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grandisknight · 3 months ago

Text

to wish upon a star

summary: Xavier gifts you a token of his affection, paired with promises to fulfill whatever you wish upon him.

tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, afab!reader, fluff (at first), kissing, feelings, crying, banter, teasing, body worship, eventual smut, pwp, breast play, improper use of light evol, consent checks, ring play, v fingering, mirror sex, dirty talk, finger sucking, handjob, p in v, creampie, ‘i love you,’ implied/referenced sex

+ wc: 7.6k | ao3 version

notes: inspired by the affinity 100 rings! i started this when i got said rings with xavier like… last month… oops. let’s pretend their promise rings are actually On their ring fingers 🤫 (in-game they’re on the middle ones…) this is like honestly 90% smut and 10% feelings so take that as you will! also song cameo is ‘must be love’ by laufey c:

dividers from cafekitsune

“I can’t believe you pulled this off,” you spoke in awe to Xavier.

When he had mentioned needing your hand measurements before, you were sure it was for your worn-out combat gloves that had seen better days. It seemed natural, largely due in part to a passing conversation from just days ago. He heard out your concerns then, and agreed it’d be best to invest in a new pair.

But now, there was a silver metal wrapped perfectly around your finger in its place. Surreal, it shined with every angle of your admiring hand. Delicate jewels inlaid all around to meet at the central place, a dazzling shooting star. Everything about it was a perfect capsule of him. It was now a piece of you too, a promise to the twinkling cosmos that sealed your affection.

Xavier’s hand clasped over yours, his own band glinting just the same and lightly clinking at the contact. His star pressed to the engraving of the smaller equal, a completed puzzle that only the two of you held the pieces to. “Now whenever you wish upon a star, you can look here.”

His fingers quietly thread into your counterpart, bringing them to his lips and a gentle kiss graced your knuckles. Peering through his lashes, the kind pools of blue searched yours, reflecting a sea of stars that found their home in you.

“Are you saying I can’t ask this star of mine for a wish anymore?” A lighthearted remark was all that it was, but you still caught the surprise in his eyes at the sound of it.

They soon settled into crescents, a small smile pulling at his lips. “No. This star will always, always be the first to hear your wishes.”

Such an earnestness in his honest confession pulled at your heartstrings, eliciting yet another awe from you and a chuckle in his place. Xavier angled your hands, lips brushing over the band to prove his words. “Make a wish now, and I’m sure it’ll be granted.”

“Really?” You pull your hand away, only to cup his jaw in beckoning. “I wish upon my star for him to kiss me right now.”

He lets out a lofty sigh then, the tip of his nose meeting yours in proximity. “Your wish is my command.”

Xavier’s lips tenderly pressed into yours, the plush pillows melting almost immediately upon contact. A hint of warm vanilla and honey tinted his kiss, lingering traces of the milk tea from earlier fragrant all throughout. It was slow, practiced and careful—to admire the love he had waited eons for, sealing the reality he had once thought would be a far away dream.

No sooner did he quietly ask for permission for something more, tongue ardently pushing against yours. It was granted with a simple parting of your lips and a tilt of the head, more than happy to oblige. Xavier took greater care to memorize you then, tracing the contours of your canines and sucking in the warmth you returned to him. A low moan passed from his throat and into yours, his hands searching for your waist in an effort to draw you closer.

Parting for a moment of breath, you gently thumb at his cheek and realize how flushed his skin had become. Rosy from the shell of his ear, spreading across the skin just below his fluttering lashes and sinking into the lines of his neck—if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he just came home from an intensive workout, the poor thing.

You could only snicker at the way he blindly chased for your missing lips, causing him to finally peel open what was a lidded gaze of disappointment and pause.

“Someone’s impatient,” you muse. Your forehead meets his and a whisper of his breath tickles your face as he huffs lightly.

“And someone is the reason behind it,” Xavier points out.

The moment was calm, only the soft puffs of breath and thudding hearts echoed through the space you shared. His fingers dimple into the plush of your sides in an off-beat pattern, a quiet hum of notes resonating from his throat. Arms wrapped around his neck, the two of you began to slowly sway to a gentle melody. Occasionally, Xavier would swap out the notes for a mumbling of the lyrics—

I’m all in, I’m fallin’… Can’t get back up… Can’t think right, too tongue-tied… It must be love…

Padded footsteps attempted to follow such a tune, your bodies soon naturally flowing with time and dancing amidst the comforts of his living room. Your muscle memory led to a simple one-two step of a waltz once put to use from a mission of the past. And while practice did not make perfect, it aged in the progress you’ve made since then, now well attuned to his footsteps and his to yours. You found yourself resting your cheek against the square of his chest, humbly feeling each vibrato of his song.

“By the way.” Xavier suddenly speaks up, the soft notes coming to a halt.

He watches as you look to meet his gaze, and oh, you were truly beautiful. The light of his life—undeniably he was enamored, a lost cause and irrevocably yours. Not like he would have it any other way, and a skip in his heart’s beat proves to him just as much. He nearly forgets the words he wanted to relay to you, stunning him into silence the longer he looked at you. A hand brushes a strand of your hand to rest neatly behind your ear, moving to your chin and tilting to meet his lips in a quick kiss.

Reminding himself, reminding you.

“Mm?” You mumbled against him, though made no effort to protest and returned the peck in affection. A series of blinks met your gaze when you pulled back, fluttering glimpses of a curious blue drinking you whole.

“Using your Xavier cipher again? What could it be…” Your lips pursed in thought, and he could only press yet another quick kiss at the endearing sight.

His voice lowers in a request that holds your breath in anticipation. “You’re also my shooting star. Won’t you grant me a wish?”

———

Time blurred itself into a dizzying sequence that landed yourselves in the dip of his comforters, hands unabashedly making quick work of your clothes and his. Somewhere, someplace were the mixed fabrics—in a pile saved for a later time to deal with. Here, the thin layers of your undergarments were the only barriers to complete entry of enveloping each other in bare warmth.

A light sheen of sweat speckled your skin, fingers gripping his shoulders and a huff pushing past your lips. You squirmed beneath him, his larger frame bracketing yours as he added yet another flower of red to decorate your neck. A kiss of consolation fluttered over the newfound mark, and Xavier dragged his lips to the centerpiece of your collarbone.

“Xavier.”

“Mm?”

He looked up at you then, azure stared lost in the cloudiness of his desires. His calming beauty had shifted into something sharper, keenly observing the ways he could devour you whole. A stark contrast to the bright, cheerful twinkle from just moments ago. It hammered your heart into a thundering pace, and Xavier could tell.

His lips curled then, slowly kissing his way down your sternum, stopping just above the place that exposed your flustered state. Hands smoothed themselves from your sides down to the high of your thighs, parting them deftly to slot himself between the newfound space. Soft massages of his fingers melted into your skin, patiently waiting for you to continue.

“Do you want to stop? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Xavier reminds you. A tentative peck places itself between your breasts, before his chin lightly rests upon it.

“No, we can keep going.” You reach to rake fingers through his silver locks, brushing the soft parting away in revealing his furrowed brow. A thumb traces the thin hairs to smooth the tension, working instantly as they settled and you hummed. “You never said what your wish was. How am I supposed to grant it if you don’t tell me?”

“It’s you,” he simply responds. Speaking as if it was a universal truth and the most obvious thing in the world, not a hint of doubt behind his conviction.

“Me?” Now you were confused by a mere two words. Pulling your hand back, your arms slid to prop themselves as you gave him an incredulous look. “Yeah, I’ll grant your wish if that’s what you’re saying. So spill the beans already.”

Xavier shakes his head, a faint laugh passing through his breath. “You’re my wish. Everything about you,” he starts, a gentle kiss pressing to your sternum once more.

“From the way you laugh at the videos you show me, and to the smile on your face after we complete a trial.” Another press of his lips moves down, a peppered trail soon making its way to your navel. “Even your sassy remarks during cards, passionate energy when we play the claw machine and sad moments alike when we leave empty-handed.”

One of his hands sneak up to squeeze your side, gingerly massaging the plush skin. His mouth lingers longer here, inhaling your warmth and nose nudging into your abdomen. “My wish is you, always has been. All you have to do is be yourself, and allow me the honor to stay by your side.”

You’re not sure what good deed you must have accomplished in your previous life, but you were more than grateful that it led you to this very moment. And the overwhelm of such an awareness had your eyes burning and sight blurred to sudden tears—great, you were crying. The atmosphere had quickly sobered into something more raw, subsiding the heat of the moment.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Xavier coos, eyes of love searching yours in realization.

That alone had your bottom lip trembling, furthering the waterworks at his kindness. Swiftly but gently did he lean forward to capture your tears between his puckered lips, kissing them away. A hand cradled your jaw with every little weep that paired your breaths.

You reached for his face then, taking hold of his surprised cheeks before pressing those very lips to your own. It was a measly attempt of a kiss, one to quell your emotional heart and to reign in all your focus on your lover—but he returned it all the same, tender and careful pecks falling into the smile that melted into you entirely.

“You’re an idiot.” You sniffled, pulling away with a slight pout to defend your disposition. He could only chuckle at the poor name-calling.

“I thought I was your sulking, jealous dummy,” Xavier teases, lightly rubbing his nose against yours. “And you said that was your favorite kind. Now you take me as an idiot?”

“You can be both,” you reason, stroking the apples of his cheek in turn. Your eyes flick towards the metal resting on your finger, and you tap it against his face in thought. “Lucky for me, those versions of you are mine.”

“All versions of me belong to you. Every part of me is yours.” He raises his own ringed hand, cupping it against yours. “You’re the only star I could ever need in this vast universe.”

“That really makes us a pair of shooting stars then.”

A flash of astonishment spreads across his features before it’s soon blinked away, replaced with sentimental adoration and a relaxed expression. “You’re right,” he hums.

He takes your hand and presses the ring to his lips—a new habit that he’ll have a hard time breaking, it seems—before trailing down your forearm and making his way to your shoulder. It left you feeling ticklish, and you squirmed as much by the time he made his way to your ear.

“Is something funny?” Xavier’s warm breath blew past the shell of your ear then, earning him a delightful squeal from you in turn.

“Ack! Don’t do that, it tickles!” You attempted to widen the distance between your now closely pressed bodies, feeling embarrassed at the proximity. It was to no avail when you had one of the greatest Deepspace Hunters leaning over you, encapsulating your body beneath his with such practiced and natural ease.

“Hm? What did I do?” He asked innocently, before knowingly blowing another puff of air and chuckling at the sight. “You’re so sensitive, and I’ve barely done a thing.”

The words were lodged in your throat when you felt something hotter welcome itself over your ear. Xavier’s tongue traced the curves of your helix down to your lobe in a circular pattern, leaving a lasting impression of his warmth behind. His teeth catch the end of your ear, a gentle yet foreboding nibble sinking in and pulled away with a tug.

It took all of your fighting spirit to put some air back into your lungs, and the look you gave him matched it. “Xavier, you know what you’re doing.” Though you didn’t particularly have it in you to disagree, a warm tingle sparks throughout your spine in enjoyment.

“Maybe?” He feigns an innocuous air, though the edge of his lips quirk briefly. “So about my wish,” he starts, calmly staking his claim with a brush of his hand over the curve of your rising chest.

Not only was the sound of it prevalent, but the ardent thumping of your anticipating heart sparked an unexpected feeling within him. Relief, for one. You were alive, warm to the touch and resounding so beautifully. But also, a sense of unbridled attraction arose from the touch, his blood pumping in more places than one. A deep inhale followed the movement of his fingers, which danced themselves to the sweet spot just beneath your navel.

“You remember what it is, don’t you?”

It felt like a trick question. Especially so, when you could feel the pads of his fingers smooth over the waistband of your underwear. Those very fingers that were centimeters larger than your own, a ghosting touch just barely skimming over the clothed mound of heaven’s gates—temptation in the palm of his hand.

“Me.”

You managed the singular word with a faint breath, a sense of mind quickly blurring with the heat that overwhelmed you from the presence of his fingers. A tentative press, though gentle as ever, presented itself between your heat and elicited a shaky sigh from you. If he had just moved them a little closer, you could relieve yourself of this building tension. Yet, he made no motion to do so, fingers soon coming to a halt. The delicious thought ran away from you, and you had half the mind to curse him out right there.

“Correct.” Xavier’s voice lowered, a rasp you weren’t quite used to and even so, scratched all the right parts of your brain. A purr that settled into the crevices of your memory for days to come. “And what I want in this very moment is you. To touch, see and hear all that you have to offer.”

Contrary to his list of wants, he removes his hands from you entirely, leaving you to feign disappointment at the sudden loss. Moving to the edge of the bed, his thighs spread apart as he patted the space between them in invitation. You rose from your spot, a frown on your face earning you a chuckle in turn. The comforter padded your crawl towards the newfound seat. Xavier tugged you into his embrace, caged between firm leg muscles and biceps that circled around your waist.

Doubt was written across your face at his unspoken motives. “What’s this all about?” You huffed, less than pleased to be left strung on from just seconds ago.

Yet, Xavier only rested his chin on your shoulder, snuggling in comfortably and choosing not to meet your eye. The sweet gesture contrasted the heated words that brushed your ears in beckoning. “Look up, and tell me what you see.”

“I see…” You lift your gaze then, realizing exactly where you were.

It led you to the mirror of your reflection just paces away, tidily pressed against the wall and encompassing your image in its entirety. Xavier’s frame had neatly shadowed yours, where his ringlets of blue were awaiting you expectantly in the glass. The melting sunset made your combined bodies glow, and your eyes instinctively trailed over the grasp that kept you in place.

“Us,” you deduced. “You and me.”

“That’s right,” he nods, tufts of silver bouncing. His hands sneak themselves upwards, one each cupping your breast and giving a light squeeze. “Keep talking. What do you see now?”

“Now?” You echoed, a tinge of embarrassment to your voice and skimming the tips of your ears. “I can’t—Ah, ah.”

Xavier rolled your nipples in between his fingers swiftly, teasing and pulling the skin as your breasts spilled out of their brassiere. He kisses your shoulder as his massaging and tugging cycle themselves, gaze coolly pinned on you through the reflection. “You can. Use your words and tell me.”

“You’re teasing me,” you breathed, shrinking in on yourself with every press of his fingers. A fingertip pressed into your areola and you inhaled sharply, “Touching me… y’know, over there.”

“Where?” He questions, fingers splaying out to cup your breasts wholly and giving a firmer squeeze.

“Is it here?” His chin rubs into your shoulder blade with the affection of a kitten seeking warmth.

“Or maybe here?” Following were his knees kneading against the sides of your thighs, his chest pressing into your back to capture you entirely. A hunter who had his prey in the fine confines of his muscles.

Xavier murmured. “This all counts as touching too. So, where exactly am I touching you then?”

“My… my…” You squirmed against him, back arching away when his thumb and forefinger returned to pinching a firm bud.

Even as you moved, Xavier would follow, hands over your skin and attached without remorse. His eyes glimmered in merriment, shining clearly amidst the reflection of your tangled bodies. “Hm? Did you say something?”

“Chest, my chest, damn you.” You managed as much through gritted teeth, biting down a mewl to his indecent touches. Xavier smiles against your shoulder, rewarding you with a smooch of commiseration—ironic, when it was all part of his plan.

You felt like you were finally catching a break as soon as his hands slid away from your sorely swollen breasts, a sigh of relief passing under your nose. Though, it was shortly lived with the dive of those very hands finding their way to the plush of your abdomen.

“And what about now?” He asks, dimpling his fingers into the flesh in the adjacency of a kitten pawing a blanket. It was a comforting touch, hands flattening across your stomach in a gentle massage.

“My stomach,” you answered, having quickly picked up on his tactful play. “Though, you seem to be nicer this time around.”

“I’m always nice.” Xavier shrugs his shoulders, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your skin. “And you’re beautiful. I can’t help but appreciate the gentle soul between my arms.”

He attempts to make various shapes with his fingers just above your navel before settling on a slightly crooked heart. Well, it was the thought that counted.

The hook of his cramped forefingers and equally contorted middles had you giggling at the sight, as sweet as the sentiment was. “We do this all the time at the photo studio, but look at your poor posture,” you teased, attempting to relax the tensed appendages.

He eases at your touch, allowing you to reshape his fingers in a more comfortable position. “Yeah. There’s only so much the photography poses book for beginners could do,” Xavier spoke earnestly, his chin finding rest atop the crown of your head. “But since you’re my partner, it’s been easier to handle the studio light at the very least.”

“Good, because we’re heading there later this week anyway. We’ll need new photos to commemorate today.” Your gaze trails over your hands atop of his, a downward peek over your skin and finding it reflected in the mirror’s orientation. It was a natural illustration of what it meant to feel at home, especially when he held you in an embrace that promised a shared tomorrow. Your heart felt warm in the blanket of his care.

You shift your head away to peer up at him, and he looks downwards to curiously see why his resting place had moved. You pressed a light kiss to the edge of his jaw then, a token of gratitude in reminder of what led you here in the first place.

Xavier lets out a pleased hum, though takes the opportunity to cup your chin. His thumb brushes against the brim of your lower lip, looking intently. Bringing your faces closer, mouth dipping to meet yours, he mumbles a remark. “You missed the most important spot.”

Another smack of his lips against you lingers longer than the one before it, your eyes fluttering to a close. Like clockwork, the prodding of his tongue against yours seeking allowance melted into a warm welcoming as you tilted into his embrace. It distracted you momentarily, perception dulled in the efforts of capturing your breaths—Xavier smoothed his hands over your thighs, and only then did their parting cause you to blink into realization.

Drawing back, you saw his gaze was no longer set on yours but straight ahead once more. “Xav…ier?” His name left your lips in a sense of familiar foreboding, a bubbling cauldron of heat settling into your senses. “That’s…!”

“I haven’t fully touched you here in a while and yet,” said the man in question, dipping a finger to push against your clothed folds. The fabric darkened over where you were practically weeping with need, and even as he drew back the appendage, a light string followed in suit. “You’re soaked, angel.”

“You can’t just say that,” you bemoaned, embarrassed at the honest nature. In an attempt to save yourself some face, your thighs instinctively pressed together to hide such an exposed state.

Though it was rendered useless when Xavier stopped you halfway, purposefully keeping your legs spread with a click of his tongue. One hand squeezed the plush of your inner thigh in tune, the other returning to skim over your underwear. The slightest drag of his fingernails and digging of cloth created a friction that had you squirming, a line between the need to flee for your pride and need to be satiated for the sake of achieving pleasure promptly blurring.

“Just observing,” he softly brings up in countenance. “Admiring, even. Is that a problem?”

“Well, I just—Ugh, please.” Your heart spoke before your mind could, practically mewling when the tips of his fingers curled just above your entrance—where you needed him the most. “You know why it’s like this…” You’re to blame, you thought, with the unspoken words hanging off your tongue.

Xavier sighs into the curve of your neck. “Maybe I do, or don’t. What do you want me to do about it?”

Your thighs twitch when he prods further, lightly pushing back and forth in reminder of what you could have. The orbiting sensation of his fingers had you fluttering around nothing, and your patience was wearing thin. Fine, fine. It was time to throw in all your dice and hope your numbers scored high. Throwing away your shield of pride for now, you ultimately settle to be honest with your desires.

Boldly, you press your hand over his and firmly slotted his fingers between your neatly soiled cunt. He lets out a soft gasp, stunned by your affirmation. Though Xavier doesn’t pull away, decidedly enveloping your heat wholly against the expanse of his palm.

“Make me feel good here.” Your eyes never left the reflection, enjoying the sight of his brow twitching at your demand. Concentrated entirely on your words, they deepened as you continued to lay out your thoughts. “Use these nice, skilled hands of yours and make me think of nothing but you.”

The lowered gleam of his eyes twinkled when they found yours in the reflection. “Are you asking for a second wish?”

You nodded, coyly exaggerating your request. “You’re the only star I’m wishing on. Can’t you do this one thing for me?” Testing his resolve, it was as if you were questioning his steadfast promise.

With a sharp inhale, the thread of his patience snipped soon thereafter.

“I can do that, surely. But these are in the way,” he mumbles calmly. A familiar glow emits from his fingers, gentle specks floating around them. There was an even fainter woosh accompanied by the slightest gust of air. It fell past your ears before both disappeared with a blink of an eye.

You gasped in disbelief. “My underwear, Xavier!”

It was no more, a ruined scrap of fabric that had been neatly sliced into two. The sides of the waistband fell forward, leaving you exposed to the cooled bedroom air. “I liked that pair,” you sighed.

You didn’t really care for it truthfully, but an exaggerated pout to cover your surprise of his evol was your best front in the moment. No wonder why he never lets you touch his light blade, when the luminance emitted from his fingertips alone could already do so much—effortlessly, at that.

“I’ll get you a replacement later.” With a quick tug, the measly piece of cloth is pulled from beneath you and discarded to the floor. “As many as you want,” said Xavier, though distracted in thought. His fingers moving with a mind of their own to quell those thoughts.

“It’s not like you’ll need them right now.”

His forefinger and middle parted your labia with ease, offering him a devious view of the very image he had longed to see. The glistening state of a cunt that had withstood his relentless and teasing touches, puffed and awaiting for something, anything to relieve your tension. The longer fingertip dips into your entrance first, light in effect though it echoes a slick noise in return. A second follows in suit, before Xavier slowly sunk the joints of both fingers into your heat.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, a soft moan of relief tickling his ears. He carefully retracts before pumping back in, setting a slow yet meaningful pace.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he croons, and a curl of his fingers emphasizes his words. His lips quirk into a small smile when he finds your hips rutting forward to chase his strokes. “So warm, so perfect and sucking me in so nicely.”

A mewl of his name parted your lips in response, ringing in a sweet melody that has him twitching against your backside. This would do for now, he tells himself as much—and remains firm when he stares at your blissed expression in the reflection. All because of him, riding his hand and giving you pleasure with every knowing press against your ridges. He could come alone at the sight and thought, but another passing of your whimpers has him leaning forward, bright idea in mind.

Xavier kisses the shell of your ear, voice dripping with a raw sense of need, desperation even. “Do you think you can take a third? For me?”

Pure bliss is all that runs through your mind, and you have half of it to manage a gaze towards the reflection. And what a mess you found yourself taking in—both your skin and his had begun to drink in the settling sunset, sparkling from a sheen of sweat beading his forearms and your thighs alike. The greatest shine of all could be found pooling between his fingers and your cunt, which mindfully played you along.

You swallowed. “A…another one?”

Xavier hums, moving to pepper a kiss just beneath your earlobe. “If you can’t, just say so. Your comfort comes first.”

You shake your head in immediate effect, stubbornly so. Who were you to back down from a challenge?

“No, I… I can try. Give it to me.” You lift your hips by a centimeter or two, further parting your legs in offering. “I can take it. Please, Xavier.”

With the final words of permission, he gently pulls his two fingers back, before welcoming your entrance with the sensation of three tips. “Alright. Tell me when it’s too much.”

His ring finger, just like the ones before it, slowly sank into your heat and gave into a newfound stretch that had the two of you gasping. It proved to be a tighter fit despite earlier coaxing. The stretch had you reeling, and he patiently held his excitement in place for your sake.

Xavier paused once he was knuckle deep, and that’s when you felt it.

“Xavier—“

“Safe word?”

“N-no, but,” you gulp, feeling a different kind of flush sink into your skin. “Your… ring.”

The cooled band found itself melting against your inner heat, just barely pressed against your walls but was nevertheless a welcoming presence. You could feel his breath freeze above you, the dominoes quickly falling in succession. “It’ll get dirty if you—!”

“Ah, that’s what you’re worried about?” Xavier snickers, before angling his wrist to slide out and push back in, reaching his fingers as far as they could go. “It should be the least of your concerns right now.”

“Give me some time,” you draw out, experimentally pushing your hips forward and hissing at the shift. “Your hands are big, y’know…”

At your own pace, you gently grind into his palm to grow accustomed to the sensation. Hands on his knees to balance, Xavier’s eyes raked over the arch of your back, mesmerized. His free hand rested into the dip of your love handles, following your movements in quiet encouragement.

You called for his name when you felt a familiar brink creep towards the edge of your consciousness, slowing your hips then. Xavier followed, chin shifting to rest on your shoulder. “No more?”

“I’m ready now.” You spoke in a sense of confidence, supporting your words with a slight raise of your hips. Leaning back into him, you fall back down and respire a sound of pleasure, more comfortable compared to before.

The peaks of his knuckles fully brush against your clit when you touch base, a cherry on top of the indecent sundae. A switch had flickered inside his mind, thoughts pouring out through the parting of his fingers from within. He groans, burning the feeling of your warm walls that welcomed his ministrations to memory.

“I want you to remember that this very ring,” he emphasizes with a particularly firm smack of his palm. “Makes you mine. As much as I am yours.”

A small cry rips from your throat, pushing yourself against him from the sudden change in pace and newfound sensitivity. His fingers begin to pump with improved ease, aided by the dripping arousal coating his busied hand. His palm became wet with every crude contact to your overwhelmed heat, a faint string of arousal attaching itself to his skin.

“Look at yourself, how much you want this. Do you feel it? The way this band presses into your pretty cunt, drenched in your honey.” Obscenely loud squelches echoed his words, proving his point in rapid effect. A knowing chuckle rings amongst the noises. “Hear that sound? You’re so wet. Amazing how concerned you were, but I bet you’re actually enjoying this. Dirtying my ring, our ring like this.”

“Please don’t—ah—say it like that, it’s embarrassing,” you whined, though not outwardly denying his claims. “Not true, I promise—mmh!”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Xavier circles inwards, applying a particular pleasure that had you bucking in weakness—he cooed at the sight. “You say that as if I’m wrong. Denying the truth before us.”

A string of incoherence swirled into the sounds you created, overwhelmed by the vivid heat coursing through your body. Your eyes were fluttering to a close, but soon snapped open at the feeling of his sneaking hand grasping your jaw.

A sharp whisper of his tone nicks at your ear, redirecting your face to focus on the glass ahead. “Don’t look away. I want you to watch just how you come undone for me. On my fingers, with the very ring that binds me to you.”

It was a fight to keep your gaze steady, to witness how he held the entirety of the world in his hand with every knowing, calculated stroke. There were faint glints of the silver band winking back at you during the few off-seconds his fingers weren’t buried deep into your weeping cunt.

“That’s my girl, you can do it.” He offers encouragement, skimming his teeth in a downwards trail, hotly breathing against your neck. The hold on your jaw loosens, sliding over the valley of your breast and dipping towards your clit. Pressed together, he begins to circle patterns of infinity, matching the pace of his remaining digits dutifully plugging you whole.

He exhales in admiration, feeling his heart swell with a sense of pride when you tighten around him. “You want to come, don’t you?”

Xavier searches for your pulse point, lips drawn in an effort to leave behind a stubborn mark. A quiet command echoes the ardent stimulation, tilting you to the edge. “Go on, let it all out. Make my wish come true, come, come, come.”

No sooner did a searing flash of heat strike you, seamlessly and pleasurably tearing you into two. Waves of long-awaited release ebbed through your walls and out into the maestro of his fingers that orchestrated them. Your hands found the closest thing to cling onto for purchase, fingernails digging into the tensed muscles of his thighs.

Everything was hot, intensely warm from your body and a testament to his efforts. His name became nothing but a broken chant, spilling from your lips relentlessly just as your arousal leaked into the sheets below.

An act of kindness came with the eventual slowing of his fingers, soon leaving your trembling cunt. The parting broke with a slicked pop, and the successive emptiness drew a disappointed whine from you.

Xavier finds it amusing, softly nudging your temple with his nose to pair his sympathy. “Are you doing okay? That was a lot, but you did well.”

You nodded for reassurance, lulling your head to meet his shoulder and limbs relaxing in recovery.

He held out his hands for the two of you to see just how well you did, a fine layer of your fluids coating him from tip to knuckle, spread across the palm alike. Thoroughly drenched and sticky by design, they web between his fingers as he stretches them out.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” you spoke up in sheepish admission, then glanced at the outcome. You reach for the soiled hand, curling a hold around his wrist as you bring it closer to your lips. “But it was hot. I enjoyed it.”

Confusion colors his expression. “What are you doing?”

Slyly, your tongue peaked out and traced a path along the crevices of his palm. Stray droplets of your arousal were caught on your tastebuds, and it was exhilarating. Making your way to the tips of his fingers, your mouth welcomed their slicked length in whole. Lips pursed and carefully taking them as far as you could, you began to greedily tongue him clean. You bobbed forward to capture the base of his knuckles, then upwards to the edge of his nails in a repeated motion.

Xavier tensed above you, eyes sharp and narrowed to the deliberate suckling of your warm mouth. He made no sudden effort to pull away, entranced by your devious performance. A hum of approval would echo your throaty sounds on occasion, before he decidedly removed his saliva-ridden fingers and parted with a fine string.

“Generously cleaning the mess you made,” he observes. Sincerity softens his tone and the smile he graces you with shortly after. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You return the gratitude in mild jest. You watch as he dries his hand off to the side, eyes soon trailing to the evidently darkened ripples of fabric just underneath your bottom. With a scrunched nose in apology, you could only hide part of your grimace. “Speaking of messes, sorry for your sheets. I’ll run the washer later to make up for it.”

He barely spares it a glance, finding the soiled padding to be of lesser interest. A kiss reaches your shoulder instead. “We can do laundry together later, there’s no rush.”

His mindset furthers when his hands massage careful circles into your thighs, taking his time in soothing your skin. Falling into place, serenity begins to filter through the air. The bands of stars sparkled under the newly unsheathed moonlight, welcoming the cosmos your hands held together.

“Say, Xavier?”

“Hm.”

Delicately, you push his hands away and slowly come to a rise, power replenishing itself after a moment’s rest. Xavier could only hold his breath, eyes raking over a tantalizing backside view as you stood. You were bathed in a faint sea of starlight, a glowing visage he adored greatly.

He released an exhale when you turned to face him, lips upturned in a knowing display. A blink later he found himself against the bed, back in full contact with the comforters.

“What’s the matter—Mmh.” He stifles his surprise with the back of his hand, blush creeping over the tips of his ears in succession.

You take the opportunity to swing your body over his, and he swallows. Your knees sink into the bedding, paired at his sides and hips hovering over his. A stray hand quietly runs a line from the heart of his chest down to his navel, pausing just above his waistband.

“I have another wish, if you’ll indulge me.”

He lowers his cover, on the cusp of intrigue and anticipation. “And that is?”

Xavier’s head dips back into the bedding further with an airy moan at your answer. Gingerly, your hand felt for his aching and abandoned cock, hot to the touch even through the cottons of his boxers. You leaned back to enjoy the view of pulling out his hardened state, his hips raised to discard the very fabric. Exposed to the cooler air, you could clearly make out the beads of arousal pulsing past his slit.

Finally freed from their confines and heavy between your fingers, Xavier twitched in unadulterated relief. A small laugh, one of recognition and affinity, escaped you. “I knew it. You were hard this entire time.”

He breathes out in defense. “Could you—mmh—blame me?”

“I can’t,” you replied in truth.

You honestly couldn’t, when you saw for yourself just how much of a mess he made of you only an instant ago. The flashing image of your reflection and his masterful play sprint past your mind, relayed through a squeeze of his length. You dragged your hold to the tip of his burning affection, then back down to the base. His brows knitted at your leisurely strokes, fingers curling into the sheets.

“But what does that mean then?” You teased, pressing questions you knew the answers to with another flick of your wrist. “Did watching me get off having you that riled up, hm?”

“Course it did.” Xavier answers immediately, tossing aside his front and presenting himself in honesty. “I meant it when I said you were beautif—uck, fuck.” His train of thought falls short into a curse, huffing out pleasantries at your touch. “Yeah, just like that. You’re so good, so good to me.”

His hips buck with your other hand palming his sensitive head, especially so when the curves of your ring skim the skin with every downward press. He squeezed his eyes shut, labored pants combatting the meek groans of your name. It was a sight for sore eyes and a euphony for your ears—to see his hair messily fall apart with every toss, rising chest that pushed out such sweet mumbles and abdomen constricting the closer he was brought to the edge.

“I’m—“

“Close,” you finish his sentence, and he only nods in affirmation.

Perfect.

A part of you felt guilty for releasing your hold on him then, and the way his eyes snapped open at the denial. But it wouldn’t be for naught—far from it.

He opens his mouth to protest before it quickly falls to a close, biting down on his lip as your hips rise. The curve of his stickied head kissed the warm entrance of your cunt, soon buried deep within the instance you sank down. Even as you coaxed yourself into taking him in stride, it didn’t beget the stretch of his girth filling you whole.

“What a sly vixen you are,” he lowly murmurs, though not in protest but rather of astute respect.

Xavier relocates his grip from the sheets to the curve of your sides, steadying your place over him with every purposeful grind you pushed forward. “Riding me like this, I’m really close this time. I can’t hold back when you feel so good around me.”

“Then don’t hold back for me.” You knew that well enough from the beginning, hands sliding past his abdomen and giving his shoulders an affirming squeeze. Leaning down to press your chest against him, your lips hover above his pillowy ones and smile.

“Give me everything you have, that’s my second wish.”

Pools of a lustful blue widened at your greenlit request. The speed of light was slow in comparison to the realization that quickly dawned onto Xavier—the glide of his hands dipping to firmly hold your ass were more than enough of a signal. Virtues of patience thrown out the window, his hips snap upwards in fervent need, setting an unruly pace and reaching depths you hadn’t thought possible. Desperate, wet smacks of his skin into yours loudly filled the room and accompanied your equally crude moans.

He captured those very sounds into his mouth, sharing his own before his hips stuttered and bliss overwhelmed his senses. Streams of hot release clung to your walls, readily accepting every thick drop of his undoing. He takes your face into his hands then, taking the care to properly kiss you through the cock that continues to spill his spend.

By the time he pulled away, your lips were swollen with the affection of his love, breathless all the same. Even if he had just come like his life depended on it, the gaze of pure adoration that bored into you showed no sign of such a thing.

With what little strength you mustered, you lean back and allow his softening length to escape you. A fine trail of viscous white followed in suit, pearling along your folds and dripping onto him.

“Another wish comes true,” you remark. Pleased nonetheless, your body reacts in agreement as another string of combined release slowly pushes past your entrance. “Combined with your luck, you could make a killer living off of this.”

It earns you a light chuckle in return, amusement wrinkling his eyes. “As long as you’re my only and willing client, then I’m open for business. Just you, though.”

You wiggle your brows in an unserious manner at the prospect. “Do I get a discount?”

“Yeah. The exclusive lover one,” he retorts, though it's a committed promise despite the friendly sarcasm. “Anyway, our desires are well aligned. It makes fulfilling them light work.”

He takes you back into his hold, chest to chest and heart beating to one another. Xavier tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before placing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I love you. My north star, I’ll always do my best to have your wishes granted.”

Whatever playful comment you had prepared melts quickly at his admission, honeying into fondness for your lover. “And I love you,” you sweetly sing back to him. “My shining trace of light.”

You stretch a hand to cup his face, to which he was quick to nudge against in reciprocation. The glimmer in his eyes faintly resembled the focal jewel inlaid within your ring, bright and wholeheartedly yours. Whispers of the stars blinked at you, relaying their oath as you admired Xavier in his entirety, and he to you.

“Let me guess. This time, your cipher is…” You paused, pondering at the possibilities and flipping through your mental notes. The conclusion came to a stalemate the longer you dwelled on it, and a sigh resulted in its place. “Actually, maybe I don’t know. Mind telling me what it means?”

“Sure.” A brisk warmth touches your lower lip, leaving behind a kiss too short for time to hold. “The message was… ‘Would you like to see the stars with me?’ The night is still young.”

You raised a brow at the proposal. “I’m already looking at one, though. And he’s really pretty, looks a whole lot better than the ones in the night sky.”

Xavier shakes his head, though a bashful flush at the compliment digs into his skin. “A simple yes or no would do.”

“Then, yes. The patio would be a nice view.” You make an effort to get up, but his arms around you give no room for freedom. You glance at him, wondering what was the literal hold up. “What is it? I thought you wanted to see the stars, so we should clean up and—Ah. You!“

Gravity was lost to you and the next moment, a familiar view of his shadowing frame shields you once more. The pads of his hands slide down your sides in greeting, torso making its slow descent down your body. He tilts his head, mirth coloring an expression that homed itself in front of your parted thighs.

“I do,” Xavier confirms. “But right now, I’ll have you seeing stars. Starting from right here.”

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dre6ming · 1 month ago

Text

Little bean - the delicate beginning rush series

Read the whole series HERE

Pairing: Austin butler x fem reader actress/singer

Warning: smut 18+ , descriptive sexual content, fluff

Plot: expecting your first baby with Austin, you throw a gender reveal party, inviting all your close friends

Word count: 1.6k

A/n: in the timeline of my story Taylor Swift and Joe Alwyn get back together and are married, so deal with it. Also a cute cameo from Hugh Jackman himself.

More of my work- Masterlist

"Hey there bean!" Austin sighs against my swollen tummy, spreading his fingers over the stretched out skin. I groan feeling the baby instantly wake at the sound of Austin's voice. It's way too early in the morning and I was planning to sleep until late in the afternoon, so it's a little annoying that Austin could not wait until later to start conversations with our baby. "Hey mama!" He says excitedly, kissing my belly, before sliding up to catch my lips in a warm wet kiss. I breathe into his mouth and tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling at the roots, making him moan. "I wanted to sleep some more!" I argue, turning my head to the side to avoid his lips teasing him. " 'm sorry I just love seeing you like this.." Austin explains, looking down at my stomach, blinking slowly, his hand drawing circles on my bare skin. My heart feels heavy with love, looking at him treat the small human that's cooking in my body as a treasure no money could buy. "Make love to me Aus!" I beg, arching my back, pulling him close to me, bathing in the warmth of his figure.

"Anything for you my darling" Austin sighs moving his hand down my belly and below the waist band of my pj pants, moaning when is fingers make contact with the sleek gathering in between my legs. When I became pregnant I had the fear that maybe he won't find me as sexy as he used to, that I'll grow as big as a stuffed turkey and he'll think of me as repulsive. I know it's stupid that I ever thought those things, considering it's Austin that we're talking about, but I couldn't shake the anxiety off of me.

His lips bring me back to reality, soft and tender, kissing me and swallowing every moan and whimper. I caress is bare back, sliding my hands up to tangle in his hair, scratching at his scalp, making him shake, his hips pushing against my side, giving me a good feel of his erection.

Austin is quick to work me out of my clothes and get on top of me, entering me in one move. "You are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen in my life." He confesses, leaning over my belly to kiss my forehead as he starts to move. "You're gonna be the best dad Austin!" I tell him truthfully, cupping his cheek, my thumb brushing over his flushed skin. He starts moving slowly and the angle as me rolling my eyes in the back of my head as he hits that spongy spot inside me. "Fuck, this is so good!" I moan digging my fingers into his biceps, leaving crescent moon indents.

"Fuck honey y/n I'm so close!" His hand moves between us to touch my clit, as his moves speed up a little. I feel pleasure taking over me, warming my whole body, coming in a wave from head to toe. "I'm -" I don't get to finish the sentence as my orgasm hits me and I squeeze around him, feeling him twitch inside me, warm ropes of cum coating my velvety walls. "Shit!" Austin exclaims, his moves coming to a halt as he starts to pepper kisses on my face, neck and everywhere his lips can touch.

I start to giggle and soon enough it turns into a full laugh as he gets up to go to the bathroom, coming back with a wet washcloth to wipe me. "What are you laughing about?" He asks smiling for ear to ear. "Remember after I told you I was pregnant, that you were scared of having sex?" I can't control my laughter and soon enough he joins in. "I really thought I would shake the baby too much or maybe poke her, don't laugh" he argues, settling back in bed, wrapping me in his arms.

"Her? How do you know? You didn't peek did you?" I was really hoping Austin didn't just ruin my surprise, we are supposed to have some of our closest friends come over for a gender reveal party tonight and the only person who knows the gender is Roxanne, who's supposed to think of an original way of revealing it to us. "I didn't, but I have a feeling." I hum , cuddling closer to him. "A feeling? And what shall we name her if she's a girl?" I ask, biting my lip. "Well in your list of names I did peek, I liked Manon, means light right?" I look at him in awe, brushing some strands of hair out of his face. "What?" He asks at my dumbfounded face. "Manon is my favorite too, I'd like a little girl with your hair and my eyes running around." I dream and can already picture it so clearly. "Well we have a party to put together before that, Tay should be here with Joe, in.." he looks over at the clock on the nightstand "30 minutes"

———————————————————

"Ok sit down mama, you need to rest, you're seven months pregnant for gods sake!" Taylor scolds me, pushing on my shoulders to get me to sit down in the chair as she bosses around Joe and Austin. "So you really don't know what Roxy's got planned?" I ask for like the millionth time. "No and even if I did, I would not tell you." Her eyes look very stern and I know I shouldn’t push any further, but I'm bored and curious. The bell rings and I get up excitedly to open the door before she can. "I got it!" I shout

"Timmy!" I scream and hug him close, he had told me that he wasn't gonna make it, due to filming schedule. "Surprise!" He laughs hugging me. "And how's my nephew or niece?" He asks rubbing my tummy. "Very jumpy, I have to pee, every five minutes." I half joke. "Hey, guys!" Blake and Ryan show up at the door, right behind Timmy. "Blake , Ryan, hi guys, no kids today?" I ask seeing as they are alone. Having known them for so long, meeting them right after they had their last baby, it was like boot camp for motherhood. "Well the older ones had parties of their own and grandparents are visiting so Inez and Olin wanted to stay with them." Blake explains, hugging me tight, kissing me on the cheek.

"Are we the first to get here?" Ryan asks. "No, Tay and Joe are here already, getting the place ready with Austin, Timmy just beat you here by a minute." I tell them, inviting them all in.

After them the rest of the people start coming in slowly, Austin's dad, his sister and her family, Hugh and his girlfriend, my mom, Billie and Finneas with his girlfriend, Pedro and his sister, Jack and Margret, Aaron and his wife, James Austin's friend. The small LA house filled up pretty quickly with some of our dearest friends and family.

"Where are Roxy and Joshua?" I ask Austin frustrated that half of the party has passed and they had yet to show up. Before he can answer, Hugh approaches us with a big smile. He became like a good father figure to me after playing alongside him in Deadpool and Wolverine, but that bind only became stronger a few years later when we did a movie together, playing father and daughter, a movie for which we both received Oscar's, his first and my third. "Hugh!" I say wrapping my arms around his neck, standing on my tippy toes. "My god you look so happy and healthy, I'm so proud of you y/n. You too Austin, you make such a good team!"

Before I get to respond to his beautiful comment, the doors to the back yard open and Roxanne comes through them. "Come people, come and watch magic!" She dramatically smiles turning around, motioning for us all to follow her to the pool. In the back yard I instantly start laughing when I see, Joshua hanging over a fish tank. "Behold, each of you will draw a stick and the lucky one to draw the short stick, gets to sink Joshua, who will turn the color of the specific gender of our million dollar baby."

We all laugh, going around each drawing a stick then excitedly looking around to see who gets the short one. "It's me!" Taylor says, going over to push the button making Joshua fall in the fish tank, instantly going pink. My eyes fill with water as my heart leaps in my chest with joy. Austin picks me up, spinning me around. "I told you!" He says proudly, kissing me, making space for our friends that come to congratulate us.

Later we are sat at the table, eating cake, laughing, when Joshua enters the room, still stained pink. "Um Roxy are you sure this dye is supposed to be washable?" He asks, concern clear on his face. "Uhm, no... I never said washable, I said it will wash away.... Eventually." She says dropping her head. Laughter erupts around the room and I look around, feeling so safe and happy in the family that I made.

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#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler fic #the delicate beginning rush #austin butler fanfiction #austin #baz luhrmann elvis #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fans #hugh jackman #ryan reynolds #blake lively #taylor swift #joe alwyn #billie eilish #timothee chalamet big brother #timothee chamalet #pedro pascal

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seeingivy · 1 year ago

Text

new year's day

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic, masterlist here

content: reader mentions insecurity, connie and reiner teasing you, smooching, levi being a dad for ten minutes straight, sukuna cameo

an: I MISSED YOU POOKIES SO MUCH. SO SO MUCH. war (my 9-5) is over. this ended up at 9k, I hope it can compensate for the wait. ALSO VERY IMPORTANT WE'VE REACHED OUR FIRST TAYLOR SONG OF THE FIC. you can listen to new year's day from reputation before reading - it'll make the end part make more sense <3 (me furthering my turning people into swifties agenda, I saw her last night and my brain chemistry changed)

previous part linked here

“Go outside and look at the moon.”

“No. I’m really comfortable in my bed.”

“Oh, come on Y/N. Just go outside.”

You grumble some nice profanities at Eren over the phone as you shuffle out of your sheets, pushing open your window to stick your head out. The breeze in the air is cold, the frigid atmosphere invading your already freezing room.

Erwin won’t justify turning on the heater. There are only four people in the townhouse right now - you, Levi, Hange, and Erwin (which is totally not your worst nightmare) - and apparently, that doesn’t justify heater use at all. Luckily enough, Eren and his very convincing angry face will arrive tomorrow to save you from your eternal winter.

“S’cold, Jaeger.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do you see the moon?”

You crane your head up, twisting back in the window to look at it. A small crescent pressed against the sky, just slightly hidden beneath the clouds.

“Yes, Eren. I see the moon.”

“Okay. Now look to your right.”

“Are we playing Simon Says?”

“STOP SASSING ME AND JUST DO IT.”

You’re thrown off by the irritation in his voice, and you turn over, peeking your head entirely out to look to the right.

“Very exciting views, Eren. It’s literally pitch black.”

You don’t see much, just the tandem bike you set out for tomorrow - when Eren would be here and not berating you through the phone - and the small patch of flowers that are by the front door.

“I meant your other right, Y/N.”

You shift your head to the left and see Eren standing there, his green hoodie pulled over his head and a cheeky smile pressed into his face.

You drop your phone flat on the floor, running (falling) down the steps out into the cold air, your socks against the cold pavement as you run out to greet him.

He’s already holding his arms open, which you run into, as you burrow your face into his shoulder, his warm arms squeezing around your frame and his laugh in your ears.

“You were supposed to come tomorrow, Eren.”

“And yet I’m here today, Y/N.”

“Shut up. You know what I meant.”

“Flight got moved up. And maybe I just wanted some time in the house where it’s just you and me - you know, without Mikasa interrupting us every two seconds.”

You laugh as you and Eren sling your arms around each other’s shoulders, trudging out of the cold and into the kitchen.

Before you can even mention it, Eren’s pulling out two bowls, and you’re grabbing the ramen packets, the two of you leaning against the counter as you watch the water boil. As excited as you are to see him and actually to be near him, there isn’t really much to talk about.

You guys literally talk every single day.

“How’s the song coming?”

You groan, leaning into his shoulder as he laughs, his hand coming around your shoulder to rest in your hair. But it’s better. Because you can see him with your own eyes, hear him with your own ears, feel him with your own hands.

“Bad. I’m never going to finish it.”

“You’ll finish it. Plus, Armin’s coming soon, and he knows how to rhyme and stuff.”

“That’s not the problem. I feel like the lyrics work when I can figure out the backing tracks and the music. But I keep getting tangled up because I can’t figure out the piano.”

He reaches forward, opening the packets of noodles and dipping them into the water as you start chopping up the vegetables on the side.

“I play piano, Y/N. I can help you if you want.”

“No. That would just be more embarrassing. I get super frustrated when I’m writing. It would be infinitely worse if you were there watching me fail.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes the knife from your hand, lightly pushing you to the side to watch the noodles.

“You’re not going to fail. Let me help you. No one gets a hit on the first try, stupid.”

“Don’t call me stupid, idiot.”

“My bad, dumbass.”

“Language, Eren,” Levi says from behind you two.

You watch a smile spread across Eren’s face as he moves, running past the side of the counter to give Erwin, Hange, and a now-annoyed Levi a hug. Hange and Erwin are ruffling his hair, Hange cooing about how their little stars are back together again.

Eren joins you again at your side as you're dishing out the food, Erwin pulling out a stack of papers as you and Eren start eating at the counter.

“Business.”

“Go ahead, Erwin.” Eren says, handing you the hot sauce before you can even reach for it.

“So. Final scripts. As you’ll see, there aren't too many big scenes for you this season. It’s mostly focusing on this whole Utgard Castle arc, which you’re both not in.” Erwin explains.

“Okay, that’s-” you say.

“That doesn’t mean you both can slack off. There are more scenes for the rest of them because we need you two to nail the scenes you are in. Eren - this whole Colossal Titan reveal, you need to put everything you’ve got into it. If you think I’ve pushed you hard before, you’re in for a whole different playing field this season.” Levi says, glaring at Eren.

You watch Eren roll his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he agrees and starts flipping through the script.

“And you too, Y/N. This whole “Thank You” scene at the end - the majority of the dialogue falls on you. But you need to deliver in all ways. You better be acting with your eyes, your mind, your entire being. This is the type of scene you both could get nominated for as awards that’ll get you more roles. Take it seriously.” Levi continues.

At the mention of awards, you and Eren both perk your ears up, flipping to the end of the script to the scenes tabbed at the ends with your name on it. You quickly run your eyes through the scene and the staging and feel your throat constrict at the staging lines right in the middle, bolded.

Y/N leans forward, grabs Eren by the collar, and presses the softest kiss to his lips. It’s not overly passionate or sensational, but to the two of them, it’s a simple message. One they’ve known all along, maybe since they first met - in that cabin all those years ago.

I know how you feel. You don’t have to say it.

You feel your eyes widen as you look up at Hange and Levi, the words spilling out of your mouth.

“You want us to kiss?”

“Huh?”

At your words, Eren’s leaning over into your space, reading the line marked, and suddenly your cheeks are both burning pink. You both give each other a glance, which only makes it more awkward, as you shuffle as far away from each other as possible.

“Yeah. It’ll fit the scene. It’s just one kiss, maybe two if we don’t get it on the first take.” Hange says nonchalantly as they start flipping through the rest of the highlighted script.

As Erwin, Hange, and Levi start milling through their own conversations - discussing sets, costumes, that scene - you squeak out something that stops them in their tracks.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Hange’s eyes light up as they nearly jump to your side, taking your cheeks into their hands and teasing you. They flip you around so you’re facing Eren, which you’ve been avoiding this entire time, and start whispering into your ear.

“Aw, isn’t he so sweet? It’ll be so nice to have your first kiss with your best friend, someone you trust.”

“Uh, I-”

“Cmon. Eren won’t bite now, will he?”

Eren awkwardly pads to the other side of the room, shoving his face into his script, as Levi comes over and yanks Hange by the hair, muttering something about how they need to stop teasing you.

“Another thing. While they’re filming the Utgard Castle scenes, you’re both not really in, you’re both going on a press junket. We’ll all be there as well.”

“The rest of the cast too?”

“No, just you two, Eren. They’re all going to finish filming so we can maximize time and all that. You’ll return on New Year’s Day to film that last scene.”

“Can we come back earlier? Y/N’s birthday is on New Year’s Eve. She should be here to celebrate with everyone and not on a stuffy plane.”

“Fine. You’ll come back that day. And then the scene is the day after.”

Hange, Erwin, and Levi give the two of you a curt nod as they pad back upstairs, leaving you, Eren, and your two bowls of ramen in the kitchen. You and Eren take the bowls and place them on the table, eating silently.

It’s still hanging in your mind. In a little less than a month, you’re going to be kissing Eren.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah, Eren?”

“I haven’t kissed anyone either.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I just mean, it doesn’t have to be awkward. We’ll just…figure it out together. And it’s you and me, so it won’t be weird.”

You smile, watching the last of your noodles swirl around the bowl as his words seep into your head. Right. It is just you and Eren. You’re best friends. It’s just one kiss. Or maybe two. It’s not a big deal.

“Yeah. You and me, Eren.”

He smiles in response, the awkwardness lifting off of you as you both finish eating.

The second Connie, Reiner, and Ymir make it back on set, their incessant teasing starts. They read the scripts. Kissy faces, smooching sounds, purposely pushing you and Eren into corners together just so they can tease you.

“Eren. Are you excited to kiss, Y/N?”

“Shut up, Connie.”

“Is this your first kiss together? You must be sooo excited, Y/N.”

“Okay, Reiner. Are you excited for your weird pervert lines about Historia?”

The entire room laughs, Historia and Mikasa coming over to yank you out of the corner and sit at the table with them as you all catch up. Armin’s going around - taking pictures of everyone for our first day of filming with his Polaroid - as he starts labeling them all.

There’s one of Reiner and Bertholdt - in their iconic fists to each other’s back poses - labeled “pervert and giraffe” by Connie.

Another one of Sasha sleeping face first on the table from her jet lag while Connie and Jean are spraying whipped cream into her hair, labeled “connie springer, ultimate menace”

And another one of you and Eren, fist-bumping each other, labeled “l/n-jaegers, season two”

Connie films his first incriminating video ten minutes after that. It's Eren tucking your hair behind your ear.

You yank your earphones out as you crunch the pebbles under your feet, rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes. When Armin walks up next to you, he’s immediately leaning his head on your shoulder, his eyes sleepily shut as you wait for everyone else to join.

It’s five in the morning. And you really, really hate Hange for this.

You’re all supposed to be filming a scene two hours away, in the snowcaps. It’s meant to be a flashback scene, primarily for Ymir and Historia, which is why you’re pissed that you had to wake up this early anyways. The light is barely peeking into the sky, the hues still a dark navy as everyone strolls out of the townhouse.

Jean’s grumbling profanities, Mikasa’s dragging Connie out, and Sasha's the only one who’s really awake. Erwin slides open the bus door, and you trudge in, sliding into the first seat.

You're leaning your head against the glass, ice cold, as you try to flutter your eyes closed again to rest a little bit on the drive over. You feel a shifting in the seat next to you and two hands on your head, moving you through space.

You peek your eyes open to find Eren, placing your forehead against his shoulder instead of the glass.

“Huh, what-”

“Sorry, Y/N. Didn’t mean to wake you. Just figured it would be more comfortable this way.” he whispers, lightly pulling the hood of your jacket back over your head.

You nestle more into his shoulder, letting the weight of your head fall entirely onto his shoulder as he readjusts under you, his arm splayed across your back. You feel his head resting on top of yours, your breaths in tandem as you both shut your eyes and drift off to a very unrestful and bumpy sleep.

You wake up two hours later to the flash of a camera. And when you open your eyes, Armin and Connie are smirking at you, holding up the Polaroid of you and Eren sleeping in front of your face and then running out the bus.

You frown as you rub your eye sockets with your knuckles, readjusting your hair and cracking out your neck.

"Fuck Erwin for getting Armin that camera."

“I really hope they’re not there when we have to kiss each other, Eren. They’re never going to let us hear the end of it.”

“You and me both.”

He holds his hand out, helping you up from the chair as you both pull on your jackets and join everyone else in the snow.

“Sleep well?”

You and Eren turn your heads to find Marco standing beside you, a shy smile on his face. You and Eren both reach forward, pulling your arms around him as you start talking at the same time, shocked at his presence.

“Marco. What the fuck? What are you doing-”

“You didn’t even tell us you were coming! That’s so messed up. You bitch.”

He pulls back, a hand resting on both of your shoulders as he smiles, the look soft.

“Sorry, guys. I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ll be here after you’re back from the press junket, too, Y/N. For your birthday.”

You smile at him, giving him one more hug as he ruffles your hair, the two of you linking arms as you wait to film the scene at hand. After you film the aforementioned extremely short scene - which just makes you more aggravated at Levi and Hange because why the hell did you have to come out here for that - the lot of you head into the cabin, peeling off your snow coats and settling into the seats.

Armin and Eren settle at the window, the two of them teaching each other card tricks while Bertholdt follows Sasha to rummage for snacks. Mikasa and Reiner run off to explore the upper level of the cabin as you and Marco sit flat against the wall, watching everyone walk around.

“How are you, Y/N?”

“Okay, Marco. How are you?”

“I meant. Regarding everything we talked about last time and all that.”

“Oh. Right.”

The last time you saw Marco was when he came to visit you and stay with your family for a week. It was an impromptu trip after you mentioned to him that things weren’t going so great. Granted, he was only an hour away from filming a short film and had the time to spare, but it still meant the world.

He places a hand on the top of your knee as you look over at Eren, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he starts talking.

“You doing okay? Seriously?” he asks.

“It feels better when I’m here. With you guys. Especially you, now that you’re here. I feel most normal here and wildly out of place when I’m home.”

He sighs, squeezing your knee as you watch Eren place his card down, a victorious screech leaving his mouth as Armin rolls his eyes.

“I can’t say I understand. We all went to the SHWA when we were so little, and I guess there was always some understanding that we’d be…in the spotlight. Scrutinized. No grocery stores or going to the beach, or any of that. Those things wouldn’t be normal. There was really no…normal to go back to.”

You reach down, holding his hand, as you tilt your head back on the wall.

“I don’t know. It’s weird. Sometimes it feels like I can’t even be normal without people picking apart everything I do. I knew this was something I wanted badly but never figured it would be like this.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” he responds.

Eren looks over from his spot on the windowsill, eyebrows scrunched together in frustration now as he mouths the words.

You okay?

You nod, albeit halfheartedly, as Marco pulls you up, the two of you scooting into the kitchen.

“Did you tell him about any of this?”

“No.” “Don’t be silly, Y/N. The first thing they say at the SHWA is to rely on the people around you. The ones who understand.”

“I do rely on the people around me. I’m talking to you right now.”

He reaches forward to flick your forehead, the spot stinging.

“Ouch, asshole.”

“I’m not a series regular anymore. And he’s the person you should tell. He’d want to know.”

You roll your eyes at him as Sasha comes up, splitting half of her chocolate bar with you. Armin and Eren amble in a little while later, the lot of you all standing in the kitchen, watching Connie shove as many marshmallows as he can into Reiner’s mouth.

Armin takes a picture. Labels it “chubby bunny gone wrong” when Reiner’s choking over the sink.

The press junket is insane. You and Eren are spending three days, all at the same convention, doing panels together. All while trying to memorize the lines for your kiss scene. Levi and Erwin said to meet as many people as the two of you could socialize as much as you can. Answer questions about the show for fans without letting Eren spoil the show.

The first interview was a get-to-know-the-actors test. You and Eren are tasked with asking each other simple questions and talking about them. It should be easy. As the camera beeps red for recording, Eren turns to the side and starts.

“My name is Eren Jaeger, and I’m one of the cast members of Attack on Titan.”

“And I’m Y/N L/N, and I’m also from the cast of Attack on Titan. We’re going to be doing an interview today for you to get to know us better!”

Eren leans forward, giving you a warm smile as you talk. He reaches forward, reading off the question on the first card.

“Y/N. Did you take anything home from the set?”

You turn to the side, making a fake warning face into the camera.

“Levi, if you’re watching, stop.”

Eren laughs as you turn back to him, trying to ignore the lights blaring in your eyes.

“Um. I totally accidentally took one of the scarves home. But that was an accident. Did you take anything?”

“I stole one of Armin’s polaroids from the wall. I keep it in my wallet. And I totally stole one of the ODM gear swords.”

“Huh? What do you even do with that?”

“Threaten my brother.”

“Oh my god, Eren. Jesus. Which polaroid did you take?”

“I have it, actually.”

Eren smiles at you as he yanks his wallet out of his pocket, handing the shiny white Polaroid over. You smile as you remember the day, the picture being of you and Eren with your ramen bowls. Armin’s inscription says, “sosuke and ponyo.” You hold it up to the camera before handing it back to Eren, making a mental note to steal one of Armin’s Polaroids too.

“Okay, Eren. Your question is…who is the first person you call when you get good news?”

His cheeks turn pink as he pinches the bridge of his nose, rolling his eyes at the camera.

“This is kind of cheesy.”

“Huh, Eren?”

“The person I call is you.”

You smile, twiddling with the end of your braids as you respond.

“My answer is you too.”

He smiles back, the two of you getting through the rest of the questions and thanking the crew team in the filming room. As you and Eren swing out of the door, he pulls the tiny little sheet Levi had made for the two of you out of his pocket, looking where to go next. You’re leaning so close into his space to read the little sheet that you can smell his minty gum, the smell filling your nose.

You’re going to the networking event.

You and Eren slide into the hallway, a big expensive conference room filled with people milling around. Almost everyone is nursing a glass of red wine in their hands, all adults talking over and around you as you both awkwardly stand at the front. You instinctively reach down for Eren’s hand, the two of you locking fingers as you move forward.

You both naturally lean against the wall, watching everyone walk around as you enter the room. All men. Well, almost all men. But from what you can tell, the only other women in the room are actresses - the producers, directors, screenwriters - they’re all men.

“Does it feel weird to you here, Eren?”

“Kind of. I can’t really place what it is, but it doesn’t really feel like we’re allowed to be here.”

You’re both significantly younger than almost everyone in this room. And they’re all drinking. Talking about god knows what. You try to scan the room - looking for Erwin, Hange, or Levi but come out dry from your search. Eren must be sensing your unease because he’s leading you toward the doors, ready to yank the two of you out of the situation.

But before he can, a man stops him, tapping him on the shoulder to talk to him. You both stop in your tracks, half turning around to look at him. He’s extremely tall, looming over the two of you, and you feel infinitely small in front of him. He looks at Eren, a self-assured smile pressed on his face as he introduces himself.

“Scott Clarkson. I’m a producer for Stone Studios.”

“I’m Eren Jaeger. This is-”

“I know who you are, Eren. I was invited to see one of the first cuts of the latest movie you just filmed and-”

Before you can even understand what’s happening, he has his hand on Eren’s shoulder, and they’re walking down the length of the hall, the end of their conversation lost to you. Eren looks back, and you give him a halfhearted smile as he tries to turn back before getting stuck in a larger group of people.

You make your way back against the wall, sliding into one of the farthest chairs and swirling a cup of lemonade in your hands. You watch the pulp of the lemon dissolve into your cup as you aggressively swirl, the drops landing on the black of your skirt.

It’s moments like this where you feel like you don’t belong. Marco’s words swirl through your mind, that this type of stuff is normal for them because they have no normal to return to, but you can’t help but feel other to them even if they are where you feel most comfortable.

Eren’s on the other side of the room, now stuck in a big group and laughing with producers and casting directors and talking about movies he’s filming and what he has lined up next. You’re on the other side of the room, sulking against the wall - you’d be shocked if they even knew who you were.

You’re not jealous of him. If anything, it’s everything Eren deserves and more. He’s always been phenomenal. But that’s just the thing, he’s everything and you’re not even on the same playing field.

Sometimes, it feels like Eren’s too good to be your friend. Your co-star. Someone you’re around. You can feel your knuckles turning white against the plastic of the cup, crushing against your hand.

“You know, if you do that any harder, you’re going to spill it all over yourself. Then I’ll have to take my pants off so you don’t look like an idiot.”

You look up to find Sukuna smiling at you, with Nobara and Maki rolling their eyes at him. You hop up, crushing Nobara and him in a hug and physically feeling the unease untangle in your chest.

“Hi. I’m really glad you’re here I-”

“This shit always sucks. I have no idea why we’re forced to come to these things.” Maki says, sliding into the seat on your left. Sukuna sits to your right, his arm resting across the back of your chair as the four of you whisper, well, more like the three of them explaining who all the producers in the room are, as you sit there.

“Hey Sukuna.”

“Hm, doll?”

“That guy. The one talking to Eren. Who is he?”

He squints his eyes as he cranes around the room, trying to find where you’re pointing at Eren. And when he does, you watch his eyes widen before he talks again.

“Ah. That’s Clarkson. He’s kind of an asshat.”

“What? Why?”

“No, he’s just a dick. A really great producer makes super cool movies, but he’s…not the best. All that shit you hear about the industry running people dry, taking advantage of people. They’re talking about him. And his lot.” Nobara explains, glaring daggers at him.

“Not his entire lot, Nobara. His daughter is fine.” Sukuna says, reaching over to you and Maki to flick her cheek.

“She’s a bitch. You’re just saying that because you’re dating her.” Nobara responds, flicking him back.

“Who's a bitch?”

The four of you break apart, still leaning over each other, to find Eren, Levi, and a short girl with brown hair staring at you.

“No one, Hyla.” Nobara says, grumbling as she and Maki stand up. Levi gets side-swiped into a conversation. He looks like he’d rather be five feet under than whatever he was talking about as the six of you stand up. You hold your hand out, introducing yourself to Hyla.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hyla Clarkson. Your dad was the one who acted in Interstellar, right?”

“No. That’s Historia’s dad, but I get the confusion. We’re just from the same show.”

You watch her eyebrows pinch up in confusion as she crosses her hands around her chest.

“Oh! Was your mom the one in Moonrise Kingdom?” she asks.

“Nope. I-”

“So what film were they-”

“My parents are dentists. They’re not really in the industry like that.” you ramble out, trying to spare yourself from any more embarrassment.

She smiles, the expression not meeting her eyes, as she reaches down and links her hand with Sukunas.

“That’s really sweet, actually. Humble beginnings and all that,” she says.

“I think it’s pretty cool. Like yeah, we all land roles because our parents kind of help us get them in some way. But, Y/N worked her way to the lead of the show, sans famous parents. It’s a testament to true talent. ” Eren says, his voice firm.

“I agree. L/N has always been badass, especially on the screen.” Maki says, glaring at Hyla altogether.

She rolls her eyes as she reaches into the pocket of her dress, taking out a shiny silver card and handing it to Eren.

“Eren. This is my dad’s card. He wanted me to give you another one unless you lost it.” Hyla says, giving Eren a hug before she walks away.

You both wait outside for Levi to join you, quietly standing against the wall. You watch Eren turn over the card in his hands before ripping it up, slashing right through Scott Clarkson’s shiny name in the middle.

“That’s a bit harsh, Eren. He’s a really good producer from what I’ve heard,” you say.

“Don’t care. We’ll get there on our own - we don’t need leg-ups from guys like that.”

You smile as you lean your head on Eren’s shoulder, the anxious feeling still tingling in your chest. Levi makes his way out, giving you two a smile as you both get dragged to your next panel, individual interviews.

You go first. The interviewer is a pale blonde girl with a stack of cards in her hand.

“Y/N. Who's your favorite male co-star on set?”

“Oh, um. That’s a hard question to ask, we’re all friends.”

You can tell she’s not satisfied with your answer by her uptight posture, the irritation rolling out of her mouth.

“Oh, don’t pick a cop-out answer. Who's your favorite male co-star? Is it Eren?”

“Um, sure? He’s my best friend on set. But I like everyone.”

She smiles, switching to her next card.

“Fans have picked up on matching bracelets you and Eren have been wearing during this press tour. Can you comment on the story behind them?”

“Oh, sure! It was last year, at the Savant Awards TV show awards. A pair of sweet fans gifted them to us.”

She doesn’t comment any further on the story, switching to the next card as you swirl the bracelet around on your wrist, concealing Eren’s name on the beads against the inner part of your wrist. You have a feeling that what you just said will already get twisted into something it’s not, which in the worst way, distorts the entire thing for you together.

“Okay, well, that’s all I have for you.”

You give her a smile as you switch seats, taking Eren’s previous seat. Hange places a hand on your head, and you watch them share a look with Levi as Eren takes the seat.

“You’re a phenomenal actor, Eren. What gets you in the zone on set?”

“Thank you so much! I usually have to take a second before I start filming a scene just to get in the right headspace. Especially for scenes that I film with Y/N, I usually need her to be right there next to me just so I can…feel the scene before we film it.”

The interviewer smiles, sliding to the next card as she asks Eren the questions. She couldn’t be this cheery and enthusiastic for you?

“Do you have any pre-filming rituals before you get on set and start filming?” she asks.

“I need to eat a bowl of ramen with Y/N before we start. It’s not like a good luck thing or anything, but we’ve just always started our day like that and now we just have to do it before we go on and film.” Eren responds, looking over to give you a smile.

You give him a thumbs up as he keeps going, trying not to pay too much attention to the fact that all of Eren’s questions are about his upcoming roles, his acting techniques, his favorite parts of acting, and how yours were all about him. Granted, Eren somehow brings you up in almost every question he answers - even if it’s not explicitly related to you - which only makes the entire thing fester in your mind more.

What are people going to say about it? This would just make what everyone says about you guys worse.

Not that it’s bad, but they just…say things. Granted, everyone had been saying things since the start, but you’ve always chalked that up to the fact that you and Eren are closer than everyone else is. And you know how the two of you are, but everyone else seems to have their own opinions about it. And maybe you should try to stop it? But if that’s how you are, who are you to change and-

“You okay?”

Eren’s taken the seat next to you, leaving Erwin to get interviewed next. You’re both slumped into the chairs at the back, Levi and Hange whispering in hushed voices in front of you. You can’t help but wonder if they felt this way when they were filming La La Land, but then again, they had no reason to deny anything that anyone said. They were actually together.

“Yeah. Just want to go home.”

He frowns as he brings a hand to the top of your head, leaning it to rest on his shoulder again. His cold fingers are in your scalp, pressing against the pulsating headache you’d been ignoring for the past hour, soothing the feeling.

Should you guys really be sitting like this if there are cameras five feet away? And what if-

“Do you want to take a walk? We can go look for lemonade or something.”

You nod as you both stand up, giving Hange and Levi a wave as you walk off. You’re slowly ambling behind Eren as he looks around for the drinks, the entire day replaying in your mind.

You just want to go back to set. Have Mikasa tell you goodnight, eat breakfast with Sasha, play cards with Armin. None of this press junket, stupid interviewers, uncomfortable producers business.

You feel a tugging on your arm, and you look back to find two girls looking at you. They can’t be much older than you, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with matching Attack on Titan shirts. With your face on it.

“Hi. We’re Sarah and Sofia. We’re really, really big fans of the show. We were wondering if we could get a picture with you?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I’d love to.” you respond.

You take a few pictures with them before handing them their phones back.

“Are you guys enjoying the panels?”

“Yes! We’ve gone to every single one of yours, you’ve been doing really well.”

You can feel your cheeks burning at their praise, reaching forward to hold both of their hands as you talk.

“You guys are too kind. And I really, really love the shirts. Did you make them yourselves?”

“Yeah! We also drove down two hours just to come watch, it’s been such a good weekend. We really, really admire you for what you’ve done. It seems like we hardly ever see “normal” people in the media. But every time we watch you do an interview, you always bring up our favorite songs and slang that we use, it just…makes it feel like there’s someone like us on the screen.”

You squeeze their hands, the tears welling in your eyes as you fight them down while responding.

“I promise, I’m a thousand times more like you than any of them, in more ways than you’d think. And…you could do it too. It’s like you said, we’re one and the same.”

They’re smiling so brightly at you that it’s making your heart squish in your chest, the feeling all warm and gooey and self-soothing. Right. You can do it. Who gives a fuck if a stupid reporter or these people think you’re lame - the people who watch your show are the ones that matter.

“We love you so much. You’re so, so sweet. You’re literally the nicest celebrity we’ve ever met. I’m sure you have to run soon - I can see Eren back there staring bullets at us - but we hope you have a really good birthday tomorrow, and we can’t wait to meet you again.” they say.

You wrap your arms around both of them as they both run off, excitedly talking, as you see Eren coming up to join you. He has a cup of lemonade in his right hand, the left hand reaching forward to wipe away the one tear that escaped your eyes.

“Sure you’re okay?”

You look over at him, green eyes looking into yours, and reach down to take his hand.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

You nod, the two of you shuffling off to where you came from.

When you get on the plane, your impending panic of the “Thank You” scene comes back. You’re both landing on set on New Year’s Day - which is your birthday, so you won’t be filming. Levi and Hange granted you the night off, and Eren says the two of you can go get slushies when you land. But then you’re filming the scene the next morning. You’re both still stuck on the plane for another seven hours running through the lines.

“Listen, you’ve always been at my side...thank you.”

You drop the script onto the table and groan loudly, to which Eren laughs in response.

“It-it’s falling flat. This scene is too serious, I-we’re going to have to do a million takes.”

“It’s fine- we’ll just practice a lot.”

You switch seats so you’re right next to Eren, the two of you looking down at your scripts and switching. You read each other’s stage notes - you both have a habit of writing notes to help remember lines and blocking - which you’ve found helps reading each other's notes helps you stay in line. Like you’re in each other’s head.

You read through his little scribbles - keep eye contact, start crying here, practice this.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“When you say practice this, you mean…”

He leans over, eyes going wide as he snatches his own script back, face burning. The arrow saying “practice this” was pointing to the line referring to the two of you kissing.

“Were you going to practice kissing in the mirror?”

“Shut up.”

“I think a pillow would be more sanitary. Maybe you could find a video of it on the internet or-”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to practice with me,” Eren responds angrily.

You can feel your throat drying, eyes met with Eren’s burning stare.

“Um.”

“I just thought it-it would be worse if we did it wrong. And had to keep trying, and you know that everyone’s going to come to watch us and-”

“I guess, but-”

“You don’t have to, Y/N. I was just thinking about it, and I was going to ask. Just so we don’t…have to do it for the first time in front of cameras.” he mumbles, turning his head away to look out the window.

You sit there for a second and think about it. Eren does have a point. Having Ymir and Reiner stand there while you kiss Eren, or anyone, for the first time would be horribly embarrassing if they were actually standing there. And it would be weird to have your first kiss for the first time in front of someone, maybe it would be a better memory if it was more isolated and someone else.

“Okay, Eren. That actually makes sense.”

He turns back, a shocked expression spreading across his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, just…don’t be weird or something if it’s bad. I’ve like never really done this before, Eren and-”

“It’ll be fine. We can figure it out together. It’s just…kissing. Can’t be rocket science.”

You nod, albeit apprehensively, as Levi and Hange join you and Eren in the seats across from you.

“You guys doing okay?” Levi asks, pushing bottles of water toward the two of you.

You both nod as you take in their expressions, the two of them more stern or serious than normal. Well, Hange being more stern - Levi has resting serious face.

“We wanted to talk to you about something,” Hange says.

“Okay. Is everything okay?” you ask.

“The press junket. You both were exposed to many different things you really haven’t been to before and we just…want to give you our own advice before we let you go on and about in your careers.” Hange says.

“We care about you both, and there are just some things you should know. We don’t care what you do because you’re your own people, but we just want you to be warned about things you…might see.” Levi continues.

You and Eren give each other a weary look, halfheartedly nodding at the two of them.

“There are some producers in the industry that don’t have your best interest. I’m sure you guys have heard rumors before of what the industry is really like and what it can do to someone - we’re trusting you both to keep your heads when dealing with situations like that.” Hange says.

“I don’t give a shit if it ruins your reputation. You don’t let them ruin you, control you, whatever. Your safety and what you’re comfortable with comes first.” Levi says.

“Have you guys ever been....near stuff like that?” Eren asks

Levi and Hange give each other a weary look before nodding.

“Yes. That’s why we’re telling you because no one ever told us. They’ll make you do things you don’t want to, make it feel like they control you, and take away the things important to you so they’ll know you’ll stay. Some of them are also very deep in some very, very illegal shit, so again. If you value where you are, you won’t interact with them.” Levi says.

You both nod, reaching for each other's hands as Levi and Hange study you with their eyes.

“Eren. Y/N. Did you notice anything weird about the press junkets we did today? Or what the media says?”

“Not really,” Eren responds.

You look down at your hands, focusing on the way your knuckles look when they’re flexed, from clenching so hard, as they all wait for your response. But you guess your silence is enough of an answer because Hange takes that as their sign to start talking.

“I had a feeling. What have you been thinking?” Hange asks.

You can feel your voice getting tangled in your throat and the tears coming to fill your eyes when it comes time to explain, to tell the three of them something they might entirely reject. Or just not understand.

“I just-the press junket was weird. It seemed like the interviewers were all asking me questions about Eren or Connie, or my other co-stars while they were asking Eren questions about his acting and what he does to get ready on set. It just feels like-that’s the only thing they care about when it comes to me. How I interact with other people.”

Eren’s squeezing your hand - three times - as the tears are freely spilling out of your eyes. Right with the words because now that you’ve opened this can of worms, it seems like you won’t stop until they’re all out on the floor.

“And. At the networking event, everyone wanted to talk to Eren and not to me. And it’s not that I’m jealous of him because I want Eren’s dreams to come true just as much as mine, but it…just feels like I’m less than. Like I’m stupid for even trying because my parents are just dentists in a small town, and the only acting I’ve done before this was in a very shitty small-scale production of Hamilton at my middle school.”

Hange and Levi scoot into the seats at your sides, Hange’s arms around you on your left and Eren’s around you on your right. Hange and Eren are squeezing your hands, Levi’s hand softly running through the strands of your hair as you sniffle through all the tears.

“I’m sorry, kid, but this part doesn’t go away. Especially because you’re a girl, something about that makes people think they have the right to the most heinous things about you. They’ll criticize anything and everything you do. You’ll learn to roll with the punches because, at the end of the day, you’re here to make art. Let that do the talking for you.” Hange says.

“I know. I just have to ignore them. Plus, there are nice people out there who really care about the show and what I do so-” you respond.

“More than just care about it, Y/N. People love you. The ones around you and people out there.” Eren says.

“Another thing. Eren, the type of scrutiny you’ll face is nothing compared to what she’s going to face, just on principle. It’s your job to not be the asshole who turns a blind eye to that and it’s your job to defend her if it calls for it. And if anything, it should infuriate you enough anyways that-” Levi mentions, looking over the tops of your heads to look at Eren.

“It already does infuriate me. Who gives the people the right to say anything about her when she’s one of the best ones on the show?” Eren responds, the anger spilling out of his mouth.

Levi and Hange give your hands one last squeeze before walking away, muttering something about how you should just focus on enjoying your birthday tomorrow and the scenes, leaving you and Eren in the seats again.

“What were we talking about before?” you ask.

“Everyone is stupid. You know that, right?”

You sigh, leaning against the chair so you’re looking up at the top of the airplane, the white lights shining on the two of you.

“I know that logically. But sometimes, it just kind of sits in my head. Repeating, and I try to convince myself it’s not true, but-”

“I’ll convince you.”

“What?”

“Just tell me. I’ll convince you. You could have told me before too and whenever you want. I’ll drop whatever it is I’m doing for you if this is what you need me to do.”

You nod, thinking of the best response. Because how do you tell him that he’s the best person you’ve ever met, and this only furthers the fact that he’s just too good for you. Because you’ve never had someone defend you or be so ready to come to your aid before that you don’t know what to do with it?

“I know how you feel. You don’t have to say it, Y/N.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at him.

“Are you quoting the stage directions from our kiss scene?”

“Maybe. But it’s true. And also, that’s what we were talking about before. Practicing kissing.”

“Maybe after we go to get slushies for my birthday later?”

“Yeah.”

You both smile as you dig your noses back into your scripts, waiting for the plane to reach back to set.

You guys land on set the next day, around three pm. Eren and Levi woke you up on the plane with a little mini-cupcake and a candle to surprise you. Hange then smashed almost all of the frosting onto your face, which just earned them a good amount of scolding from both Eren and Hange. When you land, you and Eren head to the townhouse together, to change before getting slushies.

“Why do you have your phone out, Eren?”

“What? I always have my phone out.”

“Not when you’re like…walking somewhere. And there isn’t even any wifi outside the townhouse, so I don’t even know what you’re doing on that.”

“Can you just walk into the house, please? Do you have to question everything I do?”

You pretend to scratch your temples, like you’re pondering his questions, as Eren rolls his eyes and lightly pushes your head, gesturing you into the house. And when you walk inside, they’re all waiting for you - the foyer of the townhouse decorated for your birthday and little party hats on all of their stupid little heads.

They’re all singing Happy Birthday off cue - Reiner singing opera again, Connie screaming cha-cha-cha off cue, and Historia singing like she’s the next contestant of America’s Got Talent. Mikasa and Sasha bring over a cake with seventeen green candles, each of them giving you a tight hug as you blow out the candles.

“Surprise!” Armin says, flashing the camera in your face.

“This is so sweet, you guys. Thank you,” you say.

“We have gifts. Come on, let’s open them.” Jean says, grabbing you by the hand and leading you to the center room.

They each hand you their gifts, excitedly watching you rip off the wrapping paper. And you get why because it seems like everyone put so much thought into their gifts that it makes your heart squeeze. Mikasa gives you a nice, leatherbound notebook so you can stop writing song lyrics on napkins, and Armin compliments her gift by buying you a nice set of green guitar picks.

You take the time to squeeze everyone in a hug and press a kiss to Ymir’s cheek, much to her dismay, because she writes you the sweetest little birthday note that makes you cry, and Reiner buys you a vinyl player to use for when you make your own record. And when you go all around the circle, you end up back at Eren, who is seemingly empty-handed.

“Did you get me something? You don’t have to, I just-”

“Shut up. Of course, I had to. I just can’t really wrap my gift.” Eren responds, grabbing you by the hand and leading you to the closet near the front door.

The rest of them all follow suit, watching you guys from a little distance.

“Wow, Eren. I love it. I’ve always wanted my own closet.”

“Shut up and open it.”

You reach forward for the handle and swing it open, only to be met with your brothers - Colt and Falco - springing out of the closet and wrapping their arms around you. You’re squeezing the both of them so hard, so excited you’re crying because it’s literally been months on end since you’ve seen them, and you never dreamed they could even be here.

“What are you doing here? Coco, you literally have class in like two days, and Colt so do you and-”

“Eren flew us out for your birthday. We’re leaving at the end of the day tomorrow.”

You turn around, and you know you’re all teary-eyed and pink in the face, but you reach forward and squish Eren into the tightest hug known to man, eliciting cheering from the rest of them still watching you - that you entirely forgot about.

“Eren. I love you so much. Thank you. I’ll pay you back for the plane tickets, but this really means the world to me, and I-”

“You don’t have to pay me back. This was a gift for you, birthday girl,” he says, pinching the side of your cheek.

Nine hours later and the whole new year in the flesh, you’re scribbling lyrics into the little book Mikasa bought you. The party they threw you - fully set with games, karaoke, and a pinata that Bertholdt procured out of thin air - turned out to be so tiring that they all passed out in the foyer, sleeping on top of each other on the couch and the floor.

“Writing a song?”

“Yeah. I think it’s done, actually, I just need to go play it now,” you say.

“Want me to come? I can help with the piano.” Eren asks.

“It’s three in the morning. Aren’t you tired? And I don’t even know where the key to set is where we can access the piano.”

Eren reaches for the closest drawer, pulling out a shiny black key and dragging you out by the hand. You both pull on jackets and run out into the dark to the tandem bike, pushing towards set while shivering in the cold air.

And when Eren opens the set door and turns on the lights, you immediately scream and duck behind him.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Ymir’s prosthetic titan.”

“God. Do they need to leave it at the front door? That literally scared the shit out of me.”

He laughs, locking his hand in yours as he drags you to the piano near the back of the set. You yank your hoodie off your head, placing the lyrics on the front of the piano.

“Okay, so. Sing it. I’ll see what chords make the most sense after.”

You nod, going through the first verse.

There’s glitter on the floor after the party Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor You and me from the night before, but

Eren starts playing the piano around the chorus, a light piano tune filling the air. And he’s watching you so intently as you sing the lyrics, change words around with your messy handwriting, and he thinks at this moment, with your forehead all scrunched up in concentration and your sweet voice in the air that you might be his favorite person to be around.

Don’t read the last page But I stay, when it’s hard, or it’s wrong, or we’re making mistakes I want your midnights But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day

And when you finish, he’s wrapping his arms around you, his voice so soft when he whispers in your ear that it makes the hair on your skin stand up.

“You are…amazing. You know that?”

“Eren. You’re so-”

He cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth as he looks into your eyes, the look so warm, so sincere that it makes your chest tingle and your heart pound. Any denial of the fact will be met with pushback, so you drop it.

“Thank you, Eren.”

He smiles, dropping his hand to play the chords again and write them in the book.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Is this song about me, Y/N?”

“What?”

“Well, the line. You squeeze my hand three times in the back of a taxi? Isn’t that kind of our thing? Squeezing hands three times.”

You can feel your cheeks burning as you focus on the lyrics. And god, maybe the song is about Eren. You didn’t intend to write it that way, but he’s right. The candle wax, and the polaroids are mentioned in the song.

Those are all things you associate with him.

“I guess so. I mean, I didn’t mean to really write it that way, but I guess that’s how it came out.”

He smiles, a smirk on his face as he starts teasing you.

“Am I your muse?”

“Shut up. You’re so fucking stupid, Eren.”

“You and me, forevermore huh?”

“Eren. Stop.”

“I’m teasing, Y/N. I like the sound of that. And the entire song, it’s really good. You should submit it to perform for the Savants.”

“No. I could never do that.”

He rolls his eyes as he shuts the book, swinging on the other side of the piano bench to lean against the now-closed piano. You’re both sitting silently, taking in the set when it’s so empty. Everyone’s ODM gear is labeled in the closet with their names, Eren’s prosthetic titan arms lying nearby, and Levi’s cleaning supplies.

Eren clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“We-um. Were supposed to get slushies yesterday.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I just got so distracted.”

“Yeah. And.”

“And?”

“Weweresupposedtopracticethekiss.” he mumbles out, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.

You feel your eyes widen as the recognition hits you. You’re supposed to kiss Eren tomorrow morning.

“Oh, shit. That’s literally tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

The silence hangs between the two of you as the pit in your stomach starts burning.

“Do you want to practice now? Just so we’re good for tomorrow morning?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

You both awkwardly shuffle on the piano bench facing, splitting your legs between each side so you can both scoot closer to each other. And you can feel your heart beating really fast at being this close to him, all alone.

He must sense it, because he puts his hand in yours, squeezing three times, before talking.

“You okay? We don’t have to.”

“No. We should. I-I want to.”

He nods, lifting his hands in the air as confusion spreads across his face.

“You can put your hands wherever. It’s okay.” you say

“O-okay. Right, Y/N. Sorry I-”

“Don’t worry. I’ve never done this before either.”

He settles for cupping the side of your face with his right hand and leaving his left hand resting against the side of your waist. You place your hands against his hoodie, crumpling the fabric in your hands as you try to limit the sweat gathering on your palms.

“Okay.”

“Okay, Y/N. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

He leans forward and presses his lips to yours, the sensation so strange that you forget to move your lips and freeze up against your face. You both stay there for three seconds - but it feels like an eternity. And when he pulls away, you can feel the embarrassment rushing to your face when you realize what just happened.

You just kissed him wrong. You forgot to kiss him back.

“Oh my god, Eren. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I was so thrown off by it, and I just made your first kiss wrong, and I-”

“Y/N.”

“Oh god. We’re going to fuck this up so badly tomorrow. I’m going to fuck this up so badly tomorrow. And we’re going to-”

“Y/N.”

“Ymir is never going to stop making fun of me. And then I’ll probably-”

He drops his hands and reaches for your wrists, squeezing hard as he talks.

“Y/N. Stop.” he says, his voice so soft, so earnest that it stops you in your tracks.

“It’s okay. You didn’t mess anything up. I think you’re just…thinking about it too hard. This isn’t the kiss we’re doing for tomorrow or the show. This is just you and me, kissing here and now. So just…relax. It’s just us.”

You groan as you put your hands on your face, murmuring through your fingers.

“How do you always say the right thing like that? It pisses me off.”

He laughs, grabbing your wrists and placing them back on his shoulders where they were before. And when he secures his hand around your cheek and your waist again, his green eyes are shining in the set light and you think he might be your favorite person to be around.

“Ready, Y/N?”

“Ready.”

And when he leans forward this time, you move your lips too, taking notice of how soft, how warm his lips feel against yours. How the sensation tingles all the way down to your stomach, makes your cheeks burn and your brain prickle. You instinctively lift your hands off his shoulders, feeling the softness of his hair between your fingertips and how his hand is only guiding your mouth closer to his like he’s pushing your lips together more than they already are.

And when you both pull away, you’re both staring at each other - dilated eyes and swollen, pink lips. Your hands in his hair and his hands around your waist, breathless.

When he cracks a smile, you can feel your entire resolve shattering. You make no effort to stop beaming at him the way you are, because you know you couldn’t even if you tried.

“Hi Y/N.” he whispers.

“Hi Eren.” you whisper back.

And you both laugh so hard that it makes your chest hurt.

“Listen, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“You know. We’re practicing. And doing it one time doesn’t mean it’s perfect, so-so we should try again. You know, for method acting purposes and-and.”

You smirk, reaching forward to pinch his cheek.

“You want to kiss me so bad.”

“Shut up. We don’t have to, I just want to make-”

“We can.”

He smiles, leaning forward to press his lips against yours again, his breath tickling the tip of your nose and his lips pressing against yours again, this kiss better than the last. You’ve committed it to memory - how his lips fit perfectly against yours, where his hands feel the best.

For acting purposes, of course.

You and Eren are ready bright and early to film the scene. Seconds before you start, Levi comes over and drops a key piece of information that leaves you and Eren pink in the face.

They’re cutting the kiss from the script.

next part linked here

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emilystheories · 1 year ago

Text

The Bryce and Azriel theory.

Matching weapons, ancient prophecies, dusk, and true equals.

Before you scroll away or block (which I totally understand if you do anyway - you are entitled to curate your own experience on here!), please note that I am not trying to convert anyone to this ship. I am fully aware that most people in the fandom are in favour of Gwynriel, Elriel, Elucien, and/or Quinlar, and I 100% respect those preferences.

I am also not saying this is canon, or will be canon - it's a theory. However, I very rarely (if ever) see people correctly talk about the actual evidence for the Bryce x Az pairing, especially when they're mocking it as nothing more than a 'crackship.' Given the sheer size of this post (and the fact that it took me weeks to put together), it's no surprise that I disagree with such a sentiment.

Feel free to form your own opinion on the matter; I only ask that you keep an open mind. And if that's not possible, then at the very least, I hope this is still an entertaining read, as it breaks down a sizeable chunk of the SJM multiverse.

(So, evidently: SJM universe spoilers ahead).

[art by Gabrielle Ragusi].

To begin: Bryce's connections to dusk.

Throughout both Crescent City books, Bryce is repeatedly connected to dusk. For example:

Bryce's scent is of dusk.

One of the first things Hunt notices about Bryce is that her scent is of the "first stars at nightfall." Nightfall is another word for dusk. This is important, as SJM often uses scent to foreshadow a character's true home (e.g. Rowan's scent being of Terrasen).

"She's here," Hunt said. The scent of her still lingering on the sidewalk, lilac and nutmeg and something he couldn't quite place - like the gleam of the first stars at nightfall."

Bryce is repeatedly associated with dusk imagery.

For example, Bryce often has her nails painted in "twilight" colours (again, another word for dusk), and even her damn nipples are described as being "dusk rose."

"She examined her nails, now painted in some sort of color gradient that went from pink to periwinkle tips. Like the sky at twilight."

Bryce is obsessed with pegasuses and unicorns (which originated from the Dusk Court).

Bryce has been obsessed with pegasus dolls (i.e. Jelly Jubilee!) since book 1; they are iconic to her character. In fact, there is a unicorn-pegasus hidden on the cover of every Crescent City book (see image below).

It's then no coincidence that the pegasuses in Prythian came from the Prison Island... the Dusk Court.

"According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon—"

"Dusk's Truth"

The entirety of Crescent City 2 centred around "Dusk's Truth," which was confirmed to be about the Dusk Court. This logically implies that dusk (and the Dusk Court) is a pivotal aspect of Bryce's storyline.

This is also why I believe that Bryce's entrance into Prythian isn't just a fun cameo, nor a brief, temporary visit (as many seem to believe) -- instead, all roads point to dusk.

"An isle of near-permanent twilight, the home world of her breed of Fae … A land of Dusk." “Dusk’s Truth,” Bryce breathed. It wasn’t just the name of this room that Danika had been talking about with Sofie."

Bryce is also connected to Prythian.

As much as people try to deny this (for reasons I still don't understand), Bryce is strongly connected to the ACOTAR world, and this has been heavily foreshadowed all along. For example:

Bryce is the true owner of Gwydion; the High King of Prythian's sword.

Crescent City 2 makes clear that Bryce is the true owner of the Starsword (or Gwydion, as it is known in the ACOTAR world).

"He snarled. "The sword belongs to Theia's female heir. Not the male offspring who corrupted her line."

But, this isn't just any sword - it's the sword of the first and only High King of Prythian.

In ACOSF, Amren states that Rhys could use Nesta's "made" swords to set himself up as High King. So, what does that mean for Bryce, who owns the real deal?

“But you, Rhysand, are not.” Amren nodded to the still-rotating weapons. “With these three blades, you could make yourself High King.”

Bryce literally glows for Prythian.

Bryce possesses a star on her chest that is a "beacon" to Prythian; its purpose is to guide people home to the ACOTAR world.

As such, Bryce literally glows and lights up for Prythian. Not Midgard. Prythian.

"The star on your chest - do you know what that is?" "Let's assume I know nothing," Bryce said grimly. Rigelus inclined his head. "It's a beacon to the world from which the Fae originally came."

Bryce possesses the exact starlight of Theia; the rightful queen of the Starborn fae in Prythian.

The star inside of Bryce's chest is that of Queen Theia's. Bryce's starlight is Theia's starlight. It's even suggested that Bryce possesses the same powers that Theia once did (though, she hasn't yet accessed said powers). It's for this reason that many believe that Bryce is the reincarnation of Queen Theia.

“I thought Theia’s light was forever extinguished.” “So did I. I thought they’d made sure she and her power died on that last battlefield under Prince Pelias’s blade.” His eyes glowed with ancient rage. “But Bryce Quinlan bears her light.”

But Theia wasn't just any old queen. Instead, she was the queen of the Starborn fae in Prythian (with it being hinted that she once ruled the Dusk Court).

As such, I find it hard to believe that the land (and the Cauldron) won't recognise this; that Theia (Bryce) has come home at last.

“I remember the last Starborn Queen, Theia, and her powers.” He seemed to shudder."

[art by AnaSebag].

Putting two and two together; Bryce is likely the future High Lady of the Dusk Court.

At the end of CC2, Rigelus confirmed that Bryce's bloodline - the Starborn fae - not only originated from Prythian, but specifically lived in a "land of dusk."

"An isle of near-permanent twilight, the home world of her breed of Fae... A land of Dusk."

Putting all the clues together across both the ACOTAR and CC books, this is likely in reference to the Dusk Court. ACOTAR readers will know this as the Prison Island (which was suggested to be the "eighth court").

"Rhys told me once that this island might have even been an eighth court.”

In linking with this, when Nesta visits the Prison Island (Dusk Court) in ACOSF, she senses that "something great" had once existed here, but seemingly vanished. However, she then states that the land "still waited for it to return." Many agree that this is in reference to Bryce and the Starborn fae.

"The very land seemed abandoned. Like something great had once existed here and then vanished. Like the land still waited for it to return."

However, now that Bryce has indeed returned to the Dusk Court (or is about to in CC3); I believe that her presence will awaken the Dusk Court once more, and what was vanished, will return.

As foreshadowing of this, recall this scene in CC1:

"The gentle illumination danced on Bryce’s hair as she ambled down the stone path, night-blooming flowers opening around her. Jasmine lay heavy in the twilight air, sweet and beckoning." "Bryce didn’t flinch as he dropped into step beside her. “I wanted some fresh air.” She admired an unfurling fern, its fronds lit from within to illuminate every vein." "She continued past beds of night crocuses, their purple petals shimmering amid the vibrant moss. The garden seemed to awaken for her, welcome her."

Bryce is walking through a garden. As she continues walking, flowers open around her, and ferns unfurl in her presence. Hunt remarks that it's as if the garden "seemed to awaken" for Bryce.

And the kicker is; as this was happening, Bryce was walking though the "twilight air." This scene occurred during dusk.

Let's also not forget that the star on Bryce's chest is that of an eight-pointed star; the symbol of the Starborn fae (the same symbol engraved on the Prison Island floor, as shown in ACOSF). As a comparison, that's like Rhys having the Night Court insignia branded on his chest... it's rather overt foreshadowing.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “that’s new.” Indeed, just visible down the V-neck of her T-shirt, a white splotch—an eight-pointed star—now scarred the place between her breasts."

Combined with the fact that Bryce is the heir to the Starborn fae, that she possesses Queen Theia's starlight, that she glows for Prythian, and that even her scent is of dusk... there's no one better suited (and heavily foreshadowed) to rule the Dusk Court, than Bryce Quinlan.

"Homecoming."

As we know, Bryce has now just arrived in the true home world of her people: Prythian.

"An isle of near-permanent twilight, the home world of her breed of Fae... A land of Dusk."

The instance of returning back home is known as a "homecoming."

"Homecoming" [noun]: an instance of returning home. (e.g. "she spent most of the day preparing for her husband's homecoming.")

And, that's exactly what SJM (curiously) labelled this image on her Pinterest board for Bryce.

Many believe this image to look like Bryce and Azriel (especially when SJM could have labelled it "Bryce and Hunt," which she happily did for the other photos on her CC Pinterest board...), and thus, the Bryce x Azriel theory begins.

The knife and the sword.

In the first Crescent City book, we are told of an ancient fae prophecy; "when knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be."

"It's another of the Fae's countless inane prophecies," Bryce muttered. "When knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be." "It's literally carved above the Fae Archives entrance - whatever the fuck it means," Ruhn said."

We now know that this prophecy is referring to Azriel's knife (Truth-Teller) and Bryce's sword (the Starsword). Keep in mind that SJM could have connected this prophecy to any number of characters, but she specifically chose Bryce and Azriel.

Additionally, we are also told that the knife and sword need to stay together in order to activate their full powers. Given the importance of these weapons in defeating the Asteri/Daglan, this suggests that Bryce and Azriel will also need to stay together in some capacity.

"Ruhn shook his head. "The sword doesn't work like that. Aside from being picky about who draws it, the sword has no power without the knife."

[art by itswibell_art]

Azriel as Starborn.

The Starsword (Gwydion) is a Starborn weapon, as only those with enough Starborn blood can wield it.

"Ruhn shook his head. "The sword doesn't work like that. Aside from being picky about who draws it, the sword has no power without the knife."

Given that Truth-Teller is the twin to the Starsword, this suggests that the knife is also a Starborn weapon. And, the fact that Azriel can wield it, implies that he too is Starborn (or at least connected in some capacity).

This is further substantiated in CC2, in which we learn that the Starborn fae aren't just those with starlight powers, but shadow powers too. This was confirmed by Cormac, who stated that the ability to wield shadows (and teleport through them) was once a gift of the Starborn fae.

"But Hunt didn't so much as sniff as he asked Cormac, "Where did you inherit the ability from?" Cormac squared his shoulders, ever inch the proud prince as he said, "It was once a gift of the Starborn. It was the reason I became so... focused on attaining the Starsword."

In fact, Cormac believed that because he could teleport using his shadows, this was an indication that the Starborn bloodline had resurfaced in him. However, this wasn't true; he had "some Starborn blood," but not enough to be "worthy of the blade."

"I thought my ability to teleport meant that the bloodline had resurfaced in me, as I've never met anyone else who can do it." His eyes guttered as he added, "As you know, I was wrong. Some Starborn blood, apparently, but not enough to be worthy of the blade."

But, do you know who can also use their shadows to teleport...? Azriel.

And, do you know who else has been "deemed worthy" and can wield a "Starborn blade" (i.e. Truth-Teller)? Azriel.

[art by cludi_a_]

Bryce + Azriel = Dusk Court.

The crux of this theory is that with their matching weapons and connections to the Starborn narrative, Bryce and Azriel represent the two halves of the Dusk Court.

This is because dusk is the crossover between the light and the dark.

This is further exemplified by SJM's own definition of dusk, as seen in Throne of Glass:

"Nightfall. That was when Maeve had told Erawan to meet. That liminal space between light and dark, when one force yielded to another."

As such, Bryce is light, and Azriel is dark. This is evidenced by their powers:

Bryce's power is pure starlight.

Azriel's power is pure shadows (in comparison to other characters, who have shadow powers + something else).

Further, and perhaps most importantly; Bryce and Azriel's weapons also symbolise this same dusk imagery:

Bryce's sword (the Starsword), glows with a GLITTERING, WHITE LIGHT (as if symbolising starlight).

Azriel's knife (Truth-Teller), glows with a DARK LIGHT (as if symbolising shadows).

"It was its twin. The Starsword began to hum within its sheath, glittering white light leaking from where leather met the dark hilt. The dagger - The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light."

Bryce (starlight) + Azriel (shadows) = Dusk.

And I mean, look at that dusk imagery on the CC3 cover (when the previous two covers were just solid red and black...).

(I'll also point out that the sword and knife are featured on this cover, with the knife right over the woman's heart...)

Alpha and Omega.

Further, Bryce's sword and Azriel's knife - together - is described as "Alpha and Omega."

"The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light, as if in answer. Alpha and Omega."

This term means "the beginning and the end."

"Alpha and Omega" [noun]: "the beginning and ending."

Which, is also a term that SJM often uses to describe love, or mated couples. For example, Feyre and Rhys:

"and saw and smelled that bond between us, until our scents merged, and I was his and he was mine, and we were the beginning and the middle and the end."

And this quote here, from Throne of Glass:

"She would find that love again—one day. And it would be deep and unrelenting and unexpected, the beginning and the end and eternity, the kind that could change history, change the world."

Additionally, when the weapons are finally together at the end of CC2, it's said that Azriel's knife glowed "in answer" to Bryce's sword.

"The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light, as if in answer."

They are matching halves.

Bryce and Azriel as rulers.

Given everything mentioned thus far, I believe that Bryce and Azriel are destined to become the High Lady and High Lord of the Dusk Court.

But, I actually think it goes one step further than this, and it has to do with Bryce's likely rule as High Queen of Prythian. As proof of this:

SJM is drawing from Arthurian mythology, and Bryce is King Arthur.

Throughout both Crescent City books, there are a number of nods to Arthurian mythology. Most obviously is Avallen Island (where Cormac lives), which is likely inspired by the renowned Avalon Island.

In fact, Ruhn retrieving the Starsword from the Avallen caves (and being "deemed worthy" to "pull the sword from its sheath") seemingly parallels King Arthur being deemed worthy of the famous sword, Excalibur, and thus being able to pull the sword from the stone.

"That your son, not you, stood among the long-dead Starborn Princes asleep in their sarcophagi and was deemed worthy to pull the sword from its sheath."

However, as mentioned previously; CC2 makes very clear that the Starsword belongs to Theia's "female heir." The Starsword belongs to Bryce.

As such, I believe that in this series, King Arthur is actually represented by Bryce. And, as further proof of this, consider Rigelus's words at the end of CC2; that Bryce's star glows for those she chooses as her "knights."

"It also glows for those who you choose as your loyal companions. Knights."

Just like King Arthur's own knights; the famed Knights of the Round Table.

King Arthur was the High King of Great Britain. And, Prythian is in the shape of Great Britain.

Putting two and two together, could this suggest that Bryce will become the High Queen of Prythian?

2. Bryce has the High King's sword.

As mentioned previously, Bryce is the true owner of the Starsword (Gwydion). The same sword that the High King of Prythian once wielded long ago. That alone is heavy foreshadowing.

3. Bryce is repeatedly foreshadowed as a queen.

For example, Hunt often notices Bryce's queenly demeanour:

"She spoke with the imperiousness of a queen. Hunt could only rise with her."

And even the contact name for Bryce in Hunt's phone is "Bryce Is a Queen."

Ruhn also implores Bryce to become queen:

"But you have to live, Bryce. You have to be queen."

To which Cormac agrees, stating that the decision to lead their people forward, will be up to Bryce:

"But after today..." Cormac's words grew heavy. Weary. "I think the choice about whether to lead our people forward will be up to you now."

Additionally, SJM often uses the phrase "lifted their chin" when someone is signifying their authority (e.g. "she lifted her chin, every inch the queen"). Then when Bryce meets Feyre and Rhys, the same term is used:

"So Bryce addressed the two of them as she lifted her chin. “My name is Bryce Quinlan.”

And most of all, is Ruhn's final words to Bryce:

"Her brother pulled away. And Ruhn said, shining with pride, “Long live the queen.”

(Speaking of Ruhn, recall his prophecy from the Oracle; that the royal bloodline ends with him. Considering that he is connected to both the Valbaran and Avallen royal houses, this suggests that there won't be any 'queen positions' left for Bryce to take in Midgard. But, there might be in Prythian...)

4. Bryce has Queen Theia's starlight (and likely her same powers).

Again, as mentioned previously, Theia ruled in Prythian (with some even believing that she was High Queen).

If it's bloodline alone that determines who would be High King/Queen (as Amren appears to suggest in ACOSF), then again, as Bryce is the true heir to the Starborn fae, placing her at spot #1.

5. Bryce glows for the ACOTAR world.

The star in Bryce's chest glows for Prythian. She is a beacon for Prythian. That's queen symbolism right there.

6. Bryce is a main character.

It is a well-known fact that all of SJM's leading ladies rise to power; Aelin as Queen of Terrasen, and Feyre as High Lady of the Night Court.

And, although I have heard some solid theories suggesting that Rhys or Lucien may become High King... it's also a well-known fact that SJM loves a female ruler (especially when Prythian is already so overly patriarchal).

Bryce, however, would be perfect.

[art by Gabrielle Ragusi]

7. Lastly, and perhaps the most important of all: Bryce is foreshadowed to unite the worlds.

Notably, the last High King (Fionn) rose to power because he united the people of Prythian.

"A millennium of peace followed, and the lands were divided into rough territories that were the precursors to the courts—but at the end of those thousand years, they were at each other’s throats, on the brink of war.” His face tightened. “Fionn unified them and set himself above them as High King. The first and only High King this land has ever had.”

Bryce is foreshadowed to do the same, as per that same ancient fae prophecy; "when knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be" (and, this is where Azriel comes in).

Although this prophecy can be interpreted in a variety of ways, I believe it to mean that Bryce and Azriel will reunite the Starborn fae, lost across two worlds (Midgard and Prythian). A unification of people... just as Fionn once achieved.

Now, it is theorised that Bryce and Azriel will continue this legacy, as High Queen and High King. In doing so:

Bryce will represent the Midgardian fae, Azriel will represent the Prythian fae.

Bryce will represent starlight, Azriel will represent shadows. Light and dark. Dusk.

Together, Bryce and Azriel are two halves of whole. Alongside their weapons - which are also matching halves - you can't get anymore equal than that.

As mates are supposed to be.

A common rebuttal to this theory, however, is the belief that Azriel "doesn't have what it takes" to become a High Lord or a High King -- that he is inferior to other contenders (such as the likes of Feyre and Rhys).

Yet, I'd argue that the one character who could match up to Feyre and Rhys (and has foreshadowing hinting as such; power-wise)... would be Azriel. For example:

With Feyre (ACOSF):

“Give me some credit, Feyre,” Az said. “I can keep hidden well enough.” “We take no risks,” Feyre said, voice flat with command. “Pull all your spies out.” “Like hell I will.”

With Rhys (ACOFAS):

“And what would you have me do, then? Disband the largest army in Prythian?” Az didn’t answer. I held his gaze, though. Held that ice-cold stare that still sometimes scared the shit out of me."

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly. Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.” I straightened at the pure order in the words."

Az nodded knowingly. He’d always understood me best—more than the others. Save my mate. Whether it was his gifts that allowed him to do so, or merely the fact that he and I were more similar than most realized, I’d never learned.

With Rhys (ACOSF; the bonus chapter):

"Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it."

Similarly, it is also argued that Azriel would "never leave the Night Court." Yet, take it from Azriel himself; that he too is not sure where he truly fits in.

"I don’t really know where I fit in anymore,” I admitted, perhaps only because the wind was screeching around us and Rhys had already winnowed ahead to where Cassian’s dark form flew—beyond the wall. “I’ve been alive almost five and a half centuries, and I’m not sure of that, either,” Azriel said."

Combined with Azriel's disdain for the Illyrians and their culture (and the fact that when Az refers to the Illyrians, he will often say "they/them" as opposed to "we/us"...) could it be that something else is in store for Azriel's future?

Especially when we know Azriel has always been so curious about what lies beyond...

"At the far end of the room, a little dais led into a broad raised alcove flanked by more books—and in its center, a massive, working model of their world, the stars and planets around it, and some other fancy things that had been explained to Cassian once before he deemed them boring and proceeded to ignore them completely. Az, of course, had been fascinated."

Bryce and Azriel's beast forms.

If Bryce and Azriel are indeed set to become High Lady and High Lord of the Dusk Court, then they will presumably possess beast forms.

To expand on this, in a recent Marie Claire interview (August 2023), SJM stated that her favourite place to write is her desk, where she's surrounded by the things that remind her of the current book she's writing.

SJM: "I like to write at my desk, where I'm surrounded by lots of little items that remind me of either the book I'm writing, or things that just make me happy."

SJM then mentioned that when writing House of Flame and Shadow, she kept a vintage My Little Pony pegasus figure that was the inspiration for Jelly Jubilee.

SJM: "While writing House of Flame and Shadow, for instance, I had a vintage My Little Pony figure with me that was the inspiration for Bryce's beloved Jelly Jubilee!"

Then, when SJM announced the title of Crescent City 3, we were offered a glimpse of her desk, and sure enough - that vintage My Little Pony figure is right there.

But most importantly, this tells us that the items featured in this video aren't just random, but are instead (part of) the inspiration for House of Flame and Shadow.

Which then begs the question; what is the Godzilla toy hinting at? Well, the only connection I have been able to make... is to Azriel.

As proof of this, recall that in ACOMAF, Azriel's Siphon is described as being the "great eye" of a "half-slumbering beast" from a "frozen wasteland."

"I watched the light shift inside the sapphire Siphon instead, as if it were the great eye of some half-slumbering beast from a frozen wasteland."

This description matches Godzilla almost perfectly; who is an ancient monster, often slumbering at the bottom of the ocean, and also often frozen within ice.

And, if Azriel's Siphons are supposed to be reminiscent of the "great eye" of this beast, then it's perhaps no coincidence that Godzilla is famed for his blue, glowing eyes.

Similarly, Godzilla's atomic breath manifests as blue fire (which is what you can see coming out of the mouth of SJM's own Godzilla toy).

Coincidentally (or perhaps not), Azriel - and specifically his Siphons - are repeatedly described as blue flame.

"The shadows deepened around Ariel, his Siphons gleaming like cobalt fire."

"Azriel caught his eye. Rhys nodded. The Siphons atop his scarred hands flickered like rippling blue fire as he reached for the Attor."

"Illyrian lines buckled. Azriel sailed closer and closer to them, Siphons trailing tendrils of blue flame in his wake."

In linking with this, I have also theorised that Bryce has a beast form, and that hers will be a unicorn-pegasus (as outlandish as that may sound, it's one of my most well-received theories; link here).

Thus, I believe that the pegasus and Godzilla toys on SJM's desk in the CC3 reveal video, are symbolic of Bryce and Azriel.

Bryce and Azriel meeting for the first time.

When CC2 first came out, people started shipping Bryce and Azriel based on their first interaction alone. Some even noted that Azriel acted in a particularly uncharacteristic manner towards Bryce; he touched her repeatedly, and seemingly showed more emotion (or rather, a lack of composure) than what is usual. For example:

"He hissed, and then a strong hand clamped on her shoulder, hauling her up and twisting her to face him."

"The male’s hands were gentle but thorough as he fitted it tightly over her eyes."

"He set her down, taking her by the hand."

"He caught her, and sighed. She could have sworn he sounded … exasperated. He gave no warning as he hauled her over a shoulder and tromped down a set of stairs."

(It is argued that this is because Bryce is a danger/threat; but if that was true, then why would Azriel take Bryce to the townhouse?)

To me, the last line is the most significant. Azriel is usually calm and collected. He is polite and respectful towards women. Yet within only a couple of minutes, he is already frustrated and "exasperated" with Bryce, and he immediately chucks her over his shoulder.

[art by Paint Faery]

And speaking of parallels to other couples, Azriel and Bryce meeting for the first time seemingly shares many parallels with Feyre and Rhys meeting for this first time:

As well as parallels to Elide and Lorcan meeting for the first time:

And although this is more of a fun tidbit (one I acknowledge is definitely a reach), it's interesting that in ACOSF, we are told that mating ceremonies are commemorated using black ribbons.

"But all that mattered, she realized, was the male who would be standing with her, first as they swore their vows, then as they offered each other food, and then as their friends and family bound their hands together with a length of black ribbon, to remain until the mating was consummated.

Then, this is what Azriel does as soon as he meets Bryce...

[art by witchlingsart]

It's also interesting to note that when SJM was asked about her "favourite part" of HOSAB (in an interview with Entertainment Today), she answered the "penultimate chapter," where "a lot of major things come together for Bryce."

Interviewer: "What is your favorite part of House of Sky and Breath?" SJM: "The penultimate chapter - where a lot of major things come together for Bryce!"

SJM is referring to the very chapter mentioned above; when Bryce meets Azriel and the Inner Circle.

Bryce was "yanked" into Prythian.

Speaking of the penultimate chapter of HOSAB (and the events leading up to it), we know that Bryce originally intended to travel to Hel. However, her journey to the underworld was interrupted, as Bryce was instead "yank[ed]" into Prythian.

"It was the last sound Bryce heard as the darkness within the Gate swallowed her whole. She fell, slowly and without end—and sideways. Not a plunge down, but a yank across."

The definition of "yank," is pull, or tug. And, it is a word frequently used when SJM is describing the mating bond. For example, with Feyre and Rhys:

"No sign of him. No pound of beating wings. But the tug yanked again in my mind, my gut - a summoning. Like some servant's bell."

As such, fans of the Bryce x Az ship often speculate that Bryce was "yanked" into Prythian, right at Azriel's feet, because of their (yet to be discovered) mating bond.

Mor and Azriel = Bryce and Azriel.

It is widely accepted in the fandom that SJM initially intended for Mor and Azriel to be endgame (before changing this in ACOWAR). Not only is this because of the way Mor and Azriel interact in ACOMAF, but SJM's Pinterest board also strongly hinted at their pairing, for example:

With this in mind, consider that whenever Azriel's shadows were around Mor in ACOMAF (when they were likely supposed to be endgame), they lightened and faded in her presence.

"It was almost enough to distract me from noticing Azriel as those shadows lightened, and his gaze slid over Mor's body."

"Azriel, who kept a step away, whose shadows trailed him and seemed to fade in her presence."

Curiously, in the final chapter of CC2, Bryce doesn't mention Azriel's shadows once (when in comparison, she always noticed Ruhn and Cormac's shadows...). As such, could it be that Azriel's shadows lighten and fade in Bryce's presence?

Consider also these points connecting Mor/Azriel to Bryce/Azriel:

In ACOMAF, it's mentioned that Mor's family once ruled the Prison Island. However, we now know that the Prison Island is most strongly connected to Bryce; the Dusk Court.

In ACOMAF, we learn that Azriel's knife is called "Truth-Teller." Many speculate that this was also evidence of Mor and Azriel being endgame (as his knife was "Truth-Teller," and Mor has the power of "Truth"). However, now Truth-Teller is connected to Bryce and the Starsword.

Additionally, if we know that SJM once believed Mor and Azriel to be compatible, then it's worth noting how similar Mor and Bryce are:

Both Mor and Bryce have very similar personalities. In fact, if you're into MBTI (and are familiar with Personality Database), you'll note that both Mor and Bryce are said have the ESFP personality type.

Both Mor and Bryce are physically described in the exact same way. An example of this is outlined below:

"[Mor] wore a gown of pure white, little more than a slip of silk that showed off her generous curves. Indeed, a glance over her shoulder revealed Azriel staring blatantly at the back view of it, Cassian and the stranger already too deep in conversation to notice what had drawn the spymaster's attention. For a moment, the ravenous hunger on Azriel's face made my stomach tighten."

"Bryce Quinlan leaned against the large ironwood desk in the center of the space, her snow-white dress clinging to every generous curve and dip."

Although these comparisons in itself aren't a slam dunk of any sort (as evidently, Azriel is attracted to lots of different body types/people/personalities), I just can't help but wonder if SJM did a copy + paste with Mor and Bryce for this very reason...?

[art by mftfernandez and wictorian_art]

Speaking of personalities...

Although Bryce and Azriel have only interacted for a single chapter (yet are already causing waves with that alone!), some readers have been contemplating their (potential) compatibility.

More specifically, it appears that Bryce frequently mirrors Azriel's dark and cold demeanour. For example:

"The sprite crawled off her arm and floated in front of her, arms wrapping across her round belly. "You can be cold as a Reaper, Bryce."

"Bryce said quietly, her amber eyes full of cold fire, "I'll find them." She met the Archangel's gaze. "And then I want you to wipe them off the fucking planet."

"Bryce's face remained cold as stone. Colder. Males approached, saw that expression, and didn't venture closer."

"The last gift of the synth before it destroyed her. Yet in her eyes. ... he saw no haze of insanity, of self-destructive frenzy. Only cold, glittering vengeance."

"That icy look—their father’s look—passed over her face. The sort of look that told him there was a wild, wicked storm raging beneath that cold exterior. And the power and thrill for both father and daughter lay not in sheer force, but in the control over the self, over those impulses. The outside world saw his sister as reckless, unchecked—but he knew she’d been the master of her fate since before he’d met her."

In line with this, there have been frequent discussions within the fandom that Azriel needs "healing" or "curing" from his darkness; that he needs to "change his ways." But, what if instead, Azriel needs someone who can match, and embrace his darkness?

And what if that person is Bryce?

(Speaking of 'embracing the darkness,' I find it interesting that Azriel "is a freak," as confirmed by SJM herself. With that in mind, let me remind you that upon first meeting Bryce, Azriel put a knife to her throat and then blindfolded her...).

[art by brielyasmin]

The Little Mermaid: a hint to Bryce and Az?

I know this is a popular Gwynriel theory (with extremely valid evidence to support it!), which is exactly why I haven't spoken about this connection before, as I don't want to offend anyone.

However, I am going to briefly mention it (only once) right now, and suggest that The Little Mermaid retelling SJM has alluded to, may in fact be Bryce and Azriel.

To first demonstrate this: there are several similarities between Bryce and Ariel (the mermaid).

Bryce and Ariel both have red hair (in comparison, Gwyn is canonically more of a brunette, with "coppery-brown" hair).

Ariel's story is about her journey from life underwater, to life in the human lands (where she meets Eric). Bryce's story involves her journey from Midgard, to Prythian (where she meets Azriel).

However, upon arriving in the human lands, Ariel's voice has been stolen; she cannot communicate with Eric. Similarly, Bryce arrives in Prythian and does not speak their language; she cannot communicate with Azriel.

In Ariel's story, the main antagonist is Ursula, a witch. Bryce also knows (a rather suspicious) witch... Jesiba.

[art by Morgana0anagrom]

Further, many in the fandom have already pointed out that SJM saved a variety of 'The Little Mermaid' inspired photos to her Pinterest. However, SJM specifically saved these photos under a Pinterest board titled "Story Kernels," meaning that we have no idea whether it's in reference to ACOTAR, CC or both (or neither!)

Some believe these photos to be reminiscent of Gwyn, but, when you compare these photos to the Pinterest images SJM saved of Bryce... the resemblance is most certainly there as well.

However, some may argue that "Bryce has no real link to mermaids" (in comparison to Gwyn, who has water-nymph heritage; though, that's different from being a mermaid as well).

But I disagree. Recall that in CC2, Bryce seems to rely on other people to "charge up" her power (such as Hunt and Hypaxia). However, I don't believe that is the true manifestation of her abilities. Instead, Bryce hints that she can feel a "giant cloud" of power inside her, one that she can't yet access.

"Bryce sucked in a sharp breath. “I can feel it—like, this giant cloud of power right there.” She ran a finger over the eight-pointed star scarred between her breasts. Starlight pulsed at her fingertip. Like an answering heartbeat. “But I can’t access it.”

The bulk of Bryce's power came from the Gates in Lunathion. Power that was donated by thousands (perhaps even hundreds of thousands) of different beings every time they touched the Gates. And given that the civilians of Midgard herald from different worlds... the variety of this power is staggering.

And it's exactly this power that I believe Bryce can feel (as the "giant cloud") but can't yet access. The evidence for this is engraved into the Gates themselves; "the power shall always belong to those who give their lives to the city." Just as Bryce did.

"The quartz Gates were memorials, though she didn’t know for which conflict or war. But each bore the same plaque: The power shall always belong to those who give their lives to the city."

As such, I believe Bryce's true power is that of the four houses of Midgard; she is Earth & Blood, Sky & Breath, Flame & Shadow, and Many Waters. It's similar to Feyre's power (but x 100).

(And, look again at the cover of CC3 and tell me it doesn't align perfectly with this...)

We even see this in canon when Bryce is making the Drop (after obtaining the power from the Gates):

"But his princess fought for every bit of progress upward, her power shifting, traces of everyone who’d given it to her coming through: mer, shifter, draki, human, angel, sprite, Fae."

"She was sea and sky and stone and blood and wings and earth and stars and darkness and light and bone and flame."

Thus, I believe a good chunk of Bryce's arc in CC3 will be about unlocking this power. And when she does... she will have access to the power of House of Many Waters (the highlighted quotes above emphasise this).

There's even a section of Bryce's ascent (during the Drop) where she thrusts upwards with a "mighty tail." I believe this is a mermaid tail.

"Her power shifted, dancing between forms and gifts. She thrust upward with a push of a mighty tail. Twisted and rose with a sweep of vast wings. She was all things—and yet herself."

And to tie the 'Little Mermaid = Bryce x Az' connections together even further; what's the likely title of the next Crescent City book?

House of Many Waters.

(And as a bonus fun fact: recall that the items on SJM's desk seemingly hint to the inspiration behind HOFAS? Zoom in and you'll see a Little Mermaid cup...).

Hades and Persephone too!

If you scroll back up to the Pinterest photo SJM saved as Mor and Az and reverse-image search it, you'll discover that it's actually an image of Hades and Persephone.

(So no, Feyre and Rhys weren't the only couple inspired by Hades and Persephone).

Similarly, the above Little Mermaid inspired photo that SJM saved (top left)? Also of Hades and Persephone.

The story of Persephone is that of a woman who once lived on Earth and was taken to the underworld. There, she eventually fell in love with Hades, the ruler of the underworld.

[Hades and Persephone art by oblivionsdream; it's giving Bryce and Az...]

Similarly, the final chapters of CC2 detailed Bryce's decision to use the Horn, and travel to Hel; the underworld. In doing so, she was taken to Azriel; someone who is heavily theorised to be a Prince of Hel (or connected to Hel, at the very least). As evidence of this:

The Princes of Hel are repeatedly connected to the cold. For example, when Apollion reaches out to touch Bryce, it's said that his touch was like "ice so cold it ached."

"[Apollion] reached out a hand, and Bryce flinched as it touched her. Truly touched her, ice so cold it ached."

Then Feyre touches Azriel for the first time, it's said that his skin was like "pure ice." (The similarities are uncanny!).

"But my attention drifted to Azriel, who took my still-offered hand and rose. The scars were rough against my fingers, but his skin was like ice. Pure ice."

However, this isn't the only instance. Instead, Azriel is repeatedly and consistently linked to being cold/icy/frozen. For example:

"I took Azriel’s hand, and his rough fingers squeezed mine. His skin was as cold as his face."

"There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw."

"Azriel’s dark breeze was different from Rhys’s. Colder. Sharper

"Azriel tucked in his wings and left without another word, stalking through the house and onto the front lawn to sit in the frigid starlight. To let the frost in his veins match the air around him."

We also know that Azriel is "different," and that even Rhys has "no explanation" for Azriel's shadowsinger abilities.

"Az is different. In a lot of ways." His tone didn't invite further questioning.

"Though the cobalt Siphons were proof that his Illyrian heritage ran true, even the rich lore of that warrior-people, my warrior-people, did not have an explanation for where the shadowsinger gifts came from."

Thus, if Azriel is indeed connected to Hel (a storyline far more prevalent in the Crescent City series than the ACOTAR series, by the way), then one could logically assume that his mate will also be someone connected to Hel.

Who do Hel's armies strike for? Bryce.

“Hel’s armies shall strike at your command, Bryce Quinlan.”

Who has Aidas (the 5th Prince of Hel) been watching over? Bryce.

"The cat’s whiskers twitched. I told you. Come find me. Her eyelids drooped—a final descent toward sleep. Why? The cat angled its head. So we can finish this."

Who is Apollion's (the 7th Prince of Hel) "greatest opponent?" Bryce.

I also find it interesting that when they meet, Apollion refers to Bryce as "Princess," and Bryce refers to Apollion as "Prince." I understand that Bryce is the Princess of the Valbaran fae, but the way they spoke in this scene felt more like Apollion and Bryce were on equal footing...

“Princess.” The voice was like Hel embodied: dark and icy and smooth.” “Prince.” Her voice shook.”

Many people in the fandom have been theorising that Prythian (and the broader ACOTAR world) is a layer of Hel. Could it be a missing 8th layer?

And if so, if Bryce and Azriel are set to rule Prythian (as High Queen and High King, as per this theory), wouldn't this make them both also Princess and Prince of the 8th layer of Hel? Ruling from the Dusk Court... the 8th court? Signified by an 8-pointed star?

(This is ultimately why I ship Bryce and Azriel: their epic story potential is unlike anything we've seen before).

As further proof of this, recall the connections between Bryce and Theia (with many believing that Bryce is a reincarnation of Theia). Although Theia's backstory is still shrouded in mystery, at present we can deduce that:

Theia lived in Prythian, and had two daughters with an unknown man.

She then travelled to another world; Midgard (unwillingly), and allied with the Princes of Hel.

She was then said to have a relationship with Aidas, a Prince of Hel (as she was said to be Aidas's "great love").

(Fun fact: Aidas is another name for Hades).

Compare to Bryce:

Bryce lives in Midgard, and is currently with Hunt.

She then travels to another world; Prythian (unwillingly), in search of the Princes of Hel.

As per this theory, she will have a relationship with Azriel, a (theorised) Prince of Hel.

History is repeating. Rigelus even notes the similarities himself:

"Rigelus sighed dramatically at their stunned silence. “This all seems very familiar, doesn’t it? A Starborn queen who allied with a Prince of Hel."

Twilight of the Gods: SJM's multiverse series?

"But Bryce won't forget about Hunt!"

"She's not going to skip off into the sunset with Azriel in just one book! All of this is too much!"

I agree. I don't believe any huge shipping revelations will be made in CC3.

Instead, things will be much more tame to begin with. Perhaps Az will be the one to guide Bryce around Prythian (and they'll figure out their matching weapons, and the origins of the Dusk Court - both together, and alongside other pivotal ACOTAR characters). I believe Bryce and Az will develop a friendship, and that will be all (sort of like Aelin and Rowan, and their dynamic in Heir of Fire).

(That's not to diminish the significance of their interactions, though. If this theory is correct, then Bryce's POV may be the first to include Azriel at the forefront - no other character within the Azriel ship wars has had this opportunity yet).

Then, if Bryce and Azriel are indeed true mates and endgame, then I think that will be explored further down the line in what I predict will be SJM's multiverse series; Twilight of the Gods (which, as per the latest SJM publishing news, seems to be looking veryyyy likely; more information here).

"Twilight" is also another name for DUSK. Given everything I have already discussed, I am sure you can see how I believe that Bryce and Azriel's story (if they are indeed endgame) will be explored in this series - Twilight of the Gods (if it does indeed come to fruition).

Interestingly, both the Crescent City and Twilight of the Gods Pinterest boards are full of Sailor Moon imagery, and it appears as if Bryce (and her powers) have also been modelled after Sailor Moon herself. Knowing this, this image (which was also found in the Twilight of the Gods Pinterest board) is particularly interesting...

The sword? The multiverse-esque aesthetic?

This is fundamentally what the Bryce x Azriel ship comes down to: the promise and intrigue of a multiversal romance.

And don't you think SJM has considered this too? I find it hard to believe that SJM (the queen of fantasy romance) spent 5+ years planning out a crossover between her worlds, and didn't once stop to think about the possibility of a multiversal romantic pairing.

I mean, even back in 2015 SJM admitted to thinking about "crossover fanfic" with her own characters...

Moderator: "So, speaking of fandoms, different fandoms, um obviously you have ACOTAR, which is different from the TOG series. If both worlds could collide, which two characters would get on really well?"

SJM: <giggling>

Moderator: "Get on really well, not get it on really well" (laughs).

SJM: (laughs) "In my head I already have like, crossover fanfic (laughs). Like, is it fanfic if I'm writing it, or is it ultimate universe, canon things?

So, knowing all of this... why pair Bryce and Azriel together?

Most people in the fandom agree that Bryce and Azriel are connected in some way. I'm hoping that this post has made clear this connection even further.

But here's the thing: if we can all agree that Bryce and Azriel are connected, then why? What's the reason? And why not connect Bryce with other characters instead? Why Azriel specifically?

The two explanations I have heard are:

"Bryce and Azriel are cousins/related."

We already have the Ruhn and Rhys reveal, so why add another? I also don't see how Azriel could be related to Ember Quinlan or the Autumn King... (I also feel like Bryce's descriptions of Azriel's "tall, muscled body" and "gentle but thorough hands" is a lil weird for cousins...)

"Bryce and Azriel will be just friends."

Whilst I don't deny the likelihood of this, I also think that Bryce has the potential to become close friends with Nesta, Rhys, Feyre, Mor, Cassian (and many of the other characters). "Just friends" still wouldn't explain why SJM chose Azriel over everyone else (for example; why not make the prophecy around the Horn in Bryce's back and the remaining 3 Dread Trove items that Nesta can wield...?)

Instead, whenever there has been this much build-up or this much foreshadowing of a pairing... it's usually a sign that they are something special. Something more akin to mates - endgame.

[art by m_bohnet]

After all, consider things from Azriel's POV.

Sure, he has been busy with Mor and Elain and Gwyn (as people often tell me in response to this theory), but what happens when a beautiful woman from another world shows up, carrying the matching sword to his most prized knife? What happens when these weapons start glowing for one another in unison?

Don't you think Azriel would think something of this?

And, don't you think that if Elain or Gwyn had a sword that was the matching half to Azriel's knife (and a significant prophecy to boot!), it would be used as irrefutable evidence that their ship is endgame...?

But what about Hunt?

It's an opinion that earns me no favours in the fandom; but despite liking Hunt, I have always been sceptical about his relationship with Bryce (and am not yet convinced that they'll be endgame). This scepticism predates CC2 (and isn't just a feeling I conjured up in the hope that Bryce x Az will be endgame, as certain people assume).

For starters, both the Asteri and Apollion need Hunt and Bryce together to operate the Horn, and this is concerning.

To put it simply, Hunt was bred (for reasons we still don't yet know). However, as a result of Hunt's breeding, he possesses power that works with the Horn. In fact, CC2 makes clear that Hunt's lightning is the best source of power to "charge up" Bryce (and more specifically, the Horn).

“Your teleporting works when your power gets charged up by energy—considering what I heard about how quickly you ran out of steam with Hypaxia, Hunt’s is the best form of it.”

Bryce has the Horn in her back.

“Don’t think for one moment that Aidas and the Prince of the Pit have forgotten the Horn in your back. That Thanatos didn’t have it in mind when you spoke to him.”

To explain it in simple math terms:

Bryce + Hunt = fully operational Horn (they are like lock + key).

Apollion + Rigelus = both really want the Horn.

Apollion + Rigelus NEED Bryce + Hunt if they want a fully operational Horn.

In fact, we see Apollion egging Bryce and Hunt on to explore their powers more, and Rigelus fully admits to luring Bryce and Hunt to the Asteri palace at the end of CC2.

"Hunt’s blood iced over. “That was why you lured us here?” he found himself demanding of the Asteri, even as he roared with outrage at Bryce’s offer. Rigelus said, “I couldn’t very well snatch you off the streets. Not such notorious, public figures."

What's more, Bryce killed Micah, and Hunt killed Sandriel. The Asteri have punished (and killed) civilians for far less than that, but not only do the Asteri keep Bryce and Hunt alive, but they actively encourage their relationship together (and no one really questions that...).

"We also trust that this favor will serve as a reminder for you and Hunt Athalar. It is our deepest wish that you remain in the city, and live out your days in peace and contentment." "Fear gleamed in Hunt’s eyes. In her own, too, Bryce was sure. Nothing was ever this easy—this simple. There had to be a catch."

I just can't help but think of Maeve. She used her power to manipulate fate, leading Rowan to believe that Lyria was his mate instead of Aelin (for her own selfish gain).

Could it be possible that the Asteri, just like Maeve, have been... meddling with mating bonds for their own agenda - to use Bryce and Hunt for the Horn?

(Recall that in her latest interview, when asked if Bryce and Hunt's mating bond was the same as Feyre and Rhys's, SJM said "pass").

This leads to my second point.

The mating bond is a little strange between Bryce and Hunt.

I know this is a contentious subject, but there are enough people in the fandom who have stated a similar opinion for it to warrant suspicion. No one ever questions Rhys and Feyre's mating bond, nor Nesta or Cassian's, nor Aelin and Rowan's. But many don't buy Bryce and Hunt's mating bond.

In part, this is likely due to the nature of how it was initiated; after only knowing each other for 5 months, Hunt suggested calling each other mates because they couldn't find another term that fits. It happened randomly, and Bryce seemed to come up with a million different excuses initially; it just felt lacklustre in comparison to other mating bond reveals.

(That's not to invalidate Bryce and Hunt's clear affection for each other though - mating bond or not, their love for one another is more than evident).

“I thought that’s what this thing between us is.” “We’ve known each other for, like, five months.” “So?” “My mom will throw a fit. She’ll say we should date for at least two years before calling ourselves mates.”

But for me personally, it comes down to Bryce and Hunt's power (and the Horn). Again, using Throne of Glass as an example, when Maeve messed with Rowan's mating bond, she admitted that she didn't suspect Rowan and Aelin were mates once they met, because their carranam bond (which involves the sharing of power, as Bryce and Hunt do...) was masking the mating bond.

"I’ll admit I did not anticipate it. That I had broken Rowan Whitethorn so thoroughly that he did not recognize his own mate—that you were so broken by your own pain you didn’t notice, either. And when the signs appeared, the carranam bond washed away any suspicion on his part that you might be his."

Instead, the only indication that Aelin and Rowan were mates, was that they could feel each other's pain.

"Maeve ignored her. “Well? When did you know?” “At Temis’s temple,” Aelin admitted, glancing to Manon. “The moment the arrow went through his shoulder. Months ago.”

This is objectively absent in Bryce and Hunt. Not only that, but in the Bone Quarter, Bryce seems to question the validity of the mating bond herself:

"Hunt's lightning had stopped. Where was he? Would a mate know, would a mate feel-"

Which again, you have to wonder; if SJM is trying to sell Bryce x Hunt as endgame to her readers, why include this?

Further, even if Bryce and Hunt are mates, we don't yet know how this works across worlds. Given that the Cauldron (supposedly) assigns mating bonds in Prythian, and Bryce's "true world" is also Prythian, does Bryce have an additional Cauldron-assigned mating bond in that world too...?

Maybe that aligns with this tweet from SJM:

The Oracle.

In CC1, Hunt visits the Oracle, and she tells him to "keep well away from Bryce Quinlan."

"Do yourself a favour, Orion Athalar, and keep well away from Bryce Quinlan."

The Oracle could presumably see into Hunt's future, and could see whether he and Bryce live happily ever after. If this was the case, and the Oracle could indeed see such a happy outcome, then why would the Oracle say such a thing...? Why warn Hunt like that?

Similarly in CC1, Aidas reveals to Bryce that although the Oracle was blinded during her visit all those years ago... he wasn't. Aidas was there too, and he saw Bryce's future.

"Aidas had nearly vanished into nothing when he added, the words a ghost slithering through the room, "The Oracle did not see. But I did."

Yet in that exact same scene, Aidas turns to Hunt and has no idea who he is, asking "who are you?"

Hunt kept perfectly still as Aidas studied her. Then his eyes registered Hunt. He blinked—once. As if he had not really marked his presence until this moment. As if he hadn’t cared to notice, with Bryce before him. Hunt tucked away that fact, just as Aidas murmured, “Who are you.”

Thus, if Aidas has seen Bryce's future, and Bryce and Hunt are indeed endgame (and he is in her future)... then why didn't Aidas recognise Hunt?

Hunt's future.

If this theory is correct, and given that we have two beings with foresight (the Oracle and Aidas) hinting at Bryce and Hunt's ominous future... then what could possibly happen to Hunt

Theory 1) Hunt may die.

This theory has been around even since the HOEAB days, and is well-known by most (so I won't expand on it too much). However, the basic premise of it boils down to Hunt's birth name, Orion, and Orion being famously killed (often by his lover) in mythology. Perhaps this also explains the Oracle's warning to him.

Recall also the quote repeated again and again (often by Hunt);

"Memento Mori. Remember that you will die. They now seemed more of a promise than the mild reminder from the Meat Market."

Similarly, knowing what happened to Sam in Throne of Glass, I find this parallel to Bryce and Hunt a little uncanny (and is exactly what we mean when we talk about death flags...).

[Sam and Aelin]: "I can wait," he said thickly, kissing her collarbone. "We have all the time in the world." Maybe he was right. And spending all the time in the world with Sam ... that was a treasure worth paying anything for."

[Bryce and Hunt]: "Assuming I live through it, you mean." "Assuming you live through taking on the Archangels and Asteri, what then?" "I don't know." He gave her a half smile. "Maybe you and I can figure it out, Quinlan. We'll have centuries to do it."

2. Hunt may become an Asteri weapon; an (unwilling) villain.

In fact, it has recently been theorised (such as in this post here) that Hunt may already have acted as an Asteri weapon in the past, and may have even had a part to play in Danika's death. As unbelievable as this may sound, consider these two quotes.

In HOEAB, Hunt remarks that his victims always said the same words; "please."

“Please.” It was always the same word. The only word people tended to say when the Umbra Mortis stood before them.

Then, this is the only audio we hear of Danika right before she dies:

"And then someone was roaring—a feral wolf’s roar. “Please, please—” The words were cut off. But the hall camera’s audio wasn’t."

To that people would say "Hunt would never!" And rightly so. However, consider that:

Hunt didn't know Bryce when this occurred.

Hunt was already tasked with killing one of Bryce's friends; Fury. Twice. The only reason it didn't happen was because someone higher up halted the orders.

"Micah had even ordered Hunt to kill her. Twice. But she had too many high-powered allies. Some, it was whispered, on the Imperial Senate. So both times, Micah had decided that the fallout over the Umbra Mortis turning Fury Axtar into veritable toast would be more trouble than it was worth."

However, regardless of whether this theory is true or not (as sure, perhaps the wording could be coincidence), one cannot deny the connection between the names of Hunt (Orion) and the Asteri; all named after stars and/or constellations.

In fact, Sirius (the 7th Asteri), is known as Orion's hunting dog in mythology.

And Rigel (as in Rigelus), is the brightest star in the Orion constellation.

Consider also Rigelus's words to Hunt; "I thought we were friends, Orion," and something just seems... off.

(Though, I'd be happy to be proven wrong, as Hunt is one of my favourite SJM males. Just because I think an awful thing could happen, doesn't mean I want it to happen).

What about Gwynriel/Elriel?

Another topic that I won't touch on in too much depth, as I'm sure that most people are already familiar with the points for and against these ships.

The only thing I will say is that things change. What ships appear to be canon or strongly foreshadowed in one book can totally change in the next. SJM has said as much herself (as outlined in the FAQ section on her personal website):

"Will [my favourite couple] be endgame?" "No spoilers! In all seriousness, while I do have ideas for all my currently contracted books, I would never guarantee any plot points or pairings until each book is written. I've been surprised by where characters have taken me before!"

But we also know this is true based on the Throne of Glass ship wars that raged on back in the day. If we were to time-travel back to 2012 and 2013 (when the first two TOG books were released), we'd see people arguing as to whether Aelin (Celeana) would end up with Chaol or Dorian. There was no third option.

And then in the third book, Rowan was introduced. But even then people denied the possibility of his romance with Aelin, instead siding with Chaol, with arguments such as:

"Rowan already has a mate!"

"Rowan and Aelin are probably just related and nothing more!"

"Rowan and Aelin are from two different kingdoms, it would never work. Chaol is back home in Rifthold waiting for her!"

(Sound familiar...?)

It was also argued that Chaol and Aelin would be endgame instead, given the mate-adjacent language that was used between them:

"Far inside of her, she found a golden chain that bound them together."

"The rest of the world quieted... she looked at him and realised she was home."

"She knew his every move and he knew hers, as though they'd been dancing this waltz together all their lives."

"It somehow felt as if it had always been Chaol, even from the beginning, even before they'd ever met."

But nope -- in the third book, Aelin stumbled into a foreign land and came face to face with Rowan; her true, fated mate.

In fact, this speaks to a certain SJM pattern I have noticed:

Aelin is forced to leave Rifthold for Wendlyn (oh no!)... but then she meets Rowan.

Chaol and Nesryn are forced to leave Rifthold for the Southern Continent (oh no!)... but then they meet Yrene and Sartaq.

Feyre is forced to leave the Spring Court for the Night Court (oh no!)... but then she meets Rhys.

Nesta is forced to leave the human lands for the faerie lands (oh no!)... but then she meets Cassian.

Now, Bryce has been forced to leave Midgard for Prythian (oh no!)... and she falls right in front of Azriel. He "gently" blindfolds her, grabs her hand, chucks her over his shoulder, and their matching weapons start glowing "in answer" to each other... and this is supposedly just a crackship?

And I get it; there's already Bryce and Hunt. And Azriel and Gwyn. And Azriel and Elain. However, I do think it's interesting that at present, the two biggest debates within the fandom are:

Are Bryce and Hunt truly mates/endgame?

Will Gwynriel or Elriel be endgame?

If any of these ships were a slam-dunk guarantee... these debates just simply wouldn't exist. Point is, with SJM (and especially with the multiverse opening up)... the possibilities are endless.

And, the promise of Bryce and Azriel is just one of these possibilities, but it's my favourite one of all.

After all, stars cannot shine without darkness.

(P.S. Some of these points were first identified by my friends - so credit and a huge thank you to them! ❤️)

#acotar #crescent city #bryce quinlan #azriel acotar #sjm multiverse #sjm theory #sjm crossover #bryce x azriel #bryceriel

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ichorai · 2 years ago

Text

i was just a kid ; marc spector.

track one of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; marc spector x vigilante!gn!reader

synopsis ; khonshu wanted you dead. marc just wanted you.

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, mild angst/fluff, vigilante au, thief au

warnings / includes ; blood/injury, cursing, mentions of human trafficking/sexual assault but not at all graphic, marc is basically chasing after reader for half the fic, we're traveling the world in this fic baby !!! khonshu being Annoying, reader doesn't know marc has DID and thinks he's crazy, a steven cameo !! and one (1) mention of spider-man and daredevil <3

main masterlist.

NEW DELHI, INDIA.

The street market was crowded, bustling with chatty tourists, loud salesmen, and traveling vendors. The air was heavy with the sweet, saccharine smell of fresh mangoes, intertwined with the faintest trace of turmeric, ginger and garam masala from other stalls you hurriedly passed by. You would’ve given anything to stop and try some of the food, if not for the terrifying white-suited fucker hunting you down.

The bleeding cut on your cheek he’d given you from when he threw his crescent-shaped boomerang in your direction throbbed. You’d barely been able to duck away in time. At least here, in the busy street, he couldn’t risk hurting anyone else by striking you long-range.

At least, you hoped so. You weren’t entirely sure how far this bastard was willing to go to get you. Sure, you’d made a lot of enemies in the past, but, to your recollection, you’d never met any moon-caped supers keen on taking your life before.

You were quick to duck through the tight-knit throng, panic setting in when you realized the market was thinning away—you were near the end of the street, and you no longer had the advantage of cover on your side.

With agile steps, you sprinted into an alleyway, glancing up the side of an apartment.

Then, you began to climb. You scaled the small grooves in the bricks, expertly balancing your weight just right so you wouldn’t fall. You’d done this a million times before, with much smoother surfaces to climb—after all, that was the bare minimum required of a thief.

You hauled yourself onto the rooftop, laying low so he wouldn’t be able to spot you from ground level.

Only—he wasn’t on ground level.

A shadow loomed over you just as you crouched by the rusted air conditioning unit, and you had but a millisecond to roll out of the way before his foot came crashing clean through the metal.

Well, fuck me, he can fly, you wryly thought.

“Glide!” the man behind the mask gruffed as he grabbed your arm and shoved you against the crumpled AC unit, the searing hot metal digging painfully into your skin. “I glide, I don’t fly!”

“I said that out loud?” you panted with a hoarse chuckle, before quickly twisting and kicking his knee, brandishing a sharp dagger from the utility belt loosely secured around your hips. Up close, his suit appeared to be fashioned from a multitude of bandages, not unlike the cheap mummies from old nineties halloween movies. “Sorry, would it be weird for me to ask why a toilet paper cosplayer is trying to murder me?”

The man offered you no response, only diving forward and landing a good punch to one side of your jaw, which made your vision go blurry with disorientation for a moment.

There was no way you could best him with strength—you needed to get away from him.

With quick, nimble fingers, you pulled two smoke bombs from your belt and threw them onto the ground. Large plumes of ashen white immediately ate up the space between you, and he was left blinded for a couple of seconds. You tugged a grenade out a moment later, pulling out the pin with your teeth before tossing it in his general direction and throwing yourself off the opposite side of the building, where you’d spotted a plastic-woven tarp over one of the stalls by the edge of the market.

You’d crashed straight through their booth, fruits and drinks spilling all over the street’s asphalt. The vendors started cussing at you in a language that was foreign to your ears, but you knew they were saying foul things nonetheless. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the searing pain that ran down your leg and began running back into the crowd.

The explosion on the building had blown Marc back several meters, and he cursed beneath his breath as he pushed himself back up. Just as he was about to set back off to track you down, Khonshu’s bellowing voice made him halt in his motions.

“Let them go,” the God rumbled. There was an undertone of mild disappointment that laid stagnant beneath his voice, as if he’d just lost a game rather than a target. “We have more pressing matters at hand. Ammit’s followers are stealing more souls in Cuba.”

Marc’s brow furrowed. “Let them go? You want me to go to Cuba? That’s halfway across the world! I can finish the job, they can’t have gotten too far—”

“We have more pressing matters,” he repeated himself, this time with an edge to his voice. A headache pulsed angrily through Marc’s temple.

“Why’d you want them dead so bad? This target—that person, were they a follower of Ammit? Huh?”

Much to his frustration, Khonshu ignored him completely, merely brushing past his avatar. “Go to Havana,” the bird-skull rumbled over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

And with that, he disappeared.

ASTANA, KAZAKHSTAN.

A final stream of smoke fell from Elena’s lips as she pulled the cigarette away, dropping it into the floor to stub with her boot. She fixed you with a neutral expression as you made your way to her, though the unmistakable affection in her molten brown eyes gave her away.

“Took you long enough,” she said, glancing at the large black cloak you were wearing. Her demeanor gradually shifted into one of a more somber variety. “Verdict’s been decided. The court decided not to charge—all those police that beat my friends to death… they’re walking away free of consequence. The government’s gone to shit. Everything is more expensive now—riots are breaking out over fuel prices, which means more people are getting killed. Nobody is willing to help anymore.”

You nodded grimly. “What can I do?”

There was a dark glimmer to her eyes as she squared her jaw. “You’re going to help me burn down government buildings. I don’t know how many, but… as many as it takes for them to change.”

A hint of a grin graced your lips as you regarded your past-lover with a nostalgic kind of fondness. “It’s the first time I see you in years and you’re already throwing me headfirst into war.”

She offered you a shrug and a wry smile. “Don’t kid yourself. You live for this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you hummed distantly. “Where do we start?”

It was pandemonium.

Everybody was yelling—the protestors, the police, the civilians watching from the sides, the sparse firemen as they tried to put out the massive, roaring flames that were greedily swallowing the government building in its entirety. You had to admit, you were rather proud of your handiwork—absentmindedly wondering if Elena would be happy with it, as well.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, a foreign hand tightly seized around your wrist and began to drag you back away from the crowd. Your gaze wildly swiveled around in confusion to the man yanking you along, noting his heavy-set furrowed brows and his frustrated scowl. With as much strength as you could muster, you dug your heels into the ground and halted his motion, pulling against him with all your might. He didn’t relent, only staring you down with dark eyes that held the warbling reflections of the fire you set behind you.

“Who the fuck are you?!” you barked, starting to get more frantic as you fruitlessly attempted to get him to let go of you.

And when he spoke, it finally dawned on you.

Well, fuck me. It’s that bitch that chased me down in New Delhi. Wonder why he isn’t wearing his super suit… probably not to attract attention like last time. The news was all over him.

“You’re just getting more people killed,” he husked, clearly talking about the fire you’d caused, before brandishing a dark karambit knife, one that you swore gave you a cut just by looking at it. “No wonder he wants you dead.”

Fear wove down your spinal column when the blade poked your lower stomach in warning. “I’m sending a message,” you growled in reply, lips curled over your teeth in a snarl as you bristled. “And what about you? You’re gonna fix the problem by killing me? I don’t even know you! Some hero you are—those people protesting out there? They’re better than you will ever be.”

For a moment, his pupils darted back to the rioting crowd, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, and you used the short-lived distraction to your advantage. You expertly kicked the knife out of his hand and landed a quick blow square in the center of his face, feeling his nose break beneath your knuckles.

Not wanting to push your luck—you remembered how fast he was during your last encounter—you gave him one final shove, sending him sprawling into a trash can with a groan and a muffled curse.

By the time he forced himself back onto his feet a second later, you’d already disappeared into the shadows.

Fuck. Khonshu was gonna kill him.

PODGORICA, MONTENEGRO.

Marc still wasn’t sure why Khonshu wanted you dead so badly. Then again, he wasn’t sure about anything when it came to Khonshu.

But he knew one thing for certain—if Marc truly wanted you dead, then you would’ve been six feet under weeks ago. Which meant… he wasn’t actively trying to kill you because he didn’t actually want you dead. All the others that he’d killed for Khonshu felt like they’d deserved it—rapists, abusers, pedophiles… and though Marc didn’t know you very well, he knew you weren’t anything like the people he’d killed before.

Marc didn’t know what he was doing.

Jaw clenched, he pulled the cap lower down his face, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jeans. He followed not too far behind you, silent as a wraith, watching as you merrily strode down the streets of Podgorica.

Finally, when you stopped by a little coffee truck to order an iced latte, Marc stepped forward to stand beside you.

For the first minute, you idly tapped away on your phone, smiling down at the screen briefly before pocketing the device. You glanced at him, thinking nothing of the person beside you, assuming they were just another civilian—

Then you froze.

You knew that face.

After all, you’d broken that very same nose less than a week ago. Strange, it looked just fine now.

Immediately, you hunkered down into a defensive position, backing away from him with quick steps. Then, you ran, sprinting away so quickly that Marc could’ve sworn a trail of dust kicked up beneath your feet.

The man in the coffee truck incredulously yelled out after you, followed by a string of what Marc could only assume was a creative litany of Montenegrin profanity.

Dropping a few shillings onto the truck’s counter, Marc grabbed your coffee and ran after you, shocked at how far you’d managed to get in such a short amount of time.

There was no denying that you were a fast runner—but as the old tale went, the quick hare would always get overly confident. You slowed down to a moderate jog when you glanced behind you, Marc nowhere in sight. With a relieved sigh, you turned the corner and slumped against a building, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

Damn, you’d kill for that iced coffee right about now.

As if on cue, Marc rounded the corner, catching you by surprise. You were just ready to turn tail and run away again, but his hand shot out and held onto your wrist, not unlike he did in Astana.

You spewed out a myriad of curses, ranging from calling him an ‘insufferable cucumber-dicked motherfucker’ to ‘smooth-brained, butt-faced swine’, wildly trying to get him to let go of you. If you weren’t violently bucking against him with all the grace of a panicked mare, he would’ve laughed at the creativity of your insults.

“Stop, I just want to talk!” exclaimed Marc, dodging when you pushed yourself forward to try and wrap your hands around his throat.

“Last two times I saw you, you tried to kill me!” you breathlessly spat. “Sorry if I don’t quite trust you now!”

“I’m unarmed,” he gritted out, stepping back slightly to allow you to scan your gaze over him. Though you didn’t want to admit it, you knew that if Marc really wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead long ago. “I just want to ask you a couple things. And look—I brought your coffee!”

A low hiss fell from your lips. “I’m not answering jack shit.”

With that, you lunged forward and shoved him hard—so hard that he stumbled into the jagged brick wall behind him with an oomf. The iced latte sloshed right out of its cup and spilled all over his chest. His head struck painfully against the stone and his vision went blurry for a moment, expression faltering.

You stepped away, watching him with cautious, narrowed eyes.

After a long, pregnant pause, the man blinked in a dazed fashion, seeming confused.

“What? Where am I? What’s going on?” he said, accent suddenly… British. He fixed you with a genuinely miffed gaze, appearing slightly frightened at your withering glower.

You didn’t stay to answer his question.

As you were turning on your heel to run away, you faintly heard him mutter to himself, “Where the bloody hell am I?”

Crazy bastard.

VALENCIA, SPAIN.

Your knuckles were split. Blood dribbled down your fist, a mixture of yours and the man whose face you were caving in.

One of your hands was bunched into the collar of his shirt, holding him down as you rained punches on him. The sickening sound of his bones giving way with your strikes didn’t deter you, and you only snarled and hit him again as he blubbered out prayers in Spanish. Blood-flecked spittle dripped from his busted lips.

“Who are you praying to?” you hissed, releasing his collar in favor of wrapping your hand over his throat, squeezing tight. The dull green of his eyes flashed with panic, legs flailing weakly. “The gods will not listen to the likes of you—I’ll make sure of it.”

A strangled wail erupted from him.

And just as you were about to land another punch, you found yourself being shoved away from the man, and promptly lifted off the floor with the scruff of your shirt collar, shoving you against a wall. You began kicking and twisting blindly, cursing furiously when you saw the man you were beating up scurry onto his feet and haggardly sprint away.

Your struggling was of no avail, and you weren’t at all surprised to see the same person that’s been trying to track you down for months now.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, brows heavily furrowed and dark eyes stormy with anger. “You were about to kill that guy!”

“He deserves it,” you bit out, glaring back at him with just as much intensity. “The fucker’s been stalking a friend of mine and sexually assaulted her daughter.”

There was a beat of silence. Marc’s cross expression seemed to drain away, but he still bore a stern face as he slowly let you go. You slid down the wall and got back onto your feet with a wince.

“Why have you been following me?” you huffed, dusting off your pants. “You think I don’t know that if you really wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now?”

Marc squared his jaw and leveled his gaze on you. “Someone… close to me wants you dead. I want to know why first—he won’t tell me.”

“Sounds like you shouldn't be all that close to him, then,” you snorted derisively.

“Not for a lack of trying,” the man dryly replied.

With a scoff, you stepped forward and wiped your bloody knuckles onto his shirt, leaving a damp trail of darkening crimson. “There’s way too many reasons a person would want me dead,” you whispered, one hand patting his chest. The other trailed down, down, down…

To the high-rise potted plant beside you. You grabbed a fistful of dirt.

“See, he’s not exactly what you’d call a person—”

Before Marc could finish his sentence, you chucked the dirt straight into his face. He inhaled some of the soil and doubled over, pounding on his chest as he coughed it out. With a growl, he frustratedly swiped the remaining flecks of dirt out of his eyes, blearily looking back up. And, to none of his surprise but much of his dismay, you were already gone.

OSLO, NORWAY.

“Why aren’t they dead yet, Marc?” grumbled Khonshu in that grating, gravely tone of his. Even though the God had no eyes, Marc could still feel his stare burning straight through him.

With a frown, Marc was quick to respond, “Because you haven’t told me why yet.”

“You’ve never needed a reason before—always blindly following my orders,” the bird-skull crooned. “What makes them so different?”

There was a bitter taste to the back of Marc’s throat. What made you so different?

“Because I don’t know if they deserve it, alright?” he retorted, crossing his arms to glare up at the tall figure. “You can’t just expect me to kill everyone who mildly inconveniences you.”

Harrumphing, Khonshu snapped back, “They are naught but an inconvenience—they are a disruption to the very balance of nature. Y/N has taken justice into their own hands, and that is a very dangerous thing for a simple mortal to do.”

Marc cast his gaze away in frustration, pacing back and forth. “But that’s exactly what you make me do.”

“Yes, because you are my avatar,” deadpanned the God. “And Y/N is not. Though, they might as well be because you are being a fool.”

He could feel one of his eyes twitch. There wasn’t ever a conversation Marc could remember where Khonshu didn’t insult him.

“They’re doing what they think is right,” defended Marc. “They’re not hurting people just for the sake of it.”

“That is not for them to decide!” bellowed the God, which made him step back just a bit. “They have done terrible, unimaginable things in the past—though mistakes some may be—and they will continue to make them. Take a look for yourself.” With that, Khonshu swept his arm out, gesturing to the large bank across the street, large windows giving him a clear view of what was going on inside.

His heart dropped down to his stomach when he saw you.

You were wearing a mask that covered the entirety of your features, except for your eyes and your mouth. The rest of your body was shrouded with simple, dark clothing, suitable for running.

And, most notably, you had a gun in your hand, pointing straight at the trembling woman working behind the counter. Your mouth was moving and you gestured with lax, calm movements, despite the explicit terror written across the woman’s face.

Marc’s brow furrowed. Damn it.

He watched as you snatched the bag of money the woman slowly slid over, and hightailed out of the bank with the gun still gripped tightly in your hand. You ran the opposite way, before disappearing down another block. Glancing over at Khonshu, only to see that he was nowhere in sight, Marc huffed out a sigh and began sprinting after you.

One downside of Oslo was that their buildings weren’t exactly the easiest to climb—which meant that you had to stick to the ground and trust your speed.

Marc wasn’t as fast as you without his suit, that was for certain. But with his suit—he could glide.

And so that’s how the white-caped figure dropped straight down in front of you out of seemingly nowhere, which elicited a shriek of surprise from you, nearly dropping the bag out of shock. You had pulled your mask off long ago, shoving it into the knapsack shrugged over your shoulders, along with the gun.

This clearly wasn’t your first time doing this.

“You,” was what you incredulously breathed out, eyes wide. “You must be obsessed with me or something.”

Not in the mood to play around, Marc growled out, “Why are you doing this? Give the money back. It’s not yours.”

“Who said it was for me?” you countered, upper lip curled in contempt. You tilted your head at him, eyeing his suit with interest, before returning back to your scathing disposition. “Not that it’s any of your business, but this money’s for the small orphanage a couple miles from here. They’re barely getting by with the money the government gives them. I have a kid there I know.”

With bated breath, Marc willed the suit away, leaving him in a dark sweatshirt and a pair of woolen pants. He eyed you suspiciously, still not too sure if he should trust you.

Sensing this, you rolled your eyes and unzipped your bag. “If you don’t believe me—check my gun. It’s blank.” You fished out the small weapon and handed it over to him with the end pointed towards you so he wouldn’t think you were going to shoot him. “No bullets.”

Marc didn’t need to check it—by now he knew you were telling the truth. But he looked into the chamber anyway, finding it void of any ammunition.

“Can I go now? We both know you’re not going to kill me. The cops will be looking,” you said, voice a bit more gentle than before. He noticed that the anger on your face had melted away, leaving only urgency and another tumultuous emotion that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

When he offered you no response, finally relenting, you nodded once to him, a glimmer of gratitude behind your irises. And with that, you began running again, effortlessly disappearing into the shadows.

“Fool,” thundered a rumbling growl from somewhere above him. Marc looked up, but the bird-skulled God was nowhere to be found.

COLUMBUS, OHIO.

Damn. Nothing hit harder than classic, greasy, American cheeseburgers with a side of curly fries and a milkshake. You shifted eagerly on the sticky red leather of the booths, shooting the waitress who’d handed you your food a flirtatious smirk and a ten dollar bill, which she took with an equally salacious wink.

You grinned down at your food before taking the first bite into the burger, a muffled noise of content falling from your throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” said a frustratingly familiar voice, the man sliding into the seat across from you. “It sounds like you were just about to have the greatest sex of your life—with a cheeseburger.”

You pointedly glared at him, though it lacked any true heat. After about a dozen deliberately slow chews, you finally swallowed down the food. Marc looked like he wanted to say something else, but you merely held up a finger, slurping on the paper straw of your milkshake. He pursed his lips with a mildly aggrieved look.

Finally, you tilted your head at him.

“Is there something you want from me?” you asked him casually, reaching to the end of the table to grab a napkin and wipe at the corner of your lips. “Because I’m not in the drug business anymore, if that’s what you’re looking for. Or is it something else, hm?”

It seemed that Marc hadn’t completely thought this through. Sure, he’d planned out what he roughly wanted to say to you, but now that you were right in front of him, he found his tongue running dry. He fumbled for words, fists clenching and unclenching by his knees.

“I don’t want to kill you. Or hurt you at all, for that matter.”

You scoffed, remembering the instances in which he’d hurt you plenty.

“I just… I want to know your side of the story. I want to know why you do what you do,” he said, a bit quieter.

For a moment, Marc thought you’d just tell him to piss off. But there was a gradual shift to your features, going from obvious irritation to gentle curiosity.

“Alright. I’ll cut you a deal,” you said, popping a curly fry into your mouth. “I tell you about my tragic backstory, and you tell me all about this… thing that’s been wanting to kill me. And before I start—I’m gonna need your name. I can’t keep mentally cataloging you as the toilet paper man.”

And for the first time since you met him all those months ago—Marc laughed. It was deep and gratingly genuine, coming from the very bottom of his chest.

“Well, first of all, it’s not toilet paper. It’s the ceremonial armor of Khonshu’s temple. And second, it’s Marc. Marc Spector.”

“Ceremonial armor of whose what now?” you balked.

A hint of a smile graced the corner of Marc’s lips. “Khonshu—Egyptian God of the moon. I’m his avatar. He’s the one that wanted me to kill you. He called you a disruption to nature—said that you were wrongfully taking justice into your own hands.” As he spoke, the smile began to wane away, and he regarded you in a more serious light. “I want to know why he thinks that.”

You stared down at your plate of fries, stunned. An Egyptian God wanted you dead? You knew you pissed people off, but Gods too?

“And if you don’t like what you hear?” you quietly asked, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Will you drag me out of the diner and strangle me to death?”

Though you could tell he didn’t like saying it, Marc’s face was set in stone when he leveled with you. “I’ll give you a head’s start.”

Another beat of silence. You picked up another fry and popped it into your mouth. The plate slid across the table as you nudged it towards him.

“Alright, Marc. Settle in, have some fries, order a milkshake—it’s a long story.”

And you told him everything. You told him about your childhood—rumbling stomachs, nimble thieving hands, falling off of buildings when running away from cops. You told him about your teenage years—pulling off heists, brokering deals with gangs, breaking nearly every bone in your body being reckless. You told him about your early adult years—falling in love with Elena, getting more comfortable as a vigilante, as you liked to call yourself, meeting other superheroes and helping out on occasion. Marc seemed to recognize Spider-Man and Daredevil’s names when you mentioned them in passing, his eyebrows arching up closer to his hairline.

You told him that you now spend your days traveling around the globe helping people.

By the time you were done spilling your entire life story, your fries and burger were cleanly polished off.

Marc was silent for a long time, as if unsure what to say.

“I was in love once, too,” he said in a tentative manner, gaze trained on the table. “Her name was Layla.”

“Oh, yeah?” you curiously said, sipping on the last frothy remnants of your milkshake at the bottom of the glass. “And how’d that work out for you?”

There was a sad glint to his eyes. “Not so good. We’re divorced now.” He cleared his throat before you could press him about it. “What happened with you and Elena?”

It was now your turn to stare out the window in a despondent manner. “Same as you. Except we were never married. My lifestyle was… too much for her.”

Marc nodded in understanding. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you stared at the glossy table in silence.

“You still in love with her?”

You lifted your gaze to meet his. “I love her, yeah—I always will. I’m just not in love with her anymore.”

The man across from you hummed. There was a newfound understanding between you two—unspoken, but the both of you could feel it.

“Do you still love Layla?”

A ghost of a smile graced his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “Not in the same way I used to. But I do.”

With a final slurp of your straw, your drink glass was emptied. “Seems like we’re a lot more similar than first meets the eye, huh?”

Marc fixed you with a loose, awkward smile. Without another word, he pulled the bill of his cap lower down his face, and slid out of the booth. It seemed that he wasn’t going to be strangling you tonight.

You didn’t look back when he walked out of the diner, the bell hooked by the doortop tolling with his departure.

YEKATERINBURG, RUSSIA.

The bird skull was saying something. His bony beak was moving. You could feel the vibrations of his thundering voice beneath your feet. And yet—you had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

You blinked up at the God with wide eyes.

“Could you repeat that?” you winced out, having not picked up a single word Khonshu had said in the past three minutes. The God grumbled, and somehow glared at you despite having no eyes within his bony skull. Beside you, Marc let out a muffled snort.

“You insolent buffoon,” the bony figure snarled. “Have you not been listening?”

Despite the bristling God in front of you, you found the entire situation to be amusing. “Sorry, it’s just… your head’s really big. It’s kinda distracting. Just paraphrase yourself—I don’t need all the terms and conditions.”

Marc’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he immediately sobered up when Khonshu rounded his pointed beak to him, back straightening.

“This is a gravely serious matter—!”

“You know what else is serious?” you snapped, pulling your thick woolen coat closer to your quivering body. “Catching hypothermia! Did you really have to pick Russia of all places? We couldn’t have met on a warm beach in the Caribbeans, or something?”

If Khonshu had eyelids, you were sure they would’ve been twitching with repressed agitation by now.

A deep baritone of a sigh fell from the lanky God. He leaned his weight against his crescent-tipped staff, as if willing his own patience to hold steadfast.

“I said—” he started again, watching you cautiously, “—that I will be letting go of your past sins. But only because my avatar is so keen on you, and because you show a consistent effort to rid the world of evil. However, if you slip up so much as once, I will personally see that to an unkind descent into the afterlife. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal!” you harrumphed, tucking your frigid nose into the collar of your fur coat. “And I did those things to people who deserved it—which is exactly the same as what you do, you bony hypocrite! Can we go inside now?”

The God grumbled something unintelligible, though you suspected it had something to do with your impertinence, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“You’ll get used to him,” assured Marc, placing a hand on your back to lead you back inside. “He doesn’t get any better but—you’ll get used to it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you dryly responded, teeth beginning to chatter. As soon as the two of you started to walk back to the small little city hotel, you elbowed his side with a playful grin. “So… you’re keen on me, huh?”

Marc gave you an unimpressed look. Snowflakes danced with the wind and landed in his neatly-combed curls. “Khonshu had to believe that I liked you—the last thing he’d want is a sloppy, grieving avatar.”

“Mmh, I don’t know…” you said, tapping your finger against your chin in thought. “He’d probably like that, considering he’s one manipulative son of a bitch. Maybe he just secretly likes me and wants to keep me around.”

“Yeah,” snorted Marc. He halted in his tracks, forcing down a smile. “That, or I blackmailed him.”

Your eyes widened, frost clinging to your lashes and brows. “You blackmailed an Egyptian God?”

“Let’s just say that he’s had a sticky romance with the Egyptian Goddess of love—ironically, she’s one of the few beings that he’s genuinely terrified of. I threatened to get in contact with her avatar if he didn’t absolve you.”

You kicked at a small build-up of snow by the sidewalk, an excited gleam to your irises. “Crazy how even the Gods have petty dating drama to gossip about,” you commented, turning to him. His nose was tinted a faint shade of red from the cold, bits of white frost freckling his hair and his clothes. “Thanks for not killing me, by the way,” you added as an afterthought, fixing him with a warm smile.

“Just keep out of trouble,” he gently reminded, mirroring your soft grin. The two of you were now standing in front of your dingy little motel—and Marc apparently had something to attend to halfway across the world in Cuba.

So this was goodbye.

For now, at least.

Without thinking, you leaned forward to press your cold lips against the warmth of his cheek, the tip of your nose grazing his cheekbone as you laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” you whispered when you pulled away slightly, breath misting into an opaque fog. Marc was regarding you with an expression that bordered on fondness, which was certainly a new look that you found yourself craving for more. “I haven’t really properly talked to anybody in ages so… this was nice. Goodbye, Marc.”

With that, you turned on your heel and headed into the hotel, grateful for the blast of warmth from the overhead heater, though you could still feel Marc’s burning stare bore holes into your back, even as you turned the corner and disappeared from his sight.

ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA.

Blood, everywhere.

Gunshots in the distance.

Snarling men rounding the corner—human traffickers.

Your dagger glinting beneath the hot Ethiopian sun.

A man screaming as you sliced his throat.

Gurgling.

Red on your hands. On your clothes. On your shoes.

Two successive punches—one to your stomach, and the other to your face.

Pain blooming beneath your skin.

A fist around your throat.

Squeezing.

Choking.

Dark spots dancing about your vision.

Your nails clawing into their eyes.

Air.

Gasping for breath.

Wheezing.

You desperately parried away another assailant’s knife.

A song of steel against steel.

More gunshots flying every which way.

You dove behind large metal crates.

Sand in your shoes.

Copper on your tongue.

Crashing. Yelling. Cursing.

Your fingers flexing around the hilt of your dagger.

Bated breath.

You looked around the crate.

Marc fucking Spector.

A ghost of a smile on your lips.

Your name being called out—surprise in his tone.

“Fancy seeing you here!” you shouted.

Marc’s fist curled into one of the traffickers’ collars.

“It’s been a while!” came his mildly amused reply.

A grunt. A punch. A groan of pain.

His white cape fluttered with the wind.

“You down for a burger or something later?”

You spoke calmly, as if you weren’t currently strangling someone with a long power cord.

The man fell limp in your hold.

“Sure—I could go for a burger,” he called out,

Blood trickled down your nose and grazed your lip.

You wiped it away with the back of your hand.

The last of the traffickers was struck down with Marc’s crescent boomerang.

A breath of relief.

Drenched in blood (most of which was not yours), you made your way to Marc.

“You clean up nice,” he joked.

A roll of your eyes.

“Oh, shucks, Marc,” you simpered with a mischievous grin, dragging a bloody hand down his face once he retracted his mask.

He grimaced in disgust, but didn’t push you away.

A laugh fell from your throat, hoarse and echoing.

You looped your aching, bleeding arms with his.

“Let’s go get that burger.”

LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND.

“Ow—ugh, Marc, could you go any faster?” you barked through the dirty cloth wedged between your teeth, glaring up at him with watering eyes. You’d endured pain far worse than this, sure, but Marc was taking twice as long stitching you up than when you’d do it yourself. Though, admittedly, whenever you had to patch yourself up, it was a rather shoddy job and often left a much larger, gnarled scar than it would’ve, had you properly taken care of it.

The man above you shook his head, dark curls hanging loosely over his forehead. “Stop moving and maybe it’ll hurt less,” he replied, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he worked on your stitches. “You know, just because we work together now and I heal quickly doesn’t mean you do, too.”

With a grimace, you tore the cloth from your mouth, chucking it somewhere across the small motel room to freely speak to him. “It was just a mistake,” you replied, nearly doubling over with a strained groan when he punctured the skin of your abdomen with a small needle, where the deep gash resided, one last time. “I timed myself wrong. Happens sometimes.”

Marc let his eyes roam over your exposed skin, brows divoting ever so slightly upon seeing the multiple other scars littering your body. They were memories of your past, and you weren’t ashamed of them.

“Doesn’t look like it only happens sometimes,” he murmured, tying off his sutures and cleaning off the last bits of flaking, dried blood on your stomach before binding the open wound with thin bandages.

“You worried about me?”

Marc didn’t spare you a response. He busied himself by putting away the medkit and tossing the discarded, bloodied clothes into the bathroom sink. When he came back to sit on the bed beside you, you had gingerly moved positions so that you were propped up against the creaking bed’s headboard.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” you whispered. “England fucking stinks.”

Marc chuckled, a small smile curling his lips upwards, though you noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The two of you sat in silence for a while.

“Thanks for stitching me up,” you told him.

“Thanks for not dying on me,” he replied. His hand sought yours and your fingers laced with his. “I know we’ve only been working together for a month by now, but I’m starting to really like you.”

With one last painful shift, you moved so that your faces were only inches away. You paused when your lips were just a hairsbreadth from his, giving him time to yank you away if need be.

But he didn’t.

His lips met yours with a tender sort of sadness, pouring months of frustration and anger into the embrace. A warm hand came up to cradle the back of your head, angling you closer, wary of your newly-stitched wound.

Forehead resting against his, you gently pulled away, finding solace in the fact that he chased after your lips just a bit, before cracking his dark eyes open.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he mumbled, gaze darting back down to your parted mouth.

“Okay,” came your broken reply.

And despite it all, he threw all caution to the wind and kissed you again. Again, and again, and again—far into the night, until the two of you passed out on the stained sheets of the motel bed, limbs intertwined and your nose pressed against his throat, where you could hear the soft thrumming of his heartbeat.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Khonshu was hovering on the rooftop, finding himself rather glad that his avatar had finally found someone he could trust—even if that someone was the very bane of his existence.

“I need a new avatar,” the God harrumphed to nobody but himself, knowing full and well that he wasn’t letting go of Marc Spector and his… counterparts any time soon.

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