing Freddy clenching his fists. The hesitancy before just accepting that he has to protect Gregory at all costs. Maybe I took some of the lyrics and made them slightly literal? Idk. Either way, this scene was powerful, especially when he and Monty clashed together.

“I stood tall” to me shows how Freddy was no longer going to let his soft persona get in the way. This part was just very fun to draw and put together… :3

I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill, my share of losing

And now, as tears subside

I find it all so amusing

Once again Freddy is thinking about his friends and life, I found this part kind of hard? Originally I wanted him to be surrounded by his friends, and have it fade to just him standing alone, but I didn't like how it was drawn lol. I improvised and had it be a poster instead.

Also there's something heartbreaking about how he examines his plushie. “I find it all so amusing”, I interpreted that as him being melancholic about the situation, looking between the plushie and Gregory by the exit.

To think I did all that

And may I say, not in a shy way

Ah yes, Freddy setting the plushie on fire. I like to think he makes up his mind at that moment that none of this was worth it anymore. Once again, that interpretation of him being complacent to his friends being shattered kinda fits into this line a little, “I did all that”, as if he's surprised he had it in him to go that far to protect Gregory.

I did it my way

…self explanatory. Freddy said, “Yeah nah I'm done. Burn this bitch to the ground.”

I mean, that's basically the fire escape ending if I'm being honest. Mine's just funnier.

For what is a man, what has he got?

If not himself, then he has naught

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows I took the blows

And did it my way

The final stretch. So this verse is pretty heavy, also I had to pace this correctly… I'm surprised I managed to fit the climax in.

“For what is a man” when I heard that line for the first time… fire no pun intended. It's also kinda ironic(?) Freddy says this, since he's an animatronic… but me personally, I saw it as an epiphany for him. He's acknowledging his own individualism, and that's all he has now. He made the decision to protect Gregory, to fight his friends, and now he's making the choice to burn everything down.

“To say the things he truly feels, and not the words of one who kneels” Good shit. He's not taking orders from anyone anymore, he's gone full deviant now.

And with the confrontation with Vanny, he makes the impulsive decision to take her out, going down with her. “I did it my way” the grand climax of the song, where he throws both of them off the building… lowkey my favorite part. I had fun using the tracking tool on the editing program to make them pan across the screen in slow mo…

But yeah, Freddy was gonna go down his own way- even if it was unnecessary.

Yes it was my way

The fall and the brief daze and fear in his eyes…

There's something about the acceptance in his eyes that makes my chest swell.

I'm surprised I haven't cried to this animatic yet.

I'm sure I'm not the only person who doesn't like this ending of SB… it's so weird and confusing. I laughed my ass off watching it due to how whacky it was… also I still believe that Vanessa on the roof was an apparition/ghost. Idk… it makes sense to me.

The fact that I made this ending have more impact makes it more satisfying. I know it was very indulgent but like… that was the point. I know Freddy's characterization in the game is pretty limited, outside of him being a goofball, but he had genuine moments where there was something else there (I'm looking at the true ending scene).

Listen, I headcanon Freddy as someone who's sweet and puts on his best face but has the entire company of FazEnt on his shoulders and all he can do is tolerate it because he was made to entertain. Having him not only have an existential crisis but an epiphany lets Freddy shine a little more.

I say the best part during the animatic process is looking at the lyrics and breaking them down for the story. It helps with pacing :)

I plan to do another fnaf animatic this weekend, so look forward to some wips… if I decide/remember to share

Feel free to ask me anything, I'll try to answer them!

#i hope that all made sense #im tired its 2am #i was busy most of the day...#anyways- *zzzzzz mimimimimi zzzzzz mimimimimi..*#glamrock freddy #fnaf security breach #rambles #gregory fnaf #song animatic

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bluegalaxygirl · 7 months

Text

Full Moon (Zosan X reader) P3

Plot: While out taking photo's Sanji and reader get attacked by a strange creature. While the crew decide to hunt it down to save the village Sanji starts acting strange.

Warning: Violence, blood, bad language, Spooky stuff.

Sanji X Zoro X Reader, poly relationship, established relationship, Reader is GN. Reader is the photographer of the crew always carrying around a camera they made (Polaroid) that doesn't include a snail.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5

Gathered in the kitchen Robin relayed what she had found out. There's a cabin on the other side of the island that belonged to an old man. He keeps to himself and performs strange rituals, at first the villagers thought he was a witch but on full moons a strange creature would show up and kill live stock or even people. The one person who survived an attack started to act strange and on a full moon turned and killed their family before the villagers managed to kill it using fire and sliver bullets. Since then the Villagers have been trying to kill the man, but he either can't be found or he'll kill you before you kill him. Years ago they gave up and stayed away form the man making sure that on a full moon no one goes outside and traps are set out. "So it's a werewolf?" Nami asks once Robin has finished "Yes, that's why Sanji was acting so strange. a werewolf bite can turn someone into one. Its said a werewolf can hear blood pumping thru someones veins and smell blood from miles away." you ponder for a minute before looking up at Robin "How do we turn Sanji back?" your determined and focused face showed you weren't messing around, you wanted your cook back. Robin signs looking down at her lap "There are so many conflicting stories i don't know what the right answer is. some say there is a cure using wolfsbane, other say you have to kill the werewolf that originally bit the person and then there are some that say..." she stops herself not wanting to continue, the thought of losing Sanji hurt her.

Standing catching everyone attention Luffy looks at Chopper with a smile "If anyone can fix Sanji its you, right Chopper?" he asks as the reindeer stands on his chair and nods "yes, we found wolfsbane in the forest so i can use that, Robin i'm going to need your help" with a small giggle Robin nods "Me, Zoro and Franky can deal with that werewolf" Luffy tilts his hat looking to his swords man and cyborg who both stand and nod "What about us?" you ask not wanting to be left out. With a laugh your Captain looks down at you "Protect the villagers." It seemed like a simple job but you were up to the task, plus if Sanji shows up maybe you can trap him and keep him safe. With everyone agreed you set off leaving the ship in Robin's and Choppers hands. Zoro turns to you before everyone splits up and places his forehead against yours "Don't get lost" you giggle trying to lighten the mood, he can't help but let out a huff at your words but his small smile gives away that he's not mad "Don't get distracted" he comments leaning down and placing his lips on yours. With a short kiss and a loving glance you both head off in your own directions.

You, Nami, Usopp and Brook head into the town center Usopp runs up next to you and holds out your camera bag "Here, i fixed it for you" looking down you see the dent in the camera gone and the chipped lens fixed "Oh my god, thank you" you smile hugging the sniper, pulling away to put the bag around you. Usopp rubs the back of his head and walks with you "It's no problem" he laughs but yelling catches the group's attention, people shouting and the voices get more clear the closer you get to the town center. A mob of Men are gathered around lanterns in their hands and armed with shot guns and pitch forks that seem to be tipped with silver. "What are you doing?" Nami yelled out catching their attention "You should all be inside, theirs a dangerous creature around" Nami continues but men only glare at the four of you before pointing their weapons at you "It's all your fault, you let another creature lose. We can't deal with the original, but we can at least kill the new one" The leader yelled as the four of you got closer "No one is killing it. Go back inside" Your voice full of anger yelling at the men. "I'd listen to them if i were you" Brook tilted his head trying to be scary but it didn't seem to affect them "We already have men out there hunting it down. We're here to protect the village now get lost" The leader stepped foreword almost getting in your face. The guns they have are custom and you assume they must be loaded with silver bullets, Your heart raced fearing the worst, these men could kill Sanji and you weren't going to let them.

"Out of my way" you glared at the man who laughed a little before your fist tightened and connected with his face, catching the man off guard he fell to the floor while the others got ready for a fight. "Y/N" Usopp groaned annoyed that you got them into a fight with the villagers you were supposed to protect. Nami hit some of their guns away with her staff while the others tried restraining the men but you ran off to the woods grabbing the leaders lantern before you do "Wait, were are you going?" Nami yells wanting to run after you but gets blocked by some of the mob "To find Sanji before they do" you yell back sprinting as fast as you could until you make it to the woods. It was dark but with the help of the lantern you made your way around keeping your eye out for traps. Now and again you would hear voices but it sounded like the men in the woods haven't seen anything so you tried to keep your distance focused on finding Sanji not starting another fight. You spotted a few traps on your way around, half hidden bear traps and snares that would wrap around a leg and drag you up into a tree, they weren't covered well, so they were easy to spot.

A few minutes of walking later you started hearing yelling and growling. Still trying to watch where you were going you ran holding the lantern in front of you as the sounds grew louder. Men yelling that they found it, some even laughing as you rounded the corner to see three men, two with pitch forks and one with a gun, their backs to you as they look down at the werewolf on the floor growling and snapping at them, its leg in a bear trap and the chain attached to a thick tree. "Should we call this in or just take care of it?" one guy asks moving his lantern up unknowingly giving you a better look at the wolf, its snout was longer than before and more hair seemed to be growing out of it making it look a little more wolf like than human but the hair was blonde, it was Sanji. Before the other man could answer you ran, rounding a kick into the side of the man's face, you went for the man with the gun first, picking it up as another guy ran at you with his pitch fork. You didn't have time to pull the trigger so you used the gun to block and deflect the pitch fork into the ground before using the butt of the gun to hit the man in the face. Jumping back the third man ran at you missing you and barely missing his mate, rounding another kick your foot connects with the mans side sending him into his mate who tried to get up form your gun punch.

With all the men passed out you throw the gun to the side and walk up to the still snarling and snapping wolf. "Sanji... is that anyway to thank me" you smile down at him with kind eyes while he attempts to stand and get to you but he falls back down the trap around his leg not letting go. Sitting on your knees you watch as he pants glaring at you but starts to quirt down "It's ok. i'm not going to hurt you" you keep your voice soft slowly reaching your hand out to him. Sanji growls but doesn't try to bite you as your hand gets closer soon running over his short almost snout your eyes locking on each other as you let your thumb rub over his cheek, the hair feeling more like fur. His eyes soften seeming to recognized you "It's me.. Y/n.. i'm here now" you sooth scooting a little closer as he tried to sniff you, your other hand moves up to run over the other side of his face, he tried to get closer but whimpers at the pain the trap is causing. "I'm gonna take this off, ok?" you say gaining his attention as you slowly move around him bending down to the trap. He watches your every move as you grab a large branch and pry the trap open. Pulling his leg out he looks you over, both waiting for the other one to do something. You weren't sure if he was going to run off or not. Sanji makes the first move on all fours walking over to you and sniffing your bandaged arm before licking it.

Reaching a hand up to his head about to run a hand thru his fur he pulls away still unsure of you but you know he's just scared and probably has no idea what's going on. Standing up, Sanji follows towering over you lifting his injured leg up slightly. You have to stretch your head far back to look at his face as he looks down at you and then his head snap to look into the woods. Male voices come form the forest causing Sanji to growl but you take his over sized hand making him look down at you "We need to go" you whisper watching him get down on all fours and start walking with a slight limp, the opposite way of the voices. Letting go of his hand you grab the lantern and follow Sanji starting to jog just to keep up with the wolves long strides. Trying to avoid people you both make your way through the forest going in the general direction of the town watching out for traps on the way but you weren't sure if you two should go there with the villagers wanting your boyfriend dead. Looking down at your werewolf, you notice the fur on his back is patchy, it seems where the hot water hit caused the hair to burn away leaving only tough skin and the bite on his shoulder was gone. He started to limp less and less as you walked with him, noticing the wound on his leg healing up. Looking over him you notice quite a few details about him that the other wolf didn't have, the villagers did try and kill the old wolf so maybe the damage they did made him look less wolf. You stop when Sanji starts growling looking into the darkness, walking backwards he pushes you back until your pressed up against a tree, arching his back his eyes never leaving the forest. You look around trying to see what he sees but can't, there's nothing out there and no voices but you can't shake the feeling your being watched. Sanji's growls get deeper and the fur on his arms and legs stands up making you realize your both in danger.

Zoro, Luffy and Franky have been walking for a while through the forest, they had a general idea of where the old man's cabin was so headed in that direction, Franky having to keep a close eye on Zoro, so he didn't wonder off or go the wrong way. "Hay there it is" Luffy yells running up the cabin with Zoro and Franky following, The cabin wasn't too big but looked well maintained, A one floor cabin with stone steps leading to the front door. The wooden cabin had a few windows that showed no light but the door to the cabin was left wide open. The tree's around the cabin were cut in a perfect circle and the grass was greener than the grass inside the forest. Zoro could sense something was off, it felt heavy in this area. Since the door to the cabin is open Luffy walked right in seeing a open kitchen, living room and two doors. There were lots of tables and shelves filled with books, knives, jars and herbs. It looked like a witch's lair but more messy. Some of the couch was clawed apart and one of the rugs was rolled up slightly to ravel a hidden door. "Oh man, what is that smell?" Franky covers his nose looking around the cabin. Zoro sniffed the air knowing that smell well "Its blood, old blood" he sates stepping further in watching his captain look around going thru the messy shelves "I don't think it's here." Franky sighs hoping to leave this nasty place as soon as possible. Before the captain or swords man can answer a thump comes form under the floor boards "You were saying?" Zoro raises an eyebrow at the Cyborg.

Luffy walks over to the rug and throws it to the side before unlocking the door "Lets see inside" he smiles as Zoro gets two of his swords out and Franky gets his arm gun ready. Opening the door there's nothing but a long stone stair case and pitch blackness. "Hay, how about some light?" Zoro asks turning to Franky who nods and opens his shirt to revealing his nipple lights, as the light pores into the basement all three look down to find a stone basement, different to the wooden cabin it was very clean and tidy although there were spots of old dried blood on the wall and floor. Luffy bounces up and heads down the stairs followed closely by Franky and Zoro. Getting further down their greeted by hooks hanging form the ceiling stained with dried blood and a strange symbol on the floor. a large circle with a square and Triangle attached in the middle painted white on the floor. "Maybe the villagers were right, this guy was a witch" Zoro sighs before wondering around finding a book on the floor. Picking it up the title reads evolution of mankind. "I think you were right Franky" Luffy groans turning to leave "It's not hear" heading back up the stairs Zoro follows handing the book to Franky knowing he won't remember to give it to Robin when they get back. The Cyborg gladly takes it and follows the two turning his lights off.

A loud howl and male screams fills the air as they exit the cabin, Luffy smiles wide before heading towards the noise closely followed by Zoro and Franky getting their weapons ready for a good fight. They have all been wanting this all night, a good fight and to get their friend back. Zoro couldn't wait to teach this thing a lesson for messing with his two lovers, he was thinking about all the ways he was going to make the werewolf pay "Guys remember if it has Blonde hair don't hurt it" Their captain yells not wanting to hurt his cook if it turned out it was Sanji. The other two nod in confirmation running over roots and brushes looking out for traps as they get closer to the sound of the scream. The forest became silent quickly and by the time the three got there only three man lay on the floor, clearly dead form a wolf attack "What are they doing out here?" Zoro asks looking over the men, two had guns and one had a pitch fork, picking up the farm equipment Zoro noticed the ends were coated in silver showing it to franky who glared at it "Their going after Sanji" Franky's eyes widen as Zoro scowls gaining the captain attention who looked at the two with slight shock before anger took him over. Tilting his hat down covering his angry eyes Luffy breathed before turning away form them "We're going to kill that werewolf and get our friend back".

#one piece #polly relationship #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #sanji x reader #sanji x zoro #zosan #zoro x sanji #zosan x reader #halloween #werewolf #one piece zosan #sanji vinsmoke #zoro x sanji x reader

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bi-bats · 7 months

Note

🤓 u know why im here haha. 14, 17, 19, 27, 29 please 💕

Bean, hello!!!! Enjoy this food while you get your food lol 💖

14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick?

Okay. I know I've shit all over Rooftops & Bookshops, but I was able to picture so many of the scenes in that fic SO vividly and clearly, I think I would have to pick that for a film. Specifically, I'm thinking of the scene in the breakroom. That would just be SO funny. And also some of the writing things that bother me now wouldn't be an issue on screen lol

OR I would say You Hear His Voice Once and You Know It Again as a comic. There are so many parts that I think would make really amazing panels rhgruaghr if anyone wants to make fanart for it they are more than welcome to!!!

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

Ballroom dancing, which is funny because I actually barely used the research lmao it was for Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

oh boy uhhh okay here's a teaser from the jaytimkon piece!

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Kon explains, because he knows it’s true. “Are you upset?” Jason asks it like he knows the answer, which of course he does. He’s a bat. “I guess.” “Did he say something that made you upset?” “Yes, but—” “—Just because he wasn’t trying to hurt you doesn’t that mean he didn’t.” Kon looks up as Jason takes a bite of his bun, then breathes out a little through his teeth like it was still too hot. “That doesn’t mean he should be shot?” Kon says hesitantly. “Step two is empty threats, sweetheart. If I wanted to shoot him, I wouldn’t have to steal bullets from B.” Kon’s cheeks burn. Sweetheart. He’s heard Jason use endearments for Tim before, Darlin’ and Baby and Gorgeous and Pretty Boy, and seriously how did Tim think Kon didn’t know they were fucking—but he’s never heard sweetheart come out of Jason’s mouth. His stomach is fluttering, warmth radiating through him, and he wants to giggle in a totally manly and not at all school-girly way, wants to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear and— “Don’t shoot him,” Kon says, a smile creeping out for the first time since this morning. Jason grins back, and his smile is fucking gorgeous.

27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?

Answered that one here!! Sorry 💖

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

alright FINE you can have a snippet from that Know Yourself scene where they were going to bake cookies for Barbara that I had to cut because it was too early to involve her and they weren't getting along this well yet

Tim shifted the groceries in his arms while they waited outside Barbara’s door, eyes flashing over as Jason reached up and tugged the helmet off. Tim forced his eyes back to the door. “You have flour in your hair.” “Hm?” Jason asked, tucking the helmet under his arm. “From the helmet.” Jason peeked inside the helmet, finding a small streak of flour across the inside. He made an irritated tut, trying to arrange his bag and the helmet so he could get a free hand. Tim sighed and turned to him, shifting the bag in his arms again. He reached up to do it himself, then stopped when Jason pulled back a little, eyes wide with surprise. Tim’s hand hovered in the air, and he raised an eyebrow, waiting for permission. Jason sighed, then leaned back in. “Go ahead.” Tim finished reaching for the streak of white that didn’t belong. He ran his fingers through it, shaking them slightly so that the flour would come out. Jason’s hair was softer than he thought it would be. Even though they were both still wearing their dominos, Tim could feel Jason’s eyes on him. He looked back, his hand slowing down. “Thanks,” Jason said, his voice was low and rough as it broke the silence, making something warm flare up in Tim’s gut.

thank you for the ask bestie!!! 💖💖💖💖

#🫘 this was a terrible idea #batsasks #batwrites #know yourself #bad days #i feel like I should tag Leo #I know you want to see the JayTimKon snippet lmaooo

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the-diabolist · 2 years

Note

Mason in the game room with the shotgun

I just want Mason to breed me (afab, not a girl) and Derek so bad

Kinktober 2022, day 17 - how did Derek end up in this situation? I don't know! Also, uh, I was super mean to him again. Oops!

c.w: afab reader, threesome (kinda), breeding, orgasm control (for Derek), bit of size difference (it's Mason lol), creampie, Mason as a soft dom, hard dom, and brat tamer all in one! 1.2k

"Come on," he says, tugging at your shirt, "he's not going to care."

"Yes he will," you argue, trying to bat away his hands, get his face out of the crook of your neck, and squirm out from underneath him all at the same time. "Get off me!"

"No," he says, pinning your hands above your head with one of his while the other one roughly gropes your breasts, "give it up, I'm horny."

Just as he's shoving the hem of your shirt up over your collarbones, a large hand closes suddenly around the back of his neck, causing him to freeze and tense.

"Are ya now?" Mason's deep voice rumbles. You hadn't even heard him come home. "S'pose I can help you with that, if yer gonna be so demanding about it."

"I, uh," Derek sputters, sweating bullets, but he doesn't have a chance to continue - Mason yanks him off of you by the scruff of his neck and pins him over the edge of the bed.

"It was all his idea," you sneer, sticking your tongue out at Derek's flushed face, which is currently half-pressed into the mattress. Your chest is still bare, and you make no attempt to cover up.

"I know, darlin' - you're a good little pet," Mason purrs, fingers tightening until Derek winces and lets out a squeak.

"... doesn't belong to you," Derek chokes out in a growl, "could fuckin' share, you goril-"

Mason lifts him off the bed and then slams him back down; Derek whimpers.

"Hm. Seems like this one needs a bit more taming," he says, letting Derek up again only to shove him across the room, toward the wooden chair in the corner. He stumbles into it, barely keeping his footing on the way. "Sit. Don't move your arms off the armrests."

Derek scowls, looking mutinous, but keeps his mouth shut and his arms resting at his sides, as instructed. Once assured of his obedience, Mason turns back toward you and crooks a finger. You cross the bed toward him with an easy smile, pulling your shirt the rest of the way over your head as you go, and sit on the edge in front of him, legs spread on either side of his hips.

"Blondie thinks I oughta share," he says, cupping your jaw in one large hand, "do you agree?"

You shake your head and bite your lip, gazing up at him lustfully. He laughs.

"Good. Lay back, show him what he misses out on when he misbehaves."

You lay back on the mattress, tilting your head to throw Derek (now actively sulking) a teasing look while Mason begins tugging off your bottoms. He flips you off as best he can without moving his arms. You look back up at Mason, towering above you, just in time to catch him rubbing his thumb over the wet patch on your underwear.

"I like it when you discipline Derek," you say, sighing as large palms smooth over your bare thighs, "he deserves it. Actually... I bet you'd be a good father."

"Oh yeah?" He rumbles softly, unbuckling his belt. "Ya wanna make me one? Show blondie exactly how much you belong to me?"

You nod again, eyes going half-lidded.

"Yeah," you breathe, "put a baby in me, big guy."

That seems to be the magic phrase, because he's pushing forcefully inside you almost before you finish speaking, making you gasp.

Derek releases some kind of choked growl - you don't pay him any attention, but Mason pauses to shoot him a withering glare. You hear the chair creak, as if Derek is gripping it for dear life.

Mason continues to advance until he's seated, stretching you overwhelmingly full as usual - and he doesn't stop to let you adjust, either, instead beginning to piston his hips immediately. His strokes start slow and deep, but they speed up quickly, and before long you're moaning and clutching the sheets as your body rocks helplessly back and forth.

"Gonna stuff you full," he growls, his grip on your thighs bruising, "you'll look so good, all nice 'n' round with my kid."

"Yes, yes, please," you whine. Derek groans from his chair, and you look over just in time to see him roughly fisting his cock, eyes locked on you - specifically, on your bouncing tits. Mason catches it too.

"Didn't say you could touch yerself," he snarls; Derek startles, hand quickly returning to the armrest with a whine of his own.

"C- c'mon," he pleads, eyes shining with unshed tears of desperation, "I'm so - "

"Didn't say ya could talk either," Mason cuts him off sternly. Amazingly, his pace stutters only a little throughout this exchange. "If I gotta stop what I'm doin' to deal with you, you'll regret it." Derek lets out a defeated sob, and Mason returns his attention to you, marked by increasingly harder thrusts. "I'm tryin' to breed someone here, ya know."

You moan again at that, and Derek makes a helpless, angry sound. Mason's hips start to stutter in earnest, in a way that's familiar to you; knowing what's coming (specifically: him), you tilt your pelvis upward as much as possible, reluctant to spill even a drop of his release, and you slide your fingers down to rub your clit, too, for good measure.

You climax before him, but not by much. He follows as soon as your walls begin to pulse, filling you up with warmth just like he promised. As you ride out your aftershocks, you can hear Derek panting and whining. You glance over at him - he looks angry, and desperate, and more than a little broken. His cock is weeping and painful-looking, and his knuckles are white from gripping the chair.

"Please - can I please... I need a turn, or - or something, anything, I'm - " he's babbling, breath choked with the frustrated tears now running down his face.

Ignoring Derek for the time being, Mason pulls out slowly, watching to make sure none of his contribution is wasted; you do feel a small trickle, but he shoves it back in with his fingers. He grabs a pillow, lifts your hips, and shoves it under them to keep you at an angle.

"Stay just like that," he rumbles to you. You give him a loving smile and a thumbs-up. Finally, he turns toward Derek. "Yeah, yeah, you'll get a turn, settle down... just gimme a few minutes to recover, and then you'll need prepped - and if you can be good through all that, I'll get ya taken care of. Hell," he chuckles, "maybe I'll breed you too."

You shoot Derek a thumbs-up as well, endorsing Mason's ability to get a person taken care of (jury's still out on his breeding ability). Ignoring you completely, he despairs, head drooping with a sob. For his sake, you hope he can make it - he's being so pathetic, you can't help but feel bad for him, even if he brings it on himself.

#rune writes fanfic #the price of flesh #tpof mason #mason heiral #tpof derek #derek goffard #kinktober 2022 #I think Mason and breeding are two things that will live rent free and intertwined in my head forever

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invisiblegarters · 24 days

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23.5 Episode 5

Kids suck. Aylin is awesome. And the fact that she's slowly getting a group of sincerely lovely people around her who like her just as she is makes me very happy.

I totally think that Sun should ask "Earth" for a photo. Not just because I want to watch Onsga lose her damn mind about it.

I do wonder if they really will force this Earth thing out in the open this early. I can't decide if I'd like them to or not. On the one hand I'm still finding the shenanigans funny. But on the other I don't want it to be dragged on too long and I'd like the to have more than a couple of scenes with the two of them on the same page.

Tin out here speaking sense.

Ooh a little politics with my fluff. Just a teeny tiny bit. As a treat. But beyond that, Aylin cutting through bullshit is part of why I love her.

Ugh these people are so RUDE. What did Aylin ever do to any of them?

PREACH Luna. I love how protective she is. Honestly though Aylin is just lucky Alpha wasn't there.

And okay, Aylin clearly does care that the others are mean to her. She is who she is regardless and she's smart enough not to try to be anything else, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

"Can aliens fall in love like humans do?"

YES. I think Luna's counting on it, lol.

I do not think that she's gonna tell Sun what's up. Calling it now.

LOL of course they get interrupted. But Ongsa, for real. Look at that little earnest face. You're gonna have to tell her eventually.

Although I guess she doesn't have to. She could always just let Earth ghost Sun.

Okay the awkward faces from everyone who knows when Sun says she's gonna give Earth one more chance were funny.

Called it. But also her logic is stupid. Either way Sun's birthday is ruined. Either she finds out that Earth isn't real or she thinks that he stood her up. Just freaking do the thing Ongsa.

The park she's at really is pretty.

You know, maybe I'm so exasperated because I would just bite the bullet.

Well now that Ongsa skipped her chance to tell Sun what was up, she's inevitably going to give the game away in some other fashion. Because it's not like Ongsa was anything but herself as Earth.

...ONGSA NO. I was JUST defending you. Sort of.

Ugh no. I super get she thinks she's helping but ugh all the same.

I do kind of like the Batman/Bruce Wayne thing Ongsa's got going on, though. That's always a good time.

Oh good though looks like next week might do it. I mean, I don't trust this show not to screw us again, but I will happily take an episode 6 reveal.

It would be a misstep to drag it out too long.

Also there better be sleepover shenanigans with Aylin and Luna next ep. I demand it.

#23.5 #23.5 the series

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mystiika · 4 months

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@freezegirl — continued from here.

"want some company?" from warren

in retrospect, thinking that this particular bout of power placement would be like the one they went through in high school had been a mistake. of course they'd spar. of course he'd make them do that. "sterling!" magenta's frantic cry echoes through the gym. between one heartbeat and the next, a chacoan cavy with a purple streak in its fur zips towards the makeshift ring. magenta shifts back, slips into the ring and kneels next to the boy with six arms. her cousin. patti ti's son. "i can't feel my hands!" he's sobbing. "maj, i can't feel my fucking hands!" "hothead!" coach boomer all but snarls. "see to it the kid actually keeps his hands while i get doctor nayar here." and by 'getting her here' he means bellowing her name throughout the entire school until she comes running. and that's when khione runs. she can't be here when farzana gets in. she can't bear to see the look of profound disappointment on her face.

i can't feel my hands, maj, i can't feel my fucking hands! my eyes! that little bitch fucked up my eyes! your mother's pregnancy was arduous, you siphoned her body heat for months; she could have died. you could have killed her. you almost did. i'm freaking freezing, kie, this doesn't feel good anymore. the abandoned classroom at the end of the hallway looks like a miniature ice palace; icicles drip from the ceiling and several ice spikes are popping up all over the place. "want some company?" warren's voice is like a life raft that keeps her from drowning. yes. instead, she shakes her head and steps back, creates as much space between them as she can because she doesn't want to hurt him. her features have frozen over yet the look in her eyes says it all: don't touch me, i don't deserve it. "does---" it's really hard to get the words out. "---does sterling still have his hands? all... all six of them?"

it made him nervous, an uncharacteristic feeling of unease. he knew how khione felt about touching people, the stress knowing how she drew warmth whether she consented or not, & warren himself had tried to insist to boomer to either have her spar with him or excuse her from it entirely. he was dismissed. & now that their classmate was writhing on the ground, boomer somehow felt it was her fault — that she should have better control over herself.

by the time boomer was delegating him, warren was already pushing past the growing crowd. he's almost stuck in his efforts to find the most efficient way to warm him when he has 6 arms to warren's 2. but he does his best, starting with the lowest warmth he can muster knowing heating the guy up could end up causing even more damage. as inwardly sympathetic warren was, he blocked out the screaming demanding he go faster. hell once an arm regained enough strength to move, he took a rather pathetic swing at warren leaving his only option to yell at him to ❛ shut the fuck up or i'll burn your arms & fuck you up for good. ❜ growled in anger, everyone fell silent, sterling included thankfully. slowly he regained dexterity, & despite warren's growing desire to abandon ship in favour of chasing khione down. dr nayar couldn't come fast enough, but the moment she did warren was gone.

tearing through the halls warren made a beeline to the classroom he could only assume she'd run to. he could feel he was right the closer he got, the cold seeping outward from the room until he opened the door, greeted by the sight of kie through the look of his breath in the cool air. not that he could blame her, he'd burned his fair share of people before he'd mastered his powers. it wasn't quite the same as the struggle he saw her going through but at least some smart part of him could guess, could empathise.

he's not sure what he can say. everything felt so awkward no matter what so he figured he might as well bite the proverbial bullet. ❝ want some company? ❞ the shake of her head, the fear driven steps away from him, it made him pause too. he didn't want to make things worse, but he didn't want to leave her alone either. comforting people wasn't anything he had much experience in, but he was willing to try.

❝ yeah... he'll be alright. ❞ warren had questions about dexterity but he'd left before there could be even a guess at an answer & figured it would do no good to bring it up now. ❝ dr nayan's with him now. ❞ he decides to take a tentative step towards her in the hopes she'd allow him to get closer.

he steps closer again. eventually reaching out to pet her head, he smooths her hair in an attempt to be of some comfort. ❝ it's gonna be okay... really. ❞

#pls ignore how your thing got spaced out #tumblr was being difficult #freezegirl #warren tag tba.#queue.

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seongwin · 1 year

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Hj fic idea -7:00 am

(To preface this was written in complete delirium while I had a migraine (that lasted the whole 16 hours btw 😘❤️😍)and hadn't sleep in 16 hours 😍)

Friends/roommates to lovers

One bed troupe ish?

One bed troupe adjacent

Crush on ur long time best friend/roommate Hongjoong??? What! no way!...Right??!?

Then why stay up with him, from the comfort of ur own room ofc. No need to stress him out more with him worrying over ur lack of sleep! like he could talk.. anyways ur just being a good friend ofc! Hahahaha! Yes. this is coping for the crippling fondness u have found for your sleep deprived composer. But oh dear lack of sleep plus the extra exhaustion from ur long week has knocked you out cold. So what a surprise it is when said eternally sleepy roommate curls up next to you. In your bed. IN YOUR BED?? What the hell is he doing here??? It's not like he could have mistaken your rooms. COULD HE?? I mean yours is at the end of the hall. Significantly further than his or hell even the couch. So could you really pass it off as simply being to delirious to tell what comfy surface he chose to crash on?? If that didn't seal the deal than the way his arm comfortably found its way around ur waist surely made it clear. Or maybe the way he quietly mumbled for you to go back to sleep made it seem all the more like a conscious semiconscious decision. Either way he seemed peaceful so you might as well leave him be. He looks kinda cute like this anyways, hair strewn about and the way his cheek squishes against the pillow makes u want to pinch it. You cant remember the last time you got to see him so up close. You could count his lashes if you wanted to. And some part of you did. But you decided to continue to look at him. You felt like you were looking at him for the first time. Like suddenly you were 14 again. Back to when u were Fresh faced and ready to face the world. If you could go back in time, would u save urself from the one sided love you were about to crash into. Literally too. That's how you met. Crashed into him books and papers flying everywhere. Honestly it was like a scene straight out of movie. Quick sorrys and laughes were exchanged while you both scurried to pick up the scattered belongings. And somehow that turned into decade long friendship and currently a 3 year long (and standing) roomie agreement. And ofc ur current predicament. If it was even possible Hongjoong seemed to cuddle even closer to you. His face no longer in view but buried in the crook of ur neck. His legs caged you in so even if u tired, you really couldn't wiggle your way out. You let out small sigh of defeat and decided to try your best to fall asleep. Hopefully he'll wake up before you and slink away and not mention it in the morning. That is if you survived till morning. sleep seemed to become increasingly difficult with the way his breath tickled your neck. You tired ur best to shift away from him but he would simply hug you closer. Perhaps this was the tourture you deserved after years of pining after the man. You'd be lying if you said some part of you didn't enjoy this. It wouldn't even be a good lie. A stranger could tell you loved him from the way you called his name. So why doesn't he know? Maybe he does and he doesn't care? Or maybe he doesn't wanna ruin ur friendship make things awkward. Or maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he's totally oblivious. But that's unlikely. Right? You're not sure which you'd prefer. Two sides of the same sword one could say. Either way his proximity to you was making you think weird things and you'd really like to go to sleep. So you decide to bite the bullet and wake him up to make him sleep in his own bed. Or at the very least break away from his grasp. -------

I have to stop rn or I'll write the whole thing--- written in a sleep depreived migraine ridden state after reader one to many angst fics and I'm craving fluff and love but lol I did even write that part

I'm tired but also😭👎🤔👍🤷‍♀️

#fic ideas #ateez #kim hongjoong #sleepy hongjoong #one bed trope #drabble #unfinished #park seonghwa #yeosang #yunho #cute #ateez fic #hongjoong #san #wooyoung #my fic

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doskorogorpg · 6 months

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CONGRATULATIONS ALEX!

YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF IGOR LAZAREV.

Welcome to Do Skorogo RPG! Please make sure you scan over the CHECKLIST, send in your account to the main in the next 24 hours, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST.

IGOR LAZAREV

marlon teixeira — male, bisexual — thirty y.o.

written by alex —— she/them, 22

Timezone and activity level: BRT. Hard to say. 6/7 out of 10, perhaps? I'm always around at night during the weekend and Sundays when I'm free from ✨ adulthood ✨. I might, however, take a day to answer the dms or just a couple of hours. This serves as a warning: it's not that I'm ignoring you, I'm anxious the same. On Saturdays, however, I arrive home later than usual, so it's an only to-go-bed day.

Anything else: I painted a bit of Argun's scenario to explore the social damage caused by mining and exploration and the non-stop cycle of poverty and violence. I hope that it doesn't miss your idea of Drezna's worldbuilding. And I'm sorry I was exhausted when I finished this, so I stopped editing *waves hand * somewhere.

Rambling: Why did I choose him, you ask? *Heavy sigh* Oh, boy. My little self realised on a rainy afternoon that crafting characters was a good way to play and understand how different psyches worked. Big me never abandoned that silly game. Igor is now one of the most challengings characters I have put thought and craft upon. I found strangely endearing how easy yet troubling it was to shape him to explore harsh themes — the nature of violence, the social impact of mining, poverty, abandonment and so much more. He isn't a full plate of possibilities, he is a whole feast. And, yes I could've added more, I still hold sideways notes, but I think 5k words is more than enough.

01.

HEADCANONS

Disclaimer: Child labour, abusive work conditions, addiction, fictional drug, death, violence, recketeering, child negligence, survivor's guilty.

i. if there's something to be gained, there's money to be made. seven new ways that you can eat your young: a biography.

To be born in Argun is by itself a death sentence. You don't dream of ever escaping a life ingurgitated by twelve to sixteen hours of workload, you wait for hamstrung fate to hit you, and — damn — it hits you just fine. You can try, though, to avoid yourself from being spent, choking in the mines and the fabrics, breathing toxic vapour while your kids play with mercury; arsenic under their fingertips. They say that Argun is a bitch who births her youths and sells them to be cannibalised by the rich or butchered by the wars over resources. Wars, those, geared like clockwork by an underground lorded by money laundry, smuggling, drug dealings and extortion. You can try your luck there, exchanging the grime on your hands for blood in your soul. You might end up dead in some alleyway with a bullet between your eyes, that's a risk. In the end, no one cares. You shouldn't either.

The boy is born hungry. It's violence who births him, famine the one to raise him. He bites his tongue from a young age, he yells at the sky and the only answer is an echo. Second of three siblings, their mother is a ghost, their father is a drunkard. They are strangers to Igor, but he loves them the same. Or tries to. Or wants to. Igor doesn't know the difference, he never learns to. He grows up with an absent father who leaves on a winter day, a mother that's always tired, a belly that's always empty and hands that are always clenched, eager to beat another kid who taunts him and his brother in the streets of Argun's periphery. His house is hardly a house. It's a cramped cubicle and a bed he shares with his siblings. They raise each other as kids can. Yura, Igor and baby Mila. They are their own family, their own world, their own parents and their own children; three small bodies curling around the other to battle the bitter cold. Igor is nine when he starts accompanying his mother and brother to the mines, then twelve when she dies coughing blood. There's no money to pay for a healer's services, hardly a penny for a warm meal, and they have to work to keep themselves off the streets. Just children. It makes no difference: you have hands to work, the mines want you. And children are easy to work with. They don't complain because they are too scared of your raised hand, and they aren't clever enough to form a syndicate, are they?

Igor grows eating grime and rage, pursing his lips, biting so hard that it bleeds. But the hand of his brother on his shoulder tells him to calm down. Igor lost his childhood, but Yura never had one. He is tough like stone, but also reactionless. When the men punishes them for working wrong, he bends his head and accepts it like a rock against violent waves. Never bending, but also never moving. Igor, however, burns like new fire. Yura is the first victim to be slaughtered at the altar of Igor's wrath, the first one that Igor calls a weakling coward for not fighting back, for not wanting more than that life. Igor was never much of a son. He was never much of a brother either. It's between constant fighting that they carve their path into teenagerhood, and Mila is caught between the crossfire of her brothers' ego — the counsellor and the destroyer.

But even when he hates Yura, he loves him. For what can Igor be if not a brother — Gorya, as he is called by his siblings — even when he misses every point of it? Can one be blamed for trying? He was. Judged and condemned.

He is barely seventeen when the underground calls him for the first time. He learns about deals being whispered in corners, alleyways and dirty gambling houses. He has the rage they need, and the power as well. Suddenly, the siblings have enough money through Igor. And of course Yura suspects his brother of disappearing and returning with money, missing work days. He wants to know the source, so he presses Gorya against the wall and demands answers. When Igor sends him a big go fuck himself, Yura tells him how tired he is. Igor sees disappointment, but not surprise in his brother's eyes. He hates how much it affects him, how much it condemns him as the worst of the sinners. So he answers him with the only thing he knows: violence. If Yura wants to remain sucking those motherfuckers balls, then fine! He can fucking choke there in the mines. Igor is out of that shit.

And Yura chokes. (Am I my brother's keeper?)

Igor is not far when the mine with his brother collapses, crushing twenty seven workers, including Yura. He remembers the yelling, the cloud of dust, the attempt of digging with bare bare hands. He remembers someone holding him by the shoulders, saying, “it's done, lad. I'm sorry”. He shakes the hands off and takes a step back, staring powerless. Yura is left unburied to rot in the mine and inside Igor. The heavy scent of decadence smells of shame. Grieve would unite some siblings, strengthening bonds between them. For Igor and Mila, Yura's death only tears them asunder. They are children forced into adulthood, and no one ever taught them how to properly grief.

To Igor, he will never regret not being kinder to his brother, because he cannot afford the guilty choking him. So he closes his heart, and doesn't look behind. He promises himself he will not be like his family. He will not be nobody. He swears an oath. He will not die as what he is now, buried under the ashes and dirt of the Argun mines, he will not let it poison and consume him to death like it did to his mother and brother. Instead, he poisons himself with a new thing and calls it power. In some ways, it is an escape, and he knows it, but ignores it. The jurda parem frees him from the feeling of helplessness. He feels attuned, powerful like god, and he begins to crawl. Argun's criminal underground gives him what he needs: money. It doesn't matter to Igor the business — smuggling of resources, extortion or debt collecting. He doesn't ask much either, just how much one is willing to pay. Soon, he is willing to paint houses. See, when he was young he thought that house painters painted houses. Well, they do, but with blood. It's a fancy name, because no matter how into the shit your hands are, you always want fancy names, as fancy as the cologne and the clothes you wear to get into the skirts of your business partner's wife after dinner, to cover the rotten smell of your decaying soul. Call him what you want, though, he doesn't care — but you can use “hired assassin”. That works just fine. They need him to scare their enemies in the mob conflicts regarding the South. People get killed in ugly ways.

Igor is made of storm, one that burns red and consumes. One you cannot stray your attention from. He is an asset, a war dog, and they deal with him like stock. That drags attention, a name one should never get themself involved too, but Igor is so drunk, so high with new-found power, he doesn't even hesitate in scratching the itch. The name is a family. And the family is Lyktin. Because money always speaks louder than whatever is happening around you, and they are still willing to use unstable grisha in their ranks to accomplish the mission, to spill the blood, so it doesn't stain their expensive silk. It is only when Azor burns, and they are too scared of retaliation that they cut ties.

We begin from here.

ii. born in the valley of the dead and the wicked.

He left his sister with enough money for the winter, and unspoken words of sibling love never shed. It's funny how brothers will overlook their sisters. In Igor's mind Mila is always the small girl hiding behind him, a child he needs to say: stay close, you don't want to stray away. She grows unnoticed, and noticing this she grows a survivor. Because Igor is not the only Lazarev born with a storm between the ribcage, and the fire that missed Yura forged them both. She, however, refuses to consume her own skin. She grows when Igor is away, missing for days, sometimes weeks, doing whatever the “job” is. Oh, she is not innocent. She knows the money is dirty. Soon, Mila has to bury another brother. First Yura, then Gorya. The young man before her in that chilling afternoon is not her big brother.

He is leaving that hellhole some fucker called Argun, and he wants her to come with him. She asks, For what? This? And she motions him. He is as high as the sky above. She isn't scared. She made up her mind. She'll stay, she'll accept Vihren's marriage proposal, she'll grasp the bit of life she has and knows, the bit of control. Igor argues he can offer her that, but Mila knows this isn't true. So she asks him to leave, never to come back. Because she is tired. She doesn't love Vihren, but he is a rock she can lean on, while Igor is… Igor. And she is Mila. Third daughter. Overlooked. “Do us both a favour, Igor. Leave.” And Igor does. That flicker of consciousness in his eyes understands that, saints, he is the monster under his baby sister's bed. He wants to tell her so many things. But the only love he can give her is a distance between them. The love he offers her is a regret, a begging for an apology never uttered.

iii. miscellaneous.

I'll pinpointing that he started to abuse parem around his nineteen or twenty due proximity to illegal markets existing in Argun, which gives him around a decade of addiction. The fact he is alive is, to me, a miracle, really; especially given how much parem harms the grisha organism.

For Igor, parem is control. He hadn't trained on his Grisha side, and he was forced to hide his identity and not to use Small Science. We know that this makes the individual weak and susceptible, and I suspect that not only physically but mentally as well, which makes him specifically susceptible. The jurda parem offered him understanding by sharpening his perception of the odinakovost and etovost at once. It's almost funny having Igor trying to explain how he understands air pressure and air molecules without knowing the proper terms or the science behind it. Without the parem, the withdrawal symptoms make him almost blind. He is quite unable to make use of his powers without the drug. So he needs parem to access the Small Science. Without it, he is afraid he is nothing. It's a spiral that only decays.

( DISCLAIMER: MENTION OF REAL LIFE DRUGS! ) / My headcanon is that parem works the same way as an opioid and kicks like a stimulant (e.g. Adderall). However, the withdrawal is very similar to heroin. I don't remember if Leigh Bardugo actually mentions that parem causes tolerance, but I'll just assume it does because, well, drugs are like that. ( END! )

He is terrified of dying during withdrawal and he is terrified of not being able to use Small Science without parem. Those are the main reasons he hadn't tried to quit.

You catch small details about Igor's past. His accent is Southern, and he speaks like an Argun worker. His hands are calloused, which implies heavy hand working. Perhaps Sasha offered to tailor it, but Igor refused. He wants to remember something. Other than that, everything is dark to the crew. And if you're clever, you'll leave it like that.

I attempt to expand his fighting style in the Para Semple, but let me just add a few unnecessary notes. Bruised knuckles, broken nose. Igor is talented when it comes to the art of breaking people's bones. It's scary to see him fighting, like watching a hurricane bursting through the door, unstoppable in its way of destruction. Dreadful, for lack of a better word. He is Grisha, afterall, and he knows how to merge his skills in hand-to-hand combat, originating a style that is both swift and brutal. Given that Igor isn't a big fan of flying (haha, jokes on you), it's mostly likely that, under parem, he uses his sharpened air control to make himself lighter and faster (if you read Mistborn, picture Kelsier's fighting style). However, he is also addicted to the pain. Whenever the opportunity comes, he goes bare handed till the person is bleeding, disfigured face, on the floor.

Aslı could take a break from having to mend Igor.

02.

PLOT POINTS

There is a fortune teller. There are three cards on the table. The Fool reversed, The Devil, The Judgment. What it has passed, what it is, and what it's yet to come. He, a sky red with the blood spilled, something not worthy of saving. Do not bury him, let the carrion birds have their share. Sing with the world the tune of relief. The scourge is dead. It was, and is no more.

i. a manifesto on how to domesticate dogs.

“Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog; can there be more said?” — William Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor (Act I, Scene I)

It is wise to say that Igor has been using repression as a coping mechanism his entire life. Boy, youth and man. Most of what he feels and thinks happens out of a conscious mind, to the point he is unaware of himself as a functional person. The only thing he allows himself to show is his anger because it is linked to his survival instincts. Since he has been in survival mode for so long, he only knows anger. Other than that, Igor can be very well compared to a wrathful spectrum haunting the living. However, labelling him as an “angered person” role isn't reducing him to a two-dimensional character. Actually, it's the beginning of his depth.

Igor is such a hard character to deal with, and I find myself carrying a heavy burden of development to be worked upon. First, we have his arrogance. Then we have his hunger for power. At least, we have his addiction. I always start by thinking about “what came first?” the answer? None of those. Fear came first. For what is arrogance if not the response one has to feeling cornered his whole life. Igor, however, is not justified by it. He is someone to be pitied, but never justified. I'll have him regret his sins or I'll throw him straight to hell.

In one of my first drafts, I wrote:

“He is shaped out of contradictions that make him a hypocrite. He is both the knife that stabs and the victim, he doesn't know better and is too blind to see it. He oversees the damage he causes to himself. He is a shell of a person on the inside, but that emptiness doesn't make him numb. On the contrary, it fuels him with anger. He rather channels everything against the world than to admit that he is the one to be guilty. Worse, that he cannot do it. Shifting blame with a closed fist, because Igor cannot acknowledge that he is ashamed of himself, of that little perhaps he crushed long ago that might be true. Perhaps you're just some dumb country boy. He denies this shred of conscience so hard that it doesn't even exist to him. He made himself blind. That's why he hates Aslı so much, because she is there to remember the shame he ignores. And he cannot acknowledge that; acknowledging is to admit that he isn't enough to save himself, and he needs to be enough. He cannot be wrong. He will not be wrong.”

When we start, we have an Igor that never had to deal with other emotions he swept under the rug at a very young age. They are too complicated for a young boy trying to survive in a world out of his control. Grief, shame, regret, all of that is pushed away and locked in the darkness. Easy that way. It doesn't bite him, it doesn't exist to him. In his mind, he has everything under control, because God forsake him to have something out of control in his life. That possibility is his own personal hell. It makes sense when you imagine him as a boy helpless and hopeless. He grasps control, clings to it, and is mad when he cannot have it. So Igor doesn't want power, not truly, he wants control. But it's difficult to draw a line between one and another. Things blurry when you are particularly dense and with a poor emotional intelligence as Igor. He needs to be above to guarantee no one will ever step on him again. So I want to explore this dynamic of power / control and how damaging it is to Igor, especially because it's intimately connected to his abuse of parem. What scares me is what he will do with it. Will he give up this power haunt? Will something change at all? What if it does? What if it doesn't? In the end, I want all of that to be shoved against his face. I want him to acknowledge the helplessness, the hopelessness and how, deep down, he didn't escape any of it.

It's, yes, of my intentions to have Igor going through withdrawal. That, however, would require a lot. I don't take the theme lightly, and I know how difficult it can be in real life. Igor's addiction is tied not only with his hunger for power, but also old fears he never acknowledged, fears that come from his childhood. He spent his early years feeling cornered, helpless and hopeless, and all of sudden he could do something about it. In a way, he had always been scared of death in a sense that you cannot control it. Yura's death affected him at that exact point. Igor saw his mother die, his father leave, his brother die and he couldn't do anything about it. Nothing. He couldn't even convince Mila to stay by his side. Because he was just an Argun's boy. He refused to die like that, simply like that. Igor needs to let it go in order to get better. I think this is the key to his redemption. You see, I enjoy Igor and Anton's connection because I see that in another life Igor would be just like Anton; carefree, eager to live. In this, however, he seeks power because he cannot find control. Perhaps meeting with death the same way Anton met will perhaps help him to get free, to see the world through new eyes. Perhaps. Jurda parem's withdrawal is extremely violent to the point that in the canon saga only Nina survives. There are accounts of people in Drezna who survived? Would Igor be one of them? What would be a Squaller's unnatural power? Hm, we shall see those things if everything goes well.

ii. he who walks a fine line between god and animal.

The Minotaur, the infamy of Crete. When King Minos triumphs over Athens, he demands that Athens youths and maiden to be sacrificed to the monster in the Labyrinth, a place built so no one could escape.

Kyra comparing Igor to the Minotaur was so fucking clever, especially when you understand the mine shafts with the Labyrinth and how they forged both a monster of their own. Because isn't it unfair? Was Minotaur born a monster or created as such? He had a name, he was loved, then he was taken, was denied his humanity and then slayed by an arrogant boy. Who's the monster, Theseus?

I want so bad to work on Igor's relationship with his hometown. Because Igor's hate doesn't start with a person, a class or a king. His hate starts, first, with a place. One he escaped from, but one who never left him. One that beckons him to return. I like to play with the idea that Igor and Argun are a single entity. Igor is Argun's prodigal son. He left home with a self-made oath of never coming back, and he spent himself outside in the world. And even so, the more the time passes, the more he feels this pull of Argun beckoning him. He is Argun personified. They are something to be explored, utilised, then discarded. Someone so used to the grime, the violence, the neglect, and the blood that it grew numb. So if he is supposed to make amends with his past, he needs to go back. The South is calling, baby.

Simplifying! I am chewing my fingers out in excitement when it comes to the possibility of a Southern rise. And could cry tears of blood when it comes to Sofiya and Igor being so deeply connected to it. My tragic children of the South, doomed by narrative before they're even born. One made by legacy, the other made by circumstances. Let Sofiya raise the South, but let Igor be its monster. The monster of Creta / The monster of Argun. Point the difference!

However, despite assuming the skin of a monster, I want him to do it with control of himself. I want him to find true purpose in a rise, I want him to care about the youth sacrificed in that place like he once was. Perhaps he is both the Minotaur and Theseus. Let him go back like Theseus went inside the Labyrinth: to save the youth from the slaughter. However, let him also be the monster of the elites' nightmares, he is destined to be it both ways. I'll always let Igor's end open because I really think he might end up dead. Both Theseus and the Minotaur are murdered. Why would this boy have a different destiny (*cries*)?

03.

CHARACTER EXPANSION

(01) How far would you go for your crew?

Reaches him when he's halfway to filling his cup: a question shaped by a raspy cadence, marred by both pain and smoking. The man is called Mikhail Voronin, or so he had been told. The woman, sharp-eyed Sofiya, spoke about a big plan without more details, convinced that she could arrange a meeting. That was the reason for Igor to be there, this and the promise of a free drink. The man would be paying, obviously. It has been a pleasant meeting since. As pleasant as men who barely know each other can be while talking business, to say the least. Settled in a gambling house clouded by the pungent scent of cheap nicotine and spilled ale, he could hardly ask for more. “How far, you ask,” Igor echoes, chuckling with a taint of scornfulness. He sets the bottle aside and leans over the same table, resting elbows on the wood and interlocking his fingers. “Well, the filth doesn't scare me, if that's what you're asking. You know my terms,” he says, looking into the man's eyes without fearing the consequences. There is something there under the calm, controlled demeanour. Igor can almost taste the sharp bitterness and burning rage in the way Mikhail gazes back at him. Igor feels a wicked smile creep to the corner of his lips. Good, he thinks. I can work with that. “So, Voronin, do we have a deal?”

(02) What would you do if you got your hands on the circlet?

He toys with the crude idea. A thought lurking in the back of his head, sweet as the taste of parem lasting heavy on his tongue. He asks it casually to Octavia as they stand on the rooftop in the aftermath of the mission and wait for Mikhail to arrive, but the answer doesn't come. It rarely does. Nastia is nowhere to be seen, so she's stuck with Igor, and the silence lingers. He can feel a bitter laugh. She despises me, he thinks. Good. It means she isn't dumb. He knows what the others would do, or think he does. Destroy, handle it to Mikhail, or hide perhaps if the destruction isn't possible; throw it into the sea. All so eager to dispose of such an asset, and Igor is supposed to be the mad one. He fetches cigarette and lighter from the right pocket of his coat, hands shaking all the way over. And then I'll kill the person who tries to take the crown from me, but that's left unspoken, vanishing like the blown smoke after a long drag. “I have been working for them my entire life,” he answers his own question to Octavia, and it's like talking to a ghost. He can pretend he is speaking to Mila or dead Yura, it would sound the same. “No matter how much they say they sympathise with the Grisha, in the end it's us who do their work, to raise them to the top, to get their revenge. I had enough of this bullshit for a lifetime.” The circlet would put an end to this. No more serving. No more submitting.

04.

PARA SEMPLE

Disclaimer: Description of violence, death.

Guns raised, the henchmen attempted to put him down, for that's what souls do when facing the devil. They meet their fate faster than a calm summer day turns into a midnight of storms, for the things behind Igor's eyes show them no mercy. They shoot, but the bullets are repelled to the side when he forces the air surrounding him to bend. The very world seems to crackle, seethe, shiver under his command. Then it starts. He plays with them like a dog plays with its hunted food, tossing it between the paws until it grows bored enough to finish the prey on clenched jaw, sharp teeth

He finds it amusing. No, not that crude. Not yet. But see, there is something very laughable about touching divinity, about being above, about holding a man's destiny in the flip of a hand.

They had taught him the first lesson every Grisha must learn: to be Grisha is to be like. Like calls like, they said. He was born a Squaller, he heard the storm within his bones from a young age and learned to call the wind like one calls an old friend. He was every bit of those things. He was the wind, and the storm, and the breeze sneaking through the crack of the window. For that, he should be proud. Well, Igor could spit on that. Parem made things clearer. No, he wasn't like the air. He was his ruler. The winds were his and so was the storm. To him the breath belongs, and if he wants to deny it to people, who'll hold him back? No one. When he raises a hand, it moves. When he calls, it obeys. When he says don't, it dares not to provide the men with their precious breath. It is terrified of him.

That is amusing.

The first man dies as quickly as the bullet leaves the gun barrel when Igor pulls the air from his lungs. He hears the sound of ribcage's bones cracking, and it's not pleasant. The second is thrown across the room. Igor pushes the pressure. The air explosion shoves the man in the opposite direction. He hits the glass window and the ground outside the warehouse welcomes him gladly. Then comes the third, and the fourth. In the fifth, Igor grabs him by the arm, twisting it behind the yelping man's back. He wiggles pathetic like a fish, but Igor holds him tightly, using him as a shield when the sixth attempts to shoot him, emptying the poor gun's barrel. Then another air explosion and they topple back, cursing Igor's mom.

No, she didn't sell her body at night. He is sure of that.

The last man tries to crawl away for his dear life. Igor sniffs, clenches his wrecked fists, and goes after him. He almost feels pity. Even the devil agrees that one should die on their feet, but there is no time for pleasantries. The order had been clear: no witnesses. The money was good. No questions. The whole place smells of butchering. It's something that sticks to the nostrils. Something you get used to. Something that adorns every dream, every nightmare. He presses his foot against his ribs and flips him up, forcing him to face up, then he sees his face.

The eyes that glance up at him are too young, almost childish, twisted with a fear that cuts through Igor. He freezes, the air stills with him. Suddenly, he hears his heart thrumming in his ear. The boy moves his hands, and Igor can smell grisha in him. Training heartrender, perhaps. Too scared of the killing to even concentrate. Yes. But, no, he never related. Instead, he grabs the boy by the collar and pulls him, pressing him against the wall where he looks into his eyes. “How old are you, boy?” He is too frightened to do anything but, maybe, piss himself. Igor doesn't have time. He slams his hand on the wall, too close to the boy's head. He winces, shutting eyes, pursing lips. “Answer the damn question!”

“Sixteen!” he yells against Igor's face.

Parem is a shroud swaddled around the mind that doesn't numb the thoughts, but it takes away attention from the small details that don't matter. The answer washes him like winds sweeps smoke, and suddenly he is aware. “Sixteen…”

You're not supposed to be here.

But he is. Because money always speaks. Louder than beating parents and the rumbling of the little brothers' empty stomachs. Louder than anything. And they are stock in this world. To those who can pay.

The boy says no other word, nor does Igor. They stare at each other and Igor sees before him a mirror. In the end, it's the boy who asks with trembling lips. “Are you going to kill me?”

The order had been clear.

05.

EXTRAS

pinterest / playlist

“You will always be a monster - there is no turning back from it. But what kind of monster you become is entirely up to you.” — Julie Kagawa, The Eternity Cure (Blood of Eden)

“It will have blood, they say: blood will have blood.” — William Shakespeare, Macbeth (Act III, Scene IV)

“Violence is the divine force that everyone tries to use for his own purposes and that ends by using everyone for its own—the Dionysus of The Bacchae.” — René Girard, Violence and the Sacred

“He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature. — Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“Perplexed is a soft word, charming. A dog turning its head to the side when it doesn’t understand what you mean when you say I love you. I was perplexed, and by this I mean I was stuck in the space between terror and awe. I wasn’t confused; I wasn’t weighing the options. I was startled by the incomprehensible—” — Richard Siken, On Perplexity: Chrysanthemum

SAWYER (LOST) — Yea, it's the “I'm sorry you had a bad childhood, but you kind suck right now. Please, put your shit together and act decent”. Also this. Sawyer, despite his false confidence, is full of self-loathing and has problems connecting to people. Guess who is the same?

KELSIER (MISTBORN) — Igor doesn't have Kelsier's wits, but he has Kelsier's violence. Both are also very impulsive idiots with power and will to kill god. It's also the older brother (Yura/Marsh) who strongly disagrees with the younger brother's (Igor/Kelsier), uh, ruthlessness.

JAIME LANNISTER (ASOIAF) — I don't remember if that's actually something stated in the book or just one headcanon of mine bc I read ASOIAF a long time ago, but Jaime Lannister ain't kind smart, but dude can and will kill. This match with Igor. Awkward silence. Yes, yes, and the redemption arc! Bah! Besides, both view themselves as a “necessary evil”.

VI (ARCANE) — Fists. Just fists. You can't take both down, they'll always rise up to kick your ass. They also have this rage since a young age, a calling for violence. Vi, however, grows to be a protector and a defender — she bleeds so you don't have to. Perhaps, only perhaps, Igor will grow to be one as well. Also the “too hungry/angry to be polite” trope.

What are you? a knife.

What kind of weather are you? a storm.

Let me fucking destroy you by giving you a reality check. you're an asshole who prides themself for it and it's not okay.

How would I write you as a book character? the side character that is very dear to the narrator but doesn't know it.

What's your literary archetype? the siren.And this.

#doskorogoaccepted #lsrp #lsrpg #new rp #fantasy rp

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andraxicated · 2 years

Text

tw: assasin stuff | fluff

a/n: lololol nanami ♡♡♡♡♡ he's so funny without doing anything

bye this was supposed to be a short drabble but><

thinking about...

spy x family au! spy nanami x assassin reader! w/ a baby yuuji on the side <3

but it's this nanami:

the first thought you had was: "wow. he's so cool😍" you never felt such a strong pull of attraction for anyone! the moment his head turned slowly to you; the gates of heaven opened, the angels started singing and you're thinking: "I have to have him"

it's perfect, if you guys are married then the secret police won't be suspicious of a single woman like you. and so, you follow him into the bakery, taking note of the bread he orders.

"excuse me, why are you staring at me?" the man asks which takes you by surprise. 'he noticed it? I'm getting sloppy!' you snapped out of your daydream, fingers fidgeting from the intensity of his stare.

"um I like your hair" (I like ya cut g) you say bashfully while biting your lip, it's as if you're confessing.

that was the moment nanami decided to marry you. finally someone who actually liked his hair! he wanted to go down on one knee, ask for your hand, imagining that you'd say yes—

"yes!" his daydream cloud goes poof as this pink haired kid shouts excitedly. his 'son' that is a telepath unbeknownst to him.

yuuji is excited at the prospect of having a mother, looking at you you're pretty too! 'a pretty mother!'. the fact that a kid has to help these adults go on a date, how pathetic.

"manami, who are those guys?" you ask in a soft voice, looking at the car that's furiously following you both. suddenly, it bumps into your ride which takes both of you by surprise.

'oh shit' "it's my *cough* clients"

his clients from the warehouse heist earlier.

"clients?"

"I'm a dancer. they're asking for my autograph"

it's like electricity traveled through your body, your heart beating as you fall deeper and deeper in love.

"I knew it! you're a dancer! the hair makes sense! they must be your super fans since they're going so far just to see you. im glad your work is going so well."

nanami doesn't know if you're an idiot or just acting dumb, but either way, he's thankful for it.

"why are these clients so aggressive?!" you ask him as you kick a man into a wall. this made you put your hands over your mouth, yourself surprised from the uncontrollable strength. "oops! i'm sorry! i don't know any dancing techniques but i tried my best!"

saying nanami is amazed would be an understatement, he's beguiled💖. 'what a strong woman' he says in his head as he's busy marveling at your beauty and strength. you huff, fixing your messy hair until nanami pulls you to hide from the rain of bullets.

"this way!" nanami holds your hand to escape when the goons desperately refill their guns. you think you're the one who should protect manami, but you're lost in the adrenaline rush of 'dancing' in an alleyway. this was a performance you'll never forget.

it's now or never. he's the most aesthetic man you've ever seen, you have to have him.

"manamiletsgetmarried" your lips blurt out like some kind of code that he successfully deciphered. he clearly heard you and well...he tripped. he stands up with a smiley face, checking his pockets for the diamond ring he snatched earlier, but it's gone with his pockets blown out. 'damn' he goes back to his stoic facade.

"ohmy! manami—" "lady I accept you"

however, the romantic moment gets cut off by the never-ending swarm of goons that has their patience pushed to the limit. they resort to pulling out the big guns that nanami has no choice but to pull his not-so-aesthetic explosive disco ball.

'ok fuck let's go'

"I take thee (y/n)" —'gosh you're so cute'

he's looking down at your crouched, hidden figure; bright eyes looking intently back at his. nanami felt his cheeks heat up from the thought, but he quickly shakes them off.

"for better or for worse, for richer or poorer..." he separates the explosive and the lid, his mind already calculating the exact time and the projectile of the bomb.

"in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health..." he slides the round lid on your finger, like a budget prop for a surprise roleplay. don't worry, he has plans to give you a diamond ring next time, but that'll have to do for now.

💣BOOM💥 — side mission complete. now onto the main for the night...

"I pledge myself to you." nanami says in his sexy voice that produces butterflies in your tummy. he's so hot you need help getting up after this 'cause your knees are weak.

'until my killing...' this is it, you won at life, those bitches at your workplace can now shut up. you bagged a gorgeous man, a talented dancer. what an achievement. and he just got down on one knee tonight in the most romantic way to propose ever.

'until my mission...' once nanami realized he was acting all suave, he cringed so hard but okay. he has to do this for the sake of the mission. he would be lying if tonight wasn't the best night in his entire life yet.

'...do we apart'

no turning back for nanami kento and (y/n) (l/n)

THE END

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk hcs #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x reader fluff #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #nanami x reader smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons

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annzybwrites · 2 years

Text

First Comes Friendship

Read on AO3

"Tobey, I think you just need a good friend." WordGirl sighed, holding the remote control for all of his robots as she hovered a few feet above his head.

"Friend?!" Tobey scoffed, crossing his arms as he looked away. "Don't be ridiculous! I have my robots. They're all the friends I need!"

"Oh, really?" She crossed her arms, raising a brow at him. "Because lately it seems like you've been doing petty crimes just so I'd come out and talk to you."

"What?" Tobey jolted, laughing nervously as he glanced around. "N-no! These are masterful schemes, I assure you! And I absolutely detest when you stop me!"

"Just this week you've used your robots to rob one store and then waited for me to show up."

"I did not wait for you to arrive, I was merely caught in the act --"

"And when I put a stop to your 'dastardly scheme,' you gave me a gift and asked if I was busy."

"Well, I was only curious --"

"And when I said I had to go, you said you'd keep attacking stores until I went somewhere with you--"

"All right!" Tobey interrupted with a yell, sighing just as loudly afterwards. "All right, I admit it! I've... been feeling very lonely." He took a deep breath, turning his back to his greatest enemy and crush as he crossed his arms. "Mother's job is going to be keeping her very busy for a few months, and the babysitters she hires are not exactly the best company. They never understand me! They either want nothing to do with me, or they talk my ear off about something meaningless like, like high school drama."

"Yuck." WordGirl shivered at the prospect. "That does sound rather torturous."

"See?" Tobey groaned, walking to the edge of the skyscraper they were on so he could take a seat. "Now do you understand why I want to be anywhere except my house?"

WordGirl frowned, slowly flying over to sit next to him. While being sure to keep the remote away from him still. "Yes, I can understand... But that doesn't excuse your behavior! You can't wreck the city every time you're in a bad mood."

"Why not?" Tobey sniffled, hugging his legs to his chest. "It always cheers me up. Or at least distracts me for awhile."

"Oh, Tobey." WordGirl sighed again, glancing away as she tried to think about how to solve his problem. "If you stayed at a friend's house, then your mom wouldn't need to hire a babysitter, right?"

"A peaceful proposition." Tobey scowled, glaring sideways at her. "Unfortunately, I don't have a close friend like that."

"Really?" WordGirl chewed at her lip, having an internal debate with herself before she decided to bite the bullet. "There isn't one family who wouldn't mind having you around? Say... a certain family you have Thanksgiving with every year, for example?"

Tobey's eyes widened in surprise. "The Botsford's?" He straightened up, turning to her with wide eyes. "You really think they'd have me?"

"Why not?" WordGirl shrugged, keeping her polite smile on her face. She knew what she was signing herself up for but, honestly, this would be much more preferable than having to stop his robots every day. "They already know you and your... eccentricities."

"I don't know..." Tobey winced slightly, glancing away as he admitted, "Becky and I don't exactly get along well. And I can't really blame her, considering how often I almost destroy her home. And how I've accused her of being you multiple times now."

"That does sound kind of bad." WordGirl hummed, tapping at her chin. "But I know Becky pretty well. I'm sure if you told her about your plight, she'd have some sympathy."

"You really think so?"

"Mmhm." WordGirl narrowed her eyes at him. "But only if you also promise not to destroy anything while you're at her house!"

"Of course!" Tobey brightened, clasping his hands together. "Oh, staying at the Botsford's sounds much better than dealing with Suzy. She's my latest babysitter -- she makes terrible meatloaf! The worst I've ever had! Would you like to come experience it for yourself?"

"Um, yeah, no thanks."

"Please?" Tobey scooted closer, widening his eyes as he gave a truly pathetic frown. "I'm so lonely. Remember? The talk we just had? I promise not to destroy anything for the rest of the week!"

WordGirl groaned before relenting. "Fine. Let's go." She scooped him up and flew back to his house, the single robot he'd brought slowly following after.

---

A new routine emerged for Tobey McCallister III and Becky Botsford. Mrs. McCallister was ecstatic that her son was showing interest in another classmate of his, and had called up the Botsford's that night to ask if they wouldn't mind housing Tobey after school for a few days -- with compensation for the trouble, of course. The Botsford's had agreed immediately, since they were very friendly and polite people.

Honestly, it wasn't that bad to have Tobey around. Sure, he was still annoying whenever he insisted that he was "so much smarter and better" than everyone around him, but he and Becky were both avid readers and could spend hours discussing the finer themes and details of their favorite book series, as well as share in some of their own personal headcanons for the characters. They also helped each other with homework, and could complain about how difficult art class was for them together. Tobey was more than delighted to teach Becky some more advanced coding when she'd shown an interest in it, and she returned the favor by teaching him how to make a few simple snacks, like ants-on-a-log and peanut-butter-banana rollups. She even helped him practice a few sports so he would have an easier time during P.E. class.

Unfortunately, Becky quickly realized something she hadn't considered when she'd so graciously suggested Tobey come stay with her family. Anytime a different villain began wrecking the city, she had to come up with some kind of excuse to sneak away so Tobey didn't become suspicious, since it was rare that she could send Captain Huggy Face to fight a villain alone. Sometimes an excuse was easy, like saying she was going to take a quick nap or that she was having trouble focusing on an assignment and needed to lock herself in her room to complete it. Other times she blurted something out like "I have to use the bathroom!" or "I just, um, forgot something!" which was usually met with questions when she returned.

Honestly, she considered it a miracle that Tobey hadn't started accusing her of being WordGirl again. But she decided she shouldn't keep pushing her luck, so she also invited Scoops and Violet to come over most evenings so they could help distract Tobey when she had to do WordGirl business. She was so used to doing everything herself that it felt a little weird to rely on her friends for this, but she really couldn't be more grateful. She almost wished she'd told her friends about her secret identity sooner.

After two months of this routine, Becky was relieved when Mrs. McCallister's job stopped being so demanding and Tobey only needed to come over three times a week instead of every day like before. At first Becky worried that this would come with more robot catastrophes, but surprisingly Tobey still kept quiet. Which was great news for both her and the city.

And so two more months passed like this, with Tobey staying out of trouble and Becky able to live her double-life with relative ease.

Then, something happened that she didn't expect.

---

"It was amazing, Becky!" Tobey was practically bouncing as they walked to the Botsford's home. "I've never, ever been able to even hit a baseball before. But thanks to your help, I got a home run in gym today!"

"That's amazing!" Becky chuckled, bumping their shoulders together playfully. "I wish I'd been there to see it."

"Y-yes!" Tobey cleared his throat, his smiling cheeks just a bit more pink than Becky remembered them being a second ago. "Well, I'll, I'll be sure to have one of my robots record me next time."

"As long as they don't start wrecking the school if you flub it."

"Flub!" Tobey laughed jovially, rubbing the back of his neck as his smile softened. "What a word. You don't hear that one every day."

"Oh, do you need it defined? It means --"

"No, no, I know what it means." He chuckled, shaking his head as he mumbled under his breath, "although you do sound rather cute when you explain what something means."

"What was that? You were mumbling."

"Nothing!" Tobey straightened again, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I won't be destroying anything anytime soon as long as I'm staying at your house. I made an oath to WordGirl, and I intend to keep it!" He chewed at his lip, glancing away as he mumbled again, "Although now I think I'd keep that promise for a very different reason."

"What was that last bit?"

"Not important." He took a breath, facing forwards again as he chewed at his lip. "Um... I did want to discuss something with you, though, if you wouldn't mind?"

"What is it?" Becky tilted her head, blinking at him.

"Well, you see, um..." Tobey rubbed the back of his neck again, his eyes shifting back and forth. "Since I haven't been getting into any trouble lately, I haven't had an opportunity to interact with WordGirl, either. And there's something I desperately need to tell her."

Becky raised a brow in suspicion. This couldn't be good. "Okay... what does this have to do with me?"

"I was wondering if you knew the best way to contact her?" Tobey chuckled weakly, a sheepish smile on his face. "She'd said she knew you quite well, so I assumed you must have some form of communication with her."

"Oh." Becky pursed her lips, staring at his hopeful expression as she considered the request.

He really had been good lately, not deploying his robots for the smallest inconvenience like he used to. She remembered one lunch period when they'd ran out of pudding cups, and she'd actually felt kind of proud of Tobey when he'd calmed himself down from a tantrum. He'd slumped over and humbly asked if he could share some of Becky's pudding, instead of threaten to destroy the lunchroom or break into the pudding factory to get more.

So why did he want to talk to WordGirl? Was it really just for a harmless chat? He did have a crush on her after all, despite how much he claimed they were "mortal enemies." Maybe he just missed her. And, besides, if he tried anything funny she could easily escape.

"Okay... I can tell her to meet with you."

"Yes!" Tobey shot both of his fists into the air as he cheered. "Oh, thank you, Becky! I'll repay you somehow, I swear it! I could build you a robot that does anything your heart desires. Perhaps one that will clean your room for you?"

Becky gasped, staring at him with wide eyes. "You mean it?? That would be so helpful!"

"Well, of c-course!" He laughed, his cheeks turning a bit pink again as he smiled at her. "Anything for you."

Becky creased her brows together. "Huh?"

Tobey jolted, his smile stretching unnaturally. "I mean -- it's the l-least I could do! To repay you! Ha, ha..."

---

After Tobey had went home for the night, Becky waited a half hour before turning into WordGirl and flying over to the McCallister house. She still had her suspicions, but she'd promised he'd be able to talk to her, so she didn't have much choice.

After two knocks on his window, Tobey opened it up with a wide smile. "WordGirl! So nice of you to drop by. Please, come in, come in -- I had some hot chocolate prepared for us while we talk."

"Ooh, really?" WordGirl quickly flew in, snatching up a mug from his desk and taking a big sip. "Aaah, that's good stuff."

"I'm glad you like it." Tobey chuckled, coming over to pick up his own mug. "Becky seemed to like this brand, so I had mother buy a lot of it. I still enjoy tea, but there is something comforting about cocoa."

WordGirl raised a brow at him, setting her mug down so she could regard him more seriously. "I know you didn't invite me over just to chat about hot beverages."

"No, no, of course not." Tobey took a sip of his drink before setting it down as well, his cheeks a little pink like they were walking home from school that day. "You see, there's, there's something I must confess to you, WordGirl."

"Oh, yeah?" She tilted her head, surprised at his expression. He looked rather flustered if she had to put a word to it, what with the way he was avoiding her gaze while playing with his fingers. "And what is that?"

"You see, I..." He laughed softly, covering his eyes with both of his hands. "This is rather embarrassing to admit, but I... I used to have a rather large crush on you."

WordGirl tensed, her own cheeks heating up from his bluntness. And then she cued into a rather important part of his statement. "Used to?"

"Yes." Tobey took a deep breath, lowering his hands and folding them behind his back instead. Though his head was still tilted down, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes avoiding hers shyly. "I know, I know, you must be devastated. To think, you and I could have been a power couple, a dream team! If only you'd realized how I felt sooner and acted upon it. But, alas, in your hesitance someone else has snatched my heart."

WordGirl decided to avoid mentioning how she did know how he felt, and was simply not interested. "Someone else?"

"Yes." Tobey sighed dreamily, bringing his hands up to his cheeks as he smiled. "The most wonderous girl. Top of her class, a voracious hunger for knowledge, so beautiful and graceful, with such a kind heart -- a little messy, perhaps, and not the best artist but, then again, neither am I!" He chuckled, glancing up at WordGirl with a shine in his eyes that she usually only saw when he'd gotten something he wanted. "But the best thing about her by far is that she's... she's actually my friend. We get along so swimmingly now, and she makes me want to be a better person; less destructive. I've even started making more friends because of her, to the point where I actually think I could invite some of them to my house instead of just talk with them at school!"

"Wow..." WordGirl was speechless after that, her jaw just slightly open. He was really serious about this, huh? "So, you're not only over me, you're... turning good?"

"Yes!" Tobey brightened, sliding his hands off of his cheeks to clasp them together in front of his chest instead. "That's right! I don't have much need to be a villain anymore. Now that I have a real friend, the unpleasantness of the world doesn't seem so unbearable. At least not so much that I need to wreak havoc with my robots." His smile lessened, his tone losing some of its excitement. "I guess the only downfall of turning good is that I won't have an excuse to see you anymore. You were my first love, after all, so this has been a difficult decision to make, but... I think it's the right one."

WordGirl honestly felt like she needed to sit down. She never thought that Tobey would just stop being a villain. He called himself an evil boy genius all the time! And not only that, but he no longer had a crush on her? This was incredible! Something she could have only dreamed about!

She laughed quietly, picking up her mug again for another sip of hot chocolate. "Well, whoever this girl is, she must be really special to crack through your evil exterior."

"Oh, she is." Tobey sighed again, closing his eyes as he smiled up at the ceiling. "I'm so lucky to know her, WordGirl. I think... I think I might ask her on a date soon."

"Wow." WordGirl smiled warmly, patting his shoulder encouragingly. "Well, if you think she likes you, too, then go for it!"

"Oh, thank you!" He beamed at her, his cheeks turning pink again. "It's so nice to have your blessing. And, if--if it's not too much of an imposition, maybe you could... put in a good word for me to her?"

"I guess I'll give it a shot." WordGirl started taking a sip of cocoa. "Who is it?"

"You actually know her already! Becky Botsford."

WordGirl choked on her drink and accidentally spit it out, all over Tobey.

"Oh!" He winced in disgust, snapping his fingers so a robot would come over and start toweling him off. "Gross, so gross!"

"Sorry!" WordGirl wiped at her mouth, certain her own cheeks were pink now. "Did you say B-Becky Botsford?"

"Yes." Tobey grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket so he could wipe off his glasses. "We've become quite close! Sharing deep discussions of literature and history together, teaching each other new skills -- I actually hit a home run today thanks to her previous instruction!"

"Th-that's great." WordGirl chewed at her lip, her stomach flipping around several times over. "But, um... are you sure she feels the same way about you?"

"Well, no, I'm not sure," he admitted, glancing away as he put his glasses back onto his face. "But that's why I'd be so grateful if you put in a good word for me! We're so compatible, WordGirl, you have to believe me."

"Um..." WordGirl chewed at her lip, glancing side to side as she thought of how to handle this situation. She liked Tobey just fine, in fact she would go so far as to say he was a friend of hers now. But to date him? She really hadn't thought of him that way, nor was she looking for that kind of relationship right now. She was busy enough as it was. "I don't know if I --"

"Please, WordGirl!" Tobey stepped closer, staring at her with wide, pleading eyes. "Just a good word, nothing more. I know you can't make her date me, or even like me that way, but... but if I could just be given the chance to show her how I feel, prove to her how much I care, demonstrate what I'd do to win her affection -- that's all I ask."

WordGirl gave a wavering hum, now even more conflicted. How could she promise to "put in a good word" for him without giving him too much hope? Oh, why did he have to have a crush on her secret identity; what if he went back to being evil after being rejected!

"I have a question before I agree to this."

"Ask away!" Tobey brightened, his hands still clasped by his chest. "Anything!"

"If I do put in a good word for you, and she still doesn't want to date you, will you go back to wrecking the city?"

"Ah." Tobey actually chuckled a little, placing his hands behind his back again as he took a breath. "A fair question; I'd expect nothing less from you. I won't deny that it will be very tempting to go back to my old ways if she rejects me, but I have thought about this outcome." Taking a deep breath, he stared right into WordGirl's eyes as he spoke, his tone firm and serious, "I decided that as long as she still remains my friend, then I shall not destroy the city. After all, I wouldn't want to lose the relationship we've developed already, and she'd never come to love me if I behave like that again! No, no, I would just try even harder to win her over. No matter how long it takes."

"I see." WordGirl smiled uncomfortably. She supposed it was nice to know that he wouldn't go back to smashing buildings after she rejected him, but she didn't exactly feel relieved at the last part of his statement. "Well... I guess if that's really the case, then..." She sighed, accepting defeat. "I'll put in a good word for you."

Tobey squealed in excitement, rushing over to hug her. "Oh, thank you, WordGirl! Be sure to mention to her how smart and clever I am, and how we could go on marvelous dates thanks to my ingenious robots -- do you want me to write this down for you?"

"No, no, I got it." WordGirl sighed, trying to think of the kindest way she could turn him down as he rambled on and on about how great he was.

---

"Wow." Violet stared at her best friend in shock as they sat in the sandbox together the next day. "Tobey's really going to ask you out?"

"This is juicy news!" Scoops was already scribbling on his notepad. "The first real couple in our class! And we're not even 7th graders yet!"

"I didn't say I was going to agree!!" Becky groaned, covering her slowly-reddening face. "I need your help on how to reject him, you guys."

When she was met with silence, Becky peeked at her friends between her fingers.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." Violet waved her hands nonchalantly, sharing a look with Scoops. "It's just that... we kind of thought you liked him, too."

If Becky's face hadn't been warm before, now it definitely was. "What!? Why would you think that!"

"Well..." Scoops scratched underneath his hat with his trusty pen. "Lately, you guys have been hanging out even when he doesn't need to come to your house. And you should hear how fast and excited you two get when you talk to each other."

"That's just because we're talking about books!" Becky crossed her arms, turning her head away. "We like to discuss and debate things sometimes."

"True." Violet nodded, hesitating before continuing. "But you guys also share your lunches a lot."

Scoops nodded in agreement. "You even voluntarily chose to be his partner in our latest group project."

"That's just because you two always pair up!" Becky huffed. "And, I mean -- we are friends, you know? I just--I don't feel that way about him!"

Violet and Scoops shared another look, increasing Becky's annoyance.

"Okay." Violet smiled weakly. "If you say so."

"Then just tell him you want to stay friends." Scoop shrugged, muttering quietly under his breath, "For now."

"Hey, I heard that!" Becky stood up, certain she was bright red. "Ugh! I'm just going to get this over with and prove to you that I do not like Tobey McCallister!"

Violet and Scoops simply giggled together as she stomped off, heading to where she knew Tobey would be hiding -- the school computer lab. Because as much as he appreciated Becky helping him improve his physical fitness, he still preferred to work on something robotic during recess.

"Tobey!"

"Gah!" Tobey jumped at the computer desk he'd been hunched over, quickly closing out of whatever he'd been doing before turning to her with a nervous smile. "Becky! So nice of you to visit -- did you decide to try playing a video game with me after all?"

"No." Becky huffed, placing her hands on her hips as she took a deep breath. And then stopped, because she realized that she couldn't actually reject him until he asked her out, since she shouldn't technically know that he liked her yet. "I mean, uh... yes! I thought it could be fun..."

Tobey brightened, quickly hopping off of his seat to offer it to her. "Oh, wonderful! There's a lovely little online co-op game that I've been wanting to try called 'Fireboy and Watergirl.' It's rather old, but, I, um, haven't had anyone who would play with me before, so I haven't had the chance to play it -- anyway, I'll get another chair!"

He rushed off before Becky could say anything, so she simply sighed and took a seat. Okay, this wasn't a big deal. She'd play the game with him, then he'd ask her out and she could tell him she wanted to stay friends. Nice and easy; a simple plan.

Except he hadn't asked her out before recess had ended. Nor did he ask her out as they walked to her house, or when they did homework together, or when they started watching a movie and complaining about the plot-holes.

He didn't ask her out the next day, when they worked on their group project during and after school.

He didn't ask her out the day after, when he asked her to show her some more soccer moves to prepare for the upcoming unit.

He didn't even ask her out when he presented her with the room-cleaning robot he'd promised to make her, and she felt like that would have been the perfect opportunity.

It was honestly starting to get to her a little bit. An entire week passed and he'd said nothing, and on top of that she had to endure more teasing from Violet and Scoops as they still insisted that she liked him.

But she didn't like him that way! Sure, she had fun talking with him about movies and books, and he was kind of funny when he started ranting about society's arbitrary rules, and she could always count on him to help her with an assignment, and he was kind of cute when he was so focused on building something--

... Wait. Had she just called Tobey cute?

---

"I can't believe Sir Finvold has to go fight in another battle!" Becky complained to Tobey as they left the library together.

"I know, right?" Tobey sighed, staring forlornly up at the sky. "Can't he and Princess Triana have just one, romance-filled day together?"

"Right??" Becky groaned, crossing her arms as she pouted. "I think they've earned that!" She took a deep breath to try and calm down. "At least Prince VanLandingham is doing well."

"I wouldn't be too sure -- he's preparing to take over as king in just under a year! That's a lot of pressure."

"But he'll be able to do so much good as king!" Becky argued. "He can finally initiate all of those agriculture ideas he has, and you just know he'll really listen to the people of his kingdom!"

"If he doesn't decide to ignore his duties by pigheadedly rushing to the battlefield again --"

"Hey, he outgrew that behavior in book eight!"

"Old habits are hard to break, you know."

Becky scoffed, rolling her eyes before grinning at him. "What, speaking from experience? Is this your way of telling me you're returning to evil?"

Tobey went silent after that, his own smirk dropping into a small smile. "No, no. That life no longer appeals to me, I assure you."

"Oh." Becky felt her own vigor for their mini-argument deflating. "Yeah, that--I, I was just joking. Sorry."

"Mm, no need to apologize." Tobey hummed, turning to her with a brighter expression. "Say, why don't we get some ice cream before heading our separate ways?"

"Sounds great!" Becky smiled back before teasing again, "That way I can formally debate you on Prince VanLandingham's newfound dedication to his role as king."

"Oh, you're on!"

They went right back to playfully bickering as they walked the rest of the way to the ice cream shop, and even kept up the argument inbetween ordering -- which was a little confusing for the servers. They only stopped talking once they sat on a bench outside and took their first licks of ice cream -- rocky road for Becky and mint chocolate chip for Tobey.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Tobey asked, much quieter than just a few moments ago when he'd been recalling all of the bad decisions Prince VanLandingham had made in the past. "Talking together, indulging in a frozen treat."

"I suppose so." Becky licked at her cone, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes. "It'd be even better if you had the correct opinions on the prince."

"Oh, you are truly a delight." Tobey chuckled, his smile only widening as he fully turned to look at her. "I could say the same thing about you, you know?"

"But I said it first," Becky sang, very pleased with herself.

"Yes, that you did." Tobey bit into his ice cream, chewing quietly for a few seconds before he spoke again. "Becky, I... I have something I would like to tell you."

"Hm?" Becky froze, halfway between licking her own ice cream. She quickly pulled her tongue back into her mouth so she could look at him, her heart skipping a beat. Was this the moment? He was finally going to ask her out? Right now? After a month??

"Well, I..." Tobey cleared his throat, his cheeks slowly turning red. His eyes flickered over to her, but it seemed he couldn't keep them on her as he continued. "I wanted you to know how much I've been enjoying our time together. When I first started coming to your house out of necessity, I never anticipated that we'd grow so close. But now I feel very comfortable calling you my friend, and--and I hope you feel comfortable calling me the same?"

Becky chewed at her lip briefly before she nodded, staring avidly at her own ice cream cone. "Yeah. I can very easily call you a friend, Tobey."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Tobey laughed quickly, his hand starting to shake as he held his ice cream. "I mean, I thought so, but when I'd said it just now I realized I didn't actually know if you felt the same or if I was reading too much into things -- anyway!" He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath to calm the shaking before he started again. "I would be very happy continuing on just like this. But... I would be lying if I said that friendship was the only thing I wanted from you."

Becky's stomach flipped around inside her. She ate some more of her ice cream to try and settle it.

"Becky Botsford." Tobey took another breath, turning to look at her. He only continued talking when she met his gaze out of the corner of her own. "I would be so very honored if you would agree to go on a date with me. I already have the perfect one planned out! I'll have one of my robots fly us to New York where we can peruse the gargantuan library as we please, then it's off to Paris for a nice meal --"

"Woah, woah." Becky interrupted him with a laugh, using her ice cream to cover her smile as she glanced away. "That is way too much for a first date."

"It is?" Tobey's smile dropped into a look of pure panic. "S-sorry, just--forget the whole thing, then--"

"Wait." Becky silenced him by reaching for his hand this time; just a gentle touch of her fingertips on the back of his hand, but she could feel how he tensed from the action. "I didn't actually give my answer yet."

"Oh?" His voice cracked, so he quickly cleared his throat and said the same thing, only lower. "I mean, oh?"

Becky giggled, shaking her head lightly. "Oh, indeed." She looked at him then, taking a second to enjoy his disbelieving eyes and his bashful blush. "A date sounds fun."

His already widened eyes opened even more, his jaw dropping in shock. "It... it does?"

Becky nodded.

"It does!" Tobey was so excited that he jumped to his feet, smiling ear to ear as he bounced on the balls of his feet. "It does!! Oh, it does!"

"Yes!" Becky laughed, joining him in standing as she watched him bounce. "But it definitely needs to be more relaxed than what you first had planned. Maybe just a movie to start with?"

"That's perfect!" Tobey stood flat on his feet, holding his ice cream in both of his hands as he stared at her, his smile turning more dopey by the second. "Just the two of us in the dim theater, sharing a popcorn, maybe even holding hands?"

Becky hoped she wasn't blushing as hard as Tobey was. She swallowed before mumbling, "We could even h-hold hands right now, maybe."

"What??" Tobey's voice cracked again. "Do thine ears deceive me? Did you just say --"

"I'm not going to repeat it if you ask."

"Then say no more!" Tobey straightened up, hesitating just a little as he reached for her hand. When she didn't move away, he smiled even wider and confidently took her hand in his, squeezing gently.

Becky felt the need to eat more of her ice cream, hoping it would cool some of the heat she could definitely feel in her face now.

"Oh, Becky," Tobey sighed out her name, hearts in his eyes as he stepped closer. "You've just made me the happiest man alive."

"Yeah?" Becky ducked her head, trying to hide her own smile as she squeezed his hand back. "I feel pretty happy right now, too."

#tobecky #wordgirl #becky botsford #tobey mccallister #annzy writes #this couple was too cute for me not to write for okay

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