#but please don't break the bank! only if it's comfortable for you ^__^

[triaelf9]

Hey Critters!

So, you may recognize these doodles, as I've been live doodling since the first campaign, and doing what side games and one-shots I'm able to do ^_^ I really love doing the doodles, and I hope ya'll are enjoying them too!

I'm reaching out b/c Work is getting tricky as my wife was fired from her job (along with her coworkers last year) b/c her boss got greedy (the union is currently suing him, but we're not looking to get much recompense even if we win probably), and her covid really disabled her so she's not likely to be able to get much new work. Additionally, our kiddo needs a lot of one-on-one support, so her being a stay at home mom is really something he needs at least in these first years of his life. So I'll be the sole earner for the foreseeable future, and I bet you can imagine how tough living off of comics and freelance is lol XD (for a family of 3 humans, 4 rescue cats +1 outside we're caring for best we can, and a number of hefty bills to pay ^_^;;)

So, if you enjoy my doodles (and perhaps even my other work) and want to throw some support my way, a couple bucks a month goes farther than you'd think! Or if that's not an option, shopping in my stores is great too, or even the free option of boosting my work whenever you see it, tell your friends about my comics (word of mouth is LITERALLY what works through this social media algo garbage that's hitting), etc and so on!

Apologies for the long post, but I thought I'd bump this here on my tumblr where a number of folks seem to enjoy my humble lil' doodle offerings ^_^

Thank you for reading, and I'd be ever so grateful to any boosts!

[loves0phelia]

Hi! I don’t know if you’ve watched part 2 of outer banks yet, and if you didn’t this request is a spoiler!!

Can you do JJ Maybank’s sister seeing him die and Rafe is just watching her break down and he’s comforting her while she cries in his arms? I’m sobbing over JJ right now 😭

Thank you!

Gone

Summery: outer banks season 4 episode 10/the anon

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS, death, grammar mistakes.

A/N: i also sobbed, i cant believe it and thank you for requesting love youuu.

The sandstorm hit suddenly. The air was thick, nearly solid with dust. You stumbled forward as the wind blew strongly, You screamed, begging JJ to come down before something terrible would happen but even if you pulled the scarf tighter across your nose and mouth every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass making it hard to speak. 

Everything was clouded and your goggles were smeared with sand dust. It was impossible to see your brother who was up high on that statue trying to find the blue crown you, the pogues and Rafe have been risking your lives for.

“Come down JJ!” You screamed as loud as you could, hoping he could hear you over the screaming wind. 

A surge of panic rose in you, he wasn't listening, only going higher and higher to reach the top.

“Hurry please!” You screamed again as the sandstorm was getting worse and worse. Squinting your eyes you could see JJ finally descending the statue after a while, carefully holding on to the rock.

“JJ, holy shit are you okay?” You rushed forward to him as he stumbled around frantically.

“I'm good! I'm better actually, I'm great. Look!” he yelled over the storm and held up the blue crown, it felt like a dream having it in front of you.

“No way, you found it” You both looked down at the dusty historical crown in silence for a second, sinking in it the victory that was so rare when it came to you and your twin.

“We got it!” He cheered, pumping his fist, jumping into place from all the adrenaline. The victory cheers didn't last long though, the next thing you knew shots were fired at you from the group who wanted to steal what was rightfully yours.

“Run, run, run” JJ shouted behind you as you ran through the sand blindly and desperate to find shelter.

The sandstorm roared with life around you, Yours and JJ's footsteps vanished almost as quickly as you made them, erased by the wind.

You coughed, your lungs stinging as you struggled to run down the stairs you had found leading inside the monument. 

But suddenly, a shadow appeared out of the storm. A strong hand gripped your forearms and in a sudden movement, your back was pressed on your “father's” chest, an arm around your neck holding on tightly, cutting your airflow and a sharp blade pressed into the side of your face.

“JJ!” you called out, trying to get out of his grasp.

“Let her go!” JJ shouted, his voice trembling with anger. He lunged towards you trying to rip you away from him but he only pressed the blade harder making you cry out. But Groff only shook his head.

You cried, struggling, and your heart pounding as Groff’s grip tightened. You fought against him, but his hold was unbreakable.

“You’re just like your mother,” Groff hissed, his gaze cold and unmoved. “Always standing in my way. Well, this time, you’re not going to stop me. Give me what I want”

“Let her go” He begged.

“If you had listened, we wouldn't be here JJ, you could have had everything. WE could have had the life we deserved as a family. All three of us. But now you get nothing. Nothing at all” Chandler pants like a maniac.

“I already have everything,” JJ says, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have everything I ever wanted. You want the crown? Sure, take it. I don't want it. Just let my sister go.”

“Give it to me, hold it out” He reached toward JJ for the precious object, his grip on you not loosening.

In a swift moment, an exchange was made. Groff grasped the crown, and JJ pulled you out of his arms.

“I got you” JJ breathed out with relief, like a weight was removed from his shoulders. He hugged you protectively. Holding your head against his shoulder like a shield. But then again, the victory was cut short.

“JJ, y/n” you were interrupted by the voice of your father, his call made both of you separate and turn to face him, JJ’s body still shielding you from further harm.

“It's a shame…you and I” You furrowed your brows and a gasp came out of your mouth when the sound of flesh being pierced rang out. 

“You should have given me the rope” Time was moving at a slow pace as the scene unfolded. Groff twisted the knife in JJ's stomach before pulling it out rapidly and running out into the desert.

"JJ!" You screamed, your voice raw with terror. You saw JJ stumble back, his hands flying to his side. Dark red blood was spreading through his shirt and across his fingers, and the sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut.

The world narrowed to the scene in front of you as you watched JJ fall, his face contorted in pain. 

“No, no, no” you cried, desperation thick in your voice.

You rushed to JJ’s side, catching him just as he stumbled. He looked up at you, his face pale and stained with tears.

“It's okay JJ, it's okay” You pressed into his wound, shaking terribly, sobbing when he let out a pained groan.

“No, please” you murmured, pressing your hand over the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay. Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me.”

“Hey, hey,” He whispered, his voice breaking. “Take care of the others for me, okay?”

“No! No” Your breaths shakes, your chest tight with sadness.

“I love you, y/n. You're the best sister anyone could ever have.” His gaze was beginning to drift, his eyes unfocused, and the strength in his grip was fading. Panic clawed at you.

“I love you, please don't go” you begged, but it was pointless he was already gone.

“No! No, no. Please! JJ, please” you shaked his shoulder weakly.

“John B!” You screamed, your chest burning from the lack of oxygen your lungs were getting.

“Pope! Rafe!” Your hands gripped your brother refusing to let go.

“Please JJ!” Your heart shattered completely, a part of you gone forever. Your brother, your twin, your best friend, the other half of your soul, gone. 

“Please” You pressed your forehead against him, your tears falling over the blood-soaked shirt.

The pogues came running towards you, sinking to their knees, calling out to him, crying, sobbing, mourning.

Everything in you gave out as you held onto him, you couldn't even fight when hands grabbed onto your shoulder to bring you away from your brother's corpse.

Your body fell limp into Rafe's lap. His hands held your body up as if he was your lifeline. 

“It's gonna be okay” He whispered against your forehead but you barely registered any of it, only sobbing, and screaming in pain against him. 

The Pogues stood in a tight circle, all eyes fixed on JJ as if somehow their stares alone could bring him back. But no one spoke, and in the heavy silence, the truth crashed over them, settling deep in their bones. JJ was gone.

Kiara’s shoulders shook, a small, trembling motion that quickly overtook her entire body. She fell to her knees, hands pressed to her mouth as she fought to hold back the sobs. 

Pope was beside her, his eyes frantically looking over the scene, he didn't want to believe any of it, as if it was a cruel joke.

John B stood, rigid.  His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, and his jaw was set, teeth gritted as he tried to hold it all in, to keep the pain from breaking him apart. 

Rafe's arms wrapped around you gently, his hand resting on the back of your head as he let you fall into his chest. You buried your face in his shoulder, the grief and sorrow pouring out in waves as he held you.

He didn’t speak of the rivalry, the old wounds and the bitterness between your families; none of that mattered now. At this moment, all he saw was your pain, and he was there, his own heart breaking a little as he watched you crumble.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you weak and exhausted, Rafe pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with something you’d never seen in him before—softness, understanding. 

“It's okay,” he murmured, his voice a promise, his hand gentle as he brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

You sat on the sand as a fire crackled in front of you, you had just buried him, the silence was thick nobody wanted to believe the truth. 

Your head pounded, even when you were softly laying on Rafe's legs using them as pillows. His calloused fingers gently rubbed your hair and you tried to concentrate on the movement in an attempt to forget about the previous moment but you failed.

“Groff said he was going to Lisbon” Rafe whispered above you, making your eyes open and looking up at him. His eyes met yours and he continued.

“If he was my friend or my brother… I would go after the guy that just killed him” The mention made your heart burn but he had a point.

“He's not wrong” Kie whispered, agreeing with your inner thoughts. You snuggled against Rafe's legs one last time before sitting up and leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“JJ would already be on his way to kill him if it was one of us,” you said and everyone's eyes snapped towards you, those were the first words you had spoken since it happened. 

“He'd get even,” John B added.

“Let's get revenge,” you said, your voice more confident than it was before, you felt a hand grasp onto yours and slowly you turned your head to face Rafe. He nodded and tightened his grip in a comforting way, never letting go.

Send request please xx

[lunarw0rks]

Hiii so... I don't know how to say that but...

YOU'RE WRITING IS PERFECT, it makes me giggle and through my feet into the air!!! 😭💖

so can you please imagine ghost all whiny and needy for the reader, like what do you think about it😭😭😭

hmmm.. i don't necessarily picture whining but i can see how he'd be needy at times. especially since you two wouldn't have sex often; there are times were he's FERAL !!

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

warning(s): (consensual) cockwarming/somnophilia?, thigh fucking, afab!reader

NEED | SIMON RILEY

usually, when simon gets aroused in the middle of the night, he goes to the bathroom and takes care of it. but tonight was especially difficult to stifle.

his hand just wouldn't do. it wasn't enough. he needed you.

you two had been so busy the past few days, with little time for each other. he got home a few weeks ago, and that meant he had to play catch up on all his household duties. bullshit at the bank, fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen — and all of his work-related paperwork piled in his study.

and you, having a life of your own, weren't always sewn to his hip. it worked well that way, preventing arguments about clinginess or unavailability. when he was there, you two were great. and that was satisfactory.

after simon's eyes opened, he rolled over and stared at you for a few moments, listening to your faint snores. you slumber on your side of the bed, curled into the fetal position. each night, you sleep on his chest, but somehow end up far from him by the end of it.

tonight it wouldn't fly; he needed your warmth.

scooting closer, he rested his chin on your shoulder, pushing your back plush against his toned chest. "lovie..." he whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss to your earlobe.

his deep tone was audible enough to wake you, even when he spoke in a hushed tone. you twitched awake, feeling the embrace of his arms tight around you; tighter than normal. "what is it, Si?" you mumbled lazily, feeling your eyelids already drooping again.

simon grinds his hips subtly, hoping to send his message without words. but all he's done is coax you back to sleep — or the halfway between.

"need y', sweetheart," he muttered, waking you once again. you grumbled, about to tell him off until you felt the hardened bulge in his sweatpants. how it rubbed against your backside needily, suddenly reminding you of how long it'd been.

sleep called you — violently. you were still exhausted from the day you had, with little to no time to get properly excited. but, my god, was his voice a treat. desperate and pleading, for a change.

without breaking your relaxation, you reached down and lifted the hem of his baggy t-shirt, where you wore nothing underneath. lifting one of your legs slightly, you reached between and palmed him; hopefully that was enough of a message.

his breathing hitched slightly, peering down and seeing your bare rear in the moonlight. he snaked an arm down and peeled back his waistband, freeing the cock you had been trying to reposition. once the clothing barrier was gone, his need was evident.

the breeze of the AC blew against his sensitive length, making him shutter. so, he was right; warmth is what he craved, not necessarily full-on sex.

before you drifted off again, he leaned up against your ear, "this alright with y'?" he teased your cheek with his oozing tip.

once again, the deep octave sent a chill down your spine. with your remaining lucidity, you nodded your head and drawled a yes. you were too comfortable to mind, and it was downright erotic to imagine.

how he'd be lazily rocking into your thighs, maybe against your cunt — all while you remain at peace. the only downside would be missing his sweet grunts and groans when he's close. if you're lucky, perhaps the sounds of his release will intrude into your dream and make it sweeter tenfold.

as soon as he heard your acceptance, he gripped the girthy base of his cock, slipping between your thighs. then, he angles his hips, so that he was also grinding between your lower lips. the natural wetness and his pre-cum made for a messy endeavor, sure to have your sex coated by the time he's finished.

when simon begins grinding his hips, your sleepy body nuzzles him, instinctively pushing further against him. your thighs clench together, engulfing his cock in the warmth he craved and simulating how blissful it was to be inside you.

into your ear, he makes his pleasure known, delicately holding the flesh of your thighs in place.

"so good, lettin' me tease you like this, baby."

[undobutton]

Micah x reader cuddling please!!

warnings: swearing, a little suggestive if you squint, mentions of hostages

reader: gender neutral!

genre: fluffy as hell

characters: Micah Yujin! (the one and only)

synopsis: Micah wants to cuddle, but you're busy

a/n: first Micah post!! this man has my whole heart (and he sends kisses to you btw)

"Aw c'mon Angel, you've worked so hard today, you deserve a break and you have an incredibly handsome boyfriend sitting on the floor asking for your affection. Sounds like a no-brainer to me." Micah winks up at you, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Micah has been asking for cuddles since you two finished dinner, despite the fact that you told him you'd go right back to work after since you have a deadline to meet. You admire his dedication to the craft of begging and his seemingly endless bank of stupid shit to say to get you to smile.

It's worked and you actually finished what you were doing seven minutes ago... but he doesn't need to know that just yet. And knowing him he'll probably figure it out somehow and try to get even.

"Please, angel? I know you like to see me on my knees, but isn't this a little cruel?" He slides his hand up to your waist, pulling you away from your monitor and resting his head on your thigh.

"Pretty please, my love, dearest, sweetie, darling, lil love bug, bestie?" he continues.

You giggle, finally breaking character and kissing his cheek.

"Victory!" He jumps up and grabs you by the hand, "come! I made the bed extraa comfortable for us! we'll cuddle till the sun sets a thousand times over!"

"We don't have time for that Micah," You say, getting up and following him into the hallway.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll just have to keep you, hostage, in my arms then."

"You're not strong enough to hold me." You state rolling your eyes.

"Is that so, because if I remember correctly, two nights ago-"

"That was voluntary! You don't stand a chance against me in reality."

"Oh yeah? You wanna bet." Micah grins, opening the bedroom door and revealing a very cozy-looking nest on the bed. Made with all your favorite pillows and his favorite blankets. And no cozy space is complete without Skrunly, snoozing away at the foot of the bed. You'd make fun of him for it if he hadn't started pulling you over already.

He climbs into the corner and holds his arms out, you playfully roll your eyes and curl up with him, Skrunkly finds her way in between you two before you can close the space.

"What type of wingman are you skrunkly?" Micah frowns at her, she mewls at him scooting closer to you. You chuckle and pet her, sticking your tongue out at Micah.

"Wha- I didn't mean it!" He pouts further.

"You dumbass," You tease kissing his cheek.

"Shut up, you're the cruel one here."

"Mhm, the cruel one you're cuddling with"

"What can I say? I'm a man easily swayed by love, and I loove you, angel." He kisses you with a grin and pulls you a little closer, sighing contently and ready to keep you hostage if need be.

reblogs and follows appreciated! -button 🌺

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Chicago - Oneshot

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader

Word Count: 12.7k

Summary: You and Marc go back to Chicago.

Warnings: as close to smut as I can write, 18+ only please, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex), reader takes the morning after pill, essentially a dive into Marc's past

A/N: I am not Jewish so if there is anything I misrepresented, particularly regarding Jewish burial practices please let me know.

This is part of The Dress universe, but can be read on its own.

I don't own photos, dividers or characters.

Marc’s hand is heavy and warm within yours. It not only carries your hand, but the weight of the world and the love he holds for you. Even on a day like today, as you both walk down the street towards a home that had been turned into a prison for him, you can feel the weight of his love. It hangs about you like a cloud heavy with rain, rumbling with thunder. 

He’d insisted that he take your luggage, and it’s now click-click-clicking across the square cobblestones of the sidewalk. Your carry-on, a small backpack, is slung over one of his shoulders, bumping into his own backpack on the other shoulder. 

Always the light-packer, Marc hadn’t checked any luggage, though it was complimentary with the international flight. So, you’d packed a couple of things for him as well. Steven’s latest book, a favourite baseball cap of Marc’s, a fuzzy, soft blanket that was a favourite of the three of you. Bits and pieces of home that weren’t a necessity, like the items in his backpack, but a comfort. Something to help him stay calm, grounded. Face the week ahead a little easier. 

At the bottom of it all, squeezed between a pair of sweatpants and Marc’s favourite dress, is a little surprise. A Cubs jersey that you’d scavenged half of London to get your hands on. You’re planning to wear it on Sunday, when the Cubs were playing the Mets, a home game that Marc was going to take you to. 

“Hey,” you slow down, right before the final twist to his home street. Marc had, on purpose, given the taxi driver the wrong address. You’d stayed quiet and let him pretend you didn’t realise, that you hadn’t sifted through the mail a few months ago and the address on an expedited letter from the United States hadn’t caught your eye. “You know…” you don’t mean to pressure him to look at you, knowing that this is already exponentially hard for him. But he does. He turns to you with soft eyes, tense shoulders. 

“You know…” you’re fumbling for words now, wishing you had that magical ability of Marc’s to say exactly the right thing, in the least amount of words. With a sigh and tilt of your chin, you lean up a little towards him. On instinct, Marc presses his forehead against yours. His eyes fall closed. The heat of his breath against your face is more comforting than the sun. “We can go away now, take the rest of the week off and be tourists. Go to all those tacky places everyone raves about.” 

Your eyes fall open just in time to catch a smile break across Marc’s face like a butterfly. The smell of his cologne is wrapping around you. You feel indestructible beside him. You hope he feels the same.

“Don’t worry, honey,” there’s the traces of the smile still in his voice, even if his face is neutral again. “I’ll take you to see The Bean regardless.” He squeezes your hand, turns the corner with renewed strength. 

He knows that that’s the last thing you’ve come here to see. As the two of you were going to the bank to get a mortgage pre-approval, a bank that you’d made sure had an international branch in Spain, you’d hesitated. Paused and asked him if it was possible that you were moving too fast. 

Misunderstanding your intentions, Marc had dropped to one knee and stuttered out a half-proposal before you’d dragged him up by the shoulders and told him what you meant. 

So, Marc delayed your appointment with the advisor, booked two round flights for Chicago and took a couple extra shifts at work. 

A month later, here you were. 

You convince him to let you help with the luggage as you climb the stairs to the red-brick townhouse. The place you’d only heard of through Marc and Steven’s stories. You wait patiently, let Marc collect himself and grab the knocker in his own time. There are light curtains drawn at the windows, which shuffle at the sound of his knock, a grey head of curly hair and thick-rimmed glasses peeking out from the little gap before it disappears, and the lock and its door clicks open. 

Surreal, it’s all surreal really. The house and the curtains you don’t recall ever having made their way into any of the stories you’d heard. Marc’s father, who, even a wrinkled and old, looks the spitting image of his son. 

“Hi, Marc,” he speaks up first, his grip on the door so tight that his knuckles turn white. His gaze falls to you, searching. You smile at him, let Marc decide how, when and if he wants to introduce you to his father. If he wanted to turn back now, without even a hello, you’d let him. 

You hope Marc knows that you’d do anything for him, let him do anything to you. 

“Hi,” Marc’s voice is more gruff than when he talks with you. He lets go of your hand and smooths his palm down your back, pulling you into his side. He introduces you, tells his father your name, “My partner.” Marc hates the word girlfriend, you know that it makes his mouth sour to say it. A label that wasn’t fitting for what you were. 

“Hi, Mr. Spector,” the words fall onto the little mat in front of the door. You step over them as you step into his arms for a hug. His whiskers scratch your skin as you feel a kiss pressed close to your temple. The weight of words unsaid, conversations to be had is heavy around the three of you.

“Elias please,” up close you can see the tears in his eyes, as he grips your shoulder comfortingly and lets you go. Magnet-like as always, you return to Marc’s side. His father gives the two of you another shaky smile, fidgets as he pushes his glasses back up his nose, plays with the hem of his cardigan. He waits a second longer than what would be considered normal, his eyes drifting up and down your frames quickly before he opens his mouth to say something but thinks the better of it. Stepping to the side, he opens the door for you, “Please, come in.” 

You silently help Marc tug the suitcase into the door, let your hand rest on his a second too long on the handle, close the door quietly behind you. 

The squeal of the kettle is the saving grace from the weighted silence that would have fallen on the three of you. Elias rushes to the kitchen, tells you in half-sentences to make yourself at home. He’s a flurry of curls and the worn wool of his sweater. 

You do as he heads, take your shoes off and reach to take Marc’s hand in yours again. He shucks the backpacks off him, tosses them to the side, intertwines your fingers and starts going into the house. 

He pauses when he catches sight of the pillows and blankets that are on one of the bottom stairs of the staircase. You squeeze his hand and lean up, whisper to him over the clanging of cabinets and the murmuring from the kitchen, that you don’t have to stay the week here, that there are plenty of cheap hotels nearby or farther away, if that’s what he wants, you’d be happy to stay at. 

He nods, tense and curt. Leads you over to the couch, places your hand on his knee with a reaffirming tap of his hand. You catch his eye and he winks at you. Heavy and weighted. You smile back at him, squeeze his leg and let him know that it’s ok. More for yourself than him, you lean in and kiss his cheek. Fleeting, you feel like a girl before prom, sneaking in a kiss like this in his childhood house.

A tray of three mugs, all mismatched and chipped are plopped in front of you. A shaky smile sent your way from Elias. You don’t miss the way they drop to his son, the way his fingers tremble and find refuge in the magazines strewn on the table. Tutting he starts to gather them up, “Sorry, I-I, I’ve meant to clean this place up, but no matter what I do, the mess stays the same, and after a while trying I just gave up,”  he pauses and looks at the two of you. “I don’t often get visitors.” 

“You have a lovely home,” you look around, catch sight of a sepia-tinted photo hanging on the walls of a smiling little boy with chubby cheeks and look away as if burned. “Is it a remodel or?” 

You know Marc is laughing at you, internally at least. Though the mortgage pre-approval still had to be approved, you’d taken up the house search with a commitment that scared him sometimes. He’d wake in the middle of the night, see you still scrolling on your computer after you’d promised him that you’d be done in just five minutes, baby, I have a feeling this is the one. You had an eye for houses now, would look upon them with a buying hand and could speak lingo that he barely understood. 

The first time you talk with Marc’s father, your father-in-law of sorts, you speak about nothing at all. Marc stays quiet through all of it, dropping in quiet, strained sentences in between your words. Lets his hands wander where he wants them, your legs and arms, around your back and shoulders. It’s his way of letting you know that it’s alright, you’re doing good, he’s doing good. 

Elias asks you about your job, London, your family. Sometimes, you think you’ve caught Marc smiling, his smile that hides behind his eyes. You can’t look at him too long for fear of making him too uncomfortable and so, you’re not sure if it’s just your mind playing tricks on you or if it’s really just Marc. 

You miss him. He’s sitting right next to you, his hands warm against your body, and yet your heart yearns for him in ways you’ve only dreamt of someone else longing for you. 

You drink tea and eat some crackers, hear the crack in Marc’s voice when he asks his father why he’s still buying these things. 

“They’re good, they’ve become my favourite too,” there’s a faltering smile on Elias’ face, a crack in his voice that mirrors Marc’s. 

You make a mental note of the brand and decide that it’s worth it to buy another suitcase just to be filled up with the crackers. Marc’s hands flutter to your waist. 

As he starts to calm down, you see glimpses of the man Elias has become. Soft-spoken with a gentle temperament. A father grieving over two sons and a wife. 

Your heart quivers as you think about how it’d feel to lose Marc, Marc whom you’ve only known for a few years. Marc whose fingers are trying to push the tension out of your muscles. Your treasure, Marc. 

That evening, Marc devours a whole deep-dish pizza by himself, makes your heart warm with his renewed appetite. That evening, he decides that he wants to spend the night at his father’s. Mumbles something along the lines of getting a cab at this hour. So, you help his father make up the guest room for you, help Marc lug the suitcase up and stay discretely quiet as you pass the closed door right at the top of the stairs. 

Elias sneaks in when he hears the shower running, sees the opened suitcase still filled with clothes, and his face falls.

“I-uh,” there’s a loss of zeal in his actions, as he holds up a handful of towels. “Just thought I’d drop these off, for extra. Though I don’t think you’ll be needing them anymore.” His gaze falls back to the suitcase, the empty chest of drawers. 

“You know, Elias,” you stand up and take the towels from him, place them on the bed and make him hold your eyes. “We don’t actually have a hotel booked.”

He grins, forces himself to stop and then grins again and runs his hand across his face, looking away. The scene makes you smile, biting the inside of your cheek. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

In a burst of affection, he wraps his arms around you, hugs you much harder than what he did in the entrance of his home with the heat of Marc’s gaze on him. You feel a scratchy brush of his lips as he kisses your forehead, pulls away and looks you up and down again. He opens his mouth to speak when he hears the shower being turned off and rushes away. “Well, good night.” 

“Good night,” the door closes moments later, only for the bathroom door to open and reveal Marc, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“My father was in here,” he swallows thickly, running a hand over his face in a gesture eerily similar to Elias’ a few moments ago. 

You nod, take a towel and lead Marc into a chair. “Just dropping off some things we might need.” You start working the water out of his hair, knowing that he’d just let it dry, sopping wet as it is right now, and risk getting a cold. You refrain from scenting him like a dog, though you know Marc always smells amazing after a shower, and it makes you curl yourself into his body at nights in your sleep. You know tonight is going to be no different, if the jet lag doesn’t get to you. 

Taking care of Marc’s hair is one of your favourite things to do with him. You like drawing him a bath filled with bubbles, pouring water over his hair and working in shampoo and conditioner. His hair is beautiful, and you hope that, when the time is right, his child will have the same. 

When the majority of the water has been absorbed into the towel, you hang it up, and search through your suitcase for the little bottle of hair product you’d bought for him. The bottle that he begrudgingly uses for your sake, Steven less so. It makes their hair softer, more defined, easier to manage. 

“Fuck, baby, you packed that thing?” You hope his eye doesn’t fall on all the other things you’ve packed, not wanting to go through the charade where he scolds you for packing sentimentally and not practically. Where he holds up items accusingly and tilts his head, silently asking you what was going through your head. 

The answer is embarrassing. Him. Always him and Steven. They’re your world and you’re not sure if you want to explain to Marc that it’s difficult to stop thinking about the world, even for just a few moments. 

“Hush, Spector,” you come back behind him and open the bottle, pour some of the product into your hand. Marc’s eyes fall shut as you start to work it into his hair. “You need to keep your curls moisturised, otherwise they get all frizzy.” 

“Maybe I like them frizzy.” In the privacy of your shared room, you see his walls eb away, and he turns back into the man you’ve grown to know. Witty, affectionate, teasing. He always loves you, that never changes wherever you are. 

So, you quip back and forth with him, let him kiss you breathless in bed and tease you a little more about getting turned on so easily. He’s escaping a little, letting the pressure of the house fade away into nothingness. You read to him out loud, let his hands crawl under your shirt and shamelessly grope at your chest, press his nose in the space between your breasts knowing that that’s where you always spray your perfume.

The sheets are soft against your skin, Marc’s body and his love warming you up. The house quiets down, the curtains are drawn. The feeling of his skin against yours is intoxicating. Marc falls asleep earlier than you, so entangled with you that you can feel his heartbeat against yours. Your hearts start to sync up together and the rhythm makes you sleepy. 

The headlights of a car are dulled by the blinds as it hums its way down the street. Marc’s even breaths are the last things you register before falling asleep yourself. 

The stress of the day before gets to Marc more than the jet lag, and as he sleeps soundly, you slip away from him and put on a sweater of his, padding softly downstairs with a book. The sun has barely risen and you’ve barely gotten over four hours of sleep, but another minute in bed with Marc, seeing him sleeping so effortlessly when you couldn’t was going to drive you insane. 

So, downstairs it was. 

The smell of coffee and toasted bread takes you by surprise. You peer into the kitchen to see Marc’s father, in a plaid robe and slippers standing and looking outside the window into the backyard, his hair a crowsnest. There’s the gentle drip of the coffee machine, the hum of the fridge, abandoned plates and glasses from last night’s dinner in the sink. 

“Morning,” you say quietly for fear of breaking the early morning calm you and Steven love so much. 

“Hi,” he’s beaming at you as he turns around. In another whirlwind of movements, he rushes you to the dining table, set on being a good host. He presses a cup in your hands, places some sugar on the table and asks if you take anything else with your coffee. He offers to buy some cream for you, if that’s what you prefer. Unspoken but still there is the question of Marc, the answer to which he’s dying to hear. 

Like his son, it seems, Elias talks through his eyes. 

You smile and let him know that it’s alright, tacking on that Marc drinks his coffee black anyways. You stay quiet about Steven, about his experimental superfood, plant-based lattes he gifts you every morning. The way his eyes light up when you compliment them, the way he kisses your forehead and cheeks and the way your heart stutters when you think of having to leave him for work. 

Elias latches on to that little bit of information like a moth to a flame, “Black?” His eyes light up, he plays his nails against the ceramic of his own mug and makes quiet clinks. Nodding, you confirm and he shakes himself out of his trance, “You sleep alright? Was the bed comfortable?” 

“Yes, very,” you opt not to tell him about the jet lag, about how your eyes are glueing together when you blink. You take a sip of coffee instead, “Just an early riser that’s all.” 

“Good, good,” he shifts, adjusts his glasses, brushes his hand through his hair. 

“Did you sleep well?” you’re spooning some sugar into your coffee, expecting that the conversation is going to go in the same direction as the night before.

Laughing nervously, he looks away from you, “No, actually. Couldn’t lay still for the life of me. Too nervous I guess.” 

Your eyes soften, “It must have been hard for you, with Marc gone for so long.” 

“What?” he turns back to you with trembling lips that he hides behind his coffee cup. “Oh, well-” he makes a low noise at the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like Marc’s when he’s trying to push back tears “-can’t say I blame him for staying away that much. I wouldn’t have done anything different.” 

You smile at him, look down at your coffee to alleviate some of the pressure settling in the room around you. Your loyalties to Marc and Steven are wrapped tight around your heart, and they keep you quiet as you don’t try to contest Elias’ claim. To say that there wasn’t a time you had just as much unbridled hatred toward the man sitting in front of you as you had for his wife would be wrong to say. But you’re in his home, with his son, here to cross bridges, alleviate the weight on Marc’s shoulders a little, and so, though you don’t try to actively comfort Elias, you don’t bring him down either. 

There’s still much to learn about him, to figure out, and you won’t cause any more unnecessary drama this week than there will already be. The photo is still hanging on the wall, right behind the couch you and Marc were sitting on yesterday, beaming like a spotlight that you discretely ignore. 

Instead you stand up, head to the sink and start on the dishes from the night before, warding off any half-hearted attempts of Elias’ to stay put, that guests don’t do chores in his house. You tell him that you don’t mind, that you like having something to do with your hands. So, he sits quietly and reads through yesterday’s paper, finishes his coffee. 

The sun starts to rise to the melody of the running tap, the occasional rustle of the paper.

Your mind drifts back to yesterday in the plane, it felt like lifetimes ago. Marc had claimed that he was going to stay awake the whole eight hour plane ride. That you two were travelling west, you’d gain an ungodly amount of hours, and get there only three hours, Chicago time, after your departure. 

He told you to go to sleep, for he knew how long you were up the night before packing. That he’d stay awake, not only for his circadian rhythm, but for you as well. Make sure he got yours and his money’s worth of aeroplane snacks, let you lay on his shoulder, wake you up before landing so you could pop your ears ahead of time. 

His high ideals had lasted him all of take-off. The moment the plane leaped into the sky it was as if someone pressed the off switch in his mind. He collapsed into your lap almost instantly, and you had no choice but to stay awake so as to ensure you got the cookies for his sweet tooth, thread your fingers through his hair and wake him up before landing so his ears would pop ahead of time. 

You drank your fill of Marc in those hours. Gazed down at him for so long that your neck became sore and you started getting concerned gazes from the flight attendants. Your eyes traced his face, in a well-known rhythm you spent the early mornings playing until he woke up and pulled you back into his arms again with a grumble. 

You dry your hands and turn around, come to sit back down at the table and take your coffee and book in hand. 

For a few seconds you wish you’d stayed in bed, so you could do the same with Marc. So you could give him some soft touches and kiss his neck until he pushed you away. 

“You’re good for him, I can tell,” at the sound of his voice your gaze focuses back in and you realise you’ve never actually focused on the page. You look at him and he offers you a meek smile. 

Your heart stutters, you’re not sure if you can tell Elias how much that sentence means to you, that you’re going to store it away, bring it out for when you’re feeling doubtful and play it over and over to comfort you. “Oh,” a smile creeps on your face, eyes fill with tears before you look down and blink them away. This trip was for you as much as it was for Marc it seemed. “I-I…I’m not-” you take a stuttering breath away and wipe away a stray tear and smile at Elias. “He’s good for me too, brings out the best in me.” 

Touch comforts you, he must have noticed that last night with his son touching you every second of every minute. Elias reaches forward and places a warm hand on yours, giving you a gentle squeeze. 

He pulls away, fidgets with the edge of his newspaper and makes a faint crinkling sound, “Do you mind me asking how you two met?” 

You tell him it’s alright. Run through the story over again. The bookstore, Marc, the sushi place and how his son was so nervous you were scared that he’d gotten food poisoning. 

It feels like you’ve taken a stack of photographs, held your thumb against the edge and are flipping through at rapid pace. You try to slow down, go back and forth in your story as you try to savour the moment, make Elias see the high-energy atmosphere of the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the way Marc looked at you as if you held the sun in your arms, the way your heart flip-flopped around through the whole thing and how you were awash with disappointment when he didn’t kiss you at the end. 

The narrative is so jumbled up now, that you’re not even sure where you are in the story of your first date before he surprises you, shows you that he’s been hanging on to every word you’ve said until now, even if it just sounds like confused, lovesick ramblings to your ears. “I thought they were tulips?” 

You’re at that point where Marc is walking you back to your place, where he tells you to stay where you are for just one minute as he pops into a florist shop, closing for the day and returns with a box of long-stemmed roses and a sheepish expression on his face. “No, he got me both,” you still feel giddy when you think of that night, still feel like it was plucked out of a fairy tale. “Tulips before, and roses after.” 

Your cheeks heat up under the scrutiny of his stare, as he tries to sort out what he thinks of it and you look back down to your book. 

Though you might joke around with Marc about it sometimes, it was a small detail about the beginning of your relationship with him that you felt was as vital to your health as your heart. 

When you’re with friends, you state the fact proudly, that your partner got you not one, but two bouquets on your first date to show that he was serious, that the body-crushing connection between your souls was not one-sided. You still have the roses, dried up and placed lovingly in the box they came in, tucked away safely in your closet. Every once in a while, usually when you’re alone in your apartment, you put on the outfit you wore that night and take the flowers out of their box, twirling around your living room with them cradled in your arms like a baby. 

Marc would surely laugh at you if he knew you did this. Elias is most likely on his way to find it all ridiculous, call you a senseless romantic and take back his positive judgement of you. 

“Why both?” is all he asks. 

You try not to read into it too much and decide not tell him about how Marc had overanalyzed himself into a little corner of his mind and changed his mind before the date, had almost cancelled on you if it wasn’t so late. “He couldn’t decide, so I got both.” 

“That’s lovely,” his warm tone is what convinces you to look back at him. There’s not a trace of resentment in his features. His face is soft, eyebrows wrinkled together in sympathy. Elias is more perceptive than you give him credit for, “Truly, it’s a lovely story.” 

A little flame of possessiveness flares up inside you. Mine. You want to tell him that it’s your story, that you lived through it and you were the one that got to tell it and make other people look at you and Marc with jealousy laced into their body like the back of a corset. 

You bite your tongue instead, watch as he gets up and refills your coffee cups, rummages through the pantry for a package of cookies, and offers them to you. 

“They’re really very good,” he presses with a slight smile when you decline. He reminds you of the way Steven strings adverbs together as if making a pearl necklace. You relent and smile back at him, thank him and take one. 

Trying to talk with Elias, without having had a conversation about it first with Marc, is worse than walking on eggshells. It’s not even walking, just meaningless circles around and around. As soon as you start to make some progress, the leash around your neck is pulled back, reminding you that you still need to talk with Marc, Marc still needs to talk with his father. 

The last thing you want to do is betray Marc’s trust, the last thing you want is to make Elias feel he can’t trust you.

The sound of water running through the pipes comes from upstairs and you excuse yourself to your room to go check on Marc. 

He’s still in the washroom when you go up, the bed neatly made with all the corners tucked in. Though Marc often tries to stop his presence from making an impression on the world around him, the room radiates with him, his soul a candle that you like to hold to your chest to warm you up, as it lights the space around you. 

Over the years, you’ve come to realise how you’ve grown to be dependent on Marc’s presence. How your skin tingles when you’re away from him, the way your fingers itch to touch him if he’s close by. It’s the by-product of spending almost every minute you’ve had with him, alone, usually in his apartment or yours. 

Now, you know that if he’s not in bed with you, you’ll need an extra blanket to stay warm enough to sleep. Physically and emotionally, you depend on Marc, and so does Marc depend on you. It’s the most intimate bond you’ve ever shared with a person, that comes with its little perks and side effects. 

So, when Marc opens the door of the washroom, rubbing at his eye with the back of his finger and catches sight of you, he bounds the length of the room in moments and is hugging you as if he hasn’t seen you in three years. It’s an aspect of your life a therapist would frown upon and would immediately start taking steps to fix. 

You don’t care. You like the way your heart flutters when it’s away from Marc, the way it flutters when you see him again. The way he holds you as if you’re life itself and everything in between. 

“Where were you?” he murmurs into your hair. He presses his hands into your shoulder blades and closes the particles of space between you. “Woke up alone.” 

You make a small noise at the back of your throat, hug him tighter. The image he puts in your mind makes you hurt, “M’sorry. I couldn’t sleep. Jet lag.” 

There’s a sound at the back of his throat that mirrors yours. With his hand soothing the back of your head, he tells you that you shouldn’t nap today, no matter how hard it’ll be. That he’ll treat you instead to an early bedtime and fix your sleep schedule overnight. 

“You’re so sweet,” you pull away and cup his face, running your thumbs over the soft skin underneath his eyes. “For taking care of me the way you do.” 

His hands come to rest on yours, he smiles that subtle Marc smile that to an untrained eye looks like indifference. To you it looks like love, adoration, the promise of taking care of you for as long as you’ll have him. Eyes falling closed, you feel his forehead against yours before it’s even there. 

He’s perfect. 

He’s yours and he’s perfect and you’re his. You never want to be parted from him from this day on. You want to wake up beside him for the rest of your mornings left. You want him and everything else he has to offer you. A life without Marc Spector in it doesn’t make sense to you anymore. A life where the intense need and desire your soul holds for his is returned to you in spades. 

Marc Spector has integrated himself into your heart as an extra artery, vital and essential. You can’t fathom living without him as much as you can’t fathom living without your coffee machine or living without an artery. 

The intense feelings wash over you, the exhaustion probably kicking in right around now and you hear Marc cooing, feel his shaking fingers wiping away your tears, “Now, honey…” you open your eyes and smile watery, two tears spilling over your cheeks as you do. You know how easily Marc gets affected when you cry, and you try to stop, “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” 

“Nothing,” you shake your head and look down. Taking his hands, you guide them back to where they were on your face. He guides you in turn to look back up at him, and sends you a nervous smile once you do, “I love you, Marc.” 

He doesn’t need to say it back for you to hear it from him, yet he does, and he makes you cry even more because of it, “I love you.” Marc knows how itchy your skin gets if your tears fall and dry, so he’s quick to wipe them away, a crease furrowed between his eyebrows, “But I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing, nothing,” you half-laugh, half-cry. He shoots you a look, that makes you elaborate, “I missed you that’s all.” 

“I was just upstairs, honey,” he’s teasing you lightly, but you know he knows what you mean. He makes sure of that by kissing you, and you push some of his hair behind his ears, letting your hands rest on his neck. His arms slither around your waist, and they start to lean in your weight into his body. 

They’re innocent touches, but with Marc the intention is there, and they’re too early for where you are, for what the time is right now. But you’ve never known how to say no to Marc, particularly when he’s giving you the soft things your body craves for. 

There’s a clatter of pots and pans downstairs, that brings you out of the little love cloud you’ve been sharing until now. Reminds you that you’re not at his place, in London, where he can kiss your collarbones whenever he likes and make you weak in the knees. 

You pull away and you see the walls shoot back up in his face, see his smile fade, and the frown take its place. He kisses the space above and then below your lips, finally pressing a butterfly of a kiss on them. 

You hear his question without him having to say it, and can see it on his face, “I’ll only take a minute.” 

“Alright,” he squeezes your hips, looks down at you for a second too long before heading out the door and downstairs. 

Elias will be spending the morning at the community centre, running his weekly carpentry class for teenagers. He’d invited you two to join, but Marc had only shook his head. 

Breakfast had passed like the dinner the night before. You chatted with Elias as if you’d bumped into him in passing at a coffee shop and were sharing a table for the next half hour. Marc is silent beside you as his father raved on and on about the different attractions Chicago had to offer, discreetly slipping in the lowering crime rates and top-rated schools in the area. 

Maybe not as discreet as he’d hoped however, since Marc shifts and clears his throat pointedly. You place your hand on his thigh, and he takes your hand in his. 

He’d asked you two what you were planning on doing with the day, when Marc speaks up, “Shedd.” It takes his father and you by surprise. He’s speechless and you’re staring at him, “I got a couple discount tickets online.” 

“Well,” Elias starts to fiddle with his fork, until it drops out of his hand and clangs to the plate underneath. “Oh-well, have fun. It’s…lovely…used to take Marc there all the time.” 

He doesn’t even give you a moment to respond before he starts clearing the table. Marc’s returned to his phone, and he starts asking about borrowing the car, what the traffic was looking like right about now towards downtown. 

They’re pretending like this wasn’t the first time Elias has voluntarily pressed a finger on the blister of the past that hangs heavy around the house like fog. But it was there, and you’re going to hold on to the little snippet of the Marc you were given over breakfast. 

He likes Fritos’ corn chips and the aquarium. 

You file it all away, store it for an opportune time. 

You know you’re already going to start searching for good aquariums in London, probably Spain as well, probably look at membership pricings on top of it. 

In London, you don’t often get to see Marc drive. Sometimes, he rents a car for the day. Usually, you’re riding the trains and buses with him and Steven, because it’s cheaper and convenient. But you like watching him drive. Watching his side profile, the way his neck looks as he shoulder checks and changes lanes. 

Your mother always told you the best way to know someone was when they sat behind the wheel. Every time he’s sat behind the wheel, he’s made you only fall harder for him. He’s found different ways for your affection to grow in different parts of your body, like an overripe potato sprouting out in the most bizarre places. 

He must feel the way your eyes are trained on his face, for he chuckles, places a warm hand on your thigh and squeezes, “You’re starin’.” His accent started to come out the moment you’d stepped foot in the airport. It’s a tilt to his voice that makes you heady, like all aspects of Marc Spector do. 

“I am,” you sigh exaggeratedly and look out the window instead. “Can’t help myself. You look so pretty.” It’s a corny pick-up line at best, probably far too immature for where your relationship is at. 

But to your surprise, it affects him heavily. The colour rises to his face, his eyes darting back and forth between the rearview mirror enough times for you to know that he’s not checking the cars behind him. “I fly you all the way to fuckin’ Chicago and you can’t quit staring at me like a creep.” 

This makes you laugh, makes you seek out his hand on your leg and intertwine your fingers together so you can run your thumb against his palm. “How’s Steven doing?” He hasn’t fronted since you two had left the flat. It wasn’t that long ago, but for Steven it’s been ages. 

“Oh, just fine,” his eyes catch the rearview mirror and he grins, changes lanes and merges off the highway. He pauses, glances at the mirror again and then rolls his eyes, “He also says that you should try chamomile tea tonight, to sleep better.” 

“I will.” You feel giddy, “Tell him thanks for me.” 

“He’s heard you,” his voice is a little strained as he looks over his shoulder, once, twice and changes lanes. A horn is blared and he grumbles, glaring through the rearview mirror at the car behind him, “Fuckin’ tourists.” 

Pouting, you say, “But I want you to tell Steven, I don’t want Steven to hear it from me.” 

When a glance in your direction tells him that you’re deadly serious about this, even if there’s a smile hanging around your face, he looks back to the rearview mirror and mutters, “She says thanks. For the tea.” He stops at a red light and keeps looking at the mirror. After a pause, “He says he loves you.” 

You press the backs of your fingers against your cheeks, as they start heating up, “And do you love me?” 

“I love you. Of course.” You know he does. You don’t need to hear it from him to know. Yet he knows you like it when he says it, so he does, and makes the butterflies take flight inside your chest.

Shedd is enormous. The attendant who checks your tickets tells you to set aside a good three hours if you want to see the whole thing. They rave about the beluga whales, pointing out various presentations happening in different exhibits that day and their times. 

You can tell from the disgruntled little downturn of Marc’s mouth that he’s only trying to be agreeable. It’s the same look Steven gets when someone tries to dispute a claim he’s made about Egyptology. 

But, unlike his alter who is quick to correct and to defend, Marc just shuffles further inside his little shell, bites his cheek and tries to bide his time until it’s over. 

You wish he wouldn’t be so tolerant, so flexible with his boundaries. At the beginning of your relationship, and still even now, it creates a lot of tension between you two. Sometimes, you don’t know how to identify certain triggers and stimulations of his, certain things he’d rather not do but puts up with for your sake and pretends to be fine with it. 

Of course, he’s not fine with it. He lets it build and fester inside of him for so long that he self-destructs. Retreats into himself at the smallest comment and doesn’t front for weeks at a time. 

So, instead, you feign interest in one of the exhibitions and manage to cut the conversation short. A glance at Marc shows that the hinge of his jaw has relaxed, the corner of his mouth turned neutral. His hand is warm and comforting on the small of your back as he guides you towards the entrance and you wonder if you could fall in love with him more. 

First, Marc takes you to see the Moon jellyfish in the Wild Reef exhibit. There, you also see three types of sharks, and a chocolate-chip starfish, the name and appearance of which delights you. It delights Marc as well, you know for you’ve grown accustomed to his type of humour, but he’s just better at hiding it than you. 

However, he’s amused enough by your reaction to the clownfish, similar to the children around you who are parroting the words it’s Nemo! over and over again, to smile. Actually smile and he holds it long enough for you to catch it, and he grins when he catches your eye. 

You realise how much of Marc you’ve been missing out on in London, Steven’s stomping ground. In Chicago, there are memories of Marc in every corner, the soft shadow of him as a child following behind you wherever you go. 

It’s there in the practised ease with which he takes you through the streets, how comfortable he is behind the wheel of the car, the way his eyes twinkle the same way Steven’s did when you met Crawley for the first time when he sees a familiar street corner. 

It’s there when he leans into the glass of another exhibit and murmurs a faint, “Hey, old lady,” to Nickel, the green sea turtle, and arguably the star of the whole show. You’re not sure if you’re just being a romantic but you manage to fool yourself into thinking that there’s a spark of recognition in the animal’s eye as well as she glides smoothly past Marc’s face and cuts through the middle of a school of angelfish. 

But he’s also still your Marc. Just because Chicago is familiar to him, he doesn’t forget you, your intricate language made up of gestures and looks. He sees when you’ve become oversaturated with what you’ve seen, where a fish starts to look like any old fish and he changes itinerary without ever telling you. 

The next stop was supposed to be the Oceanarium, but Marc takes a left turn instead of a right and takes you to the cafe and buys you a cinnamon roll that he’ll eat half of anyways but he’ll never confess to later. He gets himself a coffee and for you a hot drink. 

Even the sight of him pulling American bills out of his wallet, the familiar leather fraying and hanging on by the seams, twists your stomach and chest together into swirls. 

Marc, ever resistant to voluntary change because he’s had so much of it in his life, still pays with cash. It’s one of his old habits from the days he’s lived in secret from Steven and has never shaken off. It goes hand-in-hand in the way he cleans out the coffee filter the moment it’s brewed, how he actively seeks out one-pot recipes to minimise the time he spends cleaning up after himself.

He’s sitting across from you, tucked into a corner with his back to the wall and stuffing some of the roll into his mouth. There’s a bit of filling that’s left over at the corner of his lips, and you smear it away with your thumb, still deep in thought. 

You see now that his muscle memory kicked in the moment your plane landed yesterday. 

Chicago seems to have accepted Marc back into its fabric without a qualm and question of where he’s been the past twenty years. 

His home is with you and Steven. In the memories you’ve built together and the soft touches you’ve given to and will continue to give to each other. But he grew up in Chicago. 

To know Marc completely is to also discover the city he grew up in. To know the city is to know Marc. 

You’ll hear an inflection in a word from a stranger passing by. You’ll see a mannerism, a furtive glance of an eye. 

And it clicks into place for you. 

Attitudes and behaviours that you found strange in Marc you now attribute to the city. And for that, you fall in love with the people as well. 

You fall in love with the attendant at the front of the aquarium, the cabbie who brought you from the airport to Elias’. There’s a child a few metres away from you that calls out to his friend, his hey distinctly similar to Marc’s cadence of speech. You love that child, no older than seven, after having seen just a brief seven second glance of him. 

The murmur of the music around you filters to your ears. The hiss and hum of the espresso machines of the cafe, the squeak of a toddler’s shoes as she tramples in front of her parents. 

The American accents that were initially grating to your ears have revealed their true nature to you, gold mines where bits and pieces of the man you love reside. 

This was what you were searching for when you asked Marc to take you to Chicago. To be able to see him carry himself with the practised ease Steven carries around his books and messily scrawled notes. 

Chicago, though it has equal parts good and bad memories, acts like a salve for Marc. 

He’s missed the city without ever knowing that he has. 

“Marc?” You’re not sure if this is the best way to approach him about it. His gaze flicks back to yours. “Did…” the question formed easier in your head. With a tsk, you reach for his free hand and he gives it to you without question, save for the concerned waves of his eyes. 

As always, everything becomes remarkably clear and simple the moment his skin meets yours. “How,” you swallow down your fear and his hand squeezes yours affectionately. “How often did you come here with Elias?” 

His face closes off, tension returning to his shoulders as his mouth turns down. You loosen your grip on his hand in preparation for the moment that he will inevitably pull away from you. 

The moment never comes. 

“You almost done with that?” his eyes are downturned to the table, and he gestures with his head to the cinnamon roll.

“Yeah.” 

His hand still in yours, he finishes it off without a word, washing it down with the remainder of your drinks. He doesn’t spare you a glance through it all, making your heart crawl up your throat with every second that passes. 

You want to get up and leave him. It would be the easier thing to do. To take your hand away before he gets the chance to, and go see the beluga whales and dolphins by yourself, Marc be damned. 

It would be easier, but it would be horribly wrong. To ask him a question so heavy and weighted and not be there for the inevitable spiral when he’s stuck with you through much the same. 

So, you try and remind yourself that the many conversations you’ve had with Marc usually are like this anyways. You and Marc always have unlimited rain checks for each other. Sometimes it ends up being awkward and clunky, and if you read into it too much, it can look like he’s avoiding you. 

It’s what works so well about your relationship. There’s the acknowledgment that conversations like these are supposed to be awkward and clunky, and to a third party it might seem avoidant. But it’s the conditions under which both you and Marc thrive off of. 

He stands up now, gathering up your coffee cups and plates, placing them on the counter of the cafe. 

When he comes back, he takes your coat in his arm and guides you towards the exit, back towards the Oceanarium. 

Before you arrive, you stop, and look at him. “Marc, can I kiss you?” You wonder if he’ll taste like cinnamon. 

He does. You kiss the corner of his mouth first, then press your lips together. He tastes like cinnamon and coffee, and if you close your eyes, you think that things will be alright between you. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, slightly out of breath like you are after all of Marc’s kisses. 

“‘Course,” he wraps his free arm around your waist and starts to walk. “You never gotta ask.” 

The beluga whales exceed your expectations. You were expecting to be enthralled with the sea otters and their playful circles and flips in the water as they tried to rub water into their fur. 

But it’s the smooth glide of the whales, their chirps and bellows that enthral you. The way they look like they’re smiling at you when they open their mouths in front of you. Their playful side-eyes as they bob their heads up above the water. 

In many ways they remind you of Steven. 

In many more ways, they remind you of Marc, of the soft, duvet-like interior he manages to shield so well from so many, including you sometimes. 

Guilt crawls up into your stomach as you remember what happened in the cafe, and a sharp tide of self-loathing washes over you. You feel unworthy of even standing so close to the animals, let alone looking at them. 

You go and sit down on one of the benches. You’re uncharacteristically cold for the humid air around you. 

Marc’s jacket is draped over your shoulders and he sits down beside you, rubbing his palms together as he looks down at them. 

The jacket smells like him, of course it does. But it also reminds you of the London apartment, their bed and myriad of blankets and quilts on top of it. 

You think of Gus and hope that he’s doing ok, that the automatic feeder is doing its job. You miss Gus as well, the soothing hum of his water filter having ten times the effect the aquarium could have on you. Pushing your arms through the sleeves of Marc’s jacket, you do up the top bottom and cross your legs. 

“Are you tired?” 

You can feel him looking at you and you look back at him, “A little.” 

“Do you want to go?” 

You shake your head in response. He bites his upper lip and frowns, looking back down to the floor. The sight tugs at your throat, for how hard he’s trying for you and you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers together. You press your other hand to the back of his, caging it in between your own. 

You’re content to stay like this forever. 

“They uh-” his voice is raspy when he starts to talk. He stops and clears his throat, “They loved the beluga whales.” You shuffle along the bench and press your shoulder against his. “My father and…” his throat moves as he swallows harshly and you want to press your fingers against his neck to feel it, but you also refuse to move from where you are right now. “Randall.” 

Your look back to the animals, swimming around blissfully unaware of the weight that’s associated with them in Marc’s mind. 

Leaning forward, you kiss his temple, the curve of his ear. 

“I liked Nickel the best,” he’s not looking at you but you’re looking at him. Images of the sea turtle rise back up in your mind, the soft murmur of his voice floating in your ears. 

You think back to the photo hanging up in Elias’ living room, you think of Elias this morning, shy and bashful, not knowing what to do with himself. 

“What about Steven?” 

He gives you a dry chuckle, squeezes your hand, “Hates aquariums with a passion.” 

“Is he ok? With all this?” You’re smiling, thinking of the depression of fear and disgust that would have been on his face, had he been fronting.  

Marc nods his head, almost imperceptibly. 

His arm falls around your shoulders and he pulls you into him as much as he can. “We,” he takes a deep breath and lets it out. You feel the way his ribs expand and contract with it. “Roro and I would fight all the time about where we should go.” 

You’re suddenly acutely aware of where you are, of the way he’d asked you if you were tired and wanted to leave, “Marc, if you want we can go somewhere else-”

He shakes his head, soothing his hand against your shoulder, “My father always settled the whole thing with a cinnamon roll. And after-” he presses his nose against your head and takes a deep breath. “After��Roro, he would still bring me here every weekend, and let me sit with Nickel as long as I wanted.” 

A ball rolls towards his feet, breaking him out of the dreamlike state he was in. A platter of footsteps follows soon after, a little girl no more than four or five years old looking up at him shyly. The ball is made out of a green plastic, littered with small daisies. 

Letting go of you, Marc stoops down and picks it up with both hands, as though it was made out of glass. “This yours, honey?” His accent is strong now, you almost don’t recognise his voice. 

She nods, daring to take a couple steps forwards. Marc holds out the ball for her to take and in a furtive movement, she snatches it from him and runs away. 

When the girl disappears out of view, he looks at you, offers you a small smile that you scoop from his palms and press into your skin. 

It’s late afternoon by the time you’re done with Shedd. 

You say you want to see Nickel again, and let Marc stay with her as long as he wanted. You spend more time looking at him than the turtle, and you don’t regret a minute of it. 

The sun is shining a heated red that hits your skin and warms you straight to your bone marrow. Marc buys you a hot dog from a stand close to the aquarium. He kisses you lazily as you try to eat it, littering his love along your shoulders and neck. 

You fall asleep on the drive back and he makes no move to wake you, despite the fact that he’d promised to fix your sleep schedule overnight and that was contingent on the fact that you stay awake for the rest of the day. He’s quiet as he carries you from the car and back to your bed and you’re about to fall asleep again when he whispers to you that he’s going to be going on a walk with his father. 

You dream of Nickel and the beluga whales. Of plastic balls and squeaking shoes. Of Marc with a baby and soft sunshine that feels like everything you’ve ever wanted. 

Marc is silent as you go through the motions of getting a hotel room, his presence as heavy as the hand he’s keeping on the side of your waist. He hasn’t said a single word since he’d woken you up and said that he wasn’t going to be spending the night at Elias’. 

You’re not sure where he is right now, what Steven is telling him and even, if Steven is there at all, soothing Marc in ways you only wish you could. You can only do what you can, and it usually just feels inadequate. 

The moment the door closes behind you in the room, Marc’s agony is let go of. It spills out of his chest and into yours. You feel him hesitate, you feel him start to pull back, to zip up and run away from you. But you have it. You grapple, hold your arms open for him and he runs back to you. 

Pushing you up against the wall, he kisses you, his mouth rough on yours as he starts to tear away at your clothes until you’re naked. It feels intensely vulnerable, to feel the rough material of his jeans rubbing against your thighs, to be so exposed when he’s still covered. 

But his hands start to wander and you feel dressed in love again. You’re not sure how much of Marc you’re going to see tonight, any if all. You’ll accept what he’s going to give you, you want to give him the feeling of being enough, a feeling he’s never gotten from Wendy or Elias. 

“I don’t have a condom with me,” he murmurs against the skin of your neck. A low groan rumbles through you, the pressure of his body against yours lifting, “I’ll go-”

“No,” he looks at you in surprise. You’re shaking your head, keeling over with the weight of what he’s asking of you, and desperate to give it to him, to soothe him better, “No, Marc, I don’t mind.” You’ll find a pharmacy in the morning and get the pill. The last thing you want is for him to be separated from you right now. Looping your arms around his neck you bring his forehead to yours. 

His hands drop to your waist, his voice aching with desire and a fleeting sense of control, “You sure?” 

You reassure him again wordlessly, pressing a butterfly of a kiss to his lips, fingers finding purchase in the collar of his jacket and urging him to take it off. He listens, of course he listens, even now when he has every right not to. He grants the small wishes of your heart and deepens the kiss, so your ears go staticky and you can barely make out the faint thud of his jacket hitting the ground. 

His fingers go to the soft skin behind your knees, pressing softly. You jump, he’s there and he catches you, stumbling towards the bed and holding you as you fall back onto the covers. His lips never leave yours, the immense pain oozing out of him and onto you only making you want to merge your skin with his even to take a bit of the weight off of him. 

Instead, you reach for his belt, so overwhelmed with the emotions Marc is making you feel that your fingers start to fumble. You’re about to flip him on his back, so you can kiss down his chest, so he can thread his fingers through your hair and use your mouth the way he wants to when he stops. He’s able to read you better than himself, knowing what you want to do even before you do it. 

There’s the brief glimpses of remorse and guilt, apologies streaming from his eyes, “Ok,” you nod, grasping his face between your hands. “It’s ok, honey.” He’s barely touched you, and you’re already breathless, desperation wet between your thighs. 

He swallows, the emotions receding back like the tide of the ocean. Dipping his fingers between your folds, he hides in your neck, pressing kisses to your skin that burn like hot coals. 

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing at the way he touches you. 

Fervent and loving. 

It’s always like this with him, but the pain, the years of agony he’s had to endure alone are heavy and present in each movement of his against your body right now. It brings tears to your eyes, tears you feel you have no right to shed. Taking deep shuddering breaths, you push them away, try to think of Marc, only of Marc, to be here and present for him like he’s done countless times with you. 

The fire burns down your chest as he kisses down between breasts, to your navel and lower stomach. He pauses for a moment and reaches for your hands, eyes brushing against yours as he guides them towards his head. When he presses his mouth against your core, you cry out.

Marc makes you come two times like that. Shuddering and gasping out his name as he moans and presses his hips against the bed. 

He’s right there with you, but he’s never felt farther away. In the AC’d air of the hotel room, the goosebumps rise to your skin as he doesn’t relent, searching and desperate between your legs. You push back the hair falling in front of his forehead, in hopes of catching his eye. When you do, he presses two fingers inside you, curls them just right and makes stars explode in your mind. 

Just as quickly, the cold ebbs away from your body, a searing heat spreading like wildfire in its place. You’re still laying down on your back, but you grow lightheaded, losing your sense of direction for a moment. Marc’s name falls from your lips over and over again. 

At that moment nothing exists apart from him, apart from the love you hold for him and the way you want to press your hands against his wounds until they stop bleeding, no matter how long it takes, no matter what it takes. 

The goodness, the kindness that on his best days he doubts the existence of, is there. It’s always there. Shining bright inside his chest, and bathing you in warmth and love. There’s never a moment where you doubt it’s there. It’d be like trying to ignore the existence of the sun. 

If there’s anyone deserving of affection and adoration it’s Marc Spector, who, after a world of pain can still touch you so gently and make pleasure alight in your body. You’re set on giving it to him, everyday and in every way you can until he realises that it’s his right to take. 

Slowly, the fuzz fades away from the edges of your mind, your sense of North returning. Marc’s leaving sticky kisses to the inside of your thighs and you feel it’s been years since you last saw him. You cup his cheek in your hand, and guide him back to your face. He moves a little easier than before, and doesn’t resist when you lean up and capture his lips. 

Your taste floods your mouth and a feral curl of possessiveness takes a hold of the chambers of your heart. Hooking a leg around his waist, you press him down into you, his arousal hard against your thigh. He’s still fully clothed, and the sensation of the denim against your skin is ten times as intense as it was at the beginning. 

Marc curls a hand into your hair, you drift your fingers down his back, feeling for his muscles underneath his shirt. He nips at your bottom lip and makes you whimper, unconsciously pressing your hips up. 

Pulling away, lips swollen and eyes blown, curls falling forward on his head, his voice is rough when he says, “You still sure?” You hum, trying to pull your thoughts together to see what he’s trying to say. Chest still struggling to return your breath to normal, you nod. It’s not enough for Marc, he kisses your cheek, nudges his nose against yours, “Sweetheart?” 

Your eyes focus back into him, into the slick that hangs around the edges of his mouth like dew and makes the heat rise in your lower stomach. “Yeah,” you lose all hope of returning your heartbeat to normal. “Yeah. I don’t mind.” 

When Marc presses into you, you lose your North. You forget where you are and what happened and will happen soon enough. You know only of Marc, of the agony he holds to himself like a second skin and you feel yourself drown in it. 

Your anchor, your only rock in a turbulent sea of mothers wielding belts and deadly tides threatening to pull you under is Marc, the darkened brown of his eyes, the thundering of his heart, the way he’s seated deep inside you and the way he thrusts, gentle and rough all at once. 

You’re not able to control the tears anymore, and with each press of his hips against yours, they roll down your cheeks, and you cry out. 

Marc isn’t hurting you. He could never. But for a brief moment, you feel as if your skin has truly fused with his, and that you can feel the torture pressed into his body like the fibres of a cotton-weave fabric. A primal anger rises inside you, and if you could, you would have burned the world to the ground at that moment, starting with the townhouse on Milwaukee avenue. 

When you come, it’s with his name on your lips. He’s whispering or murmuring things to you, broken by his moans. You don’t understand a thing. You only know of the aching need inside your heart to make sure Marc isn’t hurt again. 

The faint beep and click of the room door opening wakes you. You’re disoriented almost immediately, the sliver of light streams in from the hallway and disappears the moment he closes the door and steps in doing nothing to help remind you where you are. 

Your head pounds and your legs are sore, but you reach up to the bedside lamp and turn it on. You’re not sure how long it’s been since you drifted off. When your legs rub together as you sit up to lean against the headboard, the sticky, rough feeling you’re expecting is not there. 

Marc looks at you, the rustle of the white paper bag in his grip sounds out as his knuckles lose their colour. 

“Hi,” you watch him as he comes to sit beside you on the bed. You find a strange amount of comfort in the way the duvet creases underneath his weight, the physics of the way the mattress leans towards him and makes you lean towards him in turn. 

He tugs at the staple holding the bag together until it rips open, “I got you some levonorgestrel.” He takes out a small blue box, a protein bar and a bottle of water. “The pharmacist said to-uh-” his eye catches yours and he looks away as if burned “-to take it with food. Said it helps with the nausea.” 

Only Marc would be able to know what you were only planning on doing ahead of time, and do it first. 

“She also said to take it as soon as possible,” he wrings his hands together, ears going red as he continues to refuse to look at you. Scrunching his nose, he shakes his head, “That whole ‘morning after’ thing is sortuva myth.” 

On instinct, a quip rises to your tongue, something about him changing his mind about you having his kid, something to make him a tad bit flustered and to see him floundering for words. You bite it back, silently reach for the protein bar and start to eat it. 

After about half of it is finished, you open the box and break out the pill from the foil, washing it down with water. You finish the bottle and place it on the side table.

He nods to the rest of the protein bar in your lap, “Can you finish that?” He reaches back inside the bag, a bag of chips, a chocolate bar, and two more levonorgestrel boxes come out in his hand. “There’s more, just in case you might throw up.”

“Marc?” he looks in your direction, not at you. “Thank you,” his gaze snaps up to yours, shock and remorse written over it, the ever present bags a little deeper than they were this morning. “For taking care of me the way you do.” 

His face starts to twitch and you lean forward on your knees to cup his cheeks with your palms. “I love you,” you murmur, eyes roving his face, faint scars from childhood Khonshu was either too lazy or too cruel to remove. There’s one just above his eyebrow that calls out to you, and you press your lips against it. “I love you, Marc Spector.” 

You feel his arms wrap around your waist, his face press into your neck. His shoulders start to shake and his tears start to fall against your skin and down your chest. 

The whimpers he lets out strike straight to your heart. 

Steven had one time recounted to you the sheer helplessness he’d felt watching Marc cry on the street at Wendy’s shiva. You only remember being struck with the sudden urge to hug Marc, to give him the soft things he’s deserved since he was a child and was cruelly deprived of. 

Now, you thread your fingers through his hair, you kiss at his temple and feel the same helplessness Steven described to you. It wracks at your bones, your lungs. The other half of your soul is crying and all you can do is wipe away his tears. 

In a rough voice, he starts to mumble his apologies. Though you want to reassure him he has nothing to apologise for, you only say that it’s alright, that he’s forgiven, that he’s safe with you and you love him. That he’s enough. 

Your eyes fall shut and the tears start to fall in tandem with Marc’s silently. He presses his fingers into your skin and pulls you closer. You climb into his lap, not letting go of the hold you have of him. 

His sobs die off suddenly, but his chest is still heaving, shoulders shaking with the exertion of holding them back. You soothe your hand against his cheek and make him look at you. Blotchy-eyed and a tear-stained face looks back, eyebrows furrowed in pain.

“It’s ok, baby,” your thumbs move to wipe away his tears. “Darling, I’m here.” 

He breaks down again, pulling you into his frame as he cries out. You press one hand to his heart, the other to the back of his head. He still feels miles away from you. You yearn for him as you would yearn for blood. 

Moments or maybe hours later, you’re half-expecting Steven to front, considering the way he’s gone quiet. He presses a kiss to your chest, to your collarbone, to the junction of your shoulder and neck. You let your hands drift down his back in comforting shapes that you hope are working to calm him down, to make him feel loved. 

“I’m sorry,” Marc’s voice is rough, but considerably calmer, and it rumbles through you. The feeling brings you great pleasure, because it means Marc is still here, and with you.  

You shake your head, slide your fingers underneath his chin and lift his face to yours. A couple of words and sentences arise, but they seem redundant, incapable of expressing what you want to say, how you feel and what you want Marc to feel. 

Instead, you kiss his cheek, his other cheek, the space between his eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose. The skin underneath his eyes is wet, but you press your lips there all the same. You kiss the space above his mouth, the corners, his chin and finally, you cup his face, one hand on his cheek, the other on his neck so you can feel his pulse and revel in it, and so you can kiss him. 

Randall’s grave is a soft off-white. There’s the Star of David on top, some writing in Hebrew and his name in capitals below. Underneath are a short set of years that tugs at your heart. 

There’s a collection of stones both on his gravestone and on the ground surrounding. 

You and Marc add to it, each of you putting one down with your left hands. 

When Elias opens the door for you two, it’s clear that he hadn’t been expecting either of you to show up again. 

Surreal, it’s all surreal really. The house and the curtains you don’t recall ever having made their way into any of the stories you’d heard. Marc’s father, who, even a wrinkled and old, looks the spitting image of his son. 

How you’d been in this exact spot a couple days ago, jet-lagged and ridden with anxiety, nostalgia almost kicking you in the stomach before you remember how much has changed and how much you’re hoping will change. 

Still, if Marc wanted to turn back right now, without even a hello, you’d let him. 

Some things would never change. 

“Hi,” Marc is the one to speak up first, fiddling with the button on the suitcase handle. Elias, eyes puffy and stained red, is about to speak before his son beats him to it, “Hi, Dad.” 

He lets out a sob and you can see how hard he’s holding himself back from taking Marc into his arms. Instead, Elias reaches forward and clasps his upper arm, “Hi.” His voice is warm and watery with unshed tears. 

In heartbeats, Marc is hugging his father. Though you can’t see his face, you see the way his frame trembles in Elias’ arms, the way the many burdens he’s carried on his shoulders have lifted. 

You’re about to turn away to find something to occupy yourself with when Elias sniffs and clears his throat, “Please, come in. I’ll put the kettle on.” He catches Marc’s eye and smiles, giddy and boyish. He makes no move to wipe it off his face. 

And, even better, the gift you’ve always asked for, Marc grins back. 

The crowd is livid, vibrating with the excitement of the match and the heat of the late summer day. 

Marc is muttering underneath his breath, perched on the edge of his seat, his eyes tracking every movement on the diamond. He’s so deeply invested in it that it’s cute. 

Baseball. Another bit of Marc that you get to revel in. Baseball and turtles and corn chips. 

“Are you happy you came, Marc?” you lean in and ask during a brief lull. 

It had taken some convincing on your part to take him here, after he’d seen the jersey and his favourite dress on you. 

He turns and catches your eye. “Yeah,” he grins and kisses you, your heart in his chest and his hands warm around your waist. 

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider leaving feedback, I've been working on this for about five months.

Masterlist here.

[thewolvesof1998]

✨ Fic Writing Review 2023 ✨

Words and Fics

47, 302 words published to ao3

1 fandoms (9-1-1)

Most recent drop: even when the heat breaks I’m still yours (E, 6,169 words)

Longest Fic: Alright, Cowboy, Go Get 'Em (E, 16,925 words)

Top Fics by Kudos

I want you to be selfish with me (M, 4,652 words)

You bring me comfort (T, 4,181 words)

Tapping Morse Code into your heart (E, 2,796 words)

let me cradle your body (be a safe place to rest) (G, 1,972 words)

nicknames, supernova similes and the family we make (G, 800 words)

My fandom fic events in 2023

I didn't participate in any this year but maybe next year!

Upcoming Events and Projects for 2024

Fics I'm going to try and get out this year:

Dog Tags Fic/Mistaken Identity/Christmas: They don’t know (your name is already mine)

Secret fic

Buddie rodeo/Alright Cowboy, Go Get 'Em

Already started/mostly written:

Buddie MMA Rivals AU

Someone to be Gentle- 5 times Buck is gentle with Eddie and + One time Eddie repays his gentleness  

For you mi amor, I choose death/Buddie Mafia AU

Librarian AU/Let me check you out

You make bad day infinitely better

Vampire/Werewolf Buddie/Halloween fic

Only the already bad can be influenced/Crop top and short shorts fic

Bank Robbery Fic/Mutually Assured Destruction

No-Nut-November fic

Pirates Buddie

We might end up real close 2x1 fic

Ideas/planned/just started fics:

Buck get dumps, gets drunk with Eddie and thinks they slept together fic

Awkward Sex Buddie fic

I can see you sequel

Love list Buddie

Don't go where I can't follow

Motorcycle fic

Street racing/Fast and Furious AU

Buddie- You belong with me fic

5+1 Platonic Daddy fic with @exhuastedpigeon

LA zoo TikTok Buck

Buck & Eddie wedding- Something wrong in the village

sword buddie pt. 2/ Under the Guise of Violence 

Post Lawsuit/Call your mum inspired fic

Untitled post season 6 angst based on Stick Season

I've tagged all the latest post about all the fics that I've already made posts about (all previous snippets should be linked if you want to go back and read them)

Rules & Tags below the cut!

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

Tagged by: @steadfastsaturnsrings @smilingbuckley @your-catfish-friend @theotherbuckley @jamespearce9-1-1 @jesuisici33 @wikiangela @hippolotamus @monsterrae1 @exhuastedpigeon

Tagging (no pressure): @wildlife4life​ @eddiebabygirldiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @spagheddiediaz @911-on-abc @shitouttabuck @911onabc @malewifediaz @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @mangacat201 @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammysouffle @carrierofthepaperclips @jeeyuns @callmenewbie @thosetwofirefighters @princehattric @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

You'll Find Me Resting Among The Restless... (Sinners Prayer)

Mafia!Stucky x POC Escort!Reader “Sin”

Wordcount: 5325

Summary:

Not all girls are made of sugar spice and everything nice. Some girls are made of art, lust and misplaced trust. The most loving thing you can do for a man, is to teach him to swallow his own poison.

Warnings:

Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Betrayal, Infidelity, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate universe - Mafia, Texting, Punishment, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Sex, Tease, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Female Character of Color

Notes:

This story just attacked me and would not let up until I got it out of my system. It's angsty but with a happy/hopeful ending because I'm a sucker for a resolution. Italics are thoughts Photos used do not represent any particular reader features, they are used for reference only. Happy Reading!

Banner by @cafekitsune Divider by @firefly-graphics

They messed up badly this time. Not only had they fallen for you. They didn't realize it until you were gone. Throwing every “gift” back in their faces and moving out of the penthouse they liked to keep you in. You also went back to some of your old clients. One of which was a particular couple that they were very close to, in business and personally. 

All because Steve let his bitch of an ex Sharon get under his skin and in a lapse of judgement and a whole lot of whiskey he not only fucked her but let you find them together on the couch naked and passed out the morning after. He had the nerve to get pissy with you for just showing up at their place. When he was the one that set up the breakfast date the week prior. 

Asshole.

Poor Bucky, he didn't even do anything and yet because he and his boyfriend are a package deal he got left as well. 

You told him you’d never get between them. That you wouldn't hurt either of them by picking one over the other. If things came to that, you’d just leave them both. They weren’t the only ones who went and fell in love. With tears filling your eyes, begging to be set free, you turned towards the Steel Gray eyes full anguish beside you. 

“I can handle a broken heart Buck. It’s not the first time someone thought that because of my profession and being non monogamous that you can't ACTUALLY cheat on me. I’m going to miss you something fierce though.” You step closer for just a moment and caress his cheek. 

“I wish it wasn't this way, but it is what it is. I can forgive a lot of things. Even this if done properly, but for now I just need to not be here anymore. Please know that I don't blame you for any of this. You're just as much a victim of his choices as I am.” You kiss his cheek. 

“I love you. Please don't hurt him too much and take care of yourself okay. If you need me you know where I’ll be.” You pivot on your heels and head out the door, gently closing it behind you. You make it all the way to the penthouse they provided you before you break down in tears as you pack up all of your belongings. You’ve just gotta get out here.

That’s how you ended up here, attending a party hosted by Pepper and Tony Stark, as their plus one. In all honesty you knew Tony only threw this event because he wanted to cheer you up and this is the only way he knew how outside of the bedroom. That was his first approach, which was shutdown quickly by Pepper the moment she saw you on their doorstep, clearly heartbroken.

You weren't here only in a work capacity, although they were paying for your time, they just wanted to protect you and let you heal without the added pressure to ‘perform’. So once again, on paper and according to your bank account at least, you were their Sugar Baby. 

You did terminate the contract with Steve and Bucky the same day the incident occurred, so it was good to know you wouldn't have to dip into your savings just yet. Thank goodness Pepper still kept your old apartment in Stark Tower ready for you just in case. 

The relationship you shared with them was not at all conventional, with or without a contract. Frankly they were the only people you knew who you could always count on and that meant the world to you. You truly did love the Starks. Before Steve and Bucky came along they were your favorite clients. They were the ones to introduce you to the powerful couple, at a party just like this one actually. So technically they were to blame for your current heartbreak.

I wonder if they’ll both show their faces here and if Sharon will be on Steve’s arm? I wonder how Bucky is holding up, if the nightmares have come back? Fuck. I told myself I wasn't going to think about them tonight and here I am almost in tears at the thought of Bucky in pain. I need a drink or five.

It isn’t until you're nursing your third cocktail at the bar, catching up with Wanda that you spot them, the usual entourage of Nat and Sam at their sides, Clint taking up the rear. Ever the intimidating image as always. Other than Tony, who runs Manhattan, they’re the biggest bosses in the room, controlling Brooklyn. Thankfully they brokered a truce years ago and everyone works together peacefully. 

Before you have a chance to escape to a far corner where you can hide away, you make the mistake of glancing over your shoulder and catch the intense blues of Bucky staring straight into your soul. Even tired he looks like a damn Greek god. Tragedy included. 

He breaks the stare off, leaning over to Nat and whispering something in her ear. You watch as she skillfully distracts Steve and moves him towards the center or the party where the Starks are currently holding court. Lost in watching Nat do what she does best, you don't realize Bucky has made his way over to you until it’s too late and you feel the ghost of fingertips trace down your exposed spine in your backless black dress. 

He leans over your shoulder. That sweet baritone you love whispering into your ear. “You look magnificent tonight, Doll. Would you grant a poor mortal the chance to remain in your presence with a dance?”

You lift your glass to your lips, keeping your eyes straight ahead, finishing the remnants of alcohol while you ponder your response. With a steadying breath you respond. “One dance couldn't hurt. But it can't be here, among such prying eyes. I’d rather remain in the shadows tonight.” 

“As you wish.” He proceeds to rest his hand on the small of your back and guide you toward a darkened sitting room off the main hall. You could faintly hear the music over the murmur of voices wafting into the space. 

He pulls you close, wrapping his large arms around your waist as you rest yours around his thick neck. Being in his arms again, after weeks of loneliness, feels like coming home. You place your forehead against the space between his collarbone when he begins to sway to the dull beat. 

“How have you been, Doll? Truthfully. Don’t try to sugarcoat it for my feelings.”

Keeping your face right where it is, to shield you from those steel grays you love so much, you give him your truth. “Surviving. That’s the best way I can describe it. I’ve been licking my wounds and trying to mend this hole I feel in my heart. I keep thinking, I just have to get to tomorrow and the pain will lessen even more. And one day it won’t hurt anymore when I think of them.”

You lift your head to run your eyes over his handsome face. “How about you? How have the Kings of Brooklyn been holding up in their Ivory Tower?”

Looking off into the darkened space, his eyes latching on to a sliver of moonlight coming in through a crack in the curtains. You feel his chest vibrate as he scoffs. “We’re not even sleeping in the same bed right now. I was so upset with him that day that I couldn’t even be bothered to  help him with his hangover. Funny enough, Sharon was kicked out immediately by Steve as soon as you left. Like legit woke her up, threw her clothes at her and screamed at her to get the fuck out. She didn’t leave without spewing a few truths first.”

He just shakes his head, rambling out his thoughts as they come into his mind. “Apparently it was her plan all along to get him drunk and earn her spot back by his side. She’d been talking shit about the both of us and just wanted Steve to herself. She knew just how to get into Steve’s head due to his loyalty to her family. Thought that you’d just latch on to me and I would let him go to keep you. She had no idea that you would drop us both because you couldn't handle breaking us apart.”

You stare at him slack jawed, as he turns to look down at your moonlit face.

“Not gonna lie. I’m drowning without you, Doll. I can’t even look at him after what he did. It was reckless, regardless of his inebriated state. He knows how I feel about her and the things she’s done to him and me in the past.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“The fucking Golden idiot, due to his loyalty to her Aunt and Uncle, and what he feels he owes them, just keeps letting her back in. I’m done with it. What about the respect I deserve as his partner in business and life? Fuck that, what about the respect and loyalty YOU deserve.” He’s staring straight into your soul again. 

“Your loyalty. Your love. It saved me babygirl. Your light always cuts through the darkness for me. You were the piece we were fucking missing and I cant believe he would even risk that. I’ve tried to let you go. I understand your reasons for leaving us. But I just can't do it. Even seeing the pain he’s trying to hide away, the tough front he’s putting on, isn’t enough to keep me around right now. I miss you baby. I’d give it all up to have you back in my arms for good. All this lavish bullshit isn't worth anything to me without you by my side. I hate that I’m being punished for his fuck up. Again I'm not blaming you for your decision baby. It just hurts and I miss you so fucking much. I can't even sleep at night anymore.”

You can’t resist running your fingers through the hairs on the nape of his neck. “Bucky. I miss you too. So much. I wish it wasn't like this. I never wanted to leave you. You’re right. You never did do anything wrong. You were more than loyal to me. I hate thinking I’m causing you pain because of a stupid decision he made.” Tears begin to well in your eyes. 

He gives your waist a squeeze. “Don’t cry baby. We can figure this out. Where are you staying? I know Tony and Pep took over your contract.”

You sniffle a bit. “They did. But it’s not what you think. Sex is not on the table. Though Tony fought me and Pep on that. He thinks a good dicking is all I need. They just want me to heal in peace. I’m staying here at the Tower in my old apartment.”

He nods his head. “Good. Makes me feel better knowing you're safe.” He grabs your cheeks tenderly. “I wish I could kiss you right now. It’s all I’ve wanted to do these last couple weeks. Just having you in my arms again isn’t enough.”

“Please.” You whisper out.

“Do you mean it, Doll? You're not just telling me what you think I want because you feel guilty for your decision to leave?” He implores.

“I don't regret my decision to leave, Bucky. But I do hate that I had to leave you behind. Like I said that morning. I could forgive almost anything. There’s just not anything you need to apologize for. So why did I let my emotions drag you in with my need for him to be punished? It was stupid of me. If you can forgive me for how I left, I would like to keep you in my life. In whatever way you see fit for that.” You confess.

“Really?” He furrows his brows. Not wanting to get his hopes up.

“Yes. I’ve been miserable without you too.” You smile up at him. 

“You good to get out here or do the Starks still need you tonight? Cus there is nothing I want more than to get you out of this dress and underneath me so I can show just how much I truly missed you.” That devilish smile of his, that means nothing but the good kind of trouble adorns his face as he awaits your answer. 

“I’m not needed here. This whole party was just to get me out of my apartment anyway and for Tony to be Tony and throw his money around. Plus seeing him walk in like nothing happened, act or not, yeah that shit hit deep.” You shrug your shoulders.

“Then let’s head up to your place and make the most of the rest of our night. I’ve got some time to make up for, and I’m all of a sudden ravenous.” The feral look in his eyes has you clenching your thighs together.

Not to be intimidated, you run a hand down his neck until it rests along the waistband of his dress slacks. “Yes, Sir.” 

He lets out a deep growl, pulls you close by the back of your neck and lays the most devastating, soul consuming kiss on your lips. Pouring every emotion into. Conveying without words just how much you mean to him. 

How could I have ever left this man behind?

You’ve barely made it through your apartment door before Bucky has you pinned against it. 

“I don’t know wether to rip this dress off you and fuck you right here against this door or take my time sweet time and worship every inch of your skin like you deserve.”

“Who says you have to only pick one option? We have the whole night ahead of us, don't we Sir?”

“Fucking minx.” He steals another heated kiss and pulls away from your chasing lips, panting. “Where’s your room babygirl. I’ve decided taking you apart piece by piece on your bed is the best place to start.”

You close your eyes for a moment and suppress a moan. “Promises. Promises. Sir.” 

Throwing him a wink, you lick your lips before turning and heading off down the hall. Sashaying your hips and divesting yourself of your dress right outside your bedroom door. 

Now completely nude, you climb onto your bed. Just as you lie back, resting on your elbows with your knees bent and legs spread wide, drooling pussy on full display, Bucky’s large figure graces your doorway. Shirtless, he stalks over to the bed, unbuckling his pants and losing them along with his boxer briefs along the way.  

He reaches the end of your bed. Eyes zeroed in on your glistening little slit. A feral grin slowly spreads across his face and he pounces. Before you know it your back hits the mattress of your king sized bed and Bucky is pushing your legs apart, resting your knees on his broad shoulders and laying kisses on your thighs. 

“This is the only place I wanted to be for weeks. Couldn't stop thinking about all the little noises you make for me when I feast upon this sweet cunt. How you squirm when I hit the right spot with my tongue. Fuck . Just look at you babygirl, so wet for me you're dripping onto the sheets already.” He swipes his tongue up along your folds from entrance to clit, eliciting a moan from you. You’ve always been sensitive but you haven't even touched yourself in the weeks since you left. Too overcome in your grief. So just that little movement is almost too much already. 

Clearly a man on a mission, he begins to devour you, wasting no time thrusting his tongue inside as deep as he can. The thick muscle massaging your silken walls, giving them something to clamp on to. “ Fuck, Bucky. That feels so good.” 

Your hands are anchored in his hair, pulling on his silken strands, just enjoying the ride on his tongue he is giving you. When he swirls his tongue, pulls it out and then moves it to lightly draw infinity symbols on your clit you lose it. 

A kaleidoscope of stars detonates behind your eyes as the orgasm slams into you. Gripping onto his locks tighter as you writhe beneath him, back arching off the mattress before you go boneless.

Coming back to your senses, you blink open your eyes and peer down at Bucky. His chin is glistening wet. A proud smile gracing his handsome face. Adoration shining in his icy blues. “There she is.” He laughs. “Had me worried for a minute there babygirl. Thought I might have made ya pass out. Looks like it was just one hell of an orgasm.” 

A sweet smile adorns your blissed out face as you caress his damp cheeks. “One hell of an orgasm indeed.” 

He begins to crawl up the bed towards you, leaving a path of kisses in his wake. His massive thighs push your legs further apart as he gives his turgid length a couple of slow strokes. He teases the thick head of his member along your folds, coating himself in your essence. 

You lock eyes with him as you whimper. “Please.”

He leans forward, interlocking his hands in yours, placing a toe curling kiss to your lips as he enters the warmth of your cunt. Splitting you open on his generous girth. Pulling his hips back and leaving you no time to adjust as he begins to grind his hips down on yours with every thrust. 

Foreheads pressed together, completely lost in this carnal dance of love and devotion. The room fills with the sounds of your passion. A symphony of moans and groans, accompanied with the sound of slick flesh meeting slick flesh. 

“Nothing has ever felt as good as your pussy squeezing me so tightly when you lose yourself to your pleasure. I need you to come for me baby. Come around my cock. I’m not going to last much longer and I need to feel you let go for me.” He groans out between brutal thrusts. 

It’s like his words have a direct link to your clit and with another well placed swivel of his hips you feel yourself lose control as your orgasm takes over. A rainbow of colors flash behind your eyes and the world sounds as if you're underwater. 

Everything comes back into focus just as Bucky is reaching his own climax. Burying himself deep inside you as he bites down on your shoulder and paints your womb white with rope after rope of his seed. Panting, he leaves a gentle kiss on the mark his teeth left behind. You run your fingers through his dark tresses and kiss his nose.

“Fuck I missed that.” He blurts out as he comes down from his own high.

“Agreed. Although, I must admit. It’s never felt quite as intense before. Feral yes. But that was something else altogether. I want more.” The confession slips from your lips.

“I’d give you the world babygirl. All you have to do is ask.” He places a soft kiss on your lips. “Let’s make some good use of that large walk in shower I can see from here and get dirty while we get clean. A round two is much needed. I haven't had my fill of you yet tonight.”

You giggle as he rolls over, slides off the bed and proceeds to scoop you up in his arms and into the ensuite. “You weren’t kidding about making up for lost time.”

“Darlin’, I’ll never get enough of you.”

You awaken slowly, sunlight slipping in through the blinds and a sweet soreness throughout your body. You open your eyes to the beautiful sight of a sleeping Adonis laid beside you, as peaceful as you’ve ever seen him. You take a moment to just watch his chest rise and fall with each breath until a vibration against the nightstand to his right catches your attention.

You reach across Bucky’s prone frame to grab his phone. It seems that Steve has been sending texts and leaving messages for Bucky throughout the night. Having felt you move, he rouses from his slumber and nuzzles into your neck. “Not that I’m complaining about having you draped over me like a blanket, but what has you moving around so much already? I thought I wore you out last night.” 

Turning the device in your hand towards his slowly waking eyes you respond. “Your phone. Apparently Steve needs your attention.” 

He takes his phone from your hand and goes through all the texts and two voicemails left for him. He responds with a picture of the two of you together in bed.

I'm right where I'm supposed to be Pal. Don’t know when or if I’ll be home though.��

This is how you spend the next week. Lazy days full of fucking, comfort food, dancing, smoking and watching movies. Just enjoying your time together in a little bubble. Bucky taunting Steve with pictures and videos of how you're spending days together. At one point even you get in on the torment, texting him back pics of Bucky cooking shirtless, in the shower, having a smoke or cuddled up on your lap. 

Looks like breakfast is served.

Cleanse the skin of its many sins.

He just can’t seem to quit

He won’t let me move

Bucky is much more of an ass about it though. Sending provocative pics of you and rubbing in how badly he fucked up.

I’ll never get enough of kissing the breath out of her

Best morning view

Gonna have to thank Tony for this secret little room in her apartment. 

Having enough of his moping and random fits of anger targeted at whoever was closest, Natasha decides it’s time to take things into her own hands. With some help from her friends of course. Wanting to help move things along, the Starks call a meeting with Steve to be held at the tower in their personal conference room located in their penthouse. They need to figure out if it's even worth letting you back into his life. 

Surprisingly Tony is more than okay with Bucky cohabitating in sin with you here in the tower. The smile is back on your face and your laughter is filling the halls once more. But Steve has a bigger battle to fight, having betrayed your trust and he wants to make sure that he understands that.

The man of the hour walks in with a calm step and an air of malice in his cerulean eyes. The bags beneath them tell the story of a man suffering for his choices. Tony has been there before. That time when Pepper came to her senses and left him high and dry when he refused to commit to her, unwilling to give up his playboy ways. That’s when he first used your services. He needed someone on his arm for events and he just couldn’t handle bringing a new person each time. It would only aid in making what Pepper said about him true.

It was you who listened to him make drunken confessions of his true feelings for his former lover. That he did want to commit but he was afraid that he wasn't cut out for monogamy. That’s when you told him all about your non monogamous status. “Monogamy is great for those who chose to live that way. But for me, I’m just not content with only one lover in my life. I am polyamorous as well though. But don’t be confused. Not every non-mono person is that way. Some only want to play with others and keep emotions out of it and that’s ok. I for one am happy with multiple play partners as well as multiple full fledged relationships. To each their own ya know.” You gave a little shrug. 

“It seems to me that the only amorous relationship you want is with her. You just want the option to play when an opportunity presents itself. And I’m willing to bet that you want her included in those sessions as well.” You can’t help wiggling your brows. 

“That’s the dream isn’t it. Ya know, I think you two would like each other. Too bad I chased her away. The trouble we could all get in together. Mmmm.” He bites his lip and continues drinking his whiskey. 

“Who says you can't win her back? Give me your phone.” He hands it over, unaware that you were going to change his life for the better. 

Snapping out of his memories and giving attention back to the room full of his friends and fellow gangsters, he locks eyes with Steve. “Hello Steven.” He smirks. “You’re looking well.”

“Cut the crap Tony. What did you drag me here for?” He bites out.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa Cap. I brought you here for the benefit of your relationships but now I’m thinking I should have left it alone.” He runs his fingers over his goatee. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that icy little boyfriend of yours and everyone's favorite escort. I’m sure you're more than aware of the love den they have been spending their time in. Licking their wounds and mending their heartbreak together.” 

He quirks a brow. “Tony I don't have time for your bullshit. If you didn't bring me here for business then I’m gonna head out that door. I have better things that I could be doing with my time.”

“Like what? Taking out your anger at your colossal fuck up on your subordinates? Spending some more time between that Carter’s legs?” He declares with disdain.

With the quickness of a man half his size, Steve’s hand is wrapped around Tony’s throat. “You need to learn not to speak of things that don’t concern you.”

Pepper and Natasha rush forward. One afraid for her husband's safety, the other worried about the truce being broken due to her boss's emotional outburst. Men. 

“Alright boys. Enough is enough. Steven, please let go of my husband. We really did bring you here to help you out. He’s just a little overprotective of her. We all are.” Pepper implores in her softest tone.

With Natasha’s help and a nudge from Sam he finally gives in and lets Tony’s neck go. “Thank you.” 

He slumps back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know I fucked up. I let my allegiance to the Carter family blind me and allow my toxic ass ex to manipulate her way back into my life. In the process, regardless of my overly intoxicated state, I betrayed the love of my life, my best friend. As well as the only women who has ever truly understood our dynamic and accepted and loved us unconditionally. And I'm the idiot you didn't realize how madly in love with her I was until I watched her leave us that morning. Us. Not me, who deserved her wrath, but us. She couldn't bring herself to choose between us, even in her pain. I don’t fault Buck for leaving me to my misery to go after her.” 

He scoffs. “They’ve been torturing me daily with pictures of their time spent together. I want that. I want back in their good graces but I have no idea how to fix what I broke or even if I can.”

Pepper places her hand on his shoulder. “Of course you can. I can’t speak for James, but I’ve never known her to not at least have an honest conversation. Start there, she’ll appreciate your honesty. Don’t complicate things. Lay all your cards on the table and let them lay down theirs. It’s that simple.”

“I’m willing to go that route. If I even knew where they were.” He sighs.

“Well, lucky for you Cap that Pep here never got rid of the little vixens apartment. And I have it on good authority that they ordered take out that will need to go through security before making it’s way up to them.” Rubbing his neck Tony says with a smirk.

“I’m gonna need you to intercept that order for me.”

You're cuddled up all cozy in Bucky’s lap, watching Bride Of Chucky, when the doorbell goes off. 

“Must be the food. I’ll grab it, no need to pause. You know I have this memorized.” You lay a quick kiss on his cheek and make your way to the door. 

Grabbing your wallet from the hall table you open the door and let out a gasp. Standing there with your take out in his hand and puppy dog eyes is none other than Steven Grant Rogers.

You have no idea how long you stand there, just staring at him.

“Hey babe, what’s taking so long? Can’t find your wallet again?” Bucky comes up behind and stops in his tracks when his eyes land on Steve. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Bucky.” You admonish.

“No, no, it’s okay. I get it.” He lets out a deep sigh. “I just wanted to talk to both of you. Tony and Pep helped me get up here. Please. I just want to talk. If you don't like what I have to say you can kick me out and I’ll never bother you again. That goes for you too Buck.”

You and Bucky share a look, before you open the door further and step aside. “Come on in, Steve.”

You head back to the living room, and have Steve place the food on the coffee table as you pause the movie and take a seat on the sofa next to Bucky.

Instead of sitting on the loveseat to the left of you, Steve lowers himself to his knees before you. “First and foremost, I’m sorry. I’m not even going to try and make excuses for it. Drunk or not, it shouldn't have happened. And I definitely shouldn’t have yelled at you when I was only angry at myself.”

He reaches for your hands, which you let him take. “You had every right to leave me. I’m an idiot. I love you and I let you slip away.” He turns to Bucky. “I’m sorry I even entertained her baby. I know how she makes you feel. Again, I’m an idiot.” 

“Not gonna argue with you on that one.” Bucky says as he leans back against the couch.

“I can’t promise that I won’t fuck up again in some way. I am stubborn after all. But what I can promise is that I’ll try. I’ll give you both my all and do what is necessary to win your trust back. Just give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

You look at Bucky. “Do you believe him? Do you believe he’s remorseful and truly ready to make amends?”

“Seeing as how I’ve only ever seen him on his knees when he’s servicing me and I placed him there. I’m gonna have to go with yes I think he means it. The decision is up to you though, Doll. From here on out. I go where you go.” He places a kiss on your cheek.

“Thank you for laying this all on my shoulders Buck.” You turn back to Steve and place a hand upon his face. He nuzzles into it. “I’m willing to give you a chance. But just the one. You’re going to have to really work to earn our trust back and we won't take it easy on you. You’re going to need to woo us all over again.” 

“Challenge accepted.” He quickly agrees.

“How about a kiss to seal the deal?” You suggest.

He leans in. “With pleasure, Doll.” He wraps his hand in your hair and proceeds to get you drunk off his love.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

My broken Angel - Gage x fem!reader

warning : drug use, use of mommy/ma'm, emotional, angst, hurt/comfort, smutish, blood, emotional breakdown, no use of Y/n, afab reader

Summary : A call that had saved him and his colleague Gage was free. But free from the old building did not mean free from the addiction and the day. He needed someone, he needed his girlfriend to take care of him and relieve him of any pain.

Info : It's been far to long since I have wrote something for Rory's characters and today say hello to Gage from Bullet Head a newcomer in my masterlist but my sweet angel. No seriously he is so inspirational just by looking at him OMG. So anyways have fun reading and I hope you Rory lovers have found your way back here ;)

Ps : I tried to look the movie online obviously not illegal but somehow my internet was like ,,No-No-No we don't do that here". So I only had a scene pack on youtube, edits and trailer of the movie to get his charcter/personality. I hope despite it I wrote him good.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. A break-in, it was just a damn break-in, a robbery and not something that should scale. At least that's what the three of them thought, it was supposed to be simple and not the possible end of their careers.

But in the end it was a nightmare the dog was not the man's friend the dog who tried to kill them the police and the men from the illegal dog fight they all tried to get them. If a call hadn't gone through, if one more thing hadn't happened.

If Gage hadn't been successful in calling his girlfriend, they would never have gotten out of here. She could tell by the trembling of his voice that he was stammering slightly and was nervous that something was wrong.

,,Just wait as best you can, I'll be right there," she had exclaimed into the cell phone for fear he wouldn't hear before she had rushed into the car to drive to the place. Her fear grew by the minute.

She didn't approve of his robbery, didn't approve of his secret, didn't approve of what he was doing. And yet her own job was not enough with his to pay any bills.

It was necessary, and although he was so fragile when you broke him, he sacrificed himself for her. ,,I'll-I'll take any job for you," he had once said as he gently pulled her into his arms.

His blue eyes showed truth and yet she saw the fear that he knew was dangerous. Saw that he was full of fear of the world, he would stay with her and would prefer to stay in her arms.

Ever since they had met, she had given him a bowl of soup at the food bank, something like dependency had developed between them. She was his anchor, his everything. And he would do anything for her so as not to lose her, but he would do just as much for his addiction.

She had seen it at first, the twitching, the nervousness, his diminished eye contact. But the worst was when she found him in her bathroom with the needle next to him, the oozing blood flowing from his arm and the tear-stained look on his face.

She didn't feel disgust or revulsion, she felt devotion. She called him angel from then on. Since then he was the image of a broken angel. The black hair, the bright blue eyes, the self-harm in the form of addiction.

He was so fragile that she believed that if she left him he would kill himself, that he saw no point in giving up, that he was so scarred by life. And yet she let him do his business, relying on his colleagues to make sure everything went well. Until now.

Now she raced through the streets in her car towards the building, knowing that all she had to do was open the door and get out, but she didn't know what she would find. 

Please just be complete,she pleaded inwardly, thinking back to that evening. As she slowly knelt down to him, she picked up the needle and looked at it.

Saw the drop of the drug, saw how the heroin had to go through his body. ,,I'm...so-sorry," she had heard him murmur as he opened his eyes, saw him looking at her and felt her heart beat faster.

She knew it was wrong that she wasn't disgusted and angry. But she wasn't angry like she should be, her anger came from the worry that he would die one day.

But before she let this coldness of punishment out on him or even let it get to him, she felt his cold, slightly trembling hand on hers. How he tried powerlessly to move up slightly to get closer to her. ,,You're just so... helpless," she replied, making it sound like a statement she was right to make.

He didn't speak back, just nodded silently and cuddled her almost pleadingly in her arms. He knew that she would always take him in and catch him. That she wouldn't leave him, wouldn't hit him, wouldn't be brutal like his father.

She was almost like a mother and was only too willing to blur this reality. ,,My helpless Gage, you'll never do it for me again, will you?" she asked, putting her arms around him. She could feel him looking at her, taking his head off her shoulder and moving closer to her.

He wanted to kiss her but she used her hand to gently grip his jaw. ,,I promise, I'm sorry...Mommy," he said, tears gathering in his blue eyes before she released him and he gave her a sloppy kiss before he fell limply back into her arms.

And all this while the little trickle of blood ran from his arm. The first time he had called her that she had accepted that he needed it.

She would not let him fall apart in this world. That was the first time she had ever seen him so ready. And now? ,,How do I find you now?" she asked into the car when she finally arrived at the building.

Getting out of the car and trying to find an entrance, the situation soon revealed itself, a dead getaway driver, Gage's colleagues suspiciously quiet, the sound of a dog barking what almost seemed like a farewell and then she saw him. ,,Gage! You're alive!" she shouted when she saw the black-haired man who seemed to be hiding behind the two older men.

,,Hello dear," he mumbled and lowered his gaze, not wanting her to see him like this, but the blood that had flowed from his nose was already dripping and he couldn't get rid of it without water. Besides, the pain and the smell of metal distracted him from the addiction that was raging inside him.

,,Your nose is bleeding," she realized with fear and carefully grasped his face, looking left and right to see if he still had anything. Every further bruise and every scratch and scrape made her heart ache even more.

,,It's...nothing," he said, mumbling, knowing that the other two wanted to go home, away from this place, that his friend was the thing that separated them from freedom. He gently took her hand, it was cold, and she saw his smile, saw through it, knew he was suffering.

The sigh that left her lips made him slightly sincere. Wordlessly, she squeezed his hand and gave him a look that could best be interpreted as one of concern before she opened the car and they all got in.

The engine started and they drove away from this terrible place. It was quiet between the four of them, no one said anything, no one dared or wanted to.

They had all experienced too much to want to dwell on it. She saw in the rear-view mirror that the two older ones were looking out of the window, their thoughts still completely elsewhere.

If he had died, I would have blamed you, she thought, her hands tightening around the leather of the steering wheel. His colleagues were the reason why he was now almost slumped over in the passenger seat.

His hands folded on his lap, she saw him trying to rub off the excess skin on the sides. The blood was still on him and he just looked completely wiped out. ,,It's going to be okay," she said softly and put her hand on his thigh for a moment. She felt him flinch and his gaze went to her.

The broken angel. She saw again the angel she loved and cared for. ,,It will be," he replied almost appathetically and squeezed her hand lightly, a touch that could almost have been an illusion. But she had felt it, she was there. He was with her again.

The car journey, which dragged on for a few minutes, only ended when the two of them were no longer in the car. The colleagues had been gone for a long time and they had closed the front door of the apartment behind them.

When she heard his almost vulnerable sounds as they walked up the stairs to the apartment. She saw him getting more and more lost and as the front door closed, tears flowed down his cheeks. ,,Gage...it's okay, I'm here...it's over," she said instantly and put the front door key aside, taking him by the hand, hearing him try to say something but it came out slurred under his crying.

She pulled him behind her on the way to the bathroom, the white streams in contrast to his blood and the blue of his eyes standing out against the dark charcoal black hair.

,,Don't...don't go," he said clearly, holding her firmly by the wrist as she sat him on the edge of the bath. He seemed completely out of it, distraught, traumatized, and partly because of the drugs, at least that much she guessed.

Leaning down to him, she gently stroked his dark hair and heard his suppressed whimper as his blue eyes turned to her. ,,I'm not going Mommy is just getting a towel okay?" she asked knowing it wasn't really a question. Gage knew inside himself that she was the one in control.

But he should still give his understanding to his inner self. Because a dangerous angel on earth could break at any time. Her gaze met his and her eyes detached themselves from the blood.

Showing him that she wasn't lying, she felt his grip tighten for a moment, he didn't want to be without her. Before he nodded slightly and gave a soft, ,,Okay ma'm" before letting go of her, his hand landed powerlessly on his leg and he remained sitting on the edge of the tub.

She calmly moved away from him, knowing that nothing would happen, and walked with unerring steps into the kitchen to fetch a towel and return as promised.

Saw how he exhaled shakily with relief when he saw her again, that she hadn't left him, that he wasn't just imagining her through the heroin. ,,Don't be alarmed, I'll wipe the blood off. Everything will be all right again in a minute," she said gently and gave him a small, warm smile.

She knew that he needed her, that she was everything to him, that her angel was everything to her. She took the cloth and held it under lukewarm water before she carefully began to dab away the blood and then rub it.

What at first only led to a wince became a plea and whimper after she rubbed it. ,,Shhh I know I know," she said slightly warningly, feeling his hands on her side as he held on almost convulsively, seemingly unable to bear the pain.

She knew exactly what pain. ,,I just need you - I need you," he stammered, she knew what he meant and, above all, what he wanted.

By the time she had wiped the rest of the blood from his chin and cheek, there was hardly anything left of the injuries. He pulled her close and leaned his head against her stomach, hugging her, wanting to be closer to her.

She put her hand on his head as she did every time, stroking his black hair and holding him. ,,I know...I know Gage and you can do it too...but no drug...for today," she replied slowly, feeling him almost flinch as if she had hit him. But they both knew what it meant for the black-haired man.

More hours, another day without his drug. She knew he was screaming and raging inside that he needed it and yet he was so pathetically handsome to look at.

She placed a hand on his cheek and watched him lay his head against it, snuggling against her before he rose, powerless and surrendered. His hand was entwined with hers and he slowly led her into the bedroom.

The big bed they shared had seen better days, but that wasn't the point. What was between them was something completely different.

She saw him sit down on the bed, almost about to fall asleep, he didn't seem to know what he wanted to do for a moment. ,,Wait, let me help...everything will be better in a minute," she said and squeezed his hand before letting go of his.

She went to the window and drew the curtains, closed the door and undressed slightly. Folding her jeans and putting them aside, she had long since taken off her shoes and removed her top.

When she saw his gaze go to her, he almost seemed to be asking permission to look at her body. ",,The night is all yours," she murmured and opened her bra before it fell to the floor and she took her large T-shirt.

Hiding her body underneath, the shirt went up to her thighs. She saw him scrambling over to her as she lay down on her side of the bed.

Leaned against the pillow and opened her arms to him. ,,That's it," she said and Gage lay down between her legs. His upper body leaned against hers, his head on her shoulder, his hands on her legs.

She felt his tension, felt the slight trembling as his fingers traced small circles on her thighs again and again. ,,I-I'm not getting anything, am I?" he asked, she knew he was looking at her through the built-in mirror in the closet door. She saw his blue eyes closely. She slowly let her hands go of his hair.

What had started as a light stroke became a distraction. ,,No, you got me Gage...that'll have to do for today," she admonished him but didn't raise her voice, letting her hand wander over his neck.

She could feel the rapid pulse underneath and wanted to make it clear to him that he should pull himself together. That she would give him something.

But his protesting whimper was little resistance. Instead, she felt his fingers lightly draw the small circles further up to her center. ,,I know what you want, my angel," she murmured and let her hand wander down over his top.

Went under his shirt and felt the soft, cold skin of his upper body. Heard him exhale shakily as he pressed against her, he knew what she was getting at.

She lightly scratched his cold skin the lack of pain wasn't enough he wanted more instead the red strands were burning him. ,,Please-Please...I need you," he murmured, his gaze going to hers and she gave a knowing grin.

,,I know, my angel," she replied and gave him a soft kiss on his black head of hair before running her fingers over the waistband of his trousers. She felt his tension move around the silver button, wanting to finally be distracted with something else.

If it wasn't lust for addiction then it was always lust for love. For her. She slowly saw the bulge forming in his pants as she stroked the heavy fabric of his jeans.

The coldness that always seemed to emanate from him slowly mingled with the warmth of devotion. ,,Please-please Mommy," he murmured, pushing his hip against her hand, trying to get more of the feeling.

,,You were so strong today...I want you to have it all," she whispered and undid the button of his pants, pulling down the zipper and seeing his cheeks turn pink at the sound. Before she stroked his hardness, she saw the clear bulge in his shorts.

She gave him another kiss on the head before she closed her fingers around his hardness and made a few strokes over the hardness of his pants, the fabric teasing him and asking him to give her everything.

,,Let me hear you," she reminded him and took care of him again. The room filled with his lustful noises, the use of heroin long gone.

But his search for her was something he needed even more than his drug. She only needed one thing. Her broken angel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

@icarus-star , @romanroyapoligist , @kristennero-wallacewellsver , @spookyorchid , @roryculkinsgf

[ohtobeleah]

AAAHHHHHH LEAH YOU CANT LEAVE US HANGING LIKE THAT WITH TERMS OF ENDEARMENT!

You know I can anything I want right? because I can and I will leave you on yet another cliffhanger. Masterlist is linked here.

WARNINGS: Mentions of graphic domestic violence issues. Heavy and mature theme of domestic violence ahead. Do not read if you aren't comfortable reading about those issues. (Please also keep in mind this is not me glorifying abuse, but highlighting the long-term effects that domestic abuse can have on those directly exposed.)

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

It was meant to be a holiday to the California Coast, something to break the day in day out mundane routine of home. But you felt somewhat naive to believe that while on holidays things would be any different to what they were at home. If anything? Things were much much worse. On holiday on the California Coast was where your final straw was pulled. You had to escape, you had to leave because the signs were all there, written in bright red ink. You were fighting for your life now, for your daughter's life, no more games or tolerance. 

“You can cancel my bank cards, you can push me around, you can beat me black and blue but you will never win because I don't love you anymore!” You shouted as you stood on the opposite side of the king bed that Jaidyn did. Putting something between you so that he couldn't lungs at you. “The only mistake I ever made was staying this long, not speaking up and telling everyone the truth.” You knew threatening him wasn't the best idea, but you wanted him to know that at this moment you weren't afraid of him although deep down you were terrified. “I kept my mouth shut because I thought that's what a good partner did–I didn't want any of this to be true so I stayed silent–I kept quiet!” You chuckled softly to yourself in disbelief that this was your life, that you'd put up with this abuse for so long because you thought that this was love, that this was as good as you were going to get, that this was all you deserved. “I don't think you ever loved me, if you did you wouldn't treat me like a hostage! A slave that you can just take and take and take from!” 

“Shut the fuck up!” Jaiydn hissed as he tried to make his way to you only for you to step back and move around the bed. “Just you wait until I get my fucking hands on you your stupid bitch!” He spat, anger evident in his eyes as he balled his fist and pointed at you. “I’m gonna kill you–” Again, you just chuckled almost maniacally, shaking your head because it was now or never. 

“But not anymore, I am leaving! I am taking my child! I am walking out this goddamn door and I swear if you try to stop me I will scream and I won't stop screaming!” 

It didn't matter how much you screamed in the Air BnB, no one was coming to help you. Jaiydn had called your bluff and completely decimated you. He beat you black and blue until your ribs were broken and your eye socket was shattered. You screamed so loud you eventually lost your voice. That only made it easier for him to have his way with you–against your will because without a voice how do you say no? 

“One more sip for me darlin.’” He cooed as he tipped your chin up and poured the burning liquor down your throat. The bottle nearly empty as you laid bloodied, beaten and bruised between Jaidyns legs. “Good girl.” You swallowed, crying, a gentle sob escaped past your broken lips as you coughed at the sting of a drip running down your chin over lacerations. “See? Isn’t it just so easy to do as your fucking told instead of being a physotic cunt?”

Drunk, Jaidyn pushed you into a heap on the floor as he got up. Kicking you in your stomach one final time for good measure. Smirking at the sound you made. He loved the way you looked so helpless, all because of him. 

“I'm gonna go down the road to the casino with a few buddies of mine who are in the area.” He explained as you laid with your head spinning from the amount of alcohol you'd been forced to drink in such a small amount of time. “Might even bring some of the boys back for some fun too.” He threatened. “Since you wanna act like a fucking whore, ill hire you out like one.” 

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

“Jaidyn?” 

When Bradley had seen the way you paused in your tracks like you’d walked right into an investable brick wall, he knew something was seriously wrong. Unclipping his seatbelt as quickly as he could before jumping out of the car. His imminent response was to grab your daughter. No question or hesitation about it. 

“Hey slugga–” Bradley cooed as he unclipped Odette from her carseat. She was in hysterics. “Shhh you’re alright bubba, hey, none of that.” Holding her to his chest trying to soothe her worries, Bradley shut the door once he knew Dot was okay and that she was safe in his strong arms. “You’re okay darling girl, I got you.” He’d do anything for her—without question. 

“Mamma–” Dot cried out as Bradley rounded the front of the car, coming to stand beside you but just a little in front. He wanted to be a barrier for whatever had frightened you. It didn't take Bradley long at all to figure out what was going on. He was privy to your ex’s sudden appearance in North Island and despite Jake's constant taunting about Braldleys intellectual capacity–he didn't need a degree in aerospace engineering to put two and two together. The man standing before you, the man who had hit Jake's car at the T-intersection, was Jaiydn Dolan. 

“Sugar Plum oh how i've missed you!” Jaidyn beamed as he stepped forwards and tried to reach out for his daughter who seemed to recoil at his gesture. Curling her little hands into the fabric of Bradleys shirt as she clung to him for dear life. Hiding her face in the space between his shoulder and chest, her tears still falling freely down her traumatised cheeks. 

“Reach for her like that again and you’ll lose both your damn hands.” Bradley hissed as you stepped a little further behind him. He’d never seen you like this before, so closed off and scared. He’d remembered quite well how quiet and in your own shell you were when he’d first met you–but it was nothing like the display he was seeing now. You were beyond that of terrified. “You hit my friend's car, I'm gonna need your insurance and stuff to get the damage covered.” Bradley puffed his chest as your ex eyed him down. “Unless you want me to call the cops and have them come down here?” Jaidyn smirked, it made you feel sick to your stomach when he turned to look at you hiding behind Bradley's left shoulder. 

“So this is who fell for your fucking bullshit huh?” He chuckled wildly as he stepped back, spitting a glob of spit and blood out of his mouth. It looked as if he’d been a victim of his own airbag too. Rooster still had blood dripping from his nose, it stained the hairs on his moustache an orangey iron colour. Yours did the same, only the blood that ran down went strain into your mouth. Both having been victims of the force of those airbags. “She's a trainwreck man, drags whoevers around her down into the dirt.” Jaidyn thought he was being smart, degrading you in such a public way. Bradley wasn't going to stand for it, turning to face you as he passed you Dot. “Bitch took my fucking daughter away from me.” 

“Brad–” You tried to protest but your voice was caught in your throat. Soft and barely audible. Rooster could see it in your eyes–you knew just how bad of a situation this was, probably more so than Bradley could understand himself. But like Pete had told him, he had to protect his family. 

“Take Dot.” Passing you your daughter, Bradley kissed the top of your forehead. Suddenly nothing else mattered more than keeping her safe, it was the very reason you had run in the first place. “Walk to the park across the street, call Jake–tell him what happened.” Rooster was a rather happy go lucky kinda guy. He’d always found a way to make you laugh, make you smile. But right now? His voice, the tone he projected—had never sounded so serious. 

“I don't wanna rui–” 

“You could never ruin Christmas.” Bradley knew what you were going to say before you even finished your sentence. “Go, call Jake, get her out of here–once you’ve called Jake I want you to call Penny and tell her we need a ride, can you do that for me?” Bradley asked as he cupped your face–you were too busy looking over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/n? Look at me.” You snapped out of the haze that had clouded your gaze, looking Bradley in the eye as he got down to your eye level. “I'm not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

When Jaiydn had left, you used the phone in the Air Bnb to call a taxi, specifically requesting a female driver. You knew it was a long shot but you thought you could appeal to her natural instincts. 

“Come on baby, Mums okay–” You cried as you stumbled out the door and sat on the curb waiting for the taxi. “I've got you baby.” Dot had been screaming the entire time Jaidyn was laying into you. She was so scared, the little girl locked in a room all by herself for at least two solid hours. “I'm so sorry, but we’re going baby, we’re okay.” You weren't sure who you were trying to convince at this stage, you or your daughter. But as the taxi pulled up you knew you only had once change. 

“Ma'am are you alright?” The taxi driver asked as she rolled down the passenger side window as you stood. 

“I don't have any money.” You needed her to understand that first and foremost. “But I need to get to forty nine Wallows Street, North island.” Jake's address, he’d given it to you a few weeks ago before Jaidyn took your phone. “If you don't take me? He’s gonna kill us both.” You tried to remain strong, keep your shoulders squared and your chin held high. But you'd never felt more broken. “My partner is gone but he’s coming back and if I'm here when he gets home he's going to kill us.” 

“Did he do this to you?” She asked, you could tell by her eyes she was thinking about the pros and cons of getting involved in a situation like this. So you nodded, confirming her question as you held your daughter on your hip. The taxi driver whose name you later learn was Mary, could smell the alcohol on you as you stood outside the taxi. “Well alright then, get in.” 

“Thankyou–” You sobbed, opening the back door and sliding in. “Thank You so much.” Reaching out for her shoulder, Mary cupped your hand in response. 

“I'm not gonna let anything happen to you.” She smiled at you through the rear view mirror. “North Island it is.��� 

“Y/n?” Bradley rubbed the pads of his thumbs against your cheek, bringing you back to reality. “You hear me? I’ve got you.” It was the most sincere thing you ever heard. “I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you ever again, I’ve got you.” Bradley Bradshaw was a born protector, he was brought up to believe that to protect those you love was the most important thing you could ever do. In what form that protection came didn’t really matter, but right now in the moment he stood between you and your ex he knew that he’d lay his life down for you. No question, no hesitation. 

“Okay—“ You mumbled, nodding at Bradley’s reassurance that he had your back. “I’ll ring Jake, then call Penny.” You didn’t want to hang around for too much longer, lingering in the presence of the man who tried to kill you made you feel sick. “I’ll be in the park.” 

“I’ll be right behind you.” Bradley’s eyes never left your back as he watched you hurry off with Dot, looking over your shoulder periodically as people who stood on the corners of the sidewalks watched on at the aftermath of the moderate Christmas Day car accident. Knowing nothing deeper than what it was on the surface. 

“Till we meet again sweetheart, I'm so glad I finally found you!” Jaidyn barked with a sinister smile. Waving you off as Bradley turned his attention back to your ex. “You know we’re engaged right?” Jaidyn taunted Bradley as he stood there thinking of all the things he wanted to do to him. If he could, without consequence, Rooster would put Jaiydn into the dirt. But he couldn’t. “Got her the prettiest ring and everything—so ungrateful—“ 

Choosing to ignore the revelation that you had been engaged, knowing it was most likely against your will, Bradley balled the fabric of Jaidyns t-shirt into his first and pulled him close. 

“Listen to me because I'm only gonna say this once.” Gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw until the vein in his neck popped, Rooster saw red. He saw the man who had hurt you, who you trusted to take care of you, who betrayed every level of trust there was to break.“You even so much as think about looking at her the wrong way ill fucking kill you–do you hear me?” 

“I don't even know who you are, man! lay off–” Jaidyn shoved at Rooster's chest as he stepped back. “She’s got you all convinced she’s some damsel in distress hasn't she?” With one swing, Rooster's fist was connecting with Jaidyns jaw, a crack as loud as thunder could be heard from those who watched on. As Jaidyns stumbled and doubled over, Rooster shook his hand, surely to bruise up nicely in the next few hours or so. But he didn't mind all that much, it would be a small sacrifice to pay to keep you and your daughter safe. Bradley wanted it known that he wasn't messing around, that he was serious and he would do anything to protect you and Odette. 

“Come near those girls–” Rooster hissed, towering over Jaidyn as he held his jaw and groaned out a pained sigh. "And I'll make sure you end up breathing through a tube.” Bradley had never felt such disrespect for someone else, but where he came from and with the men in his life who raised him right, there were only two words he’d used to describe a man who hits women. A little bitch. “And I'm not bluffing either, man.” 

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

Jake Seresin sat at his family's dining table amongst his extended family tapping his leg relentlessly under the table. His knee bounced in with anxiety as he tapped his phone screen to see if he’d missed any calls or text since having spoken to Bradshaw earlier that same morning. 

“How's everything going in your neck of the woods Jakey?” His cousin asked as she nursed her son. “You still out at North–” Before Jake's cousin could even finish her question, Jake was jumping up from his seat at the sight of your name lighting up his caller ID. 

“Hey Fe, Merry Chris–” 

“I lied.” Jake's heart instantly broke at the sound of your sobs. “I lied, we aren’t okay.” Your sobs quickly turned into a small pathetic laugh before turning right back into sobs as you sat on the bench in the park. Dot at your feet entertaining herself with a few rocks. A little girl with such creative imagination everything and anything could be a toy. She’d calmed down when she noticed you were walking over to the park. “Jaidyn–” You didn't need to finish your sentence or explain anything more before Jake was making his way upstairs to pack his stuff. 

“I'm coming home.” 

“He hit your car–” Jake frowned as he held his phone between his ear and shoulder. Packing his stuff into his suitcase haphazardly as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “We were driving back from Penny and Mavs and he just came out of nowhere.” 

“Hang on.” Jake had to stop what he was doing for a moment as his mother stepped into his childhood room. “He hit my car as in, he purposefully caused an accident?” Jake was fuming, his face had turned a nice shade of red and he was sure his core temperature had risen a few degrees. “Are you okay?” Jake started on all the necessary questions he needed an answer too immediately before his heart exploded out of his goddamn chest. “Is Dot alright? Bradshaw?” 

“Yeah Jake.” You sighed. “We’re all alright, just a little shaken and I dunno if he did it on purpose or if it was just some fucked up coincidence but the cars fucked Jake im so sorry.” Again, Your sobs broke Jake's heart. “I'm in the park with Dot, Bradley told me to call Penny for a lift because we can’t drive the car back to yours.” 

“Where's Rooster?” Jake asked nearly panicked. He knew what Rooster could be capable of if given the chance and the right motive. “Is he not with you?” 

“He's still with the car, said something about needing to get insurance.” 

“Bull fuck he wants insurance.” Jake mumbled to himself as he threw the last few articles of clothing into his suitcase. “Listen, stay where you are, but when Roosters finished with his dick measuring contest, don't you dare leave his side, you got it?” Jake couldn't see you but he knew you nodded in response. “I’ll be on the first flight back–” 

“What?” You heard Jake's mother in the background, but for once in your life you wanted to be selfish, you needed Jake to come back. Come home. You weren't going to tell him to stay in Texas when you needed him here with you and Dot and Bradley in North Island. “What do you mean you’re going back, what's going on?” 

“I got a family emergency.” Jake explained and your heart melted for a moment amongst the chaos. “I gotta go home ma, end of story.” 

“All your family is here Jake, what do you mean a family emergency!?” You really didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you could hear everything loud and clear over the phone. 

“Not everyone ma, I've got family in North Island too and something just happened, I gotta go home, end of story alright.” 

“Jake?” You whispered as you watched Dot entertain herself. “I really am sorry, for everything–” 

“Nothing to be sorry about, I'll see you when I get home.” There was nothing else to discuss, it was an open and shut conversation. Jake hung up before his mother could figure out who was on the other end of the line. Watching like a hawk as Jake zipped up his suitcase. “I really do have to go, I'm sorry–I'll just have to make it up to you another time?” 

“It's Christmas Day Jacob.” Jake's mother couldn't have been more disappointed even if she had tried to hide it. Not like she was through. “What am I supposed to tell your father?” 

“Exactly what I told you” you and Odette were Jake's family. He’d already beaten himself up enough for letting you stay with Jaidyn for as long as you did, but he didn't know how bad it had gotten because you were just so bloody good at hiding it. He should have known something was wrong when you’d stopped returning his calls and text a few months before you showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. He couldn’t take what he didn’t do sooner back—but he had a chance to do something that mattered now: 

“That I have a family emergency.” 

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

“Penny and Mav are on their way.” By the time Rooster had made his way over to you in the park, you were a shaking mess. “Said they wouldn’t be too long.” Coming to sit beside you, Bradley didn’t draw you close. He didn’t wrap his arm around your shoulder or kiss your cheek like he normally would. Instead, he just sat beside you—waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to be touched. “Jake said you were having a dick measuring competition.” Bradley’s lips turned into a small almost unidentifiable smirk as you turned your head to look at him. “He’ll be on the first flight back.” 

“You reckon he did it on purpose?” Bradley asked as your eyes fell to his hands, his knuckles were a nice shade of red. Bloodshot capillaries had started to form some subtle bruising, a light dusting on dried blood had formed a thin layer on top of the cuts. Reaching out to take his hand in yours, you turned your attention back to Dot who was happily collecting different coloured leaves as she waddled around close by. “Kinda seems like it was premeditated.” 

“Oh, oh no he definitely knew it was us in the car, which makes me wonder how long he’s been following me.” It was a terrifying concept to think about. How long had Jaidyn had his eyes on you? How long had he been in North ISland for and more importantly, did he know where you were living? Did he know where you and your beautiful daughter had been staying since you ran. Did he know that the lock on Jake's front door was slightly broken and sometimes doesn't lock properly?  “Bradley, I can't stay here.” 

“I figured you’d think that as much.” Rooster knew this conversation was coming. He knew it was going to have to be one he had with you the minute he saw you standing there looking as if you’d seen a ghost. With his knees on his knees, Rooster watched Odette as she flew off with the fairies, in her own little imaginative world, so blissfully unaware of the imminent danger that loomed for you and her alike. “Let's be rational about this though.” 

“If he’s here? you aren’t safe, Jake isn’t safe, my daughter isn’t safe—“ You were once again putting everyone around you before yourself. “It was so selfish of me to bring you into this.” Wiping away your tears, Bradley brought his arm up around your shoulders as you fell into his chest. Crying. “I never should have let me guard down and I never should have let you get close, because he’s fucking right, I drag everyone down around me.” It broke Braldey heart to see you like this, a woman with such a fire and grace repressed to such a level of self worth it was basically non-existent. “I can't let you get involved with him, he's too dangerous.”

“I think you’re forgetting that I want to be here.” Bradley wasn’t going to argue with you, he knew that would do any good. He knew if he told you to stay that that could come across like he was forcing you to, you were your own person. Beautiful and brilliant in every way. He didn't ever want you to feel trapped with him, that you couldn't make your own choices in life. But he needed you to know truthfully and wholeheartedly that he'd cross oceans and move mountains for you. “So if you’re thinking about running again, just know—I’m coming with you.” 

“What?” You asked as you sat back up, rubbing your running nose on the back of your sleeve. Dried blood that had remained in your nose seeping out as you cried. It wasn't all that attractive, but nevertheless Bradley reached out to wipe it all away with the cuff of his jumper.  “Why would you do that? Your whole life is here?” 

“My whole life is sitting right next to me.” Bradley cooed. “So if you wanna go, we’ll go, but hear me out alright?” You simply nodded in response. “If you keep running every time he catches up? Are you ever gonna be able to move on?” 

“He’ll kill me if I stay.” It was a fact as immutable as gravity. “You and Jake playing heroes and getting the rulers out and saying I'll be safe when I won’t be won't change anything because he's psychotic!” It was one of the biggest contributing factors as to why you hadnt reported Jaidyn to the police when you had so many chances to. 

“What would change if you left now and he just found you in the next town?” Bradley asked as calmly as ever, knowing it was a fact that wouldn’t change if you ran. “If you run he’ll just find you again and you’ll forever be stuck in the cycle.” 

“It's just a high price I'm willing to pay to go free.” You replied, sitting with Bradley in the middle of the park. “Listen Bradshaw.” You smiled, reaching out the cup Bradleys cheek, a light scruff against his cheek tickled your palm. “I really like you, like a lot.” You wanted to say you loved him, truly. But it just wasn't the right time. “You're probably the only man who's ever gonna look at me the way you do and I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me and Dot.” 

“I sense a but is coming.” Rooster chuckled as he leaned into your touch. Admiring you like a love sick puppy. Not trying to hide his admiration for you in the slightest bit. 

“But you’re too good to lower your standards for me.” It left like someone had pulled directly on the strings of his heart. A sharp pain resonating deep in his chest when you said that you thought you weren't good enough for him. 

“Too bad–” Bradley shrugged as he pulled you closer, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “Listen to me okay, because I just dont think it's sinking in.” He wasn't going to let you live a life where you thought you were less than others.

“You're gonna get caught in a mess you won't be able to get out of, Rooster, now that He’s here I can't even begin to imagine the havoc he’ll cause.” Bradley knew you were going to put up an honest fight, it was in your inherent nature. You’d been doing that since day one so to expect any less than a solid conversation at the very least wouldn't be his own fault. Mentally cracking his knuckles and neck, Bradly settled in for a fight, ready to plead his case. 

“Why don't we stop talking about your ex for five minutes and talk about you?” It sounded firmer than he probably meant it to come across, but nevertheless you sat up a little straighter and frowned your brows. 

“Okay.” Hesitancy laced your tone and Braldye immediately softened next to you. He knew this whole situation was hard to be in and would be even harder to navigate. But lucky for you he was pretty good at working a GPS. 

“Your Ex can get–” Before Rooster could get into his novel of a statement as to why he thought you should stay, Dot was leaning against your legs with a pouty bottom lip. 

“Mamma, I wanna go home.” She cooed with tired eyes as her little fist came up to rub at them. It melted your heart as you picked you up. Cuddling her, fixing her hair. Kissing her cheek. She was everything to you. 

“I know baby I know, me too–but we’re just waiting for Penny and Pete.” 

“O’Tay.” Dot replied softly as her gaze turned up at Bradley. “Can I sit on your lap Toosters?” She asked politely. It still amazed you how quickly she’d grown attached to Brdley Bradshaw. It frightened you a little because what if this just didn't work out? Again your daughter would go without a father figure in her life. Not that you were insinuating Bradley was, but he was surely doing a hell of a lot more than her biological father ever did. 

“Sure Baby, here.” Bradley reached out and took Dot from your lap, gently placing her on his as he bounced his knee to rock her gently. She was exhausted. A little girl in a big scary world. Once Dot had settled in Roosters lap, his arms encapsulating her, he turned all his attention back onto you. “Now as I was saying, enough about that pissant.” He started. “I wanna life with you Y/n I don't think I could be any more clear about that.” 

“You're stupid if you think a life with me is worth fighting for.” You chuckled at the sentiment although it made you blush. It made you feel all fuzzy inside. Even while you were staring down the fact that your very dangerous, very unpredictable ex was now in town, Bradley Bradshaw still found a way to make you smile. 

“Okay, you can definitely hold back a little on the degradation there.” He laughed as Dot cuddled into his chest a little more, sucking her thumb as her eyelids fluttered. Listening to the lub dub rhythm of her Toosters heart. “You and your daughter have been nothing but a blessing since you moved here, and it's not my fault you made me fall in love with you, so technically you're just gonna have to accept the fact that you're stuck with me because I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“But what about–” You tried to argue, you just weren't used to being loved. Being wanted, being needed. Bradley couldn't blame you, he hated to compare you to a dog but it was like he'd rescued an abused dog from the shelter. At first they'd be a little standoffish, but soon enough they'd realise they're loved and in a safe place. A home. It was the same premise with you, he just needed to work you over, brick by brick. 

“Fuck your ex Y/n, fuck him!” Bradley scoffed. “He doesn't get to dictate your happiness or what you do with your life or who you choose to love or don’t love or where you live.” You sat silent next to Rooster as he rocked your daughter to sleep. You caught yourself for a moment falling into a daydream where you and Rooster could just play house, be happy and in love without all the drama and fuss. “He doesn't have a claim to you anymore and if he tries to mess with you? If he tries to come near you or Odette or so much as breathes in your direction, there's not a single thing I wouldn't do to protect you both.” It was a massive sentiment. You’d never ask Rooster to fight your battles for you, but knowing he would willingly meant a whole lot to you. More than he’d probably ever know. 

“I think Penny and Pete are here.” You sighed softly as you saw the silver sedan pull up to the curbside. 

“Don't change the subject Y/L/N.” Bradley smirked as he eyed you off, never taking his eyes off you for a moment. “So, if you wanna go, we’ll go and we’ll pack whatever you need and we’ll leave tonight.” Standing up, Rooster readjusted Odette to his hip before holding out his hand for you to take. Helping you stand from the bench you'd been occupying. “But–if you wanna stay? You’ll be surrounded by people who love you and who care about you and who just want you and this beautiful daughter of yours to feel safe and loved.” You weren't necessarily ignoring what Rooster was saying as you walked side by side slowly through the park, but you weren't directly answering his questions either. 

“Jakes just gonna tell me i'd be crazy to leave isn't he?” You shook your head as you let out a frustrated groan. “Fuck this is such a mess–” 

“Oh yeah big time.” Rooster agreed with a nod, pressing his lips together in a firm line as he slung his arm around your shoulder. “He’ll probably handcuff you to the dresser too if you say you wanna leave, but I think we’ll have a solid few hours to remove all the handles from all the draws he could possibly cuff you to before he gets back.” Laughing together as you approached Penny's car, you thought for a second what Rooster would think of Jake if he knew how you and Jaidyn originally got together. You knew Jake hated himself for it, still to this day he’d mention from time to time just how sorry he really is. He blamed himself for everything you'd ever been through. 

“I can only imagine the foul as fuck mood hes gonna be in when he gets home.” 

“That sounds like we’ll be here when he does get home?” Bradley raised a single brow as he walked with you over to Penny's car. Holding a sleepy Dot on his hip. “And well, honestly he has a right to be pissed– I mean, no man should get away with what he's done to you Y/n.” 

“Yeah, but it's not just that.” You sighed as you stopped in your tracks, wondering if you should even tell Bradley what you were about to tell him. 

“Then what?” He asked curiously with a puzzled expression plastered across his face. You pressed your lips together knowing it wasn't all that deep but still gave Bradley another puzzle piece to play with. Letting him in a little more each and every day. Letting him decided for himself if he should stay or if he should hightail it the fuck out of dodge. 

“Jakes the one who set me up with Jaidyn in the first place.”

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

Tags: @a-serene-place-to-be @lilyevanswhore @thescarletknight2014 @blindedbythelightt t @averyhotchner @emma8895eb @blairfox04 @caitsymichelle13 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @teacupsandtopgun @aemondssiut @feltonswifesworld87 @akalei349 @notjustsomeblonde @americaarse

[shiny-jr]

Just wanted to say that the mythical creatures with twst sound so cool and the thought of swan maiden Silver made my heart skip a beat. He’d be so pretty~

– Warning: Slightly yandere? Not really though. Gender-neutral reader.

– Character: Silver.

– Note: Time to put Tchaikovsky's "Swan Lake" on full blast.

A long time ago, there was a young prince of a kingdom now long gone. From the day he was born, the prince was betrothed to a princess born around the same time in another kingdom. Yet, the prince, Silver can't remember much. All that he can recall from his youth as a child, comes in the form of confusing memories in dreams he can't distinguish from fiction or reality. No longer could he remember the face of his mother or father, or even the voice of the one that bestowed this cursed on him. For so long all he knew was the water and the moonlight.

When he was still a child, for some reason he never knew or no longer can remember, he was cursed to become a swan. For centuries he remained on his own, unable to communicate with those he once knew and never able to tell anyone about the curse. For several years, at least a century, he remained an awkward little duckling that slowly grew to become a graceful white swan.

What appeared like would become an eternity of being trapped in this small feathered body, was soon interrupted and shattered by a demonic being who approached the lake on a moonlit night. An energetic and strangely friendly ancient demonic entity, who the swan prince treated kindly and approached curiously as he floated gracefully on the water's surface, because he held no prejudice against unholy creatures of the night unlike how most feared them. The demonic being was charmed by the small swan, and instantly recognized that there was a curse at play. Silver soon learned that his name was Lilia, and Lilia promised to help break the swan's curse with the assistance of an entity even stronger than himself.

Lilia would keep his promise, and Silver would be able to turn back into a human again, but not without the curse leaving its mark in the form of white wings and the permanent ability to transform back to his feathered form whenever he pleased.

He had no idea how long it had been or where else to go once he became human once more, so the demonic being named Lilia happily took him under his wing, so to speak, and claimed him as his own son.

There was something Silver never revealed to anyone, and that was just how lonely it had been as a swan. Then when his memories began to fade, he was without even memories to comfort him. The days and nights went by one by one, he wasn't able to keep track. He had no idea exactly how long he was stuck like that. Perhaps it's one of the reasons why Silver isn't exactly too fond of being alone, because it brings back memories of the one thing he can remember for certain: the loneliness.

So when he decided to visit the lake he once resided in for so long only to see you, a human peacefully lounging just on the grassy banks under the shade of a tree, he was intrigued. You were shocked to see a man with silver hair, otherworldly eyes softly gazing at down at you, wearing pristine white robes, and with white wings on his back. For a moment you swore it must've been an angel, this must've been a dream–– 

Silver knew it was no dream as he happily and calmly approached you. After only an hour of getting to know each other and chat, Silver felt so at peace. It felt like he could just fall asleep under the shade, the wind creating a pleasant breeze as the sun continued to shine. He truly enjoyed your company. This was perfection–– until you announced you had to go and he jolted out of his peaceful state. As you reached for your book and began to stand, he reached out to gently grab onto your wrist as he pleaded softly, "Wait... don't go, please..."

[spicy-picklez]

Could I request fluff with Larissa Weems helping the reader brush their teeth and showering please.

This woman has me in a chokehold and is so comforting

She has all of us in a chokehold I swear. Goddamn the power she has over me, I can't even begin to explain it. 🤭

Hope you like it. 😊

--------------------------------------------

The Crash

Includes:

Soft Larissa, mentions of a car crash, mentions of a panic attack, whole lot of fluff

Characters:

Soft!Larissa x wife!reader

Summary:

Larissa is late home from work due to traffic resulting from a car crash but has no reception to let Y/N know the situation. You can only think the worst as she continues to not receive your messages and spiral out of control. When Larissa gets back, she knows exactly how to calm you down.

Word Count:

1.3k

--------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------

A/N: This woman could legit walk on top of me in 10inch heels and I would still be on my knees for her. 🤭

--------------------------------------------

6.37pm

You: Are you ok hun? I know you said you'd be working later but I haven't heard from you so just checking that you're ok. Dinner's in the microwave when you get back.

7.23pm

Riss ❤️ missed your call

7.36pm

You: Love? Are you ok? Did you need help?

7.45pm

Riss ❤️ missed your call (x3)

8.31pm

You: Love I'm really worried about you. Can you please just text something so I know you're ok?

8.56pm

Riss ❤️ missed your call

With shaking hands, you throw your phone across the room. Worry is at the forefront of your mind as many horrible scenarios flash into your head. Your wife hasn't come home for dinner and she isn't replying to any of your messages. Larissa would never cheat on you, you know that. Instead, images of her dead in her office chair, or dead behind the steering wheel plague your head. Pulling your blanket closer around your body, you curl up into a ball on the armchair.

Your body begins to shake as waves of fear flood down your spine. You can't shake the horrible feeling that this morning was the last time you'd ever see her. Pure panic and fear overtakes you, your breathing intensifying as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to rid the images from your mind. Overwhelming anxiety flows through your veins and you are powerless to stop it, your chest heavily rising and falling with each shallow, trembling breath. Your knuckles are as white as paper as you clench onto the blanket, tightly wrapping it closer to your skin as tears brim in your eyes. 'Larissa' falls off your jagged breath like a record on repeat, your voice filled with panic.

Larissa's grip on the steering wheel turns her knuckles white. Intently flicking her eyes between the time and the long queue of traffic in front of her she lets out a frustrated groan. Checking her phone again, she's almost tempted to throw it out the car window when she sees the no reception sign in the corner of her screen. She doesn't know what has happened but the fact that she'd been sitting in this traffic for damn near four hours tells her, it can't be good. Relief floods her veins as the traffic finally starts flowing, lifting her foot off the brake as they slowly roll forward.

Her eyes widen as she sees the reason for the holdup. Many emergency services are parked on the side of the road, flashing their lights as she drives past. Two silver cars had collided with each other, spiralling one into the bank and the other through the barrier into the river on the left of her. Her urge to get home only increases upon seeing that, her foot becoming heavier on the accelerator as the car increases in speed.

You don't even hear her as she pulls into the driveway, or coming through the door, too distracted by the sharp ringing in your ears. Larissa's heart breaks as she sees you in a ball on the arm chair, rocking yourself as you tangle yourself into a ball, your eyes squeezed shut. "Darling. Darling it's ok. I'm ok, I'm here." She says, coming over to you and kneeling down in front of you. The first sound of her soft voice makes your heart fill with joy, your eyes flying open to see her in front of you. The minute you catch her eye, the two of you pull each other into a hug, both needing each other's touch. The familiar scent of her perfume fills your noise and her hand rubs circles on your back as you try to calm your shaking breath.

Pulling away, she places a soft kiss to your forehead as her thumb wipes over your tear-stained cheeks. "Come on love, let's get you cleaned up and into bed." She murmurs, her lips brushing over your skin as you nod feebly in response. Her arms gently lift you up from the chair and your shaking body leans into hers as she gently guides you backwards, her hand running through your hair.

Breaking the embrace, she turns on the tap to the bath. "You're ok, my gorgeous." Showering you with compliments, her hands gently lift your shirt over your head as she peppers soft kisses over your now exposed shoulder. Helping each other undress, she guides you into the bath, slipping in behind you as she pulls your back flush with her torso. Leaning against her bare skin, you feel yourself begin to calm down as the warm water floods over you.

Her arms loosely wrap around your waist as the two of you sigh contentedly in each other's warm embrace. "I love you." You murmur, and a soft chuckle sounds from her before she places a kiss to the top of your head. "I love you more, darling." Wearily, you shake your head. "That's not possible." She grins behind you, squeezing her arms tighter around you. "I promise you that it is." She says, placing kisses over your skin between each word.

Her hands gently massage soap over your skin, your head falling back on her shoulder as she does. "I was so worried about you. I just keep seeing images of you dead and it terrified me." Your voice trembles again at the not so distant memory and Larissa buries her head in the crook of your neck in response. "I know love, but I'm ok. There was a crash and I got stuck in traffic. I wanted to text and let you know but there wasn't any reception." You tilt your head to place a kiss on her arm as she says this.

"I'm glad you're ok." You murmur as she gently washes the soap off of you. A soft hum sounds from her as you relax back into her arms, her fingers drawing lazy circles over your thigh. Neither of you want to move but as the water decreases in temperature you both know that you're going to have to. "Alright darling, the water's getting too cold for my liking so why don't we watch a movie and cuddle?" Larissa murmurs, her lips brushing over your sensitive skin as you nod. Her hands move down to your hips, holding you stable as the two of you stand up. Draping your dressing gown around you, her arms wrap around you to tie it up before she puts her own robe on.

Turning you around to face her, she brings her lips to yours, her hand coming up to cup your face. "Right, I'm going to go grab some snacks. You choose the movie and I'll be there soon." She says as the kiss breaks before gently guiding you out of the bathroom, squeezing your ass fondly as she does. You quickly change into your sleepwear, consisting of a low cut t-shirt and shorts, before climbing under the covers of your bed. You already know what you're going to be watching. Top Gun: Maverick, the two of you had been meaning to watch it for weeks but never got round to it due to the stress of your jobs.

Larissa enters the room not long later with a bowl of popcorn and your favourite chocolate. A smile pulls at your lips as you see it. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?" You say as she leans over to place a kiss on your lips. "Mmm, only multiple times a day." She grins before withdrawing from the bed, dropping her bathrobe to her feet and quickly slipping into her sleepwear. Quickly getting under the covers, she pulls your back flush with her torso as her arm hangs lazily over your waist. Dipping your hand into the popcorn, you relax into her warm embrace as the movie begins to play.

--------------------------------------------

[icosahedronsgalore]

haii >_<

my name is cyrus >< i downloaded tumblr because of my super cool friend @octahedral-chaos who i may or may not be shamelessly referencing with this introduction post

im from trinidad :33 im liek 17 so imm a minor and im indo-caribbean and im also gender fluid and im afab with a very wonderful awesome girlriend so im VETY MUCH NOT STRAIGHT and im a system im like collecting ebery label under the sun wow so if you have a problem with amy of that BLOCK ME !!!!

im the host of a system called the Flora Collective and we have a BUNCH of twisted wonderland fictives wow its avtually insane its either we're a twst fictive or a brainmade theres no in between

DISCLAIMER I have no idea how to do even the most basic things in tumblr so ermm im very veery slow to reply.... or i might not reply in general 😭😭😭😭😭😭

ABOUT ME 🔥🔥🔥🔥

i dont know ANYTHING about worldless because my ass is too lazy to watvh a playthrouggh BUT i am very interested in the story and i think the gamrplay anf graphics and stuff sre really cool and octa really likes it so i like it too 🙏🙏

other than that i LOVE twisted wonderland like i really love twisted wonderland i live and breathe twisted wonderlsnd

i like OCTAHEDRON (especially icosa) and genshin and uhhhh wuthering waves and ermm IKEMEN VAMPIREEUEHE anf demon slahyer and jjk nd other animes n allat and im interested in all kinda stuff liek history and uhh literatur and vlassical music anf the paranormal and stuff idk i basically have dabbled into ebetything in my youth and i still like ythem 🤓👆

i speaj english and spanish but spanish is kinda iffy so forgibe me + im stufying spanish literature anf environmental science in scjool 👅👅👅 i eanna go into law aftetward n make thay bank

i DRAW sometimes but i mOSTLY JUST use tumblr to read fanfiction icl i love fanfiction especially x readers 😭😭😭 shameless plug i make my own twisted wonderland x fem reader fanfictoon its called give me a break on quoteb HUEHEUWHW its my biggest passion project and its also the source of many of our alters

did i mention i like twisted wonferlanf

BEFORE YOU INTERACT

on a more serious note, i make a lot of spelling errors when im talking casually or when im joking around. its practically a second language, and its kind of my signature of typing compared to the rest of the system (can u tell the system is a big part of who i am 😭🤓👆)

other alters are different and all have our own interests, but my interests are kind of collective amongst us all so 👍👍👍 theyre all cool IG.

also, i don't use tone tags that often on my own, so if we're in conversation please don't hesitate to request that i use them with you i'll totally understand and i'll do it!!

ON A SUPER GENUINELY SERIOUS note, i am a minor but i am interested in and write dark/triggering things. it is purely a coping mechanism, and i really dont bring it up unless the topic comes up in conversation, but if you simply arent comfortable with talking to someone who willingly engages with that stuff, especially since im a minor i will completely understand and you are free to block me or not interact!! no hard feelings ><,, your comfort comes first !!!

DNI BRO 😭😭😭

BASIC DNI CRITERIA !!! THERES AN ENTIRE CARRD FOR IT

COMSHIPPERS. i may write about disgusting topics, but ONLY when it is an x reader, therefore only when the victim in the situation is ME. it is sickening to see other innocent characters in those kinds situations. do not ever mistake my dark fiction writing for comshipping. i do not support proshipping in any form, either.

PEOPLE WHO romanticise dark fiction. genuinely, you disgust me. i WRITE it, so i very well understand the appeal in reading it, but if you genuinely SUPPORT and DESIRE these things, do not talk to me, and do not assume i will entertain you. we need to acknowledge that fiction DOES affect reality, and we need to be responsible with the media that we consume and spread around. thanks!! >_<

hueheuwhe wowee thanks 4 reading my intro guys :3333c my discord is cyrxslol BTW

[2346khith]

A Desperate Plea as Winter Approaches

Hi Everyone. Again my family is facing a crisis more severe than ever before. The brutal summer sun has worn down the flimsy tent that once served as our only shelter, and now, as winter approaches, we are left exposed to the elements. There is no place for us to turn. With no means to afford proper housing, we have no choice but to share a car garage with two other families. It’s not a home, but it’s the only roof we can find to protect us from the bitter cold that is closing in on us.

My husband’s condition has taken a grave turn. After a long, painful hospital stay, he was released, but his chest wound, caused by a piece of shrapnel that pierced him when a bomb struck our home while we slept, has become dangerously inflamed. His blood pressure has dropped to 90/60, and he’s been rushed back to the hospital. The sight of him weak and struggling for every breath breaks my heart, but the pain doesn't end there.

With my husband back in the hospital, I face an unbearable choice. The hospital does not allow children, so I am torn between staying by his side, or leaving my three children alone in this unsafe city. Every night, I fear for their safety and for the life of my husband. I cannot be with both, and it is tearing me apart.

To make matters worse, hospitals in Gaza have run out of many essential medicines due to the blockade. We are forced to buy medication from external pharmacies at prices we can barely afford. The war has stripped us of everything, and now, the siege makes survival an even greater struggle.

We are also in dire need of food. My children’s immune systems are weak from malnutrition, and they fall sick often, leaving me helpless. We lack even the simplest comforts—medicine to heal their illnesses, warm clothes to shield them from the winter chill, and basic nutrition to keep them alive.

Winter is not just a season here; it’s a looming threat that may take what little we have left. I am begging for your help. Please, any donation, no matter how small, will go directly to giving us warmth, food, and the chance to survive this nightmare. My family is on the edge of survival, and we need you now more than ever.

For those who see this please, visit their blog and reblog their blog’s posts so they  get more attention and if you have the money to spare please donate.

Also I apologize, but I do not have the ability to donate to you. Trust me if I had the ability I would but I don't and I can't. I have no bank account or credit card to transfer money to and no job to gain any money. Every time I ask my parents to help they shut me down so this is the only way to help you. Please forgive me.

[accidentalslayer]

Word Count: 1,497 (ish)

Warnings: Implied death, violence.

Author's Notes: Health issues continued being a problem and caused this chapter to be late as hell but I finally have it done! While this part of DL feels a little boring, I hope you like it. The next chapter will give us our first peak at Reader so that'll be exciting! Also, health is doing much much better. Let's hope I write chapter five a bit faster than I did this one LOL!

Please feed me comments, hearts, and reblogs if you liked this 🌹You can find me on A03 as: accidentalslayer

Pairing: Yandere!Elijah & Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!Reader (eventually)

Summary: You should never go to second location with William Webb.

Recommended Song: "People I Don't Like" by: UPSAHL

Chapter Four: The Prodigal Son (Part Two)

[October 2nd, 1991

Mystic Falls, Virginia]

"Isn't it just perfect?"

Carol wiggled her ring finger in front of Grace so that the diamonds on her wedding band glittered and shone underneath the dim lamplight. "I told Richard not to break the bank, but the silly man just couldn't help himself!"

"Well, I wasn't about to let my wife run around in a cheap knock-off," Rich chuckled, "What kind of husband would I be then?? My woman deserves only the best. Right, hunny?"

"Oh, Rich..."

Grace and William watched in barely suppressed disgust as the Lockwoods shared a kiss between each other. One that lasted a bit too long for it to be comfortable. At a certain point, Grace cleared her throat, hoping it would interrupt them.

"Ah, where are our manners?" Richard Lockwood asked with a coy smile, finally pulling away from his wife, "We were talking, weren't we?"

He didn't wait for either Grace or William to reply before continuing what was starting to seem like a one-way conversation.

"So, Will. What brings Mystic Falls' prodigal son back into town?? Ready to settle down and start a family with somebody special?"

Mr. Lockwood's gaze trailed (not so subtly) over onto Grace, who glowered back at him, and Will. There was cold fire burning deep within her eyes as she did. Something that was historically never a good sign when it came to Grace. William knew from experience. A shiver ran down his spine. He would need to choose his next words with care...

"Ah, no. I'm happy with being a bachelor," he said solemnly, "In all honesty, I'm too busy these days with work to pursue anything really serious."

Carol scoffed, "Oh, that's what they all say!"

"Is it, Carol?" Grace shot back, her tone brisk and lined with edges, "Is that what they all say?"

"It's how I got my Richard."

"Pretty sure you got "your" Richard another way."

"Ladies, ladies!"

"Uh..."

The tension mounting around the booth could be cut with a knife. William sensed that he'd have to alter the course of their conversation before both women murdered each other, so he began telling everyone about his new job. And the reason why he'd come back to Mystic Falls. It was 50% half truths, 50% outright lies, but either side hooked his audience and temporarily cooled down their anger. Unfortunately, it also inspired Richard to start talking about his (running) candidacy for mayor. A topic that William cared nothing about and knew was going to steal more valuable time away from him. Time he didn't have. He needed another distraction...

"DRINKS!!" William exclaimed, suddenly bolting upright in the booth and slamming his fist down on the table, "We need more drinks! To celebrate the, uh. The-"

"Candidacy!" Grace finished his sentence, giving Will a look that told him she was thinking on the same wavelength, "To celebrate Richard's future as the mayor of Mystic Falls!! In fact, I'm gonna help this dork here order. He doesn't know an IPA from a porter. Isn't that right, Will?"

William glared at her but was forced to agree for the sake of this charade.

"What a wonderful idea!" Carol brightened at the offer, "I'll have a glass of chardonnay. Tell them to use the Grand Cru."

"Just grab me a brandy. Plain. No ice."

Egos sated, the Lockwoods scooted over, giving William and Grace enough room to get out of the booth. Grace mouthed the word 'hurry' to Will as she grabbed her purse and literally speed walked towards the bar. William followed suit, but before he was able to extricate himself completely, Rich asked him an off-handed question...

"Was it really an animal in the woods that night?"

"..."

The only answer William gave Mr. Lockwood was an icy grimace.

"Steve! Code Crimson. I need you to make direct eye contact with me, nod your head a few times, and act like I've just ordered a few drinks," Grace announced to the man behind the counter when she arrived at the bar, "Dick is being a creep."

Steven, the most seasoned mixologist at the Grill, raised a single brow in response while he continued to work. It looked like he was making a Mystic Moon; one of the most popular cocktails on sale this month and a fairly easy drink to put together. Despite this, Steve was taking his time blending in the blueberry juice, grenadine syrup, and gin.

"Stevie, c'mon. Pretty please? For me??"

The bartender sighed, "Grace, I can 86 any other guy who hits on you here, but Mr. Lockwood is a loyal patron-"

"Oh my god, you're seriously taking bribes from Little Dick now?!" Grace hissed, "Traitor."

"I don't see you paying my rent."

"Watch it, now. I'll stop bringing you a plate every Sunday. I know how much you love my lasagna!"

"You drive a hard bargain, Grace, but I was a line cook once upon a time, remember?? You'll have'ta do better than that."

"I'll start playing Fantasy League Football with you."

"Now we're talking!"

"Ugh, I regret this already."

Steve chuckled, then went straight to pretending that she'd ordered something and left Grace with the sneaking suspicion that he'd gotten the best portion of their deal. William joined her at the bar a second afterward, similarly frustrated. The two friends sighed at the same time. Their night was not going the way they'd expected it would...

William ran a hand through his chocolate brown hair. "So, what now?" he asked Grace, "I still owe you an explanation. A real one."

"Knew that whole 'I'm here for work' story was a crock of shit," She replied while glancing back at both Lockwoods to make sure their eyes weren't upon them. Thankfully, however, Rich and Carol seemed to be distracted by another person now.

"It wasn't all untrue. It just...wasn't all true either."

Grace scowled, "Well, it's great to know I can still tell when you're lying. Let's get out of here."

Luck wasn't on their side tonight. For as soon as they exited the Grill, it began to rain. William tore off his jacket and held it over Grace's head like an umbrella while they ran through the downpour to the safety of his truck. But by the time they'd got inside the vehicle, they were both soaking wet. It was a good thing he'd fixed the heater before the trip here. William turned it on, dialing up the heat to high. Blessed warmth filled the air and fogged the windows like blurry curtains. Providing a sort of privacy that he needed to finally tell Grace the truth.

William took a deep, shaky breath in, then out.

"Grace," he started, "I know you don't remember it, but...you made me promise something on the night of the accident. We swore an oath that if I ever got in over my head with anything, I'd come to you for help. And you swore on your mother's lineage that no matter what, you'd help me. You gotta know, I never wanted this day to come. Not ever. Honest to god! But we made an oath."

A laugh came from Grace. She looked at William with snickering disbelief, "What?? Do you need a loan? You know, you can drop the whole act. It's just you and me now. You reeeeally don't have to make up a story to tell me what the fuck is going on. This isn't high school anymore."

"Yeah, I know. Things would be much simpler to explain if they were..."

William reached into the backseat for a package wrapped in deerskin. He placed it on his lap and gingerly peeled back the animal hide to reveal a pair of bracelets hidden inside. Made from pale, wooden beads that were inscribed with strange symbols, they gave off a supernatural vibe. He brushed his fingers over the twin items. That icy grimace revisited Will's face.

"I fucked up, Grace. I'm sorry," he said, turning to stare at the girl he'd once loved, remorse stuck in his eyes, "You seem really at peace with yourself, too. More at peace than I could ever dream of for you, but-"

"You're not making any sense. Just tell me-"

"-but, you're the only witch in the world who can get these shackles to work! The fate of mankind depends on it. I...depend on it."

Grace shook her head, confused as hell, "What're you even talking about? Witches? Have you been getting high again??"

"Ha. I wish," William replied sadly, then grabbed his ex-girlfriend by the throat, "Please, forgive me for what I'm about to do."

Nobody heard Grace Baker screaming that October morning in the parking lot. Nobody had seen her leave the Grill, either. When the Mystic Falls police investigated her disappearance, they'd find nothing conclusive. Not even video footage. Nothing besides two blurry testimonies from Rich and Carol Lockwood that they'd seen her with someone earlier that evening. Although, they couldn't remember (for the life of them) who it was...

Only the rain was a witness to Grace's fate. And it couldn't tell anyone.

[dearamleo]

please don't take this as pressure but are you still going to be writing the foreverlost?

Hello! Yes, absolutely! All writing has taken a backseat in the last month or so as I helped prep for my best friend's wedding. But now that it's over, I'm hoping to be getting back into writing more frequently. I actually have chapters 6-10 done but I am hopelessly stuck on writing chapter 5 😬 I've rewritten it about 10 times now.

Here's a small snippet of Remus getting his ass kicked to tide you over. Fingers crossed I'll have something new posted within the next week.

Read on AO3 here

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

The kappa took his momentary loss of focus and came at him with terrifying speed. The force of its body came barrelling into Remus’s chest, knocking him to the ground and partially into the pond water. His sword slipped out of his fingertips as the muck made everything harder to grip. His breath left him in a sharp gasp as the kappa gripped hold of his ankles and began dragging him further into the water.

“Careful!”

“Yeah, thanks, Granger!” he snarled.

Scrabbling against the mud, Remus dug his fingertips into the earth trying to gain traction again but it squished between his fingers, giving him no leverage. He strained and kicked against the little fucker, but it’s grip on his legs didn’t wane. Gritting his teeth and grunting, he lunged as far as he could to grab at his abandoned sword. The leather of the hilt was slimy, but he managed to just barely hold onto the pommel as the cold water hit his back and suddenly he was being pulled under.

“Fuck!”

Water flooded his nostrils and the sediments kicked up from their thrashing scratched and burned his eyes as he forced them open to try and get his orientation back. He twisted harder against the kappa’s hold, trying to break free. The creature was shrieking beneath the water now as Remus kicked against its scaly skin.

He was running out of oxygen, his lungs seizing with the desire to just breathe in. His leg was beginning to ache as the kappa’s claws dug in and he could see a small cloud of red floating around them and driving the creature into a craze. Knowing that he was running short of time, he blindly drove his sword forward, the movement feeling odd under the water. Thankfully, he managed to hit the kappa straight in the throat. The water swirled with deep red as Remus pulled the sword loose, leaving the kappa with a gaping wound. 

Breaking the surface of the water, Remus gasped in air, his lungs burning with the pain of it. He managed to drag himself back up the muddy bank, tossing his sword to the side and flopping down on his back. He was covered in mud, his chest still felt tight from being deprived of oxygen for so long, but shockingly he didn’t feel all that tired. Weirdly enough he felt like he could probably go another few rounds.

Not that he wanted to. 

He shifted slightly and immediately regretted it. The feeling of cold, wet mud squishing inside his boots was enough to make him grimace, but it wasn’t just the boots. As he shifted again, trying to get comfortable, he felt the mud slide further down- into his fucking undershorts.

Remus groaned, closing his eyes and turning his face toward the sky. He ran a hand through his hair, but that only made it worse. His fingers got caught in a clump of wet dirt, and he nearly gagged at the sensation.

“Seven fucking hells,” he muttered to himself, wriggling in discomfort. He could feel the mud caked into places mud had no right to be. His hair was matted, his clothes soaked and heavy with filth, and the squelching in his boots every time he moved made him want to scream.

A shadow passed over and he cracked one eye open to see Ron’s towering form leaning over him. “Good down there, Hero?”

“Told you,” Remus sniffed haughtily. “Easy.”

“Yeah,” Draco snorted. “If by ‘easy’ you mean you nearly got drowned by an overgrown pond lizard, then sure. A real hero you are.”

“Thanks, Malfoy. I almost forgot.” Sitting up with a groan, Remus shook a clump of mud and muck out of his sleeve. “Can we please just go somewhere to clean up. Preferably somewhere not inhabited by bloodthirsty creatures?”

Harry reached out a hand for him, heaving him up. “We should be just about to the rivers at the base of Gryffindor. I can tell you for a fact that there’s no kappas, grindylows or anything else that’ll try to fight you.”

[fumblingmusings]

Does it make sense to see Francis and Arthur as lovers historically? I mean only after WWII they got along and even then they saw it as necessary and still they have closer relationships with USA and Germany... teach me sempai

Oh gosh not sempai please really I am not a figure of authority in anything please 😭

I mean if you wanna make them a thing, I say you do you! You can find a way to make it work, there's too much crossover for them to not be important in each other's lives. For better for worse.

But huh! I guess... it depends how you want to define lovers? I mean, them having angsty nasty sex I can certainly see. Them being soft and tender and the (willing) emotional vulnerability? In the 1400s? Personally... I can't see it, or at least, not if you intend to keep it close to canon.

When they were small, i.e. pre Norman conquest, they were close for sure, but England didn't really matter to France's immediate neighbours and concerns (going through his own unification and the after effects of that split into East and West of Charlemagne's lands and, as well respected the Anglo-Saxons were for somehow being rich af and having a notable royal line... they're still across the water and isolated).

Once the Normans come, their relationship breaks and doesn't recover until the Tudors (sort of... it's really up and down in the 1500s), thereafter it continues undulating up and down until the end of the 17th century, then it's just down again until the 1830s. Then, it steadily rises until what it is today, with the occasional slippage.

At least, that is how I would map Anglo-French relations over a thousand years.

FrUK isn’t my favourite historical Hetalia pairing for either character - that goes to Toni and Francis (because there is your on and off again romantic rivals my god) and then Gabe and Arthur for anything pre 19th century. 19th yes FrUK wins (because what a turn around in relations from the start to the end of the century) and then yes, Ludwig and Francis and then Alfred and Arthur for 20th century. (Ludwig and Feli doing their slow burn nonsense in the background the entire time mind you). Francis' attention has always been more drawn to the continent. Not Arthur. Arthur is loathe to think of the mainland.

There's smatterings of DenEng and BelEng in there for Arthur and of course ScotFra on the other side but those are the main relationships. For me. Personally.

I think the two of them have long, long stints where their egos cannot stand the other, and Francis has very good reason to loathe Arthur, just as Arthur could see Francis as being the source of many of his own woes... 'Our dearest enemies' and all that. We've roughly fought 40 wars against each other. France won more than half of them quite comfortably.

I also think it's worth mentioning that France was a major power in Europe from like the 9th century. I wouldn't argue the same for England really until... oh God. I don't know. At least six hundred years later. France was always self sufficient in a way England wasn't. France had a larger population a better climate etc etc... England for a long time is a pain in France's arse, but he is not the most pressing concern for most of it. When England got to grips with banking by copying the Dutch, having a better political and legal system (thank you Napoleon for fixing that I suppose...) however, then things got more equal.

Arthur's greed is what gets Francis' attention, and not in like a good way. I think that is a fascinating dynamic, as is the fact that genuine affection can be born from them being such horrors to each other (and those unfortunate to be caught in their orbit).

On another note, I think England likes France more than they like us though. Personally speaking. I think Brits admire far the French more than vice versa. We're always going to be lesser than, to them. For one reason or another. We are too prone to cutting off our nose to spite our face, and they derive too much joy from the spectacle.