#a dusty tomb | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sarahghetti · 9 months ago

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moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel��but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #mk bingo 2024

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aurabirds · 8 months ago

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"The bastard sealed me, starving, inside a dusty tomb - all on my own for an entire year. A year of silence... months of scratching my hands raw, trying to carve my way out, more months of not moving at all."

🩸 Made a little animatic of that voiceline :> you can find it on my Instagram, Twitter and TikTok ⬇️ 🫶

#aurabirds #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion

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lefteagleblizzard · 1 month ago

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𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: Trapped in the freezing sanatorium, Mike notices your body trembling from the cold and takes matters into his own hands-literally. His touch starts out innocent, a way to warm you up, but soon it turns into something far more heated.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Wolfie being a good boy. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Friends to lovers. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex.

Note: I played the original game years ago, and now that I'm playing the remake, my crush on Mike has come back. He's such a good character with amazing development. I never expected to like him this much. I'm near chapter 7 of the remake, and I'm honestly loving it.

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Words counts: 3000

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥

The cold of the sanatorium was oppressive. It seemed to leech the warmth from the very walls, seeping into your skin and bones, making every breath feel like you were inhaling shards of ice. As you and Mike rummaged through the mess of papers and debris in the dim, decaying room, the chill became impossible to ignore.

You had been at this for what felt like hours. Searching for anything, any clue, any scrap of information that could help you make sense of the nightmare you and your friends had stumbled into.

You wanted to focus. You needed to. But the cold was starting to weaken you. Your muscles ached from the effort of trying to stay warm, and despite your best attempts to keep it together, your hands were trembling as you shuffled through the scattered papers. The torn, thin jacket you'd found earlier did little to protect you, barely covering your torso, let alone insulating you from the freezing air.

Snowflakes continued to drift in from the broken windows, scattering across the dusty floor.

The place felt like a tomb. The smell of decay hung in the air, making every breath feel heavy, cold, and full of death.

Mike tried to stay focused, but even as his eyes scanned the scattered papers on the floor, his attention was pulled to you. You were over by the corner of the room, crouched low beside an old table, sifting through stacks of yellowed documents, your movements deliberate but slow. The jacket clung to you awkwardly, barely covering your arms and torso.

Even from across the room, he could hear your teeth chattering slightly, despite how hard you were trying to suppress it.

You always did that, pushing yourself even when it was clear you were struggling. Mike admired that about you, but it was also something that worried him. He knew you were trying to stay strong for him and the rest of the group, but the last thing Mike wanted was for you to get hurt or worse.

His thoughts raced, that protective instinct flaring up again. You didn't deserve this. You deserved to be somewhere warm, safe... with him.

He had been feeling that way for months now, ever since that night after he broke up with Emily. That night had changed everything for him. You were the one who stayed with him, sitting by his side, listening to him vent as he struggled to process the end of his long-term relationship.

You didn't just offer hollow platitudes; you gave him the kind of comfort and understanding he never knew he needed. He realized then, somewhere between the midnight conversation and the quiet moments of silence, that you were different. You weren't just his friend; you were the one person who made him feel like himself again.

After that night, he found himself constantly thinking about you. How easy it was to talk to you, how you made him laugh even when he felt like shit.

He'd find excuses to see you, call you up for help with college work, or invite you out for something casual. He always assumed you'd catch on quickly to his flirting, but you never did. Either he was terrible at flirting with a guy like you, or you were just completely oblivious.

Without a word, he began to unbutton his own jacket, which was far thicker and more insulated than the pathetic excuse you were wearing.

He held it out toward you.

"Here," he said simply. "Take it"

You shook your head immediately. "No. I'll be fine. You need it more than I do."

Mike narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. "You're freezing, man. You look like you're about to turn into an ice cube."

You tried to laugh it off, though it came out weak and unconvincing. "It's really not that bad. I can handle the cold. And it'd be selfish of me to take your jacket. There’s no way you're any warmer than I am."

With the simple tank top he was wearing underneath, now all dirty with mud and snow, it became even harder for you to stop staring at him. His muscular and strong arms drew your attention.

Mike sighed, holding the jacket out stubbornly towards you. "You're not fine. You're shaking like a leaf." He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over your arm, feeling the coldness of your skin even through the thin fabric of your jacket. "Just take it."

But you shook your head again, more firmly this time. "It wouldn't be fair," you murmured, looking down at the papers you were holding. "You need it just as much as I do. I can handle the cold. We've been through worse than this, right?"

Why couldn't you just let him take care of you for once?

"Come on," he tried again, his voice soft but insistent. "After everything we've been through tonight, hypothermia is the least of my worries. I'm not letting you freeze out here, not when I can do something about it."

You glanced up at him, your eyes softening for a moment, and for a second, Mike thought you might actually take the jacket. But then you shook your head again.

"I'll be fine, Mike."

Mike sighed heavily, his breath visible in the cold air as he ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it, you're stubborn.”

You gave him a small smile, trying to divert the conversation as you continued sorting through the papers. "I've been called worse."

Finally, with a deep sigh, Mike relented, shoving his jacket back on with a grumble.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sounds being the creak of old floorboards beneath your feet and the occasional rustle of paper. Wolfie, the wolf Mike had somehow managed to befriend, lay beside you, his fur brushing against your leg as he occasionally shifted.

Every so often, you'd reach down to scratch behind Wolfie's ears. His fur was soft under your fingertips.

You gripped the edges of the papers in your hand, hoping that somehow, just focusing on the task in front of you would make it better.

It didn't.

It was then that you noticed Mike shifting beside you and before you could react, his body was pressing up against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist in a firm but gentle hold. His warmth hit you immediately, and you couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped your lips at the sudden contrast.

"Mike?" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you stiffened in surprise at the closeness.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against the side of your neck. "If you won't take my jacket, I'll just have to warm you up myself." he whispered, his voice rough and low.

Your heart started to race, not just from the unexpected contact, but from the undeniable heat that surged through your body as Mike's lips brushed against the side of your neck. The sensation was electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold this time.

His lips moved slowly, deliberately, trailing soft kisses down the length of your neck, each one sending a wave of heat through your body. Your body was leaning into his touch, craving more of the warmth and comfort he was offering.

This wasn't the Mike you were used to. This was something far more intimate, more personal.

"Mike... I don't..." you began, but your words trailed off as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"You don't what?" he asked softly, his hand sliding up from your waist to rest on your chest, pulling you even closer against him. "You don't want this?"

Of course you wanted it. More than anything, really. You'd been harboring feelings for Mike for so long, feelings you'd kept hidden, thinking there was no way he'd ever see you as anything more than a friend, a study partner, a background presence in his life.

But now, with his body pressed against yours and his lips trailing fire down your neck, it was clear that Mike had been seeing you in a very different light for a while.

"I didn't think..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you felt like this about me."

He hadn't planned on this happening, not exactly. But as he held you in his arms, feeling the heat of your body against his, he couldn't deny how good it felt, how right it felt to be this close to you. For years, he had pushed his feelings for you to the back of his mind, thinking it wasn't something you'd ever want. You were smart, focused, always so kind.

He pressed closer, his lips trailing lower along your collarbone, his fingers gently digging into your waist. The torn jacket you were wearing slid down slightly, giving him better access to your skin, and he took full advantage of it, kissing his way down your neck with slow, deliberate movements.

Mike's lips paused against your skin, and he pulled back, his expression soft but intense. "You really didn't notice, did you?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've been trying to get you to see it for months. I thought you'd pick up on it, but... guess I'm not as smooth as I thought."

You blinked at him, your mind reeling. "You've... been trying to tell me?"

"Yeah," he admitted, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "I've been dropping hints since we stayed up all night after Emily and I broke up. You were there for me, man. And ever since then I just... I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I didn't think you'd ever feel like that about me," you confessed, your voice shaky with disbelief.

Mike smiled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulled you a little closer. "I noticed the way you looked at me," he said quietly, his breath warm against your skin. "All those times you'd stare at me, thinking I didn't see. You were so fucking adorable, but it drove me crazy."

You blinked up at him, clearly shocked by the confession. Mike chuckled softly, his lips brushing over your jawline, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your waist. "You're not that good at hiding it, you know."

Before you could respond, Mike kissed you. His lips hungry, filled with all the emotions he hadn't been able to express before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer.

You responded almost immediately, your lips parting under his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer.

Mike deepened the kiss, his hands slipping beneath your jacket, his fingers tracing the outline of your hips, your waist, your chest. His tongue dipped past your lips.

After a long moment, Mike pulled back just enough to whisper, his voice low and rough, "You're okay with this, right?"

You didn't even hesitate this time. You nodded, breathless.

Mike's grin widened, and without another word, he kissed you again, even more deeply this time. His hands moved up your sides, tugging at the edges of your jacket as he pressed you against the wall.

You pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair as the heat between you both grew.

Mike's lips left yours, trailing down your jaw and back to your neck, his hands roaming your body as if he couldn't get enough of you. Your breath coming in shallow gasps as he kissed his way down to your collarbone, his grip on your waist tightening.

You wanted more, needed more, and judging by the way Mike was holding you with his erection pressing insistently against you, he felt the same.

He pulled back slightly, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced over at Wolfie, who had been lying quietly in the corner of the room.

He bent down, ruffling the fur of the wolf who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room. "Go on, buddy," Mike whispered. "Follow me for a second."

The wolf trotted after Mike as he stepped out of the room, leaving you alone for a few moments, heart still racing. You could hear him talking softly to Wolfie just outside the door, something about how you were "the guy" he'd told the wolf about before.

When Mike came back into the room, locking the door behind him, the intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken even more.

Without wasting another second, Mike crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into a deep, hungry kiss. His lips were insistent, full of desire, and you couldn't help but melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him back with just as much need.

Mike's hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips, pulling you closer. His tongue teased at your lips before slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

He broke the kiss just long enough to mutter, "God, I've wanted you for so long."

Then, his lips were on yours again. His hands gripping you even tighter, pressing you against the nearest wall as his mouth trailed down your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin there.

His hands were on you, pulling at your clothes, lowering them to expose just what was needed with an almost frantic urgency, before he gripped your ass, his fingers digging into the soft skin with a possessive intensity as he lifted you slightly, pressing his body against your.

"Relax," Mike whispered, his voice low and commanding as his fingers trailed down, teasingly brushing against your entrance. "Let me take care of you."

He teased you for a moment, his fingers gently exploring before he slowly pushed one inside, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his voice low and gravelly.

He moved his finger slowly at first, watching your face for every reaction, but as you relaxed into his touch, he added another finger, stretching you carefully.

Mike's other hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, more tender.

By the time Mike pulled his fingers out of you, you were trembling with anticipation, your body aching for him.

You heard the rustle of fabric as he undid his pants, and then you felt the tip of his hard cock rubbing against your thigh.

"Ready for me?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

You could barely nod, your entire body trembling with need. Mike lined himself up, his hands gripping your hips firmly, and then, with one slow, steady thrust, he pushed inside.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretched you, filled you completely. He moved slowly at first, watching your face for any sign of discomfort, but all you could do was moan softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"You're perfect," Mike groaned as he began to move, his hips moving with slow, deliberate motions. "You feel so fucking good."

Mike's hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your chest, cupping your face as he kissed you hungrily. His cock filled you completely, each slow thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body.

His hands moved lower, his fingers finding their way between your legs as he stroked you in time with his thrusts.

The more his pace picked up, the more his movements became rougher, more desperate. He kissed you again, biting at your lips, your neck, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he pulled you closer with each thrust.

"Fuck," Mike groaned, his voice low and husky. His soft grunts filling the cold room as he moved inside you.

The pleasure built to an unbearable peak as his thrusts became faster, harder. You could feel the heat spreading through your body, your muscles tensing as you teetered on the edge.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, Mike groaned loudly, his hands gripping you tightly as he came, his cock pulsing inside you. The sensation sent you over the edge as well, and you cried out as your own orgasm ripped through you, your voice muffled against his neck.

After a few moments of catching your breath and letting the weight of everything settle in, Mike pressed another soft kiss to your forehead before pulling away slightly, his hands lingering on your hips. You could see the satisfied smile tugging at his lips, that playful, cocky expression you had grown so used to over the years. He gave you a wink before straightening up, pulling his pants back up and adjusting himself as if nothing had happened.

You followed suit, your body still buzzing with the aftermath. There was something so surreal about it all. Being here, with Mike Munroe, of all people. You had known him for years, but you had never imagined things would end up like this.

Once you were both dressed and more or less presentable, Mike walked over to the door, unlocking it with a soft click.

"Ready to face Wolfie again? He might be a little upset that we kicked him out." He glanced back at you, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, before swinging the door open.

Outside, Wolfie was sprawled out across the floor, his furry body taking up most of the tight hallway. The wolf's ears twitched at the sound of the door opening, and he turned his head to glance at the two of you. His golden eyes scanned you two and then, with what could only be described as a huff, he plopped his head back down onto the floor, letting out a long sigh as if he had been deeply offended by the delay.

"Is he pouting?" you asked, incredulous.

Mike smirked, clearly amused by the wolf's behavior. "What? You jealous, buddy?" he teased as he crouched down beside Wolfie. The wolf, still looking somewhat begrudging, turned his head away, as if refusing to acknowledge Mike.

Mike reached out, scratching Wolfie behind the ears, his voice dropping into a low, playful tone. "Come on, don't be mad. I was just doing my part to keep him warm. You know how cold it is here."

You watched as Wolfie's resolve began to crumble under Mike's touch, his tail thumping softly against the floor as Mike scratched behind his ears. Mike chuckled, his cocky grin growing wider. "See? I warmed him up real good. All thanks to me."

Wolfie responded with a soft growl. He finally turned his head back toward Mike and he ruffled his fur, looking pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah," you said, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face.

Mike stood up, shooting you a wink as he slung his arm around your shoulder. "Damn right, I did." He leaned in to press a soft, quick kiss to your lips.

Together, you and Mike walked down the hallway, Wolfie trotting along beside you. And as Mike gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, you couldn't help but feel grateful that, through all the chaos and terror of the night, you had found someone worth fighting for.

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

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sachermorte · 7 months ago

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@that-one-empty-skull

you know what I kinda see it

he's got my jawline and tear troughs

me on the sauce again as usual

they're making me do my job at work for eleven hours today but at least I look handsome

#I'm going to hold 'one of caravaggio's boys' close to the dusty tomb where my heart used to be forever bless you #shitpost nach sacher art

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bonesandthebees · 1 year ago

Note

It's funny bc I was debating whether or not to ask specifically for sandduo but then I was like "do I really need to ask" so I just went in blind LMAOOO

Although I do have a really weird request... (ik I went so def don't have to go again!! I'm happ with my sandduo hehehe), I was wondering if u had any more like behind the scenes lore for a Dusty Tomb?? :00 ik u said u might write for it again (literally no pressure, I am very content with what we have), so I was wondering if u had like... Ig like ideas of what their future together would be like or OO more about the magic system :00 bc damn that was really cool

If not don't worry about it!! I know it's from a long while ago ehehehh

you didn't need to ask i already knew o7

hmm I don't really have anything else written for a dusty tomb sadly. I briefly considered toying with the idea of writing another one shot in the world showing phil and techno teaching little wilbur had to shoot a bow and arrow so he can fight monsters but I never got around to it. also in my head wilbur grew up to become the equivalent of a naturalist for monsters in that world where he would go with phil and techno on their adventures but just stand in the corner sketching out the monsters they fought and writing notes on their behavior and characteristics while dodging the swords and fangs and all that. essentially he'd create guidebooks for monster hunters to use :)

#ask #icyfox17 #a dusty tomb #trick or treat

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dustybones · 2 years ago

Photo

this post had Gideon written all over it

#gideon the ninth #harrowhark #griddlehark #tlt #gtn #the locked tomb #gideon nav #dusty art

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dollfacefantasy · 1 year ago

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Video Games

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, oral (f receiving)

summary: you're playing video games when leon feels a little needy

word count: 1.9k

a/n: hi everyone, i'm back with another piece. thank you so so much to everyone who supported my last post (especially if you reblogged and/or left a comment, hugging you through the screen rn). And if you followed me, hi! happy to have you here :) it means a lot to me, and i hope people find some enjoyment in this post as well. this post has nothing to do with the song video games, but i love lana and wanted to use that picture so idgaf. also, all the games mentioned are ones i really loved when i was younger. i'd love to hear some you guys like if you want to share. again, feedback, likes, follows, and reblogs are appreciated! <3

You were so excited when your parents called you and told you they were bringing by your old Playstation 2 today. They were cleaning out the garage and found the dusty, old box that contained the system and all your favorite games from when you were young. Leon was sitting on the couch, watching you wander around as you spoke into the phone. He had returned from a difficult mission recently and your joyful presence alone made everything seem brighter. He smiled at the ways your eyes lit up when you laughed and recalled old memories. He’d gently reach out and stroke your hip when you’d walk past the sofa, lost in your conversation.

About an hour later, you were rushing out the front door to retrieve your box of nostalgia. Leon trailed behind with his eyes full of love for you. He takes the box of stuff as you briefly talk to your mom and thank her for making the stop. He carries the box back into the house for you. It wasn’t that heavy. You definitely could have done it yourself, but he couldn’t get enough of how that sweet smile would spread across your face when you said thank you and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

The two of you set up the console together in your living room. His strong arms hold the tv at an awkward angle as you snake behind it to plug in the cords in all the different ports. His eyes can’t help but run along your body. He can’t help but notice how your shorts ride up as you bend over or how your back arches while you strain to reach the back of the screen. He’s snapped out of his lustful daze when he hears you say “Got it!” and pull back from behind the tv. He puts the monitor back in place and you hug him from behind, pressing soft kisses to his back while thanking him again for his help.

“It’s nothing, Baby,” he says softly, turning to face you and kissing the top of your head.

You smile up at him before eagerly pulling him to sit on the couch with you. You rifle through your box of old games, pulling out your beaten-up copies of Sly Cooper and Silent Hill. Your eyes sparkle with excitement as you gush to him about your favorite parts and all the fun you used to have playing them with your friends. His heart aches with the love he feels just from hearing you speak with such passion.

“Why don’t you show me some?” he suggests as you continue looking through the box on your lap.

“You want to watch me play video games?” you ask as if it’s the nicest thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be bored.”

He laughs slightly like even the idea of being bored while spending time with you was ridiculous. “C’mon, you’re all excited over this stuff, and you’re not gonna play?” he asks, “I’ll be fine. Maybe you can teach me your tricks.”

“Yeah, I’m a real pro,” you joke sarcastically, but your smile remains genuine. You decide on playing Tomb Raider and hop up to put the game in. Again, Leon can’t help how his eyes are drawn to the fabric of your bottoms tightening around your ass as you squat to insert the game. You return to your seat and get comfy against his side with his arms around your shoulder.

You start playing, your smile widening as you hear the familiar music and begin remembering the controls like the last time you played was only yesterday. Leon watches the screen as much as he can, but his real focus is on you. The way your fingers frantically mash at the buttons while fighting an enemy, how you tense and press against him when you think you’re going to die, your half-assed justifications for mistakes you make, blaming the age of the controllers. He loved you so much that his limbs nearly trembled with want for you. Everything about you drove him wild. You smelled so good and your body was so warm nestled against his.

He keeps watching you, and it’s becoming overwhelming, his desire for you. He leans his head down, brushing your hair away, and starts gently kissing the open expanse of your neck. You bite your lip as a knowing smirk rises on your face.

“I knew you’d get bored,” you tease, tilting your head a little to give him more room. He takes the invitation and moves his lips with more intent.

“I’m not bored. I just need to feel you,” he defends between kisses, “You keep playing.” He adjusts on the couch so he’s lower and has a better angle on your neck. His arm that isn’t around you caresses your stomach slowly.

You try to focus on your game, but it’s difficult when you have his hands and lips coasting over you, his hot breath on your neck. Your own breathing hitches when his hand on your stomach slides up to fondle your tits. Your fingers start feeling useless on the controller, fumbling between buttons as you try to continue playing. His teeth scrape along your neck. It’s the last thing you can take before you make too many mistakes and die. The menu comes up to reload the game and your head falls back against the cushion.

“Leon,” you whine playfully, “You’re making me die.”

“‘M Sorry, Baby,” he mumbles, “Just can’t get enough of you.” He continues kneading your breasts and showering your neck with kisses as you try to survive the level you’re playing. Heat spreads through your body and slick begins collecting between your thighs causing you to squirm a bit. Leon smirks against your skin, sensing the effect he has on you.

He kisses your neck a few more times before he moves his mouth down your arm while easing himself onto the floor. He presses a final tender kiss to your hand gripping the controller before settling on his knees between your legs. You know what’s coming, and it causes your cheeks to tint a soft red. The sight only excites Leon more. His fingers tuck beneath the waistband of your shorts and slip them down. He lifts your lush thighs to rest on his shoulders and pulls you closer so that you're slouching against the cushions.

“Leon, I’m gonna have to start all over again,” you say, your voice softer from your arousal. You try to seem focused, but your attention to the game is waning with each of his touches.

He works his mouth along the smooth skin of your inner thighs before dragging his nose along the cloth covering your center, inhaling you. The scent sends his blood rushing to his cock. He lays a kiss to the fabric as he hums in response. “I’ll make it up to you, Sweetheart. Promise.”

He hooks his finger around your panties and pulls them off. You feel his breath against your wet cunt, the sensation sending a chill through you. You take your lip between your teeth again while keeping your eyes on the television. In your peripheral vision, you can see him staring into you, gazing at you like you’re a work of art. He starts rubbing his thumb up and down your folds slowly, not with enough pressure to give you real pleasure, just the right amount to tease.

“You’re fucking soaked, Angel. Gotta have a taste,” he murmurs before swiping his tongue through your pussy. You let out a short moan at the feeling. Leon wraps his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place as he starts to make out with your cunt. His tongue flattening and dragging against your dripping core, lapping up every drop of you he can.

Your eyes roll back and your fingers spasm on the controller before you put it to the side and grab Leon’s hair. He groans as you tug him closer, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. You whimper and buck against his face. He knows all your attention is on him now. Knowing he made you feel so good that you had to focus on him had his pants feeling even tighter. He looks up at you, his eyes clouded with lust and your slick coating his lips.

“Taste so sweet, Baby,” he breathes, thumbing your clit as he speaks, “Could do this for hours if you let me. Have your pretty pussy cumming over and over.”

He buries his face back into your cunt and fucks his tongue into you. You gasp and writhe above him. Your head pushes back against the couch cushions. Your thighs start to squeeze around his head, and he loves it. He pushes even deeper, nose bumping your clit as he works. You whine and your hands fly up to cover your face as your cheeks feel hot.

He gives your thigh a quick pinch and pulls back. “No hiding, sweet girl. Wanna see and hear everything you give me.”

You slide your hands down and off of your face. Before you can even think of a response, his tongue is back to flicking against you. You moan a bit louder and your eyes flutter as the band of heat in your belly starts to tighten. Your thighs quiver, and Leon’s grip on you gets stronger as your hips try to shift.

Your chest heaves with your heavy breathing as your hands press into the couch cushions. His eyes are fixed on your face, savoring every sweet noise and expression. Your body shakes harder and you know the finish is near. You look down into his eyes, and the sight of his face buried between your thighs with that intense gaze trained on you almost makes you cum on the spot.

“Fuck, Leon. I’m gonna cum. Can’t hold on,” you whimper, your eyes squeezing shut as your voice breaks into moans.

“Look at me, Baby. Let me see those gorgeous eyes while you explode,” he says before working his tongue with even more dedication. You give him what he wants, looking into his eyes as you reach the peak. You cry out and claw at the couch cushions as you release. Your hips sputter against his face and your thighs clamp around his head. Your eyes stay locked on his, letting him see how he unravels you. You hear him groaning and feel his body rolling a bit as he devours you through your orgasm.

He keeps lapping at your folds as you come down, getting a final taste before he pulls away. He plants one last kiss on your clit before rising up and leaning down to kiss your lips sweetly. You kiss back and softly moan as you taste yourself on his lips. You grab his wrist as you pull back. “Need me to return the favor?’ you say and give him another kiss.

“No, Honey. I’m satisfied, trust me,” he hums and kisses back. You notice the dark spot forming on his pants and your blush returns. The thought that he could feel such pleasure simply from pleasuring you made your stomach flutter. He pulls back from your lips and strokes your bottom lip with his thumb, admiring your features. “I’m gonna change my pants, and then you can show me some more of your game. If you want to,” he says.

You glance back at the tv which had been displaying the reload menu for a while at this point. You give him that smile that he loved so much and nod.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil smut

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mcflymemes · 6 months ago

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PROMPTS FOR DARK TUNNELS, NARROW PASSAGEWAYS, HIDDEN DOORS, THICK JUNGLES, AND LOCKED TOMBS * assorted dialogue for all your cliché adventuring needs, adjust as necessary, send "reverse" for the reversal of the prompt

DIALOGUE PROMPTS

look there! i think i see daylight!

we're not getting out of here alive.

help me get this door open!

we don't have time to argue! we have to move!

can you see anything on the wall?

i can't read that, but i know someone who can.

hold the light steady.

i think we made a wrong turn back there.

where do we go from here?

oh no. i'm not going first.

what if we can't find a way out in time?

the room's filling up with water!

have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your entire life?

according to the map, we should be headed in the right direction.

we should set up camp here.

is that a waterfall i hear?

let's take turns keeping watch.

do you know what we'll find in there?

i recognize this symbol!

you'll have to go ahead without me.

move! it's a trap!

the floor is moving!

there has to be another way out.

did that wall just move?

snakes. why'd it have to be snakes?

whatever you do, don't touch it.

this treasure has been lost for centuries.

maybe there's a reason nobody ever found this place.

i think we should turn back.

ACTION PROMPTS

[ jungle ] sender and receiver navigate through a lush jungle

[ elbow ] sender accidentally elbows or leans on a button or ancient mechanism in the wall, which opens a secret door nearby

[ steal ] sender and receiver steal an ancient artifact from a museum in order to return it to where it came from

[ map ] sender and receiver locate a map that points them in the direction of lost treasure

[ return ] sender and receiver return a stolen artifact to the spot where it was taken from

[ bridge ] sender and receiver carefully cross a rickety bridge over a huge canyon and/or a huge waterfall, take your pick

[ pressure ] sender accidentally steps on a pressure pad on the ground and sets off a deadly trap

[ decipher ] sender and receiver decipher mysterious, ancient writing on the wall

[ treasure room ] sender and receiver step into a massive treasure room filled with gold, gems, and ancient artifacts

[ awake ] thanks to sender and receiver poking around where they're not supposed to, an ancient evil is awoken

[ crypt ] sender and receiver navigate a dusty, cobweb-covered crypt

[ squeeze ] sender and receiver ease their way through a very narrow passageway

[ trapped ] sender and receiver watch as the door they just came through suddenly closes, leaving them trapped and alone

[ patch ] after receiving a nasty wound durng their adventure, sender carefully patches up receiver's injury

[ swim ] in order to reach the next room, sender and receiver have to swim their way through an ancient passageway beneath the water

[ stranded ] sender and receiver's plane crashes in the jungle, leaving them stranded and alone

[ stuck ] sender and receiver are stuck on different sides of a locked door

[ rescue ] sender fights off an evil creature to save receiver's life

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absurdthirst · 2 months ago

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The Cost of Survival {Ezra x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.8k

Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of birth control, oppressive regimes, drinking, adultery, technically prostitution, angsts, heartbreak, loss of limbs, near death, pregnancy

Comments: Growing up on a poor mining planet where the company owns your very existence, Ezra dreams of getting you and him away from it all. Escaping. Resorting to doing the unthinkable to manage it and breaking your heart, there's a high price to be paid.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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

|| MasterList || Ezra (Prospect) MasterList ||

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

You lean against the wall, the band playing across the room with instruments passed down through the generations. Your dress is also hand-me-down, shabby, and patched, but it suits you, especially when no one else is dressed much nicer. Your planet is best known for its mines. It provides power to other planets - more prosperous planets - and is well known for the people who occupy the dusty, gritty mountains. Only one mining company owns all the land...and the people. The workers whose fathers and their fathers and their fathers worked the mines. No one escapes the planet. No one makes it rich enough to leave. Especially when the company owns the houses and the stores. Every credit made by the workers goes back into the company's pocket. Your father works the mines, back aching daily as he fights his aging bones to provide for his family. You want more than this gritty existence; you want to escape, to do the impossible. There's some education for women, mainly nursing, to assist the doctors with the gruesome wounds men would receive from the deadly mines. You lean against the wall, watching several couples dancing, and you sigh, not seeing him watching you from across the room. Ezra. You've known him since you were in school together. Most men left school early to enter the mines, but he stayed a little longer, wanting to learn more about literature, and you admired his reluctance to tow the company line. He was rebellious, and you secretly loved that.

You are a sight for grimy, dust-filled eyes. Ezra’s own outfit is barely much better than your own. An old suit that his father had been married in. The only reason he hadn’t been buried in it was that his tomb was a sealed-off section of the mine after an unfortunate blowout. You look bored and he smirks slightly, thinking that you are like an unappreciated flower, overlooked and forgotten. Not by him. He would never forget a beauty so fair that it steals his breath away. The only reason he had come tonight was to get a glimpse of you and perhaps try to convince you to take a turn on the floor with him.

You sip your drink, some kind of off-brand juice that one of the more prosperous planets had turned down, and you set the empty cup down just as a pair of scruffy boots appear in your eyeline while you stare at the floor. Your eyes flick up to find Ezra standing in front of you. Your eyes widen, and you glance beside you to see if he’s here to speak to someone prettier, but his dark eyes meet yours as you brave looking at his face. “Good evenin’.” He greets you, and you fluster, “hi. I- I didn’t think you’d be here tonight. Didn’t think this was your scene.” You say, shifting from one foot to the other as your nerves make the juice slosh in your stomach.

“Didn’t think I would make an appearance, but the thought of dancing convinced me.” He flashes you a slight grin and loves the way you fluster slightly. You’re nervous, and it matches the same butterflies in his own stomach, hopefully. “Shall we, little bird?” He asks, holding out his hand to you.

You are surprised, your eyes dropping to his hand, and you don’t hesitate to take it. You are shocked that he wants to dance with you, but you accept his invitation, and he escorts you onto the dance floor. Your hand grips his, your other hand finds his shoulder, finding the beat, and his smile is infectious as he swings you around the dance floor. A giggle fills your throat as he leads you around the floor, almost bumping into other couples. Your smile almost makes your face hurt as he sways you around, and you cling to him, laughing in joy as your troubles are momentarily lifted from your shoulders.

The sound of your giggle enthralls him, making him grin even though he’s decidedly not the best dancer. He is better with his hands than his feet. “Your smile is infectious.” He coos, puffing up like a peacock because he is escorting the prettiest girl around the floor. “Soon, the entire room will catch.”

You shake your head with a wry smile, leaning against him slightly as the song ends, and you reluctantly let go of his hands to applaud the band. "Thank you for the dance, Ezra." You say softly, and the band begins to play again, something slower. You prepare to walk off to lean against the wall again, but Ezra captures your hand, dragging you back towards him and into his chest. His eyes meet yours once more as he wraps his arm around your waist, starting to sway you to the slower song. Your heart pounds in your chest, you swear he can feel it, and you know this dance changes everything.

Ezra has learned that he can spout a pretty phrase. Some might call him talkative or a yapper, but he’s now silent. He is taking in your beauty and memorizing this moment. His crush on you is blooming into full romance and he wishes that he were rich so he could dress you in fine clothes and bring you flowers every day. “You strike me mute, little bird.” He whispers after a moment. “I am the most fortunate soul here tonight, holding someone of such profound grace.”

You fluster at his compliments, “you’re mute? A rare event.” You tease, your fingers flexing around his, and you clear your throat. “You flatter me, Ez. I am - I am the lucky one. Every girl in here tonight wants your attention. Including Dotty.” You look over to the company owner’s daughter. She’s part of one of two wealthy families in town.

“She doesn’t hold a candle to you.” Ezra insists. Despite her family affluence, he's never been one to want the slightly older girl. He was aware that he would always be considered less than, despite his lengthy verbiage. “You are the lovely siren who has captured my attention and leads me towards the treacherous rocky shoals of love.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you offer him a shy smile. “I must admit…my feelings are - I have been quite enamored with you since we were in school together.” You reveal, biting your lip. Ezra is older than you by a couple of years, and you would’ve thought that Dotty would be more his type. His ambition to succeed is well-known in the town. Wanting more from life than to work the mines like his daddy did. “I didn’t think - I thought you considered me as nothing more than a friend.”

“Little bird, I have been remiss in expressing the extent of my affections because I have been afraid of the cold dread of rejection.” He admits softly, his eyes staring into yours. “Tonight, though? The double moons are shining, and there is a hope in my heart that you would take pity on a lowly mortal such as myself and shower me with a sliver of your affection.”

You inhale sharply at his sweet words, your heart pounding in your chest, and you nod, “I- I would love to love you, Ezra.” You promise him, “you want to find somewhere quiet?” You ask, and he nods, taking your hand to escort you off the dance floor and outside the hall. The air is dusty, and you cough slightly. Most citizens of your home didn’t survive for as long as people on other planets as they inhaled the fumes and dust from the mines. You turn towards Ezra after he guides you to a secluded spot behind the hall, and you feel giddy. Leaning in, you cup his cheek and caress his stubbled skin. “I love you, Ez.” You murmur, wanting him to know how you feel. You’ve loved him since the moment you met him in school. His vivacious vocabulary and the ambition he tries to conceal to not get into too much trouble with the powers that be. You love all of him.

“I love you too, little bird.” Ezra promises you, lunging forward to press his lips to yours as gently as he can manage even though his heart is beating out of his chest. Overjoyed that you share his affections, he pulls you closer to him, groaning against your lips. Kissing them over and over again before he pulls away. “I can assure you that the extent of my feelings is no passing fancy; I would have nothing more than a future laid out with you. Making our fortunes off this wretched rock and living a life of love and laughter together.”

****

You look out the window, washing the dishes from making dinner that is cooking on the stove, when you see him. He’s covered in soot and grime, his smile wide as he sees you through the tatty curtains in the small window. You return his smile, looking forward to seeing him after he’s been at work. “Hi, baby.” You coo as he walks into your shared home. Since he started working for the company, he was given his place. It’s small, but it’s big enough for both of you.

“Hey, little bird.” He is exhausted and upset, but you lift his spirits. “You are a sight for sore and gritty eyes.” He’s too dirty to touch you, so he settles for a small kiss as you take his lunch pail from him. Rather than eat at the company store and accumulate more credits he can’t pay, you fix him lunch to take every day. “Let me clean up, and I’ll kiss you like you deserve.”

“Let me run you a bath, my love. You must be aching after a long day.” You declare, knowing how your father would groan as he sat down in his chair after working all day. He nods, and you walk into the bathroom to turn on the faucet in the tub. The water is brown at first then clears before you put the plug in. You grab the bar of soap and the rags you washed earlier by hand, setting up the tub for him to wash off the day's grime. He kicks off his boots by the door, shrugging out of his overalls, and he walks into the bathroom; his hands and face are still dirty but his clothing covered the rest of him. “Nearly ready.” You offer him a soft smile, “I have dinner cooking too. Won’t be too long.”

“You are too good to me.” Ezra groans as he steps into the bath. The hot water heater is too costly to run, so the water is never boiling unless you boil it on the stove. This would cost you fuel, so Ezra settles for a cool bath. “Fuckin’ mine raised their quotas again.” He huffs as he sits down, hissing slightly at the water.

You shake your head, reaching for the rag to wet it in the water so you can clean his back. He can never reach it properly. “Again? Kevva, it’s - it’s too much. You can’t keep up with that.” You murmur with a frown, “we could always move in with my parents. I mean, the company gave us this home without us being married; we could pretend to split up and move in with my parents without the bosses knowing.” You suggest, wanting to make things easier even if it means living back home. Not having the privacy to be together like you want. It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make if it means he suffers less.

“No.” Ezra shakes his head immediately, dirt falling off of him and into the water. “I can provide for my girl. Ain’t no way that I will live off your father breaking his back and hold my head up.” He tells you stubbornly. “I just need to up my production. Maybe explore a few of the new veins.”

You sigh, continuing to wash him and you are worried he’s working himself into an early grave. “Ezra…I don’t - I am working on my nursing degree. I’m nearly done. Then we have another income. I’ll work at the company hospital.” You say, wanting to assure him that you will be helping so he doesn’t work himself to the bone.

“Little bird, I am hoping that at some point, we are off this confounded rock.” Ezra admits, looking down as the water starts to turn black. “I wish to show you the stars up close. To make sure you never have to work yourself to the grave in order to keep our babies bellies full when Kevva graces us with children.”

You smile softly at his promise and the thought of children. His children. You sigh and rub his back, “you gotta make an honest woman of me first.” You teasingly remind him, “or are you going to keep me in our home in sin?” You joke and wash his back.

“I’ll keep you however I can keep you.” Ezra promises. “The marriage license is almost a full day's wages.” He reveals quietly. “I’ve nearly got that saved up. Maybe another week?” He tells you. “It includes a ring, but I want to get you something better than the piece of tin they provide.”

You reach up to caress his dirty cheek, “baby. I would wait a lifetime to marry you.” You promise, “I’m only teasing. I - I just can’t wait to be yours. Completely yours.” You murmur and lean over the edge of the tub to kiss his now clean cheek.

Ezra smirks, wrapping his arm around you and dragging you into the water with him, laughing when you screech. “I love you, little bird.” He promises. “Even when you are soaking wet.”

You can’t be mad at him when he drags you into the tub with him. “You love me when I’m soaking wet.” You smirk, running your fingers through his wet hair as he cradles your body in the tub.

“I do.” He growls playfully. “Because you get so wet for me.” Leaning in, Ezra bites your neck, his semi-hard cock getting harder underneath you as he runs his hands down to grab your ass.

You moan and turn your head to press your lips to his, groaning as his fingers dig into your flesh. “Ezra, my love.” You whimper, grinding down onto him and you grow wetter for him, wanting him to fuck you now that he’s home.

“You want some attention, little bird?” As tired as he is, he will never deny you. Wanting you as much as he needs to breathe. “Why don’t I show you what I was thinking about doing to you while I was working?” He grunts, pushing you up onto the edge of the tub and fighting with the wet material of your dress to reach your soaked and threadbare panties underneath.

You gasp when he rips the panties clean off of your body. You know you’d be annoyed at wasting one of the scarce pairs of panties you own if you weren’t so turned on. He tosses the wet material onto the floor and pushes your legs open, making you moan his name as his hands trail along your wet thighs. “Ez, please.” You beg him sweetly, needing to feel more of him. You never seem to get enough of him. When his tongue slides through your folds after he leans in towards your cunt, a low groan escapes your lips and his dark eyes meet yours when he starts his mission to make you cum on his tongue.

Every time he tastes you, Ezra becomes a little more obsessed. The musky, tangy taste of your cunt, mixed with the uniqueness of your skin tastes like the sweet cakes that were a treat on rare occasions. He grips your thighs, holding them open so he can lick deeper. Groaning into your folds as he devours you.

Your fingers find balance on the edge of the tub and you moan as his tongue slides through your folds and flicks over your clit. “Oh Ez.” You whimper, loving the way he groans into your flesh, vibrating against your clit. He gets better and better with each time he touches you. He was your first, not too long after the dance together at the hall when you proclaimed your love.

Ezra groans as he tries to write a sonnet into your cunt, his tongue the pen and your folds the paper. Loving how you just shake and moan for him. He slides his hands along your thigh, now clean from the grime and soot of the day to press two thick fingers inside you.

You moan, pushing his head deeper into your pussy as he laps at your clit, his fingers curling deep enough to make you whine his name and you rock your hips up into his face. “Shit, baby. I- it’s always so good.”

He grunts in response, wishing he could talk while he eats your cunt but he can only show you what he feels. Groaning as he curls his fingers up and pumps them in and out of you.

You pant, eyes closing as he pushes you over the edge. You clamp down on his fingers and cry out his name, your fingers tugging on his hair until your grip softens as you ride your orgasm. Pulling turning to running your fingers through his wet strands. “I love you, baby.” You murmur, blissed out.

“Love you too.” He promises, looking at you in adoration as he pulls his fingers out of you and smirks, feeling how wet they are with your juices. “Are you up to more, little bird?” As voracious as he is for you, he always checks to make sure you want sex after you cum.

You nod, shifting into the tub to straddle him, and you reach for your now soaked dress, dragging it off of your body and tossing it onto the floor where it plops. “I am always aching for more of you, baby.” You promise, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his cock.

Ezra groans, cock throbbing in your hand and he rocks his hips up. “Fuck, baby, I love the way you love my cock.” He pants softly. “Your touch burns me to my very soul.”

His words are always so poetic. Your heart thumps in your chest, and you shift up onto your knees so you can position yourself above his cock. The water is dirty but you don’t care as you start to sink down on him. He stretches you out but you take him so well after so many nights spent in each other’s arms. “I love you.” You murmur, caressing his cheeks as you take all of him inside of you.

“You are my sun and stars.” Ezra chokes out, closing his eyes as your cunt wraps around his cock. “The goddess that I worship, the only deity I will ever pray to, Kevva forgive me.” He hisses when you clench around him. “The light from which I draw my very existence from.”

You caress his cheeks down to his chest, feeling his heart thumping under your palm. Your pussy flutters around his cock as his hands slide along your spine. “My love.” You murmur, “you’re my world. This fucking planet won’t rule us. We will - we will conquer it.” You lean in to press your lips to his.

Ezra groans against your lips, feeling like he is the king of the world right now with you perched on his cock and vowing your love. He squeezes your ass and rocks you up, encouraging you to move. Desperate to feel you fall apart for him.

You whimper at the way he feels inside of you. Your first and last lover. You rock on top of him, gripping the sides of the tub for leverage as you want to see him fall apart beneath you. “Fuck. You feel so good inside of me, Ez.” You pant, clenching around him.

“That’s ’cause I’m yours.” Ezra pants out. “Completely yours. Always yours.” He is yours, his heart is so completely given to you, that he will do anything to make you happy and comfortable.

You love hearing him proclaim that he’s yours. You moan his name as he twitches inside of you, your fingers gripping the edge of the tub as you move faster, working yourself up to an orgasm.

You are so close. He has fucked you enough that he can tell by the way you moan. He leans down and pulls your nipple into his mouth and sucks harshly.

You moan his name again, one hand tangling in his hair as you rock a little faster. “Oh fuck baby.” You whine, so so close. He bites down on your nipple and it sends you over the edge. You cry out, eyes squeezed shut as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him while you shake above him.

Ezra moans your name, twitching inside you. So close to cumming himself from the sheer force of your walls contracting around him. “Fuck, fuck baby.” He grunts, gritting his teeth and holding you tighter and he starts to rock up into you frantically, spilling the dirty water onto the floor in his haste. “Fuck!” His strangled cry is cut off when he buries his cock deep to pump you full of his hot seed, thankful for the implant in your arms to keep you from having a child just yet.

You love the way he fills you up, making you relax above him, and you caress his neck as he twitches inside of you. A low groan escaping his lips as he kisses along your neck and you sigh in bliss. “Kevva, I love you.” You murmur, knowing you’ll be lost without him.

“I adore you. Worship you, bow down at the preverbal altar of your grace. Obsessed with you.” Ezra murmurs between kisses. “You are my purpose, little bird.” He promises. “Without you, I would be a floater, adrift and alone.”

You sigh, a smile on your face as you look at him in bliss. “I can’t wait to marry you, Ez.” You murmur and he pulls back to look at you, “any day now.” He promises, making your smile widen. You caress his cheeks and reach for the soap. “Now I gotta clean you up again.” You tease, lathering up your hands. Ezra chuckles and your heart clenches, filled with love.

****

You squeeze his hands as he looks at you with adoration, his mother’s ring on your finger as he says his vows. You had told him you didn’t care if you even had a ring, you simply wanted to be his wife, but he’d worked hard and his mother decided to give him her ring that she treasured after her husband was killed in the mines. His mother and your parents watch as you exchange vows and when you’re pronounced as husband and wife, you surge forward to press your lips to Ezra’s. He spins you and dips you while you kiss, making you gasp in shock then giggle against his lips. When he steadies you when you’re upright, you cup his cheek, “I can’t believe I’m your wife. Finally.”

“I have been blessed by Kevva.” Ezra hums, smiling like he has won the lottery. “I promise that we will be rich, little bird. We will not live and die on this miserable little rock for too much longer.”

You shake your head, “it - if it never happens, I won’t be upset because I have you, my love. As long as I have you.” You promise, and he nods, but you don’t see the look in his eyes. The determination. Your parents come over to congratulate you until the officiant gets you over to sign your marriage certificate, the company logo on the stamp. They even own your marriage. You don’t hesitate to sign, wanting to belong to Ezra, not giving a shit about the company. You will both work hard to achieve the impossible, no matter what it takes.

****

“Mongrel, fucking Jack-knifed thieving, sons of cunts!” Ezra slams the door opened, scowling fiercely as he throws the pail that you pack his lunches on across the room. Startling you so much that you jump from where you are studying for an exam, but he doesn’t pay that any mind as he starts to pace. “Ezra! What’s-“

Ezra growls, shoving a dirty hand through his hair. “They’ve cut the value of the fucking mineral.” He hisses. “Down to about a quarter of what it was. Now you need to mine three times as much to keep the same fucking credits coming in.” He stops in the middle of the floor, utterly defeated. “They ain’t lowering their credits for shit, though, greedy bastards.”

Your eyes widen, “they haven’t! They - oh Kevva.” You feel a little sick. How are you going to pay for the house? How will you eat? The company owns everything, even your marriage. You shake your head, “baby. I- oh Kevva.” You stand up and walk over to him, cupping his cheeks.

Ezra feels defeated. “We’ve got to get off this rock.” He tells you, his tone flat. “They’re gonna kill us, work us to our graves if we don’t.” His mother has already passed, just two weeks ago, slowly withering away from the dust in her lungs after a lifetime here. “They are bleeding us of our very marrow, little bird.”

“What can we do, Ez?” You ask him hopelessly, shaking your head. You feel defeated, like you’re never going to get away from the company that owns you. “I- I am nearly done with my degree. Once I have that I can apply for a job off planet and then we can leave here.”

“We won’t make it until then.” Ezra has crunched the number and crunched the numbers after hearing the announcement. “I’m going to see if there’s something that can be done.” He decides, looking you in the eyes. “Whatever it takes.”

You look at him, shaking your head again in despair and you know he will do what it takes to make sure you survive. “I know, baby.” You murmur, staring out of the window at the smog.

“I’m gonna shower and change.” Ezra tells you. “Don’t worry about dinner, little bird.” He reaches up and chucks your chin lovingly. “I’ll be home too late to eat.”

You smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Have a good time with Jasper.” You tell him, knowing he needs a night out with his friend to relax. “I’ll be waiting for you.” You wink and he smirks.

****

You glance over at the clock, a frown on your face at how late it is. You’re worried about Ezra. Worried that something has happened to him. You bite your lip, shifting in your bed as you wait for your husband to get home. You usually wouldn’t stay up so late to wait for him but it’s way past the time he said he’d be home.

Ezra frowns into his glass of liquor, it's more credits that he doesn't have, but luckily it's cheaper than most. "I just don't understand what these blood-sucking mongers expect from us." He grumbles, not for the first time. "Gotta get off this heap." He tells his best friend. "Need credits to get away. Me and little bird."

Jasper sighs, shaking his head as he sips the whiskey that cost a whole day of work. “I don’t know how you’re gonna do it, man. They have us by the short and curlies. Everything we make, we put back into their pocket and we don’t get nothing for the back breaking work. This fuckin’ planet is killin’ us and - and I want you to get off of this shit rock, brother. You and your lady deserve it.” Jasper finishes just as Dotty comes over to the bar, her cleavage pronounced as she leans against the sticky counter. “Fancy seeing you here, Ezra.” She coos, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"Hey, Dotty." Ezra mumbles, finding it hard not to be annoyed at the appearance of one of the richest people on the fucking planet. Her family held more credits than the entire workforce of miners here combined. It was un-fucking-fair. "What are you doing slumming it here with all the 'ner do wells?" He snorts before he takes a sip of his drink.

She giggles, “decided to come here and see if I could find someone to entertain me for the night.” She says, her eyes flirtatious as she trails them along Ezra’s form. “I haven’t had any offers…yet.” She smirks, “but I would turn them all away if I knew I could have you.”

Dotty has been less than inconspicuous in her attempts at cajoling Ezra into her bed. He shakes his head and sends her a rueful grin. “Married, Dot. Remember?” He tells you, wishing he could afford a ring for himself to hold up to signify his married status. Hell, he couldn't even afford you a ring. The only reason you had one was because of someone giving up their own token. “You could have any guy here. Why would you lower yourself to settle on me?”

Dotty scoffs, “married…to that nobody. I could make you somebody here, handsome. You’d be the king of the planet. I want you, Ezra. And I’m willing to pay to have you in my bed. Ten thousand credits. All you have to do is give me one night.” She says, fluttering her eyelashes to make herself look more enticing while she’s trying to bribe Ezra into fucking her.

Ten thousand credits. Ezra’s eyes widen at the amount Dotty is willing to pay. It would be enough to move off planet with you. To get away. Still, he shakes his head, “I’m afraid I will have to decline such a generous offer.” He tells her. Looking down at his drink he sighs.

Dotty pouts at the man who just turned down her offer but his friend nods in admiration. “Whatever. It’s your loss.” She says and struts off to sit back down at her table with her equally rich cousin. Jasper shakes his head, “I admire you for turning down the offer, Ez. Not many men would turn down a free night with Dotty, let alone one they are being paid for. Good for you. I gotta get back, my lady has been having trouble getting to sleep without me there. I’ll see you on Monday, my friend.” Jasper slaps Ezra on the shoulder and pays his tab, leaving the bar. “Check, please.” Ezra asks the bartender who nods, setting down the check that is more than Ezra expected it to be.

“How the hell is it this much?” Ezra frowns at the paper, wondering how the hell he is going to pay this. “It’s three times more than it should be!” The bartender shrugs. “Prices went up.” He tells Ezra, who growls and balls up the tab. He doesn’t have this kind of money. The credits in his pocket needed to pay for the food bill at the store. “Kevva forsaken mother fuckers.” He hisses, rubbing a hand through his hair.

Dotty sways her hips as she comes back over to the bar, seeing Ezra’s frustrations. “Put it on my tab.” She says, knowing Ezra can’t afford the new prices her father approved for the liquor. She doesn’t necessarily agree with her father’s plans to bleed his workers dry but she benefits from it, able to buy whatever she wants. She goes off planet to shop and for education. Ezra shakes his head, about to protest but she leans in, her cleavage pushed even higher. “Come on, handsome. I know my daddy’s quotas are killing you. I know you want to leave this place. Take my offer. Kevva, I’ll double it. Twenty thousand credits for one night. I just want to experience you, your cock. I won’t mention a word of it. One night and you and your little rag doll are free from this place.” She offers with a smirk on her lips.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but the offer is almost enough. “Thirty thousand.” He levels her a dirty look. “If I’m going to tarnish my vows to my wife, it needs to be worth it. Let me take her off world and give her whatever she desires.”

Dotty nods, a sly smirk on her face as she holds her hand out towards Ezra. “We have a deal, baby.” She coos and squeezes his hand when he reluctantly holds it out. She can see the hesitation in his eyes but she knows she can win him over with money and with sex. She just needs a night to prove to him that she’s better than you. Her daddy can cancel your marriage as easily as a signature. Then she can marry Ezra and have her happy ending. You’ll be nothing when she’s done with him. “Let’s go, handsome. Tab is paid.” The bartender nods and she grabs her purse, “you ready to come home with me?”

Ezra wants to say no, but he tells himself that he is doing this for you. For your future. He knows that there is no way he would ever get that kind of money together. “One night.” He reminds her. “And you give me the credits before.” He feels slightly dirty, basically selling himself.

Dotty nods and takes his hand as she guides him out of the bar with a smirk on her face. She’s going to get what she wants. Finally.

****

You look over at the clock, worried about Ezra. You haven’t slept and he hasn’t come home. You tried calling Jasper but there was no answer. You tried calling the bar. No one is answering and you’re terrified something bad has happened to your husband. You swallow down your tears as you try to hold yourself together, wondering if he ended up sleeping at Jasper’s but why wouldn’t he call you to check in? You give up on sleep and get out of bed, heading into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. You pick up the tin of grounds and choke when you discover it’s empty. You toss it down on the counter, a sob escaping your lips just as the front door opens and Ezra walks in. Your eyes widen and you rush over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Oh baby. I was so worried. I thought something had happened to you.”

Ezra is exhausted and feeling guilty, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tight. “I’m fine, little bird.” He promises, pulling away and smiling at you in delight. “Go and pack your things, we are leaving this festering pile of refuse and never looking back.” He pulls out the wad of credits that Dotty had given him, all thirty thousand of them and shows you. “Our luck has changed.”

Your eyes widen at the credits in his hand. “Where - how did you get this?” You ask, confused and concerned that he sold something or did something reckless to more credits than you could earn in ten years. “What - where have you been?” You question, confusion etched into your features as you stare at your husband, not moving from your spot.

“Little bird, I assure you that nothing was done without the most noble of intentions.” He placates. “I was offered the sum in exchange for my time.” He’s not telling you the entire truth, but it’s better that you not know. It would upset you and you wouldn’t understand that it was merely physical for Ezra. He had not even cared about his own satisfaction and had to think of you to even cum.

Your frown deepens, “your time? You- you’ve been out all night. No one has a job in the middle of the night? Unless it’s…unless you whored yourself out.” You joke, chuckling but he doesn’t laugh with you, his eyes a little pained. “Wait…you didn’t - Ezra?” You question, feeling your chest tighten.

Ezra shuffles slightly, feeling that sense of dread harden in his stomach. “We would never have escaped here. They are killing us.” He tells you adamantly. “I was offered ten thousand and it wasn’t enough. Not enough to give you, us, the start somewhere else that we deserve.” He steps towards you and hates when you step back. “Little bird….I did this for us.”

You shake your head, feeling sick, "who did you - Dotty. Tell me it wasn't Dotty." You plead despite knowing deep down it's the truth. She's the woman who has always wanted your husband and she has that kind of money.

“It doesn’t matter. I promise you, little bird, nothing that transpired meant anything to me.” He still won’t come out and say it. “All that matters is that you and I can leave, to create a life for ourselves together.”

Your eyes widen at his thinly veiled confession and you feel sick. You shake your head, “nnn-no. I- oh Kevva. You - you and Dotty.” You choke, turning from him and you shrug him off when he touches your shoulder. “Little bird, please-” You shake your head and turn to look him in the eye. “Get out. Now. Get the fuck out!” You scream, shoving his chest. Your heart breaking in your own.

Ezra feels defeated, broken. Giving up so much of himself for you. You just need time, you will see why he sacrificed himself. “I-I’ll go.” He steps back, dropping the credits on the ground. “You will understand why I acted on the offer when the weight of their wants crush us.” He vows, turning around and walking out. He needs to plan your exit from this place, that will give you time to cool down.

You stare at him as he walks out and when the door shuts behind him, you collapse to the floor, sobs leaving your lips. You’re devastated. He cheated on you for money. He cheated on you with Dotty. You sob until your head hurts and you curl into a ball, numb from the pain of Ezra’s betrayal. It’s more than you can bear. You don’t care about the money, you would live under a bridge if you were with Ezra. Nothing mattered but loving him.

Everyone he knows is at work, toiling away. He walks along the empty streets towards the transport office. Wanting to reserve two seats on the next shuttle off planet. Wondering why you are acting like this? He had told you he would do whatever it took to provide for you, and now he’s done it. He’s given you a way off this miserable heap.

You sniff as you gather yourself, not wanting Dotty to defeat you completely. You wipe your eyes as you fold your laundry, wondering what underwear Dotty wears. Nicer ones than you, that’s for sure. You don’t look up as the door opens and Ezra walks in. You don’t look at him, continuing to fold the laundry. “I got us two tickets for tomorrow. We leave first thing to the Pug.” He says, “then we can figure out where to go from there.” You don’t answer. “You going to start packing?” He asks, his voice cutting through you enough that you turn to look at him. “I’m not going with you.”

“What? Of course you are.” Ezra scoffs, waiting for you to tell him that you are joking. “Little bird, this has been our dream. To leave this place and now we are.” His frown deepens when you turn back to folding the threadbare clothes that are more patches than original material. “Come on.” He rushes over and grabs the panties you are folding. “We don’t have time for this shit.”

You snap, “this shit? I have always wanted to leave this place but - but not like this. Not because you fucked another woman. I don’t - it’s not the right way, Ezra. I wanted us to leave together knowing we worked hard to get out. You- you betrayed me. You broke our vows. I love you but I can’t go with you. Not like this.” You choke, tears stinging in your eyes.

“You have to come.” Ezra snaps back. “I did this for you! You think I wanted to touch her? To climb into her bed? No, never, but I couldn’t afford our next rent payment!” He bellows, throwing the panties down and venting his frustrations. “I would not see you starving or begging, so I did what I had to do to provide for you! Just like I vowed to!”

You toss another pair of underwear at him. “You cheated on me, Ez! You touched another woman. You broke our vows. You - you betrayed me. You have ruined our marriage. I would rather starve. I’d rather beg. Knowing I have you, completely, that I’m yours and you’re mine. That’s all that mattered. We would be together no matter what we faced but you destroyed that. You fucked another woman!” You scream at him, “you destroyed us!”

“You think I wanted her? That I enjoyed myself?” Ezra snorts. “I sacrificed my body to give you the life that you could never have without that.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I love you, little bird. I love you so much that I did something repugnant for you, for us. I know you are mad, but this place is killing me. I nearly died three days ago, I feel like I’m expiring every time I descend into that mine. Leave with me.” He begs, his face turning to one of desperation. “Please, my love, my goddess, please.”

You choke on a sob, knowing that this is the end. You can never trust him again. Even if you forgive him. “I- I can’t, Ez. I can’t. You - you betrayed me. I can’t trust you anymore. Even if I forgive you, I could never trust you again.” You tell him, reaching up to slide his mother’s ring off of your fingers. Walking over to him, you grab his hand and gently place the ring in his palm, turning his fingers over it to keep it secure.

“Don’t do this.” Ezra chokes out. “Please- Don’t- you don’t want-“ he drops the ring to the floor and stumbles back. “I’m leaving.” He tells you. “Tomorrow. You- you’ll change your mind.” He nods, looking around the little company owned house frantically. “I know you will. You love me and I love you. That’s all that matters.” He scoops up some of the credits and shoves them in his pocket. “I- I’ll give you tonight to think about this. To let you cool down more.” He looks at you and there’s a strange light in his eyes, like he’s unable to face reality. “You’ll be there.” He tells himself and turns to walk out again.

You know he won’t accept you breaking up with him, but he has to. You can’t leave with him. You swallow harshly, shaking your head as he shuts the door behind him and you pick up the ring and the credits, wanting to keep them for him to take tomorrow. You have nearly finished your degree, only a few weeks left. Once that’s done, you’ll move off planet and make a new start. Without your husband. You wipe your tears, wondering if Ezra will change his mind on leaving or if he’s gone forever. You won’t be there to meet him at the station.

****

Ezra waits. His leg is bouncing as he watches the door of the terminal. He’s biting his lip and praying to Kevva to see your figure dash through the lobby in search of him. Needing to have you with him. “Sir?” He turns his head to find an attendant giving him a small smile. “I’m afraid the transport is calling for final boarding.” She explains and he swallows harshly. “I’m coming.” He says, standing up and looking back at the door one last time. You aren’t here and he can’t wait another week for the next transport. With a heavy heart, Ezra turns and walks away, heading for the transport off planet and away from the woman he loves.

You stare out of the window, the transporter lifting into the air and disappearing into the smog above. You close your eyes, knowing Ezra is on it. He’s left the planet, he’s left you. You know it’s for the best but your heart breaks.

****

“We have a patient. It’s an emergency.” You hear your name and look up at your matron, setting down your drink and you stand up, brushing down your scrubs. You rush down the hall of the Pug hospital to the room where the patient is and storm in, ready to assist. “He’s severely dehydrated and is missing an arm. It’s been removed poorly. He has sepsis. We need to move fast before he is beyond saving.” The other nurse tells you and you nod, pulling on gloves as you come over to the patient. You don’t recognize him at first, he’s older and looks haggard but you know that scar on his cheek. The one he got as a kid when he was in a fight because someone stole his lunch. “Ezra.” You gasp, knowing your husband despite it being so many years.

Ezra fever is climbing, sweat covering his body and he knows it’s a hallucination. “Little bird.” He croaks out, eyes bloodshot and fixed on you for a moment before they roll back in his head. His body slumps and alarms start to blare from where he was hooked up to monitors. “Save him!” Cee rushes into the room, her face almost panicked as she imagines losing the man who had protected her and she had also protected.

“Get her in the waiting room.” You demand and one of the other nurses takes Cee away, murmuring to her. Your heart is pounding as you fight to keep Ezra alive. Calling out to the others to get you what you need as you work to resuscitate him. “Don’t give up. Don’t you dare go like this.” You hiss at him as you pump his chest.

Adrift, Ezra is back where he always dreams of when he is happy, lonely, hurt or scared - in your arms. "I love you, little bird." He coos, kissing your lips again and again as he sighs. Feeling almost nothing but the supreme bliss of your love as you stroke his back and sides as you beam up at him. "I love you." You whisper back, making his heart thump with joy.

You panic, working hard to save him and when he stabilizes, you exhale shakily and continue working to save his life. When he’s stable and put into a private room at your request, you caress his cheek. The machines beep and reassure you he’s alive as you stare at the man you’ve always loved, even when you hated him. “Where have you been?” You ask, wondering where he has been spending his time. After he left your home planet, you realized you loved him more than any one mistake. Understanding that he did it for you, for your life together. Even if you were hurt and upset, you left the next week on the very next transporter to try and find him at the Pug but there was no sign of him. That was strands ago and you gave up trying to find your husband. His mother’s ring is on a chain around your neck, close to your heart. You don’t notice the girl coming into the room with your colleague until it’s too late and you pull your hand away.

"Do you know him?" Cee asks, her eyes focused on Ezra as he sleeps and then she looks back at you. "I- we- are you his daughter?" You ask, horrified that he might have fathered a child with someone when he left. Anything was possible. "No." The girl laughs and shakes her head. "He saved my life." She tells her. "After he killed my father. Or maybe it was when he did?" She tells you. "I'm Cee."

You are confused, trying to keep up with her story. You tell her your name, “I’m - I am Ezra’s wife. We are from the same planet. He left after - well, it’s a long story.” You sigh, eyes drifting to his arm. “What happened to his arm?” You ask the girl, wondering if she has the answer.

"I shot him." She admits, biting her lip. "After he killed my father. He came to the Pod. Trying to leave the Green. I was scared and I shot him. It festered and I had to cut off his arm."

You nod, understanding that she must’ve been scared. Ezra looks so weathered, a man who fought hard to survive and that upsets you. You should’ve been there beside him. “Kevva.” You murmur to yourself, sliding your hand down to take his in yours. Wanting to feel connected to him while you can until he wakes up and hates you for not meeting him that day. You’d confronted Dotty after Ezra left, returning her money, and she told you that it took some convincing to get Ezra into her bed. That he had moaned your name when he came. That’s what made you follow him.

“His wife.” Cee frowns and bites her lip. “He- everything we had was left on the Green.” She tells you quietly. “His case of aurelac. I couldn’t go back and get it. I almost couldn’t get him into the transport.” She admits, remembering how worried she had been. “I’m sorry. But- he- he protected me. Told me to leave him, but I couldn’t.”

You inhale sharply, “he nearly - oh Ez.” You sigh, leaning in to press your lips to his forehead. His monitors continue to beep and you are reassured that he’s okay for now. Cee watches you, “he mentioned you. Said he wanted to get the Aurelac to get credits the right way. Go back and find you.” She says and your throat tightens, “I- Kevva.” You shake your head at the time you’ve lost with him.

Ezra can hear you. The sweet cadence of your voice is nearly a faint memory at this point. The last time he had heard your voice was that horrible day where he had ruined his life. Nothing had much damn meaning since leaving the mining world, and you, behind. He had lied, cheated, stolen, killed and literally fucked in his vain attempts to earn enough credits to come back and win your acceptance back. Never really making enough to do that just now, he’s utterly failed. So it’s fitting that you are haunting his dreams, enticing him with the treasure he had once had in you and never would again.

Your shift ends but you don’t go home, sitting at his bedside while Cee sleeps in the chair in the corner. You think about the years you’ve lost together, the life you could’ve shared if you’d followed him off planet. You were younger, in love, and devastated by his betrayal. A betrayal he made to secure a better life for you. He sacrificed himself for you and your marriage, even if he tossed your vows aside. Now you’re older, more experienced, and you understand why he did it. The desperation he was feeling. You forgave him a long time ago, but you’ve never forgiven yourself for not going with him, for abandoning your husband. You hold his hand, listening to the machines beep, waiting for him to wake up.

The dust had taken its toll on Ezra, the nearly pure oxygen pumping through the breathing tubes in his nose helping to clear the buildup inside him. He had been trapped down on the Green for a long time before stumbling upon Damon and Cee. Now his body heals, sleeping heavily as it tries to heal itself. Feeling a squeeze on his hand every now and then, making him twitch slightly and he finally sighs softly, mumbling your name.

Your eyes widen, swearing you heard your name from his lips, and you lean in towards him. “Ezra, my love. I want you to wake up for me now.” You murmur, caressing his forehead and brushing his hair back, that signature blonde piece making your heart twist at the memories of playing with it when you were together.

You are calling to him. The sleep is trying to drag him back under, but he fights it, wanting to be with you. His eyes start to move under his lids and he groans quietly. “Come with me.” He begs, back in that little row house on the mining planet he was born on. “I love you. I’m sorry. I can never express my regret.” He whimpers in his sleep.

Your eyes widen at his sleepy confession, your heart pounding in your chest, and tears sting in your eyes. “I know. I know, my darling. I just need you to wake up for me now. Let me see those gorgeous eyes. The eyes that haunt me. Please.” You beg with a whimper, wanting to see him, to know he’s okay.

“Little bird?” His eyes flutter open slowly. Heavy and closing again only for him to try again. “Have I expired?” He croaks out softly when he catches sight of you and then his eyes close again. Battling them to see his beloved wife. “I must be in heaven if I am reunited with you.”

He hums. “Though I surely am deserving of hell.”

You shake your head, “you have survived. You’re alive. Just open your eyes and see.” You urge, squeezing his hand, “I want to look at you, baby.” You are relieved that he is alive, and he seems dazed but not delusional.

Finally, Ezra’s eyes open clearly. Confused for a moment before he looks at you and his mouth opens, no words coming out save for your name.

You smile at him, a soft, loving smile as relief floods through you at how clear his gaze looks, no longer clouded by infection. “Hi.” You murmur, squeezing his hand as he becomes more lucid.

“You-“ he looks over to see Cee curled up, asleep in a chair in the corner and the past few stands come rushing back to him. “I-“ his head snaps to the right and he sees the bandaged stump of his right arm. “How are you here?” He manages after a shocked moment.

You caress his cheek, “I am a nurse here. I got the job after you left. I- I tried to follow you. Gave the money back to Dotty except the ticket and left the planet to find you but by the time I got here, you were already gone.” You confess, pulling your hand away, realizing he could hate you, or think you still hate him.

“You- you followed me?” He asks, frowning slightly. “I left the Pug almost immediately, finding work as a Prospector.”

“A prospector?” You gasp, glancing over at Cee and she mentioned aurelac. Being a prospector is a certain death. More dangerous than the mines. The prospecting planets are dangerous - both from nature and from humans. The way they would kill and plunder their way through each other. “Why did you become a prospector?” You choke, thanking Kevva he’s still alive, even if he’s worse for wear.

He chuckles, a dark, raspy sound. “It became apparent that my liaison with Dotty not only cost me the love of my life, but my reputation.” He huffs, still miffed by her retribution for leaving. “It has seemed she was hoping amongst hopes that you would leave me, which you did, but I did not fall into her arms in despair like she had anticipated. Her father trashed my name, prospecting was the only work I could garner that could possibly earn a fortune.”

Your eyes widen at how far Dotty was willing to go to get what she wanted. You shake your head, tempted to return to your home planet to teach her a lesson but instead, you squeeze his hand. “Ezra.” You whisper, guilty for what he’s endured when you sent him away. Cee blinks as she opens her eyes, having kept them closed to listen to your conversation. “You also did it to win her back. You told me you wanted to return with enough riches to win your wife back.” Cee says and you look at Ezra, “is that true?”

“Little bird, I must extend my most humble of apologies.” He looks away from you and over to Cee. “Like your daydreams of the heroine in your book, my daydreams of being reunited with my love has been the fuel to keep me going.” He explains. “The light in the darkness and the unattainable goal that I have tasked myself with.” He squeezes your hand gently and finally looks into your eyes again. “No matter how much folly must be overcome.”

You stare at him in shock, those dark brown eyes you’d dream of, the gaze you’d longed for on lonely nights until your anger took hold of your heart again. Seeing him now, looking at you with enough regret for a hundred lifetimes, your heart breaks at the years you’ve lost together. “Ezra, my darling. I’m so sorry.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

Ezra closes his eyes, knowing that you are placating him for the sake of the girl. He doesn’t know what Cee has told you about his relatively short friendship with her. “You have not done a thing to cause regret, little bird.” He whispers, “other than perhaps once loving the scoundrel who battered your heart to pieces by his untamed greed.” He sighs. “Now that greed has turned him into a useless wretch, better for little more than fodder on the Green.”

You sigh, caressing his cheek, “hush now. You need to rest. Once you are cleared to go home, you’ll come back with me. You too.” You turn to look at Cee, unwilling to leave the girl to fend for herself. You have a nice place here on the Pug. It’s small but it’s yours, unlike the shack you lived in on your home planet that was owned by the company. “Just relax for now, Ez. You need to rest and heal.”

****

It had taken some convincing, but Ezra had finally given in to your demand that he come home with you. Mainly for Cee. The poor girl had nowhere to go, the traders unwilling to even consider a deal for the craft she had piloted in. He would heal until he could get her settled and then he would figure out what he will do next.

You set his satchel down and Cee walks into your apartment, smiling at the decor. “This is awesome.” She says, unable to remember walking into a place that felt so much like home. “There’s two bedrooms. Down the hall to the left is yours, Cee.” You tell her, pointing down the hall. You did have a roommate - a girl from the hospital who has since gotten married - and you got a promotion to afford the entire place to yourself after she moved out. Cee rushes down the hall with her bag, and you walk across the living room to the other door. “Ezra, this is your room.” You tell him, opening your bedroom door to him. He turns to look at you with a frown, “where are you sleeping?” He asks and you jerk your chin over to the sofa. “On the sofa.” He shakes his head but you stop him protesting, “it’s more comfortable than our bed back home. I’ll be fine. You need rest. You need to be comfortable.”

“I am not taking your room, little bird.” He tells you with a frown. “I have already committed so many sins against you, I would not add another to my blackened soul.”

You sigh, knowing how stubborn he can be. How convincing he can be to get his way when he wants to. “We are adults. We can share a bed.” You declare, knowing you’ll end up on the sofa after he’s asleep but at least you’re giving him the illusion that he’s not pushing you out of your bed. He needs to heal and to heal, he needs to be relaxed.

“You don’t want to share a bed with me.” He scoffs, eyes cast towards the door that Cee had disappeared through. “The sofa you have looks better than the last ten places I’ve slept.”

You huff, "Ezra. You aren't going on the fucking sofa. Just take the damn bed." You demand, "I know what it takes to heal. Listen to me for once in your life." You growl, growing tired of his martyrdom.

Your comment hits him where it hurts and his eyes shutter. “Whatever you say is best.” He murmurs, turning to shuffle into the bedroom that is your space. It will be torment for him, his own special kind of hell where he is surrounded by you and yet you are still so far away.

You prepare dinner for Ezra and Cee while they settle in. Unsure of how to feel now that Ezra is in your home and on his way to being healed. You stir the pasta as Ezra enters the tiny kitchen, his shirt sleeve hanging down and your stomach twists at his missing limb. A shadow of the vivacious man you married. “I made your favorite…I - I don’t know if it’s still your favorite.” You add, looking at him from the stove.

“It has been a long time since I’ve eaten that particular cuisine.” He admits. “Since the last time you made it for me. I have mainly lived off bits bars and packaged protein pouches.”

You hate hearing that but you remind yourself that he got himself in that situation by breaking your wedding vows. He’s still technically your husband unless Dotty had her father sign away your marriage. You wouldn’t be surprised. You offer him a small smile, “hopefully it’s as good as it used to be.”

“I’m sure it will be.” Ezra murmurs softly. “You have always been able to create culinary art with simple ingredients. Shame the devil, you were a better cook than my poor mother.”

You shake your head, “your mama was a damn good cook.” You remember when she would bring food over for you and Ezra when you first moved in together. You gesture to the table and call for Cee to come and get some dinner. It’s a quiet event but Cee fills the space with a ramble about her new school. You smile at her, liking her positivity in life despite the hand she was dealt and you enjoy the small groans that escape Ezra’s lips as he eats his dinner. “Good?” You ask him, hoping he likes it.

“Ambrosia.” His eyes flutter closed and he savors the food, memories of past meals just like this come flooding back. Reminding him of what he had at one point. Especially because eating with his left hand is harder than he would have expected. Leaning back, he swallows the bite and groans. “It’s just like I remembered. Maybe even more delicious.”

You watch him struggle with his left hand but don’t try to help him, knowing he would be frustrated and lash out. “I already arranged for you to have physical therapy to help you adjust to your left hand.” You tell him and he doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t argue so you take that as a victory. Cee compliments your food and helps you clean the dishes while Ezra has a shower. Cee bids you goodnight not long after you finish drying so you decide to go into your bedroom to see if Ezra needs help. He does. He struggles to pull his underwear up his legs and you find him in the bedroom struggling to put his t-shirt on. “Here.” You say, “let me help.” You reach out to gently pull the shirt over his head and his dark eyes meet yours.

“Why are you helping me?” He demands. “You should leave me to struggle. I would deserve it for what I did. What I put you through.” He admits. “If you think that my betrayal with Dotty was bad, I have committed even more sins after becoming so adrift by myself.” He snorts. “I became a floater, without an anchor.”

You stare at him, letting him rant for a moment. “Then you clearly forget who I am, Ez. I would never leave you to struggle when you need me. You might’ve discarded our vows but I promised to stand by you in sickness and in health. I don’t care what sins you committed after you left, that’s for your soul to carry but I’m here to be your wife, even if you don’t want me to be.”

“You told me to leave.” Ezra reminds you bitterly. “My momma’s ring in my hand, fresh from your finger.” He shakes his head. “I do not wish to have you mistake your pity for some kind of misguided duty.” Even though he had wanted to win you back, he had always thought of it as impossible. Refusing to believe you would want to be with him in any true sense after that day.

You narrow your eyes at him, “I told you to leave because you broke my heart. You broke our vows for credits. I- I didn’t understand it. Then you left and I spent days just wondering what I did wrong until I came across Dotty and she told me you could barely get hard for her. That you moaned my name when you came. She might’ve had your body but I had your heart, your desire, your mind. That’s why I decided to follow you but by the time I got here, you were gone. I never stopped loving you. It’s always been you in my heart. Only you.” You promise, “even if you don’t believe me, I want you to know that.” You murmur, stepping back from him.

“Little bird….I cannot claim that I have not had other affairs, other physical encounters.” He admits, frowning slightly at the idea that he might hurt you further. “When I left that world, I was broken. Convinced that my love, my entire heart, hated me. I have lived as if I was unmarried, but never once, in all the encounters I have had, has someone even touched my heart.” He huffs slightly and gives you a sad smile. “It’s hard for someone to steal something that isn’t mine to bequeath them. Not when I left it behind in your hands.”

You sigh and nod softly, “I haven’t been without my own encounters, Ez. I wasn’t going to sit around and pretend like I’d find you again and everything would be like it was. I- I’ve had my share of physical encounters here on the Pug but no one has had my heart. I’m certain that Dotty had our marriage annulled by her father the morning after you slept with her because my name on the transport was my maiden name in the system. Our vows weren’t broken anymore than they already were.” You promise, “we have both lived our lives to survive.”

His heart clenches and he nods. “She was diabolical enough to do just such a thing.” He growls, hating that he had ever known the bitch. “If I could change things, I would have never entertained the idea, let alone done it.” He murmurs. “I’ve lost so much, but my greatest regret was losing you.”

You reach up to cup his cheek, “baby. Baby. I- I love you. I forgave you long ago. I understand why you did it. Now I understand what you did was for us. I was betrayed, I was hurt. I was devastated that you broke our vows. You didn’t want to - I know that you didn’t want to touch her. I love you, Ez. No one has ever held a candle to you.” You murmur, shaking your head.

It’s an absolution he never thought he would receive, one he never deserved in his mind once he had worked through his righteous anger. He had betrayed you, even though he was doing the only thing he could at the time to try to improve your situation. It had ended up costing him everything. “I-“ he breaks down, closing his eyes and whimpering out a sob of relief. You said you love him, not past tense, but that you still do. “I adore you, little bird. Always.”

You pull him close to wrap your arms around him, his one arm pulling you close as he sobs into your neck. You can tell he’s been through so much. “Let’s get some rest, my darling. You need to sleep.” You murmur, rubbing his back as he calms down.

He’s uncharacteristically meek as you lead him towards the bed, exhausted from the emotional outburst and the relief that you no longer hate him. He sits down when you draw the covers back. “I could have had the fortune.” He murmurs softly, frowning. “But I would have had to trade Cee to the Saters on the Green.” He looks up at you sorrowfully. “I couldn’t do that. Not to that little girl.”

You caress his cheek, “you might think you’re a monster but deep down, you’re a good man. The man I married is a good man. You did what you felt was right and you didn’t make the same mistake twice. You saved her. She saved you. She will always have a home with us if she wants to.” You promise him, pushing him back towards the bed.

Your approval is all that matters to him. Leaning back and closing his eyes with a sigh. “I’m sorry you have to deal with me.” He murmurs. “Useless now. Can’t barely dress myself.”

You chuckle, “in sickness and in health, baby.” You pull the covers over him and lean in to kiss his forehead, “you’ll get better. You just need to figure out how to do everything left-handed. It will take time but you’ll get there.” You murmur, standing back up.

“Stay.” He pleads softly, those dark eyes burning into you. You hesitate for a second, knowing this is crossing a line you can’t come back from but you don’t care. You nod, silently agreeing as you make your way into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

He knows that you’ve been sleeping on the couch. You’ve always conveniently had to do things until he’s fallen asleep and that side was never disturbed. Now, he watches the bathroom, feeling like it’s the first night you’ve ever spent together, even though physical intimacy isn’t on the table. When you come back out, Ezra sighs, “Birdie, you are still the most gorgeous creature I have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.”

You fluster under his dark stare and his praise. "The years haven't always been kind to me." You confess and shift to lay down on the bed, getting under the sheets. "I have missed my best friend." You murmur, shifting closer to him.

Ezra opens his lone arm, offering you the place against his side that you always preferred. “I have missed you with every beat of my heart and every labored breath I have taken since we were parted.” He promises, pleased when you shuffle closer and lay your head on his shoulder. “I should have never left you. Despite what sins I committed. I should have stayed and groveled at your feet.”

You sigh, reaching up to rub your fingers through his hair. “It’s - it’s the past now, my love. Let’s move forward. I only want to think about the future. I want you to promise me that we only think about the future from now on.” You murmur, sliding your hand down to caress his cheek, tracing the scar on his skin, and your eyes flick up to his. His eyes meet yours and you slowly lean in to softly press your lips to his.

It’s the most gentle kiss Ezra has had since the last one he shared with you. Unable to kiss anyone else with the same tenderness, he melts at the small amount of pressure and slowly tilts his head to deepen it, wanting more of you almost immediately.

You deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue against his lower lip and he grants you access, making you moan into his mouth. He groans softly and his hand cups the back of your head as you kiss him.

Just this one kiss has Ezra aching for you. Already starting to harden in his boxers despite it being the first erection since being injured on the Green. Wishing that he had both of his arms to hold you with.

You feel how eager he is for you, pressing against your hip, and you can't pull back. If you were sensible, you'd pull away and take a moment to process but it's been years since you were with your husband and all you want is to hear him moan again. You throw your leg over his hip, grinding against him, getting wetter in your sleep shorts with each kiss he presses to your lips.

“Fuck.” Ezra hisses into your mouth, bucking his hips up as you grind down. You are so sexy, so perfect and all he can think about is how long it has been since he has tasted you. “I-“ he pulls away from your lips and starts to kiss down your throat. “Let me apologize to you with the skill of my tongue.” He begs you. “I cannot do everything I used to, but my face will make a divine perch for your wonderfully little cunt.”

You gasp against his hair as he kisses your neck. "Kevva, Ez. I don't want to hurt you." You murmur and he pulls back, shaking his head. "Little bird, you could never hurt me enough to pay for the agony I caused you." He declares and you hesitate for a second before you nod. You shift back and sit up, removing your tank top to expose your tits to his hungry gaze. Your shorts are next and you are soon straddling Ezra's chest. "Tell me if I am hurting you." You demand, lifting your hips and shuffling forward until you hover over his face.

He won’t breathe a word about it, never. Not when he has caused you so much strife. But your thighs are away from his arms and you don’t touch the remaining portion of his right arm, so Ezra is fine. Especially when he can gaze on your cunt like a long denied treat. “Kevva, you smell the same.” He groans, inhaling your scent. “All my favorite meals are available for me to dine on tonight.” He huffs proudly before lunging forward to slide his tongue between your lips.

Your hips lower a little more to allow him better access to your pussy and your hands find security on the headboard. His name a breathless moan from your lips as he eats you like a man who was starving for weeks. Perhaps that is accurate, he was starved on the Green. Of affection. Of a home. Of real food. "Fuck." You pant, rocking down onto his face as you relax into the pleasure.

Your moans are urging him on. Recalling your taste and gorging himself on it, on your sounds as he licks and sucks on the tender little clit that has always been so sensitive for him. His cock throbs but he would die a happy man, right here with his tongue buried in your cunt and your moans echoing in his ears.

You moan, rocking a little harder, and when he sucks on your clit, you’re gone. You shake above him, moaning his name as you cum on his chin and soak his skin. “Oh fuck, baby.” You choke, your body stiffening as he works you through it until you have to lift off of his face.

His jaw, mouth and lower face is covered in your slick and he grunts in protest when you pull away. Knowing that he could have spent hours just like that while you drowned him in your cum. “So good, little bird.” He rasps out. “Missed that beautiful liquid honey that pours out of your cunt.”

You straddle his belly, slick sliding against his skin, and you bend down to kiss him, uncaring of the tang of your orgasm on his lips as you slide his tongue into your mouth. "I want to ride you, Ez." You murmur, nipping his chin.

"The day I deny you that is surely the day that Kevva comes to claim my blackened soul." He declares and you shift to sit up, shuffling back until you are hovering over him. Your eyes meet his as you grip his cock and slowly sink down onto him after positioning him at your dripping pussy. Ezra hisses in pleasure, his entire body lighting up at the glorious feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock again. It doesn’t matter who he’s fucked, no one has ever compared to you. Moaning your name, his fingers dig into your hips as you settle down on his cock. “You are just as tight as the time I stole your innocence.” He groans in delight. “I love you.” He murmurs your name again, his eyes dark and fixed on yours. “Only you. Forever.”

You moan, caressing his chest, the scars of battles fought without you. You sigh and start to move once you adjust to him inside of you. He stretches you out, he always would stretch you out even with foreplay, and you love the slight pinch. Moaning his name, you rock on top of him, your palms on his chest and you feel his heart pounding under your touch.

You look like an angel above him. Ezra can’t even tear his gaze away from you and he uses his one hand to caress up and down your side. “My beautiful angel.” He chokes out. “Kevva sent.”

You smile down at him, reaching for his hand as you move your hips and you press your lips to his knuckles, wanting him to feel just as worshiped. You rock slow but deep, moving your hips enough to make him push deeper inside of you with each motion. “Kevva sent you back to me. You’ve been punished enough, my love. I want us to look forward to a bright future together. Whatever it holds.”

Ezra groans, nodding breathlessly as he watches you move. Completely entranced and just as in love with you as he had been so many years ago. “I love you. I love you so much, little bird.”

You nod, squeezing his hand as you move on top of him. You are getting closer, your walls fluttering around his cock, and you bring his hand down your body to your clit, pressing his thumb there. He gets the hint, rubbing your clit a little faster as you rock on top of him. “Fuck baby.” You moan, reaching out to grip the headboard, your tits swaying as you ride him. “Oh oh ohhhhh Ez.” You pant, clamping down on his cock as you fall apart around his cock.

He groans, loving how tight you are and how you are soaking him every time your walls contract. “Baby, my love.” He whispers, watching you in awe and appreciating how gorgeous you are. “Are you- your implant?” He gasps, dangerously close to cumming but he wants to make sure you are safe.

“I got a new one. It’s safe.” You pant out, letting go of the headboard and you cup his cheeks, leaning in to kiss him as you start to move again. Rocking back onto him, you moan into his mouth, “cum for me.”

He doesn’t try to rock up into you, letting you set the pace to make him cum. Enjoying the way that you are working his cock, milking it as you ride him. “I- fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Ezra groans. “Gonna fill you up. Paint my favorite canvas of your womb.”

You moan at his words, always waxing poetry in the filthiest way. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me.” You beg breathlessly, struggling to keep working yourself on his cock, your thighs aching, but you want to watch his face when he fills you up. His brow furrows, his lips parting until he lets out a groan, cock twitching inside of you as he fills your womb just like he promised.

Ezra shudders, his hips jerking up and his eyes flutter and roll back in his head. Riding out the best fucking orgasm he’s had in years, since you, with another filthy groan of your name. Until he’s completely spent, pouring himself into you.

You smile against his chin, breathing him in and he relaxes beneath you. You’re reunited with your husband after so many years of loving and hating him. You caress his cheek and his arm comes up to slide along your spine. “Still the most magnificent pussy in the fucking galaxy.” He murmurs and you giggle, kissing him softly, “and all yours.”

****

You stare out of the window at the suns, glowing above as you finish stirring the sauce for Ezra’s favorite meal. “Mama! How long until dinner?” Your son asks, his small patch of blonde hair just like his father.

“Not long, baby. Go wash your hands. Tell Cee to clean up too.” You order and your five year old rushes off to tell his “sister” to get ready for dinner.

“Mmm, is that my favorite?” You feel an arm wrap around your waist. Your husband kisses along your neck and you tilt your head to allow him more access. His glasses dig into your skin but you don’t care, turning your head to press your lips to his.

“It is. Wanted to celebrate our wedding anniversary. All those years ago and the shit we went through and here we are.” You smile and Ezra caresses your round stomach.

“Another baby on the way. Cee is about to head out on her own. We did good, little bird.” He murmurs, his eyes full of adoration.

“We did. We got off that damn planet and we made it in the end.” You hum, placing your hand on top of his.

“We made it.” Ezra repeats softly, kissing your head as he looks out of the window to a bright blue sky and clean air.

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