#also hopeful I get a marcus pov

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all. until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said. 

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled. 

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him. 

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you. 

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out. 

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten. 

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking. 

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other. 

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away. 

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice. 

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out. 

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner. 

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand. 

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks. 

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally. 

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter. 

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there. 

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’ 

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ 

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him. 

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him. 

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street. 

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping. 

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’ 

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes. 

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down. 

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’ 

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging. 

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope. 

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’ 

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’ 

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name. 

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on. 

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch. 

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim. 

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle. 

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches. 

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot. 

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare. 

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms. 

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach. 

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it. 

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering - 

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child. 

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead. 

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed. 

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable. 

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put. 

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips. 

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed. 

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question. 

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. 

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt. 

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain. 

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp. 

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’ 

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off. 

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘Just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’ 

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock. 

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

[chaniceroses]

Bad Boys Ride or Die (Armando x Reader) Part ELEVEN

(!! I made this one short because I wanted the last part to be good and long for the readers!! Thank you so much for your patience and support!!!! I will begin working on the Last Part tomorrow!! :) )

ENJOY:

Y/N POV

“I’m so sorry y/n…”, Howard whispered, sitting on the chair next to your hospital bed. He grabbed your hand and held it. His eyes were searching your face for answers but couldn’t find one. The room was cold and although Howard was right by your side while you had heavy security outside of your hospital room.You still felt alone. Tears began to run down your face, they were warm and sharp. It almost felt as if it had hurt your eyes to cry.

“I…I can’t have kids anymore Captain…I can’t—”

“No, no…he said that it would be a miracle, that’s never a no. You just need to heal and allow time to take its time y/n.”, he interrupted.

“We will find McGrath and make sure that you get the justice that you deserve, this isn’t your fault y/n.”

Your heart felt empty, your eyes were swollen and slightly pink from all of the crying that you were doing so in response you just stared at Howard and nodded your head.

“I’m going to go talk to the doctor about your stay. I will be right back, okay.”, 

You watched as Howard got up and walked out of your room. Slowly taking your attention from the door to your stomach, you began to rub it and could feel the stitches that were left from the surgery. Until you started hearing gunshots, throwing your head back towards the door, you could see people running and screaming.

“What the hell?”, you whispered, flipping the covers while trying to slowly lift your body up from the bed.

“Y/N, MCGRA—”, before Howard could finish his sentence, you watched as he was shot several times from somebody behind him. You felt your heart drop and screamed in horror when…..

  “Y/N!!! WAKE UP!!”, Armando yelled, climbing on top of you while softly shaking you.

You opened your eyes to be met by Armando's intense stare, he was examining your trying to figure out what you were dreaming about to have you screaming as if you were being tortured.

Sweat ran down your face while your breathing became heavy, you slightly pushed Armando off of you and sat up in your bed. It had been forever since you’ve had one of those kinds of dreams, especially about losing you and McGrath’s baby. You buried your head in your hands when suddenly, your hotel door flew open while being greeted by hard footsteps. You looked up to see Mike and Marcus standing there while aiming their guns around.

“FREEZEEE…oh”, Marcus  yelled, before looking over to you and Armando.

You were confused at why he looked at you and Armando with a blank and awkward facial expression until you looked back at Armando to see him standing, while covering his member with his hands.

You looked down to see that you were also still naked from you and Armando sexual games last night.

So you quickly grabbed the sheets that were on the floor and wrapped it around your body.

“This is so embarrassing…”, you whispered, getting up while looking at Armando and then at Mike.

You observed as Mike stared at you and Armando. You weren’t sure what was going through his mind but hoped that it was nothing.

“You owe me a hundred dollars!”Marcus laughed, while leaving your hotel room.

“I’m going to go…go take a shower.”, You awkwardly whispered, grabbing a towel and running to the bathroom.

ARMANDO POV

We watched as y/n ran into the bathroom and slammed the door. I wanted to take one with her but by the looks of it, I could see that not happening.

“Like Father, like son huh.”, I sarcastically replied. Grabbing the covers that were on the bed and wrapping it around my waist.

“I’m going to go and get you guys a bag that has clothes in them. Put them on and come to Marcus’s and I room.”, he sighed, walking towards the door. 

“Mike, y/n and I are together now.”, I hurriedly responded while walking up to him.

I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to say that to him but I did.

“I know Armando, I saw it coming a couple days ago.”

“It's a good thing right? She liked me and I liked her and she—”, before I could finish my sentence, I watched as he  turned around and looked at me.

“Look, I knew that you guys liked each other but I didn’t think that you guys would take it this far, Armando. With what you’ve both been through, you guys need to think about it.”, he interrupted, looking at the bed and then back at me.

I was lost, y/n was the one who said that he told her not to play with my emotions however now he’s feeling the opposite.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Armando, what do you think is going to happen once we’re done with McGrath? Huh? You guys are going to run off into the sunset while holding hands?”

I had no response.

“I want you guys together, I do. Even if you hearing this from me, don’t mean shit to you but once this ends…You will still be a fugitive while y/n will be free. So it’ll be hard for the both of you to work that out.”

“Wait, you said that you were going to help me Mike?”, I replied. I knew that what he was saying was the truth however, there has to be a different route. I watched as he searched the room for answers. At first there wasn’t a thought behind his eyes, until his eyes suddenly focused back on me.

“Armando, I have an idea but I need you to trust me.”, he answered, putting his hand on my right shoulder. I couldn’t help but to look at him weirdly. The way he was looking at me, had me oddly uncomfortable. However, I couldn’t help but to be curious.

“What is it?”

“...You’re going to have to take it back…it may not make sense right now but—” “Hell no Mike, are you crazy. Y/n and I just had sex and made it official last night, she’s going to think I used her for her body!”, I loudly whispered, throwing his hand off of my shoulder. Horrible timing Mike. Horrible timing.

“I know but you have to trust me, it’ll work out in the end for the both of you, I promise you that. You have to do it, Armando or I can’t help you!”, he demanded. Before I could respond, I could hear a door shut behind me.

“Mike…Armando, is everything okay?”, Y/n said walking towards the both of us.

I looked back at y/n and then back at Mike and watched as he stared at y/n.

“Yeah y/n, everything is fine. Just son and father things, you know.”, he laughed. Leaning past me to grab the door knob. I watched as he shut the door while I just stared at it. 

A part of me didn’t want to do it, however the other half felt that Mike knew what he was talking about. Shit Armando.

Y/N POV

You stood behind Armando, examining the muscles that swam across his back. You were about to touch his back, when he suddenly turned around. His breathing was short and slow. He was avoiding eye-contact with you and was looking out towards the balcony. Something was wrong.

“Armando, seriously what’s wrong? What was that conversation between you and Mike about?”, you were looking into his eyes for a response. An answer. However, he kept his glare towards the balcony.

So you grabbed his hand and guided him towards the bed. The both of you sat down and you watched as he rubbed the back of his neck. Something was bothering him, you just didn’t know what.

“I love you y/n…so much.”, he suddenly replied, turning his head to look at you while smiling.

“I love you too Armando…you know last night was—”

“But I can’t do this.”, he interrupted, now looking away.

Suddenly the room went silent, you could hear your thoughts and everything that you were feeling now being said out loud. What the hell did he mean that he can’t “do this”?

“I mean..I want to do this, us but with what’s going on I—” “Are you fucking serious, Armando?”, you sighed. You were disappointed. You finally told him how you felt. You poured your heart out to him last night as he did the same but now, he can’t “do” this. Us? You turned to look at him and could see worry across his face.

“Is it..does it have to do with McGrath?”, you whispered looking at him. You watched as he turned to look at you. His mouth was saying one thing, while his eyes were saying another. So you swallowed the lump that had slowly built up in your throat and threw how you felt out the door. Nothing was going to get in the way between you two and you were sure of that.

“We don’t know what the outcome may be today and I feel that we may be moving too fast.”, he explained, throwing his hand out to you. You knew that he was lying. You could feel it and the way he was holding himself told you that he was. That’s when you thought about Mike.

“Well, I pray that this isn’t one of those “using me for my body” situations and I know that I just caught you and Mike talking about something which led to you acting the way you are now—”, you responded, grabbing his hand and caressing it.

“No, I would never do that”, he interrupted, grabbing your hand and holding it a little tighter.

“Mike said that this would be best. With everything that is happening.”, he continued, looking at you.

You were confused. Mike? 

“What the hell do you mean Armando, since when did you start listening to Mike?”

“I listen to him y/n when he makes sense. He said that it’ll be best for us not to be together, just for right now. Since i’m a fugitive and you know with your life and this McGrath shit. There’s just no balance.”, he explained, shrugging his shoulders.

You knew that what Mike was saying wasn’t entirely wrong; however, you were still confused.

“He also said that he’ll help us out because he does want to see us together. Now he didn’t explain how or when but he just said to trust him. And for some odd reason, I do. Me just saying this, doesn’t mean I mean it y/n. Because I sure as hell doesn’t.”, he continued, standing up.

You stood up also and grabbed his hand while looking up at him. Although you were against what Mike said, you knew that you could trust his word.

“Okay Armando, I trust you guys so we will just “play” as if we’re not together around them, at least until all of this shit clears.”, you laughed while caressing his cheek. You could see a small smirk come across his face as he looked down at you.

“I like the way you think.”, he smiled, picking you up. You watched as he leaned in towards you to give you a kiss, which made you respond to it. His lips were soft and smooth. You could feel his goatee mustache run smooth across your face. You found yourself deep into the moment, until you opened your eyes and noticed that he was walking towards the bathroom.

“What are you doing?”, you questioned

“We’re about to take a shower.”

“Yeah but I just took one.”

“Yeah but it was without me.”, he mocked, carrying you inside the bathroom and shutting the door.

You and Armando took a shower then quickly got dressed to head to Mike’s and Marcus’s hotel room. There was a bag filled with black clothes and police attire for you and Armando to put on once you guys were finished so after you were done, the both of you helped each other get dressed, straightened the room and then headed towards Mike’s room.

You watched as Armando walked up to the door and knocked. After a couple knocks the door finally opens to the two of you being greeted by a crowded room.

“What the hell.”, Armando whispered

“What is it?”, you replied moving from behind him to see Dorn, Kelly, Rita and her husband, Lockwood in the room with Mike and Marcus.

“Took you two forever…”, Mike sighed, signaling for you and Armando to enter.

You followed behind Armando and examined as the energy in the room shifted.  Maybe it could be because it is early in the morning and everyone wants to still be in bed or because of Armando’s intimidating presence.

“Why is he here?”, you asked, pointing at Lockwood and Rita.

You felt that it was odd for him to be there, knowing that he didn’t say anything about proving Howard’s innocence and with the election coming up. He had nothing to do with this operation.

“He is a part of McGraths bullshit”, Mike answered, walking over to the group and sitting down.

“Yeah, Rita found the messages between him and McGrath. He’s behind the files…”

“And the money being transported…”

“And how McGrath found out where everyone lives.”, the group explained while looking at you.

You could feel disappointment,confusion and anger fill your body.

“So, you’re telling me…this motherfucker sitting across from me is the reason why LadyBug is dead?! THE REASON WHY THAT DUMBASS FOUND OUT WHERE I LIVED!”, you yelled now standing up. You were livid. This whole time you had been blaming yourself for Ladybug’s death, when it could’ve been avoided if Lockwood would’ve been a true politician and reported McGrath instead of working with him and allowing innocent people like Ladybug and Fletcher, to lose their lives.

You watched as Lockwood stood up and threw his hands up in defense.

“Look y/n, I don’t know what—” Before Lockwood could finish his sentence, you quickly grabbed the gun that was on the table, jumped over it  and held it to his head.

“YO! Y/N CALM DOWN! —”Mike yelled, walking over towards you.

“FOR WHAT!! HE DESERVES TO DIE!!!”, you yelled looking at Mike and then back at Lockwood. Fear was written all over his face and you loved that it was. 

“You shoot him, I’ll have no choice but to shoot you.”, Rita replied, pointing her gun at you. You kept your finger on the trigger and pushed the gun even more towards Lockwood's head.

“Like hell you will…”, Armando whispered. You turned to see him standing behind Rita while having two guns in his hands. One pointing at the back of Rita’s head and the other at Lockwood’s.

“You guys are married right? Till death do you part? Sounds about right…you’re call y/n.”, Armando scoffed. You couldn’t help but to squeeze the gun, you wanted to see his brain be splatted everywhere in front of you. The way McGrath did LadyBug’s.

“Just wait y/n ... .I have something for you.”, Marcus whispered, walking towards the closet that was next to the bathroom. 

“What Marcus?”, you replied, keeping your eyes on Lockwood. You could see sweat forming on his forehead. He was nervous and afraid. You quickly shifted your eyes to see Marcus walking up to you while holding something in his hand.

“What the hell is that Marcus because I don’t have time for these games…”

“Here.”, he whispered, pushing his hands out to you.

You turned to see glasses in his hand.

“Marcus, what the hell am I supposed to do with glasses?”

“There Ladybug’s.”, he mumbled. “Look at them.” You took a glance and stared at them, they were black glasses with thick lenses. You looked up at Marcus, then at the glasses and then back at Lockwood.

“Those could be anyone’s Marcus, I’m not stupid!”, you yelled. You grabbed Lockwood’s head and held him down. Now pointing the gun at the back of his head.

“Take a step closer to her and I'll kill you instantly.”, Armando whispered, stepping closer to Rita while keeping his eyes on you.

“Y/n just read the arms, they have his initials on it. “L.B” C’mon y/n. We’ll make sure he goes to jail. I promise.”, Marcus reassured, now trying to hand you the glasses.

You sat the gun down while keeping a tight grip of Lockwood’s hair in your other hand and grabbed the glasses. How in the hell did he get these? You moved one of the arms of the glasses and could see Ladybug’s initials clear as day.

“How did you—”

“That night when we found you on the ground…Mike picked you up and took you to the car while I stayed behind and put him on the couch. The way you were crying over him, told me that he meant something to you and I wanted to make sure that you had something in remembrance so I took his glasses to give to you at some point. Once you heal, you know.”, he explained, stepping closer to you.

“Let him go y/n…”, Mike whispered, looking at you and then back at Marcus.

You looked down at the glasses and then at Lockwood.

“Okay..”, you sighed, setting down the glasses and the gun.

“Thank God.”, Lockwood whispered, grunting in pain. Before you knew it, you threw a punch in the back of his head and watched as his body went limp.

You looked up to see everyone shockingly looking at you as if you killed someone.

“He’s not dead, he’s just knocked out. Give him thirty minutes.”, you scoffed, grabbing your gun and glasses, climbing back over the table and sitting back in the seat that you and Armando were on.

“Lucky girl.”, Armando whispered into Rita’s ear, lowering his gun and walking to sit back next to you. You loved the fact that you didn’t have to say anything for Armando to jump and support your actions, even if others were against it. He was there. Supporting and protecting.

“Well while he’s half dead can we please discuss a plan about how we're going to get McGrath.”, Dorn sighed, walking over to pick up the papers that fell off the table.

“We don’t need a plan, we know where he is since we were able to track him from Lockwood’s phone. So let’s just go to him.”, Mike replied, grabbing some guns out of a bag and strapping them onto his leg.

“I agree, no plan, just action. That’s how we roll.”Marcus supported, folding his arms.

“And that’s how we get killed.”, Rita sighed, rolling her eyes.

“McGrath just plans on leaving the country after he kills us and receives the money…”, you added, pointing at Marcus, Mike, Armando and yourself. “So really, we just need to be in hiding and meet him at whatever transportation he plans on leaving on.” You stood up and walked over to the bags filled with weapons.

“No time needs to be wasted so we should probably be heading out in the next ten minutes.”, Kelly replied, gathering all of the information.

Everyone nodded and began to get ready. Strapping up, making sure their hollister were on good and that their bulletproof vests were on tight. You could sense Armando looking at you; however, you ignored him. 

“Something happened between the two of you?”, Mike asked, looking at you and then back at Armando. 

��Nope, he just doesn’t think we should be moving so quick.”, you whispered looking over at him. You watched as he looked at Armando and then back at you again. You gave a small smile, hinting to him that you knew about their conversation from earlier but by the looks of it, he was lost.

“Oh well, I'm sure it’s for the best with that being said… I know that killing McGrath is important for you as it is for me so I want the both of us to be the ones going after him. That way we know that he won’t be spared.”, he whispered. Putting the bag across his shoulders and turning to face you. You finished getting ready and tied your hair back that way it wouldn’t be in your face. You were happy that Mike was on the same page that you were on.

“For sure.”, you agreed, looking over to the group. You watched as Mike grabbed the keys that were on the counter and signaled to everyone to start heading out.

“This should be fun.”, Dorn mumbled, picking up Lockwood and throwing him across his shoulders. You watched as he walked past you, allowing Lockwood’s head to be slightly thrown everywhere. You couldn’t help but to chuckle until Armando walked up to you.

“You ready.”, he smiled looking down at you. 

“Yeah lets go—” Before you could finish you were interrupted by Kelly walking up to you.

“Y/n, do you remember that video that I told you Howard left for you. The personal video.”, she whispered, looking back at Rita and then back at you. At first you were lost but after a while of allowing your thoughts to catch up, you were able to recall the conversation between the two of you.

“Yeah I remember, you were going to send it to me.”, you replied

“Yeah, I decided to not send it to you but to put it on a disc…I couldn’t help it, I felt that what he said was extremely personal and that you would need to hear it maybe alone. Nothing bad just very, heartwarming you know.”, she smiled, handing out the disc to give to you.

You grabbed it and then looked at it. You were very curious about what was on here however, you wanted your mind to be sat on today’s operation.

“Give it to me after the operation, so that I can have something to look forward to watching.”, you smiled, handing it back to her. You watched as she grabbed it and nodded her head in response. Walking back towards Rita and sparking a conversation with her while she helped her finish packing.

“What was that about?”, Armando asked, turning around to follow you out of the room.

“Some video Howard left for me to watch by myself, I don’t really know.”, you replied as the both of you walked down the long hallway.

“Well, What I do know is that…whatever happens today, I want you to be—”

“Tell me after the operation Armando.”, you interrupted, keeping your focus on the elevator. 

“Huh?”, he asked as the both of you stood in front of the elevator doors waiting for it to open.

“Tell me once we kill McGrath and we both make it out alive, not now.”, you whispered, walking onto the elevator.

You watched as he followed behind you onto the elevator. There was a weird presence in the room, it wasn’t tense, but it was soft. Accepting. Danger was slowly creeping towards you while you were running towards it. This was a suicide mission, and you knew it and so did everyone else. You must’ve gotten lost into your thoughts because you suddenly felt Armando’s hand slowly hold yours. You looked down at it and then up at Armando to see him looking at you. Although a word wasn’t said, his eyes were having a conversation of its own and you understood every bit of it. You turned your head back towards the doors, held his hand tighter and let go of the breath that you didn’t know that you were holding. Allowing the silence to consume the both of you and for time to slowly reach its ending point.

[mybworlds]

Kiss the girl

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: use of you, you’re a mermaid, I won't give any details except for nice long legs and very long hair, nudity, violence (a little?), use of both pov. If I missed smt please let me know.

Summary: your time with Marcus is over, you have to go back to your home. When you are about to leave, Marcus has the courage to declare himself, but..

Masterlist

A/N Thank you so much for the amount of love and support, it means a lot. The title of the chapter takes inspiration from the very famous song from Walt Disney's The Little Mermaid. Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Taglist @harriedandharassed; @orcasoul; @blazeflays; @ijustlovemensm; @duck-duck-goose2; @blacksnape123

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics.

The days pass peacefully as do what Acacius calls weeks. Every evening as instructed by your aunt you take a few drops of her potion and then return to your commitments with Marcus.

When the man has no political or military commitments, he dedicates all his time to you, he even gives you clothes and a pearl necklace, although the pearls are certainly not as splendid as those you have at the bottom of the sea.

Being with him for so long, you almost feel like you've always been there with him, that you've always been part of his life and, if your initial intent was to get to know him and discover his world, now you hope to be part of it forever.

You have also learned to love the time with little Faustus, you almost feel like an old sister playing with her little brother. You’ve never experienced this pleasure and it’s beautiful. You chase each other, you giggle, you grab him and lift him into the air, you tickle him, you run to the beach and there, just off the shore, you splash each other, covering yourself in sand and seaweed.

You once noticed Marcus watching you with a tender smile, the light in his eyes is sometimes indecipherable to your eyes. Your relationship is slowly changing and you don't mind at all.

You and him have reached an almost perfect daily life and you have such trust in each other that maybe now you can tell him everything. Including your origin and the truth about you.

That summer evening there's a slightly stronger and warmer wind, you run to your room feeling the effects of the potion almost fading. You reach under the bed to get the vial and that's when you realize there are only a few drops for that evening.

A deep sense of sadness and grief creeps over you as you realize you have to return to your aunt under the sea. The moment of truth has arrived. You must speak to Marcus before you have no choice but to show him who you are.

Marcus...

Oh, he was always so kind to you, sweet. He made you feel loved, yes you think that's the right word. But will he understand who you are? Or will he chase you away?

Maybe he should really be with someone like Augusta Lucilla, as everyone calls her, a good woman, beautiful, elegant, educated and certainly accustomed to what happens in Rome, its intrigues and its dark power. You met her more than once and she seemed genuinely intrigued and fascinated by you, she asked you many questions and you gave the same answers you had already given to everyone before. She and Marcus have also spent a lot of time alone together, and when that happened, you could watch them and see how perfect they are together. You know what Marcus thinks, but you think that maybe he should give her a chance. It hurts to think about it, but you and him—even if he accepted you—couldn't be together anyway.

When you reach him, you find him on the beach intent on watching the sunset. His amber skin is orange-toned, his greyish curls are tousled by the wind, his gaze is rapt and absorbed. You call him softly and he turns to you, smiles slightly and holds out his hand to you, which you offer, sitting next to him. You are shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm and you have never been closer.

“You’re here.” he tells you in a faint whisper.

You look into his soft hazel eyes, he seems troubled by something that you can only assume has to do with Lucilla and his now controversial upcoming wedding. Geta, in fact, does nothing but come here to his house to remind him of the impending event and does not miss any opportunity to talk to you and try to charm you or capture your attention, but so far he has always failed. You don't like his eyes and their expression at all, his voice makes you disgusted and scared at the same time, you always fear that something might happen to you in his presence. You are kind to him, courteous, but always maintain a cordial detachment and above all never spend more time than necessary with him and never alone.

“I'm here,” you say, looking him softly in the eyes.

His expression is sad, he searches for your hand again which he holds gently in his. He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb without saying anything. The silence that usually falls between you is comfortable, full of a strange and pleasant intimacy, but this seems to foretell something extremely serious.

“Your presence is always so dear to me,” he says, leaving the sentence hanging in mid-air for a while as if he didn't know how to continue, “but I fear... that we won't be able to see each other again.” you frown, looking him insistently in the eyes, while his eyes become full of regret and sadness.

You find yourself lowering your eyes, maybe it's better this way. This way it’ll be easier for you to separate from him and maybe try to forget the joy and sweetness you felt with him all this time. You will definitely have fewer regrets and probably won't want to come back to the surface as much. You had a good time with him and maybe, given his upcoming wedding, it's a good thing you're not here. You would only feel a great immense pain. You have learned to love him.

“You were my lifeline. The most precious thing that could ever happen in my life. A sweet and gentle soul who touched my heart and soul in such a unique, strong, delicate, persuasive way.” you look up at each other at the same time “Thank you for saving me.”

“I didn’t do anything… I…” you start to say, but he takes your hand again, bringing it to his lips and kissing it with such sweetness that it makes your skin pucker.

“You did, instead. You saved me on more than one occasion. Months ago... and since you've been here.” he adds still holding your hand gently in his “You gave me so many moments of joy and... with you and your innocence I discovered the purity of a feeling that I had never felt before.” you look at him surprised and almost speechless.

You thought that he, so handsome, so strong, so confident, had dozens of women he had seduced and related experiences. You never thought he could find in you what you thought he had already experienced and felt.

“I… um, I don’t know what to say,” you admit in a small voice, then he looks at you with such intensity that you think everything is probably going to burn under his gaze soon, including you.

His face is now so close to yours, his hand halfway between your face and your hair, his grip is firm, but you are not afraid of this gesture, on the contrary. You don't know what to do but stand still and watch this gesture almost in bewilderment, he must have noticed this almost stiffening of yours because he stops a hand's breadth away, “Sorry,” he whispers and you feel his hot breath against your face for the first time.

“No, I don’t… it’s just…” I’m a mermaid, you want to tell him, maybe this is the right time, the most appropriate time to tell him who you are. You are looking for the right words to be completely honest with him.

“I know,” he tells you in a tone of voice so reassuring, so sure that it silences every other word you say. Did he understand? Or see something you don't? Your words get stuck in your throat, will he accept you or want you anyway?

“Marcus...” you murmur, moving closer to his face, imitating what he had done to you a few moments before. You can notice every single wrinkle of his, his scar next to his right eye, his uneven beard, his brown eyes.

“My lord!” someone calls Marcus, it's one of his servants. You both walk away at the same time realizing that what was about to happen can never happen between you.

“What's going on?” asks Marcus, turning around. You first look at the man's profile, then you turn around too.

“The…” the servant clears his throat as if embarrassed, as if he doesn’t know what to say. You let your gaze wander from the man to Marcus who simply nods without adding anything else. His face has become a tense mask, his eyes are sad and downcast, then he turns towards you and his gaze softens.

When the servant leaves, he takes your hand tenderly, turning you towards him, “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?” you nod, concerned by the serious tone of voice and what appears to be concern.

You nod.

“It's a serious thing,” he announces.

A few weeks before...

Acacius, although has achieved a certain stability and serenity with you, is increasingly oppressed by Geta's push to quell any type of revolt that is creeping into the heart of Rome. In fact, the emperor is convinced that among the possible conspirators there is none other than the daughter of the emperor Marcus Aurelius and, according to Geta, the only way to definitively suppress the main revolt would be to marry Augusta Lucilla to the General so loved by the people and very faithful to his kingdom and to that of his brother Caracalla.

Lucilla, during her many meetings with Marcus, convinced him to participate in at least one of the many secret meetings in which she herself assiduously participates. There, Marcus discovered that many figures who are also prominent in the Senate are against the mad and bloody reign of the Emperors and ended up agreeing with their opinion.

Marcus has often totally disapproved of the two young men's methods of reigning and has often felt oppressed by their expansionist aims and from their total inability to think about the good of the people. Tired and fed up with their way of doing things, the General has, albeit secretly, decided to support Lucilla's cause and to bring back to light Marcus Aurelius' dream, or at least try. It's probably all madness, but Marcus hopes with all his heart that with the support of his men and the support of the Senate, or at least part of it, this conspiracy can succeed and the power of the two twin Emperors be overthrown.

Until then he had always kept away from such situations, but this is no longer possible. Now is the time to act.

Today...

The time is near. Many men loyal to Marcus are about to land on the coasts of Lazio. Soon everything should begin in Rome and the two Emperors will be taken by surprise, but not you. You have to go, Marcus has thought of everything. He will have you board a merchant ship to take you back to the coast of Sicily, where he first met you so that you will be safe from all of this. Marcus, in fact, does not know what could happen once the fuse is lit. Everything could explode, or implode.

You are the strangest, yet most delightful and sweet creature he has ever known. So pure and so gentle, so magnetic and magical, so strong and yet fragile at the same time. He knows he will never be the same after he meets you. He will carry the sweet memory of you with him forever. He won't be able to love you in this life, but he hopes that when one day far away you are both in the Elysian Fields, then and only then will he be able to allow himself to be happy with you.

It's not a given that the conspiracy will end badly, but if everything doesn't go as planned, then Marcus must be prepared for the worst and he knows that in this eventuality he must protect those he loves and prepare to suffer and die.

He has already arranged for the young Iulia and the little Faustus to be entrusted to a dear friend of his who will take care of them and respect them both. He will make sure that they come with you since you have grown so fond of the little one and Faustus of you. He's more than certain that their life will be peaceful and dignified.

But now the real question is how to tell you? How to tell you that he loves you, but that he has to let you go?

Marcus has been through so many difficult, dangerous and painful situations, but having to say goodbye to you is the most heartbreaking thing he has ever thought about or will ever have to do. He wanted to place his lips on yours and whisper those words that no one had ever managed to get out of him before you. You have been the sweetest of companions throughout this time, the first to make him smile and fill his heart.

He knows you have your secrets, but he doesn't care. He learned to love you for who you are and how you make him feel, and that's enough for him.

It's probably not right to kiss you and then say goodbye and perhaps the fact that you pulled away is a sign that the gods have sent to Marcus not to involve you in this foretold drama. However, the fact that you are now approaching his face and the arrival of one of his servants makes him understand that perhaps at least with you he must be clear and sincere. If he were to die and the two of you never see each other again, you have every right to know why. He doesn't want to disappear from your life like a bubble, he doesn't have that cruel courage.

You must know.

Your face changes expression continuously as he tells you what happened in the previous weeks without your knowledge, you are surprised, confused, maybe even angry and disappointed by his silence, anguished because you have surely understood that it's something that in one way or another could kill him.

“It’s not fair.” You whisper in a barely audible whisper. “Don’t leave me.” You find yourself begging him, your eyes clouded with great sadness. You look down at the wave-moistened sand.

Marcus whispers your name, moving your hair and tucking it behind your back, but you don’t look at him, “Please, look at me.” he says to you, slowly caressing your shoulder. “Please.” he adds in a pleading tone.

You look up at him and for the first time he thinks he sees something like tears.

“I don't...” you say with a shaking voice, “I can't cry, but I wish I could now.” Marcus moves his hand away from your shoulder “I - I can't. I - I... I mean, tomorrow morning I have to... leave.” you don't stop staring at the sand at your feet “I don't know how long I'll be gone, but...” for a while you stay silent, there is only the lapping of the sea to fill the silence that is growing between you “I am not who you think I am, Marcus.” you finally resume, finally raising your eyes to his face.

“I know who you are, instead.” he says and in your eyes almost fear spreads “You are the person I dreamed and hoped could be by my side. You changed me and made me see the world in a sweet and tender way.” he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand and your eyes lock, making everything and everyone fade into the background.

“It’s not like that. I… um, I’m a liar, but if I lied to you it’s because I just wanted to…” Marcus places a finger on your lips, blocking the words that would likely make him see you in a different light.

“Please don't think badly of yourself, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are so sweet, so pure, so…”

“A monster.” This word comes out abruptly from your lips, freezing the situation and causing an abrupt silence to fall between you, “Well, many... define us like this. Monsters. Murderers.”

Marcus frowns in astonishment. No, it can’t be that you were hired to kill him or kill emperors. He doesn’t believe it. Yet, a part of him has always felt you were elusive. If he had to compare you to something, he would define you as similar to a drop of water that, no matter how much you want to stop it, always finds a way to escape your grip.

Marcus interrupts your flow of words that would likely have led you into dangerous uncharted territory by bringing his face close to yours and placing his lips on yours. He feels you holding your breath and tensing, but you don't pull away. Your lips are so soft, he places his hands first on the sides of your face as if he wanted to bring you even closer to his face, lifting it just a little to deepen the contact. He knows he should have asked your permission and when he's about to move away from your face and apologize again, you're the one who stops him by placing a hand in his curly hair. Your kiss is so sweet and innocent that it almost ends up crumbling everything around you, the sounds, the noises, the lights, the words —the whispered ones, the hidden ones— everything fades into the background. You kiss slowly, almost as if it were your first and last kiss, the first and last moment, so sweet and intimate, so yours.

He doesn't know exactly what you feel, he knows that inside you it's as if two people were clashing, the sweet one who was immediately able to conquer both him and all the inhabitants of the house with your gentleness and innocence and the other one is the mysterious, seductive one that attracts everyone to you while keeping everyone away.

One murmurs the other's name in a whisper and still with eyes closed almost as if you fear that one might dissolve if the other opens his eyes, you sink both hands into his hair and whisper his name again. In his ears his name sounds almost like a sweet melody, it's as if for a long moment he had forgotten about the conspiracy, the dangers, his probable death, but he allowed himself the luxury of thinking of a world in which you and he could live in peace, happy, serene.

“Marcus...”

You open your eyes and each rests his gaze on the other, he caresses your cheeks with his fingertips, still savoring these brief moments of peace, of tenderness. He enjoys your rapt gaze, how your eyes close when he caresses your face or when his nose brushes against yours. He smiles thinking that if the gods wanted to call him to them right now, he would die in peace.

“Tomorrow morning at dawn, I have to - I have to leave.” you tell him, caressing that face that you have learned to love more and more every day and that now will be difficult to let go.

Marcus rests his forehead against yours, he doesn't want to let you go, but he has to. He doesn't know how you'll leave or who'll pick you up, he just knows you'll leave him and, although he's always been strong, this will weigh on him. He'll miss you.

Dawn comes early. You and Marcus spent the night on a triclinium, huddled together, each doing nothing but caressing the other's face, each seeking the other's hand.

The more the light prepares to prevail over the night and the more the pain in your chest increases and amplifies, when Marcus falls asleep, you gently loosen your grip and get up.

The pain in your legs makes you understand that the spell is now ending and that you are close to returning to who you are. You don't want to return to the bottom of the sea, but you cannot do otherwise.

You snuggle up and look at his face once more, so peaceful during sleep and almost always tormented during the day, his hair, a disheveled curl falling across his forehead, the scar under his eye, his lips that you kiss gently again, his big and strong hands.

You have to go now.

You turn your back on him and walk down those corridors that you have learned to know, along which you have also run, laughed, talked and marveled at the great beauty that man is capable of; now you're on the beach, the sky is full of clouds and you're ready to return to the waves despite yourself. You undress, leaving behind the beautiful silk dress that Marcus gave you, and you also leave the necklace he gave you there.

The water is cold, but it only lasts a moment, then your beautiful legs are no longer there and in their place your fish tail has reappeared. As you are about to dive in, you realize that a couple of timid tears have flown towards the waves, causing sudden, strong ripples.

You give yourself a boost by immersing yourself completely as if you wanted to push everything away and distance yourself from your life on earth.

You want to come back, but you don't know how long it'll be before you can, or if the man you love will wait for you... what you completely ignore, however, is that Marcus saw everything.

[freedelusionshere]

I don't want to set any unreasonable expectations, but the sleight of hand and legerdemain mention in S3 could also be referring to the status of Syd and Carmy's relationship.

While I think it definitely refers to the fine dining smoke and mirrors going on (while The Bear is broke, changing the menu everyday Jeffery Ballet, trying to recreate Empire), and Carmy being trapped in his own illusions of grandeur (and trapping others with him, primarily Syd, who shields the others), it could also be about their relationship.

There is plenty of subtle evidence of stuff happening, and maybe more off screen. First and foremost, their comfort at showing resentment of each other while sticking it out regardless. They behave like a married couple bickering in several scenes. There is a subtle progression here:

Syd calling herself his accomplice is a big one for me. Seems a bit resigned, doesn't she?

Carmy' wanting to lock down Syd by promising her the star and a partnership agreement to make it legal. Which she is hesitant to do for a number of reasons.

Syd making the margins wider for him after the funeral of Marcus's mother, where the message we know they hear is that they have to look at each other close up. It indicates Syd reaching for him emotionally.

Carmy telling Syd she's dressed nice and obviously wondering where she's been outside the restaurant. The way their voices both get soft in this scene. I know people think stuff will happen with Luca, but really, it set up Syd as "cheating" on their restaurant this season just like he did last season with the C-person.

How did Syd get her apartment lease when she has bad credit and would likely need someone to co-sign? It's not her dad's doing, the show made sure we knew that. It's likely Carmy. And she's on deferred pay.

Carmy saying he's sick of this shit. He is sick of the restaurant. He is very clearly not sick of Syd, though!

Syd treating Nat, Pete, and the baby like family and looking out for them. His whole family pressuring her to sign the agreement.

Carmy telling her to go home and get some rest and he'll finish up in Apologies, and also asking her to be his plus one in public outside the restaurant.

Him cleaning his side of the street up, spraying off shit in the back of The Bear and seeming somehow mostly unbothered and feeling hopeful about the future even after Cicero tells him about pulling the funding and pressuring him to talk to his mom. Why? Because he knows he's going to see Syd later.

Carmy getting ready to go to the Ever dinner. We see he has a scrunchie and there are hairpins on his dresser. Syd pins her hair up for the Ever dinner. She wears scrunchies. It's on the prayer card and Syd is associated with Mikey constantly. Carmy makes sure to get there before her so he can introduce her and have her be seen with him.

Despite what happens with Chef David, he comes out on the other side seeming more clear-headed about what he wants. Then, the other shoe(s) drop in true cliffhanger finale style.

In S4, my expectation is that we're going to get a lot of Syd POV about all of this.

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 39

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome back to the Spreadsheet Digest! It's been.... a while. In order to make up for that, I have a nice long list of fics to rec. Also, surprise! I'm posting this on thursdays now.

All tags and summaries provided by the authors unless they didn't provide one, in which case I filled it in.

Wildest Dreams a Dave York series by @janaispunk

You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

explicit smut (18+ only, mdni), dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamic (reader becomes very dependent on Dave), dom/sub dynamics, angst, feelings, daddy issues, secret/forbidden relationship, corruption kink, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, Dave doesn’t kill people in this

the hitman’s guide to getting the girl a Dave York seriesby @kiwisbell

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

Obscenery a Dave York/Tim Rockford series by @sin-djarin

Dave is worried about the day ahead and Tim offers him some advice.

M/M, Established D/s dynamics, edging, orgasm delay, these two come with their own warnings - in particular Tim's mouth and how much Dave really likes it.

Heaven is Hell a Dieter one shot by @inept-the-magnificent

Writing prompt: “I don’t get it,” says the demon, “This person’s lived a perfectly good and virtuous life. Why are you sending them to hell?” The angel nervously rubs the back of their head. “Honestly? We’re pretty sure they’d be happier in hell than heaven.”

demon!Dieter, Angel!marcus pike, mild angst, fluff, mention of drugs, alcohol, orgies, etc. The usual dieter rabble.

Scars and All a Din series by plaidamoosette (AO3)

Hidden away in the desert land of Jakku, you are slowly chipping away at the debt that you and your mother had accumulated following the death of your father to the horrible Denga Niima. But, after the recent passing of your mother, the debt has fallen on your shoulders. Using your skills as a mechanical engineer, you accumulate wealth for your slave master in the hopes that one day you will be free. Free to explore and live as your parents had always wished for you. But things change when you meet a certain bounty hunter when he comes to you to repair his ship. But, nothing is as it seems, and as the lies that were built around your life begin to crumble, you find yourself sucked into a journey of truth, betrayal, and... love.

Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Drama, Deceased Parents, Indentured Servitude, Soft Din Djarin, Soft Dominant Din Djarin, POV Alternating, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Protective Din Djarin, Intimidation, Male Masturbation, Touch-Starved, Loss of Virginity, MC doesn't know how to take care of herself, Female Masturbation, Burried Trauma, Readers knows how to fight back, Mandalorians (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture & Customs (Star Wars), Some Canon material, A whole lot of other made up stuff

Just Can't Say Goodbye a Din one shot by @saradika

a final night is spent in the arms of your bodyguard, before your arranged union the next morning.

sorta medieval vibes, references to antiquated societal expectations, mentions and references to virginity, arranged marriage, technically infidelity because of said arrangement, light angst, sneaking around, first time, fingering, PiV, creampie

Back to You a Din series by @kyberblade

You’ve been friends with Mando for years, and he drops by your hole in the wall bar from time to time to catch up. This time, however, he’s carrying an extra little green passenger with him. They are on the run, which is unsettling because Mando doesn’t run from things. Things run from him. A tracking fob, a dead body, and a confession later, all three of you set out to help the child find it’s kind. (Aka: a really typical Din x Force Sensitive reader plot, but instead of the going from stiff scary Mando to friendly Mando it’s gonna kinda go the opposite way. Not in a bad way but she’s gonna finally get to see what exactly he was running from all those times he came back to see her.)

Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Angst, Humor, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romantic Friendship, Emotions, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Protective Din Djarin, Good Parent Din Djarin, Soft Din Djarin, Force-Sensitive Reader, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Spicy thoughts, but no smut

Familiar Strangers an Ezra one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

When your boyfriend's band opens for Familiar Strangers, you get the chance to meet the lead singer. A man whose work you've long admired. A connection sparks a flame that may change your life forever.

Rockstar!Ezra, Infidelity, reader's boyfriend is a huge asshole and deserves it though, Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, everyone is consenting but they are impaired by alcohol

Brat a Frankie one shot by @freelancearsonist

You've been torturing Frankie, so he decides to return the favor.

short and filthy lil giflet, unprotected p in v sex, power dynamics kind of

Down the Hall a Frankie one shot by @frannyzooey

Your bedroom, just down the hall from his own, proves too tempting for Frankie to resist - even if he is your mother's boyfriend.

age gap, explicit smut, mom's boyfriend!frankie

All Through the Night a Jack one shot by @baronessvonglitter

after it's made clear that you're not welcome as a Junior Agent for the Statesman organization, Whiskey takes you under his protection for an unforgettable night

18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, mentor/mentee relationship, forbidden relationship, vandalism, nightmares, 'only one bed', first time, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, no use of y/n

Is Joel Okay? a Joel one shot by @djarinmuse

Based on this edit that @/iamasaddie shared, and the tag by @/wannab-urs, thanks Gin for the input "#Joel has a menty b and shaves his head". Reader is there for him. No idea who did the original edit but thanks.

Joel cuts his hair, the utter horror of that alone. No explicit smut but 18+ physical intimacy. Depressed Joel, soft Joel. Established relationship but no background given.

Unearth a Joel one shot by @ezrasbirdie

When your normally strict parents go out of town for two weeks and leave you on your own for the first time with little warning, you're left reeling and afraid of being on your own for so long. Luckily, Joel Miller, your father's best friend, very generously offers to let you stay with him. Your long time crush on him shouldn't be a problem at all.

smut, yearning, Joel is a little manipulative, loss of virginity, dad's best friend, nice big age gap (reader is 21, Joel is 40), liberal use of baby girl, religious trauma of the Christian variety (no denomination noted), reader wears a sundress, shaming of sexuality, bad relationship with reader's parents, insecurity, flirting, trouble orgasming, pussy pronouns (she/her), humping/grinding, masturbation, unprotected PIV, oral sex, references to early 00s media, soft Joel

What it is to grow a Joel one shot by @burntheedges

Joel knows he can't keep running from it – from Her – forever.

angst, hurt/comfort, hope, mentions of the canon depths of Joel’s depression (pills, alcohol, darkness, etc.), canon character death (Sarah), AU with Greek lore/gods & goddesses in the TLOU universe, character study

Birthday Boy a Joel one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Even with a house full of party guests, Joel can't resist when he finds a moment alone with you in the bathroom.

Masturbation, Frottage, light d/s, orgasm denial. Just general Joel Miller filth. There's like a smidge of plot right at the end.

Duality of a Man a Joel series by @wildemaven

A woman shows up at your door looking for your boyfriend

Mentions of food, Mentions of killing, death, birth, birth trauma

Consider it a Favor a Joel one shot by @chaotic-mystery

Your AC breaks in your car and the one person around to help is your neighbor, Mr.Miller.

Age gap (Not specified but I put Sarah in college) DILF Joel mowing his lawn, reader is able-bodied and is wearing a swim suit/coverup, reader has hair Joel can pull, kissing, swearing, (1) blowjob, size kink go brrr, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, baby) facedown ass up, babey, a little manhandling, unprotected penetration (don't look at me okay, the whore in me jumped out), dirty talk, Joel hyping up his ego, pussy ownership, creampie, a little glimpse of aftercare and what really happened to your AC.

Absolution a Joel series by @pedgito

Moving in with your soon-to-be stepfather under the roof of his brother, Joel, ends up being a turning point of change in your life.

DDDNE - stepcest, religious trauma, parental trauma. addition warnings: no outbreak, step-uncle!joel (reader's mom is engaged to marry tommy) age gap (20/late 40s), inappropriate relationships/behavior, slight dubcon (voyeurism), eventual smut (will tag with specific on each chapter), skewed morals, joel using alcohol to cope with life and loss, reader is in the depths of deconstruction.

Imperfect for you a Joel one shot by @joelscruff

you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby.

age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles

rotten a Joel one shot by @alltheirdamn

Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy

No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole

Lost Cause a Joel one shot by @Joelalorian

Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope

rosemary by the garden gate Joel/Tim Rockford/Dio series by @marisferasiop

(set in an approximate late nineties/early aughts timeline) Shane, turned out by his family after being outed, is sleeping rough when he is abducted by a sex trafficking ring. Joel is Tess' lead enforcer in her gang. His twin brother, Tim, is a highly decorated detective in Major Crimes for the NYPD. Together, they help Tess and her investments navigate both sides of the law. When Shane is given to Joel one evening at a truce meeting between Tess' gang and their rivals, a human trafficking syndicate, he calls Tim to initiate a bust on the opposition. His one request: he wants the kid. Problem is, once Tim meets him, so does he. Most importantly: what does Shane want once his freedom is granted? Or does he even want his freedom, if these two are holding the reigns?

dead dove!! Human trafficking, unhoused gay minors/unhoused gay youth, abuse (physical, sexual, mental/emotional), sex trafficking, sex work, homelessness, food insecurity, stealing to survive, abduction, sex slave trade, gagging/choking (later consensual breathplay), rough oral, "painal" kink, non-con drugging, enemas, forced sex work, bondage for sex and for binding/imprisonment, non-con sex/rape, mafia-esque work and associated unpleasantness (gore and violence), mean but soft Joel, face slapping, spanking as foreplay, caning as punishment, orgasm delay/control, spitting in mouth, body modifications, marking, cum play, all the soft life-affirming gay sex after rescue (Joel and Tim are twins and don't fuck e/o but they do fuck Shane together at one point) a mention of the Meat Rack, the gay sex worker alley where serial killer Des Nilsen abducted his victims.

Win a Date With Javi G + Part 2 a Javi G/Jack Daniels/Reader series by @absurdthirst and @wardenparker

You and your best friend are huge fans of Spanish pop star Javi G, and she managed to convince you to enter a contest to win a date with the singer himself. No one is more surprised than you when you actually win. / Going home with Javi and Jack after the Grammys might be the most important decision you've ever made...

Cursing. Food/alcohol. Pure fluff and flirting. A little dirty talk/dirty flirting toward the end./ Dom/sub dynamic. MMF threesome. *This story features an established MM relationship!* Sex toys, collaring, dirty talk, enthusiastic use of 'Daddy', oral sex (f and m receiving), hand job, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dom!Jack, sub!Javi, cumplay, rimming, light choking, spanking, double penetration, double vaginal penetration, after care, exploration of power dynamics.

Waffles and Cigarettes a Javi P one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

After you are attacked during a night out, your ex boyfriend comes to your rescue

Attempted sexual assault (not Javi), violence, descriptions of blood and injuries, fingering, spit as lube, unprotected PIV, kinda rough sex, creampie, angst. absolutely feral, protective ex boyfriend Javi

Midnight Rainstorms a Javi P one shot by @thundermartini

Javier is coming home late, escaping from a storm. You’re trying hard not to drown in the incessant rain.

no y/n, female reader, reader is not physically described (except she has long hair), javier and reader are married, mentions of anxiety, mentions of trauma, mentions of guilt, mentions of narcos plot but it’s a blur, nightmare so it may be triggering, grief, no beta.

Crawl a Max Phillips one shot by @proxima-writes

Gym owner Max Phillips offers to let you use the sauna. In return, he uses your mouth.

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), no use of y/n, able bodied reader, dirty talk, crawling, oral (m receiving), no aftercare, semi-public sex.

Dancing Phantoms on the Terrace an Oberyn one shot by @janaispunk

You show up to Oberyn's party

(somewhat) modern!Oberyn, able bodied reader, reader has hair that wind is "whipping through", no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, once again it's all aboard the angst train i'm sorry babes

Happy Reading!

[galway-girlatwork]

I wasn’t tagged for this but Jana and Jo encouraged me to do this. And of course I am doing it last minute. 😊

So long story short…I do not do self-love. I find it actually mentally and emotionally painful. Years of trauma does that to a person.

I also do not believe that I am as good of a writer as others here. I read fics by Freya, Jett, Emily, Ali, Jana, Jo and so many more talented people, that I think, why the hell bother.

But I keep writing because I hear the stories in my head, no I am not crazy. Something will trigger a scene or an idea and then BAM, here I am with more WIP’s than I can shake a fuckin stick at.

So, here I am, trying to do self-love. Thank you, Jana, for making the incredible banner and encouraging me and thank you Jo for your encouragement as well. Without you two’s amazing messages, I never would have done this.

Joel Miller-

Fragile State

This was written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge-

I wrote this from Tara’s POV. I wanted to show how devastating it was for a wife to lose her husband, temporally, and how it affects those around him.

Beyond the Wall

This was inspired by one of Jett’s boyfriend vibes. Not the best smut as I really do suck at writing it but the angst with Joel and Stacie was something I felt. We never see what life was like in the QZ, how the struggle to survive was real.

Echoes of Hope

I know we were supposed to only include a series that was finished. This beast has one more chapter to it but to be honest I do not know when I will complete her. I started this in March and it took on a life of its own. Joel and Raven are in a good place right now. So many have told me how I need to end it but none of those ideas can be put to paper. I honestly feel that they deserve the peace they have right now.

Marcus Pike

Shadow and Flame

This was inspired by a beautiful mood board gifted to me by the amazing Freya. I had fun with this and I loved writing Daciana. She gave poor Marcus a run for his money. I would like to think that eventually they ended up together on a beach somewhere.

Marcus Moreno

Some Bodies

This was another writing challenge. Back at the end of July, @iamasaddie posted a “create your story” video. The concept was to screen shot each segment and you would get a story outline. Well, this where Marcus meets Priestly in Rome. Strangers to lovers. I love Priestly and there is nothing wrong with being an insecure Mafia boss. Marcus was a little surprised by how straight forward she is.

Last but most certainly not least is Frankie.

Deliver Me

Was yet another writing challenge, this one by written for Steph’s writing challenge. She let me know that yes kindergarten teachers can have sex. LMAO. But it’s really a love story and how the patience of one man can deliver a broken woman to the other side.

Beyond Times Edge

Oh Frankie and Una. I truly believe the epilogue was written better than the story. I had so much more detail in it but I loved Frankie in this. He realized witches and fairy rings were real. I can't thank Freya enough for the mood board and letting me know I could go anywhere with him.

So those are the favorites I’ve written this year. Some of the fics I’ve written were absolute bombs, I don’t do fluff very well but if you’re interested in those, they are on AO3. All of them have songs they’ve been written to. Music drives me so much. So if you want some of my favorite songs I’ve written to, let me know.

HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Oh and Jana and Jo…Thank you so very much.

Love, Dez.

PS. Thank you to @saradika-graphics for making beautiful dividers and for the book cover template that we all used this year. You are amazing.

Tagging below the peeps who've read my stories and those writers that I've read and absolutely love. @guiltyasdave @jolapeno @morallyinept @almostfoxglove @toomanystoriessolittletime @iamasaddie @604to647 @seven-seas-of-rhye-bread @pearlessance @wintrwinchestr @justagalwhowrites @whocaresstillthelouvre @pedgito @burntheedges

[misfithive]

Reality TV x Wilmon AU ideas

so guys before i feel down the wilmon spiral 3 years ago I was obsessed with reality tv. I desperately need a wilmon falling in love on reality tv fic or one shot or anything so im writing out these ideas hoping it sparks something for one of you amazing amazing writers in this fandom :D pls if anyone writes just tag or send it to me so i can read it ty ty!!!!!

Love is blind/ married at first sight/love island/ the ultimatum

1. first and obvious: LOVE IS BLIND

the premise of love is blind is that you talk in these pods and fall in love without ever seeing the person all they can hear is your voice. I think that would be so beautiful for wilmon cuz imagine they have these hear to hearts about their past how isolated they both felt and really bond yk. Wille could still be a prince here or like super wealthy something ?? When they actually meet there would deff be more conclict when they go back to “real life” but yk once they leave the pods they go on a honeymoon i still think they would be obsessed with eachother fall more in love then reality check when they get home conflict blah blah but both ofc agree to stay married at the end.

2. MARRIED AT FIRST SIGHT

Married at first sight is kinda like love is blond of steroids. The experts match you with someone you dont meet until that person walks down the aisle and u get married. It would be perfect if like the royal court is tired of waiting for wilhelm to find someone and settle down so they use this as like an arranged marriage situation. None of the other contestants would know the prince is participating ans the wedding bfs are always very small also secretive due to not wanting to spoil the season so Simon does not think much of the extra protocols etc. maybe its the first queer season and they think putting the prince on will help his image idk. It could be enemies to lovers bc imagine when the prince walks out or Simon walks out and simon is like wtf im not doing this. (there is always one person like that lmfao)

3. Love island

this would probably be more like a crackfic but imagine parts being told from the funny narrator’s pov (if any one is familiar with love island) but if they go on love island and the public thinks it would be funny to match them together. The show is pretty slow tho since it comes on every day but they could have other live interests do challenges casa amor 🤭 maybe one of them gets scared and decides to try it with someone else. Maybe this is the first queer season of the show 😎

4. The Ultimatum

some of u guys like mess and this would be MESSSY (most angst potential) eeeee okay so basically on the show you come in with your current partner one of the partners has given an ultimatum. Imagine simon is with marcus 🤢 and marcus gives him an ultimatum saying simon has to marry him or they are done. Simon is super anxious about it but also feels like he doesnt know if he can find better (he is traumatized and considering settling but goes on the show bc Marcus drags him there). Wilhem maybe gives his partner the ultimatum? Because of the pressure he is facing from his family to have a kid settle down etc. they are not in love really but are like perfect match on paper except maybe shes like doesnt know if she wants to have kids and settle down yet idk??? Basically wilhelm is rushing this whole thing bc of the anxiety and pressure and has resigned himself to not experiencing real love.

The way the show works is that they have time to mix and mingle and talk to other people (highly suggest watching the queer season of this show) and then decide which partners they want to switch with. Wilmon of course choose to match with eachother. They have to give a whole speech marcus might be super jealous would be lots of drama etc. then the new couples live together so wilmon relationship builds from there. I say shy simon of course and soft boys fall in loooooveeeee they learn about themselves etc. they have to keep seeing their “real partner” during this so the “real” partners tend to get jealous and its tons of drama. They have to sleep in the same bed with the new partner so ofc things happen then they may feel guilty bc its sort of a grey area of whether its cheating or “part of the experiment” - some people will be trying not to take it too far with their partner then find out their partner had sexxx then decide they dont care anymore etc.

They have to move back with their old partner for the second half of the show and usually thats when people are like yeah this is what i want or i want to go back to my old partner. At the end you pick if yoh want to stay with the partner you came with, leave with the person you did the experiment with, or leave single. But you dont know what the other person will pick so its a lot of stress and angst and drama.

Okay this is getting long i have more of course but plsssss someone do one 😭😭😭😭😭😭 i qill make u an edit to any song of your choosing oe whatever u want pls 😭🙏🏾 the ultimatum one sounds soooo fun so cool ikr okay byeeee

[anamazingangie]

let the past be the past | Rupert x Taggie

🥂 Rated M 🥂 7.8k words 🥂 Complete! 🥂 by AmazingAngie 🥂

Tags: Outsider POV, Misunderstandings, Five Years Later, Ralphie Henriques, Marcus Campbell-Black, Caitlin O'Hara Summary:

“She married Rupert?” He asked, absolutely aghast, "As in Rupert Campbell-Black? How the fuck did she manage that?”  “I have no idea. I’m as shocked as you,” the boy agreed, “She could do so much better.” or: weddings were supposed to be romantic, but a weekend spent in the Cotswolds celebrating the nuptials of his best schoolmate only served to thoroughly snuff out any chance Ralphie had of reigniting an old flame.

Excerpt:

Taggie laughed, “Now there is the man I married, I knew he was in there somewhere.” “Mm, but he’d rather be in you.” He said, his hands roaming to rather inappropriate places, specifically where her dress had ridden up, “And,” Rupert drawled, “I told you, darling, Campbell-Blacks never lose.” “For fucks sake, get a fucking room,” Declan grumbled. “This is a fucking room,” Rupert said smarmily, “All the rooms in this house are. Multi-use. Very modern.”

Read here or below the cut!

.

Ralphie liked to think of himself as a generally cheerful person, but his spirits were well and thoroughly dampened on that Thursday afternoon.

In part, because of the literal dampness.

The downpour had caught him by surprise and rain had quickly snuck through the collar of his coat and the soles of his shoes.

He had lived in America for the better part of the last four years, specifically in waterfront flats where he spent most days barefoot on sandy beaches. This meant he was out of practice when it came to both spotting and dodging puddles, which was a very necessary skill to have in London.

It also meant he forgot to bring his umbrella, another necessity for London. Especially in April.

This was to blame for his grim mood since he found it was rather impossible to be cheerful when his socks were soaked through.

But, one was always a bit more cheerful when they had a warm cup of tea. That english-ism had stayed with him, no matter how long he had been away.

🥂

The shop was warm, charming, and not particularly crowded given the odd hour and day of the week.

He debated about getting a croissant or scone too, but decided against it when he saw the price. His finances weren't quite what he had hoped they would be, and his return home was marked by his parent's inability to foot the bill for his seaside adventures, putting an end to them entirely and leaving him with a greatly reduced allowance.

Little costs add up, love, had been his mother’s admonishment that morning, and he didn’t want to explain the expenditure of fancy pastries.

The recession hadn’t been kind to them. They still had a luxurious flat and a country cottage, but it was the closest to desolate he had ever been in his life, and he was trying to be responsible.

This desire clashed with the person he, quite literally, crashed into — because he recognized the man, and he was one of the least responsible people he had ever known.

That was probably why they got on so well, honestly.

This person was none other than Patrick O’Hara, his best mate through secondary and roommate for three years when they were both attending Trinity. They had been thick as thieves right up until the poor boy fell in love and turned into a bit of a wet blanket.

Ralphie hadn’t had much tolerance for the damp back then, either.

There wasn’t much fun to be had with a friend that obsessed with his work and winning the affection of a woman who had turned him down numerous times. Ralphie had lost a wingman, and eventually, their friendship was lost too.

When they graduated nearly six years ago, they didn’t make any effort to keep in touch, and he hadn't seen him since. 

Still, they had more happy times than bad and with the distance of a few years between them, Ralphie found the memories of good times overwhelmed any others, bringing a genuine smile to his face at the sight of his old friend.

“Patrick?” He asked, watching his friend’s expression turn from apologetic to a surprised grin.

“Ralphie!”

🥂

Patrick was a regular at the shop, addressing the barista by name and asking for it to go on his tab.

According to the woman who gave them their tea, Patrick might as well have his name stamped on one of the oversized leather chairs given how often he sat there.

“The noise helps me think,” he said, sounding every bit the pompous playwright he had always wanted to become, though he hardly acted like one, which was a relief. Neither of them had done well with pretentious blokes, both of them more concerned with having a good time than following the ridiculous rules of society.

Yet in society, his friend had done well for himself, or so it seemed. He had written several plays, one of which ended up on the West End, and another had been sold to Venturer and was being produced by his fiancee.

Ralphie paused, recalling that the object of his friend's affection through their last year of university had been a producer, too.

Unlikely to be a coincidence, Ralphie thought.

Patrick grinned, the look of pure joy making him look like a boy again, “Yes, same broad, and after seven years of asking, she’s finally agreed to marry me. Can you believe that?”

Ralphie could, his friend was as charming as he was relentless, and Ralphie told him so. He had always admired that about him. His approach to everything was unconventional but he was so fucking confident that it worked.

Well. Worked eventually. He recalled him being rather devastated that Cameron Cook rejected his proposal made a whole four hours after they first met. 

“Congratulations,” he remembered to add, “When is the special day?” He asked.

“It’s this Saturday, the train leaves in three hours, just doing a bit more work before heading off.”

“Damn, wild to think you’ll be locked down before the week's end. Good for you.” He said, knowing from Patrick's smile that this was very much a happy event.

It wouldn’t be for Ralphie. He had never liked commitment. But he could still be pleased for his friend. 

Patrick looked down at his watch and cursed, “I’ve got a lunch meeting I need to catch but — what are you up to? You should come! Caitlin’s plus one backed out, and Cameron would be thrilled not to have a gap in the seating plan. A bit of a perfectionist, she is.”

Ralphie shook his head, they hadn’t talked in years, and he couldn’t very well go to his wedding.

But Patrick insisted, “You should come, really, you saw the start of it all and the suffering, you should see the happy ending, too.”

He pursed his lips, “Where is it?”

“Down in Rutshire. The ceremony at the local church, and reception at Penscombe, the Campbell-Black estate. It’s across the way from the Priory — you came out for birthday bashes there a time or two, the first of which was where I met Cameron.”

Right. Ralphie remembered…parts of that night.

He’d gotten pretty drunk.

But he remembered the liquor being good, at least.

“It won’t be awkward? Is there room?” He wondered, trying not to sound too excited, but the prospect of an open bar and room that didn’t share a wall with his parents was too appealing for him to protest much further.

“Plenty of it,” Patrick said cheerfully, “Rupert rented out accommodations for a hundred and fifty as a wedding gift and there is space at the Priory, too, you can stay there, take Taggie’s room, it’s been empty for ages, anyway.”

Taggie?

Fuck, he had almost forgotten about her.

And double fuck, he must have said that out loud.

Patrick’s eyes widened slightly as backtracked and realized the reason for his blanched expression.

“She has her own house there, no need for a room. She’s married. Has been for years. Blissfully happy, too, with kids and a whole pack of dogs to look after.”

Oh.

That was a relief, “So, will you come?” Patrick asked his tone one of pleading and his features contorted into something boyish once more.

Well. Fuck. He couldn't say no to that.

He nodded, “Sure, for old time's sake.”

A wedding in the Cotswolds was hardly his ideal vacation spot, but anything was better than being under his parent's roof. Maybe he could schmooze a bit, too, see if there were any bigwigs there who might take him under their wing.

Or at least, who might pay him a little too much just because of his last name, overlook his complete lack of practical work experience and share their private stash of cocaine as freely as their cigarettes. 

A boy could hope.

🥂

He realized rather quickly upon arriving at the Priory that this was a mistake.

Or at least, this wasn’t what he expected, because he was greeted by a sobbing Maud, mascara running down her cheeks and looking so devastated that he asked if someone had died.

“Worse!” She shrieked, “My baby boy is leaving me and getting married!” She wailed.

He blinked at her, wondering if Patrick had a much younger brother he was unaware of.

“He’s moving like eight kilometers away, mum,” Caitlin said, rolling her eyes as she flipped through a bridal magazine, offering a disinterested wave in his direction in place of a hello.

Right.

Well.

It wasn’t like he could just leave.

Blessedly, Caitlin told her mother to leave him alone and then offered to share her coffers of cigarettes and wine.

Thank fuck.

“Can’t survive this place without them,” she said, “Mummy gets more theatrical with each year that passes.”

“Fuck, I’d hate to see what she is like in a decade,” he muttered.

“Probably six feet under,” Caitlin said, her tone…more serious than he would expect given the morbidity of the comment.

“According to her, Patrick getting married is going to kill her. I can’t wait. We’d save buckets by reusing flowers, too, or at least Rupert would, fuck knows I didn’t put a penny towards this.”

Huh.

“My recommendation?” He didn’t recall asking for one, “Try to get a good sleep, last I checked, the chaos begins at 5AM tomorrow.”

“Christ,” he muttered.

“It’s being filmed for Venturer, a bridal special of some sort, probably just to write off the tax cost. Cameron is a shark, you know? But they are starting early for setup, following the duo around all day, etc.” She said, rolling her eyes, “Enjoy the peace while it lasts.”

Maud punctuated this with a wail of grief so loud it was nearly comical.

If this was what peace sounded like, he’d hate to hear the alternative.

🥂

Caitlin was right, it was chaos, but the champagne was poured before he even woke up, which made the fuss more amusing than annoying.

He stayed relatively close to Caitlin throughout the morning, enjoying her scathing descriptions of every person who came up to them. The Cotswold gossip was far more involved and scandalous than what celebrities across the pond got up to and he had missed this, even if the chill in the air made him shiver slightly.

“Oh, there is Taggie,” Caitlin said happily, and Ralphie’s eyes followed hers to the redhead a few fields away. She was wearing a shapeless plaid coat with bright red wellies that went all the way to the hem.

The girl he remembered would probably wear them to the church, too.

She looked more like a farm hand than anything else, and he felt a pang of embarrassment on the girl’s behalf.

He also noticed that she appeared to be bouncing a baby on one hip while her other hand was linked with a dark-haired child who seemed rather eager to progress down the trail.

There was another woman beside her who was shorter, wider, and also carrying a baby, while two dogs trotted ahead.

“Kitty agreed to watch them today, bless her, I could never. Taggie always insists on taking them over and getting them settled, she hates leaving them, even though they adore the cottage.” Caitlin said.

“They are Taggie's?” He asked, rather surprised by this, even though he probably should have put the pieces together already. Patrick had said she had kids, but three? And fuck, she was like three years younger than him, and he couldn't imagine having that many kids. Or any kids, really. 

Caitlin nodded, “The one in Flora’s arms, too. Proper twins, not the Irish sort.”

Christ.

🥂

The next time he saw Taggie, it was just before the ceremony. She was fussing with the handsome pianist’s tie and brushing off his lapels while Venturer’s crew moved around lights, trying to make the dim church look both bright and atmospheric.

The bride’s perfectionist tendencies were on display as she stomped around with her dress hiked up and hair half done, making demands and yelling seemingly just for the sake of it.

She was pretty, but he found his eyes drawn back to Taggie and her companion.

He looked a bit young, but so did Taggie, and she was somehow old enough to have three children. So the mystery boy could be her husband. They certainly seemed close enough given how at ease they looked with each other. 

Or maybe that was a point against them being married, given how rare companionable proximity was among couples of their class.

Taggie pressed kisses to the boy’s cheeks, then stepped down from the platform the piano had been positioned on. He still couldn’t get a great look at her, but she had ditched the boots and coat and definitely looked more appealing than he had expected.

Most women let themselves go when they married, especially after they had children, but — at least from this distance — she looked slender and perfectly put together.

Clearly, she had put in a great deal of effort, which made him all the more surprised to see her seated next to Declan and Maud, with no husband in sight.

“I thought Taggie was married?” He asked Caitlin, who bobbed her head in agreement.

“Then why aren’t they sitting together? Does he not get on with Patrick?” He wondered, and Caitlin laughed.

“No, it’s not that — it’s that he used to get on a bit too well with the bride. Cameron is still half in love with him and we’re all a bit worried she’d back out or burst into tears if she caught sight of him in a tux before everything was signed.”

He couldn’t tell if she was kidding.

“They dated for a few months years ago, and he hasn’t touched her since, but a girl can dream,” she said with a sigh.

“Years? And she is still in love with him?” He asked, wondering if Caitlin was exaggerating.

He had always been a book-smart sort of bloke, but terrible when it came to reading people, and her response didn’t offer much clarity.

“Mhm, but everyone is — even me! I was utterly obsessed with him once, had posters and everything. Mummy tried her best to snag him but he only had eyes for Taggie. Even my dad goes batty around him, I think half his disapproval was born from jealousy because he wanted to bed that man, honestly, because everyone does.”

He frowned, trying to process that and settling on, “He disapproved?”

Caitlin nodded, "Very much so. He loves the man but he was twice her age and a total rake. Not quite what a father wants for their little girl.”

Jesus.

“They get on just fine now, though. He’ll be here for the reception and will helicopter over from Paradise once the church bit is done. He’d never let Taggie wear that dress if he didn’t plan on being by her side tonight." She paused for a moment, then carried on, "Well. He'd never let her wear it if he was planning to be beside her now, either. He'd get them both sent to hell if you know what I mean." 

What?

How horribly outdated.

Who gave a fuck about what their girl wore? Was an arse.

And yet...,

Coming by helicopter?

“He is a wealthy bloke, then?” He asked, feeling a bit curious about the mystery man.

Caitlin gave him a look of surprise, “You really don’t know?”

She said it like it was supposed to be obvious.

He bristled, “It isn’t like we keep in touch, how the fuck would I know who she married?”

Caitlin laughed, “Right,” she said, though he thought he caught something sarcastic in her tone, “Well — yes. He is old money, big estate, big investments, big cock, and he likes showing them all off. Though I’d personally like to see less of the former and more of the latter — Taggie is such a lucky duck.”

Huh.

He was kind of eager to meet the guy, he sounded like an enigma, even if he was ancient. Taggie had always been a bit of a caretaker and not good for much beyond that. Maybe he was decrepit and she was his nurse and wife.

Fuck, she’d probably like that.

But somehow he thought if that was the case Caitlin would be less interested in his cock.

Who knows. Maybe she was into wrinkly dick, too.

Pity if she was, she seemed like a good time, and he’d never had the opportunity to sample sisters before.

🥂

The ceremony was long and tedious, the intimacy broken numerous times by lighting changes and moving cameras. Lines were repeated like it was a play rather than reality and the word ‘cut’ was shouted far more often than he thought was necessary.

But Cameron looked beautiful and Patrick looked ecstatic. He cried through the whole thing, his blubbering only outdone by his mother’s seemingly never-ending sobs. Her theatrics had earned her a camera fixed just on her, and he was pretty sure she was amping things up just to keep it there.

He was pretty sure he had been there for hours. But eventually, all the vows had been read, rings had been exchanged, papers had been signed, and their union was sealed with a kiss.

🥂

It was the pianist who caught Taggie when she was trying to make a call, holding her by the waist and striding toward the church lot where locals had parked and hired chauffeurs would ferry guests to Penscombe.

He and Caitlin caught up with them and she greeted the boy with a smile, “Good to see you, Marcus.”

The boy — Marcus, apparently — blushed, mumbling something that he couldn’t fully make out.

Ralphie ignored him, finding himself rather focused on Taggie.

Unable to focus on anything else, even.

From afar, he hadn’t seen anything of particular note, but up close she looked…gorgeous, truly. Her makeup was light, her eyes were bright, and her rosy lips looked gloriously soft, so much more attractive than the heavily lined style that was popular now.

Her features were still so sweet but had gained more definition with time, making them rather striking while carrying the fullness that one associated with youth.

It seemed like she hadn’t aged a day, truly, looking better while still so obviously her. The difference really was subtle but so very significant.

The most dramatic change, Ralphie thought, was in the way she carried herself. She was no longer the gangly girl he fucked when he was nineteen, one he had found pretty but so reserved he wouldn't have called her particularly attractive.

But now…

She was gorgeous.

Just…stunning in that effortless sort of way that most women couldn’t accomplish.

Her hair was wavy, but it was glossy too — like something out of a fucking Silkience advert, so at odds with the frizzy perms most guests boasted.

It was clearly natural, too, having a sort of dimension that couldn’t be created from a tube, no matter how carefully applied.

And her figure…fuck…

She’d always had good legs, but now she had good everything.

She was one of the rare few whose figure was improved by childbirth, and she now boasted curves that definitely hadn’t been there when he fucked her.

Her dress was made from a green velvet so dark that upon first glance he thought it was black. It was clingy but structured enough to come off as elegant rather than trashy, while still holding a unique sort of allure in its shape.

It was perfectly tailored to fit her, showed a bit of cleavage and her delicate shoulders, which highlighted a double-strand riviere necklace that draped prettily around her throat and collarbones.

The diamonds and emeralds shone even in the meager light of the foggy day, the sort of sheen that he associated with real diamonds and emeralds, but they were way too big to be anything other than fake.

Right?

The O’Hara’s were new money, and even then, they were barely new money at all. Really, they were of the middle class with upper-class friends like himself. They wouldn’t know what a faux pas it was to wear costume jewelry to a wedding ceremony.

Poor girl making an embarrassment of herself.

But damn if she didn’t look gorgeous, too.

“You look great, Taggie,” he said, reaching to squeeze her wrist — which he now realized was draped in a matching strand of emeralds.

She gave him a polite smile but showed no recognition when she thanked him and quickly pulled away.

He bristled.

Sure he had booted her out of bed pretty quick — in part out of shame for coming in two seconds flat — but he’d popped her cherry, she should remember his name at least. Unless she had turned into some sort of raging slut who couldn’t keep track of her body count, but he doubted that.

Then again, she had always been a bit dim, even a handful of names might be too many for her to keep straight.

And if her body count was bigger than what she could count on her fingers, she had no chance.

“This is Ralphie,” Caitlin said, "Patrick's roommate at Trinity."   

Taggie's eyes widened.

Well. She remembered his name, at least. 

“Right, of course, I didn’t recognize you, it’s been so long!”

Sure he had gained a stone or two, and perhaps his tan clashed a bit with his streaked red curls, but still, he was hardly unrecognizable. Just because she hadn’t aged a day didn’t mean that was a normal expectation to place upon others.

The brunette beside her curled his hand around her waist protectively and Ralphie rolled his eyes.

Fine, Marcus could have her, she wasn’t even his type.

She was way too tall.

Especially now, wearing pumps that had to be 10cm tall. They left her looking small beside the lanky pianist, but doubled the height difference between them.

No, she might be stunning, but he didn’t want her. Of course not.

“I’m surprised you aren’t calling the kitchens or sneaking off with the catering crew,” Caitlin teased, playfully bumping her sister’s shoulder.

“I tried,” Taggie said, sounding a bit dejected.

Marcus pressed a kiss to the top of her head and laughed, “Dad gave me strict orders to ensure she stays off duty today.”

Damn. Ralphie didn't swing that way, but he really was a handsome chap. 

Caitlin smiled, “Good, you’ve done enough — you always do — you deserve to have a good time.” Then after a pause, her fingers reached for her sister’s necklace, “And — Jesus Christ Tag, what did you have to do to get this? What did he do wrong?”

Taggie batted her hand away, “Nothing,” she said, a bit too quickly, “It was an anniversary present.” 

“What is his present?” Caitlin asked, “Let me guess, you are, wearing that and nothing else.”

Taggie said nothing but ducked her head, her cheeks flushing slightly in a way that betrayed the truth.

Fuck.

Ralphie stayed quiet until they reached the car park, not sure what to add to that, though he whistled as they approached and he saw the bright yellow Aston Martin V8 that stood out like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day. 

“That’s a really fucking nice car,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

He was surprised when Marcus responded by saying, “Thanks,” and pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

Jeeze, so he was fucking loaded, too.

Ralphie might not want Taggie but he’d love to ride that.

He didn’t have the opportunity for either, though, since he made no move to invite either of them to join him.

“Who is that?” He asked, feeling like he should recognize him. Or maybe he did recognize him. Something about the jawline and eyes seemed awfully familiar…

“Him? That’s Marcus Campbell-Black; Rupert Campbell-Black’s eldest son.

Oh.

“Not Taggie’s husband, then.”

Caitlin laughed a bit harder than he thought was necessary, “No. He adores her, though. If he was a few years older he would have had a good chance, I think.”

“She doesn’t take after her mother, then,” he said dryly, forgetting who he was talking to.

“Got a late-night visitor, huh?” Caitlin asked, sounding unsurprised.

“How did you know?”

She shrugged, “Because I know what mum is like.”

Then, “Oh, look, he’s here.” She said, gesturing towards the sky and the lone helicopter passing over them.

🥂

“Where the fuck is Taggie?” Maud hissed the second they arrived — the journey taking four times as long as it should have thanks to the narrow country roads, passing flocks of sheep, and the length of the procession.

Caitlin rolled her eyes, “Well given that we saw Rupert fly over at half past and they’ve been apart for all of six hours, she is probably bent over in some private corner. Horny bastard.”

She startled slightly as hands clapped down on her shoulders, “Don’t be jealous of your sister, it’s unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself.”

She snorted, “The only young lady coming in this house is the one you married.”

The man smirked, “Twice, even.”

Caitlin groaned.

Maud glared.

Ralphie wasn’t sure what was going on, but he felt like he might be missing something.

“Taggie is feeling a bit…unsteady, she’ll be down in a moment. What was it you needed?” The man asked.

Maud said nothing, she simply turned and stomped off.

“She is a delight as always, hm?” The man mused.

“She’s something,” Ralphie muttered, taking a long drink of the wine he’d pinched from a passing tray.

“I’m surprised you couldn’t hear her sobs from Paradise,” Caitlin said dryly.

“Is that what that was? Must have blocked it out.”

“Skill acquired from decades of being a rake, I suppose, get accustomed to making women cry,” Caitlin mused.

Who the fuck was this guy?

“Made them cry out my name, more like,” he grumbled, “Ceremony go alright, aside from that?”

His hand carded through his hair and Ralphie got a better look at him—oh fuck—

“You’re Rupert Campbell-Black,” he said, straightening once he realized.

He knew they were using his property, but he didn’t realize the man would be there.

One of his brows rose, and it was impressive how the subtle movement managed to convey so much indifference.

“Yes. And you are?”

He held his hand out, “Ralphie, Ralphie Henriques.”

Rupert looked at his hand and pointedly did not shake it.

Instead, he turned to Caitlin, “Nice seeing you, Caitlin, as always, save a dance for me,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek before slinking away.

“What an ass,” he muttered, seriously, how fucking rude.

What had he ever done to him? He had never even met the guy!

Caitlin sighed, “Isn’t it just? Even in trousers. It isn’t fair.”

What?

“No—no, that isn’t what I meant.”

“Oh,” she shrugged, “Well. It’s true.”

🥂

Dinner was pretty fucking fantastic, the best catering he’d had in a long time.

It was a bit distracting, though, the way Rupert was all over Taggie.

Christ, wasn’t she married ?

It certainly didn't seem to deter the older man. His hand was draped over her chair, fingers stroking her neck, and they were close enough for their thighs to touch. Not to mention the way he looked at her. It was so fucking salacious, and her father was right there!

And the way she responded, giggling and making eyes at him.

It was obnoxious.

He knew Rupert Campbell-Black had a reputation but he vaguely recalled his mother saying something about how he had settled.

Apparently not.

🥂

He wasn’t snooping, really, he was just trying to find the bathroom, stumbling through halls — maybe he drank a bit more than he thought — but he wasn’t drunk enough to forget what he heard.

“I’m proud of you, darling, acting like the proper guest you are instead of the help. Not that I would mind seeing you in uniform...”

“Rupert! That was one time!”

“I know, we still need to rectify that. But I mean it, Taggie, I know this is hard for you.”

“I tried. Marcus wouldn’t let me, though.”

“Good boy, he saved you a spanking.”

“Rupert!”

“Or maybe you wanted one? Hm? You just have to ask, darling.”

🥂

Upon trying to find his way back, he heard them again. God this place was a fucking maze, he needed a map.

“I don’t like him in my house.”

“You don’t like anyone in your house, Rupert.”

“I like you in my house…in my bed…”

He left before he heard the end of it or worse.

But if he had stayed, he might have avoided the humiliation that was yet to come.

“Yes, I presumed as much when you married me.”

“Presumptuous indeed, I’ll have you know I didn’t like the first woman I married very much at all.

🥂

The dancing was the worst, really, every time he saw them, they seemed to be even closer to each other.

“I wonder what her husband thinks about that,” he grumbled as he filled a plate with hors d’oeuvres.

“I think he’ll allow it,” Marcus, the Campbell-Black boy and pianist from earlier said, his tone rather dry.

“How would you know? You aren’t her husband,” and of course, he would be on his father's side.

“No,” he agreed, “I’m just her stepson, she is dancing with her husband.”

What?

“She married Rupert?” He asked, absolutely aghast.

“Taggie married him? As in Rupert Campbell-Black? How the fuck did she manage that?” He wondered out loud.

“I have no idea. I’m as shocked as you,” the boy agreed, “She could do so much better.”

Jesus Christ.

How on earth had that happened?

He downed the rest of his champagne, hoping that if he got drunk it would make more sense because it certainly didn’t when he was sober.

Well. That wasn't entirely true.

Rupert’s rudeness made a bit more sense now.

And once the shock wore off…

Man, Taggie must have been really hung up on him if even her husband knew about him. He hadn’t realized he made such an impression, but then, of course, he did.

Never mind that she barely recognized him that morning, maybe the light was in her eyes. It was a fluke.

He downed another flute of champagne.

Hm. Suddly, he was more interested in having a go with Taggie again than Caitlin. Rupert probably taught her some good shit.

God, he loved champagne, it made him see things so clearly.

🥂

Patrick found him for the first time after the cake was cut, asking if he was having a good time.

Yes, Ralphie decided, he was. He’d been dancing with…someone, and gotten a handy in the bathroom, and had a few more glasses of champagne, so he was doing pretty swell. Except—

“I can fucking feel Rupert glaring from here,”

Patrick’s brow furrowed, then he looked over his head and grimaced, “Right, sorry about that. I forgot about how protective he gets over her. Might want to steer clear of him, he has friends in high places and you wouldn’t want to…” He made a motion with his hand that alluded to a throat being cut.

Jesus Christ.

He should be afraid, probably, but all he could think about was that Rupert was jealous of him.

Of course, he was. 

He grinned.

🥂

Dancing came to an end, but the night didn’t, and somehow he found himself in the study, a space that seemed equal part office, library, and club, given that a large portion was devoted to a card table, bar, leather sofas, and a set of billiard tables that a few men were playing at.

Cigars had been passed out by Declan, and conversation had quickly turned to ‘shop talk’ that Ralphie tried to pay attention to, since after all, this was the time to make connections.

Unfortunately, at this time he was also rather tipsy, and not quite able to focus on what other people were saying while also contributing to the conversation.

It was a pity since at least a dozen of them were Very Important Men that he vaguely recognized from business magazines his father read. The others must have been family friends.

And then, there was Taggie.

Of the twenty or so occupying the room, she was the only woman, and she was nuzzled into Rupert’s side.

Rupert was lounging on a loveseat, his feet propped up on an ottoman, his shoes discarded somewhere. Taggie was barefoot too at this point, he realized, leaving her feet clad in nothing but stockings.

Rupert’s tie was gone, too, the cummerbund discarded, and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

They both looked so comfortable and relaxed, it was obvious who owned the place.

Fuck, he couldn’t believe anyone owned this place. This house was insane.

He heard his name mentioned, turning to someone whose name he had forgotten — fuck, he was supposed to be networking.

“You said you were in America since graduating?”

“Yessir,” Sir was always safe, “In California, for a couple of years, Florida for the last two.”

It was Rupert who answered, “Oh? Where at? We’ve spent a good deal of time in Palm Beach, haven’t we, darling?” He said, half addressing Taggie who nodded in agreement but didn’t lift her head from his shoulder.

She looked tired.

“Bought a charming ranch down there two summers ago. It’s a must if you want to have a chance to play professionally, a place to acclimate the ponies properly.”

Huh.

“Play…professionally?” He asked, mind feeling slow, slurred, like his words probably would be if he had another sip of brandy.

“I manage a polo team,” Rupert said icily, clearly unimpressed at Ralphie’s inability to put things together.

Ralphie couldn’t blame him, that should have been obvious. 

“It's unlike you to be modest,” Taggie said, perking up a bit with pride and actually looking in Ralphie’s direction for the first time since they got to Penscombe, “He manages a team with Ricky France-Lynch, Perdita MacLeod, and the Napier brothers.”

He whistled, “They’re good.”

“Of course they are, I manage them,” Rupert said smugly.

Taggie laughed, “Now there is the man I married, I knew he was in there somewhere.”

“Mm, but he’d rather be in you.” He said, his hands roaming to rather inappropriate places, specifically where her dress had ridden up, “And,” Rupert drawled, “I told you, darling, Campbell-Blacks never lose.”

The kiss that followed was relatively chaste, but the way they looked at each other…it felt invasive. 

Like he was witnessing something special and intimate that he shouldn’t be allowed to see.

Like he wasn’t worthy of seeing it.

“For fucks sake, get a fucking room,” Declan grumbled.

“This is a fucking room,” Rupert said smarmily, “All the rooms in this house are. Multi-use. Very modern.”

Howls of laughter came from the other men while Declan muttered something under his breath.

“This one is especially good for it,” Rupert said lazily, gesturing to the billard tables, “Lots of surfaces and a door that locks.”

More howls of laughter and jeers followed while Declan bellowed, “That’s ENOUGH!”

Rupert still looked unmoved, “Don’t be such a prude, don’t forget that I’m solely responsible for you having grandchildren.”

Taggie interrupted, “Soley responsible? Really Rupert?”

He pursed his lips, “Sorry darling, I’m partially responsible.”

She looked appeased, settling against him once more.

“Well. Go make them elsewhere, please,” Declan said, still scowling.

“It’s my house, I can make them wherever I want, but if you insist…” Rupert sighed, checking his watch and putting out his cigar, “Really, we should get to bed, it’s after this one’s bedtime.”

Ralphie grimaced, talking about her like she was a child after talking about making children with her was just — disgusting.

The man stood from the loveseat and pulled Taggie up with him.

Ralphie couldn’t help but notice how Rupert was quite a bit taller than his wife.

He’d fucking tower over Ralphie.

He swallowed. Maybe he wouldn’t go after Taggie.

“C’mon darling, time to get you upstairs and get you out of this dress.”

🥂

“Not the only thing he is going to get,” Basil Baddington said with a laugh after they left, taking the now empty loveseat for himself.

Declan groaned.

“Your daughter is the best thing that ever happened to him,” Basil said fondly.

“Damn right she is,” Declan agreed brusquely.

“And, he had the good sense to realize that,” Basil said, his gaze rather pointed — and surprisingly, not directed at him, but rather towards Declan, “Which is more than I can say for some.”

There was an awkward pause that Ralphie stupidly filled with a question — one asked a little too loudly.

“How long have they been married?”

God, he was sloshed, wasn’t he?

“Five-ish years?" Bas said, “Though you’d never know it. They still act like newlyweds.”

No kidding. They were more affectionate at dinner and on the dance floor than Cameron and Patrick, the actual newlyweds.

Ralphie had never thought much about marriage, even dreaded the thought.

It might be nice to have a woman in his bed every night, depending on the woman, but he liked having different women in his bed and had little desire to give that up.

But watching Rupert and Taggie tonight…the way they looked at each other…no one had ever looked at him like that.

Even if Taggie loved him, if she ever loved him, she hadn't loved him like that.

And…well, for the first time ever he found himself wishing that someone would.

🥂

Breakfast the following morning was a raucous affair, though he woke up surprisingly early and caught the house in an unusual state of calm.

Maud must have still been in bed.

He wandered through the downstairs, hoping to find water biscuits or something to settle his stomach

Instead, he found Taggie.

Well. Taggie, a woman he hadn’t met, two dogs, and three children.

Taggie was chopping something while talking to the girl sitting on the other side of the counter and periodically tending to pots on the stove.

The sharp yap of a dog startled him, and drew all of their attention to him.

“Oh, good morning,” Taggie said, while the woman across from her straightened, “Good morning indeed,” the mystery girl said, “I’m Flora, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

No. They hadn’t. He would have remembered her, she was a babe.

He was about to respond when the child interrupted, ”I’m Matthew! I’m FOUR!”

Taggie laughed, pressing a kiss to the boy’s head before urging him to sit back down, “It isn’t safe to stand on the stools,” she admonished.

“He is so much like Rupert,” Flora said fondly, and Taggie nodded, “I know — he lives to take risks and garner attention, Rupert is thrilled.”

Flora snorted, “I bet he is. Finally has the mini-me he always wanted.”

There was a bitterness there that Ralphie couldn’t quite understand. 

Matthew looked between them, likely not understanding either, but proudly announcing he was going to be “Just like daddy!”

“Daddy?” Another small voice asked, one of the younger girls that was playing on the floor looked around only to realize he was nowhere to be found. She started crying, then the other girl did, too.

Fuck.

Taggie sighed, setting her knife down and tending to the girls.

Flora was unfazed, clearly used to this racket.

Ralphie wasn’t, and it was worsening the headache he had woken up with.

“Just don’t try to marry your mum,” Flora said, bopping the boy's nose with her finger, “Marcus already drives him half mad. You have to find your own Taggie.”

The boy jutted out his lip, “I’m going to marry you ‘Lora,” he said with more confidence than Ralphie would expect from a four-year-old.

Definitely that cocky bastard's child.

Taggie turned to him again, the girls settled, and one of them in her arms.

They were the spitting image of her, red waves mixed with honey blonde and wide cerulean eyes peering out from dark lashes.

“Did you need anything?” She asked.

He found himself frozen in place, a bit stunned by how lovely she looked. Her face was free of makeup now, she wore a simple shirtwaist and a striped apron with her wavy hair lazily piled up in a clip.

She had no right to look that attractive when dressed like a fucking housewife who hadn’t even looked in the mirror that morning.

Not that she needed to, because she looked really fucking attractive.

And seeing her with her child made it so easy to imagine that being his child and the thought of that inspired a pang of longing in him that was far more disturbing than the arousal that simmered when he first caught sight of Taggie.

“Uh, no.” He said, forgetting what he came for, and all about the pretty girl—Flora—who had seemed interested in him.

He stumbled towards the doorway, “I think I need to go back to bed…” he mumbled, taking his leave.

🥂

He did go back to bed.

But he definitely didn’t dream of picnics and pushing children on swings.

Or about chaste kisses and wedding rings.

Or about holding a baby in one arm and a wife in the other.

He didn’t.

Definitely not.

🥂

Two hours later, he was woken by a knock on the door warning him that breakfast was ready.

He managed to button his shirt right on the third attempt and ran his fingers through his hair. He probably should have showered but it was too late now.

He regretted this choice when he found his seat, since he was right next to the pretty girl, “Flora, right?” He asked. She nodded.

“Are you a friend or family?” He asked and she shrugged, “Taggie treats them as one and the same, but more of a friend.”

“Unless Matthew gets his way,” he teased.

She laughed, “True, or Rupert.”

He blinked, “You’re with Rupert?”

He supposed he should have expected that given his reputation but everyone seemed so convinced—

Her expression was one of horror, “Fuck, no. I mean, I wished, but I’d never…” she pursed her lips, “Every girl at my school wanted him like that, myself included, but now that I know him, he’s insufferable. I don’t know how Taggie puts up with him.”

Ah.

“Rupert is campaigning for me to marry Marcus.” She clarified, nodding towards the boy, who was seated between Caitlin and Taggie.

Right.

“And will you?” He asked.

She laughed, “If he asks, maybe. But I think we’d both rather marry Lysander if you know what I mean, or at least go to bed with him.”

He didn’t. And he didn’t know who that was, either.

“God, they’d be handsome together.” She said with a sigh, “But Kitty is perfect for him,” she said, only sounding a little disappointed.

He had no idea what the fuck she was talking about.

“How did you meet Marcus?” He asked, trying to shift the conversation towards something he did recognize.

“We went to school together. First kisses, first times, all that. Took me home for Christmas last year and then I never left.” She said with a laugh, “Watching the twins pays better than playing the viola and you can’t beat the food…and view,” she said, eyes drawn across the table again.

“What is it that you do?” She asked him, looking interested—or doing a good job of faking it.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

What did he do?

What had he done?

Nothing.

Nothing except tanning, partying, drinking, and taking pretty girls back to the flat his mum and dad paid for.

A few months ago he had been proud of that, thought he was living the dream.

But now…

Now he was surrounded by people who had accomplished things. Who had their own companies and homes and fucking helicopters.

He had been confronted with a sort of success he had never felt, and it had never felt more out of reach.

And he had never felt worse about himself.

Especially when he looked towards the head of the table and saw Taggie looking at Rupert with so much admiration and love that one might think he was a King rather than a mere man in his mid-forties.

And when Rupert looked at Taggie…well, one would think she was his Queen.

Ralphie had always thought she was a bit of an imbecile and mediocre lay.

Maybe he was the imbecile.

He didn’t like the thought of that at all. 

Fuck, he needed a drink. Or a hit.

At least then he could blame his stupidity on being drunk. 

🥂

When he got back home and had slept off the hangover, he asked his mother about it, “Did you know Rupert Campbell-Black married Declan O’Hara’s daughter?”

She paused, then gave him a look, “Everyone knows that sweetheart. Christ, take a look at today's paper,” she said, nodding towards the stack.

It was flipped open to the sports section, filled with speculation about the Queen’s Cup next month.

At the center of it all was a photo labeled, Rupert Campbell-Black and wife, Taggie Campbell-Black.

The headline below said;

Olympian Rupert Campbell-Black Has Set his Eyes on Queen’s Cup :“I make a habit of getting what I want, and I want to win.”

Campbell-Black says, “I won gold twice over, once in 80’ and again in 85’ when I married Tag. If I can win the heart of a girl like her, then nothing is out of bounds.”

Below was another photo of Rupert with Taggie, very clearly a family portrait, though he didn’t recognize everyone in it.

Ricky France-Lynch (32), Perdita France-Lynch (22), Matilda France-Lynch (2), Rupert Campbell-Black (43), Taggie Campbell-Black (24), Marcus Campbell-Black (17), Tabitha Campbell-Black (15), Matthew Campbell-Black (4), Charlotte (Lottie) Campbell-Black (2), Adelaide (Ladie) Campbell-Black (2)

Christ, Rupert had been fucking busy.

His mother was still chattering on about Taggie.

“Taggie is an absolute doll, I’ve met her a few times at various events.”

“She prefers the country but everyone in London absolutely adores her.”

“She carries around freshly baked cookies you know? And Milkbones for the dogs!”

“She is the sister of Patrick, that boy you used to go to school with, you know?”

“She is such a sweetheart. I wish you’d bring home a good girl like that—“

He interrupted her drivel, which he had largely tuned out, “Why is Ricky France-Lynch in the family portrait?” He asked his mum.

She let out a very long and very loud sigh, “Honey, you really need to start reading the paper, a lot happens around here in five years.”

No kidding.

[thankssaragorn]

using my deep and serious thinking skills to make a highly detailed playlist centered around steve rogers and bucky barnes? more likely than you'd think. this might be a crazy small niche but i hope one person enjoys this.

song analysis under the cut <3

Pre-War

Stubborn Love (The Lumineers) First and foremost i am a stevebucky lumineers truther, this is evident by every edit i've ever made. This is just very them, reflecting on how young love is simultaneously wonderful and kinda awful, and i think this works out for them whether you hc that they were together before the war or if you hc that they weren't but there were weird feelings or whatever. they were stubbornly devoted in any way.

True Blue (boygenius) its about being best friends with someone and knowing someone very well and loving them through all the good bad and mediocre things, and that's ~relevant~. drawing attn to "i cant hide from you like i hide from myself"

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Jeff Buckley) i don't have a ton of serious analysis for this other than that it vibes out super hard for me from Steve's POV after Bucky leaves for the war when he's suddenly by himself for the first time in his life.

dorothea (Taylor Swift) song from Bucky's POV, reflecting on Steve when he was younger. And like maybe he's reflecting from war, maybe he's reflecting from the 2020s, but like definitely time has passed. in my mind this is Bucky thinking about growing up with Steve.

cowboy like me (Taylor Swift) song from Steve's POV about him and Bucky, specifically when Steve parses out his feelings for the first time.

Fast Car (Tracy Chapman) this feels like Bucky's POV like when he's about to leave for the war and they're remembering hot summer nights and dreams about visiting the Grand Canyon. super normal about this.

Gun Song (The Lumineers) song from Steve's POV, ye olde atlas themes. Steve and his legacy (TM). lord help him.

The War

Nobody's Soldier (Hozier) i go back and forth on this for them. i think in the context of WW2, this is a Steve song, but in the context of the 21st century this is a Bucky song. it's thematically appropriate for them both. the tension between the orders and the missions and the ultimate reasoning for why they're fighting. whatever, i can't be normal.

Be Still (The Killers) this song is about Steve Rogers hope this helps. "Rise up like the sun, labor til the work is done" what the hell man!! this one does have the vibes of the singer speaking to someone, and i envision Sarah saying this to Steve.

A Pearl (Mitski) this is a Steve POV. but the 'war' is Captain America and he's losing himself to it but he's not really upset about it. "god's righteous man, pretending you could live without a war" this is also a Dick Winters song but that's neither here nor there.

Body to Flame (Lucy Dacus) Bucky 's POV to Steve, sorta in response to Steve losing himself to Cap. I envision like BUCKETS of angst between them for the first few months after Azzano where they can't really reach each other because they've both found a safety net in the war instead of in each other.

Gale Song (The Lumineers) Bucky POV during the war but before Steve gets there when he's like wow this shit sucks i'm glad Steve isn't here. And then maybe tack it on to his complicated feelings about Peggy and Steve being on the front with him.

Cleopatra (The Lumineers) This is my Steve Rogers Anthem. "The only gifts from my Lord were birth and a divorce/But I've read this script and the costume fits so I'll play my part." This is S T E V E.

You'll Never Walk Alone (Marcus Mumford cover) I put this on here after reading "The Hundred Year Playlist" by girlbookwrm on AO3, this song is the chapter song for when Bucky falls off the train. I kinda have it in here as the placeholder song for the train scene.

Me & My Dog (boygenius) Steve POV when he's crashing the Valkyrie and he tells Peggy 'this is my choice' after she told him to 'give Barnes the dignity of his choice' because that's a callback if i ever did hear one. he's flashing through his memories, thinking about getting to see his mom and dad and Bucky again.

In a Week (Hozier, Karen Cowley) Steve POV AFTER he's crashed the Valkyrie, when he's drowning (Sorry). Because he honest to god does think he's going to die and be reunited with Bucky again. End tweet with extreme prejudice. "I'd be home with you, I'd be home with you"

Bucky as The Soldier

doomsday (Lizzy McAlpine) I see this one specifically for the time period between when he's captured and when they fully figure out how to brainwash him. when hes conscious of the fact that hes a prisoner. and then when they tell him that Steve is dead (nightmare). and then at the end its "i had no choice in the matter, why would i? it's only the death of me" once they finally wipe him.

Timekeepers (Lucy Dacus) "I fought time, it won in a landslide, I'm just as good as anybody, I'm just as bad as anybody" this evokes those fics where it's a disjointed account of his years as the soldier where he wakes up long enough to remember who he is before they wipe him again.

Steve in the Future

epiphany-long pond (Taylor Swift) like right after he wakes up and they tell him its 2011, and then he's in that cabin just reading dossiers about the last 67 years. and he's having flashbacks and nightmares because 1945 was only a week ago. just that. "Only 20 minutes to sleep, but you dream of some epiphany, just one single glimpse of relief, to make some sense of what you've seen"

Sick In The Head (The Lumineers) another legacy song! who knew! he'd already started losing himself to Cap during the war, and now nobody even knows who Steve Rogers is. so he should just be Cap right? "I don't know if its alright with you, i'll be gone, a ghost will be here in my stead" but the ghost is Cap.

O Theo (Matthew Perryman Jones) This is like that deleted scene where he's reading the dossiers about his dead friends sorry. "Then my heart was still unknown I was drunk and full of sorrows/I was longing for a home with nowhere to go."

Pride and Joy (Brandi Carlile) this song is about Sarah Rogers end tweet. and maybe Peggy and Bucky a little, but mostly him talking to Sarah, wondering if she'd recognize the man he has become.

Maine (Noah Kahan) this is like that deleted scene from The Avengers where he’s wandering around the city by himself and looking at the files of his dead friends. and then feelings (TM) about new york changing while he's gone and how he recognizes it but he also really doesn't.

Hits Different (Taylor Swift) from Steve's POV like missing Bucky and remembering all the times when they were young that Steve was stupid about them and now that Bucky's dead Steve is like "suddenly i am incapable of getting over you even though i never had trouble with that before." and at the end of this she says "i heard your key turn in the door down the hallway, was that your key in the door? is it you? or have they come to take me away?" and like don't think about Steve having nightmares about Bucky being alive and waking up in his dumb fucking SHIELD apartment alone. don't do that.

Fireworks (Mitski) this is like when Steve wakes up and realizes nobody knows him they just know Cap so he leans into it. "i will go jogging routinely, calmly and rhythmically run, and when I find that a knife sticking out of my side, i'll pull it out without questioning why." plus the fireworks motif with his bday being on July 4.

Some Nights (fun.) this to me is just like that whole time from defrosting through TWS, and i've made two different edits to this song about steve so i'm obviously so normal about it. specifically the section about how he joined SHIELD to help people and then slowly realized he was making things worse. "oh lord i'm still not sure what i stand for, what do i stand for"

The Archer (Taylor Swift) when he can’t tell where Steve Rogers ends and Captain America begins. this is very "The Avengers" to me, and then his time with STRIKE when he's like sure i guess i'll fight if i don't have anything else to live for. "i jump from the train, i ride off alone, i never grow up, it's getting so old. help me hold onto you" BYE

Dawns (Zach Bryan and Maggie Rogers) this song to me reads as like thinking about how your relationships used to be and being so angry because you want it all back but you can't go back because everything is dead. and then violently regretting what you never were able to say to them. "it just dawned on me life is as fleeting as the passing dawn, and i shoulda told him twice i believe in something bigger than both of us."

Zombie (The Cranberries) odd placement but hear me out. this is obvs a Steve POV song we all know this, and it's a song about war we all know this, but i didn't vibe with it in the war section. this song is angry, and i vibe it with Steve's anger at the state of the future & how war and violence have only worsened, and with his shady SHIELD work in DC & his slowly building gut feeling that he isn't actually saving people.

The Winter Soldier & After

Trouble Man (Marvin Gaye) it's the TWS anthem, and i love this song.

making the bed (Olivia Rodrigo) from Steve's POV during TWS, with the whole 'i died for nothing' and 'i've been working for the very people i swore to destroy' vibe. but with the grain of salt that he's honestly not trying very hard to be a person, and he can't just blame all his shit on HYDRA. "they're changing my machinery and i just let it happen, i got the things i wanted its just not what i imagined"

Running Up That Hill (Kate Bush) this is like my fun movie montage of Steve and Nat and Sam digging through the file dump and putting together clues to find Bucky and Steve is like "if i only could, i'd make a deal with god, and i'd get him to swap our places" DO YOU SEE. i hate it here.

Love Of My Life (Queen) from Steve's POV looking for Bucky. because he's like girl why did you leave. and even though we know that Bucky leaving has narrative significance, Steve is just sad about it. but still, he loves Bucky no matter what.

Futile Devices (Sufjan Stevens) from Bucky's POV. his memories of Steve are scattered and don't make very much sense, but they're strong and he has good feelings associated with them. and maybe here he's like in the same city as Steve and he's thinking about reaching out, but he can't figure out what words are good enough to explain everything happening in his head so he stay away. "and i would say i love you but saying it out loud is hard, so i wont say it at all, and i wont stay very long"

Bite The Hand (boygenius) this is from Bucky's POV obviously. this is one of the first damn songs i put on this list. identity?? who is she?? "i can't love you how you want me to" and "who do you think you are? who do you think i am? what do you wanna say? what do you think will change? maybe i'm afraid of you." like come on. the conflict between The Soldier and James Barnes and Bucky.

No Machine (Adrienne Lenker) from Steve's POV, to me this is like when Steve has decided to stop chasing Bucky and let him decide whether to come in. but he doesn't want Bucky to think Steve stopped caring about him, he just cares about him enough to let him go. "to the ocean of your love i am a river"

Sun Bleached Flies (Ethel Cain) from Bucky's POV when he's hunting down HYDRA, and the memories are flooding back but its the Soldier memories not the childhood ones. "if its meant to be then it will be/I forgive it all as it comes back to me" and "i always knew that in the end no one was coming to save me so i just prayed and i keep praying and praying and praying"

A Troubled Mind (Noah Kahan) from Bucky's POV about his scrambled brain. this song has the vibes of "my head is a mess and i don't know what's real but i have all these feelings that i'm so sure about and i don't know why i'm sure about them or what they even mean." and then he's trying to go around to different places hoping something familiar triggers something for him to remember. i'm fine this is all fine.

Killer + The Sound (Phoebe Bridgers, Abby and Noah Gundersen) from Bucky's POV. here, he's recovered most of what he's gonna recover. he's started to settle down like in Romania, and he's balanced out he doesn't have as many flashbacks and nightmares and he's like wow maybe i can reach out to Steve now AND THEN he sees Steve on the news in Sokovia doing hero shit and he has a whole crisis. "i am sick of the chase, but i'm stupid in love, and there's nothing i can do". and then the second half of the song where the pov shifts from "i" to "you" to me that's like the part of his mind that he calls The Soldier talking to the James part i dont know man i dont know. it's all sad.

The Only Living Boy in New York (Simon & Garfunkel) this is a vibe song for them and their messy relationship with new york in the past and in the future.

Civil War Movie Specifically

Under Pressure (Queen, David Bowie) Another one taken from "The Hundred Year Playlist" by girlbookwrm. the theme vibe for Civil War for me, but like the song is from Steve's POV about the Avengers Divorce.

coney island (Taylor Swift, The National) this is a notable stevebucky anthem, and it could go anywhere but i put it here because this period has the required amounts of angst for them. like specifically when they ride in that plane together from Germany to Siberia. the Taylor verses are Steve, and The National verses are Bucky.

Guilty As Sin (Taylor Swift) from Steve's POV like after the Accords conflict becomes about Bucky and he decides he's gonna burn the world for Bucky and he doesn't care about Cap anymore. and also this song is fun and there's that vibe of being like "are we actually anything or am I just remembering it wrong, but either way I am down bad for you" which I believe is there for them. "if long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly. i choose you and me, religiously"

I Want You (Mitski) from Bucky's POV when Steve shows up in his apartment in Bucharest. and then his POV throughout the whole rest of the movie, like any time they're alone together and Bucky has all these thoughts he wont voice. "you're coming back and it's the end of the world, we're starting over and i love you darling, and i am done here."

Unknown/Nth (Hozier) from Steve's POV. when he's just trying to make Bucky understand that he wants him as he is now, not how he was in 1945. and then the themes this song has about loving something that's probably bad for you, but you do it anyway. "that i'd walk so far just to take the injury of finally knowing you"

Northern Attitude (Noah Kahan, Hozier) from Bucky's POV during Civil War. "if i get too close and i'm not how you hoped, forgive my northern attitude i was raised out in the cold" gosh. and he's like yea hey Steve have you been doing okay i wanna be in your life again but i refuse i wont ruin it i can't.

The Tortured Poets Department (Taylor Swift) from Steve's POV. another one of him trying to make Bucky understand that they're both different people, and they don't need to be who they used to be. "who's gonna know you if not me?"

Long Long Time (Linda Ronstadt) from Steve's POV when Bucky goes into cryo in Wakanda and Steve loves Bucky so he's not arguing or anything but he's like WRENCHED about it obviously. "i've done everything i know, to try and make you mine, and i think i'm gonna love you for a long long time."

The Boxer (Simon & Garfunkel) this is generally Steve coded, i don't hold it emotionally to a specific area of his life, i thought about putting it in his defrosted era but i think it's better here, after Civil War when he's on the run. "i am leaving, i am leaving but the fighter still remains"

Democracy (The Lumineers cover of Leonard Cohen) from Steve's POV. like imagine, he tears the star off of his uniform and grows his hair out and he and Team Cap are doing aid work and disaster relief around the world instead of killing people, and he's like "this is what i was supposed to be a symbol of. this is what i am meant for" and then in a perfect world he never becomes Cap again but he keeps fighting, just on a different scale, and for things that actually matter to him. "sail on o mighty ship of state, through the shores of need, past the reefs of greed, through the squalls of hate. sail on, sail on, sail on"

Post-CW, or like in an AU after and the vibe is "they've reunited but they haven't healed yet"

Two Ghosts (Harry Styles) from Bucky's POV, about relearning themselves and one another in the modern world. but it's hard because they have no idea how to actually communicate with each other.

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus (Taylor Swift) from Bucky's POV. Could totally be like "Peggy or Sam or Sharon or Tony" when he's like in a crisis about who he's become and whether he's worth loving anymore. "if you wanna break my cold cold heart just say 'i loved you the way that you were'"

I And Love And You (The Avett Brothers) i go back and forth on this but i think its a POV for both of them. "Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in, are you aware the shape I'm in?" they both come back to NY different men from when they left, and Brooklyn is important for them to find themselves and each other again.

Renegade (Big Red Machine, Taylor Swift) insane to me this is insane to me. from Bucky's POV to Steve, when Bucky's evened out and made real progress and he realizes Steve has been slowly killing himself ever since he was defrosted. and Bucky says "how are you supposed to help me heal if you wont even heal yourself?" "is it insensitive for me to say 'get your shit together so i can love you'"

Fresh Out The Slammer (Taylor Swift) from Bucky's POV and it's like his Turning Moment when all the trigger words and programming are gone and he can just work on being Bucky now. and he knows all isn't well just because he's free from the programming, he knows that this is just the beginning of a lot more shit they have to handle, "but it's gonna be alright, i did my time"

The End.

Fine Line (Harry Styles) from Bucky's POV. starting anew, and all the crap that comes along with that. it's not a perfect ending, i love me some interpersonal angst. but the way Bucky sees it, they're going to have highs and lows, but for the most part they'll ride the fine line, they'll be balanced, and they love each other which is all that matters.

Two Slow Dancers (Mitski) from Steve's POV. because in my hc, it takes five-ever for Steve to deconstruct the Cap Walls and figure out how to be a person again. and this song is like super sad, but i put it down here because it's about mourning the past and accepting the future. Steve mourning the person he was so that he can better become the person he is now. "to think that we could stay the same, but we're two slow dancers, last ones out."

I Wanna Get Better (Bleachers) okay this one, verse one and two is Bucky's POV, verse three is Steve's POV. this song to me has the vibes of "when you have someone you love, but you have to get better for yourself you can't get better for them." "that's why i'm standing on the overpass screaming at myself 'hey i wanna get better'"

Forever (Mumford & Sons) Steve POV, like the "you" in this song is Steve. so maybe he's saying it to himself or maybe someone is saying it to him. this is Steve fully accepting his place in the future, and mourning the past (Peggy) but deciding to move forward and love fully. Eff you Russos.

Ain't No Mountain High Enough (Marvin Gaye) no analysis just vibes. let them be happy goddammit.

At Last (Etta James) they're fine! they're happy! they don't fight crime anymore, they fight for civil rights and education and democracy. and they're gross and in love.

Patience (The Lumineers) i just like this as a conclusion, like a montage of them living quietly somewhere. having family dinner with their people. making new friends. reading quietly on a sunday morning. it took a long time for them to get here, but they made it.

[letters-adressed-to-the-fire]

pov: you’re addicted to the “if-onlys” (or me when I’m over-analyzing Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus)

Yes, I’m gonna analyze the entire song. No, I don’t need an introduction. Yes, let’s dive into it.

Let’s start with the very interesting use of the word "hologram".

"Your hologram stumbled into my apartment"

We’ve seen Taylor use "phantom" and "ghost" to talk about past relationships in other songs (for example: loml), but we’ve never seen her use "hologram." Why? Well, this suggests she might be talking about something more present, as if the relationship had become so worn out that he stopped being a real person to her and turned into a hologram—something close yet untouchable.

But, this line, followed by “hands in the hair of somebody in darkness” paints a picture of someone cheating. So, even if Taylor intended this, the ambiguous nature of the verse means it’s necessary to approach it from a different angle too.

Yes, the idea of her coming into her apartment and being followed by the presence of the person she loved, does resembles the idea of a ghost. But the use of "hologram" indicates something different this time, she’s talking about the person’s current actions, and given Taylor’s past relationships with famous people, it makes sense that she would know when they started seeing someone new.

So, what does this mean? With these lines Taylor is bringing a completely different emotion to the song, one that permeates throughout: The rarely discussed how, when someone you loved starts moving on, you’re left wondering, "Why am I staying behind?" and "Why does it still hurt?"; and how this can lead to drowning in "what ifs" and trying to remember why it didn’t work out.

"As the decade would play us for fools And you saw my bones out with somebody new Who seemed like he would've bullied you in school"

In the same note, this part of the verse mirrors Taylor's narrative but from the guy’s point of view. She’s now saying the same thing happened to him.

There’s something common in both perspectives tho, Taylor is not just saying “you’re with someone else”, she’s saying “you’re with someone else and that makes me angry”. In the first lines, the mention of names like "Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus" emphasizes her anger and condescension, showing that she doesn’t care about the specifics of who he’s with, just that it’s not her. Paralleling this, the line “who seemed like he would’ve bullied you in school” suggests she’s trying to provoke her ex by mentioning something that would bother him, not because the new partner is a bully (obviously), but because it’s a sore spot for her ex.

"And I just watched it happen" "And you just watched it happen"

Here, we are already introduced to one of the key elements of the song: the act of watching. Throughout all the song, Taylor will resort to this bit to depict a sense of helplessness.

In the first verse, it is used to portray how both parts of the relationship watched each other drift apart without trying to reconcile.

“And I couldn't watch it happen” “And you just watched it”

In the second verse, she couldn’t bear to watch, indicating she took action to stay away from him; which was also possible because the guy didn’t do anything to stop her.

“Like it never happened?” “It just didn't happen”

By the third verse, she dropped this act of watching, now she’s stating facts and contemplating whether pretending it never happened is a viable way to move on.

Now, we’ll move to the chorus.

To start, we need to discuss the double meaning behind the line “I loved you the way that you were”: Did he love her for who she was without needing to change, or did he only love a past version of her? Both interpretations are equally devastating.

“If you wanna tear my world apart Just say you've always wondered”

Then we are presented to the most heart-wrenching part of the song. Taylor is already wondering, and it would destroy her to know she’s not alone in this. This could mean either she’s hoping to get back together, or she fears she’ll never move on. Imagining a scenario where they meet years later and he admits he’s always wondered about their potential could terrify her, showing how significant this person was to her.

*Part 2 in a few days!!! I'll be discussing some metaphors and some alternative interpretations (because I'm me and I love to complicate things)*

[thelittleangryitalian]

who is your favorite villain/antagonist who didn't get a redemption? like giselle, sebastian, marcus, krane, etc

and also who's your favorite of the three original rats?

i'm doing a little study :)

Sorry it took me so long to get to this! Personally my favorite villain is Marcus, I’m such a sucker for teens who have the pressure of the world (and their parents hopes) on their shoulders. Now Marcus was obviously set up differently from Adam, Bree, and Chase. But he still had a lot of pressure on him from Douglas to trick the rats. He was just a kid trying to do his best. In that regard you could probably argue for Sebastian getting a redemption arc, but I lean towards Marcus because he wasn’t offered any kindness. Sebastian was taken in and offered support and family, and yet he still turned on the rats. So I would go with Marcus for sure.

If you’ve ready any of my fics I’m sure you’ve noticed from my fics but I definitely write a lot from Chase’s POV, and I love him dearly. Until Leo came into their lives he was the youngest and a little nerdy, I’m the youngest in my family and was also the little nerd in our family so I vibe with him lol. I also just love writing him and diving deeper into his thoughts

[mybworlds]

The wedding

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: use of you, you’re a mermaid, I won't give any details except for nice long legs and very long hair, nudity, violence (a little?), use of both pov. If I missed smt please let me know.

Summary: You and Marcus have a happily ever after.

Masterlist

A/N We've come to the end, thank you for all the support you have given to this story, thank you, thank you so much 😊 Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️

Taglist @harriedandharassed; @orcasoul; @blazeflays; @ijustlovemensm; @duck-duck-goose2; @blacksnape123

A few weeks later...

When you come back to the surface, you realize that everything has changed. You can smell it in the air, you hear distant voices again, they seem happy..

Marcus often comes to the beach, you watch him from afar on a rock. You want to swim to him and hug him tightly, feel his arms around you, but then you look at your fishtail and your gaze becomes sad, your face gloomy so you stay hidden from his sight. No, you will never be able to see each other again.

Your father watches you from a certain distance, he follows you every day, he is afraid for you, he doesn't want to know you are dead, but...your sister Melody joins him, “What are you doing here too?”

“What you do,” she replies, shrugging, “has she been coming to that rock and staring at the man she loves for, what, three weeks every day by now?” she asks, following the direction of your gaze. Melody sees Marcus and notices his gaze lost towards the horizon, is he also waiting for you and hoping for your return?

“I must say,” your sister continues, “they both seem very much in love.” Your father nods bitterly. “Father, I’d say it’s time to let her go.” your father looks Melody in the eye “Let her choose her future. We’ll always be there for her, even if from afar, but when and if it’s necessary.”

Your father lowers his head and is silent for a long moment, then says, “Then there’s only one thing left to do.” Melody looks at him, puzzled, “I’ll miss her so much, you know.” she then realizes.

Your sister watches the tips of your father's trident touch the surface of the water which immediately ripples creating small waves filled with reflections of sunlight that reach the rock you are standing on.

You feel a sudden sensation of heat at the height of your pelvis and along your fishtail, you turn around and to your great surprise your beautiful tail starts to glow and suddenly splits until your beautiful long legs reappear.

You look up and then you realize that it was your father who made that wonderful gesture towards you. You have tears in your eyes, you want to go there and hug him. You are speechless, but your heart is full of gratitude and love towards your parent.

A magnificent silver dress covers you from your shoulders to your knees, your father and your sister look at you with eyes full of tenderness and then your sister nods her head as if to encourage you in reaching your Marcus.

You nod, smiling at them, then step off the cliff without fear that anything might happen to you. Now your life, your life together will be different, you feel it, you know it will be so.

When Marcus sees you his eyes widen in shock and the frown that has always clouded his eyes with a perpetual anger and sadness vanishes. He runs towards you and when you are now a few steps from the shore he lifts you into his arms, while you throw your arms around his neck. You're getting him all wet, but Marcus doesn't care at all, he has you in his arms, the most important person in this world.

“My love,” you can only say to each other between kisses, as well as each other's names, you're so happy, your heart is beating fast in your chest, Acacius holds you tight, looks at you and in the smile you exchange you know that from now on everything will be fine and that you will be happy together.

You miss the house you lived in a while ago with Marcus, you miss feeling the sea breeze caressing your skin every day, but even here in the open countryside it's not bad. His villa has a huge garden where you can walk, where you often have your head resting on his chest and he reads you stories of faraway lands that he promises to take you to visit one day, you also indulge in moments of shy intimacy.

Your days are warm, calm, marked by a strange, vibrant happiness and tranquility. You enjoy each other's time, Marcus never fails to make you feel and convey his love and almost veneration towards you, you nurture each other's love every day and you are so grateful to have Marcus Acacius by your side and in your life.

The time when you felt immense fear has dissolved into soap bubbles, now Geta and Caracalla are no more, you know that things in Rome are not easy and that there are small and large revolts every day, you know all this because on more than one occasion Marcus has received long missives from soldiers who remained loyal to him.

You assume that although he’s happy next to you, he still wants to fight not with the spirit of embittering the events, but with the desire to suppress these rebellions so that peace may return and there may be a just government.

You love his thirst for justice and you can't help but remember that the circumstances in which you met him were very similar, but at the same time you are afraid that just as everything ended, everything could begin again and you fear reliving the same danger of losing him.

“Is there something worrying you, my love?” he asks, placing a kiss on your shoulder and wrapping his strong arms around you from behind.

You relax slightly against him, “I know you want to go back to Rome.” You say in a whisper and then decide to be completely honest with him “I know you want to fight again and if you don’t, you’re doing it for me and I feel guilty because maybe I’ll hold you back. Furthermore, I fear that we may find ourselves in that same spiral of violence and fear again.”

“Darling,” he says, tightening the hug, “my priority is you and our life together.” You feel him rest his head on yours “I’m a soldier, I’ll always be.” He pauses for a long time “But there are moments in life when you have to learn to let go and give priority to something else.” He places a kiss on your head “And then honestly, I need to live some more peaceful and serene days right now.”

You place your hands on his forearms and relax a little more against him, feeling the weight you had a few moments before lighten, “And please, never, ever think that you are an obstacle. You are the greatest thing that could ever happen to me and I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

Your heart and spirit are filled with the only certainty that Marcus has never made you doubt, that is his love and these small and large confirmations that he has never failed to show every day for almost a year.

A summer evening when a light warm wind caresses your skin and you can hear the chirping of crickets, one of the many evenings when you sit on two triclinia gazing at the stars, one with your hand outstretched towards the other, one of those evenings when every now and then one tells anecdotes of their childhood to the other, you tell him so many things about when you still lived at home and sometimes your voice cracks. You don't want to cry because you're the one who decided to leave your world, but every now and then the nostalgia for your sisters and your father overwhelms you.

“You know we can always go near the sea and you can always see and talk to your family,” he reminds you, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

You turn to him meeting his sweet gaze, “I know, you’re right.”

“Your family will never disappear, remember that. They’ll always be there for you if you want them to be. And then, when you feel homesick, you can always come to me and I will hug you even tighter.”

Your eyes fill with tears for the sweetness that Marcus fills you with every day. You get up from your triclinium and lie down next to him who immediately welcomes you into his arms.

It's a late summer evening when Marcus asks for your hand after a pleasant day marked by a long horse ride and many talks about your future together.

You didn't expect him to ask you to marry him, but he explained to you that he had been thinking about it for a while and that he never found the right moment to ask you if you wanted it too exactly as much as him.

Of course, you immediately accepted with shining eyes and a voice shaken by emotion. Still in disbelief at the wonderful news you had just received.

Marcus under other circumstances would have asked your father for your hand, would have discussed the terms and conditions like any Roman citizen, but yours is an extraordinary condition and therefore he directly asked for your hand. The only condition that the man has set is that you should marry not in a temple as is customary, but on the shores of the sea so that your family can also be there.

That same evening, both overwhelmed by the many emotions of that day and the many you had previously spent together, you and Marcus gave yourselves to each other. You weren't scared, you were just a little unsure of what to do, but he immediately reassured you by telling you phrases and words full of love that dispelled your fears and uncertainties. You are still holding each other when the Sun kisses the Earth again, if all your future days are like this, your life will be perfect.

Your wedding takes place on the beach exactly as you had planned, your family on that beautiful and extraordinary day is all there in human form, surrounding you on your day are also Iulia and little Faustus who narrowly escaped the massacre that took place in Marcus's house in Rome. There are few people, but it doesn't matter, everything you need to be happy is here around and next to you and you know that from today on all this will become a concrete reality.

You and Marcus Acacius will be happy.

You know this not because you saw him with your gift of a creature from the sea, but because you know that it will be like this and that your life together can only improve and be even happier.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Aspirations pt. 6 - The Finale!

Sydcarmy Masterlist

Aspirations previous chapters: CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5

Full Masterlist

Here we go, it's the end 😥 I hope this chapter wraps everything up for you and you enjoy it. I've had an absolute ball writing this - loved every second! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, sending the sweetest messages - you guys are AMAZING! 😘

We switch it over to Carmy's POV and there is also some smut in this here chapter 🔥

I listened to a couple of songs in particular when I wrote this chapter - Hozier Take Me to Church just had me picturing Carmy worshiping Syd for like, the rest of his damn life, and Taylor Swift Dress - in particular the bridge:

There is an indentation in the shape of you

Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

All of this silence and patience

Pining and anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

Anyway, enough talking. Fingers crossed I stuck the landing with this 9k (wtf?!) final chapter! 💜

~~~~~~~~

From the moment she stepped into his office and asked what he was doing in Chicago, he knew he was in trouble. She'd painstakingly won over every member of the crew one by one, called him out on his bullshit and helped build The Bear up from literal rubble. She'd stabbed Richie and then become one of his closest friends within the space of 6 months, she'd been a source of support for Nat, and she'd raised up Tina and Marcus in particular. In short, he had no idea how he'd gotten to this point of his life without her in his corner, but he knew now that he couldn't live without her. She was his constant, his north star, his fucking guiding light. He could acknowledge that to himself right away, but it took those final days before opening for him to realize that Syd was also pure love. Real, raw and honest. Not some dreamlike, fictional, glossed over version, but messy and sometimes very fucked up. The last thing he'd wanted to do was destroy it, so he'd taken what he'd thought was the safest path - to hold it at arm's length and protect it. Protect her. 

“I thought… I thought we could get over what you said in the walk-in. I thought I could be the one to show you that you can have the things you talked about. That damn restaurant doesn’t have to run you into the ground - you can have a life as well, you know?” He didn’t say anything, looked at his hands and tried to find the words to apologize.

“The restaurant is my life, Claire. It was never fair for me to expect you to put up with that. I promise I never intended to make you second best, you deserve so much fucking more than that. But I can’t be the one to give it to you. I’ve got too much shit going on and I can’t drag you into it.” 

“So you’re finally calling it?” She sighed. He nodded,

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Carmen. I don’t know what you think you deserve or what you're looking for… but for what it’s worth I do hope you find it. Don’t end up like Mikey.” He studied his hands, he could make out a faint crescent shape on his palm, in the soft pad under his thumb, from where Syd had gripped his hand with her own last night in the kitchen. Their kitchen. He had a faint bite mark on his shoulder as well, a small bruise. He wondered vaguely if she had similar marks.

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

He felt like a weight had been lifted. Not from breaking things off with Claire, although that was certainly the catalyst, but from the weight of expectation. He’d gone from the restaurant to take Syd home, where they’d shyly said goodbye. He’d then gone home and slept for all of three hours before deep cleaning his apartment. He was on Claire’s doorstep with coffee before 9am and in Natalie’s kitchen by 11am. 

“I broke it off with Claire.” He said quietly, taking the bottle of milk and checking the temperature on the back of his hand.

“I know.”

“Did she call you already?” Satisfied with the temperature, he leaned Mikey back and put the silicone teat to his mouth.

“No honey, I just know. Sit him up a little more, it might take him a minute to settle - breastfed babies don’t always take to bottles, so sometimes he needs a little bit of encouragement. That’s it, perfect.” She guided his elbow into a more comfortable position and watched with pride as Mikey fed. 

“Aren’t you going to ask why?”

“No. I want you to want to tell me.” She put her feet up next to his on the coffee table. “Y’know, it’s not the best time to learn shit - immediately after having a baby. Hormones, lack of sleep, you’re bleeding like a fucking murder victim… but they just kick you right out of that hospital and say ‘see ya later’ and you’re expected to know how to breastfeed them, how to burp them, change them, understand their every need… it’s fucked up. And no one mothers the mother, y’know?”

“You have a Pete.”

“I do have a Pete, and he is incredible. Gets right in there with the shit and the vomit.” She laughed, “It’s not Mikey’s job to teach me those things. It’s not his responsibility to be a ‘good’ baby, whatever the fuck that means. His job is just ‘baby’.”

“Where’re you going with this, Nat?”

“You don’t call me Sugar anymore.” She stated.

“No. I try not to.”

“Why?”

“I guess I don’t want you to feel put down. It’s not a nice nickname, it didn’t come from a nice place.”

“No. It was a way of belittling me. It was another way for mom to make me feel shitty about myself. And you recognizing that, Carmy? Tells me you’re on the right path. Sit him up and put your hand under his chin, now rub his back.” He did as he was told, waiting for her to continue. “I… I’ve realized a lot in the last few months. Pretty much since mom didn’t show up to Family Night?”

“Oh yeah?” Mikey let out a loud burp, making them both smile.

“I’m not responsible for her, I never was. We didn’t fail her as kids, she failed us as a mother, Carmen. She was emotionally manipulative, she didn’t always care for us properly and now as adults, we are fucked up because of her.” Carmy turned to look at Nat, expecting tears, but she looked at peace. “I have had to work really hard to unlearn some of the stuff I thought was right but really isn’t.” She turned her full body to address him properly, “Claire told me what you said when you were in the walk-in? I didn’t get it word for word, but something about not needing to give or receive amusement or enjoyment?” Mikey balled his little fists as he finished the bottle, Carmy sat him back up for another burp under Nat’s watchful eye. She nodded as he put his hand under the baby’s chin to help him.

“Yeah, I said some pretty dark shit.”

“It’s not true. You do need to receive those things - that’s what makes a life, Carmy. And just because you feel like you didn’t deserve to get those things from Claire, or want to give them to her, doesn’t mean you don’t already provide them unintentionally. You do it for everyone who works for us, our friends. For Richie, for Syd, for Mikey… I think you need to think about the difference between doing something intentionally and unintentionally. They’re not a party piece or a grand gesture. They’re supposed to be as natural as breathing. So when you buy Richie a pack of smokes cos you know he’s about to run out, when you give Tina a random night off just cos she looks a bit tired?”

“That’s just… it’s -”

“It’s love, Carmy. It’s love. And if you found it hard with Claire, if it didn’t come easily, then it’s not because you’re a disgustingly horrible human being! It’s simply because you don’t love her. You can’t force that feeling. It’ll destroy you.” He felt her eyes on him, watching him as he put the baby on his legs so he could sit up and face them both. “I love you, Carmy. You have got to stop being your own worst enemy and actually let us love you.” Mikey gurgled and held up a little fist, “or this kid is gonna kick your ass.” She teased, Mikey giggled.

“You’re right.”

“I know I am. You gonna stay for lunch?” She asked, getting up and clearing their coffee cups.

“Yeah. Yo, Nat?” She turned back to look at him, “I love you too.”

*

On Monday, with Nat’s words still ringing in his ear, Carmy made his way through the front of the restaurant and locked the door behind him. He could see through the window to the kitchen immediately, Syd was at one of the stations with her back to the window, swaying on the spot and… singing?

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy - no, no Chef, that’s Auntie Syd’s knife and your mama would fucking kill me if you touch it. I’ll teach you when you’re a little older - when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take - please don’t take the broccoli, you are just like your Uncle Carmy, do you know that? - Please don’t take my sunshine away.” She turned and he could see that she had Mikey in a baby carrier strapped to her chest and facing outwards, “You’re too cute. Oh! Happy smile! You like being called a cutie, huh? Well, it won’t last forever so take it while you can buddy. Although, Jesus kid, if you keep those baby blues then we’re all doomed. Trust me, I was totally fucking gone the day I stepped into this place.” He watched her wipe down where she’d been chopping vegetables and put the knife away. She moved out of sight but came back with a small cup of flour which she sprinkled onto the work surface, “there you go baby Bear, shall we draw in the flour? Shall we make a chef outta you when you're older? Just like Uncle Carmy and Uncle Mikey. That’s right! You like Uncle Carmy, huh? Me too, Chef, high five!” The baby babbled and waved his hands wildly in the flour, covering them both in fine powder, “I didn’t know Uncle Mikey, but I promise mama and Uncle Carmy will tell you all about him. Hey, Chef, we don’t put our hands in our mouth when we’re working, ok? It’s gross. For other people, I mean.” She pulled a towel from her apron and wiped his hands and mouth. Her voice dropped a little and she spoke so quietly he couldn’t hear her for a few minutes, but he stayed near the door, watching her brush flour out of Mikey’s curls and clearing up their mess. “... and when you’re 16 you can come and work here with me and Uncle Carmy and we’ll teach you everything. You’ll get so good when he teaches you. And then when you’re bigger you can go with Marcus to wherever Luca is and learn pastry.” He cried out a little, “I know, I know. I feel the same about pastry, Chef, but you gotta learn the whole thing if you’re gonna be as good as Uncle Carm, right? Shall we get you one of those bullshit fuckin’ stars? Yeah? Baby Berzatto, the youngest Michelin star holder in the whole fuckin’ world?” She twirled on the spot as he giggled. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched her moving around the kitchen, getting ingredients out and putting them in the correct sections, checking off the list on what needed to be done and when. So busy, and yet taking time with his nephew with such care and love. He was blown away initially, but instantly remembered what he’d said to her under the table at Family night, 

“You love taking care of people.” He pushed through the swing door and she looked up with a smile, 

“Hey Mikey, look! Uncle Carm’s here.” She said brightly, ignoring his statement. Mikey kicked his legs in free air from his carrier and waved his chubby arms around. “Is it me or does he, like, age so much so quickly?”

“He rolled over yesterday,” Carmy told her with a smile,

“Fuck off, no way?!”

“For real. And uhh, I think I just unlocked a new favorite kitchen memory.” She looked up sharply, a shy smile breaking out across her face.

“Hmm. Well at least this one is family friendly.” She retorted.

“Ahh yeah. Think I’ll keep the other one quiet. Where’s Nat?”

“Just running a couple of errands. I said I’d watch Mikey so she could get them done quicker. I was here early.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Something like that.”

“Heard. Can we talk later?”

“Sure. We’ll find some time.”

“Ok, good. Can I take him, is that ok?”

“God, please do, he’s heavy!” She put a hand on Mikey’s belly and unclipped one of the straps so that Carmy could lift him up and out of the carrier, then she unclipped the whole thing and went to hang it up in the office.

“So you’re gonna coach him to a star, huh?”

“How much did you hear?” She asked warily. He waved a hand, brushing off her embarrassment,

“Just the star.”

“Good. I’m taking advantage of being able to talk shit about you while he doesn’t understand.” She teased. He didn’t call her out on the lie. Nat came back and the others started to arrive. Mikey was happily passed around various sections all morning while Nat worked. Carmy took him through to the office just as she was packing her bag,

“Ready to take him back?”

“For sure, I’ve missed him! Hi sweetheart - have you had fun with your kitchen family out there?!” She cooed. “You ok, how’re you feeling today?” She asked Carmy.

“Yeah, I’m good. Been thinking about everything you said yesterday. I’m gonna just… soak this in a little, I guess?” He gestured out to the kitchen where there was happy chatter. Tina was telling a dirty joke, and as the punchline landed, he heard Syd and Richie’s roars of laughter.

“I think that’s a very good idea. Be with the ones you love, Carm and for fucksake let us love you back.”

“Yes, Chef.” He smiled.

“It’s not a cure to being a better person, but it’s a start.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m… I’m really… it’s good to get back to this, right?” He pointed between them both,

“Getting along? Yeah, Carm. It’s good.” She put the baby into the carseat and stood to hug him tightly. “I love you.” She whispered.

*

“It’s fucking freezing out here.” Syd complained, he could see her pulling her jacket tighter around her, trying to shrink into it further. Underneath, she’d pulled on his sweater - yet again - and Richie’s gloves which were miles too big for her hands.

“Next time, I’ll find somewhere warm for us to talk?” He teased,

“That’d be ideal, thanks. So what’s up?”

“Just thought we should… y’know, check in?”

“After Saturday night?”

“Yeah. You ok?”

“Well, it’s a little weird. And totally fucked up. But I don’t want to go back to barely speaking to you. Like, I’ll put up with this insane awkwardness just so I don’t have to avoid you.”

“I hated when you avoided me.”

“Me too.” She said, studying the broken glass shards mingling with the concrete on the ground.

“I broke up with Claire.” She didn’t look up, but he saw her eyes widen a little.

“Oh. How’d it go?”

“About as well as you’d expect.”

“Yeah.” She breathed, puffs of air visible. They fell silent again. 

“And I had a really good talk with Nat. About, like, fuckin’ parental trauma and all that shit and how it effects us as we get older? It’s fucked up.”

“It is. I’ve talked to her about it before as well.” He looked up, surprised, “You weren’t talking to her. Not really. Or not listening, at least. She just wanted to feel heard.” He nodded, 

“I just… I want you to know that I want to be a better person. I know I’ve said it a million fucking times, I was always trying to do it for someone else though? I thought I should be doing it for you or Nat, but I should be doing it for myself.”

“You can’t be better for us if you’re not doing it for yourself. My dad’s sister always said you can’t pour from an empty cup.” She mused. 

“How do you do it?” He asked, curiously.

“I listen to my heart. Figure out what it needs. I watch movies with my dad, I laugh with my friends in there,” she pointed into the restaurant, “I cook for them. I cook for you or Nat or my dad. I hang out with Mikey. I watch you cook. I let my family look after me and love me when I need it. Like you said, I love taking care of people, but it’s nice to have it returned.”

“You’re too fuckin’ smart for this place.”

“Fuck off,” she pushed his shoulder, 

"You watch me cook?"

"Yeah, I do. It's… therapeutic. Oh, and if you think that just because you broke up with Claire I’m gonna jump -”

“I would never expect that. Never. Let’s just… get back to where we were and then see what happens?” He suggested, taking her hand. She nodded,

“Great idea, Chef.” He kissed her palm and listened to Tina singing from the kitchen.

*

Carmy could tell Richie was about to hit the roof. He bounced on his heels and fidgeted for the last hour of service but everytime someone asked, he’d give them the brush off. 

“Chef, could you tell Richie to take a step back please?” Syd sighed, rolling her eyes at Richie who was standing so closely behind her she could hardly use her knife. Carmy laughed,

“C’mon cousin, back it up. Whatever it is, why don’t you just tell us?”

“Can’t, we need to wait til we’re closed.” 

“Well then get the fuck outta our kitchen and encourage people to finish up?” Carmy smiled at Syd’s use of our kitchen.

“Fine, fine but you guys wait. You just fuckin’ wait.” 

“Can I have another 3 duck and 2 sirloin please?”

“Yes, Chef.” The crew chimed back to him. Tina brought the plum sauce over for him to try,

“Needs something, Syd, check this?” He handed her a spoon,

“Half a teaspoon of the winter spice mix.”

“Exactly. Thank you. Tina, you ok with that, Chef?”

“Sure thing Jeff.”

“Let it incorporate for another five minutes, we’ve got time.”

“Make it eight minutes, Chef? My dauphinoise are fucked.” Syd asked, shooting her potatoes a look of disdain.

“Heard Chef. Eight minutes, Chefs.” He looked over at Syd, “Yo, you good?”

“Yeah, too much garlic.”

“No such thing!” At least three people replied, including Carmy.

“I’ll save it for you then, Chef.” She smiled at him over the pass. Richie bounced back and forth with plates and information until he was finally able to lock the front door. He burst back into the kitchen as Syd and Carmy were sharing the extra garlicky dauphinoise.

“Here we go.” Carmy murmured, receiving an elbow to the ribs.

“What you got for us Richie?” She asked, pointedly ignoring Carmy.

“Would you like to hear a review?”

“From?”

“A Mrs Beata Jerimovich, my wonderful grandmother -” Carmy threw a towel at his head, 

“Fuckin’ dipshit.”

“Kidding, kidding. It’s only the motherfuckin’ Food and Beverage Magazine!” There were whoops and cheers all round, but next to him, he felt Syd tremble. He discreetly brushed her little finger with his own and heard her sigh softly. “Ahem!” Richie cleared his throat, “The Bear, Chicago…” he held them in suspense, Marcus beat a drumroll on the counter while Tina bellowed at Richie,

“Richie, fuckin’ tell us, pendejo!”

“Five. Fuckin’. Stars. Chefs!” They were euphoric. Manny and Angel banged pots together, Tina wrapped her arms around Syd and Richie hugged Carmy. As soon as he saw Tina let go of her, he first reached out for the shorter woman who patted his cheek, and then for Syd. He counted down from 10 in his head so as not to hold onto her for too long. He made every second count. His senses clambered to be reminded of the softness of her skin, the fullness of her lips, how perfectly her body fit against his. He felt rather than heard the faintest moan drag from her body as his lips grazed her earlobe, and then he reluctantly let her go. “If you’ll allow me to read some of it to you, Chefs?” Carmy leaned back on the counter and felt Syd do the same next to him, innocently close to those around them but the smallest amount closer than she had been standing before. He let his arm rest against hers and let their knees knock gently together as Richie spoke. “I had the wonderful experience of dining at The Bear around a month ago, during the first week of their festive menu. It was a Saturday night and they had been fully booked for months… Hey, wasn’t that the weekend of bad dates? Fish guy is still salty that he can’t get a date around here anymore.” Carmy locked eyes with Syd, she bit her lip to hide her small smile. 

“Good, I’m sure he’s working on a wonderful relationship with his right hand.” She pointed out to sniggers.

“Hey, I object to that.”

“Gross Richie, carry on please?”

“Ok, ok. I tried the spiced pumpkin soup with plaice, the scallop ceviche, the duck in plum sauce and blah blah blah, those are the new dishes, looks like they tried everything though, man. Ok, here we go, here we go - the food was nothing short of miraculous. Every element and ingredient held its own, the service was personal and impeccable, the atmosphere was joyous.” He paused for long enough for the squeals of delight to die down, struggling to be heard, “Exec Chef, Carmen Berzatto - formerly of Noma and The French Laundry - and his partner, CDC Sydney Adamu, have created close to perfection. Whatever their secret is, may they hold onto it. I am already booked back for another visit, my only disappointment is that I have to wait 6 months for it! If they aren’t already looking at this spectacular place for recognition in March, the Michelin guide needs to get it on their list very quickly. A star certainly cannot be too far out of reach.” Richie’s voice quivered with emotion, “It goes on and on… that’s us, man. This is talkin’ about us.” He said, holding the magazine aloft. “I fuckin’ love you guys.” Syd pushed herself off the counter and into his arms. He leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, “you did that, Chef. You fuckin’ did that.” He said to her, “fuckin’ love you Syd.” There was another mass movement of people clinging to each other. Carmy noticed Syd slip into the walk-in once Richie had let her go. He got caught up with Ebra and Marcus before he could get there,

“You good, Chef?” She was leaning against the back wall with her head in her hands, she nodded without moving them, “in front.” He whispered once he was standing directly in front of her, not wanting to startle her. She threw her arms around his neck, he could feel her tears in the neckline of his jacket and wrapped his arms around her tightly. 

“Thank you.” She said, her warm breath against his collar. He laughed,

“No, this is all you, baby. All you.” She pulled away from him, allowing him space which he used to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “C’mon, Tina’s looking for you.” He told her, knowing there were too many eyes outside for them to be alone. She went for the door handle but it was pulled from her reach and Richie joined them,

“I’m only in here so that when you both leave, it doesn’t look like you’ve been makin’ out in here, ok?”

“Richie, I came in here so I didn’t cry in front of everyone.” Syd told him, giving him a gentle shove.

“Seriously? Fuck me, I wish I’d been right first time. Syd, honey, I bawled my eyes out - they’re all cryin’ out there. No one cares!”

“Fuck, I’m not tellin’ em when we get Syd’s star. That’s on you, cuz.” Carmy pointed to Richie. 

“Can we stop talking about stars? And stop calling it mine?  I’m gonna hurl.”

“No, no hurling, we’re goin’ out. Tina wants shots and karaoke.”

“Oh fuck no. No shots.” Syd pushed between them to get out of the walk-in.

“It’s a yes to karaoke though, right?” Richie called out, following her. Clean down had never been so fast or willingly taken on, Manny turned up the radio and the atmosphere was electric. Anyone crossing the room was hindered by hugs along the way and no one seemed to want to let go of each other. Carmy looked out at the crew and for what felt like the first time in forever, didn’t mask his smile or hide his emotions. The door to the office was partially closed and he couldn’t see Syd so he knocked softly. He heard his sister’s voice via Facetime.

“I swear to god Syd, this is so exciting! Michelin are gonna come knocking. I can tell. They might have already been!”

“I hope they didn’t come before November, it’s gonna be that plum sauce that clinches it.” She smiled at Carmy as he came in and joined her on the screen, 

“Carmy! I’m so proud, I wish I could be there to celebrate with you all.”

“It’s just a review, Nat.”

“But it’s an incredible review, and that magazine is, like, insane! It’s a precursor to more, trust me.” He stood close to Syd, leaning down over her shoulder so they could both fit into the video call, his cheek almost pressed against hers. "This right here,” she held up Mikey, “100% of The Bear right in this call! Ok, you guys go have fun. I am so ridiculously proud of you both and I love you both so much.”

“Love you sis, see you later.” Syd smiled, Nat’s eyebrows raised a little as Carmy turned to look at her.

“Bye guys.” She hung up the call with a smile. 

“Sorry, I just thought she’d want to know and I knew they’d never let you escape. I’m amazed Tina has let you go.”

“Yeah, me too. She’s stronger than she looks.”

“Right?! It’s crazy! Are we done out there?” She stood from the desk,

“Yeah, we’re heading out now.”

“Ok, I’m on my way then.” She cocked her head towards the door, “C’mon. I suspect the first round is gonna be on us.”

“Did you just call Nat, sis?”

“Yeah,” she shook her head, “never underestimate the strength of female friendships, Carm.” She told him sagely, leaving him alone in the office.

*

The bar was hot and crowded, standard for a Saturday night. The karaoke was predictably awful, and Richie was wandering between the three booths they'd managed to grab trying to get people to sign up and sing. Carmy was grateful for the spare jeans and t-shirt he kept in his locker, and it turned out nearly everyone else kept some kind of 'to go' bag either at work or with them, ready for those magical evenings where they finished early, had a date after work or got 5 star reviews in one of the biggest hospitality industry magazines in the world. He was pinned into his booth by Ebra on one side and Neil on the other, both talking over the table to each other and leaving him stuck. Tina was talking Marcus into a duet and it looked like Gary, Manny and Angel were playing some obscure drinking game. Richie had an arm slung over Syd’s shoulder and pointed to the stage with his beer. The combination of humor and terror on her face as she tried to decline his offer of a song was currently making his night. He watched her pinch Richie's stomach and move out of his grip, laughing at him as she hopped into the seat next to Neil to get away. 

"Whatcha singin', CDC Sydney?" Fak asked.

"I'm not Fak, but Rich is desperate for a partner on Cruel Summer if you think you can handle it?"

"I can do that!" He exclaimed, "Syd, I can nail that bridge, I fuckin' hand to God… I'm gonna do it!" She moved to let him out and raised her beer to Richie in support of his new karaoke partner. He was about to take advantage of Syd sitting next to him when Ebra pulled him into a far-fetched story he'd probably heard a million times before. He stuck around long enough to listen to Tina and Marcus and Richie and Fak before leaving enough cash for another round and saying his goodbyes. He sat in the car for 10 minutes, phone in his hand, weighing up the pros and cons of texting Syd. He decided against it and put the car into gear, before a tap at the passenger side window stopped him. 

"You ok? I thought you left ages ago?" Syd asked with concern. 

"Uhh yeah, I was uhh… y’know what, jump in." She did and immediately put her hands to the air vents already pushing warm air through the car. 

"So, you were what?"

"Trying to decide whether to send you a message and see if you want to cook tomorrow." 

"I'd love to," she nodded, "at the restaurant?"

"Or my place? You could always…"

"Take the couch?"

"Yeah. Or I could." She glanced down at her phone, seemingly weighing up her own pros and cons. 

"OK, let's go." He made his way through the dark streets, finding a space a few meters from the main door of his building. He led the way up and unlocked the door, letting her in first so he could lock up behind her.

"You sure you wanna stay?"

"I'm sure. Yo, it looks great in here, Carm?"

"Thanks. I thought I should start making it feel a bit more like home, y'know? Cleared up, no more denim in the oven,"

"For real?" She asked, opening the door to check, "Fuck me, Carmy that's… that's good." He felt the blush bloom in his cheeks. Since he'd decided to deep clean the place over a month ago, the night before he ended things with Claire, he'd slowly been emptying boxes, hanging pictures and sorting through his cookbooks. "Dude, is that a fucking plant?" She asked, looking to the kitchen window.

"It's been alive for a whole month." Not just alive, it had been half dead when he'd brought it, so he'd actually brought it back from the brink.

"A better man, huh?'

"Trying." He offered with a shy shrug. "Beer?" 

"Please. Netflix?" She asked, loading up the cooking shows, 

"Yeah, there's one I haven't seen yet, Nadiya?"

"Oh, she's so great! You'll love it." She put the first episode on and clinked bottles with him as he sat next to her. "I need to watch Salt Fat Acid Heat." She muttered, he watched her add the note to her phone before crossing her legs and focusing on the screen. It didn't take long before he was reaching out for his sketchpad and looking around for a pen. She pulled one from the knot of her bun and handed it over without looking. 

"Rhubarb glaze." He stated. She moved to kneel next to him so she could look at his drawing. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder to keep herself from falling forwards. 

"In the spring? Change up the duck dish and serve it with something super fresh?" 

"Like a slaw." He suggested, she nodded slowly,

"Like a slaw." She didn't look away from the sketch, "Fuck. You really are so fucking good at this Carm." She said, barely above a whisper. 

"You make me better at it." He countered. She absentmindedly rubbed the cotton of his t-shirt between her thumb and index finger. He hesitated before reaching out to cup her cheek and turn her face towards his. She leaned into his palm. He watched her eyes close, a trembling breath on her lips as he leaned in to kiss her briefly. Her hand on his shoulder gave her some leverage to turn and straddle his lap. She stayed further back though, not bringing their bodies flush. She sat back on his knees, 

"I don't want to do this if -"

"You're not ready?" He finished.

"Me? I meant you. You've been doing so much better this last month. I don't want to fuck that up for you?"

"You couldn't."

"So you… we could…?"

"We could just take things easy and see what happens? Have some,"

"Fun? We could both stand to have some fun."

"Exactly. No pressure." His hands rested lightly on the top of her thighs. 

"No pressure." She repeated, sliding deeper into his lap until their chests were pressed together. He waited for her nod of agreement before kissing her again. She hummed with approval, her head tilting to slot against him perfectly. His tongue swept across her lower lip, demanding access which she willingly gave. His hands moved to squeeze her hips, and she let out a needy whimper he knew he’d spend the rest of the night trying to get from her again. He bit her lip lightly as she ground down against him. “Bed this time.” She mumbled against his neck, “please Carmy, now.” He could feel the reluctance radiate off her as she considered letting go of him long enough to stand so they could move. He stood quickly with her in his arms, making her squeal in surprise. They made it the handful of steps to his bedroom where he sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt between her knees. She was bathed in the streetlight from the window, but it wasn’t enough so he clicked on a small faint lamp at the bedside. He tugged the hem of her top up over her head and she lay back to unbutton her jeans and lift her hips to slide them off, he brushed her hands away and pulled the tight denim down her legs. He rose to climb over her on the bed and she moved further back into the center, reaching for his t-shirt. He unclipped her bra and pulled it off before covering her body with his own pressing kisses along her collarbone. He could feel her heart racing against his chest as he chased each breathy moan that fell from her lips. He kissed a hot path down her body, cataloging every noise she made. He took his time, savoring the way she responded to his touch,

“You’re so beautiful,” he marveled, grateful at last to have her where he could actually see her. He paused with his chin on her stomach to look up at her. She’d covered her face with one hand, suddenly bashful. He reached out to link their fingers, gently encouraging her to look at him, “this ok?” He felt her body shudder as her breath hitched, she nodded. “Need to hear you say it, baby.”

“Fuck you,” she huffed out a tiny laugh, “please, I want this. I want you.” 

“I need to taste you, Syd, please?” He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and slid them down her thighs. He nudged her knees further apart and looked back up at her, holding eye contact as he swept his tongue into her folds and circled her clit. Her back arched off the bed and he used his free hand to hold her still. It was akin to worship, every touch designed to bring her closer to the edge. He’d spent years learning the art of consistency and this was no different, he filed away every sigh, every grip of the sheets and every moan of his name. She practically wailed his name as she came, and he watched her come down, boneless from her first orgasm. He let her think he was done before he went back for more. By the time she was pulling him back up the bed to her, the need to have his skin against hers was sinful.

“Jesus fuck, Carmy,” she panted, reaching out to kiss him. He was painfully hard and he knew she could feel him against her. She tried to undo his jeans with shaking hands, giving up with a frustrated groan. He took over and pushed the denim off, giving her the opportunity to push him onto his back. “Condom?” She whispered, still breathless. She reached past him to the drawers by his bedside to grab one as he bit the underside of her breast. He took the condom from her and ripped it open, rolled her onto her back once more and pushed into her in long, slow strokes, his whole body weighted against hers. The closeness was both intense and intimate, and when he kissed her it felt so much like a promise it was almost overwhelming. He held her tightly, pressing her into the mattress as he fucked into her deliriously slowly, lewd noises filling the air. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him against her. He felt her walls flutter around him, she sighed his name as she came again,

“F-fuck, Syd,” he rasped, shuddering against her as he came. He moved just far enough off her so that he didn’t crush her as his arms gave out, his chest heaving.

“Oof,” she huffed as his weight pinned her to the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his back as far as she could reach before gliding back up again. 

“Fuck, that was… wow.” His breath tickled her neck as he spoke,

“Yeah.”

“Should move.”

“Yeah, no, I can’t do that.” He mumbled an apology and moved off her completely, tying off the condom and throwing it to the bathroom. He pulled her to him as he got back into bed, asleep almost instantly.

He woke alone to the light streaming in from the windows, noting that their discarded clothes had been picked up and a damp towel hanging over the bathroom door. He pulled on boxers and a clean t-shirt and went through to find their beer bottles disposed of and the TV off. He vaguely recalled waking briefly in the night to the quiet sounds of a cooking show, but he’d been so warm and relaxed that he didn’t think to move and turn it off. Not that he’d have been able to with Syd buried into his side. He followed the sounds in the kitchen where she had her back to him, looking after whatever she was cooking. 

“Hey, mornin’” He said, voice still heavy with sleep. She turned with a shy smile, wearing his t-shirt from the previous night and little else.

“Hi, did I wake you?”

“No, no way. You making breakfast?”

“Thought I’d bring it to you in bed, but -”

“I can go back,” he joked. She turned back to the pan and cracked four eggs into it. He moved to stand behind her, hands on her hips and his head in the crook of her neck. “Shakshuka?” 

“Yeah. Imagine my surprise when I opened your fridge to find it fully stocked.” She laughed.

“Told ya, I’m trying.”

“I legit spent twenty minutes trying to decide what to make you.” She turned down the heat on the pan and twisted in his arms. “Did you sleep ok?” 

“Yeah, I think I might have figured out the secret.”

“To sleep?” He nodded, kissing along her jawline.

“You.” 

“Pfft, shut the fuck up.” He pulled them backwards so he could sit at one of the dining chairs, bringing her down into his lap with her legs either side of his. “Hmm don’t get any ideas, I don’t think this chair will survive.” It creaked under them as if in response as she squirmed in his lap.

“How long on breakfast?” He asked pulling the t-shirt over her head,

“Long enough.” She confirmed, reaching out to turn the stovetop off completely.

*

“Baby, you look all flushed, you good?” He heard Tina ask Syd as she finished off the canapes.

“Yeah T, just warm.”

“You look beautiful, don’t get anything down your dress!” She warned, Syd had tugged an apron over her dress but had left it untied. As she moved along the counter piping blinis with sour cream, the thigh split opened further. He turned away as Tina looked at him with a curious eye,

“I’m gonna unlock, Chef?” He asked,

“Ok, sure. I think we’re good.” She turned to the servers with a nod and took the apron off, throwing the piping bag into the sink. 

“Let’s party!” Tina beamed, leaving Syd to turn off the lights and join her in the restaurant.

Syd’s dad took another canape as the tray passed by them, Carmy shook his head as the server offered the tray to him as well. 

“These are incredible.” Her dad beamed,

“Aren’t they? She was working on them until about a minute before we opened the doors.”

“Sounds like Sydney.” He chuckled, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you on Family night. It was a very special night.”

“Yes Sir, it was. I had some things to take care of in the kitchen though, so I didn’t spend any time out here. I'm sorry I missed you, it's good to meet you at last.”

“I guess that’s the trouble when you’re the one in charge, you don’t get to enjoy the spoils.”

“Fortunately I’ve got everything I need back there.” Carmy replied with a smile. They both watched Syd in a beautiful one-shoulder copper coloured dress as she crossed the room to speak to Tina’s family. She studiously avoided eye contact with either of them and instead got swept up with talking to Tina’s elderly mother. She dropped down onto her haunches to bring herself below eye level to the woman, and held her hands. He took in her taut calf muscles in her heels and the curve of her thigh as the dress pulled tightly. He was flooded with the memory of taking it off her earlier in the evening as she was trying to get ready, her hands swatting him away before pulling him back in. The reason they were late and the reason she was still in the kitchen as they opened. 

“She’s really something. I wish her mama could have seen her.”

“She is. You must be very proud.”

“I am. I hope you’re good to her?”

“I’m sorry?”

“She tells me she’s staying with friends two, three - sometimes even four nights a week. You and I both know that her closest friends are in this room right now, and I don’t think she’s singing lullabies to your nephew four nights a week.” He chuckled as the blush crept across Carmy’s face. “I may be an old man, but I’m not blind.” He put a hand on Carmy’s arm, “thank you for believing in her.”

Her laugh sounded around the room as she pushed back up to standing and turned to talk to Pete who’d lightly tapped her arm. She nodded at whatever he’d said and made her way back past them towards the kitchen. Her dad managed to catch her hand just before she stepped out of reach,

“Honey, Carmen and I were just talking about everything you’ve both achieved here. It’s tremendous.”

“Thanks Dad, I’ve just got to see Richie about something. Can I come back to you in a few minutes?”

“Take your time sweetheart. I’ll be right here.” He smiled, Marcus coming over to talk. Carmy managed to catch her eye briefly with a small smile. She made her way to Richie who was holding court near the center of the room. Christmas songs filled the air and he was once again forced to admit that Nat had been right - a less formal Christmas party for family and friends had been the right way to go. She took Richie’s arm, but he grabbed her hand instead and spun her around, twirling her under his arm and pulling her into some empty space to dance. She tried to pull away, laughing, but let him spin her a couple of times and dip her before she could escape. With Syd’s dad in deep discussion with Marcus, Carmy went through to the kitchen to check what was left in the walk-in. The heavy door swung partially closed behind him and he heard the tap of Syd’s heels as she came through the swing doors not far behind him. He went to call out to her, but Nat’s voice spoke up.

“You can’t escape out here, Syd!” “I just need a minute, my feet are killing me. C’mon, gimme a break.” He could almost hear rather than see Nat roll her eyes.

“Fine, you can hold Mikey while I go to the bathroom before I feed him." Nat rushed past the walk-in to the staff bathroom. 

“What’s the time baby Bear? How long til I can be in Uncle Carm’s bed again, huh?” She muttered, bouncing the increasingly hungry baby. “Are you ready for bed too? Party animal.”

“I thought about a sitter but then I figured, it’s family night?” Nat said, coming back in and taking Mikey. “Oh, he should be here for sure.”

“You ok?” He heard Nat ask, softly. "You've barely stopped all night?" He could hear her settle Mikey and the baby fell silent.

“Yeah. If I tell you something can you promise not to lose your shit?”

“I can try?”

“So Carmy and I have been… hanging out. And it’s good, and I don’t want to push him too fast too soon on anything,”

“Wait, hanging out somewhere other than here?”

“Yeah. Like, his apartment… specifically.” Syd wrung her hand together, presumably waiting for Nat to catch up.

“Ok, so what’s new about that? Oh. Oh! Fuck! You guys are hanging out hanging out?”

“There we go. Yep, that’s what’s been happening.”

“Since when?!”

“About a month ago? Not long. Long enough?”

“So what’s the problem?”

“There isn’t one, I guess? I just… What if it all goes horribly wrong? What if this ruins everything? For all of us, I mean. It could ruin both of our careers, could kill this place? Everyone I love is in that room -” she paused, “I don’t want to push him, but I also kind of want to know how he sees all of this… ending up?”

“Syd, relax. I guarantee if you look into that room right now, he’ll be the happiest you’ve ever seen him,” Carmy frowned, hoping they didn’t actually look for him, “that’s because of this place. Because of you, honey.” 

“I guess…”

“I know. The good thing about doing this together, is that you’re in this together. Don’t stress, whatever happens happens. I mean, look at you! You’re the CDC of one of the hottest new restaurants, it’s your Christmas party and yet you’re in the kitchen in your dress and heels making sure everything is as it should be. There is nothing at all that you can’t do. You’re nothing short of incredible, you’re a force of nature Syd. If I had to bet on one thing, it’s that you have Carmen’s complete support in everything you do. I fucking love you.” He heard the shuffle of fabric, and from Syd’s muffled response, assumed they were hugging.

“Thank you, I love you too. Maybe you’re right.”

“I keep telling you both this, I’m always right. Now please, let’s go drink some more champagne and have some fun. You’re not wasting that dress in this kitchen. Jesus, I can't believe I didn't realise you're fucking my brother!” He heard the door swing and sighed, leaving the walk-in to go out back for a smoke.

*

“Cousin, yo, what’s goin’ on - you comin’ back in?” Richie stuck his head out a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

“Yeah man, I just needed to burn one.” He held one out for Richie who came to join him and let the door shut. “It’s goin’ ok, right?”

“Carm, it’s fuckin’ amazing. I am legit so fuckin’ proud of this place and everyone in it. You an’ Syd, man, you guys have made this place.”

“S’good you two get on now.”

“Aww she’s pretty great. Don’t fuckin’ tell her I told you.” He warned,

“I think she knows, dude. If it makes you feel any better, she was tellin’ me this morning that the nights you do expo are her favorite.”

“Fuckin’ knew it!” He laughed, then paused suddenly, “Wait, how’d you see her this morning?” Carmy felt Richie’s eyes scouring his face, widening in shock “No fuckin’ way, cuz!”

“I meant last night. Here. At work.”

“Bull fuckin’ shit. How long?”

“About a month. The night we got that review?”

“I mean, I thought you guys were eye fuckin’ over the pass, like, a little more than normal… but I did not expect that. Fuck, I owe Fak 20 bucks.”

“Great, thanks.” 

“Hey man, don’t be mad at me. Are you… I dunno, are you happy?”

“I think I might be, yeah. Feels fuckin’ weird.”

“I bet. And Syd? She good?”

“I think she’s happy, yeah.”

“You in love or what?”

“I think I might be, cuz. I just… how do I know if I'm ready? Like, what if we fuck this place up?”

“No one is every fuckin’ ready, man. Never. And what if you make this place even better?” Carmy let the thought sink in, “Like, separately you’re both freaky fuckin’ geniuses and together it’s, like, even better. I know you’ve been on that ‘self care bein’ better for yourself’ kick cos you feel like you don’t deserve her,” Carmy sighed, “but you complete each other, cuz. There’s no other fuckin’ way to say it.”

“Fuck me, Richie, you should get a fuckin’ talk show.”

“Fuck you. I’m bein’ nice to you for once in your damn life.”

“I know, I’m still in shock.” They nudged each other. “I should tell her, right?”

“Yeah man, you should tell her.”

“Thanks cousin. Hey, don't say anything to her, yeah? That you know? She’s really stressed and I don’t want to make it fuckin’ worse.”

“Nah man, my lips are sealed. Love you dude, we’re gonna build a fuckin’ empire here.” Richie grasped his shoulder and joined their foreheads.

“Heard, Chef. Let it fuckin’ rip.”

“Anything for you, cuz.”

*

Though Carmy was right behind Richie going back into the party, he wasn’t quick enough. He entered through the swing door just in time to see Richie smile graciously at Syd and her dad before taking her elbow and pulling her to one side. He leaned down to talk in her ear. Carmy saw the way her eyebrows flew up to her hairline and the panic that crossed her face as she tried to pull away from him. She caught his eye briefly as Richie leaned down again and continued to talk, as he did so, she visibly started to relax. 

“Your CDC is something fierce Carmy.” Uncle Jimmy said, handing him a beer. Carmy laughed,

“Yeah, she is pretty great.” They watched as Richie was joined by Nat and the baby, with Pete hovering beside them, Syd took the baby and held him to her like a human shield as they laughed together.

“I gave baby Mikey my 1% for a reason, you know?”

“Oh yeah?”

“This place, it’s 100% Berzatto. It has to be, Carmy.”

“Syd’s not a Berzatto, Unc,” Carmy raised his beer to his lips,

"Well yeah, not right now. But she will be. I could tell when you all came creeping for $500k. She matches your ethics, your outlook. She's your equal. I mean, look at her," They watch her with the family, with Richie and the team, with Nat and the baby, even with Pete. “She’s already a Berzatto. You might want to rescue her before they scare the shit outta her though?”

“Nah, she’s got it. She’s fuckin’ fearless. That’s why I love her,” he shrugged. Jimmy beamed, clapping him on the back,

“He’d be so proud of this, Carmen. He really would.”

“Thanks Uncle Jimmy.” He picked up a glass of wine from one of the trays and took it over to Syd who swapped him for the baby. “Can we try and get out of here for a sec?” He asked quietly. She nodded once and he passed Mikey to Pete. He followed her to the kitchen. Their kitchen. 

“So Richie knows?” She sighed,

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Nat knows as well,” she admitted, “I told her earlier.”

“Your dad too.” He said with a sheepish grin,

“Oh my god.” She muttered, “how?!”

“I guess we’re shitty at hiding it? I know we said about just taking it easy and no pressure but,” he caught the frown that crossed her face,

“Fuck. I knew it, I knew it. This is why I said we had to stop, and now everyone fucking knows and it’s all gonna -” she stepped away from him

“No, Syd, fuck you’re so fuckin’ impatient. Would you just,” he took her hand, “would you let me finish? Please?” He sighed, dragging a hand through his curls. “I would go to the fuckin’ ends of the earth for you if that’s what you wanted. I don’t care about easy, or too much fuckin’ pressure, I only want you, and I want to be by your side when you take over the world and get three bullshit fucking stars - not just one. I can’t do this without you and I don’t want to, and I know I said that before but it was because I was too much of a fuckin’ coward to tell you that I’ve been in love with you since the day you walked in here.” She stared at him. Didn't say a word, just stared. "Syd?"

"Are you sure?" She asked eventually, still wary. He closed the gap between them again and took her hand. 

"Am I… am I sure?" He laughed, "Yeah sweetheart, I'm fuckin' certain. And I will spend every day proving it to you if you'll let me?" 

"I think I could live with that." She said softly. 

"Yeah?" His hands slipped around her waist, drawing her closer. 

"Yeah. The most excellent chef, occasionally a piece of shit," she teased.

"Only occasionally now? I'll take that," he smirked. 

"Occasionally a piece of shit, rarely a total dickbag, thankfully," she assured him. "the best former CDC, now Exec Chef I've ever seen?" she leaned into him with a contented sigh as he kissed her. "I love you too."

"Thank you for showing me that none of this is a waste of time." He kissed her again, the stainless steel counter cold through the thin fabric of her dress. She broke the kiss, breathless, and looked over his shoulder and out to the restaurant. Their restaurant. 

FIN

~~~~~~

[radiowallet]

Promise

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno Summary: Dieter gets a gift while away on location. WC: 1.9K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Sexual content. Exclusive M/M dynamics. Written in third-person POV, male protagonists, allusions to smut, and dirty talk. Mentions of food and drug use. Small angsty moments. Yearning. So much yearning. AU Marcus Moreno (no wife, no Missy). A lot of purple prose and waxing poetic in this one, besties.

A/N: We're back with more of these boys. What can I say? I am obsessed with their dynamic and as long as my broken brain keeps sending me ideas for them, I intend to keep writing them down. Big thanks to @magpie-to-the-morning and @jazzelsaur who are patient as patient can be while I barge into their DM's to screech about these two soft, vulnerable boys. I love you both.

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The bouquet had been delivered to set, the candy cotton pink petals hard to miss amidst the cranes and cameras and all the rest of the hardware it took to put a film in the can. Everyone had fawned over the flowers from the moment they arrived, their delicate shape a marvel beneath the heat of the Moroccan sun. 

But when the courier called out Dieter’s name, the room almost erupted, everything from squeals of elation to nosy questions being tossed his way. Dieter couldn’t help himself, cheeks warming and chest puffing, as he accepted the vase, the increased attention not only from the crew but also his fellow actors, stroking his ego in a way he couldn’t help but relish in. 

Maybe some would be embarrassed at the sheer honesty in that one single thought but Dieter found peace in the sentiment. Hell, he was an actor. What else was there to say other than the truth in validation, hoping that enough of the attention could one day fix the broken pieces inside his heart. 

“One of your many admirers sending you flowers now, Bravo?” A well-meaning production assistant asks in passing. 

“Something like that,” he hums, taking care to tuck the card into his pocket for later. 

After that, the flowers find a place on the craft service table, and if an extra take or two is needed because Dieter’s eye line strays just a tad too far left no one makes mention of it.

The day is called just as the last of the light is lost, the sun setting far behind the rows and rows of beautiful blue houses. There’s an offer for drinks and dinner brandied about, a few cast and crew breaking away. Dieter quietly bows out, and again, if anyone notices the once infamous party boy choosing a quiet night in over a raucous night out, not a word is said. 

Once back in his hotel room, Dieter is instantly restless, the flowers moving from room to room, the vase twisted left, then right, then right again. Self-doubt starts to dig at the base of his spine, the very beginning of a panic attack creeping up his back, tight and hot and painful, a wicked whisper telling him he should have just gone out, damn all and any consequences. There is only a bouquet of pink peonies in this hotel room to keep the loneliness at bay tonight, and not for the first time, Dieter feels the icy cold fear that he’ll forget all he has waiting for him back home.  

He does his best to ignore it, breathing slowly around the rubber band across his chest, counting each second with the tick of his fingers. One, two, three, four, in. Five, six, seven, eight, out. Twice more is enough to chase the feeling away, giving Dieter the space he needs to finally breathe fully, his head clearing just enough to ground him back to the moment. The blossoms finally find a home right beside his bed, the low light of the bedroom illuminating the pretty pink petals, and only then does he actually start to settle down for good. He fishes the card from his back pocket, dragging his thumb across the seal.

It’s nothing remarkable; a white envelope, only his first initial scratched across the front. But it’s enough to have his cheeks warming all over again, the tip of his nail finally piercing through the thick paper. The card is equally unassuming, but when he opens it up, the words are anything but. 

Dieter reads it over once, then twice, then one more time for good measure, lips moving along with the lines, one promise after another infused to each and every one. It’s enough to have him scrambling for his phone, dialing with shaky hands and a breathless laugh. It only rings once before it clicks over. 

“Hey, baby.”

“The flowers…” Dieter starts, his mind racing faster than he can manage to speak, any sort of coherency lost at the sound of Marcus Moreno’s soft baritone on the other end of the line. 

“They were too much.”

“No! Fuck no!” Dieter is quick to cut the other man off, refusing to let him think that for even a second.  “No, sweet boy. I love them!”

Marcus would do this from time to time, doubt himself and his place by Dieter’s side. It always brings him back to the moment in that lavish hotel room, Marcus’s warm breath painted across his cheek, lips bruised and fingers grasping, when the heroic had admitted that most couldn’t handle it. To this day Dieter can’t help but wonder if he was maybe talking about more than just superpowers.

He thinks maybe Marcus doesn’t realize. That he doesn’t see what it means to possess a heart so big. Bigger than anyone deserved, the weight of it nearly dragging him down, away from the light and into the shadows. The very ones he tries so hard to protect the world from. And Dieter knew that when the man fell, he fell fast. Fully. All of him hanging out on a precarious line, waiting for the other inevitable shoe to drop. 

Dieter wishes he could figure out a way to convince him that both of his feet were firmly planted on the ground. 

There’s a beat of silence and he swears he can hear the words neither of them dare to say. Not yet. Not with things so new. But he can feel them. Always feel them. With each kiss Marcus pressed into his skin, every drag of his fingertips, each scrape of his teeth, there was the promise of an affection too great to imagine. It was there, on the tip of the other man’s tongue, quietly unspoken but still so very very present.

“I love them,” the actor says again, determined to make his point stick this time. 

Marcus hums, and Dieter can almost picture him then and there as if he was sitting beside him on the 1000 thread count duvet in Morocco instead of miles and miles away, in an empty apartment, his only plans for the night a crappy tv dinner. He could chide the heroic, remind him to have fun, take more chances, but that’s a sticky subject all its own. 

It had been a running theme of the last few months of their lives, the two of them stealing what little time together they could. Marcus would plan, meticulously, weekends away explained under the guise of training or intel or some other bullshit excuse. Dieter would make a stink to his manager on those days, stomping his feet and demanding a mental health break. Maybe it was the fact that he returned from those weekends brighter and lighter than ever before, but Marissa never fought him too hard. 

They would lose track of the hours as easily as they lost themselves in the other, tangled sheets and broken sleep bookending their pleasure. The give and take between them deepened with each weekend that rolled around. Dieter delighted in Marcus’s company, preening beneath the wonder of having him all to himself. The way his whole heart became the center of the universe, genuine affection and care feeling better than any late night or black out bender. 

Marcus would watch Dieter paint, only a sheet around his waist as his eyes traced the curves and colors inspired by his own tender touch. And Dieter would marvel at the bend of the other man’s form, following his steps to the gym, his own eyes wide as twin blades cut through open air. They stayed in. Always in. The pair of them forgoing even ordering in, digging through Dieter’s freezer in search of mini pizza bagels and knock-off taquitos rather than risk breaking the peace of their privacy. 

And if he showed up to the set of the big budget action movie with his belly still soft, it hardly mattered. His heart was full, his mind at peace, and even as the director rolled his eyes, all Dieter could see was Marcus dropping to his knees, nuzzling into the patch of coarse hair smattered across the swell of his stomach, before swallowing him down to the base. 

Those days gave them both something to cling to when life and work and reality would push them back to opposite sides of the country. Memories they could remember in the between, when it was only phone calls and FaceTimes the touch of their own hand to chase away the anxieties hiding around the corner.  

Dieter learned in great detail how to coax those little whines from the heroic, memorizing the ragged sound of his cries as he whispered all manner of filth into the crease of his skin. Marcus matched the energy in kind, splitting up inside the actor, lips on his throat and hands in his hair. Dieter called him sweet boy and Marcus declared him his whole sky, a promise of more following every goodbye. 

And Marcus always keeps his promises. 

When it came time to leave for Morocco, six months of loneliness looming in the distance and one awkward farewell party behind them, Dieter did his best to remind Marcus to not linger in his solitude. It would be too easy for him to fall back on old habits; long nights on rooftops chased by haggard days in the gym, but Dieter hoped the hero would make time to tend to his heart in ways he had forgone for so long. 

Marcus took care to meet Dieter where he stood, urging him to hold onto every word he ever said, his whole heart following Dieter, even when he physically could not. The actor clung to the sentiment, doing his best to remember every weekend spent wrapped around the other man. He held onto every ripple of pleasure and each drip of afterglow. 

Dieter shakes his head, refocusing on the present, even as he wishes for all the little things he so desperately wanted here and not there. Plush lips and dimpled cheeks, brown eyes wide as he nods and quietly accepts the truth in Dieter’s words. 

“I’m glad.”

The silence is back, but more of a comfort now, the blend of their breath lulling the last of the sun and sand and stress away from Dieter’s heart. His eyes are heavy in the best way, his fingers loose where they curl around the phone, still matched to the curve of his cheek. 

“You should shower, Dee. Then sleep,” Marcus prompts, his voice somehow even softer. 

“Mmm, jerk off with me first,” he half whines, free hand already pulling at the threadbare sweats he had worn from set. 

There’s a chuckle, low and sweet and steady, one that Dieter has learned means a promise is about to be made. 

“I’m at the office now, mi cielo, but call me when you wake up and we will.”

It’s enough for now, Marcus’s gentle voice in his ear and the catch of pink petals in the low light, giving Dieter the push he needs to let sleep find him. In a few hours' time he’ll wake up, his stomach empty and his neck sore, but the fresh scent of peonies and an aching promise have something else curling deep inside his belly. And when he dials, the answer comes on the first ring. 

After all, Marcus always keeps his promise. 

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[the-blind-assassin-12]

Made up fic titles:

Left Our Future To The Right

Ever Since You Walked In

Hungry For My Skin

(You know me and my song lyrics)

Thanks for these, Rachael!! I do know you and your lyrics, and you know me and my penchant for song prompts.

Here's what I got:

Left Our Future To The Right - Jack Daniels x F!Reader This is the one I struggled with and I'm still not convinced I'm right about it, but this is a standalone from Jack's POV. And it's very sad :(

He promised you. More than once. Promised that he would be done with the agency, done with the danger, done with the secrecy and the double life. It terrified you, knowing the risks he took on a daily basis, and you'd made it very clear to him that you had no desire to be made a widow before you were even married. Or ever, for that matter.

And he made that promise willingly, because he's never loved anything or anyone like he loves you. He's never felt alive the way he does with you.

But here's the thing: After so many years with Statesman, it's not as easy as he hoped it would be to walk away. One more mission, just to tie up loose ends became two more, because, you see, the ends had split and now there were two things to tie off. Fine. You weren't thrilled with that, but you understood. But then two became three, and three became just until I train my replacement, and then, of course, he wanted to tag along for his replacement's first mission, as a precaution and that's when it became clear to you that he meant his promise, but he couldn't keep it. And so, you left.

The irony, of course, being that the day you left happened to be the last - truly, the LAST - day of his service with Statesman. But he won't go back. He's done... And he's hopeful that you'll give him one more chance to prove it.

Ever Since You Walked In - Marcus Pike x F!Reader This would be part of Spectrum (aka the "you can only see in grayscale until you meet your soulmate" AU - part 1/part2) and it would be sort of a montage of Marcus and Reader getting to know one another, from Marcus' POV.

You changed his life from the moment he met you. I mean, you brought color into his world just by speaking his name. But Marcus knows that just because you matched as soulmates doesn't automatically mean it will be a perfect romantic match. It might be one of those better-as-friends situations - which would still be great, but Marcus is hopeful for more. He's just got so much love to give and he's so damn good at giving it and if he can't find someone to give it to he feels like he's going to explode, you know?

With his track record though, he knows better than to get ahead of himself. So he wants to do this right. He wants to take you out on dates. Plural. He wants to talk to you on the phone and invite you over for takeout and movie nights.

But with every day that passes and every new thing he learns about you, it becomes more and more clear that you are exactly who he's been looking for.

Hungry For My Skin - Din Djarin x Reader This would not be connected to anything I've written before, and would be from both Din and Reader's POV. High potential to become very smutty.

They always knew that rebuilding on Mandalore came with the risk of attracting enemies. Mandalorians would always have enemies. There would always be those who sought to destroy them. Over some age old vendetta, or political agenda, or simply to take their wealth of beskar. So it came as no surprise when the ships appeared above their planet.

Din knows an imminent threat when he sees one. He's been familiar with the feeling of being hunted since he was a child. Since before he even became a Mandalorian. He knows he's going to have to fight to protect his people and the life they're working to rebuild. He also knows it may be a fight to the death - at least that's how far he's willing to take it in honor of his Creed. He knows that if his enemy wants to take his armor, it will have to be over his dead body.

You know this, too. And you're willing to go to the same lengths. For Mandalore, yes. For your people, yes. But mostly for him. For your Riduur. There's nothing you won't do for him. And the night before the battle, you take it upon yourself to make sure he knows that.

[retrieve-the-kraken]

Hey,

how are you doing? Hope you are not working to hard on finishing Nothing to Fear.

The last few updates came really fast.

Your last chapter WOW.

Did not expect Marcus POV and I have to confess have been a bit reluctant at first.

But you being so unapologetic in this one and giving Marcus a counterpart like his friend Nadiya made this chapter so so good.

Everyone go read.

Hope you have a nice day. 💜

Hello! I’m doing fine, and you?

I am indeed working hard on it, because for one thing i really want to finish this fic, especially before we get the new season (otherwise i will become completely derailed and won’t be able to think of anything else… i already fear the derailment that the trailer will cause…). But also because it’s basically finished, as in fleshed out, i have all these bits and pieces of scenes that i just need to finish tying together, and more importantly I have the conclusion, and I just really want to be able to complete it, and for everyone who has been following to get to read it too.

Yes! I’m so happy that I’ve managed to update quicker, that was always the plan, at least one chapter a week (can you imagine if I had managed that? I would have finished it months ago!!!) but sometimes i get very distracted or become busy with other stuff or get writer’s block (it has happened majorly a few times).

But it’s comments like yours that keep me going. I’m so glad that people have liked it, I’m pretty proud of it too. Not that I don’t have doubts sometimes, but then I read your comments and I seriously get so giddy and happy that it makes me keep going.

And yes, that part of the last chapter was soooooo satisfying. I was conflicted about writing a Marcus chapter, but it was so cathartic. I’m glad you gave it a chance and liked it.

And i promise he won’t be showing up anymore.

Thank you as always, and hope you like everything that’s coming.