#you can’t be a bad boy if you don’t smoke pot

[absurdthirst]

Better Late Than Never {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.9k

Warnings: Young musician Marcus, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, confessions, murders, attempted murder, angst, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, face fucking, mentions of pregnancy/family planning, hostage situation, threats of death, shoots, death

Comments: College is amazing, fun and the best boyfriend, Marcus Pike. You dream of a life together with him. Until you witness a horrible crime and are ripped from the life you know. Years later, a theft at your art gallery brings one Marcus Pike back into your life, revealing secrets and the fact that you never stopped loving him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“And now, Sex Riot!” 

You start screaming as soon as they announce the band, always willing to cheer your college boyfriend and his band on, especially since this is the biggest gig they’ve ever played. “Yay baby! Whoooooo!” You clap and then put your fingers in your mouth to whistle from your spot at the bar as Marcus, Aaron, Dominic and Anthony immediately start playing the first song. Marcus, sweet and kind, looks like every girl's bad boy dream since you added a little bit of your eyeliner and gelled up his hair. Paired with his lucky t-shirt with the pot smoking ‘shroom, ripped jeans and boots, he looks sexy and you can’t wait to take him back to your apartment after it’s over. 

Marcus finds you in the crowd and grins, winking at you as he plays a few chords to warm up his bass guitar and to check he’s in tune. He looks at the lead singer, Aaron, who nods and Marcus waits for the count in from Dom. He starts to play the song, the crowd starting to jam and he feels the thrill of the performance start to hit him. You are there, grinning up at him and he loves how much you support him for every gig.

You beam as they finish the first song. Clapping and cheering as Aaron greets the crowd. You know that when he gets down, he’s going to want a beer and a kiss and you will give them to him. You are completely in love with him and tonight you are going to tell him.

Marcus is sweating when the set ends, blood racing with exhilaration and he grins as he finds You applauding him, his favorite groupie, and he grins when you blow him a kiss. Fuck, he loves you. He’s gonna tell you soon. Never one to hide his emotions, he’s gonna need to blurt out his feelings soon. He takes his final bow with the band and he finds you backstage after you rush back there, his hands finding your waist and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

Kissing Marcus Pike is like breathing, natural and all consuming. You reach up and tangle your fingers into his sweaty, longish curls. Moaning into his mouth, you don’t even hesitate to press yourself against him eagerly. Only breaking away to breathe and then you nudge your nose against his and grin. “You were amazing, baby.” You gush, giggling when you kiss him again.

Marcus slides his hands down to squeeze your ass. “You enjoyed the show?” He asks and you nod, kissing his jaw as you lean against him. “Fuck, I was nervous to sing backup vocals on the new song. Was it good?” He asks, biting his lip when he pulls back to look at you.

“It was so good, baby. I love your voice.” You nod. “I love when you sing to me.” Grinning, you lift a brow. “Sing in the shower.” You tease, knowing he’s only singing in the shower when you aren’t in it with him. Normally if you come over to his place, you might catch it if he was still in the shower.

Marcus blushes, unaware that you’d heard him in the shower. It makes him wonder if you heard what else he does when you aren’t in the mood for him. “Fuck, you wanna get out of here? I’m not really in the mood for drinks. I want to go back to mine and shower…with you.” He adds, biting his lip.

“Your place?” You nod and kiss him one more time before you turn to grab your purse off the bar. You have already paid for your drink so you are ready to go. Even if the rest of the band stays and parties, it just means that you and Marcus will have the apartment to yourselves since he rooms with his band mates. “I think I want to have the bassist from my favorite band in the shower with me.” You send him a hot look. “So I can show him how big of a fan I am.”

Marcus nods, knowing the rest of the band will be okay with packing up the equipment since he’s stayed late every gig this year. He takes your hand, knowing the guys will bring his bass back, and he tells Aaron that he’s taking you home. “Have fun.” Aaron smirks, knowing exactly why you’re leaving so soon but Marcus doesn’t give him a second thought as he escorts you out to his car. Before he opens the door, he grabs you to push you against the passenger side, his lips finding yours under the street light.

In typical collegiate horny fashion, you have no problem making out with your boyfriend of nearly eight months right there. Feeling him start to harden against your hip only has you even more feral for him. One hand in the pocket of his ripped jeans, the other pushes between you so you can squeeze his thick cock, making him groan into your mouth. “Take me home, Marcus.” You demand. “I want to suck your cock and I can’t do that here.”

Marcus groans, hating to pull away from you but your promise to suck him off is never one he would deny you so he pecks your lips and pulls away from you. Shifting to open the door for you, helping you in before he jogs around the car to get into the driver’s seat. “God.” He breathes out as he starts to drive, trying to focus on the road and not the way you’re looking at him as he drives to his place.

You smirk and slide your hand down to his belt buckle. “Keep your eyes on the road, Pike.” You tease playfully as you unbuckle it. “I can’t wait until we get back to your place to feel you.” You’ve never given road head before, but for Marcus, you would do anything.

“Fuckkkk.” Marcus groans, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as you take his cock out of his pants. “Fuck baby. You’re too good to me.” He groans and you lean down to take him into your mouth. The car swerves slightly and he exhales to control himself and the car.

He’s slightly salty with sweat but like always, he tastes amazing. Musky and heady as you roll your tongue over the tip and pull back slightly before taking him deeper into your mouth. Groaning at his pulsing twitch of excitement. He loves when you suck his cock and you know that the added thrill of driving and being slightly exposed is doing something for you so it must be doing something for him. He had always kind of giggled when you watched movies where the guy gets road head, so you are happy you decided you couldn’t wait.

Marcus hisses when you suck him a little harder, taking him deeper and he swears he nearly cums but he reaches down to caress your cheek, “fuck baby. So good to me.” He coos, struggling to concentrate when you’re hollowing your cheeks.

You hum, happy he’s enjoying it. You know when you get back to his place, he will drag you in the shower and by the time you’re clean, he’ll be ready to go again. Your lips touch the fabric of his jeans and you swallow around his thick length.

Marcus can barely keep his eyes open but he forces himself, moaning again when you swallow around him and he reaches down to pat your cheek. “I’m gonna cum.” He warns you, “baby. I’m gonna cum.”

You smirk slightly, almost pulling off of him to remind him that’s the point of sucking his cock. Instead you double down on your effort, wanting him to cum down your throat. Moaning around him as the jerks and pulses of his cock tell you he’s about to bust.

Marcus pants, fucking glad he’s stopping at a traffic light. “Fuck fuck Fuck.” He hisses as he starts to cum, unable to control himself anymore as he starts to cum down your throat.

You swallow as much as you can, some of it spilling out the side of your mouth but you don’t stop swallowing. Not until every drop has been pumped into your mouth and that little sigh he always gives when he’s done comes out of his mouth. Pulling off of him lightly, you lick your lips and grin as you sit up. “How was that for your applause?”

“Fuck baby. I- just wait till we get back to mine.” He promises breathlessly. “I’m gonna - fuck. The things I’m gonna do to you.” He promises, pushing down on the pedal a little too hard when the light turns green. You tuck him away into his pants and he pulls you up to kiss your cheek, “God baby. You’re incredible.” He murmurs, focusing back on the road so he can rush back to his apartment.

You giggle quietly as Marcus races back to his apartment building, nearly squealing his tires in an effort to get there as quickly as possible. Once parked, you jump out of the car and run towards the building. “You have to catch me,” you tease over your shoulder.

Marcus chuckles, shaking his head and he scrambles to lock his car. He rushes after you, running up the stairs and he catches up to you when you are at his front door. “Gotcha.” He growls playfully, spinning you so he can push you against the door, kissing you with a smile, his hands reaching for your hands to lift your arms above your head, restraining your wrists, his hand slides back down to squeeze your tit, his tongue sliding into your mouth.

You moan into him, enjoying the taste and feeling of him pressing against you. “Marcus.” You pant when he slides his tongue out enough to let you talk. “Shower and then I want to go to bed.” You beg, knowing that you want him inside you, touching you when you tell him how you feel.

He pulls away reluctantly, wanting to touch you but he knows he has to open his door. He grabs his keys, fumbling to open the door with your lips on his neck but he manages, swallowing harshly and nearly stumbling when it swings open. “Get naked. Now.” He demands, needing you, to see all of you.

You giggle at his commanding, desperate tone. Knowing that he is close to losing control and with it, leaving some of the sweetness behind. The best thing about Marcus is that he is so kind in and out of bed, but you like when he is a little rough with you. “Yes sir.” You tease, pouting seductively as you toss your purse down and reach to unzip your dress.

Marcus groans, his eyes hungrily eating you up and he bites his lip when you toss your bra aside, stepping out of your panties. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He murmurs, kicking off his boots and he pulls his shirt over his head, pushing his jeans down. His cock is still flaccid but his eyes are drinking you in as he pushes his boxers down. “Come on baby.” He murmurs, reaching for you and he takes your hand to escort you to the bathroom. He grabs his body wash from the shelf and turns on the water.

Marcus has a runners ‘or a swimmer’s body. Long, lean lines and limbs. Still powerful, and you take a moment to appreciate that as you watch him. You know you will have to gather your clothes later, but right now you press yourself up against him when you step into the shower together and wrap your arms around his neck. “I missed you today, baby.” He had a test and then one quick half shift at his job before his gig. His parents were funding his college, which was fantastic, but Marcus was responsible enough to still have a job.

“I missed you too.” Marcus murmurs, his hands caressing your back. “Always miss you.” He promises, leaning back so he can look into your eyes. “You enjoyed the show?” He asks, always anxious that he wasn’t good enough. He plays guitar mainly but when Aaron needed a bass player, he stepped up to learn it.

“You were great.” You promise him, sliding your fingers through his hair and tilting his head back to wet it under the spray so you can wash it for him. “Every note was perfect and you looked so sexy up there.” You coo. “All I could think of was how that is my man and I get to go home with him.”

Marcus smirks, eyes closed as you grab the shampoo and his hands squeeze your ass cheeks as you lather up his locks. “Only you. No one else.” He vows, knowing his band mates take home random women but you’re the one for him. He’s never been the Casanova type, always liking to be with one woman, to have a relationship and a deeper connection than a one night stand. You rinse his hair and he leans down to kiss you again, unable to keep away from you.

"Mmmmmm." You smile against his lips and open for him, moaning softly when his tongue slides against yours and he shuffles to press you back against the shower wall. You never seem to get enough of him and you don't think. you ever will. You love him. You have decided that you want to be with him forever and you pull back to smile at him softly. "Only you." You promise back.

Marcus kisses you softly, shifting to kneel down in the shower and he grabs your leg, kissing your knee before he lifts it onto his shoulder. His eyes on you as he leans forward to nudge your mound, his tongue coming out to slide through your folds. He loves how you taste and he wants you to cum on his tongue before he fucks you in his bed.

“Marcus!” You cry out, slapping your hand against the wall and your eyes roll back in your head. Marcus’s tongue is always eager, always seemingly perfect as it carves a path through your folds and flicks over your clit. He sucks it into his mouth and hums, which always makes you moan softly. 

His hands slide up to squeeze your tits, the water flowing over his back and he loves the way you moan his name. He could listen to that for the rest of his life. His hands caress and squeeze and pinch while his tongue dips back down to push inside of you with a groan.

Tilting your head up, you pant his name again, your thigh shaking and barely supporting you without his help to keep you pinned against the wall. “Oh fuck, Marcus.” You chant quietly. “Baby, you’re so good. Fuck, you’re so good.” 

Marcus desperately needs you to cum, his tongue diving deep as his nose presses against your clit. His hands slide down to squeeze your ass, tilting your hips so his tongue can push deeper inside of you.

“Oh shit!” Your body bucks and you cry out wordlessly when your orgasm hits you. Pleasure and heat washing over you in successive waves as he keeps pressing deeper. Tongue curling and prodding inside you and his nose is the perfect pressure against your clit.

He works you through it, his tongue lapping up every drop of your essence and he groans, pulling back to look up at you. Hair slicked back and eyes dark. He shifts to stand up after lowering your leg and he leans in to kiss you again, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

When he pulls back, you giggle quietly. “So glad I have a boyfriend who loves to eat pussy.”

You hum, reaching for the body wash and his shower mitts. Lathering them up quickly, you start to wash his body, eager to get him into bed.

Marcus lets you wash him then he returns the favor, his hands everywhere as he washes you and he groans when your fingers wrap around his hard cock. “So impatient for me.” He jokes softly, rinsing you off. “You wanna come to my bed?” He asks, kissing along your neck.

“Fuck yes.” You pant, stroking his cock with the quick, harsh motion that he enjoys. “I need you inside me, baby. Right now.” You beg.

Marcus reaches behind you to turn off the water, he grabs the towel and wraps it around you, grabbing another one for himself to dry off and then he’s dragging you into his bedroom. He pushes you onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kneels between your thighs, “wanna cum inside of you.” He murmurs, wanting to fill you up. He usually pulls out to be safe despite your birth control but tonight he wants to feel your walls pulsing around him when he cums.

You moan softly, loving the idea. Nodding, you reach up to caress his chest. “I want that baby, I’m safe.” You promise him, also keeping track of your cycle as well as your birth control. “Fill me up, I want to feel it.” You coo, enjoying the low moan as he pushes his cock through your folds and starts to break into you as he rocks his hips forward to kiss you.

Marcus groans into your mouth as you stretch to take him. You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking wet and tight. He closes his eyes as he pushes until he’s inside of you fully. “Fuck, baby girl. I - I love how you feel around me.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck as he gives you a moment.

You close your eyes, a small smile on your face as your fingers tangle into his hair. “I love you.” You murmur softly, knowing that he will hear you since his ear is right next to your lips. It’s the right moment, the perfect moment to tell him how you feel. “I love you, Marcus.”

Marcus pulls back to look at you, eyes wide. “I love you too. Fuck, I love you so much baby.” He promises. His hips start to move as he works his cock in and out of you. “I love you. I love you.” He repeats over and over between kisses to your skin.

You moan quietly as the two of you take sex and turn it to love making. Soft and sweet as he rocks into you and whispers words of love and praise. It makes you feel cherished, you know that he’s not just saying that because you did. Not because he’s inside you. This man loves you and it makes happy tears fill your eyes as you hold him tight.

He moves slow, in no rush despite the frenzy earlier. He wants you to enjoy every second of this. His hand sliding up to squeeze your breast as he shifts his weight onto one elbow so he can touch you. There’s no more words, just feelings as he rocks into you, your legs lifting higher up on his hips.

Marcus can barely breathe, let alone speak. He grunts, sighs, and leans in to press his lips to yours. His tongue sliding into your mouth to languidly kiss you. He can’t believe how lucky he is that you are his and he is yours. Never did he imagine he’d find the love of his life so soon in college but he’s glad he did. He wants to keep you forever. His hand shifts from your breast and slides down between you so he can rub your clit.

“Oh God, Marcus.” You moan, rocking your hips up to meet his hand and thrusts. “So good baby, fuck, I love you so much.” You kiss and suck on his neck, leaving a mark that you are sure will be visible for days, but you have to claim him as yours. “Gonna cum baby.”

Your gasp has him pushing deeper inside of you, desperate for you to cum. He keeps the same rhythm that has you gasping and his fingers rub your clit. "Cum for me, love. Cum for me." He pleads, wanting to feel it and his own orgasm is imminent.

You keen when you start to come apart. Shaking as your cunt locks down around him on the next thrust and you soak him in waves of your fluids. Chanting his name as if it’s the only word in the world. Knowing that you want your future to be with him as he holds you close.

"Fuck. Yes baby. Oh God." Marcus pants when you clamp down on him, soaking him, and he bites his lip, thrusting a little faster as he seeks his own orgasm. He should last, make you cum again, but your confession has him on edge. He groans and buries his face in your neck, his cock buried deep as he cums, painting your walls with his seed.

“Fuck baby.” You whimper, closing your eyes in pure bliss when you feel him flood your womb. It’s crazy, stupid and not something you need, but for a brief second you wish he was getting you pregnant. That you were going to have his baby. It’s insane to think about and you quickly push it away. “I love you.” You whisper again, happy you can say it out loud now.

“I love you.” He murmurs, shifting to kiss you again while his cock pulses inside of you. He feels like he’s on fire and he can’t seem to get close enough to you. You’re everything to him and he knows he’s going to marry you one day. You are the rest of his life. He pulls out of you and shifts onto his back, bringing you into his chest. “I - I wrote a song for you.” He whispers, heart pounding still from both his orgasm and nerves.

Your head shoots up and you look at him in surprise. “You did?” Your hand that is on his chest seems to curl in, wanting to hold onto him. “What’s it about, sing it to me.” You demand, wanting to know what sort of song he would write for you.

Marcus shifts, grabbing the guitar he has propped up in the corner and he plucks the strings for a moment to make sure it’s in tune. He exhales and looks at you, “I love you baby.” He promises and starts to play, his eyes closed as he concentrates and the lyrics begin a few moments later.

Sitting up, you don’t bother to cover your breasts, knowing that it doesn’t matter when it’s the two of you. You listen, with your heart in your eyes and absorb the words that he has created for you. Falling in love with him a little more with every word.

He finishes the song, his hand pausing over the strings as he takes a moment before he looks up to see your reaction. You have tears in your eyes and he worries you didn’t enjoy it. “I- was it - do you like it?” He asks, voice wavering with his nerves.

Surging forward, the covers fall off your lap. Launching yourself at him and trapping his guitar between you so you can press your lips to his desperately. “I loved it.” You promise, giggling happily, almost drunk off the feeling of being in love with him. “I love you. Oh god, you have to make a tape of it for me, so I can always have it.”

Marcus smiles against your lips, so relieved and happy you loved it. “Of course, baby. I’ll make you a tape.” He promises, shifting back so he can set the guitar back on the stand and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. “I love you.” He murmurs, burying his nose in your hair to breathe you in.

Marcus curls around you, his face buried in your neck, and he closes his eyes. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep, loving how warm you are against him and he dreams of a life together. Of having kids with you, a home, a dog. The whole nine yards.

****

“Yeah, you know Marcus. He’s great.” You tuck your phone against your shoulder as you look through the rack of dresses. He had told you that he wanted to talk you out somewhere special this weekend and to make sure that you were dressed fancy. Well, as fancy as college kids get, but you are excited. “He probably wants to celebrate saying ‘I love you’, and that’s so fucking sweet. I’m telling you girl, I’m so fucking lucky.”

He steps into the store, glancing around at the crowd and he knows that she’s in the changing room. Her location said so. He steps through the racks, making his way into the ladies changing room and pulls out the gun with the silencer. When she steps out to look in the mirror, he wastes no time shooting her, twice in the chest, once in the head. So quick she barely even registers his presence and he grabs the sunglasses and hat from his jacket, turning it inside out to change his clothing and that’s when you step out. You see her on the floor, blood pouring from her and you look up at the man, his face visible after taking off his hoodie and you scream. He raises the gun, about to shoot you for being a witness but then he hears the commotion of people hearing your scream and he needs to get out of the store before the doors are locked. He rushes off and escapes through the crowds who are panicking when they heard your scream. He can’t risk being caught. He won’t get paid. He memorizes your face and knows he has to find you. He can’t be tied to the crime if there are no witnesses.

****

“I didn’t see where he went. No, I didn’t know him. I didn’t know her.” You tell the detectives again. “But I am telling you that it was this man.” You point to the photo you had picked out of the line up they had given you. It’s been hours, taken down to the station when the police had arrived, you had been shown into the shabby, dreary room and given a single cup of disgusting coffee. “Can I leave now? I just want to call my boyfriend and go home.”

The officers glance at each other, knowing there’s nothing more you can do since you have told them the man who did it. “Fine. You can go.” They say, “but call us if you remember anything else.” He hands you his card and you nod, making your way out of the station. Once you’re on the road, you decide to head straight over to Marcus’s place and when you’re on the back road, you wince when you see the bright lights from the car behind you.

“Go around me, asshole.” You huff under your breath and tap your brakes twice. The car gets closer and then back off, blinding you again and making you hiss. The guy is riding your ass and it’s pissing you off. “Fucking pass me!” You yell, happy when the car revs its engine and you think he’s going to pass. Until your car jolts forward and you realize the crazy bastard has hit you. “What the fuck!”

He revs his engine again, hitting your car once more and you cry out, starting to get scared. His lights are still bright in your rear view mirror and he hits you again, making you skid as you lose control of the car.

Your car spins into the guardrail and the old metal gives way, sending your car down into the embankment of the tiny creek you had been about to cross. Screaming, you see your life flash before your eyes and then nothing but blackness.

He pulls over, wanting to check that you’re dead but just as he starts to pull over, there’s a car coming towards him who pulls over to help you. He speeds off, knowing he can’t risk getting out and he is certain that you’re dead. You have to be. The stranger saw everything and manages to get the plate, writing it on their hand before they get out to see if you’re alive. Thankfully, they have a cell phone and manage to call 911 when they find you unconscious and bleeding, the airbags deployed.

****

“I don’t understand.” Marcus frowns as he looks at his phone, his call going straight to voicemail again. He’s been trying to call you all night and you aren’t answering. He’s worried, you had plans to meet up for dinner tonight and you never showed or messaged him.

“She’s gonna be okay, man. Her phone probably died. She doesn’t charge it for days.” He reminds Marcus who nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. True.” He sighs and glances out of the window, his heart pounding as he imagines all the bad things that could’ve possibly happened to you and he decides to phone the police if you aren’t here or call him within the hour.

****

The first thing you see when you blink is doctors hovering over you. Your name is called and your brow scrunches. “Wha-what happened?” You groan and immediately another face appears in front of you. The detective that you had seen just a few minutes ago at the police station. “What- you?”

The detective shakes his head, “I feared something like this would happen.” He says your name and you frown in confusion at the look on his face. “The man we are looking for is in a notorious crime circle. We worry that he will find you again and kill you because you’re the only witness to his crime. We need to put you into witness protection.”

"What? No, no, I have a date with my boyfriend." You blurt out, not even absorbing what the detective is telling you. "We just said 'I love you'. He's going to be so worried about me. Can I call Marcus? I need to call Marcus."

The detective shakes his head, “I’m sorry. No. We don’t know if they are tapping the lines. Your boyfriend might be in danger and it’s best if he doesn’t know anything about what happened. You need to move. We will arrange everything.” The detective promises, “this is for your safety. Your life is in danger. As soon as we catch him and you testify, he’s in jail. You can’t risk your life, sweetheart.”

You argue with the detective for an hour, until he shows you the pictures of the people the man after you had murdered. Gruesome photos, including a wife and daughter. That’s when you agree and reluctantly check out against medical advice and let the detective lead you away.

****

It’s been days since Marcus heard from you. He’s frantic, your parents don’t know where you are. No one seems to know and the police are dismissing him, saying you’ve likely run off. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s not like that.” He argued but they wouldn’t file a missing person report. He is exhausted, hasn’t slept, and he’s been driving around trying to find you but your apartment is how you left it and your roommate is worried too.

“Marcus, I don’t know what the hell is going on.” Tisha opens the door and lets him in. “All of her stuff is here, she’s not in class, her job hasn’t heard from her. It’s like she’s dropped off the face of the planet.” She rubs her hands over her arms. “I’m worried, especially after that murder at the outlet.”

“I don’t know. She - you know she isn’t like this. I don’t understand. I’m terrified. She’s - fuck - I don’t know what to do.” He sits down, head in his hands as he struggles to figure out what to do. He’s been driving around town for days trying to find you. He’s called everyone you know. No one has seen you. It’s like you’ve disappeared from the planet and his heart breaks when he wonders if you’ve left him, decided you didn’t love him or something changed within you and you’ve left him.

****

Fifteen Years Later:

  Living under a new name, having a new life, was supposed to make your life easy. You chew your lip as you sit in your office and wait. The art business was supposed to be low key. Under the radar. You are just a small gallery, although you carried some big name pieces, you are never pictured on the website. Still living under an alias, you know your identity will hold up under light scrutiny, but it still makes you nervous. It’s been a long time, nearly a year, since your handler had called you, letting you know there still is a vague contract out on your life from the asshole you had put behind bars so long ago.

****

“Pike.” Marcus answers his phone, rubbing his forehead as he stares at the file. 

“Sir, there’s been another robbery.” His junior agent tells him and he sighs, “I’ll be right there. Send me the address.” He says and hangs up,getting his keys and he’s soon in the car driving to the address he was texted. 

When he arrives, the police are already there and he introduces himself to the detective. “The gallery manager is right through here.” The detective says and Marcus makes his way into the gallery. When the officer says the alias name, Marcus looks at you and his jaw drops, your real name coming out of his mouth..

Your name, your real name, hasn’t been said in so long that it takes you a moment to respond. The ghost from your past, the man you thought you would never see again and always regretted that, stands in front of you looking like he’s seen his own ghost. Maybe he has. You panic and shake your head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know that person.” You tell him, praying he doesn’t cause a scene, although you know you have to call Marshal Smith now that your identity has been blown. Your life will be completely uprooted and you had liked working in the art gallery. You tell him your cover name, the one you’ve lived with for the past fifteen years.

Marcus stares at you, knowing he’s not mistaking your face. You’re older, more refined, but he’d know those eyes anywhere. “I- no. No. It’s - it’s been fifteen years. It’s you.” He insists, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong person.” You tell him again, wondering how the hell sweet Marcus Pike became an FBI agent. You repeat your new name again for him with a tolerant smile. “Now, what questions do you have for me agent…Pike, was it?”

He shakes his head again, “no. No. I- fuck. It’s you. It’s gotta be you.” He chokes, getting frustrated. “I thought - I thought you left me. Fuck. I - I can’t do this.” He says to his partner and he rushes out of the gallery.

Your heart breaks, the look on his face was one of pure distress and you swallow harshly. “Let me go see if I can clear this up.” You tell the other agent and the detective. You can see they are curious and you know that it doesn’t matter now. Your life here is over. You hurry after Marcus and see him pacing outside. “Marcus!”

He turns away from you, “don’t. Don’t come near me.” He growls, angry with you. “Don’t - you left. You left me. Don’t - don’t play dumb. I’m not interested in your bullshit answers, okay? The change of name. Don’t - you left me. You left town. Disappeared. And now you want to pretend you’re not who I know you to be?”

He rails at you and you close your eyes at the anguish in his voice. The pain, the fear, the heartbreak of those early years coming back to you quickly. “I- I didn’t want to-“ you start to explain but he cuts you off. 

“I don’t want to hear it! You left without the decency to break it off. I thought you were dead.” He is nearly shouting out on the street next to a drab government vehicle and you huff. 

“I am in WitSec, Marcus!”

His eyes widen in shock, “what? You- when-? I- shit. When did you- how?” He stammers, trying to figure out what the hell happened and he needs answers. Now. The years of wondering what happened to you, what he did wrong, what he could’ve done differently.

Glancing around nervously, you lower your voice. “The day I disappeared, I saw something I shouldn’t have.” You explain, quickly telling him about the murder you had walked in on. 

Marcus is shocked. You witnessed a murder. The murder that happened at the outlet mall. You called your friend - the last person you spoke to - to talk about going out for dinner with Marcus. It makes sense. It fits. Your eyes aren’t lying to him. “I- shit. Seriously?” He asks breathlessly and you nod. He knows how the system works, and dealt with enough witnesses to know you’ll be sent across the country. “I won’t tell anyone. No one will know that you’re here. I promise.

You don’t have to tell the Marshal dealing with your case.”

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but you like this life here. And it’s such a relief to know that someone knows who you really are. You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach because it’s Marcus. You’ve never stopped thinking about him. “You can’t use that name.” You caution him. “There’s still a contract out for my life.” You reveal. “It’s dormant, but only because there’s nothing for them to use to find me.”

Marcus nods, saying the fake name and it’s weird, it doesn’t feel right when he rolls it around his tongue. “I - I don't want you to have to uproot your life again. God, it’s been fifteen years. I- I never stopped wondering what happened to you.” He promises. “Do you- uh, do you want to maybe get dinner? Catch up?”

You freeze for a moment, surprised by the offer and find yourself nodding. “Sure.” You bite your lip. “But it should be at my place. Just in case.” You know that Roberta had an old photo of you and Marcus together from college and Marcus has obviously matured since then, but you can’t risk it. You glance around the street, a nervous habit you’ve picked up since being in WitSec, and then back at him. “Tonight? Or…uh, whenever you want.” You offer. “You have a life, I’m sure.”

Marcus chuckles humorlessly, “not so much. I- I was engaged and she - well, it’s a long story but she went off with her partner. She was a fed too.” He explains, biting his lip as he glances around, his dark eyes meeting yours again. “Tonight.” He nods, not wanting to miss out on catching up. He doesn’t want to waste a second in case you disappear again. “You wanna, uh, write down your address? I can bring take out.” He offers, grabbing his notepad.

“Sure.” You take the notepad from him and write down your address and hand it back to him. “Seven?” You ask and he nods. “So, I’m going to go back in there and talk to your partner. Tell him that you are upset you mistook me for someone else. Is that okay?”

Marcus nods, tucking the notepad back into his jacket and he swallows harshly, the sun hitting you and God, you haven’t changed. Not really. Still so goddamn beautiful. He clears his throat and gestures for you to go back inside. “I’ll tell him. We still need your story about the stolen painting.” He reminds you, stepping inside after you. “Sorry man-” He slaps his partner on the arm, “I thought she was some girl I knew in college. She disappeared and it was a shock. Not her. Just me being a dumb prick.” He jokes and his partner narrows his eyes but accepts the excuse. “So…you wanna tell us about the painting?”

Being involved with the US Marshals, you’ve learned to give a lot of detail, knowing any little thing can be important. You go through the story and try to be as clear as possible, knowing the security footage will be watched as well.

Marcus watches his partner jot down your story and eventually it’s time to go. He doesn’t mention meeting you at seven but nods your way so you know he will be there. He hopes you still like Chinese food. He leaves with your face burned behind his eyes and he’s soon pulling up outside your house, Chinese food in hand when he rings the doorbell.

You hurry towards the door, not calling out because of habit and checking the peep hole before opening. “Marcus.” You didn’t realize how nervous you were until you are looking at the man you had to leave behind so many years ago. Smiling slightly, you open the door. “Come in, you found the apartment alright?”

Marcus nods, “it’s tucked back here but I found it. I’m surprised they didn’t put you in a more secure building. Like a high risk with a security guard and coded doors.” Marcus says and you shrug, “they did at first but now…you know how long it’s been.” Marcus nods, his heart twisting with that realization. “I got you egg rolls and orange chicken. I hope you still like that.”

“That’s perfect.” You lock the door behind him and lead him back into the apartment. “Can I get you something to drink?” You ask. “I have beer, water, some wine, tea. Whatever you like.” You’re rambling, but that’s because you are nervous.

"Uh, a beer sounds good." He says, setting the bag down on the counter. God, it's awkward and he hates it. It used to be so easy with you. He used to spend all his time with you and now, it's like starting all over again even though he knows so many intimate details about you. "Plates?" He asks and you point to the cabinet while you get a couple of beers out of the fridge. He grabs the plates and sets them on the counter then gets the containers from the bag.

“So, what do you want to know?” You ask, opening the bottles and handing him one. You know he must have a million questions and it’s fair. You disappeared out of his life without a word and the thought that this might be closure for him runs through your mind.

“Everything.” He says, his eyes widening a little as he stares at you. “I want to know what you’ve been up to.” He urges and takes a sip of his beer. “It’s been so long and you just disappeared.”

“When I witnessed the murder, I was in denial about the danger I was in.” You admit. “I had left the police station and was driving to your apartment when that bastard ran me off the road. I woke up in the hospital and the detective insisted I needed protection.” You bite your lip. “They told me it was better that no one knows. That Roberta was known to use family and friends to flush out his targets. I couldn’t put you in danger. So they moved me across the country and created a new life for me.”

Marcus knows how it works, understands now how criminals work and operate, how they find people. He shudders when he imagines what could've happened if they had found you. You hand him a fork and spoon and he opens the containers of food so you can serve it up. "I - I get it but - at that time...I went out of my mind trying to find you. I tried everyone you knew, your parents...do they know?"

You bite your lip. “I sent them an anonymous post card, about ten years ago.” You admit quietly. “Just something so they would know, hopefully, that I was safe. I know I broke their hearts, but the Marshall’s are incredibly strict. Especially since Roberta is coming up for some new trial soon.”

Marcus nods, “I moved shortly after you went missing. Ended up in the academy after graduating and I couldn’t sleep. Spent so many nights wondering what happened to you. Even looked you up in the system when I could. I missed you so much. My best friend was gone all of a sudden.”

“Marcus, I-“ you sigh softly and if you had felt like you could, you would reach out and touch his hand. “I’m so sorry. I spent so long - years - wishing I could call you. To explain. Wondering how you were.” Your apology doesn’t seem like it’s enough, but it’s all you can give him. “It took me a long time to get over you, to stop mourning what might have been.”

He sighs, knowing exactly what you mean. He mourned the loss of you, his future with you, for far too long. “I- I ended up getting married. About eight years ago. It didn’t - we got divorced. She didn’t want to compete with the ghost of you.” He admits softly, averting his eyes from yours.

“I’m so sorry.” Your heart sinks, twists and aches in a way that is ridiculous. You left. Of course Marcus had moved on, and the rational side of you wanted him to. To hear that he had, and not in a way that turned out happily, it makes you sad. “Oh Marcus, I’m so sorry.” You murmur quietly, “maybe it would have been better if he had just killed me. Then you, my parents, none of you would have spent so long wondering.”

Marcus chokes on the sip of beer he drank, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. No. I - how could you say that? I would rather you be alive than me have closure. I have closure now and you’re alive. Never say that.” He almost growls, pissed off at you for even thinking it. “Did you…have you got anyone?”

You snort and shake your head. “How?” You ask, motioning around to your apartment. “I live a life that - while comfortable - isn’t mine. No one knows who I really am. I can’t make too close of friends, because I might accidentally reveal something from my real past. A lover? For more than a night or two? No. I couldn’t lie to them. My last real relationship was you.”

He hates that you’ve been alone but he’s also secretly pleased that there’s been no one since. He still feels that flutter in his heart when he looks at you. “I have missed you so much, baby.” He murmurs, setting his fork down so he can look at you properly, for the first time in fifteen years, he takes in every detail.

You smile sadly and nod. “I’ve missed you too, Marcus. I promise you.” You huff and send him a slightly embarrassed look. “I was halfway convinced I was going to marry you after we graduated. Have babies and you and your band were gonna be famous while I designed all your merch. It was my little daydream for a long time.” You admit. “Never thought you would become a Fed.”

Marcus smiles sadly back at you, reaching for your hand. “God…I- I didn’t - I would’ve taken that life in a heartbeat. I still would. I was- shit - I was gonna ask you to marry me. When I graduated. I was gonna ask you.”

It’s so bittersweet to think about that you didn’t even catch where he said he still would. Caught up in your fantasies that had kept you sane while you were scared and alone, tears start to trail down your cheeks. You squeeze his hand and try not to sob.

Marcus shifts closer, standing up so he can wrap his arms around you. “It’s okay baby. It’s okay.” He promises, leaning in to kiss your hair. “It’s okay.” His own eyes sting with tears as he mourns the years he lost thinking you were dead.

You lean into his embrace and inhale the scent of him. The cologne has changed, matured, but the baseline is still Marcus. “I- I missed you so much.” You tell him. “I wanted to bring you. Wanted to see if you would come with me, but I couldn’t.”

“I know.” He does know. Only spouses and children. Not boyfriends. He sighs and breathes you in, “I don’t want to miss you again. Can we start again? As friends?” He asks, knowing he can’t push for more after you’ve had such a trauma and he has his own baggage he needs to divulge at some point.

Friends. You don’t want to be his friend but you nod as you pull back. “Friends.” You murmur with a small smile. “Friends should eat.” You need a moment where he’s not touching you so you can remind yourself that he’s not yours anymore. Despite the fact that you still dream about him, the boy you had loved is not the man in front of you. “And as your friend, I have to tell you that you are still gorgeous. I don’t know how you became better looking, but you have.”

Marcus can’t help it. He blushes and you giggle at the way he flushes. “You, uh, you look way better. Like - God, you look gorgeous. Always were but you seem more refined, grown up. You’re gorgeous, baby.” He promises and he settles back down at the counter so he can continue eating.

You finish your meal, sighing happily when then put your fork down and pick up your beer to finish the last swallow. “It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a dinner like that.” You admit, standing so you can start to clean up. “You mentioned an ex wife and an ex fiancée, so anything else going on in your love life?” You ask causally. Just because you hadn’t moved on didn’t mean Marcus hadn’t. And if you were going to be his friend, you should know.

“It’s complicated. I haven’t been seeing anyone since Teresa. She’s my ex. She, uh, I proposed to her and then she dumped me for her partner. She’s a fed too. It set me back so I have been just enjoying my alone time recently. No one - no one seems to capture my attention.” He says, looking up at you.

“Someone will.” You predict. “I bet you are still a complete gentleman, until….” You bite your lip, aware making sexual comments is well beyond appropriate. “Until it’s time not to be.” You finish lamely and turn around to load the dishwasher.

Marcus bites his lip, remembering all the times you used to moan beneath him. He was a fumbling college kid then. He knows what he’s doing now. He wonders if you’d like his matured sexuality. “You know me too well.” He chuckles softly and stands to help you when the doorbell rings.

You turn towards the door, a flash of fear washing over your face. That same dread you get every time the doorbell rings when you aren’t expecting someone. “I’m not expecting anyone.” You tell him, moving towards the corner of the dining room where you keep a baseball bat.

Marcus shakes his head, pushing you back and reaching under his jacket in habit until he realizes he locked his weapon in his glove box. He reaches for the baseball bat and takes it from you, slowly inching towards the door and opening it. He prepares to swing but there’s no one there. He steps into the hallway and sees no one around and he turns to look at you. “No one here.” He says, frowning until he sees the note on the door.

Marcus brings the note taped to the door into the apartment and your heart drops. It’s not a letter from the building, and instinctively you know it’s trouble. “Shit.” You hiss, nearly in tears. “I- open it.” You ask Marcus. “What does it say?”

He walks in and locks the door behind him, setting the bat down so he can open the note. His eyes scan it first and he hisses in frustration. “It says…it says ‘you can’t hide forever. We know where you are. The appeal is coming and you won’t testify again. We will make sure of it’.” Marcus finishes, his blood boiling that someone has put this on your door.

“Oh God.” Your stomach flips and you swear you are about to lose your dinner. “He’s found me. I- I have to call the Marshall.” Your mind whirls and the protocols that have been drilled into your head come to mind. “I’m sorry.” For a moment you pause, hating that you had found Marcus again, only to be pulled away again. You will be relocated, disappear again and forced to live another life completely different from this one. “I wish- I wish things were different.”

Marcus shakes his head, starting to panic at the thought of losing you again. “He only knows that you live here. Take time off of work. Come- come live with me. I can protect you. He doesn’t know where I am. Please, baby. I- I don’t want to lose you again.” He knows you’d be safer moving across the country again but his selfish need to have you back in his life makes him give you a desperate plea to stay with him.

“I- wha-I- what?” You shake your head. “Marcus, I can’t- I can’t put you in danger. Roberta had connections. I- I should have called the Marshal just as soon as you recognized me.” You admit quietly. You had selfishly wanted to spend a little bit of time with him. “I would never forgive myself if you got hurt because of me.”

Marcus shakes his head, “no. I’m a goddamn fed sweetheart. I can protect you. Let me protect you.I don’t - I can’t lose you again.” He says, “I can keep you safe.”

Your heart melts and you look down at the letter. “We will need to call the Marshal assigned to my case.”

Marcus nods, heart sinking that you’re going to leave again. He swallows harshly, feeling the second chance at possibly being with you slip away and it kills him. He hates it. “Uh, yeah. I’ll, um, give you some privacy. Where’s your bathroom?” He asks, needing to pee.

You show him towards the bathroom and pull out your phone to call the number you have. Taking a deep breath, you hope they will let Marcus watch over you. Your heart beats wildly as the phone rings.

Marcus stares in the mirror, his eyes wide as he thinks about losing you again. He barely survived the first time he lost you. He isn’t sure he can do it again. He swallows harshly and washes his hands, making his way back into the living room to hear what the marshal says.

“Marcus Pike. Yes- yes I know that is my old boyfriend.” You repeat on the phone to Marshal Scott. “He’s an FBI agent. He’s working on a break in at my art gallery.” You pause, your eyes sliding to Marcus as he walks back in the room. “No, no the break in was about a painting. I didn’t think I needed to call you. Yes.” You sigh. “I know I should have called you when he recognized me, but I didn’t. I just- I wanted to be me for a little bit.”

Marcus leans against your kitchen counter, not wanting to interrupt and he’s nervous about the answer. He knows how this works and he is worried about you disappearing and him never seeing you again, just like before.

“No. No, don’t do that.” You have been watching Marcus this entire time and you decide you can’t leave. Scott wants to relocate you again, like you had expected. “He’s an FBI agent. He said I could stay at his place.” That’s not exactly what Marcus had said, but your improvising. “Yes, I’m declining a relocate.” Another long pause while Scott reminds you exactly what Roberta had ordered for you. “Yes, I know. I know I’m risking my life.” You sigh and relax. “I’ll call you with the details.”

Marcus relaxes slightly, glad that you aren’t relocating yet. The marshal could change his mind but he agrees to it for now. You hang up the phone and Marcus offers you a reassuring smile. “You wanna come to mine tonight or tomorrow?”

“Can we go tonight?” You ask quietly. “I don’t like the idea they know where I am.” You shiver slightly and look towards your windows, thankfully already shut and covered. “I’m sorry. I should have asked if it was okay first.”

Marcus nods, stepping closer to you to place his hand on your upper arm. “Of course we can.” He assures you, knowing you have to be scared after so long on the run. “Come on baby, go pack what you need. I can always come back with you if you need something you forget.”

You nod and quickly make your way into the bedroom so you can pack a bag. You’ll have to close the gallery, but that has already been planned because of the break in. At your underwear drawer, you bite your lip, chastising yourself as you throw some lingerie in it. Knowing that it won’t be used, but you can’t help but want to feel a little sexy around the love of your life.

When you come back out, Marcus is already checking the vicinity outside of your window, discreetly looking for any out of place cars or people. “I think it’s clear but you need to stay close to me. We will get your car tomorrow, it needs to be checked and I don’t want them to have put a tracker on it and us not notice and lead them right to you.” He explains and you nod. “You got everything?” He asks. You nod again and he gestures for you to shift behind him. “Stay five paces behind me.”

Your eyes widen at how direct and professional he is. It’s a turn on if you are honest and he transforms from the sweet man you have loved since you were twenty, to a steely eyed agent in front of your eyes. Staying five steps behind him, you stop when he stops and watch as he scans the parking lot before hustling you to his car.

Marcus pushes you into his car and grabs your bag to put it in the trunk before he makes his way to the driver's side. He gets in and checks his surroundings before he’s pulling away from your apartment complex. “I’ll take the long way home. Looping around just in case someone follows.” He explains and he turns the radio off, wanting to concentrate. “How many times have you moved?” He asks? Wanting to know.

“Four.” You admit, nervously glancing behind you every twenty seconds. “They found me once right after they arrested Roberta. Then they followed the agents when I testified. And once more when an old high school friend ended up being in the same town.” You bite your lip. “When they followed the agents, they killed them.” You don’t want that to happen to Marcus. “Maybe it’s better if you put me in a hotel.”

Marcus shakes his head, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “No. No. I’m not sending you off. I- I can’t do that. I can’t - I’d never see you again. I know I’m being selfish but I can keep you safe. You just have to listen to everything I tell you.” He says, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Listening to him ramble, you realize how much your disappearance affected him. “I’m so sorry.” You murmur quietly, wanting to reach out and touch him, but it would distract him. “Am I-“ you break off and then take a breath. “Why did you go into the FBI, Marc?” You ask softly. You don’t want to assume that you are the reason that he changed his career goals, but it was a bit of a stretch from music and business - to appease his parents - to being an FBI agent.

Marcus sighs, biting his lip for a moment before he responds back to you. “I- I was so desperate to find you when you disappeared. Just to know what happened. If you were dead or if I did something wrong. I wanted to have closure so I figured that becoming a cop would get me access but I decided to go further and become a fed. Went to Quantico and even when I graduated and started my first job, I couldn’t find you in the system. Business wasn’t going to get me answers. Music certainly wasn’t.”

“I - I’m so sorry.” You can never apologize enough, and you can only hope that his job fulfills him. That he enjoys the work he does. “I wish I had gotten to talk to you one last time before I left. I begged them, cried for weeks and they even had to hospitalize me because I was so sick from crying. My entire world was gone and it nearly killed me.”

Marcus swallows harshly, hating to hear that. “Sweetheart, I wish - there’s so much I would change but I like my job. I like helping people and putting bad guys away. It’s fulfilling and I can help change peoples lives. I wish- I wish it was me who was sent away. I would’ve traded places with you in a heartbeat.”

“This life has been hard, Marc.” You shake your head. “It’s lonely and I wouldn’t wish that on you. You are too social. You like being around people, talking to people too much. And your parents…..” you had loved how welcoming his parents were when you met them. It would have killed them to lose their only child.

He wishes he could turn back the clock. Stop you going to that damn outlet mall and keep you safe with him so he wouldn't have missed you for fifteen years. Marcus nods, knowing he would’ve found it hard but he would’ve done it if it meant keeping you safe. “I - I could’ve dealt with it.” He says, shifting his hands on the steering wheel. “I love - I loved you so much.” He murmurs, pulling into his community.

“I loved you too.” It’s easy to admit, even if all those old feelings are rushing back with astonishing speed. Not that you ever really fell out of love with him. You admire the neat brick of the stately townhomes. “Wow, you found one here?” You ask, knowing that you had never managed to find anything close to this when you had been looking.

Marcus smiles, “yeah. I…I was supposed to move in here with my fiancé but- that one. Yeah. I- I envisioned having a family here and it didn’t happen but it is what it is.” He says, sounding a little sad but he can’t help but mourn a life he could’ve had.

“I’m sorry.” It hurts to think of Marcus with someone else, but it's been fifteen years. You don’t have any claim on him. “Hopefully one day you will have the life you want. I would just love to use my name. My real name. It seems like getting married and having kids is the dream of another life. I used to look forward to it, but now?” You shrug. “Life hasn’t turned out the way either of us wanted it seems.”

Marcus nods, "I know." He murmurs and he kills the engine of his car. "Shall we go inside?" He asks, wondering if you are ready. "I'm gonna get out first and make sure there's no one in the vicinity and then I will get you in, then grab your bag." He says, leaving no room for argument when it comes to your safety.

You nod, watching as he steps out of the car and you clutch your purse. It’s overwhelming, watching his dark eyes roam over the parking lot and then he walks over to you and opens the door. He’s professional, but there’s more to it, this is personal for him and it makes you shiver. Feeling for the first time in fifteen years like you might be safe.

When Marcus opens his front door, he disarms it and locks the door behind you, telling you to wait there while he checks his home hasn’t been found. After sweeping the home, he comes back into the hallway and nods, “all clear.” He says and you make your way into his home.

Marcus’ home is exactly what you would imagine adult Marcus to have. Neat and clean, the furniture is a bit on the masculine side but there are touches of softness. A three wick candle on the coffee table, a soft looking throw over the back of the leather sofa. Comforting and inviting. You wipe your hands on your pants and sigh.

“I hope you like it here. I’m sorry it’s basic. It’s just me.” He chuckles awkwardly. “I can show you to the guest room. Let me grab your bag. I’ll lock the door on my way out.” He says and makes his way back down the hall.

You look around the living room and step into the dining room and kitchen as he opens the front door. Curious about how he lived. You open the fridge door and chuckle, not seeing much and guessing that Marcus still prefers to have someone else cook for him. He wasn’t very good at it. At least he wasn’t when you were together. Though he had all the proper cookware. Cooking had become a hobby of yours, something you could do alone. You close the door and your head turns towards the door as it opens again. Tense and hoping it’s Marcus.

He walks in with your bag, licking the door behind him, alarming the alarm system. He guides you along to his spare room, opening the door. “Hopefully it’s okay.” He says shyly, offering you a soft smile.

“It’s perfect.” It could be the couch for all you care, it’s the thought that counts. Marcus is taking you into his home. “Thank you, Marc.” Reaching out and touching his shoulder, you give him a grateful smile. “I know you didn’t have to do this. Is there any way we could have some groceries delivered? Let me cook for you to thank you?”

Marcus smiles, “yeah. I’d love that. We can arrange for groceries to be delivered.” He promises and shrugs, “I’m still as bad a cook as I ever was. It would be nice to have some home cooked meals for a change. Takeout has me doing more morning runs.” He playfully taps his stomach.

“Whatever.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You’re hotter now than you were back then.” You blurt out, feeling your face burn when you realize you said that out loud. It could be wrong, but you don’t think so. Not when Marcus suddenly ducks his head and you swear you see him blush some. “I’m assuming I’m staying here until the threat is gone?” You ask. “No work?”

He nods, “no work. We can’t risk them finding you there.” He says and you sigh but concede. “For the record, you have always been gorgeous. Even more so now.” He says, biting his lip and hoping he didn’t overstep.

“And you still know how to make a girl feel like the only one in the world.” You murmur quietly, stepping closer to him and wishing that it hadn’t been fifteen years since you had last seen him. “Do you know how much that affects a girl?”

Marcus blushes slightly, feeling like a college kid again despite a divorce and a failed engagement. He’s been around the block and he is scared to screw things up, especially when he has to keep you safe. He clears his throat and reaches for your hand to squeeze it. “I have missed you, sweetheart.”

“If it’s not something you want, or you can’t, let me know.” You start off, deciding that you want to take a leap and see if Marcus still wants you. “But…” you step closer. “If I have to be in your house, protected by you….” You smirk and bite your lip. “Wouldn’t I be safest in your bed?”

Marcus swallows harshly, a little nervous but his cock is already hardening at the thought of having you in his arms. He steps closer until his chest is pressed against yours. “I think that would probably be best.” He agrees, “that way I can ensure your well-being.” He murmurs, his eyes darting down to your lips. He knows he’s crossing so many professional lines but fuck, he wants you. “I shouldn’t but-” He surges forward to press his lips to yours, unable to stop himself.

You moan into the kiss, immediately tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging on it like you used to. In an instant, you feel like you are in your twenties again, hopelessly in love and needing your boyfriend. “Marcus.” You whimper, pulling back so you can push his jacket off his shoulders and pause when you see his gun. “Take me to your bed and make love to me.”

He groans, reluctantly pulling back and he takes your hand, guiding you to his bedroom. He flicks the lamp on and works on removing his gun, checking the safety and setting it down on his nightstand before he shrugs out of the holster. He pulls his tie off and reaches for you, grabbing the hem of your shirt to pull it out of your skirt, wanting to touch you after so many years. “God, you’re still so fucking gorgeous.” He murmurs, his eyes drinking you in when you are in your bra.

Your fingers work the buttons of his dress shirt, trying to remember the last time you had been this excited to sleep with someone. You’ve had lovers over the years, the physical needs making it almost certain you would have them, but no one had ever compared to Marcus. “Fuck,” you can see the tent he’s starting to sport, obviously still a boxers man.

Marcus fumbles to unclasp your bra, needing to touch you and when you drop your arms to let him pull it off of you after you push his shirt down his arms, his hands immediately cup your tits. “Have these gotten bigger?” He asks, squeezing them and massaging them.

“Yes.” Your eyes flutter closed as he touches you, managing to blindly push his shirt over shoulders that seem broader than they used to be. He’s in an undershirt, of course he is, and you love it. “I’m bigger.” You joke.

He shakes his head and reluctantly releases you so he can pull his shirt over his head with one hand. Once it’s fluttering to the floor, he’s reaching for you and pulling you against him so he can feel your skin on his. “Forgot how beautiful your tits are.” He says and leans down to kiss along your neck.

“Fuck Marc.” You moan, tilting your head back so he can kiss more of your skin. “You always were a tits man.” You tease him, reaching between you to squeeze his hard cock through his suit trousers.

He groans into your skin, inhaling the sweet scent that’s purely you. Burned into his memory from all those years ago and it’s like coming home. His lips kiss along your chest until he’s taking your nipple into his mouth, his hands caressing your back and sliding down to squeeze your ass as he hunches over you.

Gasping out in pleasure, you pull him towards your breast. Enjoying the way that he suckles and bites, the way he’s remembered how you like to be touched. He switches over to the other breast and he slides his hand around you to start unbuttoning your pants.

Marcus works fast to push your skirt down your legs, groaning your name as he exposes your underwear and he kneels, pushing his nose against your mound. “God, I forgot how good you smell.” He groans and hooks his fingers in the cotton, dragging them down and you kick your panties aside after kicking your shoes off of your feet. Marcus dives back in, his nose pressing into your folds as his tongue slides through them, tasting you for the first time in fifteen years.

“Marc!” Your cry is strangled, almost choked out as you grasp for anything to keep you upright. Hand slapping against the wall as you remember exactly why you loved Marcus’ tongue so much. His skills have only improved with time and you moan when he flicks his tongue over your clit expertly.

His fingers curl around your leg, lifting it into his shoulder so he can get deeper into your pussy. His tongue pushing deep and he groans your name. “Fuck baby. So good.” He murmurs into your flesh when he pulls back for a moment, “always tasted so good.” He dives back in and slides his tongue through your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth.

Having Marcus eat you out is like a gift from God. Most men are lazy with it, or refuse to go down on someone even though they expect a blowjob. Marcus eats pussy like he was born to do it, like it’s his favorite sport in the world. Making you shiver when he groans into your folds and your leg trembles as he pushes you closer to cumming.

He pushes you further into the wall, keeping you upright and his hand slides along your leg and up your body to squeeze your tit, pinching your nipple and his other hand slides between your legs, pushing two fingers inside of you with a groan. He desperately wants you to cum for him now.

“Oh fuck, Marc baby, baby, I’m gonna cum.” You moan, your head hitting the wall with a thud and your entire body lurches forward. “Shit, gonna- gonna cum.” Your walls clench down on him and you wail his name as you soak his fingers.

Marcus hisses into your flesh as you clamp down on his fingers, soaking them, and he sucks on your clit a little harder, wanting to absorb every second of your orgasm after so many years apart. His fingers pump inside of you and he pulls his mouth away when you start to shove on his hair and he tilts his head up so he can watch you as you cum.

Desperate little gasps rip out of your throat as he keeps your body jerking and twitching for him. Knowing exactly where to press inside you cunt in order to push another sob out of you. Your eyes are closed and you start chanting his name. “Marc, Marc, Marc baby, please.”

He wants you to cum again. His fingers keep pressing and pushing inside of you, his lips kissing along your thigh and he presses his thumb against your clit. “So good for me baby.” He murmurs, needing you to cum for him.

Your eyes spring open when you realize he wants you to roll straight into a second orgasm. “Fuck!” You squeal, feeling your walls bear down on his fingers again and your body shakes as you come apart.

His fingers curl and he kisses your stomach as he enjoys the way your walls are fluttering around his fingers. He adds a third, stretching you out and his thumb rubs your clit a little harder, “so pretty. Never forgot how pretty you are like this.”

“Marcus.” You groan. “I need you.” You reach down and try to pull him up so you can kiss him. “I want you inside me.” You beg. “I have an IUD and it’s been over a year since I’ve been with anyone. More like two.”

“Cum on my fingers and I’ll fuck you.” He promises, kissing your stomach again and his free hand reaches for yours to grip it. “Cum for me again.” He pleads, wanting to see you do it.

“Three?” You gasp out, holding onto his hand like a lifeline as you try to stay upright. Your leg threatens to give out as he continues to pump his fingers into you deep and precise. Pressing against that special spot again. Your breath echoes in your ears until stars burst behind your eyes and you scream out his name.

He nearly loses it when you cum again, clamping down on his fingers and he works you through it until you are slumping over him. He withdraws his fingers, surging forward to press his lips to yours as your leg is still wrapped around his waist as he presses you against the wall while his tongue tangled with yours.

You moan, tasting yourself on his tongue and not minding it one bit. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. Needing to feel him against you as he presses you into the wall.

Marcus needs you. He scrambles to pull you along with him and soon he’s laying you down on his bed, working on his pants to push them down. He groans in relief at finally having his cock free and you whimper in response at seeing it again. He kicks off his shoes and hops out of his pants, eventually ending up kneeling on the bed.

“God, I missed you.” You whisper, drinking in the sight of him. He’s filled out, not quite as skinny as he was in college. Broader and stronger and he still turns you on more than any other man you’ve ever been with. “Come to me, baby.” You reach out for him, wanting to feel him again.

Marcus can’t deny you anymore. He shifts between your legs, his chest heaving as he grips his cock and notches himself at your entrance. His dark eyes meet yours in the lamplight as he starts to push inside of you. Shifting to his forearms so he can press his lips to yours.

It’s overwhelming and perfect. Your lips melting against his as the girth of him stretches you out. Filling you perfectly like you’ve never been able to replicate with anyone else. Your eyes flutter closed and all you can do is moan your pleasure.

He slides his tongue against yours, enjoying the way you seem to melt beneath him. There’s so much he wants to say but he can’t. He can’t tell you how much he loves you when he can show you. He moves his hips, setting a slow place, his lips shifting to kiss down your neck.

Instead of being frantic and rushed, you find the pace turning slow and steady. Making you groan as you start to rock you hips in rhythm with him. Your fingers caress his back and you feel the muscles dance underneath the skin. “Marcus.”

He should be frantic but after so many years without you, he just needs to feel all of you. He moans your name into your skin, his cock twitching inside of you when your nails dig into his back when he hits something deep inside of you. “Missed you. Missed this so much.” He murmurs, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I missed you too, baby.” You promise him, closing your eyes and smiling as he moans again. “Fuck, I - I love you.” You confess. “I’ve never stopped, it’s always been you.”

Marcus swears his heart stops at that moment. “Always been you.” He echoes, “I love you. I love you. Baby, I love you.” He declares breathlessly and his pace gets a little faster with his need to see and hear you fall apart beneath him again.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you moan his name again. “I love you.” You pant. “Marcus, I love you. Oh, it’s so good.” Your nails dig into his shoulders and your cunt squeezes him tight. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”

You gasp and he keeps the pace and thrust of his hips the same, not wanting to change when you tell him you’re about to cum. He wants to feel it. He wants to feel you soak him again. “That’s it sweetheart. Do it. Cum for me.”

You want to stay in this moment forever. The way that his body is slick with sweat and his grunts as he rocks into you. The warmth of his breath washing over your skin and the throbbing of the veins in his cock against your walls. Still, he had begged you to cum and that’s all you can. Your body primed for it and the next thrust as your back arching and your cry ripping from your throat.

“Fuck.” Marcus pants when you clamp down on his cock. It’s so good and he loves it. He loves everything about this moment. It’s more than anything he’s experienced since you disappeared from his life. Even his marriage could never have lived up to this. He groans, knowing he should try and make you cum again but the emotions are too much and he’s soon pushing deep inside of you, cock twitching as he paints your walls with his hot seed.

Once he collapses on top of you, you can’t help but giggle. Relief, joy and happiness all roll together to make you try to catch your breath while you stroke his back and kiss his shoulder and neck. “God. I have to be dreaming.” You giggle. “This is the best dream and I don’t want to wake up.”

Marcus shifts onto his back, bringing you with him and his cock is softening inside of you. His hands rubbing your back. “Me neither. I never want to lose you again.” He murmurs, eyes closed as he breathes you in.

You hum in agreement, unable to believe that you are back in his arms and you close your eyes. Relaxing into a deep sleep, finally feeling safe for the first time in fifteen years.

Marcus holds you as you fall asleep, not able to fall asleep just yet and he shifts carefully to lay you down. You stir without his heat but he’s quick to cover you up. He sneaks into the bathroom, wetting a rag to clean you up and covers you with the duvet again. He checks the windows and doors, making sure the home is secure and the alarm is set before he grabs two bottles of water and sets one down on the nightstand for you. He slides under the covers and you immediately reach for him, curling into his chest. Wrapping his arms around you, he breathes you in and closes his eyes; deciding then and there that he will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.

****

Glancing at the clock as you stir, you wonder when Marcus will be home. Grinning to yourself as you realize that you think of this townhouse as home. It’s only been a few days, but if you are scared, you don’t feel like it. You’ve been puttering around the house when he has to leave, curling up with him when he’s here. It’s been magical and it makes you yearn for the life you would have had together if you hadn’t been put into witness protection.

Marcus is exhausted, rubbing his forehead as he stares at the latest security footage where he’s trying to find Roberta. On top of trying to find the art thief, he’s personally working to try and find the gang making you conceal from the world. He feels guilty that he’s loved having you in his home, coming home to you every night. It’s like living a fantasy of what if he had proposed and you hadn’t disappeared. He loves it. He loves you. It’s hard to remind himself that you’re in danger and he has to help you otherwise it could be your life. He glances at the clock and decides to call it a day, wanting to go home to you.

The table is set and there’s a bottle of wine open to breathe. It might be a little over the top for a Tuesday night, but you have nothing else to do but work on some recipes that you have been wanting to try. A little romantic and it pairs well with the lingerie that you had decided to put on under your dress. Feeling a little like a 1950’s housewife when you hear the designated three raps on the door to say that Marcus is home.

Marcus unlocks the door, disarming the alarm and resetting it with his entrance and he makes sure the door is locked behind him before he sets his briefcase down and makes his way into the kitchen. “Hey sweetheart. God, that smells good.” He groans, looking over at the stove and he reaches for you, dragging you into his chest so he can press his lips to yours.

“Hey.” You light up when you see him again. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving. I can eat too.” He teases, smirking at you and you giggle and slap his chest. “I love you.” He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours, “can’t believe I get to come home to you every night.” He confesses, “feels like a goddamn dream and I’m gonna wake up at some point.”

“I do too.” You agree softly, your hand sliding down to caress his cheek. “It’s been such a treat, as horrible as that sounds. I know I can’t go outside and my life is in danger, but I get to have you.” You lean in and kiss him softly. “How was your day, baby?”

“Don’t worry baby. I’m gonna find him. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” He promises, leaning in to kiss you softly again. “Day was…laborious. I was going over the security footage and files for both cases and I- I am trying to run through accounts but the bureaucracy slows me down.” He confesses with a frown.

“Then it sounds like a good meal and a relaxing night is just.” You kiss his chin. “What.” Your lips brush his cheek. “You.” Another to his nose. “Need.” You smirk as you kiss his lips. “I’m thinking that after you eat, you need a nice, long, luxurious blow job to put you at ease.”

Marcus chuckles, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. “You’re too good to me, baby.” He shakes his head, “as long as I get to eat you out too.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss along your jaw just as the timer for your cooking goes off. He smacks your ass, “I’ll pour the wine and I’m doing the washing up. You are gonna relax after.” He insists, shrugging off his jacket to hang it in the hallway before he comes back in to get the bottle of wine.

You would protest, but you’ve cleaned as you cooked, so there’s only the final dish and the plates that would need to be cleaned up. You rush to plate up dinner and admire him as he rolls up his sleeves to pour the wine after he pulls off his tie. It’s a nice night, the two of you and a good meal, some wine and continuing to learn about each other’s lives while you’ve been apart. “Oh, before I forget, I called Scott today. Checked in. He’s still not happy, but he says you have been keeping them in the loop, so he’s content to leave me here.”

Marcus nods, setting the wine bottle down. “I know he’s not happy but it is what it is. We haven’t had any notes or any threats since you’ve been here. We’ve had a man outside your place since you left and they haven’t seen any activity. I think you’re safe. No, I know you’re safe.” He tries to assure you, “and I swear to you I’ll find the bastard and his team.”

“I know you will.” You’ve learned a lot about his career and exactly how good of an agent Marcus is. “I’m honestly-“ you shrug. “I’m happy right here. I know I’m probably intruding on your personal space, but I’ve been as relaxed as I could possibly be, given that someone is trying to kill me.” You joke.

Marcus shakes his head, reaching for you. “There’s nowhere else I want you to be than right here with me. I was selfish. You’d be safer across the country but I - I couldn’t lose you again. I love you so much.” He says, leaning in to kiss your forehead again.

Marcus chuckles, letting go of you so you can both sit down to eat. He groans at the sight of the meal you’ve cooked and his stomach rumbles. “I gotta get bigger pants. I haven’t eaten this good since I left my mom’s house.” Marcus chuckles, picking up the serving spoon. “You are too good to me.” He murmurs, looking up to meet your gaze and he serves your plate first.

“Not with all the exercise you’ve been getting.” You tease, sending him a small wink. Every night Marcus has exhausted you. Fucking you in every room of this townhouse and almost every surface with his insatiable appetite for you. Both of you collapse into bed to sleep in each other's arms. It’s like you’re twenty again. “Still sexy and fit.”

He can’t help but flush as he serves himself and sets the spoon down. “The exercise has been keeping me fit.” He says while blushing and he reaches for the glass of wine. “To still being sexy and fit.” He toasts and you clink your glass with his. “I know you are getting bored in this place. I’m doing everything I can to get this bastard so you can have your life back. See your parents. Your friends. I’m doing what I can.” He promises after you have finished eating.

“I would love to see my parents.” You admit, reaching out and gasping his hand. “Would you- would you come with me?” You ask. “When I go to see them? Explain what happened? I understand if you can’t, you’re putting off so much to help me.”

Marcus nods, “of course. Of course I’ll be there. Baby, what - this is-” He swallows harshly and squeezes your hand, “every day I allow myself to believe that this is our life together. I have a little fantasy that I’m coming home to my wife. To our family. I imagine us having a child or two. I- I want this to be forever. Like I wanted it to be forever fifteen years ago. It’s always been you.” He promises, feeling guilty for being married and engaged but those failed because those women never matched up.

He’s apologized to you for not looking for you harder, for moving on. All things that you never expected and don’t want him to be upset over. Those expressive eyes search yours and you smile softly. “It’s been my little fantasy too.” You confess. “When you find Roberta and I can be myself again, why don’t we make that a reality?” You ask. “Would you marry me, Marcus?”

“In a heartbeat.” He assures you, “I’d marry you tomorrow if I could. I- I was going to, you know, I was going to propose not long after I played you that song. I always imagined my life with you. No one else. Even when I was married, I thought of what could have been. I want to marry you.” He promises, “and I will. I’ll get Roberts and you can be Mrs. Pike. Have the life we should’ve had.”

You can’t help but grin, leaping up from your chair so you can rush around and press your lips to his in a greedy kiss. Feeling like every dream you’ve created to keep yourself sane is coming true. Marcus is your knight in shining armor and you want nothing more than for him to rescue you. “Whatever you need me to do, to help you put this behind us, I’m willing to do.” You promise him. “I want to start my life with you.”

Marcus pulls you into his lap, cupping your cheek so he can kiss you again. “I love you.” He murmurs, nudging your nose, and he will do anything he can to keep you safe. Even if it means laying down his own life. He will do it to keep you safe.

“Baby, don’t worry about cleaning up, let’s go to  bed.” You beg, caressing his cheek. “I need you. I need you so much.”

Marcus can’t refuse you. He nods, shifting to stand up with you and he takes your hand, dishes abandoned as he guides you to the bedroom, your now shared bedroom. When he is holding you after you’ve made love and you’re asleep, he’ll stare at the ceiling, trying to think of anything that he read in the files to help him catch the bastard that’s after you. 

You decide that you don’t want Marcus to undress you. Pulling away from him with a smile, you’re happy you decided on a wrap dress that is easily removed. Most morning Marcus leaves you in the bed, pulling away quietly so he doesn’t disturb you and when you wake up, it’s because of the shower. So he didn’t see the lingerie you had chosen for him.

Marcus groans when you unravel your dress. His eyes drinking in the silk and lace clinging to your body and his cock is now throbbing in his slacks. “Fuck baby. You look so good.” He murmurs, “so good. I’m so lucky to have you.” He declares and surges forward to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close so he can press his lips to yours, pushing the dress off of your shoulders.

Moaning softly, you smile into the kiss, just as eager. Just as wanting as Marcus. Your fingers memorizing how many buttons it takes to strip off his smart dress shirts. Eager to feel his warm skin underneath. “Make love to me Marcus.” You beg. 

He won’t say no, couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. He wants you. Fuck, he wants this for the rest of his life. When your hands touch his chest, he groans your name and he unclasps the pretty lace bra, “so pretty. Look so pretty in this.”

“I think you like me in anything.” You tease him, giggling quietly. “But you love me in nothing.” You work on his belt to unclasp it and unhook his pants to reach down and squeeze his cock. Groaning when you feel how hard he is.

“Love you in anything and nothing at all. Love every inch of you.” He promises, “I love you. You.” He murmurs, sliding his hands along your back and then your arms as he slides the straps down your arms until he’s ducking down to take your nipple into his mouth.

There’s something about Marcus, he’s thorough. He wants his partner to be satisfied and he finds what makes them tick. Your moan of his name is soft, accompanied by your wrist twisting, starting to pump his cock as best you can. “Baby, no foreplay. I just need you.” You whine.

He whines back, having wanted to eat you out but he doesn’t deny you. He nods, guiding you back towards the bed and he lays you down while he shrugs out of his pants and throws his clothes on the floor. His hands trail along your legs until he’s hooking his fingers into your panties to drag them down.

“Marcus.” You whimper, rocking your hips up as he stands straight and strips his trousers down. His boxers have a large tent in the middle with a wet spot and you groan at the sight. “Fuck, I want you to fuck me, but I want to suck your cock.”

Marcus smirks, “tell me what you want baby. Whatever you want is yours. I’m yours.” He promises and reaches down to shove his boxers down. His cock bouncing as he kicks them aside.

 “Fuck.” You moan, biting your lip before you turn around and tilt your head off the end of the bed. “Fuck my throat, baby. I want to feel you gag me before you fuck me stupid tonight.” Making love takes various forms, after all. 

“Jesus. Such a dirty little girl, aren’t you?” He coos, shuffling closer and he caresses your neck before gripping his cock. He pushes the head between your lips and you take him inside of your mouth, making him groan. “So damn good.” He murmurs, watching you as you take him deeper, his hand immediately going to your neck so he can feel the bulge from his length.

You moan, enjoying the look on his face until your vision is blocked by his body. Letting him use your throat as you try to open it up more for him. Marcus is girthy and it’s a lot, tears leaking out of your eyes and rolling back into your hair, but you love it.

“Jesus Christ. This is - fuck. You’re gonna make me cum.” He grunts, pulling out of your mouth. He wants to try that again another time when he can properly fuck and cum down your throat but that night isn’t tonight after you’ve confessed you want a future with him. You pant, trying to catch your breath and he caresses your cheek. “How do you want me?” He asks, wanting you to decide.

So much of the time, Marcus is in control. Giving you pleasure and making sure that you enjoy yourself. Right now, you want to take care of him. “I want to ride you baby.” You decide, sitting up and reaching for him. “Let me take care of my future hubby tonight.” You coo, grinning at how that sounds.

He grins, nodding as he shifts to lay down on the bed, watching you move to your knees. “Come here, my love.” He beckons you over, needing to feel every emotion he’s withheld over the past fifteen years. He wants you to take what you want from him.

You go eagerly, crawling up his body and dropping random kisses. There’s nothing about Marcus that you don’t love. When you straddle his waist, your waist no time in dropping a kiss on his lips while you reach between the two of you to grasp his cock and quickly sink down on him.

“Shit.” Marcus hisses, his heart about to beat out of his chest and he swears he could die then and there and be a happy man. His hands find your hips as you take all of him inside of you and he groans your name, surging up to deepen the kiss as his tongue slides into your mouth.

You start off slow. Rolling your hips while you groan into the kiss. Circling them and clenching down on Marcus to hear the lovely little gasp he gives. Your fingers find his hair and you swear you could live right here. “Love you.” You promise, sliding your hands onto his chest and pushing upright. “Whenever someone touched me, it felt so wrong. You’re my love, my lover, my soulmate.”

Marcus slides his hands along your back as you start to rock on his cock. "I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart." He murmurs, caressing you and his dark eyes watch you as you move on top of him. "You're everything. My everything." He promises, heart thumping in his chest.

“One day I want to have your babies.” You promise him, moaning softly at the thought. “You were made to be a daddy, and I can’t wait to see you holding our baby.” You clench down around him again at the thought.

Marcus groans, cock twitching inside of you at the thought. "Fuck." He grunts, hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. "Fuck yes. I want - God, I want to get you pregnant." He confesses, "always imagined you as the mother of my children."

You know it ticks off some primal things for Marcus, it does for you too. You moan softly again and rock forward to kiss him. “I want that. At least two.” You pant into his mouth, imagining the two of you as new parents. Building the life you had daydreamed about when you were incredibly lonely.

“At least.” He agrees, knowing he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you when he gets you pregnant. “God, I love - I can’t not love you. Haven’t stopped since you left. No one was you. They were never you.” He confesses, helping you rock on his cock.

Your heart melts at that sentiment. Smiling against his lips as he continues to help you ride him. Slowly speeding up to where his cock hits perfectly inside you. Feeling him twitch every time he is seated deep as if he is ready to fill your womb with his seed.

"Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart? What do you need? Tell me what you need to soak my cock?" He asks, wanting to feel it, he needs to feel it.

“Just you baby.” You gasp, slapping your hands down in his chest and starting to rock faster. “Gonna cum baby, fuck, you feel so good.” You moan. “So full, fuck, you’re so thick, baby.” You always love how thick he is and how well he fills you up. “Love you, so fucking much.”

“That’s it. That’s it sweet girl. Fuck, that’s it. Cum for me.” He begs, sweat beading on his forehead as he watches you rock your hips a little faster. Those little whines and whimpers escaping your mouth tell him you’re close and he slides his hand down to rub your clit.

Your toes curl and you cry out, your orgasm slamming into you and making you lurch forward. Collapsing again this chest and chanting his name over and over as your body spasms.

Marcus groans at the way you clamp down on his cock and he moves fast to lay you on your back. Grabbing your thighs to lift them onto his waist so he can sink deep into your quivering cunt. He groans your name, his cock twitching inside of you as he gets close but he needs you to cum more time for him.

“Baby!” You squeal, feeling your body tense up as you ride out your orgasm. You would beg him to cum but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he has no intention of cumming until you do again. Marcus prides himself on making you cum multiple times. “Fuck baby.” Your nails scratch down his back and you tighten your thighs around him, closing your eyes and feeling your core start to tighten again as he rockets you to another orgasm.

Marcus pushes deeper, harder, the affection from before replaced with pure lust. Driven by the need to claim you, he thrusts into you over and over again. “Cum.” He chokes, needing to feel it and when you clamp down on his cock for the second time, he can’t help but paint your walls with his hot seed as he orgasms with you.

Moaning his name softly, you stroke his back as he groans. Enjoying the softness of his embrace as you both start to relax. “I love you.” You murmur quietly. “I can’t want to start our life together.”

Marcus presses his forehead to your chest, breathing you in, and he murmurs, "me too baby. I can't wait. Once you're safe, it's the two of us for the rest of our lives." He promises, kissing along your neck. "I love you."

After you’ve cleaned up and settled against Marcus, you fall asleep. Wondering when the shoe is going to drop and worrying that you might lose him again.

****

Marcus checks the time, knowing he should be calling you to touch base. He likes to call every hour or so to make sure everything is okay at home. He picks up his cell, dialing the burner phone he got you and he waits for it to ring. No answer. Weird. He doesn’t like that. He tries again. No answer.

At first, you thought Marcus was home, until there was no rap at the door. Abandoning the meal you were prepping, you grab your phone, your heart pounding in your chest as you race up the stairs as quietly as you can. Reaching the second floor just as the door opens and the blare of the alarm sounds out, though it’s quickly silenced. The phone buzzes but all you can think is that you need to hide, as fast as possible and call Marcus. It’s seems as if you’ve been found.

When you finally answer the phone, Marcus can’t help but ask if you’re okay. Frantic when you answer and don’t actually speak. “Baby. Tell me. Tell me if you’re okay. Please. I -talk to me. Talk to me.” He begs, needing to hear that you’re okay.

Your mouth is dry and you can barely whisper. “Marcus.” You manage. “He’s here. Someone’s in the house.” You try to keep your voice as low as you can, terrified that you will give away your hiding spot under the bed.

Marcus’s blood runs cold when he hears your whisper and he fears for your life. He grabs his work landline, dialing his team to get people over to his house right away. He’s terrified for you. “Just hold on baby. Stay on the phone. I’ll be right there.” He promises, standing up from the desk so he can get home.

“Hurry.” You breathe out, turning the volume down and holding your breath as you hear the first signs of someone downstairs since the alarm went off.

Marcus shoves himself away from his desk, heart pounding as he rushes towards his car after telling his team about how he has to get to you. He can’t lose you again. His heart pounds and he speeds, his team following as he gets to his home in record time.

You never realize how loud you are when you breathe until you are trying to be completely silent. Scrunching back under the bed as far as you can go and slowly sliding the storage boxes in front of you so you are well hidden. Listening for the creak on the third stair that Marcus groans about having repaired.

Marcus has you on the phone, having switched lines for a mere moment  

to get a team to his house within the next ten minutes. He speeds along the roads of D.C to his home, running through reds with no care except that it’s clear. “I’m coming baby.” He promises, “I’m coming.”

You can’t acknowledge him, too terrified to make a sound as you hear someone creep up the stairs. Your blood runs cold when you hear a voice say your name. “I’ve been looking for you. Come out and I’ll kill you quickly.” He taunts. “Make me find you….well, I’ve been in prison a loooooooong time because of you.”

Marcus drives faster, pulling into his neighborhood and he hears your scream. Slamming his brake, he puts the car in park, uncaring of his engine still running as he grabs his gun and rushes through the front door. He freezes when he comes across Roberta, his gun pressed against your forehead.

He had found you, screaming and fighting, he had dragged you out from under the bed with a curse and hopefully a bruised shin. Until he had pressed his gun against your forehead and ordered you downstairs. Feeling like you were going to die. Until the door opens and Marcus busts in. “Marc!”

Marcus’s finger is over the trigger. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Pike. I’ll blow her pretty head off. I want you to know that I’ve been watching. Listening. All those little promises of the future. Having kids. Getting married. It’s so sweet it’s sickening.” He coos sarcastically. “And now that future is gone.” He says and Marcus shakes his head, “you’ve served your time. You could walk away. Leave her alone.” He counters and Roberta growls, “no! She is the reason I served so long. She’s gonna die.” He promises, pushing the barrel into your head.

You squeeze your eyes shut and then you have to open them. Needing to see Marcus one last time. The idea that this man has been stalking the house, listening to your conversations and plans for the future, listening to you making love, is sickening. “I love you Marcus.” You promise him, watching his eyes slide from Roberta to you. “It’s always been you. Always.”

Marcus feels like he’s gonna be sick. “She hasn’t done anything. She’s been alone for so long. She has suffered enough. You both have.” He lies, “let her go and you won’t be arrested. You can walk free. Start again. I won’t come after you. Just let her go and you are a free man.”

You feel the tension rising in the room. Something is about to happen. Something that will end in the death of one of you. “If it weren’t for her, this bitch, I wouldn’t have gone to jail!” Roberta hisses and you know he won’t walk away. He won’t quit until you are dead. You remember one self defense move that had been taught to you by the Marshal’s office. Playing dead. “I’m sorry.” You tell him, watching his eyes slide from Marcus to you and you let your knees give out and drop to the ground.

Roberta isn’t quick enough and the gun goes off, embedding the bullet in the wall. The next thing you know, Marcus’s team are storming the house and they don’t waste time killing Roberta. His head jerks back as the bullet enters his head. The gun falls to the floor and Marcus is quick to grab it.  Marcus pulls out the magazine and empties the chamber, the bullet rattling to the floor. The bullet that could’ve killed you. He reaches for you once Roberta is dead on the floor and he pulls you into his arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You’re shaking. Once the guns started firing, you flinched in anticipation of the killing shot and now you can’t stop shaking. “I- I- I don’t- I don’t know.” You admit truthfully, throwing your arms around him and starting to sob as the reality of what could have happened hits you.

His hands check you over, rubbing your body to see if you’re hurt and when he doesn’t see any damage, he’s pulling you back into his arms, kissing your forehead. The team wants you out, into the van and away so they can check Marcus’s home. “We are going to a safe house for a couple of nights. The team will check the house for any bugs or anything I didn’t pick up on. And clean it up for us.” Marcus explains once you are on the way.

“I didn’t go out.” You stress, almost desperate for him to believe you. “I didn’t call anyone and tell them where I was. No one.” You cling to him, unable to let him go as you try to calm yourself down. “I promise, I didn’t.”

Marcus shakes his head, “it’s not your fault baby. These people…they have ways of finding out where you are. It’s not your fault.” He promises, “he found you and now he’s dead. It’s over. You can reinstate your identity.” He tells you, “you can be you again.”

“I can be me.” You whisper softly, eyes wide when you realize that it’s truly over. After fifteen years, you are finally free. “Oh my God.” Happy tears fall down your cheek and you start to giggle.

Marcus grins, relieved for you and happy after knowing everything you’ve been through. “I love you so much.” He murmurs, caressing your cheeks, “you can see your parents. You can - you’re free.”

“Marry me.” You beg quietly. “As soon as I am legally myself, I want to be Mrs. Marcus Pike.”

Marcus’s eyes widen and he nods, “yes. Yes. God - baby - as soon as we are able to, I wanna marry you.” He promises, leaning in to kiss you softly, his thumbs wiping away your tears.

You smile, unable to believe that your life has taken such an incredible turn. Your future had been changed by a madman, forced into hiding and completely altering your path. Somehow brought back to Marcus by complete coincidence and now, you are able to take your life back and spend it with Marcus.

****

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The officiant declares and Marcus surges forward to kiss your lips, his hands tenderly cupping your cheeks. The crowd cheers, made up of your parents, his parents, and the friends you have made together since Roberta was killed and the ones from college who were shocked to see you after you made your official appearance back in the world. It’s been a long journey, fifteen years in the making, but you and Marcus are finally where you were meant to be all along. Married and in love. Next thing on the agenda? Getting you pregnant.

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike imagine

[thelovelyruin]

𝖇𝖇.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 : choso x fem reader

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓: a pretty girl with a fast car, and choso just can’t get enough.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓 : smut, porn with plot, vaginal sex, praise, teasing, fingering, edging?

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖙 : 4.2k

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗 : inspired by lyrics from bb by shygirl.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 : hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading! racer choso is back by popular demand, i hope you enjoy it; if so, follow me for more. au revoir!

18+ MDNI ADULT CONTENT

I like bad boys, and I know they love me.

When Choso first saw you, you leaned against a GT-R, talking to a guy next to you, another girl in the passenger seat. God, you were sexy. You wore a black patent leather dress and red heels to match. You had your hair up in one of those claw clips and wore a pair of red shades, a gloss covering your lips as you smoked your cigarette. Your legs were on full display, a couple of tattoos here and there, and the chain that adorned your ankle didn’t go unnoticed either. He hadn’t seen you around before, but he was sure he would’ve noticed you out of all the girls who came out and took photos with the cars or stringing with their boyfriends. You were far too relaxed talking to the guy next to you, definitely not the behavior of someone whom you’d just met, so he figured he was your boyfriend. Unfortunately for him, Choso didn’t fucking care.

They say I've got a type; I just think they're lonely.

He walked up to the guy to start a conversation, shaking his hand, intending to use it to talk to you. He had to be respectful before he stole his girl, right?

“Hey, Choso.”

“Yuuji, what’s up.”

“Don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“You’d be right, came out to support a friend.”

Choso pointed past him to the car; damn, she was a beauty. Looked full bolt-on, sitting on bags with a badass body kit, but the cherry red wrap really drew him in, presumably your suggestion to Yuuji.

“Fuckin’ nice, dude, what’s it running on?”

“E85.”

You walked around the car, interrupting their conversation. You leaned on the hood as you looked at Choso, him taking a surprised look at you and then back at Yuuji, who was currently chuckling.

“Sounds like she knows her stuff, huh.”

“‘Cause it’s hers.”

You smile at him and wave, bringing your cigarette up to take a puff again. Choso was in shock, smirking at the little joke both of you were trying to pull.

“Yeah, no way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means a pretty girl like you isn’t whippin' a ride like this.”

“Yeah? Why’s that? Give me the least sexist reason you have.”

Choso wiped down his face in disbelief.

“Now, fuck off while I still think you're cute.”

Choso gave a look to Yuuji, who gave one back that said oh well, dude. Choso didn’t have a lot of flaws, but there was one that was pretty damn big- his fuckin’ ego.

It's cold on these streets, or so they tell me.

“So race me, princess.”

“Whatcha drivin’?”

“Twin turbo MK5 Supra.”

You started laughing at him, taking your shades off to get a good look at him.

“At least make it worth my while!”

“Really? Then why not? You sound pretty fuckin’ confident.”

You get up from the hood now, throwing your cigarette on the ground and stepping on it as you give him a straight look. A Supra was nothing to sneer at, especially with twin-turbo, but it had nothing on your GT-R runnin’ 1800 HP.

“Because I know I’d fuckin’ win. I’d hate to beat you in front of everyone, considering I’m new here.”

“If you’re so sure, let me see you do it.”

You brought your lips up to his ear, grabbing his shirt as you raised to his height.

“If you insist, dollface.”

I keep the conversations brief; we ain't friends, but he'll see.

Your friend got out of the car as you told her what was about to happen. She chuckled and walked with you to a big group of people huddling in the middle of the lot, taking bets. She got their attention, and they looked at her with unserious faces.

“This fucker wants to race my friend. Start a pot.”

The guys got a good look at you and Choso, obviously not taking you seriously, which led to a $15K pot, $3K from Yuuji and Mai on you, and the other $12K on Choso. Yuuji drove your car to where you’d start on the line, Choso driving his. You two looked at each other as you let down your hair, passing the clip and jacket to Yuuji.

“Ready?”

“Are you? Might wanna lose the heels, princess.”

“No need.”

You two got into your respective vehicles, Mai standing between them to raise her hand as you revved your engines. Then, you were off.

Different faces but the road stays the same.

He fuckin’ lost.

You got out of your car with a smirk, putting your jacket back on as the group of guys from before praised you, practically kissing your feet, and just like that, you were $5K richer. Choso walked up to you as you headed back to the lot, walking alone as Yuuji and Mai gathered your prize money. He began clapping, causing you to turn around and smirk.

“Good job, you beat me.”

“Told ya so.”

You leaned against the car now, presumably reaching to pull out another cigarette as Choso put his arm up on the door next to you.

“You're pretty fuckin’ cocky, ya know that?”

“Yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it, sweetheart?”

Every man's a drilla till he's in the bed calling my name.

Choso slammed his lips against yours, putting his other arm on the car, caging you in. You returned the kiss, bringing a leg up to his hip, which he accepted, standing between them and massaging the skin there. The feeling of his hand gripping your ass sparked something inside, slipping your tongue in his mouth as his other hand found the back of your neck. Your dress was pretty damn short; anyone walking by would’ve gotten quite the view. He slipped a hand up your chest, groping your tits as you moaned, lips moving to your neck.

You can run and hide; I’m running game.

You brought your hand down his hips, pulling his phone out of the front pocket. With a little push, he stumbles back as you put his phone up to his face, unlocking it. You typed something, handing it to him as you brought your face up to kiss his cheek. With that, you turned and walked, laughing as you left Choso flustered, trying to understand what happened. He looks at his phone, your number staring back at him.

“In case your itchin’ for a rematch.”

Only one winner in this bitch, and I win everything.

Coulda been fucking with a guy; my vibe.

When Choso initially texted you, it was because he did want a rematch. But he also wanted to finish what you guys started the other day. You’d been on his mind as he was working on his car, working out, even when he was, you know. And fuck, you were hot. Constantly posting pics of yourself on cars, often with little clothing, you’d made a career out of modeling. Sometimes Mai was in them with you, you guys being pretty involved with the community. So, why hadn’t he seen you before? It was itching him; the car meets were city-wide, so you had to have come from somewhere else. I guess that answer would come as he got to know you.

“Plans later?”

“Depends, whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“That would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess so. Time?”

“5.”

“See ya then.”

“You got it, princess.”

He hung up the phone, grateful. He’d been nervous that you only saw him as the asshole you beat, but luckily, you liked him enough to let him take you out, and kiss you, and grope your tits. Fuck, he was getting hard.

You picked out your earrings as he pulled up; that backfire could be heard from a mile away. You wore a leather top and skirt today (if you could even call it that) and a pair of knee-high boots. As you walked up to him, you smiled and bit your lip, looking into his eyes as you crossed your legs. He had to clear his throat after gazing at your figure, too focused on the hem of your skirt to think appropriate thoughts. 

“Hey, princess.”

“Hey there.”

“You look pretty damn good.”

“When do I not?”

Fuck, you were on your cocky shit again. Choso opened the door for you, helping you into his low seat. As he got into the car, he got an eyeful of you, not even caring if you noticed. Which you did, bringing his chin towards you until your lips nearly touched his.

“Hungry much?”

“I am, actually.”

“So, you’re taking me for dinner?”

“You got it, angel.”

He smiled as he sat back, bringing his hand down to your thigh. Now you were pretty hot, but it wasn’t until you shifted gears for him that he was tempted to fuck you in his back seat; he was continuously arguing with his dick to calm down. You guys pulled up to a hotel, parking in the garage, too scared to let the valet drive his car. He guided you through the lobby and to the elevators and met with an attendant who requested your reservation. With a flash of Choso’s screen, she called the elevator, inputting a code and pressing the “RT” button.

“You two have fun!”

With that, you guys were brought up to the 30th floor. Getting off, Choso spoke something to the hostess standing outside the doors. When you guys pulled up to the hotel, you weren’t expecting to see the open restaurant atop it. Directed to a table on the overlook, the hostess thanked you both and called your waiter. Now, this was fuckin nice. The restaurant had ambient lighting, a fire pit in the middle of the rows of tables, and a view of the city below. You looked over at Choso, who was looking back and forth between you and the overlook.

“Nice rez.”

He perked up at your comment, getting the validation he wanted from you. He hated that you’d made him like this, eating up all the attention you gave him. The loss was enough to humble him, but the comments on your photos were not for the weak. And weak he was, for you, of course.

“Thanks. Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Well, depends. What’re we doing after this?”

Choso looked you up and down, eyes lingering on your legs as he licked his lips.

“Anything you want, angel.”

You blushed a bit, averting your attention to the waiter who had walked up to the table.

“Cosmopolitan, please.”

Picked one who was pretty; you know I like a pretty guy.

After a few drinks and a nice dinner, his gaze fell back to you, looking over the restaurant's railing. You were so fuckin' pretty. Cheeks flustered from the alcohol, your usual stuck-up demeanor a bit more relaxed, just like your lips fixed slightly open, almost in a pout.

“Did you enjoy dinner?”

“It was pretty good, thanks.”

You crossed your legs, smirking as you looked into his eyes. 

“So, what’s your endgame here?”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I mean, you’ve taken me out, been textin’ me almost every day for the past two weeks, pretty much-”

“I want you, real bad.”

He’d leaned into the table now, hand caressing your thigh underneath it.

“Is that so?”

His hand began sliding up your leg, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt.

“Want you to be my girl, that is, if you want to.”

His hand began to go beyond your skirt, fondling with the strap of your thong. Suddenly, the waiter returned, handing Choso his card back and thanking him for the visit. When he turned back to you, you were already standing, reaching out for his hand so he could lead you two back to the car.

“I’ll think about it.”

God, I don't give a fuck, but I guess I always do.

As you walked through the lobby, you got a text from Yuuji in the group chat.

"Some dude’s talkin' shit. Says you got lucky the other day with Choso, hadn't raced against a real ride."

"A real ride? What's that fucker driving?"

"He has a few builds. Don't know what he'll pop out with."

Mai opened up the messages, responding to the two of you.

"Okay, if he wants it, he can get it. What time?"

"9."

You checked the time: 8:23. Choso had stopped, seeing the look of irritation on your face.

"What's wrong?"

You showed him the chat, obviously irritated.

"No problem, we can swing back to yours and head over."

"There's not enough time for that. I'll have Yuuji and Mai meet us there with my car."

With that, you both walked to Choso’s car. He’d had a few drinks, so he was feeling pretty good. And by pretty good, he was fingering you on the way to the meet. A thirty-minute drive =  25 minutes to play with your pussy, and he was more than happy to take that option. The only issue was you were concentrating on changing the gears, putting your lives before your pleasure, but you weren’t gonna lie; it was a hard decision. A little tipsy, you were feeling loose, legs wide open to him so he could touch you, alternating between fucking you with his fingers and rubbing your clit. You were loud, too, moaning his name as his pinky held the fabric of your panties to the side so he could fuck you properly. He was in love with you, at least with how you rubbed your hips into his fingers, begging to cum. Unfortunately, that came to an end pretty quickly, getting yourself together as Choso pulled over. He wanted you to get a chance to cool off, kissing you as you fixed your panties and pulled your skirt back down.

As you pulled up, people recognized Choso’s car; that deep purple wrap was his staple. They didn’t expect to see you stepping out of it, recognizing you as the girl who beat him two weeks ago, taking a smoke before shit went down. You looked around the lot; you saw Yuuji and Mai hadn’t quite arrived, reaching down to shoot a text to-

“So, you made it, bitch.”

This asshole walked up to you as you sat on Choso’s hood, his arm unwrapping around your waist as he stood before the guy. Now, while it was admirable that Choso was ready to fight for you, you had to fight your own battles, and if this fucker wanted one, he was gonna get it. You pulled Choso’s arm back, walking up to the guy yourself. This guy was taller than you, not as tall as Choso, but you still had to look up at him as you spoke.

“You said a real ride, huh? What would that be?”

“Porsche 911 Turbo S.”

You smirked at the guy, laughing in his face as he looked at you, pissed off.

“Don’t make me fucking laugh! No, really, you should be a comedian! That damn twin turbo isn’t gonna take you far, sweetheart. That and your horsepower is just as short as your cock.”

The guy got closer to you, grabbing your wrist, making Choso almost fuckin’ pounce on the guy, but you raised your hand to keep him back.

“You talk a lot of shit, girl. Heard you came from the tri-state; whatcha doin’ down here? Tired of losing?”

“The opposite actually, got bored winning against all those dicks back home, so I moved out here for a challenge, which obviously, I’m not gonna get. Now, get your sweaty hand off me before I ash my Marlboro on your arm.”

He retracted his arm, face twisted.

“So, where’s your car bitch?”

“On its way, what, getting hard in anticipation? She is pretty damn sexy.”

“What, did you come here to talk shit?”

“Far from it, slow your brakes, and maybe I’ll let you cum. She’ll be here shortly.”

“Gotta wait to clap your sad excuse of a GT-R. Bet you’re shit with anything else; you pick one of the easiest imports to call your baby.”

Choso had had enough of this shit. He walked up to you and put his car keys in your hands, looking up at the guy with a look that said he was ten seconds away from getting his ass beat.

“Then race her in my car, unless you’re just a yappy bitch.”

If it isn't wrong, then I'm not looking out for you.

You both went to the starting line, Choso driving it up and doing the road test. As two guys from the group prepped your lanes, you looked at Choso in concern as he leaned against the car.

“Ready, princess?”

“What if somethin’ happens, I don’t wanna fuck up your car.”

“Trust me, if somethin’ happens, the last thing I’m thinkin' about is this car.”

“So, be my passenger.”

“That means you really can’t fuck up my car.”

You smiled at him and jabbed his shoulder, pulling him in for a kiss. You two walked over to it, hopping in and getting strapped up. He brought a hand over to rest on your thigh, moving it soon after so you could move the gear shift. As a guy walked between the cars to flag, Choso took a good look at you. You looked the most serious he’d ever seen you, eyes forward as you patiently waited for the flag to come up. It was hard for him not to look at your skirt, riding up from how you sat in the seat, panties probably sitting on the-

Choso hadn’t even realized the flagger signaled the takeoff. You reached 100 in 3.5 seconds, pushing him back in the seat as you shifted gears to accommodate the rapid change. From the passenger mirror, he could see the Porsche falling behind, obviously not matching the launch of Choso’s car. As you passed the finish signal, you began to slow down, Porsche catching up. You come to a complete stop now, starting to back up to the starting line. You looked good, hair messy and face flustered, eyes blown from how intense you had to concentrate and the adrenaline pumping through you. Probably the vodka, too.

You hopped out of the car, waiting for the asshole to pull back in, smirking at his loss. He got out of it, even angrier than before, cursing out the flaggers and accusing them of fucking with the signal. Right on time, Mai and Yuuji pulled up in your car, handing you the keys.

“We miss something?”

This time, Mai had replaced Choso as passenger princess, buckling herself in as they warmed the tires. The asshole flipped you off as he returned to his Porsche, obviously holding a grudge. Probably because there was a $40K pot now, and $30K of it was on you. This didn’t take very long at all. The second the flaggers cleared you, you were gone, but this time, his Porsche was neck and neck with yours. As you pulled back, guys were already arguing about the win. Everyone was in outrage; most people were pissed off and claimed loss on a $40K pot. With that, they agreed to review the footage in slo-mo, getting back to everyone as soon as they determined the winner. The cocky asshole smirked, saying things like, ‘We know I won,’ and ‘Tell that bitch she lost.’ You rolled your eyes and lit your cigarette, not like there was anything you could do but wait for the results. Yuuji and Mai said bye as they drove off in Yuuji’s 340i, leaving you and Choso at your car.

“You did good, princess.”

“Yeah?”

He looked you up and down, licking his lips again with half-lidded eyes.

“Let me show you how good you did.”

Only making eyes at a bad boy, one or two of the crew.

“Fuck!”

You practically couldn't get off each other after you and Choso met at your house, even forgetting to lock the front door. He didn't even bother taking you to your room; he had to get your thong off as soon as possible. And now, he was lapping you up on the couch as you pulled on his hair. Shit, he could eat pussy. Your eyes were rolling back, so blissed out you couldn't tell if it was the aftermath of three cosmos or just how good his tongue worked in and out of you. He was going wild, sucking at your clit a little harder every time you said his name, arms wrapped around your legs to pin you down and get you as close to his face as possible. You tasted so fuckin' good; happy to indulge in it now; licking you off his fingers earlier was just a tease. He licked you a little faster as your thighs began to tense on the sides of his head; he could tell you were about to cum. You groaned his name the loudest you had so far and finally let go. He was fuckin' drowning, and he loved every second of it. He was so fuckin' proud of you, not just because you came for him, but also because you beat that asshole earlier.

“That’s my good girl, that’s it, give it to me.”

As you came down, you got up, walking Choso back to your room. You pulled your top overhead and lost your skirt, naked, as you pushed him back to sit on the bed. You work fast to unbuckle his belt and pull his pants down, taking his boxers down with them. He helps you out by removing his shirt, not nearly fast enough for how quickly you’d gotten on top of him, straddling his hips as you moved your pussy back and forth over his shaft, begging him to fuck you. Well, how could he say no to that?

If you got an attitude, I'ma take a ride with you.

Choso lifted your hips a little, sinking you onto his dick slowly as you anchored yourself on his chest. You were moaning so fuckin’ loud, throwing your head back as you bounced up and down on his dick, finally finding the relief of his teasing all day. His hands gripped your hips, meeting your hips to thrust into you until, eventually, you started to slow down, getting tired from fucking him so fast. So, he sat up, adjusting you so you were on your knees, straddling his waist as he bounced you up and down on his dick. He groaned your name over and over in your ear, bringing a hand up to hold your back, bringing your tits into his chest before bringing his head down to suck at them, still fucking into you at a dangerous pace. He almost felt selfish for how fast he was fucking you, but you were so high on cumming earlier that you took every thrust he gave you, giving him those pretty whimpers every time he hit that special spot inside of you, but you needed him to keep hitting it, wanting to waste no time.

“Baby, make me cum again.”

“Yeah, baby? Want to cum for me again?”

You tried to say yes, but Choso was already flipping you over; he was on top of you, pushing his dick back into you, hitting that spot immediately. Fuck, he was consistent, ramming his hips into yours right there, reaching your hand up to grip his hair and bite his neck as he drilled into you. You were so fucking close, scratching your nails down his back as he took you exactly where you needed to be. You became undone on him, moaning his name into the room as you gripped his back and the sheets.

“Yeah, baby, cum for me. Fuck you feel so good…”

He fucked you through your orgasm; the spasms of your pussy, as you came, made him feel like nirvana, fucking into you deep as he chased his high. Within seconds he came inside of you, fucking his cum deeper into you as you held him, spent from overstimulation.

You can run and hide; I’m running game.

Choso rolled over, falling next to you on the bed, practically gasping for air after cumming so hard. He’d wanted you for so long, and seeing you in that outfit all night had made him feral. You got up first, putting your hair up in a clip as you walked to your bathroom to clean up, and as much as he didn’t wanna see you go, the brilliant view of your ass as you walked out the bedroom door made him want you to leave. You came back and cleaned his dick off, which he thanked you for with a kiss and a slap to your ass. Getting in bed with him, he wrapped his arms around you as you rested a hand on his chest.

Suddenly, your phone lit up with a text from Mai in the group chat. You opened the message, a slo-mo recap of the race from earlier. You had passed his Porsche ever so slightly, and the organizers declared you the winner of the race. Not like you’d ever think you’d lose.

Only one winner in this bitch and I win everything.

♱ the song used in this story is bb by shygirl. 🖤

♱ masterlist.

♱ all fics playlist.

𝖆𝖚 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖗, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖞𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖓.

#choso x reader #chosoxreader #choso x female reader #chosoxfemalereader #choso x f!reader #chosoxf!reader #choso x fem!reader #chosoxfem!reader #chosoxfemreader #choso x you #chosoxyou #choso smut #chososmut #choso fluff #choso fanfic #choso fic #choso kamo #kamo choso #jjk x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x f! reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk choso #choso #kamo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #thelovelyruin

[nohoney]

bae now you're LEGALLY required to write something about c&c touya and reader taking care of their newborn. my heart ACHES

legally required you say (￢‿￢ )

Touya remembers the days of rolling out of bed from being out late at night, his body still exhausted and his head pounding with a hangover, needing more sleep, needing food in his stomach, and needing coffee and a smoke after a tiring night.

He’d go out to the balcony, light up a cigarette and inhale nicotine in between sips warm coffee.

The pairing he still believes is the best and can’t be topped.

He still drinks coffee but he’s given up the smoking, and instead of looking out at the balcony, now he looks out into the small backyard of the house you and him bought together. His body is exhausted after the long nights he’s had, but instead of being disgruntled by it, Touya holds no resentment.

Not with his newborn son being the reason why he’s tired.

“What’s with the face? You grumpy, hm? Got a bad attitude in the morning just like your mum?” Touya speaks to his son in his arms, fascinated with how his baby looks so curious but sometimes scrunching his little face like he doesn’t understand something. “Or maybe you’re making that face because you want her instead?”

Speaking of which, you shuffle out into the living room, pulling your arms through a cardigan and stifling a yawn. “There’s my boys,” you announce with a tired smile, “whatcha doing?”

“Nothing much, I was talking to him about his face. He was looking kinda pissed for a little.” Touya walks away from the sliding doors, carefully transferring his son into your arms and helping you sit down on the couch. His son makes a squirmy little sound but recognizes that he’s with his mother, turning his head when you coo over him.

It makes Touya feel sappy to see this before him, but he knows that once there’s crying or a soiled nappy, the feeling will momentarily leave until the baby is all settled.

“Gonna brew some coffee. You want your tea?” Touya offers and is given a little affirming hum from you, “You want breakfast too?”

“Yeah, I’m hungry.”

There’s been very little energy to cook since bringing the baby home. Touya remembers the second day wanting to make eggs but his body was too exhausted from staying up with you as you breastfed your baby in the early hours of the morning and then falling asleep when his son was full. Your mom was right to suggest prepping meals ahead of time and freezing them.

While the coffee brews, Touya is warming a frozen meal into a pot. He smells the coffee in the air and he sighs a little wistfully; he misses the cigarettes. Not even the little vape that he used as a substitute was touched after you reached your third trimester. The routine of stepping outside for a smoke was dearly missed.

He’s got your favorite mug filled with hot tea as he approaches you in the living room, only to find you sniffling and weeping a little. He was told that baby blues are normal and has been keeping vigilant whenever you have these moments.

“Doll? What’s wrong?” He asks you gently, putting the cup on a coaster first. Three days after bringing the baby home, you had burst into tears when Touya had put your cup of water down on the coffee table without a coaster, unreasonably lamenting about water rings on the wood.

You wipe at your tears and sniffle first, letting out an embarrassed laugh before telling him, “I don’t know. I told you I was hungry and then all of a sudden I felt like I wasn’t hungry, but I could already hear you warming up the food in the kitchen. And then I just started spiraling about how I was wasting your time making breakfast that I’m not even sure I wanted anymore.”

He leans over to kiss your forehead, murmuring that it’s okay but most like you are hungry and that he’ll take the baby so that you could eat in peace.

By the time you’re finished eating, you do feel better and your son starts getting a little squirmy to indicate that it’s his turn. You make yourself comfortable in the armchair and unfasten the strap to your top, sighing when your son latches at your nipple and talking softly as he’s fed. “Hey, no nodding off just yet. Gotta make sure your tummy’s full so that you can sleep.”

It’s been about nine days since the baby has been home, and it almost feels surreal to Touya that almost every conversation you and him have had together centers around the baby boy. Talking about things like the little hairs on his head, how he blinks, the way he seems to recognize Touya’s music when it’s played, and having whole conversations about what’s considered normal inside of a nappy. When your sister and her husband spoke of their own daughter when she was a newborn, Touya couldn’t really understand the fascination that they had.

Now he gets it.

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #dabi fluff

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 5: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter five of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (a few times), Drinking, Drug Use, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Possible spoilers for season three.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

*************************

Present Day

"Hey'ya Kitten!" Legend smiles wide when he opens the front door of his apartment. "Where have you been baby? How's retirement?" He leans forward for a kiss and you turn your cheek to the side.

Always the flirt.

"Exciting. Is it alright if I come in?"

"Of course! I always have time for my favorite hero." He ushers you into his home.

It was one day after Agent Butcher and Hughie had dropped by your apartment looking for information on Soldier Boy. One sleepless night later you realized that the only way you were going to find Countess was through Legend. And despite his flirtatious attitude, you liked your former handler.

The apartment looks the same as it always has. Memorabilia from what he thought was the good old days hangs on the walls, a black leather couch sags in the center of the living room, and a red faded high backed armchair stands in the corner like a silent guardian. The smell of old cologne, pot, and alcohol soaks through the air and into your nose as you turn to examine the inhabitant.

Legend looks decidedly older. Sometimes you forgot that you didn't age the same way other people did, but then you'd meet someone from the past and it would remind you all over again. He's wearing the same smoking jacket with patched elbows, sunglasses, and ascot, that you saw him wearing over ten years ago. But Legend was classic.

"You hurt my feelings by not calling." He breezes having a seat on one of the couches, and fluffing more of the offensive smell through your nose, but you don't make a face. "What's it been ten years?"

"Something like that." You smile tightly and sit down on the armchair.

It wasn't that you didn't like seeing Legend. He might have been a crazy son of a bitch, but he was a good handler. He knew everything about everyone and he helped you get through Ben's death, not to mention he helped you create your new life when you broke away from Payback.

"You want some?" Legend holds out a mirror where a single white line of cocaine sits. "Or are you still sober?"

"I never did cocaine. And yeah, I'm still trying to stay on the wagon."

"Don't know how you do it."

"Me either." You say it partly to yourself, because it was true. You didn't know how you got through the past 40 years without a drink. Before, it wasn't that you partied as hard as Ben or the others did. It was more the drinking than drugs you imbibed in. Yes, you'd smoked the occasional blunt, but you didn't want to lose control if you tried anything stronger. You didn't like losing control, you prided yourself on keeping it together.

Ben had lost control more than once, and each time he'd show up at your apartment just like he had when he was a kid and he was hiding from his father, falling asleep beside you like nothing had changed. You never understood how he could be so vulnerable when it was just the two of you, but when he was in public he was different. Sometimes you hated that, because in those quiet moments you saw the boy you fell in love with, but when you were out in public you saw the man he became.

You remember all the times he lost control. The worst was when he threw a car through a house when trying to stop some kids in the street and killed an older man. Ben hadn't gone to the funeral, but you had. You sat on the back pew and watched the family mourn. Only a little boy in the front row had noticed you, and you had offered a kind smile, before walking back through the streets and leaving an envelope of cash in the family's mailbox. You knew the money couldn't replace the person they lost, but you couldn't think of anything else to do.

"So, are you here because you want to come out of retirement?" Legend snorts the line on the mirror without looking up. "Might be a good thing."

You laugh to yourself. "I like retirement too much to go back to Vought. Too wild out there nowadays with the supervillains and all that Compound V bullshit." You lean back in the armchair, crossing your legs in front of you.

"I could make you a star!" He looks up at you. "You're still as sexy as ever."

"And you're still a dirty old man." You tease, rolling your eyes at him and earning a chortle from Legend.  "I don't think my powers are cutesy enough for television. I’m not like Starlight.” You snort thinking about the current blonde member of The Seven that had become America’s Sweetheart, a title that you were happy you never wore.

"Who said anything about your powers babe? It's all about the body."

"Legend-"

"Fine, fine." He shakes his head. "I saw your last art show, very nice. Bought something for the country house."

"That's very kind of you." You smile with pride. Your last show had been a series you titled "Moods of the Forest," which meant that you had camped out under the stars for a solid month up North drinking in the silence of the woods. It was a nice way for you to clear your head and catch up on your reading, but it had done little to ease the thoughts of the past. "Those were some of my favorites. It was hard to part with them."

"You're very talented." He compliments.

"Thank You. I'd hope so. I've been painting for almost 90 years." Your memory flashes back to when Ben gave you paint for your birthday and the months that followed as you practiced. All the days you spent painting in the park and along the streets of Philadelphia, sometimes with Ben following behind and teasing you, but you knew he loved how much you were painting, loved how much you enjoyed the gift. The happiness and warmth of the memories is doused by a bucket of cold water as you remember the last time you saw him. The echo of the last words you spoke to him and the words he shouted at you ringing in your ears.

The chill sobers you and makes you remember why you were here talking to Legend.

"I have something important to ask you." You look up at Legend. "Do you know where Crimson Countess is?"

Legend doesn't answer immediately. The spike of his pulse with the mention of Countess' name is loud in your ears. "Did you want a scotch? I think I need one." He avoids your gaze.

"Legend-"

He stands from the couch and moves over to the table in the corner that has a collection of multicolored bottles that you wish you could drink from, but you restrain yourself. You hear the sound of the glass being poured and as he turns he takes a sip as if rousing the courage to tell you.

"Y/n if this is you finally going after her, now might not be the best time." He swirls the glass in his hand, the amber liquid sloshing against the sides. "I thought you were past all that-"

"It's not like that I-“  Your lips press together in a tight line, considering your next words. "Some men came to my apartment the other day looking for me. They were asking me about Ben."

"You told them you were dead right? The story we came up with?" Legend looks worried.

"Yeah. Don't think they bought it." You shrug.

"Did they give you their names?"

"They said they were with the CIA. Agent Butcher and a guy named Hughie-"

"Butcher? Dark hair, British accent, asshole?" Legend's glass pauses half-way to his mouth.

"Yeah. How did you-"

Legend sighs. "He used to be with the CIA, was on a task force that was used to hunt down supes. I helped them find a few over the years."

"Hunt them down?"

"Butcher's got a bone to pick with supes. Homelander especially." Legend sits back on the couch nursing his scotch.

At the mention of Vought’s most popular hero you pause. You didn’t know too much about Homelander, just that he emerged as Vought’s Golden Boy a few years after Ben died and he was supposed to be indestructible. You wondered if he was as indestructible as you.

“Homelander?”

“Did something to his wife.” Legend waves a hand like it doesn’t matter. "But they were asking you about Soldier Boy?"

"Yeah, they wanted to know about the relationship I had with him and how he died-" You foot taps against the ground, fighting the urge to pour yourself a drink.

Legend looks worried. "Maybe you should get out of town for a few days-"

"What?"

Can Butcher really be that dangerous? He didn't seem like much the other day and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be able to handle me. Most supes couldn't.

"Not because of Butcher, he's a dick, but I mean everything with Soldier Boy." Legend takes a sip from the glass. "If you start thinking about him again, you're going to be in the same place you were last time."

Deep down you know he's right, ever since Butcher and Hughie showed up on your doorstep, Ben was all you thought about. The hole you dug yourself into when you and Ben fought and then he died was deep and dark, and it was already beginning to open under your feet.

You didn’t know if talking to Countess would help close it, but maybe you needed closure, maybe you needed to hear it from her how he died. The last thing you wanted was to go to Stan Edgar. He'd already shown up once, but you thought you had convinced him with your story. Occasionally he would show up to one of your art shows, browsing through the canvases, and asking you about the inspiration of them. You never liked when he showed up in your life, because after all these years he hadn't changed, he was still a snake obsessed with power and being on top.

"I know." You sigh, clutching your hands together in your lap. "But I want to talk to her. Maybe it's time. There was always something that unsettled me about how Ben died and she's the one who saw it. Plus Noir isn’t very talkative these days, Gunpowder is dead, and I’d rather drink cyanide than listen to those two TNT idiots.”

Learning that Gunpowder was dead was a shock. You'd lost contact with him, but you thought it was suspicious that he died so soon before Butcher and Hughie came to see you. You knew that Gunpowder was still doing his rounds in the gun expos and conventions, boasting about the good all days and preaching about the dangers of gun control.

It was ironic for him to be against it when you'd personally seen him kill several people who pissed him off and for no good reason.

If anything he shouldn't be allowed near a gun.

When you knew him he was still a kid, but even then he was already adopting the ridiculous macho attitude that Ben had.

Must have stuck.

"I still don’t think it's a good idea." Legend finishes his glass of Scotch. "But let me find it.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me kitten. I don't think I'm doing you a favor." He grunts moving through the apartment, while your eyes trace the photos. Several of them were of Ben at movie premieres, another showed the whole Payback team, and finally just Ben and Legend. He was wearing his ridiculous helmet, the one you used to tease him about. You always thought it was a shame that they covered up his handsome face.

You had a box of photos under your bed that held similar images, but most of yours were of Ben and you not wearing your supe suits. The ones from your childhood needed to be handled with care, but you enjoyed looking at them, before you saw the hardness in Ben's eyes and the set of his jaw. Those early photos showed you the boy you fell in love with.

"Here." He hands you a slip of paper that holds his untidy scrawl as you stand from the chair.

"Thank you." You turn to go, but stop. "Should I be worried about Butcher?"

"I'd stay out of his way. He kills supes for fun."

"But if Ben's already dead then what does he want?"

Legend shrugs. "Can't be good."

"Great."

"Just be careful." Legend puts his hand on your shoulder. "I know that everything that happened with Soldier Boy really threw you-"

"I know. But I have to know. I have to hear what she has to say." You sigh looking up at him. It touched your heart that he cared so much. Legend never got close to his clients in the past, but for some reason he was always more willing to help you. It was him that talked you out of the hole when Ben died.

"Okay."

"It was good to see you. Take care of yourself." You try not to see the weariness in his eyes, the way the wrinkles have grown and stretched over the years, how the gray of his hair has spread. One listen with your supe hearing meant that you could hear his blood pumping through his veins, but it wasn’t at the same vigor as it once was. It was difficult to see age on the people you knew, the day that you and Ben both figured out that you weren't aging anymore had been bittersweet. You were happy that Ben wouldn’t die either, but it meant you’d lose your family. However, Ben’s inability to age meant that you weren't alone.

You frown to yourself. Sometimes you’d thought that meant something, that the universe finally threw you a bone and it was some cosmic sign that you and Ben were supposed to be together-

What a crock of shit.

But despite his death the past few years you hadn't been alone even though you had expected it.

"Good to see you too kitten. Don't be a stranger."

When you finally make it to the street below, you kick your leg over your motorcycle, but pause.

I could just go home and work on my pieces for my next show. Go home and pretend those men never showed up and forget all about Ben. The guilt and anger that rises with his name is familiar, but you brush it away. This might be the only chance I have of finding out what happened to him. You think about Countess and the scrap of paper in your pocket. But it won't be easy.

***********************

Thank you so much for reading! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated, but not required. Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister

#jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #the boys amazon #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy fic #the boys series #the boys season 3

[munson-blurbs]

IT'S SPOOOPY HALLOWEENIE!

Dum-Dum.* Kit Kat. Eddie.

*"I don't know what that is" - in an Australian accent.

Idiots in love/Artist!Reader/Eddie Munson

Warnings: drug use (weed), reader can be read as gender neutral, mention of Billy Hargrove, sitting on Eddie's lap

WC: 778

Divider credit to @saradika (also, Dum-Dums are a brand of lollipop)

Knock knock.

The sound of someone at the door startles you, drawing your attention from your unfinished sketch and to the curly-haired boy clutching a piece of paper in his ringed hand.

“Sorry, uh,” Eddie says with a nervous laugh, “didn’t mean to scare you.” When you don’t reply, he looks around the otherwise-empty classroom. “Is now a bad time, or…?”

You gather your thoughts, heart pounding a mile a minute at the sudden interruption. “N-No, you’re fine,” you stammer. God, he’s so cute. Cheeks tinged red with bashfulness, free hand shoved into his back pocket, frizzy curls brushing against his denim-clad shoulders. “Something I can help you with?” you ask when he remains standing in place.

“Oh! Um, yeah.” He shuffles over to you, as though reminding himself to put one foot in front of the other. “You draw, right? Like, sketches and stuff?” He winces at his stilted attempt at an opening, especially given the fact that your sketchbook is open right in front of you.

“Mhm.”

“Cool.” Eddie nods. “Could I ask you to draw this? It’s for my uncle’s birthday next month.” He hands you the photo, and your heart instantly melts. It’s a picture of him and who you assume is his uncle, and Eddie can’t be much older than ten years old. He’s wearing a blue shirt with an S in a diamond hastily drawn on the front. A faded red towel is tied around his neck in a makeshift cape. The older man stands behind him, half a KitKat bar hanging from his lips like a cigarette. “It was my first Halloween with him.” The first time I ever celebrated Halloween, actually, he thinks, but keeps that information to himself.

You carefully study the photo, careful not to leave fingerprints on it, even though there’s already a smudge in the corner. “I, uh, I don’t know what those stains are,” Eddie mumbles. “I can’t offer a lot of money, but if you smoke…” he mimics taking a pull from a joint, “I can hook you up for free.”

“You sure?” You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t want you getting in trouble or anything.”

Eddie dismisses the notion with a wave. “What’s he gonna do, call the cops?”

“Fair enough,” you agree with a smile.

You hadn’t realized that when Eddie had offered to smoke you up for free, he’d meant smoking with him. Over the next few weeks, any free time that wasn’t spent drawing the photo of him and his uncle–whose name was Wayne, you’d learned–you spent with him in a haze of marijuana. Sharing giggles, splitting family bags of potato chips when the munchies inevitably hit, snuggling up on his couch and sleepily watching sitcom reruns consumed your afternoons. To an outsider’s perspective, it looked like you two were together. Truthfully, you had no idea what you and Eddie’s status was.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” you sit up suddenly, shifting under the blanket and reaching for your backpack. “I finished this last night.”

Eddie’s bloodshot eyes go wide, and you swear that their glassiness is fueled by more than just pot. “This is…wow,” he breathes out, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is even better than I imagined.” He doesn’t know the technical terms for what you’ve done, but you’ve perfectly captured their enthused expressions, the joy in their eyes evident even just through pencil shading. “You’re amazing.”

And maybe it’s the compliment, or the high, or the way he’s been nestled into you for the last forty minutes, but you tilt his head towards yours and kiss him. Your mouths collide clumsily, and he seems shocked at first, but he quickly eases himself into it to deepen it. One hand cups your cheek while the other pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling his lithe waist. 

“Wanted to do this for a long time,” he murmurs into you, not wanting to fully break the kiss. “Ever since I first saw you, I thought you were so goddamn pretty.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since you jumped on the cafeteria table and called Billy Hargrove out for leading all those poor girls on,” you admit with a laugh. “He turned bright red.”

Eddie inhales, shrugging his shoulders haphazardly. “Earned myself a pretty little black eye for that.” His nose nudges yours as he leans in to kiss you again. “But it was totally worth it if it meant you noticed me.”

You pull back slightly, taking in his beautiful brown eyes, the tiny patch of stubble where he’d missed shaving, the flyaway hairs on his temple. “Can I keep noticing you?”

“I’d be sad if you stopped.”

--

#trope or treat #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fluff

[fandomhcs]

dating harley quinn would include:

constant laughter. jokes that make no sense, have no punchline, yet still leave you both delirious from giggling so much. your sides hurt with her all the time. 

harley is a roller coaster of the most beautiful variety. she’s beautiful and sweet, playful and brilliant. she brightens up every room she enters and you never let her forget it. 

behind all the color, laughter, and smoke bombs hides a lot of insecurity and pain. the two of you don’t really talk about it, about him, but you know enough. instead of focusing on that, you can tell that she just wants to charge forward in life and leave it all behind her. while that may not be the healthiest of ways to cope, you can’t really fault her for it. nor can you complain about being dragged along with her on her wacky adventure.

greasy diner food, roller skates, and speeding along the highway blasting music to drown out the assholes that honk at you. there’s never a dull moment. 

even in the safety of your own apartment harley brings a certain sense of vibrancy. curled up on your couch, unable to tell whose limbs are whose, she’ll babble on about anything and everything. you’ve learned all the dirty details of gotham’s underbelly thanks to her rambling. she even let it spill that harvey dent’s got a secret tattoo that the tabloids would just die to find out.

speaking of gotham’s underbelly, harley isn’t one to keep you out of it. she trusts you to handle your own. you’re dating her, aren’t ya? got to be some sort of bad ass to do that. even if you’re a civilian, there’s nowhere else she’d want you to be than with her. though that might mean having to teach you some tips and tricks to keep outta too much trouble.

who would’ve known that picking a lock was so hard? or that hot wiring your car while your girlfriend shoots glitter grenades at gotham pd would be so thrilling. 

but for all the thrills and chills, harley also loves a romantic, chill night in. she loves to cuddle you, almost never letting your out of her arms even in public. she’ll kiss you, hug you, smack your ass, and she doesn’t give a damn who sees her do it! 

anybody with a complaint about your relationship mysteriously ends up covered in pink paint and chicken feathers. or worse, if they keep pushing her. anyone who trash talks her baby is gonna get a face full of harley fuckin’ quinn, that’s for sure.

expect to be friends with lots of people you really never imagined being friends with. one day poison ivy will show up at your house with a small potted plant and warn you that if anything happens to it you die, the next black frickin’ canary shows up to ask if harley has stolen her tights again. harley collects people, her heart too big and vibrant for her not to be buddies with half of gotham (despite half of gotham wanting to shoot her, of course). some of these people, over time, become your people too. and it isn’t that uncommon for cassandra cain to be found snoring on your couch, for catwoman’s heels to be tossed in the corner of your kitchen while she digs through your fridge, or for the little old lady down the street to knock on your door with a freshly baked quiche.

bruce loves you, and i mean abso-frickin’-lutely adores you. the precious pup curls up around you every night when you head to bed, begs for treats every time you go to the kitchen, and never leaves your side when you leave the house without harley. heck, sometimes you cuddle the sweet boy more than you cuddle your own girlfriend. and she doesn’t even have the heart to be mad about it. (she’ll pout, though. you know she’ll pout.)

at the end of the day, treat harley quinn with kindness and respect and she’s gonna love you. 

kiss her in the rain, bring her breakfast in bed, dance around in your underwear to the hairspray musical. understand that life is a blast and you gotta make the best out of it. kiss her pretty face all over, swing her around in your arms, blow raspberries on her skin. make her laugh, make her smile, and she’s yours.

she’s weird and makes no sense sometimes, and some of her antics raise your blood pressure to alarming levels. but there is no one else who’ll rock your world the way she can.

#harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #harley quinn headcanons #dc #dc reader insert #hcs #dwi

[lg-123]

Stoner-Ajax P

Summary: The vampires and gorgons don’t socialize normally, that is until y/n finds out Ajax has the best stuff.

Pairing: Ajax Petropolus x y/n

masterlist

Summary: The vampires and gorgons don’t socialize normally, that is until y/n finds out Ajax has the best stuff.

Pairing: Ajax Petropolus x y/n 

Vampires and gorgons didn’t associate too much inside Nevermore. Sure, there were some who were friends in larger groups, but for the most part they stayed separate. It may be because vampires aren’t affected by the snakes, or because the vampires can’t feel the gorgons’ emotions, but either way y/n knew to stay clear of them. 

Y/n sighed as she made her way out of class, she was stressed beyond measure. Her mother had sent her a letter reminding her that she was falling behind her siblings, having yet to drink human blood. Y/n didn’t want to, and she thankfully had found some friends who were on the same page, but this only angered her mother. Her friend Mavis had advised her that smoking weed would help, did y/n understand how? Not at all, but she always listened to her friend’s advice. 

That’s how she found herself leaning against the wall, outside fencing practice. It only took a second for y/n to spot him, his beanie covered his head making him stick out against his friends.

“Hey Ajax!” The girl said, causing the boy to turn on his heel, questioning why the Y/n Y/ln wanted to speak to him. 

“Well, what do I owe the pleasure?” The boy took in the girl in front of him. He knew exactly who she was. Her curly hair was tucked behind her ears and her teeth showed lightly as she bit her lip. Ajax would never admit that this girl has been on his mind for the past two months. 

“I- uh I need some stuff...” y/n whispered, looking around the hall to make sure no one could hear. Ajax was shocked, vampires usually didn’t mess around with getting high off marijuana, usually they used people for that. 

“Do you need it to get high?” The gorgon questioned. “Can’t you just go into town and-” 

“No!” The girl had interrupted, her face growing flush with embarrassment and Ajax realized she wasn’t like the other vampires at Nevermore. “I just- do you have anything to help with stress?” She looked at the gorgon, fulling taking him in as he seemed to be in his own thoughts. His nose was thick, but it suited his face, y/n could see slight muscles under his shirt, having just come from practice. He was cute, she couldn’t lie, but vampires couldn’t like gorgons. 

She was interrupted out of her thoughts by Ajax speaking again. “Yeah, I got some stuff, but you can’t take it alone. Do you have anyone to stay with you while you do it?” Y/n racked her brain, Mavis was the only one she trusted to take care of her like that. She shook her head no and frowned slightly. Ajax noticed the crease on her forehead and before he could think spit out the words:

“You can come to my dorm and take it, that way I can make sure you are okay.” Mentally Ajax was punching himself, that was way to forward but surprisingly the girl nodded in agreement. 

Y/n had no idea why she agreed to take it in Ajax’s room, but he offered and her responded before she could think. And that’s how she ended up hanging upside-down off Ajax’s bed, smoking a blunt and giggling at God knows what. She felt so much more relaxed, the pot helping take her mind off her mother and talking to Ajax wasn’t as bad as she thought. And so, it became their thing, Y/n would get stressed and text Ajax and 5 minutes later they were smoking in his room.

----------

“Dude it’s been two months of you guys meeting up twice a week to smoke, ask her out already.” Xavier whacked Ajax on the back of the head. He was tired of his best friend coming to him daily and talking about the vampire but not doing anything. 

“Dude no, what if she rejects me, then things will be awkward. I’m perfectly fine just letting her use me for smokes.” In all truth, Ajax was not fine at all, in the past two months Ajax and y/n had grown to be best friends. They would talk about any and everything, sometimes not even smoking, just sitting in each other’s presence until y/n felt peace. And as much as Ajax loved it, y/n loved it more. 

“Y/n next time you go to his room just kiss him!” Mavis yelled at the girl. Y/n had realized over the past two months what a major crush she had on Ajax, to the point where she missed an entire lecture because she was too busy staring at him. Y/n was against this idea Mavis had though, because she was so sure he didn’t feel the same. Y/n left shortly after to meet up with Ajax, who was already on his bed, joint in hand. 

Within no time they were both high, giggling and the most random things when all of a sudden Ajax stopped. Y/n looked up to see him staring at her, memorizing her face. Her cheeks flushed and she mumbled a quiet “what?”. The weed definitely was in Ajax’s favor because he shot back immediately with:

“You’re beautiful.” 

Both of them froze, realizing what was said. Ajax began cursing at himself, laying back on his bed and shutting his eyes, praying it as all a dream. “Ajax” y/n whispered, causing the boy to open his eyes and sit up. Her eyes were focused on him intently, and the weed was also in her favor because she leaned forward and grabbed the back of his neck. Pulling him into a soft kiss, both afraid it wasn’t real. They pulled apart, unsure of what to do next. 

“Would you want to go out?” Ajax said, breaking the tension.  “Yes!” Y/n said, pulling him back in to meet her lips, and that’s how they stayed for the rest of the night. 

#ajax petropolus #ajax petropolus x reader #wednesday show

[ohtobeleah]

Okay wait so Bradley and Dot have smoked pot together right?! Sooo how'd that happen was it like,

Dot caught Bradley smoking on the roof trying to hide that he was doing it and it goes "if you don't tell your mother, you can have a few hits"

Or did he catch her and instead of getting her in trouble he's like "he'll yeah I haven't gotten high in a hot minute, if you share I won't tell your mom"

Or was it an entirely different scenario??

Terms of Endearment Masterlist

Warnings: Under age drug and alcohol use.

Okay let’s get one thing straight here. First, Bradley Bradshaw never and I mean never, gives or buys Odette any kind of illicit drugs. He does however, indulge on a few occasions in smoking it with her. After she purchased it herself. Jake however—well he’s under the impression that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander and he's known you since well forever really, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Jake Seresin is Dot's weed gummy dealer. She can’t legally go buy her own so Jakes on it. He’d rather know what she’s doing than have her go behind his back. 

But the deal was Odette didn’t snitch. The second she even thought about snitching on Jake’s ass he’d shove his foot so far up hers she'd be licking his big toe. As for the beer and other assorted liquors—Well he doesn’t really have an excuse for that except for the fact you used to do the same thing as Dot. Smoke a lot of weed, get drunk on whatever you could get your hands on, Jake too. He knows what you used to get up to and if push ever came to shove he’d be the first to remind you what a delightful and respectful young woman you used to be. The pinnacle of an upstanding citizen. 

Not really, you were a fucking delinquent. Jake knows it, you know it and Odette didn’t fall very far from the tree when it came to her taste in recreational drug usage. 

It’s on one of those days where Odette hasn’t been that awful to her parents. She’s honestly been content the last few weeks ever since Rooster came and picked her up from that party that turned bad. She was supposed to be grounded. Wasn’t allowed to go out on the weekend with her friends or have anyone over. You’d been very clear that if she so much as stepped a foot out of line you’d send her off to one of those all girl private schools that her uncle Pete was adamant about her needing.

Knowing all this—Odette hit up Richie Nealson, the kid who’s known for dealing anything of any value from the out of order stall in the boys bathroom in the C block building, for a bag of weed that’s probably been grown in some old guy's greenhouse. She wants a peaceful night in, a Friday night all to herself and her snacks and her weed and her music.

So Dot does what Dot does best. She’s climbing up onto the roof from her bedroom window, lugging all her essentials up in the black backpack and setting up shop for the evening, there’s not a cloud in sight.

“Honey?” You're knocking on the door to the study you and Bradley share. He’s sitting there with his glasses on the bridge on his nose looking all kinds of stressed about some of these mission parameters he’s meant to hand out on Monday. “Have you seen Dot? I haven’t heard from her in over two hours and she’s not in her room?” 

“She’s probably on the roof—“ Bradley sighs, taking his glasses off as he stands up from behind the desk he’d been perched at for the better half of the evening. “I’ll go see what she’s up to.” 

“She knows I don’t like it when she gets up there.” You sigh, drinking in the sight of your husband is his gray sweatpants and his black T-shirt. The dad bods more prominent nowadays but still—Bradley Bradshaw fucks. He keeps his health in order, especially his cardiovascular health. “Makes me nervous.”

“She does a lot of things nowadays because she knows you don’t like them.” Bradley smirks, kissing your cheek before your turn to playfully squish his ass. “Hey!” He’s swatting you away as you laugh, watching Bradley disappear up the staircase—he takes every second stair like a child would. 

When Bradley enters his teenage daughter’s room he’s creeping in as if he’s waiting to be hit by a sniper that’s perched on top of her dresser. Slowly taking steps towards the window that’s had the fly screen removed. Yep—he was bang on the money, Odette was up on the roof. 

“You got room for one more up here?” Dot hears her dads voice coming from her window. With panic setting in, she’s coughing up her lungs because she’d been in the middle of smoking a joint she’d poorly rolled and breathed in too heavy too quickly. 

*cough* *cough* *cough* 

“You alright up there?” Bradley’s asking before he’s muscling his way up, shocking himself that he could whip out a muscle up like that in sweat pants and without stretching. “Oh my god—“ He’s stunned when he sees the set up Dots made. 

“Dad!—'' Dots frowning in defeat as Bradley wiggles his way up into the sweet setup Dots organised. She’s got pillows and a blanket, snacks and fairy lights. Her favourite book and some snacks. But of course Bradley can smell the incredible pungent aroma of marijuana. He’s old, not stupid. 

“Before you try to push me off the roof, can I just say—that’s the strongest smelling pot I’ve ever smelt and I can’t believe your mother hasn’t smelt that out yet, holy shit.” Dots confused, why is her dad not absolutely ripping her head off right now. She’s just stunned into silence, staying perfectly still as Bradley makes himself comfortable and steals a handful of his daughter peanut M&M’s. 

“Uh, yeah—I guess you could say it’s pretty strong.” 

“You know you’re gonna have to share—“ Bradley says with a mouth full of peanuts and chocolate and that’s what has Dot on the verge of thinking she’s entered a parallel universe. She passed out didn’t she? She actually smoked herself into a weed coma and now this is just all some kind of fucked up dream? 

“You wanna smoke weed with me?” Odette has never been so utterly flabbergasted in all her sixteen years. 

“Well it’s either that or I tell your mother that you’re smoking weed on the roof you know she doesn’t like you climbing up on.”

“I’ll share if you promise not to tell—“ Dots bargaining, sussing out her dad as she holds the half smoked joint. “Also I’m pretty sure this is extortion—“ Bradley just takes it, reaches for the lifter sitting on the blanket beside his daughter and relights the herb. He holds the poorly rolled joint between his lips as he takes a few seconds to really soak up the sensation. He hadn’t done this since before he joined the Naval Academy. “Huh, well I’ll be damned, never thought I’d see a Naval Commander smoking pot on a roof with a minor.” 

“That makes two of us.” It’s the cough Bradley lets out as he passes the joint back to his daughter that had Dot laughing. “Holy shit that’s rough—“ 

“Tell me about it, I’ve been picking stems out of the batch for half an hour.” Dot replies before she’s settling in, lying down on her back beside her father who’s sitting with one leg bent, leaning back on one arm and the other leg laying out stretched. “Uncle Jake told me that him and mum used to get high together all the time when they were my age.” God Bradley was gonna kill that guy if he didn’t stop running his mouth. “Said mum used to sneak into his bedroom window and pass out on his floor when she’d get really fucked up.” 

“Your mother didn’t have that crash hot of a childhood kid.” Bradley sighs, leaning back to join Dot on her back as she passes him the joint that's slowly but steadily getting smaller and smaller. “For what it's worth though, you know she’d still rip your head off if she found out you’re smoking dope.” 

“I’ll just tell her you smoked it with me.” 

“Oh yeah? And who’s she gonna believe in that situation huh?” Bradley’s taking another drag, all the while Dots reaching for her phone and taking a quick picture of Bradley smoking pot on the roof. “Hey! Ya little brat!”

“Should I start a group chat with mum Uncle Pete and Uncle Jake or should I just email your higher ups—“ Dot can’t even finish her empty threat before Braldey is smacking her shoulder. “Ow! Fuck you—I’m calling child protective services.”

“They’d bring you back without two hours—“ Bradley’s laughing, handing Dot the nearly finished blunt. She’s probably got one more drag left before it’s done. “I won’t tell your mother about this, your secrets safe with me—I’d rather know what you're doing up here than have you sneaking out to parties and getting mixed up in the wrong things with the wrong people.” It’s a sincere explanation that explains Bradley’s reaction to finding his daughter smoking on the roof. “But the second that photo is used as evidence against me so help me god I’ll throw you off the damn roof you got it?” 

“Yes Sir Commander Sir—“ Dot salutes. She’s starting to feel light headed and airy. Bradley smiles, he hasn’t been able to just hang out with Odette in what felt like months. “But now’s probably a good time to mention Uncle Jake got me edible’s.” 

“That fucking guy honestly.” Bradley’s groaning, rubbing his hands across his face until the whites of his eyes are red. “How many?” He is, however, intrigued. 

“Six, they’re sativa though so I wasn’t sure if I was gonna take ‘em tonight.” Dots rummaging through her bag, fishing out the bag of gummies before handing them to her dad. Bradley just studies the bag, decides what could possibly go wrong, and says the most outrageous thing a father could say to his sixteen year old daughter ever. 

“How about we split the bag and the first one mum catches does the others chores for a month.” 

“Dad! Are you insane!” Dot feels like the parent in this situation. “Are you trying to get us killed! Are you having suicidal tendencies? Is that what this is?” 

“Don’t be such a pussy—“ Bradley’s challenging his daughter, wiggling his eyebrows as he cracks open the bag. “Three each.” 

“That’s 60mg each!!” Dots fucked, she know she is, but she isn’t about to let her dad have all the fun. “You’re too old to be doing this stupid shit.” 

“You’re too young to be telling me what to do.” So with that, Dots flattening her hand out for Bradley to drop her three gummies into her palm. He’s taking his three in his before looking at his daughter like this is the craziest thing he’s ever done. “Bottoms up kid—may the odds be ever in your favour.” 

“Mums gonna fucking kill you.” Dots laughing as she takes her three edibles at the same time Rooster does. Watching each other with high eyes as they chew and swallow. 

“Only have to outlast you.” 

He doesn’t. Braldey doesn’t outlast Odette. Because she’s been doing this for months without being caught by her dad or by you with the exception of that one time she was busted after that party. 

“Oh my god! Bradley Bradshaw—“ You find your husband a little over an hour later after he and Dot had made their descent down from the roof in the living room—watching children’s sensory clips Dot searched up on YouTube so she could sneak off. “Are you high?” The little bitch had set him up. He knows it, but he’s too fucking high to do anything about it. 

“I’m not.” Is all Bradley says. “But in a hypothetical world where I was, how mad would you be?” 

“Astronomically mad because I know exactly who you got it off.” You knew Odette was up to no good, but you didn’t think Bradley would be dragged into it. 

“Oh good—yeah that’s good, good thing I’m not high then.” Bradley just shakes his head, it rattles his brain. 

“Bradley?” You coo.

“Yeah baby?” He smiles, well at least he thinks he smiles because in his mind as he sits and watches the dancing strawberry on the TV he’s totally kept his cover. 

“You’re drooling—“ Fuck.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @a-serene-place-to-be  @lilyevanswhore @thescarletknight2014  @blindedbythelightt  @averyhotchner @emma8895eb @blairfox04 @caitsymichelle13 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @teacupsandtopgun @aemondssiut @feltonswifesworld87 @akalei349 @notjustsomeblonde  @americaarse @avaleineandafryingpan @phoenix1388 @xoxabs88xox @je-suis-prest-rachel @pono-pura-vida @rosiahills22 @starset21 @anarchyrising

#terms of endearment// bradley bradshaw #terms of endearment #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader

[musingmycelium]

Some may consider a desert a graveyard in itself but standing in a graveyard in the desert the difference is clear. Moon shines full on the plump Broc flowers and Joshua could swear they smell like death, like they know the dirt they grow in is so good to them ‘for the bodies layin’ in it.

Joshua should know too, seein’ as how’s he was one. 

He ain’t now and his momma raised him to keep movin’ on, keep towards that horizon boy, but just for a second. Just one moonlit moment. Would it be so bad to wonder how he got here?

That’s what the Doc asked him this afternoon when he woke up, fresh bullet scar not quite between his eyes and ain’t that lucky, what’s he done to wind up in a shallow grave. Well, Joshua’s mind’s never been the quickest but his mouth more than makes up for it and he spins his yarn for the Doc just right enough to not be a lie. Missin’ enough for it to not be the truth. 

When he was younger, young, he’d’ve got in trouble for that, real trouble. Never did wanna lie but he knew his way around the truth well enough to make his momma’s head spin and make his daddy's laugh ring right across the ranch. 

Not his Father though. 

No, not his Father.

His Father would smirk, secret around a cigarette, a priest with a pretty mouth and Joshua was older for a choir boy but he was damn near the only boy in town free enough to help and he was good with his hands. Repairing, sewing, fixin’ up those little things on the Church grounds, he was older for a choir boy but not old enough. Not yet. 

Cigarette smoke burns on its way down. Joshua knows his lungs are black as graveyard dirt with it, even if he ain’t smoked since. 

Smoke burns but sometimes, just sometimes, fingers don’t. 

His Father was a careful man, his burns never scar'd where anyone would find. Not unless they were tryin’ to leave the same kind. 

Lungs full of the scent of Broc flowers, thick with nectar drained from the dead. 

Just because the Church taught him to use his hands as well as his mouth don’t mean he can still keep them steady enough to smoke. Nah, Joshua stuffs a wad of tobacco under his tongue, tastes the nicotine bloom. 

But this time he spits instead of swallows. 

Leave those memories in the mud.

Good with his hands, good with his mouth, his momma raised him well enough to know the difference. Joshua grown’d into a fine young man, she told him so often enough he’d even believed her, and keeping his hands busy on a ranch is easy business. There’s always a fence to mend. 

Cattle tend to be just as easy. Driving them across the Mojave with the ranch hands his daddy hired Joshua finds the desert alive. A campfire means a full belly after careful hands have tended to it, cooked on it, put a handful of chicory and coyote chew into the beat up coffee pot and let them simmer into something warm on a cold night. After a hot day. 

It’s good work, honest work. A fine young man with a silver tongue and heart of gold could hardly do better. Even if his hands are rough to the touch, rumor has it they’re gentle too. 

Some of those ranch hands, when their hands are wrapped around a coffee mug and they’re sitting, nearly touching, next to Joshua on a spread out Brahmin hide, ask him if those rumors are true. 

If his hands are as gentle as his mouth. 

Under that bright desert moon Joshua is kind enough to tell just enough of the truth for it to not feel like a lie. 

He’s got good working hands, ranching hands, quick on the draw hands, and a mouth that knows how to be quiet when it needs to be too. 

Only the lingerin’ streaks on gun powder on a ranch hand’s skin, his kindness without regret, Joshua wishes he could pull a steady man as well as he can a trigger. 

Because Joshua he’s a crack shot, deadeye aim and quick, but he can’t sweet talk a coyote out of eating cattle and he can’t pull the trigger on a man who don’t deserve it. His momma raised him right, raised him good, and don’t you ever think you’re the one who can make those kinds of decisions, boy, only one man can decide who lives and dies. 

And standing by his open grave in the desert, Joshua has a bible in one back pocket, and a black handkerchief in the other.

Wonderin' in the moonlight how'd he got there, and where he's goin' next.

#my writing #joshua hendrickson #fnv #tw csa #implied but still there #hi anyway this is joshua he's captivated me and im rotatinghim in my head

[eddiemunsonsteddybear]

Ok hear me out- 10 things I hate about you but make it Steddie. Though there is a twist.

• Steve is the preppy asshole still who is very much self conscious about himself. Everyone fucking hates him because he’s a asshole. He acts arrogant and doesn’t ever listen to people who try to talk to him. Which isn’t the case he listens but he doesn’t understand what the hell they are talking about. His parents are the rich stereotypical conservative religious family. They don’t believe in science and they sure as hell don’t believe in dyslexia, autism or anything on the spectrum. In their minds those who claimed they have a learning disability aren’t trying hard enough. They also refuse to allow the doctors to test Steve because of their beliefs. Their son is normal thank you very much. Though now that Steve is 18 he can now make his own designs. And what would you know, he’s on the spectrum! Now that he is diagnosed the school is starting to help him with it more and he is still trying to keep it a secret.

•Eddie is the stereotypical metalhead who says fuck society. People still don’t like him because he’s “annoying”. He’s also on the spectrum with bad ADHD. That and he just doesn’t care about what people think. His secret though is that he runs a DnD club and babysits a group of kids weekly. Sure, that may sound like a hum think to do but he also hangs out with the kids willingly and is rather close to them. Which if the school found out the metalhead was a softy then what the hell would he do then. Though it comes to his attention that Robin really really wants to be friends or even more then that with Nancy Wheeler. Who is in a off and on again relationship between Jonathan Byers and you guessed it, Steve Harrington. She’s talked to Wheeler before and was already a hopeless romantic. Though this was not the only problem. Steve Harrington is also on the basketball team and Lucas really wants to join. And the only way to get on is through Steve. So what does Eddie do. He gets bribed by Robin, who he only talks to a few times and by Lucas to distract Steve from Nancy and convince him to let Lucas join the team.

•Ok but here’s the other thing, Eddie can’t seem to find a way with getting Steve to talk to him. So guess who goes undercover. Dustin, who discovers that not only does Steve have a hidden Metallica CD in his glove compartment but that he smokes pot! And who would be able to supply that, Eddie. So with some maneuvering that’s how Eddie finds himself standing at the door if his trailer with Steve Harrington awkwardly standing in front of him asking if he could by weed off from him. Of course Eddie slowly starts to get the other to talk to him more but here’s the thing. They start to act like they have a rivalry in school as a joke, but after school they find themselves huddled together giggling and smoking weed. Distracting Steve from Nancy was working now Robin could make her move before Jonathan can return from California. Then they are laughing even more before Steve listens to Eddie talk about Lucas and how he enjoyed basketball. And now Eddie’s gotten everything he needed to done. He doesn’t need to talk to the other anymore but he does. Thing is Robins situation has changed and so has Dustin’s. He not only has to keep Steve distracted but he has to get him to date someone else so that Nancy stops looking at him. And Dustin, we’ll Dustin just needs to get a movie rental paid off.

•But here’s another twist. Eddie starts to catch onto Steve’s Dyslexia and is suspicious the other might be on the spectrum like him so he slowly starts to teach the other things that help him to understand peoples tones. He even gets the other to practice with a girl who obviously had a crush on harrington hoping it would land the boy a date. But when the other returns dateless Eddie’s in a predicament. As time goes by and him and Steve get closer he’s slowly starting to discover that Steve’s eyes land on certain guys more then what a normal glance would be. And it clicks in Eddie’s mind that Steve might not be you know straight and now the metal head is panicking as he starts to think about whether or not Steve likes him. slowly it starts to become flirty with the two until Steve finds out Eddie was paid to handle him. Clearly hurt he ignores the metal head for over a week.

I mean that’s as far as my ideas go for that but oh my god 😭 I sort of want to read that and write it. But heath ledger in a pony tail 😭 (also Patrick lowkey gives me mild eddie vibes )

#eddie and steve #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #eddie stranger things #steve stranger things #stranger things #bxb stranger things #LGBTQ #steve and eddie

[romanarose]

Sunshine, Starlight, Sweetheart, Brightside: Chapter 21

Steven Grant X OC X Marc Spector

Story Masterlist.

Fic Summary: Steven meets Sam and they strike up a quick relationship, both kindhearted and loving, they fall fast. But both have a lot going on. Steven had Marc and Moon Knight, and Sam has mental health problems of her own. Slowly, Steven starts to put together pieces of her story as Sam starts to get to know Marc and Jake.

Chapter summary: Oh boy. Have fun with this one. Dave stirs the pot one final time and Sam and Steven have their first fight.

WARNINGS!: Mentions of drinking and problem drinking, mentions of a bad eating disorder, mentions of sexual assault.

Italics is Marc, red is Jake, bold is steven

*********************************

It was almost beginning to seem like the rest of the trip would go over smoothly. 

Almost. 

Mary wouldn’t hardly leave Steven’s side, insisting she sit by him everywhere. After Steven came back to the body, Sam asked if he was comfortable with her doing that to Marc, since it was his body too. Steven said he didn’t mind at all. Sam thought it seemed he liked watching. After a few hours in the basement with Teresa, their dad calmed down and everyone bean to gather in the living room as the sun set. 

That’s when it all went wrong.

It started with one little comment when Sam  cracked open a wine cooler.

Her dad just had to say something “How do you have a drinking problem when you supposedly have an eating disorder?”

“JESUS CHRIST DAD!” Chris slammed his hand on the floor, making Sam, Teresa and Simon jump. “What the FUCK?”

Steven was startled, but was confused. He knew Sam could be concerned about sugar and calories, but he didn’t think she had an eating order. She ate. Was she throwing it up?

Dave noticed Steven’s reaction. “Can’t be much of an eating disorder if he hasn’t noticed.”

“Dad!” Chris raises his voice as Ben coaxes him to stand up. “They’ve been dating for three months, just let them be!”

“Chris, let it go, you’re not helping.” Ben started to pull him out of the room.

“You have been picking on them all weekend, just let them be happy!” 

Ben took him away and Chris continued shouting.

 Jesus, both of them are going to need therapy. Steven, did you know she has an eating disorder? No, just her hang ups with calories… he thinks she has a drinking problem too. I’m telling you Steven, she doesn’t have a drinking problem. You don’t know what a drinking problem looks like, I do. Marc, she’s been drunk for 24 hours straight. Why do you even care? Sam watched the conversation in his eyes, pupils darting around for a moment. When they landed back on her, she could see he looked confused and hurt. “Sunshine, it was in high school. I’m fine now. It wasn’t a big deal.”

This time, Jo chimed in. “Honey, you were throwing up blood.”

Marc and Jake continued bickering. You think just because I don’t want to fuck her, it means I don’t care about her? If you think you don’t want to fuck her, you’re fucking crazy. Unlike you, I can appriciate someone for more than sex.  Knock it the fuck off before I start taking anti-psychotics and make you shut up. I’m not a hallucination, Marc, that’s not going to do anything GUYS, focus!

Sam heard Teresa smack her head and mutter. “Jesus mom…”

Steven couldn’t tear his eyes off Sam, why wouldn’t she talk to him about this? Throwing up blood? “Sam-”

She stood up abruptly. “I need a smoke.”

Jo “You just smoked.”

“UUUUGGHHH” Sam growled, grabbing her cigarettes and lighter as Steven scrambled after her.

When Sam heard the door open, despite her back being turned, she knew who it was. “I don’t wanna hear it.” she spoke through the cig in her mouth, attempting to light it.

“Love, can we talk about this?” He wanted to touch her shoulder, but knew how she was with back touches.

She whipped around to face him, taking a long draw of her cig. “I was bulimic in high school, Steven. It was high school, it’s fine, it’s over.”

“But… you still count calories and worry about your weight?”

She was smoking quickly, “That’s just how I exist Steven!” She held her cigarette in her mouth and threw up her hands, mumbling through one side of her mouth as her left hand waved around “That is forever going to be a part of me!”

He paused, how can she not see that’s concerning? He tried to talk as calmly as he could. “If it’s always a part of you, don’t you think I should know about that? 

“Your mom said you threw up blood, Sam. That’s really bad…”

Sam rolled her eyes. “I know it’s bad Steven.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm that she had never used on him as she rolled her eyes. Were they in a fight? “I don’t need you babysitting me! Don’t start watching what I eat and do not start watching what I drink. I know Jake thinks I have a problem, but it’s none of your business.” She finished the cigarette and lit another, pacing around the porch deck.

Steven leaned in, eyes wild and bewildered. “Sam, we’re dating.” 

“We have been together,” she started suspiciously calm. “For THREE MONTHS!” Ah, there was the shouting.

“CHRIST SAM!” Steven, dial it back a notch “We said I love you after three weeks, don’t you think you should have told me about this by now?”

“It was High School!!” She threw her cigarette on the ground, storming to the other end of the deck, pulling at her hair. Sam stood at the end, facing away from him.

Steven pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remain calm. Marc took the body. “You said that about the cutting, and yet you have scabs on your ankles right now.”

Steven took the body back in time to see Sam roll her eyes. “Not you too.”

“Jesus, Sam, it’s like everytime I find out something horrible that happened to you, I think ‘That's it! No one person can possibly take any more, but I’m always wrong!” It wasn’t lost that this was almost exactly the same thing Layla said to Marc.

She turned back to face Steven. “Marc, stay out of this, I can only fight with one person at a time.” Marc, it's okay, I got this. “And so what? Is an eating disorder suddenly too much for you? You gonna dump me because I have one mental problem too many?”

“Sam…” Steven calmed down. “I’m not breaking up with you…”

“You should!” Sam threw her hands up, giving up. “You’ve seen my family, you’ve seen what I come from, alcoholics, abusers, and broken people”

“And you think I haven’t?” 

“No, you haven't. Marc did.”

Oi, don’t drag me into this. You literally brought yourself into this

Steven shook his head, he wasn’t going to deal with the semantics of this right now. “Your family isn’t the problem, the problem is that you hide everything! Everything I learn has to be pried out of you!”

Her face contorted as if she couldn’t understand what he wasn’t getting. “That’s because there is a lot! Did you want me to show up on our first date and say “Oh! Hi steven! Here's a list of all the traumatic things that happened to me this decade! We can cover the previous 15 years on date 2!”

“God!” Steven ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated, walking in a small, short circle “You tried to have sex with me before you told me about the assualt, Sam. What if something happened? Don’t you think I should’ve known about that ahead of time?”

“Why?” she glared at him, challenging. “So you can decided wether I was worthy of being fucked, or if I was too used?”

He pointed at her, defensively. “That is not what I said!”

Sam crossed her arms “But that’s what this is about, isn’t it?! You’re mad because you didn’t realize what you were getting into, and now you wasted 3 months of your life and you are just now figuring out I’M TOO BROKEN FOR YOU!”

Steven was shouting, not quite at Sam’s level but he definitely wasn’t proud of it. “Stop putting words in my mouth!” He threw his hands up as he yelled.

Sam closed her eyes and turned away, wincing. 

There was a long, long pause. Sam slowly turned to face him, looking nervous.

“Sam, I’m sorry-”

But Sam’s face set into a glare before she turned on her heel, going down the deck stairs, but she was shaking.

“Sam, please, wait.” He starts after her, but the door opens. Teresa steps out.

“Give her some time. She needs time.”

Steven shrugged off her coat and gave it to Teresa, who wasn’t wearing one. “How much did you hear?”

Teresa watched as Sam walked off, down the street. “Too much. I didn’t know she was… I always suspected, but I didn’t… She always kept me safe from dad, I wish I could’ve done the same for her.”

Steven crossed his arms, trying to stay warm. “It’s getting cold, I should get her”

“Just give her time. She’ll come back. Come on. Let’s go” Teresa ushered Steven inside. He took one last look at Sam furiously walking away from him.

Half an hour later, the siblings and Steven were watching Tv in tense silence in the basement. 

You didn’t mean to, Steven. Come on, stop kicking yourself. You know damn well you’d be doing the same thing right now You both got a little out of hand, it’ll be fine We never had a fight before fighting is normal Yeah, with me, not with Steven you are not good at this, Marc Jake, we didn’t know you existed until, like, two months ago, why do you think you are sudden a part of this system? Will you two please the fuck shut up? Don’t get mad at me, I’m not the one that scared her fuck off, you seem to be forgetting about the punching the mirror. That was your fault, pEnDejo. You got a lot of fucking nerve mocking the way I talk, Chicago boy, why dont you go eat a haht dahg and watch da Bears Remember what I said about the anti psychotics? I’M NOT A FUCKING HALLUCINATION!

“Fuck.” Steven muttered to himself, sick of the bickering. Looking around, he realized he said that out loud, and the kids were staring at him. “Sorry guys. Just a little worried is all.” Mena offered him a sympathetic smile, and everyone went back to Spongebob. 

Dom came down the stairs. “Hey guys, did Sam come back yet? It’s snowing.” 

“Oh shit” Steven stood up, Chris and Teresa followed, hurrying up the stairs.

“I’ll take my car and go look north of 5th street, you guys take south.” Teresa called, pulling on her coat and heading outside.

“Come on, get in my car, we’ll find her.” Chris insisted.

“No way mate, you’re drunk.”

“Fine, you drive. I’ll show you her usual spots.” Chris tossed Steven the keys as they walked to the car. 

“Usual spots?” Steven asked as he turned the keys in the engine.

“Yeah, this isn’t the first time she stormed off.” There was a pause before Chris asked. “This your first fight?”

“Yeah.” Technically, there was the mirror incident, scarf-gate, the day after Jake met Sam, and the fight earlier that day… “There’s been fights… around us, I guess. But this is the first between us.” 

This was true. Those fights had never been Sam mad at him, but Marc or Jake. Now she was mad at him. He didn’t even really understand what went wrong. Why couldn’t she just be open with him? Nothing would ever be too much, not if she could talk to him, or Marc, or even Jake. These last few months had been difficult between Sam and his own issues, but they had also been some of the best of his life. As Chris directed him around town, all he could do was worry. Fuck, where was she? Why didn’t she come home when it started snowing? Chris kept trying her phone, nothing.

“Okay, I got one more.” Chris slurred his words, tired. “Otherwise, we’re gonna have to get help.” Chris directed him to a park. “Check the gazebo”

Steven got out of the car, quickly jogging to the gazebo. There she is Jake sounded relieved; Marc noted. Is she sleeping? Steven ran over to her, she wasn’t asleep, just laying down on the bench. “Chris tell you where I was?” She sounded out of it. Her lips were bordering on blue, she was shaking. 

Steven took off his coating, wrapping it around her leather jacket. “He’s in the car, he was really worried, we all were…”

Sam simply stared off into the snow.

“Sweetheart, why are you lying here? It’s snowing, it’s cold…”

“I just… I laid down and by the time it started… I was too tired to move. I’m just… I’m so tired Steven” she was whispering. Steven worried the cold had taken a toll.

Marc took over, kneeling down by her. “Hey honey, Steven and I are very sorry about the fight, can we take you to the car? Please?”

Sam nodded very slightly but couldn’t move. Marc scooped her up, wrapped her in his coat, and carried her to the car. When Chris saw Marc/Steven carrying his sister, he sobered up, dashing out of the car and to the couple “Jesus, what happened?”

Steven was back. “She was tired.” Steven glanced at Chris, sharing a look.

Chris opened the passenger door for Steven to put Sam in, and got in the back. The drive back was quiet, save for the christmas music quietly on the radio. This is bad. Does she have hypothermia? She wasnt out long enough, and she had her coat. But I don’t think the cold is helping. She said this happens, where she… can’t get up and spaces out… This is going to be really bad. Don’t… don’t say that Marc. Don’t what? I’m being honest. 

“You okay if we leave tonight, Steven? Sam?” Chris asked. “I’ll tell mom a work thing came up. She nevers asks questions.”

“Yeah mate.” Steven agreed “I think that’s best.” Sam didn’t respond, she simply laid her head on the window, looking away, a dead expression on her face.

When they arrived, Chris went inside to start packing. Steven walked around to where Sam was and leaned into the car, unsure if he should touch her or not. “Do you want to stay in here? I can pack up our things.”

Finally, she spoke, barely audible. “No” Sam cleared her throat and gave a little more volume. “I want to say goodbye to the kids.” 

“Of course, darling” He held out a hand, helping her out of the car and inside. Teresa rushed to her, embracing her in a hug “Oh thank god, Sam. I was so fucking worried, god damn…”

Steven saw Sam straighten up, it seemed like she was… putting on a costume. Preparing for a scene. 

Steven went to pack, as he walked upstairs he heard Jo speak “Hey! How was your walk, dear?” 

“Good mom!”

Anyone else might not have noticed. Jo certainly didn’t. Jo seemed blissfully unaware of the torment her children were under. But Steven heard it in her voice. It was fake, it was dry, it was dead. It wasn’t Sam. Something was missing. 

The kids all said goodbye to Sam, Chris and Steven. Dave was busy watching TV, he shouted bye from the living room.

“Be safe” Teresa whispered to Sam.

“Yeah, you too T.”

Steven drove, still not trusting Chris. Even though Steven offered Chris his couch, Chris booked a hotel in London along the way. Benefits of making good money. Sam didn’t speak the whole ride, she was gone. There was nothing in her eyes. She pulled out her smokes, lighting on and rolling down the window. After a few puffs, Steven noticed her simply staring at the cigarette as it faded out. Sam continued staring for a minute, before tossing it out the window, quickly followed by the almost full box of cigarettes. She was quitting. Steven dropped Chris off, Chris said he'd get the car in the morning, and Steven took Sam home. She got ready for bed in silence, barely brushing her teeth and only wiping her face with a makeup wipe and changing in the bathroom.

Steven was waiting for Sam, standing by the bed and looking nervous; he was doing that thing where he fidgeted with his hands. “Hey love, how are you feeling”

He watched Sam’s face for a moment. There was no expression for a moment. Then, like with her mom, something came over her. She was almost normal. Almost. She smiled, she said she was fine, said she was excited to be quitting cold turkey, and acted fine. But again, something was missing. There was no light in her eyes, no shine, no life. Dead.

“I’m sorry I worried you Steven” She climbed into bed as he joined her.

Steven wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “It’s okay darling, we’re just happy you're safe, all of us. I’m sorry I scared you, I-”

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” 

Steven stroked her face with his hand “Okay darling, of course.”

Sam kissed him, and Steven kissed back, but when Sam deepened the kiss and reached down to his pants, he pulled back. “Darling, you’d had a long day…”

“Please, Sunshine?” She looked at him with such longing. “Please, I just want you, it’s been a long weekend and I’ve been with Marc but I miss you.”

He kissed her back, moving to her neck and his hand exploring her body “If you are sure, Sweetheart.” If she wanted to feel loved… then he would show her love.

“More than sure.”  Steven moved to go down on her, but she stopped him “I’m not… I just want you.” 

She’s been avoiding me eating her out lately. she let me do it earlier today but that’s it.

I’ve noticed that too…

“Darling, Marc and I noticed you haven't been keen on us going down on you… is something wrong?”

“Honey, please” she pawed at him desperately, “Can we talk about it tomorrow? Please? I promise you that I’ll talk about it” Sam climbed on top of him, grinding herself over his pelvis. 

Steven ran his hands up her body, squeezing and groping along the way. How could he say no to such a pretty girl?  “Of course honey, of course.” He pulled her in for a kiss, slipping his hands in her pants. Sam slid off her PJ’s and he began fingering her, but as soon as he was fully erect, she lined up with him.

Steven was going to protest, he wanted to work her more, he wanted to get her ready. He wasn’t a huge fan of quickies…. But oh god she felt good as she sunk down on him. “Fuck, darling, fuck you feel good…”

Sam leaned back over him, giving a brief kiss on the lips and then moving down to his neck where she stayed. Steven focused on the feeling of her skin, her body, her hands gripping his shoulder tightly… too tightly. He felt her back tense as she moved on him. “Sam, stop.”

She froze, hiding her face in his shoulder. Her face was wet.

“Sam?” He tried to pull her off of him, he was still inside her. “Sam, darling, what’s wrong?” Her grip on him was tight, she wouldn’t let go. He wrapped his arms around her in a deep, tight, hug. She tried to choke back a sob, but it was audible. Sam just let it out, heaving in sobs. Oh jesus, Steven, Steven fix it I’m gonna let her cry it out Steven you are literally still inside her, fix it. “My love, my sunshine, my darling…” he stroked her still-clothed back. “Please talk to me Sam, please? I love you so much… Please talk to me…”

There were a few moments of silence as Steven felt the tears wet his shoulder. Finally, he heard her choke it out, so, so quiet. “Please don’t leave me…” She broke down into sobs, holding him tight enough to leave bruises on his back and shoulders.

“Never, my love, never” Steven tried to assure her, he rubbed her back and she relaxed under his touch. “I’m with you forever, Sam. Always. Me, Marc, and Jake. We all love you, in our own ways, but we love you. Nothing could ever make me leave you…” He was able to coax her off of him, pulling up his pants. “You had quite a fright, today… Stay right here love.” Steven got a heating pad and a stuffed animal Sam slept with sometimes. He plugged the heating pad in and placed it under her. 

“That feels nice, thank you.” Although she still lacked the light in her eyes, her voice was genuine.

He knelt down beside her “I’m glad, darling. Can I get you anything? Tea? Something to eat?” 

She shook her head. “No, can you just sleep on me?”

“Of course, my love.” Sam asked him to do this sometimes, Sam will lay down on her stomach and Steven will lay on top of her. She called him her weighted blanket. She felt safe, and it helped the nightmares. Steven laid on top of her, holding her tightly. “Anything you need, ever. We’re here for you.” Marc appreciated that Steven always included him when assuring her they were there for her.

“I love you, Steven with a V”

“I love you, Just Sam.

******************

THANK YOU FOR READING!!! Reblogs are the best way to spread my work, and comments mean the world!!!!!

Also I love watching you guys like chapter by chapter, it's so fun seeing you go through each part. But take a breath! It's got some heavy stuff.

@ahookedheroespureheart @kr-mlk @mt2sssss @cherryvalentine1

#steven grant #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fluff #marc spector #marc spector moon knight #moon knight fluff #moon knight smut #moon night fanfiction #moon knight #steven grant x reader #marc spector reader #moon knight fanfiction

[vecnasrevengerp]

welcome home AKEEM BELL (lakeith stanfield fc)

hope you brought your tissues with you! be sure to check in at home or to your hotel and don’t forget to always look over your shoulder. this is hawkins, after all.

[LAKEITH STANFIELD, CISMALE, HE/HIM] When’s the last time anyone heard anything about [AKEEM BELL]? Old friends remember them as [RIDE-OR-DIE  and REAL ASF] but also [DENSE and ERRATIC], no wonder they’re still known as [THE SMOOTH CRIMINAL] around town. Today, in 2006, they are [36] and some people say they remind them of [joyrides down highway one, brotherhood over blood, never really knowing what’s going on, staying strapped and building stacks, getting high for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, refusing to take anything seriously]. [nikki, 25, she/her, ctz].

Life has a beginning, a middle, and an end. After that, it’s rebirth and repeat. Everything is cyclical, at least as much as Akeem can tell. Akeem’s life began the same way he figures it’ll end: a knock at Martin Bell’s door, him in a wooden box. He wasn’t so lucky at birth– his biological parents were addicts– but as far as he’s concerned, they made up for his shitty genetics and abandoning him by giving him to Martin. They hadn’t even bothered to name him first, so Martin did the honors: Akeem Ture Bell. 

Martin Bell, Jack Taylor, and Reggie Greene were giants in the Compton community. They came up there, they loved Compton, and they dedicated their lives to giving back. Martin through teaching, Jack through community work, and Reggie through his legacy. Compton in the 70s was overpoliced and underresourced, but it was home. In a lot of ways, Akeem feels like Compton itself birthed him, raised him, would one day kill him. It was clear at an early age that he wasn’t any good at school. Despite Martin’s best efforts, Akeem was too energetic, too easily distracted, and too mouthy to glean much from school. 

The first time Akeem remembers fighting in school was kindergarten orientation. The kid looked at him crazy for kicking his seat, what was he supposed to do but kick him in the shins? Martin was even on his side, defending him to the principal and the other parent! But his victory was short-lived. Once they crossed the threshold, Martin gave him what would become the first of many ‘you can’t act a fool in public because you’re not like the other kids’ talks. He did his best to make Martin happy, to make him proud, but it was like he didn’t have a choice sometimes– his body sprung into action before he could breathe, count to three, ask himself what MLK would do. 

He got kicked to the alternative school a handful of times in middle school– for fighting, for smoking pot in the bathroom, for selling outside the cafeteria. It was a social thing at first; In his predominately white school, Akeem hung around a group of older boys from his neighborhood. They smoked, so he smoked. Hell, he knew Martin and Jack smoked, too, so what was the big deal? And was it really that bad if he sold a dime bag or two for his friends? Akeem thought everybody was overreacting, and it was true that he had a target on his back already. Something about his father figure being a Panther didn’t sit right with the white teachers and administration. Go figure.

Martin’s plan to keep Akeem out of trouble was to get him a job. He wasn’t any good at food handling (too relaxed about the health code) and he was even worse at waiting tables (too mouthy), so he got his first official job working for Mr. Carlton at the corner store. Carlton was a neighborhood staple, the stereotypical Oldhead who’s been around forever and knows everybody’s mama. Well, except Akeem’s. Martin figured he’d be a good influence, somebody else to lecture at him. The first time somebody rolled through looking for a hit, Akeem was just trying to be helpful by connecting him with his boys. The second time, then the third, solidified his status as a go-between. Hell, it was more exciting than selling hot chips to eleven-year-olds.

Shit turned around for Akeem when Max Mayfield moved back to Compton. They knew each other as kids– weekends Max was with her Uncle Jack always meant Martin and Akeem weren’t too far away, and Akeem always liked her. She was different, kind of… intimidating in a way that excited him. When she came back with Jack in ‘86, though, Max was in a wheelchair and didn’t want anything to do with anybody. Including Akeem. But he was persistent, kept coming around, until finally she agreed to smoke with him. No exaggeration, that joint changed Akeem’s life. More than being attractive and funny, Max was wicked smart. She understood Akeem– usually more than he understood himself– and gave him the language to make sense of some shit he never could before.

Akeem’s attendance was at an all-time high when Max started coming to school, and his grades improved, too… because he cheated off of her, but still! It’s the thought that counts! It didn’t take long for Max to decide to shake shit up, and Akeem was happy to be her foot in the door. Akeem’s boys agreed to let Max sell for them on a trial basis on Akeem’s recommendation, but by the end of the first week? Max Mayfield was all but a household name. Max’s trick was infiltrating the white community, upcharging the stupid suburban kids and splitting the difference. Once they started, they couldn’t stop– Akeem and Max graduated from weed to shrooms to coke, the occasional armed robbery when the mood struck. 

They got picked up a few times; they weren’t dumb enough to get got for anything serious, but a few nights in jail, a few more stints at the alternative school. But it didn’t matter that it was low-stakes shit to Martin and Jack. Shit, it didn’t even matter that they had some of the same stuff on their records– they were united in their no-tolerance front. Akeem was terrified of Jack, and was the unwilling recipient of several ‘stay-away-from-my-niece’ talks, but more than he was afraid, he was sure that Max was someone he needed in his life. Besides, it’s not like anybody could make that decision for her, and if she wanted to keep hanging around with Akeem, then she would. That was that. When Akeem was seventeen, he got picked up for aggravated assault (he didn’t start it, for the record), and Martin had enough. Akeem didn’t seem like he wanted to change, so Martin kicked him out.

It’s not like Jack’s place was an option, and Carlton was still pissed that Akeem had brought drugs through his shop, so Akeem shacked up with his boys. In the span of two months, he’d officially dropped out of school and started selling full-time. It was more money in that business than Martin’s teaching or Jack’s construction work, anyway, so Akeem pretty much figured that the ‘graduate from school, go to college or trade school’ line was bullshit. He decided this was his life now, he’d be a gangbanger like his friends until he was old enough to ship off to the army, or something. Akeem’s bubble was quickly burst when he learned that his rap sheet made him an unattractive candidate for good ole Uncle Sam. That, and Max gave him a long-winded lecture on why the army is predatory and it’s just an extension of the police and he’d be going into other countries killing people like them.

So, drugs and guns it was. After a while, Martin got over it. He never liked it, but he accepted it, tried to create new ground rules for Akeem to live an ethical, safe life of crime. Akeem didn’t follow them, but if it made Martin feel better to lecture about it, then so be it. What really brought them back together, though, were the LA riots– Rodney King. Not even a month before, Akeem and Max’s good friend, essentially their older brother, was killed in a police raid. The community was angry and grieving, and Rodney King was the final straw. Weirdly, the riots are one of Akeem’s favorite memories to this day– because it was him and Max and Martin and Jack, completely opposite sides of the community, joining arms to fight together. It was good to remember what really matters, instead of petty fights about whether it’s better to be an activist or a drug dealer, whether Akeem should finish school or not. None of that shit mattered.

Akeem’s second favorite memory was Max’s graduation from Stanford. They stayed in touch while she was in college, and Akeem probably visited once every couple months to move some product on campus, but he never stopped talking about how his girl was at Stanford, and she was gonna be a lawyer. It didn’t matter that school had never been his thing, it mattered that she was a certifiable genius. Akeem will never forget sitting in that stuffy auditorium in between Martin and Jack with his airhorn; the ugly looks he got from all the white families around them. It didn’t even bother him that some white lady had called the security officer on them– he only cared that Max graduated from goddamn Stanford. 

He still likes to say that she went into law to help him out, and while that may not be the actual reason, help him she did. Even though he and his friends had money and connections, Akeem certainly needed Max to get him out of some significant scrapes– or to at least slash his jail time as much as possible. She always did right by him, and he’s sure that one day, 5-0 will stop trying to lock him up ‘cuz his lawyer will just get him out in a year. They haven’t stopped yet, but, any day now!

Akeem doesn’t take shit too serious, but honestly, he didn’t expect to live past twenty-five. Then thirty. Then thirty-five. He’s not particularly religious, but the fact that he’s still kickin’ it after the shit he’s gotten into feels divine, like there’s something he hasn’t done yet that he’s supposed to, so he’s on the lookout. (Maybe it’s his up-and-coming rap career-- look him up, recording name AK-47!!) 

He would’ve been happy to stay in Compton forever, with his brothers and sisters, at least until Max went AWOL. Her partner at the law firm, Cole Montgomery, took over her cases, and Akeem is staring down a court date for selling to minors soon (he didn’t know they were minors!). He doesn’t trust this guy, so he’s taken it upon himself to rescue Max from the clutches of the Midwest and return her to West Coast best coast.  

https://www.pinterest.com/godstruckkkk/ak47/

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7qCMxRzqH9MUP5MAIb7bTK?si=6ff67ef7f6a542b6&pt=f241c6f1444366933d3b1aa0a8fa2b7d 

#submission #akeem

[thebakingqueen5]

KW 2022: Wait For Me

Day 7 of Kataang Week 2022 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt Wait For Me!

TWs: mild TW in this chapter for a miscarriage scare, but it's just a background theme

Links: AO3 || FF.net

Summary: Do I seriously have to come up with a new one of these every year? Kataang Week 2022 Day 7: Katara and Aang hated waiting. They always had. But for each other? Why, they’d do it till the end of time.

Word Count: 3.5k

Aang hated waiting. 

For as long as he could remember, he’d always been a bit impatient. 

Once, when he was seven, Gyatso had tried to teach the young airbender how to make fruit pies, putting Aang in charge of monitoring the stone oven every ten minutes or so to ensure the pies didn’t burn. 

After about twenty minutes, Aang had gotten weary of waiting for the pastries to finish cooking. The boy had recently learned about multiplication and division from Monk Tashi, and he decided he would be able to put that newly acquired knowledge to good use. 

“If I can make it two times hotter,” the airbender thought aloud, squinting at the ceramic oven door. “Then it should be able to cook twice as fast!” 

His eyes lit up. “And half of an hour is thirty minutes, and it’s been twenty minutes, so that means I would just wait for…” Aang quickly counted on his fingers. “Ten more minutes!” 

He jumped down from the bench and carefully added more wood to the fire, using a bit of airbending to make the fire grow hotter and hotter. Aang smiled to himself, hopping back up onto the wooden seat and dangling his legs over the edge. 

“Hey, that's a funny smell…”

“Aang?”  Monk Gyatso burst in the doorway. “Did you do something to the oven? I smell burning.”

“All I did was make the oven twice as hot so it would cook faster!” Aang said proudly, tilting his head in confusion and the worry on Gyatso’s face. 

“Oh, Aang…” the monk sighed. With a quick but powerful gust of air, he extinguished the fire and opened the oven door, using a thick cloth to wave away the smoke and grab the pie.

“Monk Gyatso, why is it all black?” Aang asked innocently, his nose wrinkling at the smell and sight.

Gyatso chuckled lightly, dumping the contents of the pie tin in a waste basket, and opened a window to circulate fresh air. “My boy, baking is a delicate art that takes patience. There are no shortcuts. If you wait, then you will be rewarded.”

Aang groaned. “But waiting is borrriiiinnnngggggg. I just want it to be done fast so we can eat already!”

“Your frustration is understandable, Aang, but the best things in life are worth waiting for.”

“Like what?”

“Like love,” Gyatso murmured wistfully before a grin broke out on his face. “And fruit pies, of course. Come, let us try again.”

“If I have to wait for love and fruit pies, then I don’t want them,” Aang huffed.

The monk raised an eyebrow at Aang, an amused sparkle in his gray eyes.

“Okay, I lied,” Aang said sheepishly after a few minutes. “I can’t imagine life without fruit pies. The love part stays though.” 

Gyatso laughed, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders and guiding him back to the kitchen. “Whatever you say, Aang.” 

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

Katara hated waiting. 

For as long as she could remember, she’d always been a bit impatient. 

“But Mooooooooooooom,” Katara groaned. “Why do we have to wait all afternoon for the sea prune stew to boil? Why can’t we just wait half an hour or a few minutes?”

Kya smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Katara’s head. “Because, my little otter penguin, I’ve tried that, and you don’t like it. You’ll only eat your Gran Gran’s creamy sea prune stew, and that means it has to boil all afternoon.” 

“I’ll eat it like it is right now! Promise!”

Kya rolled her eyes and combed through one of the drawers until she found a wooden spoon. She dipped it into the pot, carefully blowing on the warm stew until the steam had sufficiently dissipated, and handed it to the little waterbender.

“Oh!” Katara squeaked as the taste hit her tongue, trying her best to keep her face neutral. “It’s not… bad? I could totally eat a whole bowl of this…? Maybe.”

“Very convincing argument, sweetie,” Kya chuckled, gently placing the lid back on the pot. “C’mon, let’s eat some seaweed cookies as a snack, and we’ll have the stew for dinner with your dad and brother, okay?”

“What about Gran Gran?” she frowned.

“Your Gran Gran’s on a retreat with the other elders, remember? We’ll have to wait until tomorrow afternoon to have a full family dinner again.” 

Katara huffed. “I hate waiting. It’s so boring and long and boring and did I mention long?”

“Some of the best things come out of waiting, sweetie,” Kya laughed at the waterbender. “I met your father at 23 and we didn’t get married until I was 27. That’s four whole years of waiting, not to mention the 23 it took to meet him.”

“If love and marriage take that long, then I don’t want it! I’ll just stay with you and Dad forever,” she said indignantly.

Kya chuckled, picking up Katara and taking her to sit by the fire on the polar bear furs. “Whatever you say, sweetie.”

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

“Aang?”

The airbender whipped his head around to look at Katara, the side of her face illuminated by the moonlight as she emerged from the doorway and came outside.

“Oh. Hey,” he said, slumping from where he sat on the steps in front of the Fire Nation Royal Family’s beach house.

“Can we talk about what happened earlier?” she asked softly as she sat next to him, gaze turning to look at the night sky like he was.

Aang flinched, remembering what had occurred earlier that night. 

“This isn’t the right time.”

“Well, when is the right time?”

“Aang, I'm sorry, but right now I'm just a little confused.”

“Cue me making the dumbest mistake of my life, cue Katara probably never wanting to talk to me again,” he muttered under his breath. “Or so I thought, I guess.” 

Aang sighed before speaking up to address the waterbender’s question. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

Katara frowned, looking down at her lap before turning to him, her eyebrows furrowed.

“You kissed me. After I said that I was confused.”

Aang nodded slowly as he avoided her gaze.

“Yeah, I did. I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For kissing you without asking, both times. For kissing you even though you’re confused. For dumping all my feelings on you like that. I shouldn’t have done it, and you didn’t deserve it.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Katara agreed softly, turning her head back up to admire a meteor streaking its fiery path across the stars glittering above. 

“Did you mean it?” she asked after a short silence. “The part about wanting us to be together?”

Aang hesitated and looked at her. “Do you really want my honest answer?”

Katara nodded, giving him a small smile. “Please.”

The airbender sighed, his cheeks turning a light pink. “Yeah, I did mean it.” 

Katara laid back on the steps, her head and shoulder blades touching the cool stone as she processed what Aang had just said.

“I meant what I said too- about right now not being the right time. We have a war to worry about, Aang.”

“I know. And that’s why I’m sor-” 

“Please,” Katara interrupted. “Let me finish.”

The airbender obliged and stayed silent, joining her laying on the ground and tilting his head to look at her while she looked above.

“I have no idea how I feel right now. And I don’t want to figure that out right now- we don’t have the time. Sozin’s Comet is coming, and it’s coming fast.”

Katara exhaled audibly. “But…” 

Aang raised his eyebrow, a cautiously hopeful look on his face. “But?”

“But… whatever this is,” the waterbender gestured between them, “It doesn’t stop at just friends. I know that much. So I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything.”

She paused and looked at the airbender, subconsciously noting how his stormy gray eyes seemed to glitter under the stars.

“Wait for me,” she whispered gently.

“Wait for this war to be over, for me to figure out my feelings, for me to decide what I want. Please, wait for me. I don’t want to lose you.”

Aang smiled at her, taking her hands in his and giving them a quick squeeze before letting go. 

“You’ll never lose me, Katara. I’ll wait as long as you need.” 

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

“The Harmony Restoration Movement was such a simple plan!” Aang yelled at Zuko, swirls of air levitating him off the ground as he entered the Avatar state. “Why couldn't you just follow it through?”

“Snap out of it, Aang!” Katara said as she grabbed the airbender on a path of ice and got them away from the battlefield. “Don't you remember what we talked about? You have to be calm, to make sure your decision is right!”

“But all these people,” Aang looked down at the fighting below. “They’re gonna kill each other!”

“Let me worry about them!” 

Katara extended her hand and pushed the ice to meet a stone bridge overlooking the clearing below, now filled with fiery punches and upheaved earth as she turned to look at the airbender with sorrow in her eyes. 

“Aang, I never explained to you,” she said. “On our first visit to Yu Dao when I saw Kori's family… I also saw our future. It was us, in the South Pole. We had a baby. We were happy.”

“If the nations have to be separate, what will that mean for us?” Katara looked down, frowning, as Aang took her left hand in his, her other hand over her heart. “I… I know it's selfish of me to think like this. There's so much more at stake than just us.”

“Katara…”

“Go find a quiet place, Aang, and figure this out,” the waterbender murmured as she cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand. “Then, whatever decision you make… I'll trust that it's the right one. I'll support you. Even if it means you have to fulfill your promise.”

She hesitated and pressed their foreheads together. “And even if it means we have to be apart.”

The airbender looked at Katara, helpless, as she kissed him. He pulled her in closer, feeling the tears running down her face as he rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

“You need to go,” she whispered. 

He frowned and shook his head. “Not yet.” 

Aang took both Katara’s hands in his and pressed a kiss to each of them, the moisture building in his eyes.

“Wait for me, sweetie. Promise me you’ll wait for me to figure this out.”

The waterbender nodded, handing him his staff.

“I promise, I’ll wait as long as you need. I love you. Now go!”

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

“I came… …as soon as… …I could…” Aang panted, bursting through the oak door of the hospital room. “Spirits… …sorry it… …took so… …long…”

The airbender paused for a moment to catch his breath, his eyes widening when he realized Katara still had her back turned to him, not a single word uttered from her mouth since he had arrived.

“Katara?” he gulped. “Are you okay? The baby- is she?”

“He’s fine,” Katara said shortly, pulling the covers around her more tightly. “The doctors are just doing some extra tests in case.”

Aang sighed and reminded himself to thank the spirits personally the next time he visited the Spirit World. “Well, that’s a relief. Are you okay, sweetie?”

Katara scoffed. “Just peachy. Why do you ask?”

The airbender slowly walked over to the side she was facing, a frown emerging on his face when she turned away from him.

“Okay… I’m going to guess you’re mad at me.”

“Noooo, really?” Katara said dryly. “I thought I was supposed to be perfectly okay with the fact that my husband took an entire hour to show up after I sent him a messenger hawk that I was worried something was wrong with the baby.” 

Aang looked at her woefully, wincing as she recoiled from the hand he tried to put on her shoulder. 

“Katara, I’m s-sorry,” he stammered. “R-r-really, I rushed over as soon as I could. I t-tried to leave the meeting, and then the guards wouldn’t let m-me, so I kinda airbended them out of the way, but even then it takes Appa almost a good 45 minutes to get all the way here from City Hall, so I flew on my glider the last bit to get here fas-”

“But you weren’t here fast enough.” 

Katara turned over to glare at the airbender, pain and fear and anger in her eyes. 

“I needed you, Aang,” she choked out. “I was scared, and I needed you. Our baby needed you. And you weren’t there. He could’ve died, and you weren’t there.” 

“I know,” he whispered hoarsely, sitting on the bed and cupping her cheek. “I know, and I am so sorry.” 

The waterbender shook her head and flipped back onto her other side, her arms tightly wrapped around herself and her small bump. The room was silent except for her quiet sobs and Aang’s heavy breathing. 

“Do you want me to go?”

No response.

The airbender inhaled sharply and walked over to the door. He turned the doorknob and took one last glance at the waterbender, still avoiding his gaze, and took a step out the door. 

“Wait.” 

Aang whipped around at the voice, reflecting Katara’s form by being unusually quiet and small.

“Please stay,” she whispered weakly. “With me.”

He walked back over to her, kneeling beside her bed as she gave him a small, sad smile.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she murmured, her eyes meeting his with a gentler look.

Aang shook his head vehemently and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, taking her hands in his. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“No, but I do,” she frowned. “You’re the Avatar, and you can’t help that. You tried your best to get here as fast as you could.”

The airbender tenderly rubbed the back of her hands with his thumbs, just to let her know he was listening as she continued.

“But I’m still mad,” she whispered. “Even though I know I shouldn’t be. Even though I don’t want to be.”

Aang gave her a sad smile. “And that’s okay, sweetie. You feel whatever you need to feel, for however long it takes for you to feel okay again.” 

Katara pulled him into a hug, resting his hands on her bump so that he could feel their baby’s little kicks, the evidence that the baby was okay and still here with them.

“Wait for me,” she murmured, voice muffled by the cloth of his shirt. 

“I don’t want to talk because I don’t want to get more mad. But I need you here, with me, with our baby. So please, wait for me. To feel okay about this again.”

The airbender pulled away from her hug and pulled her into a kiss, which she graciously returned with all the rollercoaster of emotions she had felt that day.

“I promise, sweetie,” Aang murmured to her as she pulled him into her bed to hold her. “I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for you for as long as you need.”

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

Two and a half hours.

153 minutes, to be exact, the waterbender noted as she saw the minute hand on Republic City’s clock tower shift.

That was 2.55 hours, or about 9180 seconds.

Why did Katara know that? 

Because she had had two and a half hours to do the math in her head.

It was the first opportunity they’d gotten to go out since Bumi was born, and it had taken a great effort to put together. 

Gran Gran had come to stay on Air Temple Island to help for a few months after the birth, and she had gladly offered to babysit for the night. Then Aang had had to reschedule a fair number of meetings, much to many noblemen’s chagrin. Finally, it had been the night before, and Kuei decided he simply had to have an emergency meeting to discuss rising crime in Republic City.

“Wait for me,” Aang had grinned at Katara earlier that day. “I’ll be back with plenty of time to spare before our reservation, promise. Kuei can’t talk for that long,” and he flew off on his glider, disappearing into a tiny blue blot against the sky.

“Wait for me, Katara,” Katara mocked from her seat on the edge of the fountain in the square, her tongue sticking out at the frog next to her. “I’ll be back with plenty of time to spare before our reservation. Kuei can’t talk for that long.” 

The frog croaked loudly at her and jumped away, making her sigh and smooth out the silvery, satiny fabric of her dress- a new one Suki had sent her recently that Katara had been saving for a special occasion. Like tonight.

The waterbender snuck another glance at the clock tower. 

9:45. 

It had officially been two and three-quarters of an hour since Aang was supposed to show up. 

All Katara wanted was to spend some one-on-one time with her husband after three months of sleepless nights- even more if she counted how much Bumi had kicked her during her last trimester. Was that too much to ask for? They hadn’t gotten a spare minute to themselves in ages, nor had they really talked about anything other than the baby in months. This was supposed to have been their chance!

But now, as usual, Aang’s Avatar duties had gotten in the way of their plans. 

Katara didn’t blame her husband, per se, but she was getting a little sick of him not being able to put his foot down to the other world leaders. He was the Avatar for crying out loud! Surely he could give some executive order for everyone to take a holiday! He’d definitely have Zuko’s support, considering the Fire Lord was getting no more sleep than Aang was with his newborn daughter, Izumi. 

Katara huffed, pulling her knees closer to her torso and looking at the clock again- five minutes to 10:00. 

He had promised her he’d be there almost three hours ago at this point, but he wasn’t. He promised. How could he break his promise? Where could he even be? Were his meetings really taking that long or had something happe-

“Hey, beautiful.” 

The waterbender quickly turned in the direction of the voice, hands in position to freeze the speaker in an instant on instinct.

“Woah, it’s just me,” Aang smiled sheepishly and raised his hands in the air, fully dressed up in his formal Air Nomad robes and the beaded bracelet Katara had gotten him for their wedding anniversary around his wrist. “Really sorry I’m so late. Turns out Kuei can, in fact, talk for that long.”

Katara held her breath.

She wanted to be angry, frustrated, hurt, disappointed, something, but she wasn’t. The moment he walked into that square with that crooked grin that she loved so much, all of that melted away. 

Katara ran up to the airbender and tackled him in a hug, holding him tightly. She knew it wasn’t his fault, and she knew he couldn’t help being the Avatar. After all, it was what brought them together. It was just the way things were.

Now, would she chastise him later for not being firmer to the world leaders? Of course, but right now wasn’t the moment for that. 

“Everything alright?” he murmured into her hair as he returned her embrace.

Katara nodded, pulling away to smile at him. “We definitely missed our reservation,” she laughed softly. 

“Probably,” Aang chuckled back. “I always thought that restaurant was stuck up and overrated anyways. Come on, let’s go to that one dumpling place that stays open late a few blocks away.” 

“Lead the way, sweetie,” Katara sighed as she held onto his arm, grateful to just be there with him.

“Sweetie?”

“Yes, Aang?”

“Thank you for waiting. I’m sorry again for it taking so long.”

Katara shook her head and kissed his cheek as he held her waist tightly and airbended them into the sky.

“For you, sweetie? I’ll wait as long as you need. Always.”

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

Katara and Aang hated waiting.

For as long as they could remember, they’d always been a bit impatient.

Waiting was boring, monotonous, never-ending, an arduous task that wasn’t worth doing for whatever the end result was.

Or so they thought.

Katara and Aang may have hated waiting, but they loved each other more. 

So they would wait.

They would wait for the other to realize their feelings, for the other to figure out how to make them work in the context of the world, for the other to feel okay again, for the other to come hours after the time they said they would, and for so much more, as long as at the end of the day, they came home to one another. 

For each other? 

Katara and Aang would wait. 

They would wait until the end of time.

#kataangtag #kataang week #kataang fanfic #kataang #aang x katara #katara x aang #katara #aang #avatar the last airbender #atla fanfiction #romance #wait for me #fluff

[boxboxlewis]

Jameson Fitzpatrick - Poem in Which Nothing Bad Ever Happens to Me

I make the train. And get the job and pay my rent on time and don’t get too drunk and don’t send a text I shouldn’t and always use a condom.

The car does not make an illegal left turn and I do not have to brake hard to avoid it and I do not fly off my bike and flip several feet in the air and I do not land thinking not on my face not on my face hard on my right arm and I do not break my elbow and a mean orthopedist does not tell me I have to move it anyway or risk losing my range of motion and I do not have to teach while on Percocet which is harder and less fun than you might imagine.

None of my friends ever kill themselves.

I never even meet one of them, because I’m never admitted to a psychiatric hospital, because I never try to kill myself, or say I will, or gesture to repeatedly to prevent someone from abandoning me, which, I’ll never learn, is what a therapist I’ll never meet refers to as a “communication tactic.”

In this poem, I don’t even fear abandonment.

Jacques never leaves me, or, I never meet Jacques.

Or we fuck once, or we fuck a few times but love never enters the building. Love, in this case, is the bad thing, or the absence of kindness in the face of love; so in this poem, wherever there is love there will be kindness and where there is no kindness there will be no love.

I don’t hate the feeling of a man inside me, or, there are never any men inside me in this poem and also never any expectations. I am taller and more masculine and everyone who wants to fuck wants me to fuck them.

Another man I love with a French name never pushes me down into the cold concrete of a stairwell  and fucks me dry, without a condom. If he fucks me at all, it is tenderly, in an expensive hotel where I do not learn to like it again because I never stopped.

I never offer to suck the dick of the boy I am sharing a hotel room with on a high school trip and he never insists on fucking me and I never say yes and I never say “stop” or can’t remember whether or not I do and this question does not haunt me because it never happens.

When I’m sixteen, a middle-aged man next to me at the opera does not touch my knee and it does not terrify me how much I like it.

I’m never a teenager at all, if it can be arranged. I see the car coming and don’t make the left turn.

My parents never: keep booze in the house, name me after it.

There’s still pot in this poem, but I smoke less of it.

I don’t have to keep stopping and starting to get high and masturbate; this poem pours out of me, easy, like conversation with strangers at a bar, even when I’m sober, which I might be sometime at one of the bars in this poem.

There’s nothing I don’t want to write about. I love writing.

I love my body.

I’m not gay in this poem, or it is not hard to be gay in this poem. Stet—it’s been useful, because it’s been hard.

But not so hard, I’m not forced to come out in the sixth grade, at least—not to my parents, because I never get reported for writing something obscene about Justin Timberlake on an AOL message board, and not to everyone else, because it isn’t so apparent to them already.

In middle school, none of the boys ever follow me around in the hallway between classes, lisping. I don’t have a crush on one of them and he doesn’t ask me out as a joke one day when everyone is hanging out by the picnic tables before school and I don’t find myself somehow relieved that I know it’s a joke the whole time because falling for it would have been way worse.

Phil Bruno doesn’t write an essay for AP English our senior year of high school which is both a personal attack on me and on gay people more generally. He doesn’t read it aloud in front of the entire class and the teacher doesn’t let him finish and I don’t gather my things and walk out. If he does, and I do, I don’t walk straight out of the school without stopping to look at anyone, I go to the principal’s office and raise hell and maybe make a YouTube video about it that I parlay into some small fame. I don’t feel embarrassed about how many times I’ve let him copy my math homework.

In this poem, I get revenge only from the people who owe it to me, who is no one.

On Halloween, when I’m nine, the co-pilot of a Boeing 767 en route to Cairo does not crash the plane into the Atlantic Ocean sixty miles south of Nantucket, just into international waters. If he does, my father’s parents aren’t on board. If the investigation falls under Egypt’s jurisdiction, they don’t lack the necessary resources and ask the US to lead it instead. The US authorities don’t determine that the co-pilot seized the controls, did it on purpose, but can’t explain why. There’s never a second, conflicting investigation, because the Mubarak government doesn’t insist this isn’t true. I never know my father as the child this happens to.

Two years later, I don’t ejaculate for the first time at summer camp, at the hands of a boy who is a year or two older, who I didn’t know before this summer but knew of because he’d gotten kicked out of my elementary school for bringing in a beebee gun. I don’t pretend to be asleep the whole time because I am afraid of him but also afraid

I don’t want him to stop. I don’t tell our counselors the next day because I don’t know how to feel about it but recognize it as familiar, the first bad thing that was done to me, and now neither of us can stay. I don’t feel guilty about this, for years.

And the first bad thing, much further back than that, is not my first memory, or what I understand to be the first because over time I have smoothed and perfected it like a stone in my palm.

Here my hands are empty. Here it never happens, so I don’t have to tell you about it.

x

#i think about this poem all the time #jameson fitzpatrick #poetry

[morvaris-archive]

no one expected, but @arklay's comment on the templates inspired me. and here's a little one shot of not yet vampire candy trying to cook and their brother saving the situation

“What the fuck!” 

Theo jumps off the couch, almost tripping and falling face first, but he manages to keep his balance and sprints towards the kitchen. The shout came from their sibling, and it brings back bad memories that leave him shaken. 

Screaming, Murphy’s skin torn, they can barely stand and they’re bleeding on the floor. Dying.. Are they dying? 

He chokes on a breath, and the room is spinning, but he reaches the kitchen anyway. Barging inside, Theo’s eyes frantically search for Murphy, trying to understand what’s wrong. 

He can’t go through this again. 

----

Murphy’s trying. They really are. But who knew that cooking something other than instant noodles is so damn hard?

Their fingers itch to have a smoke to help with their nerves, but smoking right before the kid’s food is a bad idea, and they for sure won’t serve him something that smells like cheap cigarettes. 

Sighing, they continue to cut vegetables in very uneven pieces, but then they hear a hissing sound behind them. Looking over their shoulder, Murphy sees the soup boiling inside the pot, but they must’ve put too much water because it’s spilling over the edges.

They run to the stove, quickly turning it off, but it’s too late. 

“What the fuck!” Shouting way louder than necessary, they run a hand through their hair. Anger makes them curse under their nose even more, quieter this time; they just wanted to cook something nice for the kid, something homemade so he would feel like they’re a family. At least once in his life. “Fucking shit.”

They throw a knife on the kitchen table, tears of frustration in their eyes. Theo.. has been through a lot recently, and it was all because of Murphy and their less than careless actions. He tries to act like it’s cool, but they can feel his eyes lingering on them longer than before, and their heart tightens when he squeezes their hand in his when they need to leave him alone for a while.

Murphy put him through a lot, and he reacted to it better than they did. They are more immature than a thirteen year old boy.

They jump when they hear someone violently barge into the small kitchen space. Theo chokes on a breath when he sees Murphy, and his eyes are as scared as when he was five years old, crying to them as he realised that their parents abandoned both of them. 

Murphy whinces, but they try to cover it with a shaky smile. “Hey kid. You- uh, came to help?”

Theo looks between them and a stove, and then his eyes dart to the knife on the table, and Murphy quickly steps in front of it. He still notices it of course, but upon his inspection his shoulders sag a little, and he lets out a calming breath. 

Murphy eases too. They don’t want him to worry, and the terror in his eyes when he came here almost made them panic as well. But it would only create even more of a problem if neither of them knew how to be an adult. 

He fights a smile, and opens his mouth to say something, but then a look of alarm settles over his face again. “Wait.. Are you cooking?”

“Hey!” They protest, crossing their arms. “Yes, I am. What’s this look for?”

Looking down for a second, he glances back at them. A wide toothy grin makes it into his face this time, and he snorts. “I didn’t know we were having food poisoning for dinner.”

Murphy rolls their eyes; Theo is just like them. Martha and Will would be disappointed for sure, saying how much of a bad influence they are on him, but it only makes them mirror his grin. They are not a good parent, but they are a better sibling and they’ll try to give Theo everything he might need.

Except stability, of course. 

Murphy frowns, but the expression softens a bit when they look at him once again; it’s nice to see him like this– enjoying himself and teasing, they don’t mind to be a butt of the joke if it means they’ll see him happy more often. 

“Okay, smartass.” They nod to punctuate their words, and Theo giggles. It’s melodic, nostalgic even. It’s been way too long since he did that, and it makes them remember good times. Easier times. “If you are done making fun of your sibling, will you help me choose a place where we’ll go for dinner or do I get the privilege?”

“You don’t want to continue cooking?”

Murphy looks to the pod again, and to the soup spilled near it still. They’ll have to clean it sooner or later, and the prospect makes them groan. They watch as Theo goes to the stove, and glances inside the pod. 

He staggers back then, coughing a bit, but trying to hide it. When he speaks next, he ignores his previous question all together, making Murphy bark a laugh. “Yeah! I’ll help you pick a place.”

“Smart, kid.” Murphy ushers him out of the kitchen, listening to him bubbling about the new menu at his favourite fast food restaurant. There are new combos, and toys! Murphy, they got the dinosaur toys! Can we order one, please? Please? 

He describes to them all of the different dinosaur types as he puts his shoes on faster than ever before, spurring Murphy to hurry up. They obey of course, and let him take the shotgun, showing Murphy the way as if they didn’t know where to go. 

And when they finally reached the place, and Theo got his toy, they looked at him playing with it, roaring rather impressively. Murphy feels relaxed for the first time in ever, and their face hurts from smiling. 

Maybe they are not a “normal” family, but they still are one. And Murphy will do whatever is necessary to ensure that Theo will always have a family who loves him more than anything, and who will always be there for him.

Always. 

#this is not my best writing but i wanted to write this sm #it's not focused on cooking as much as it is on the Lore #also yes candy is murphy here because they are still not a vampire #anyways i hope you don't mind me @ you leah !! but your comment inspired me lmao #they are so different here :( it makes me sad how much trauma they went through after the embrace and even before it #and that always will haunt me forever because in the end they had to leave him too and i am screaming #nico.fic #my oc: candy

[mybloodyfamousprophets]

i hope you ate on your 7 hour drive from the 6ix, islands far, truck stop the busses skip, pay twenty dollar ticket, get away for a weekend,

walk on through historic city, jacques cartier looks so pretty, our own little slice, copy of Paris, ligne orange a montmorency, blue line trains not fancy, changer snowdon go east, climb a mountain, watch sunsetz clouds burn out like the darts hitting, you spent your life hidden, found out what you’d been missing, spotlight Mount Royal eye, clubs bouncing city lights, head back downtown avoid fights, hit the Saint Laurent tonight, drinks flowing, your good times, look across the bar with starstruck eyes, that boys outfit is cuter than mine, but tonight i won’t have the time,

came here first you were just a kid, city felt magic we got snowed in, eating cheapest street poutine, those were really simple days, no boys backstabbers frauds or fakes, just a teacher that you hate, punish you alone i call that hate, you never talked back, no stand up show up for yourself, misguided alone on a bad path you fell, no good friends to lift you out of that hell, but you’re not that kid and now you’re well, different, but you saw the city and you got addicted

a few years later we drive on back, too broke for Adirondack, mom takes you off the leash to roam, and you almost bought a ticket home, but explore on your own and take in the sights, a city so close but different from mine, change your language all the time, guys smoking weed and cops don’t fine, didnt have a boy i could call mine, just 14 but you were longing, feel like you weren’t belonging, some new clothes renewed your hope but you still begged, throw me a rope, you were too serious, i’m not serious enough, you were jaded, now I’m faded off the pot, you were sippin, vodka, civics class was hot, im no different, just changed it up a notch,

icy winter, but i’m a little older now, thanks for frosh week, went with new friends, it was pretty sweet, stared at Van Gogh, moving picture on the wall, high feel the stars that circle the hall, not here with you, but i let myself enjoy it all, long line smoked meat, famous deli, and then we leave on down the street, i know my way in this city, Apple Maps try and lie to me, bus downtown busy streets, then we stayed in the room that night, drinking Whitney till the sun rise, one more shot on the count of ten, passing out in the bathroom bin, drunken mess dragged into bed, can’t remember what you said, drunk and i was feeling red, wishing i was holding… no, i can’t say his name.

racers weekend, rene levesque looks red hot, jean drapeau all blocked off, rainy days forecast still stayed hot, see these streets i walk a lot, but im here on my own shot, booked this trip to see him, city he was gonna be in, but i asked him when he’s free and he never sent that text to me, stayed with a friend we went to check out ACC, have a good drink but i prefer to smoke, so did he, i take another toke, what a joke, stayed with her but my boys at home, still, never came with me, i guess it’s good he couldn’t ruin my favourite city, running away REM faster than highway, make my great escape, or maybe one day, i walked by that jacques cartier, same spot i saw as a kid that day, teacher heard ipod in pocket headphones played, tales of scary ghosts and gays, spot where memories were made, i talk to none of them anymore, times passed years before

weekend trip you, came with your best friend, roommates kicked out by hotel [can’t name due to ongoing legal battle], wouldn’t leave them out on the streets, moved new hotel, now my friend is feeling groovy so we go to gay bars, smoothie, fruit salad in the room, beyonce or abba go and pick a tune, or some awful showtune we don’t feel glee, i only know Hamilton mcmaster university, or queen elizabeth, granted, not the monarch, burning filtered lights and my hands are up, burn my lungs and cross my heart, on the balcony and I’m singing, baby, did you even really love me?

one days time is, never enough, to catch this city from the window on a bus, metro underground rolling around, taking over every cool spot in town, meet a new guy old one got mean, can’t tell if he’s just, playing with me, headphones brown hair, see him some, here n there, want more, give me some fun!

one days time is, never enough, stayed in anjou, far from the fun, cross province drank the same time as me, we both threw up so dizzy, fireball my throat is burning, keele’d over on college street, he’s on the floor, breakup Whitney, and we called a cab at like, 10 past 3, friends lift him into bed, i tumbled into the back, seat, flashing lights passing by me, ride or die by my side, known since my home town that’s a long time, one won’t ask a girl cause he’s too shy, not my guy, i tried to hang out but he wouldn’t slide, don’t like sliding no pinball, no arcade, but tokens on me, already paid, if he wanted to entertain he would’ve answered differently, unless i took that wrongly, RAADS test score one thirty, sometimes need help socially, love to talk i’m maturing, smokes with strangers in places i do things i regret, manifest his text but i couldn’t read his name

still spent his time playing games, respond “i like you maybe”, no initiate or make time for me, maybe he just isn’t for me, or he’s too shy or I’m too boring, chasing men that don’t adore me, or even boys that just talk to me, tell me come through you know im moving, unless there’s a death or a dinner I can’t miss, rare family moments that sometimes exist, or friends from far places that make the adventure, and you can’t even send a text message, or just come around, this big campus town, stand on a rooftop and stare at the ground, the pond and the ducks a rare city scene, can’t look in your eyes ill get lost again